For answer, I refer you to countless newspaper files, under the headin'
of "mysterious dispensations of Providence," and to old solitary
churchyards, and to the insane statisticks of the country.

The bereaved husband, a-blamin' Providence, but takin' some comfort in
the thought that "the Lord loveth whom He chasteneth," walks out under
his mournin' weed, and pats the sleek sides of his Alderney cow, and its
fat, healthy young one, and ponders on how he could improve their
condition, and better the stock, and mebby has passin' thoughts on some
bloomin' young girl, who he could persuade to try the fate of the first.

And he'll have no trouble in doin' so--not at all; putty is hard in
comparison to wimmin's heads and hearts, sometimes.

But I am, indeed, eppisodin', and to resoom, and proceed.

In this world, where the material, the practical, so oft overshadows
the spiritual, it didn't surprise me a mite to have this noble--noble
liberal art display crowded back by less riz up and exalted ones.

And oh, what curious things we did see in this Hall of Wonders--curious
as a dog, and curiouser.

The New South Wales exhibit in the west gallery is awful big, and
divided into five courts, and all full of Beauty and Use.

These Australians are pert and kinder sassy; they look on our country as
old, and wore out--some as we look at our Ma Country.