The
great man comes very near to solving the problem heretofore considered
insoluble, of being in two places at once. Two, did we say? Absurd!
Three, four, five, half a dozen! What a man! Jumping here! Leaping
there! Skipping North! Vaulting South! Skimming (like a CAMILLA in
pantaloons) over the plains of the West! Then, as if by magic, whirling
himself to the East! A man, did we say? Bah! GEORGE FRANCIS is clearly
one of the immortals.
Clearly! JUPITER used to be rather lavish of electricity, but he did but
a small retail business in it, compared with our dear GEORGE FRANCIS,
the demi-god, who, when he is not talking with sublime garrulity, is
telegraphing without regard to expense. Evidently it has dawned upon the
mind (if he has any,) of this extraordinary being, that the world, in
none of its quarters, can get along without him, and that the newspaper
which does not mention his name must be stale, flat, and unprofitable.
Wherefore he takes order that every newspaper shall print the wonderful
name as often as possible.
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