t so plain.
It couldn't be those wires above,
For they could neither pull nor shove;
Where was the motor that made it go
You couldn't guess, but now you know.

Remember my rhymes when you ride again
On the rattling rail by the broomstick train!

X

In my last report of our talks over the teacups I had something to say
of the fondness of our people for titles. Where did the anti-republican,
anti-democratic passion for swelling names come from, and how long has
it been naturalized among us?

A striking instance of it occurred at about the end of the last century.
It was at that time there appeared among us one of the most original
and singular personages to whom America has given birth. Many of our
company,--many of my readers,--all well acquainted with his name, and
not wholly ignorant of his history. They will not object to my giving
some particulars relating to him, which, if not new to them, will be new
to others into whose hands these pages may fall.

Timothy Dexter, the first claimant of a title of nobility among the
people of the United States of America, was born in the town of Malden,
near Boston. He served an apprenticeship as a leather-dresser, saved
some money, got some more with his wife, began trading and speculating,
and became at last rich, for those days. His most famous business
enterprise was that of sending an invoice of warming-pans to the West
Indies. A few tons of ice would have seemed to promise a better return;
but in point of fact, he tells us, the warming-pans were found useful
in the manufacture of sugar, and brought him in a handsome profit. His
ambition rose with his fortune. He purchased a large and stately house
in Newburyport, and proceeded to embellish and furnish it according to
the dictates of his taste and fancy. In the grounds about his house, he
caused to be erected between forty and fifty wooden statues of great men
and allegorical figures, together with four lions and one lamb. Among
these images were two statues of Dexter himself, one of which held a
label with a characteristic inscription. His house was ornamented with
minarets, adorned with golden balls, and surmounted by a large gilt
eagle. He equipped it with costly furniture, with paintings, and a
library. He went so far as to procure the services of a poet laureate,
whose business it seems to have been to sing his praises. Surrounded
with splendors like these, the plain title of "Mr." Dexter wo