On January 14, 1855, we read:-- “Last evening began the opera season. Now, as all the Somebodies were there, we would not like to have you suppose, dear reader, that we were not, although perhaps you did not see us, with our little squeezed-up hat slipping off of our head, and we screwing up our ”What shall we do for an Editor's table?That's all for the present, we make our best bow, And are your affectionate Editor Howe.
To make one really we are not able.
Our Editorial head is aching,
Our lily white hand is rather shaking.
Our baby cries both day and night,
And puts our “intelligence” all to flight.
Yet, for the gentle Julia's sake,
Some little effort we must make.
We did n't go vote for the know-nothing Mayor,
A know-nothing's what we cannot bear,
We know our lessons, that's well for us,
Or the school would be in a terrible fuss.
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