Montesquieu does not give the Spirit of Sneezing, nor tell how the
ancients sneezed. Pascal, in all his vanities of man, has no thought
on sneezing. Bacon has missed it. Of all the glorious company of
Shakespeare's brain, a few snored, but not one sneezed or spoke of
sneezing. Darwin avoids it. Hegel and Schlegel haven't a word of it.
The encyclopedias leave it for the dictionaries.

We might suppose the gentle latitudes and halcyon seas of Asia and the
Mediterranean had failed to develop the sneeze, save that the immortal
Montaigue, a friend in need to every reader, will point you that
Aristotle told why the people bless a man who sneezes. "The gods bless
you!" said the Athenian. "God bless you!" says the Irishman or
Scotchman of to-day.

A sneeze is to enter the politics of the First District. Could any
political boss, however prudent or scholarly, foresee it? A sneeze is
to influence the life of David Lockwin. Does not providence move in a
mysterious way?

A great newspaper has employed as its marine reporter a singular
character. He once was rich--that is, he had $10,000 in currency. How
had he made it? Running a faro bank. How did he lose it? By taking a
partner, who "played it in"--that is, the partner conspired with an
outside player, or "patron" of the house. Why did not our man begin
over again? He was disheartened--tired of the business. Besides, it
gives a gambler a bad name to be robbed--it is like a dishonored
husband.

The marine reporter's ancestors were knights. The ancestral name was
Coeur de Cheval. The attrition of centuries, and the hurry of the
industrial period, have diminished this name in sound and dignity to
Carkey, and finally to Corkey.

Naturally of a knightly fiber, this queer man has no sooner established
himself in command of the port of Chicago than he has found his dearest
dreams realized. To become the ornament of the sailor's fraternity is
but to go up and down the docks, drinking the whisky which comes in
free from Canada and sneezing.

"We steer toward Corkey's sneeze," the sailors declare.

To produce the greatest sneeze that was ever heard in the valley of the
Mississippi, give us, then, a man who is called a "sawed-off" by those
who love him--a very thick, very short, very tobaccofied, strong man in
cavalry pants, with a jacket of the heaviest chinchilla--a restless,
oathful, laconic, thirsty, never-drunk "editor." It is a man after the
sailor's ow