McCay.

THE RESULT.

(November 6th, 1888.)

We have no longer Uncle Sam,
Nor yet our Yankee-doodle;
The first is but an Uncle Sham,
The last is Yankee-boodle.

James McCarroll.

SILK CULTURE.

"There are so many persons thirsting for information," I says to Mrs.
Wrigglesniff, "let's tell them all about it." It was always my way to
stir in something useful with what was agreeable; and here was an
opportunity, while pursuing an avocation that was at once pleasant and
lucrative, to bring forward at the same time, an illustration of those
great economic and philosophic principles, that lie at the foundation
of all government and are the ground-work of the social fabric. The
tariff, although an intricate subject, I felt was one that could be
elucidated by simple exemplification in practical life; and so I
opened up to her one day, by remarking upon the great importance of
fostering our "infant industries." That most efficient mother was
nursing the baby at the time. The baby was four weeks old, weighed
sixteen pounds, and could partake of more nourishment at nature's
fountain, than any two ordinary pair of twins.

"Infant industry! here's one now," observed Mrs. W., gazing with
maternal fondness upon the lusty native American in her lap, who was
tugging away with a zeal quite amazing.

You should first understand, however, that Mrs. W. is a superior woman
"as has got intellect into her," as her uncle John Fetherly Brown was
wont to say. Her father's second cousin was a half-brother to Noah
Webster, and she has, therefore, inherited some of the qualities of
that distinguished philosopher. I proposed the subject to her one day,
in a genial sort of a way, and she said, "W.," says she, "You're a
fool! Silk indeed!" She always calls me "W.," as the whole of it makes
it too long, and being a practical woman, she is aware that life is
short. I could not help admiring the promptness with which Mrs. W.
arrived at her conclusions; and as she is a most excellent judge of
human nature, I changed the subject, not wishing to exasperate her.

The way it came about was this. I had read all about it in the papers
and books and things, and was thinking over it one day and all of a
sudden I spoke up, and says I:

"Mrs. W., let's have worms."

She looked at me just that way for a minute, I thought there was going
to be a funeral. So I