I must say that I was gratified with this high-toned notice from a paper so respectable as the Owl . The placing my name—that is to say, my nom de guerre—in priority of station to that of the great Slyass, was a compliment as happy as I felt it to be deserved.
My attention was next arrested by these paragraphs in the Toad —a print highly distinguished for its uprightness, and independence—for its entire freedom from sycophancy and subservience to the givers of dinners:
“The Lollipop for October is out in advance of all its contemporaries, and infinitely surpasses them, of course, in the splendor of its embellishments, as well as in the richness of its literary contents. The Hum-Drum , the Rowdy-Dow , and the Goosetherumfoodle excel, we admit, in braggadocio, but, in all other points, give us the Lollipop . How this celebrated magazine can sustain its evidently tremendous expenses, is more than we can understand. To be sure, it has a circulation of 200,000, and its subscription list has increased one-third during the last fortnight, but on the other hand, the sums it disburses, monthly, for contributions, are fearfully great. We learn that Mr. Mumblethumb received no less than fifty cents for his late ‘Monody in a Mud-Puddle.’ “Among the original contributors to the present number we notice (besides the eminent editor, Mr. Crab ), such men as Snob , Slyass, and Mumblethumb. Apart from the editorial matter, the most valuable paper, nevertheless, is, we think, a poetical gem by Snob, on the ‘Oil-of-Bob’—but our readers must not suppose from the title of this