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Nelson Evening Mail, Volume III, Issue 215, 10 September 1868, Page 2

A local editor who earns his sawdust and ' pi' in a town situated on the Erie canal, expressed his annoyance at the dearth of ' items' in his vicinity thus: — It's hard work to get up a local column in. these times. We seize oup ever-ready quill, scratch our classic head, there we stop. We might inform our readers that the weather is beautiful, but everybody tells everybody else that a dozen times a day. We tell you what, locals are scarce. Horses don't fall in the canal any more. Children are getting co sharp now-a-days that they never get lost. Whiskey is so bad that a man is too drunk to fight after taking a 'fevr,' bo there is nothing to write up about that. Oh ! joy, there is an excited crowd of politicians standing on the railroad, and the express is coming. Now if they'll only stand and get run over, we'll be in our glory. But no, they scamper off as though their carcases were valuable, confound the luck. There's nothing to write, bo we'll give it up. A Georgia editor calls a contemporary ' an odious fungus/ and wants to know ' how much an acre the swamp is worth wherein he was brought to his slimy maturity.' Whereupon the fungus answereth thus : — ' Our friend can never forgive us for going his bail when he was accused of robbing his mother's coffin of its silver ornaments. Where is sympathy to be found, even by the most xiisconaolate? — In the dictionary, „.,.;' Whatever may be the end of man there can be no doubt when we see those loDg trains gracefully sweeping the floors u yd roads, that the end of woman v—u —