"THE PORT FOULKE WEEKLY NEWS." myself unable to make you a speech befitting the solemnity and importance of the occasion. It is proper, however, that I should state, in behalf of myself and my Bohemian brother, that, in observance of a time-honored custom, we will keep our opinions for ourselves and our arguments for the public. The inhabitants of Port Foulke desire the speedy return of the Sun. We will advocate and urge it. They wish for Light. We will address ourselves to the Celestial Orbs, and point out the opportunities for reciprocity. They are in search of happiness. We will, in pursuance of that same time-honored custom, (which I may say has made the press a power, sir, in this great and glorious nineteenth century)—we will, I say, at all times freely counsel them to the observance of both public and private virtue.
"Fellow-citizens:—This is a memorable epoch in the history of Port Foulke. We are informed that its aboriginal name is Annyeiqueipablaitah, which means, after it is pronounced, 'The Place of the Howling Winds.' On this public occasion it is proper that we should direct our thoughts to the future, especially to our sublime 'mission.' This 'Place of the Howling Winds,' you will observe, fellow-citizens, is on the remotest confines of our wide-spread country,—a country, fellow-citizens, whose vast sides are bathed by the illimitable ocean, and which stretches from the rising of the sun to the setting thereof, and from the Aurora Borealis to the Southern Cross. But why do I say the Aurora Borealis, fellow-citizens? Have we not left that vague border of the national domain far behind us? Yes, fellow-citizens! and it now devolves upon us to bring the vexed question of national boundaries, which has been opened by our enterprise, to a
