Have you seen _Frou Frou_, Admiral?
_Ad_. Yes. In New-York.
Cor. How did you like it, sir?
_Ad_. Not much. Do for folks whose taste for that sort of thing is DAILY
bred.
_Cor_. What do you think of oar new City Charter?
_Ad_. Is it a ship?
_Cor_. Yes, sir. It is a sort of hardship for New-York.
_Ad_. Well, the city must be used to that. Will take in its ale pretty
much as usual, I reckon.
_Cor_. What, sir, do you think of Chicago?
_Ad_. Ah! go way.
_Cor_. (_oblivious of hint_.) Where do you buy your pantaloon stuff, Mr.
Secretary?
_Ad_. (_sharply_.) Where the woodbine twineth.
_Cor_. Admiral, have you any children?
_Ad_. (_loudly_.) ROBESON!
_Cor_. My dear sir, you surprise me! Is he your son?
_Ad_. (_to assistant_.) ROBESON! Did you see MIKE HAINES?
_Cor_. One moment. Admiral! Let me ask of you, in which, if any, of our
New-York companies is your life insured; and do you wear the patent
perforated buckskin?--
Here the interview terminated. Your correspondent suddenly discovered
that he would have barely time to catch the N. Y. Express, and he took
leave with a renewed respect for the spirit of our Navy and its head.
SNIQUE.
* * * * *
[Illustration: COME, GENTLE SPRING.
SPRING has come. Now is the time to ask your friends for seed and roots,
and to tell somebody they ought to see about the garden.
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