We have noticed that after a man has got so dull he can get no one willing to hear him he takes to profound exposition.

Out from the same chip-basket rolls a great pile of announcements that people want put among the editorials, so as to save the expense of the advertising column.

They tell us the article they wish recommended will have a highly beneficial effect upon the Church and world.
It is a religious churn, or a moral horse-rake, or a consecrated fly trap.
They almost get us crying over their new kind of grindstone, and we put the letter down on the table while we get out our pocket-handkerchief, when our assistant takes hold the document and gives it a ruthless rip, and pitches it into the chip-basket.
Next in the pile of torn and upset things is the speech of some one on the momentous occasion of the presentation of a gold-headed cane, or silver pitcher, or brass kettle for making preserves.

It was "unexpected," a "surprise" and "undeserved," and would "long be cherished." "Great applause, and not a dry eye in the house," etc., etc.

But there is not much room in a paper for speeches.