Chapter XXXI: Waterfalls

I rather like waterfalls.

I kant tell _why_, enny more than I kan tell why I love kastor ile--but kastor ile is good for a lazyness in the system.

I don't like laziness ov no sort--not even in muskeeters.

I want my muskeeters lively.

But aul this iz foreign tew mi purposs.

I like waterfalls--they are so eazy and natural.

They attack all the sex.

Some they attack with grate fury, while others they approach more like a siege, working up slowly.

I saw one yesterday.

It want no bigger than a small French turnup.

It had attaked a small woman ov only 9 summers duration.

She waz full ov recreation, and when she bounded along the sidewalk the waterfall highsted up and down in an ossillating manner, resembling mutch the sportive terminus ov a bob-tailed lamb, in a grate hurry.

The effeck was purely eclectick.

I also saw another one pretty soon, which belonged tew a mature matron.

She might hav saw 75 summers; her hair waz white az flour (Perkins "A," worth 15 dollars a barrell, delivered); but the waterfall was black.

I asked a bystander how he could account for that.

He said "it waz younger."

I also saw another one pretty soon, which waz the property ov a gusher.

She was about 19 years old, and waz az ripe az a 2 year peach.

She swept the streets like a thing of life.

Men stopped to gaze az she pazsed, and put in a new chew ov tobacco.

Little boys pocketed their marbles in silence.

Her waterfall waz about the size ov a corn-basket turned inside out.

It waz inklozed in a common skap net, and kivered with blazing dimonds ov glass.

It shone in the frisky sun like the tin dome on the Court House, whare the supervizors meet.

But i rather like waterfalls.

It haz bin sed that they would run out, but this i think iz a error, for they don't show no leak yet.

In the language of the expiring Canadian, on our northern frontier, I say--"_Vive la Bag-a-tale_."