If any man think I have spoken rather merrily than seriously, he is much mistaken. I have written what I write with all the indignation I can, and no more than I ought. I confesse I veer’d my tongue to this kinde of Language _de industria_ though unwillingly, supposing those I speak to are uncapable of grave and rationall arguments. I desire all Ladies and Gentlewomen to understand that all this while I intend not such as through necessary modesty to avoyd morose singularity, follow fashions slowly, a flight shot or two off, showing by their moderation that they rather draw countermont with their hearts, than put on by their examples. I point my pen only against the light-heel’d beagles that lead the chase so fast, that they run all civility out of breath, against these Ape-headed pullets, which invent Antique foole-fangles, meerly for fashion and novelty sake. _Nathaniel Ward._ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ _THE NEWSBOY._ [Illustration: “I WISH YOU, SIR, TO CONTROL YOUR NEWSBOYS.”] “IS this the office of the _National Pop-gun and Universal Valve Trumpet_?” inquired Sapid in sepulchral tones. “Hey—what? Oh!—yes,” gruffly replied the clerk, as he scrutinised the applicant. “It is, is it?” was the response. “H—umpse;” heaving a porcine affirmative, much in use in the city of brotherly love. “I am here to see the editor, on business of importance,” slowly and solemnly articulated Sapid. There must have been something professionally alarming in this announcement, if an opinion may be formed from the effect it produced. “Editor’s not come down yet, is he, Spry?” inquired the clerk, with a cautionary wink at the paste-boy. “Guess he ain’t more nor up yet,” said Spry; “the mails was late last night.” “I’ll take a seat till he does come,” observed Sapid, gloomily. Spry and the clerk laid their heads together in the most distant corner of the little office. “Has he got a stick?” whispered one. “No, and he isn’t remarkable big, nuther.” “Any bit of paper in his hand—does he look like State House and a libel suit? It’s a’most time—not had a new suit for a week.” “Not much; and, as we didn’t have any scrouger in the _Gun_ yesterday, perhaps he wants to have somebody tickled up himself. Send him in.”