Mr. Parker has just commenced the erection of a fine business house on Delaware Street, between Third and Fourth.
There will be an oyster supper and festival at the Grand Avenue M. E. Church this evening. An interesting time is expected.
The popular and gentlemanly head clerk at the St. James Hotel, Mr. D. A. Moreau, was made the recipient of a valuable gold watch chain yesterday from a jeweler in the city.
The Walter B. Dance came up from St. Louis yesterday, the first boat for several days.
Mr. Foote of the firm of W. H. How & Co., newspaper agents, St. Louis, was in the city yesterday and gave us a call. He represents one of the best houses in the country and withal is a polite and genial gentleman.
Mr. George Bowman of the Forest City Independent was in the city yesterday, stopping at the St. James.
Married, at the residence of William Holmes on Wyandotte Street, October 4th, by Elder William Holmes, Mr. George W. Summers of Miss Kate Williams, both of Parkville, Mo.
Yesterday two beautiful cars were placed on the street car tracks opposite the St. James Hotel, and we presume that today or tomorrow travel will begin over that line. The words, "Walnut Street and Grand Avenue," are at the top of the cars, and below, "Kansas City and Westport," and are numbered respectively "2" and "4". They will each seat fourteen persons very comfortably, but we presume, as in the case of all other growing cities, the cry will be:
Never full, pack 'em in;
Move up, fat men; squeeze 'em thin;
Trunks, valises, boxes, bundles;
Fill up gaps as on she stumbles.
Market baskets without number,
Owners, easy, nod in slumber.
Thirty seated, forty standing;
Toes are trod on, hats are smashed,
Dresses spoiled, hoopskirts crashed.
Thieves are busy, bent on plunder.
Still we rattle on like thunder.
Packed together, unwashed bodies,
Bathed in fumes of whisky toddies.
Aren't we jolly? What a blessing;
A horsecar hash with such a dressing!
Move up, fat men; squeeze 'em thin;
Trunks, valises, boxes, bundles;
Fill up gaps as on she stumbles.
Market baskets without number,
Owners, easy, nod in slumber.
Thirty seated, forty standing;
Toes are trod on, hats are smashed,
Dresses spoiled, hoopskirts crashed.
Thieves are busy, bent on plunder.
Still we rattle on like thunder.
Packed together, unwashed bodies,
Bathed in fumes of whisky toddies.
Aren't we jolly? What a blessing;
A horsecar hash with such a dressing!
