A brisk man would hardly choose Nodaway for
his home, nor a haymaker the town of Rain. And of all practical
impertinences, what could in this land of novelty equal the calling of
one's abiding-place "New"? We fully expect that 1860 will reveal a
comparative and superlative, and perhaps even a super-superlative,
("Newest-of-all,") upon its columns.
But what is the sense of such titles as Buckskin, Bullskin, (is it
Byrsa, by way of proving Solomon's adage,--"There is nothing new under
the sun"?) Chest, and Posey? There is one unfortunate place (do they
take the New York "Herald" and "Ledger" there?) which has "gone and got
itself christened" Mary Ann, and another (where "Childe Harold" is
doubtless in favor) is called Ada. There is a Crockery, a Carryall, and
a Turkey-Foot,--which last, like the broomstick in Goethe's ballad, is
chopped in two, only to reappear as a double nuisance, as Upper and
Lower Turkey-Foot.
Then what paucity of ideas is revealed in the fact that a number of
names are simply common nouns, or, worse yet, spinster adjectives,
"singly blest"! Such are Hill, Mountain, Lake, Glade, Rock, Glen, Bay,
Shade, Valley, Village, District, Falls, which might profitably be
joined in holy matrimony with the following,--Grand, Noble, Plain,
Pleasant, Rich, Muddy, Barren, Fine, and Flat.
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