[*] Under another title, these paragraphs may be found in a foolish book called _The Fiend’s Delight_, published in London in 1872 by John Camden Hotten. They had appeared in the San Francisco _Newsletter_ two or three years before—an illuminating contribution to a current medical discussion of an uncommonly high death-rate in certain mining towns. Their pedigree is given here by way of assisting that original humorist, Mr. Charles B. Lewis, in any further explanations that he may make as to how and when he was inspired by Heaven to write his famous _Arizona Kicker_. THE A. L. C. B. A society of which I am the proud and happy founder is the American League for the Circumvention of Bores. With a view to enlisting the reader’s interest and favor and obtaining his initiation fee, I beg leave to expound the ends and methods of the order. The League purposes to work within the law: Bores can be circumvented by killing; which may be called the circumvention direct; but for every Bore that is killed arises a swarm of Bores (reporters, lawyers, jurors, etc.) whom one is unable to kill. The League plan is humane, simple, ingenious and effective. It leaves the Bore alive, to suffer the lasting torments of his own esteem. The American League for the Circumvention of Bores has the customary machinery of grips, pass-words, signs, a goat, solemn ceremonials and mystic hoodooing; but for practical use it employs only the Signal of Eminent Distress, to preservation of the secret whereof members are bound by the most horrible oath known to the annals of juration. It is a law that any member duly convicted in the secret tribunals of the League of failing promptly to respond to the Signal of Eminent Distress shall suffer evisceration through the nose. The plan works this way: I am, say, on a ferry-boat. Carelessly glancing about, I see—yes, it must have been—ah! again: the Signal of Eminent Distress! A Brother of the League is _in articulo mortis_—the demon hath him—the beak of the Bore is crimson in his heart! I go to the rescue, choosing, according to my judgment and tact, one of the Ten Thousand Forms of Benign Relief which I have memorized from the Ritual. “Ah, my dear fellow,” I perhaps say to the victim, whom I may never have seen before, “I have been looking all over the boat for you. I must have a word with you on a most important matter if your friend”—looking at the baffled Bore who has been talking into him—“will have the goodness to excuse you.” Possibly, though, I say to the signaling victim: “Sir, pardon me, but is not your name—?” “Jonesmith,” he replies, coldly; “may I ask—?” “Ah, yes; I hope you will not think me intrusive, but a gentleman on the lower deck, who says he is your uncle, has fallen and broken his neck.”