most serious importance, as well
for our safety, as our comfort. How wonderful to think that our eight
thousand miles of travel was all conducted like clockwork, with entire
reliability, and precision, from point to point, across the continent
and back again, without hitch or accident.

Then we must remember the Pullman employees, to whom the whole journey
was but an episode, in lives of such journeys; and yet how enthusiastic
and attentive they were, at all times.

And we must remember Delia and Charles, in their sphere of usefulness,
ever ready and willing to carry out the hospitable intentions of our
good host and hostess.

It is all over, our "Flight in Spring," with all its pleasant
incidents. Some of the sweetest moments were, when we turned in upon
ourselves for amusement and pleasure, at the evening hours, when formal
sightseeing was over; or in those hours of travel, when the eyes
refused to gaze longer on the flying landscape.

Then came the Nonsense Verses, and the Stories, and the Songs, and the
Machine Poetry, and all the fun. Shall we not gather up some of those
trifles, as worthy of preservation in our record? Yes, certainly we
will.

We will first start out with the machine poetry. Rhymes were furnished,
which were these dreadful collocations, "give, live, dove, love, merry,
cherry, go, slow, tease, squeeze, muddle, fuddle." A hopeless list
surely.

Dear Fred, who said he could not write poetry, evolved the following:

POEM BY FRED

And when a pretty orange he did give,
He thought it was too sweet to live,
So he gave it to his dove
To ever sustain their love.

One day when all was merry,
He gave to her a cherry;
And he said she should not go,
For fear it would be slow.

First he began to tease,
Then he began to squeeze,
Until there was a muddle--
Soon afterwards a fuddle.

This realistic effort was received with rounds of applause. The next
poetic effort on the procrustean rhymes was by Miss Hayden, as follows:

POEM BY MISS HAYDEN

Oh, why should I give,
Or expect me to live,
When, you called me a dove,
Yet you now cease to love?

I once was so merry,
My lips like a cherry,
I wept when you'd go,
And my heart beat so slow.

Then at once you would tease,
And kiss me, and squeeze,--
But--my brain's in a muddle,
And--you in a fuddle.

This effort, too, was greeted with app