The Child, having exhausted all the nourishment the frying-pan
contained, sought to develop its brain faculty by thumping itself
over the head with the flat of the thing. With the selfishness of
the average parent--thinking chiefly of what the Coroner might say,
and indifferent to the future of humanity, my friend insisted upon
changing the game.

[His foolish talk.]

The parent does not even know how to talk to his own Child. The
Child is yearning to acquire a correct and dignified mode of
expression. The parent says: "Did ums. Did naughty table hurt
ickle tootsie pootsies? Baby say: ''Oo naughty table. Me no love
'oo.'"

The Child despairs of ever learning English. What should we think
ourselves were we to join a French class, and were the Instructor to
commence talking to us French of this description? What the Child,
according to the gentleman from Cambridge, says to itself is,

"Oh for one hour's intelligent conversation with a human being who
can talk the language."

Will not the young gentleman from Cambridge descend to detail? Will
he not give us a specimen dialogue?

A celebrated lady writer, who has made herself the mouthpiece of
feminine indignation against male stupidity, took up the cudgels a
little while ago on behalf of Mrs. Caudle. She admitted Mrs. Caudle
appeared to be a somewhat foolish lady. "BUT WHAT HAD CAUDLE EVER