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Josh Billings wants it respekfully understood,
that, tho hiz duta az sensor ov a vartuous press
ockasionally kauses him tew lite onto sum contributors
at a high rate ov speed, he dus it, not out
ov malis tu those who rite, but thru grate luv and
tribulashun for thoze who read:

TO CONTRIBUTORS.

“I Hear an Angell Whispre,” by Clemantha.—
Theze lines contain more poeckry, and less truth.
The fact is, Angells don't whispre, if tha hav got
enny thing tew sa, tha sa it rite out loud. Tri agin,
Clemantha; rite onto kontentment, or happiness, or
sum sich subjec, that haint never bin rit onto.

“Slavery, ordained ov God,” bi A. D. P.—
This produckshion we cant accept. We are bound

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in our insuranse polisy not tew hav on hand “enny
article extra hazardus on akount ov fire,” and we
don't want tu be struk bi litenin, nor sent tu purgatory,
and looze our insurance besides. Furthermore,
writers must giv us their names in full;
A. D. P. mite stand for A. D—m Phule, and we
aint a doing enny bizness with them kind not if we
are credibly informed.

`On Pisgers nobil hites i stood, communin
with our ansesters,” bi Clarense.—Blank varse, bi
grashus! If my memry dont fule me, this iz the
same spot whare Noer stood, with the Ark previously.
We aint mutch on blank varse, but think we
smel a rat. We hav sent the peace tew the “Kommitty
on forrin relashuns,” and if tha sa the peace iz
on the square, it will be published, ackompanied
with a full sized 3 dollar puff.

“Epitaff on a friend,” bi Emeline Parsons.—
Epitaffs are played out with us. We continu tew
publish them, at 25 cents ahed, az we du deth and
weddings, and dont hold ourself resposible for truth
or damage. We luv tu enkurage genius tho, and
advise Emeline Parsons tu diet, and keep her hand
in bi riteing for the Nu York Leger.

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“Essa on Hurrykanes,” bi Tempest Jun'.—
Wil appear jist az soon az the hurrykane softens
down a little. This writer handles a hurrykane the
best we ever see it did. Hiz deskripshun resembles
chain litening quietly. He maiks the grate oaks
tew wiggle lik mad sarpents, and the roks tew bile
and bust open, and the hole arth tew rumbil az tho
it had the kolick. This writer could git up a ghost
that would be wurth having. Tempest Jun' will
pleze send us his photergraff, we want a personal
intervu.

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