last ten years. In 1870 it was customary to encase the sandwiches in
pressed sole leather. The leather was prepared by a process only known
to a Prussian, and the bread and ham were put in by hydraulic pressure,
and the hole soldered up.

About four years ago, the Prussian who had the secret said something
unkind to a pitcher of a baseball club, and the pitcher took up one of
the sandwiches and pitched it curved at the Prussian's eye. His funeral
was quite largely attended, considering that he was a man who was
retiring, and who made few acquaintances; but the secret of making the
soles and uppers of railroad sandwiches died with him.

It was about this time that corrugated iron shutters were invented, and
that material was at once utilized to make lids for sandwiches, while
the under jaw of the appetite-destroying substance was made of common
building paper, the whole-varnished with neats foot oil, and kiln dried
in a lime kiln.

Our object in eating one of the sandwiches, was to transfer, if
possible, the headache to the stomach, on the principle that the quack
doctor cured a patient of paralysis by throwing him into fits, claiming
that he was not much on paralysis, but he was hell on fits. The entrance
of the piece of sandwich into the stomach--that is, the small pieces
that we were able to blast off with the imperfect appliances at hand in
the tool box of a wrecking car--was signaled by the worst rebellion
that has been witnessed in this country since 1860. The stomach, liver,
lungs, spleen and other patent insides got up an indignation meeting,
with the stomach in the chair. In calling the meeting to order the
stomach said unaccustumed as it was to public speaking, it felt as
though the occasion demanded a protest, and that in no uncertain tone,
against the habit the boss had of slinging anything into the stomach
that came in his way, without stopping to consider the effect on the
internals.

The chair remarked that it had heretofore had a good many hard doses to
take, notably, army bacon, and later some black bread that the boss had
shoved in while hunting out in Minnesota in 1876, and again last year
when a pan full of beans from Bill Wall's Wolf river boom boarding house
was sent down without any introduction, the stomach said it had felt
like throwing up the "sponge," and drawing out of the game, but it had
thought better of it, and had gone on trying to digest things till now.
But this last outrage, this C