them. For
instance, there is a defect in the girl whereby she has a shin on both
sides of her lower limb, or an indentation where there should be the
customary calf--we say calf advisedly, because it _is_ a calf, and no
person need be ashamed of it, even if it _is_ terrible slim--we don't
see how that defect can be done away with by giving less prominence to
the purely practical side of her education. It does not stand to reason.
Sawdust, or bran would be worth two of it.

Or, again, suppose the New England girl has no hips to speak of, or her
stomach is caved in where there should be a fullness, is the giving of
less prominence to the purely intellectual side of her education going
to do away with these defects, or fill up the waste places and make them
glad? Not much! A sack of canary seed, or a rubber air cushion, or a
bale of cotton, beats the Boston idea all hollow, and we will leave it
to anybody that knows anything.

Now, as to hair. Suppose the Boston girl has no more natural hair than
one of these Mexican dogs, is education going to raise a crop of hair?
Not by any means--she has got to buy it.

No, you Boston magazine critters can theoretically take a plain,
unvarnished New England girl with these defects, and give all the
prominence you want to to the practical side of her education, and you
may imagine you can do away with these defects and make her pass muster
in a crowd, but when you get all through she will be homely as a stone
fence, and some western girl, with no defects at all, just a natural
born jolly girl, with not too much education and intellectuality, will
come along there, and all Boston will go crazy after her.

You fellows don't seem to know what you are talking about. Well,
we don't know what we are talking about either, but we had to write
something to fill up with, and girls are the easiest things in the world
to write about.

A KANSAS CYCLONE.

The little town of Clyde, Kansas, is mighty full of vinegar for a place
of its size. The principal amusement the boys have is to scare the
daylights out of visitors from the States by telling big stories about
cyclones.

There are two young fellows in business there named Will May and Charley
Armstrong. They have a store where they buy butter, and eggs, and
things, and pack them for the Eastern market. Last June, Uncle
Armstrong, father of Charley, and a young fellow named Charley Farmer,
were out there visiting. The hosts entertaine