This last remark is a sirkastic and witherin' thrust at them blotid peple who live in gilded saloons.  I tho't I'd explain my meanin' to you.  I frekently have to explain the meanin' of my remarks.  I know one man--and he's a man of varid 'complishments--who often reads my articles over 20 times afore he can make anything of 'em at all.  Our skoolmaster to home says this is a pecoolerarity of geneyus.  My wife says it is a pecoolerarity of infernal nonsens.  She's a exceedin' practycal woman.  I luv her muchly, however, and humer her little ways.  It's a recklis falshood that she henpecks me, and the young man in our neighborhood who said to me one evenin', as I was mistenin' my diafram with a gentle cocktail at the villige tavun--who said to me in these very langwidge, "Go home, old man, onless you desires to have another teapot throwd at you by B.J.," probly regrets havin said so. I said, "Betsy Jane is my wife's front name, gentle yooth, and I permits no person to alood to her as B.J. outside of the family circle, of which I am it principally myself.  Your other observations I scorn and disgust, and I must pollish you off." He was a able-bodied young man, and, remoovin his coat, he enquired if I wanted to be ground to powder?  I said, Yes:  if there was a Powder-grindist handy, nothin would 'ford me greater pleasure, when he struck me a painful blow into my right eye, causin' me to make a rapid retreat into the fireplace.  I hadn't no idee that the enemy was so well organized.  But I rallied and went for him, in a rayther vigris style for my time of life.  His parunts lived near by, and I will simply state 15 minits had only elapst after the first act when he was carried home on a shutter.  His mama met the sollum procession at the door, and after keerfully looking her orfspring over, she said:  "My son, I see how it is distinctually.  You've been foolin' round a Trashin Masheen.  You went in at the place where they put the grain in, cum out with the straw, and you got up into the thingamyjig, and let the horses tred on you, didn't you, my son?"  The pen of no liven Orthur could describe that disfortnit young man's sittywation more clearer.  But I was sorry for him, and I went and nussed him till he got well.  His reg'lar original father being absent to the war, I told him I'd be a father to him myself.  He smilt a sickly smile, and said I'd already been wus than two fathers to him.