31. XXXI.
WATERFALLS.
I rather like waterfalls
I kant tell why, enny more than I kan tell why I
love kastor ile—but kastor ile is good for a lazyness
in the system.
I don't like laziness ov no sort—not even in muskeeters.
I want my muskeeters lively.
But aul this iz foreign tew mi purposs.
I like waterfalls—they are so eazy and natural.
They attack all the sex.
Some they attack with grate fury, while others
they approach more like a siege, working up slowly.
I saw one yesterday.
It want no bigger than a small French turnup.
It had attaked a small woman ov only 9 summers
duration.
She waz full ov recreation, and when she bounded
along the sidewalk the waterfall highsted up and
down in an ossillating manner, resembling mutch the
sportive terminus ov a bob-tailed lamb, in a grate
hurry.
The effeck was purely eclectick.
I also saw another one pretty soon, which belonged
tew a mature matron.
She might hav saw 75 summers; her hair waz
white az flour (Perkins “A,” worth 15 dollars a
barrell, delivered); but the waterfall was black.
I asked a bystander how he could account for
that.
He said “it waz younger.”
I also saw another one pretty soon, which waz the
property ov a gusher.
She was about 19 years old, and waz az ripe az a
2 year peach.
She swept the streets like a thing of life.
Men stopped to gaze az she pazsed, and put in a
new chew ov tobacco.
Little boys pocketed their marbles in silence.
Her waterfall waz about the size ov a corn-basket
turned inside out.
It waz inklozed in a common skap net, and kivered
with blazing dimonds ov glass.
It shone in the frisky sun like the tin dome on
the Court House, whare the supervizors meet.
But i rather like waterfalls.
It haz bin sed that they would run out, but this i
think iz a error, for they don't show no leak yet.
In the language of the expiring Canadian, on our
northern frontier, I say—“Vive la Bag-a-tale.”
