Philadelphia.

“The Philadelphia News,” which is justly entitled to the great success it enjoys in the field of evening journalism, has published a double paper containing divers opinions of Philadelphia as expressed by certain distinguished men of the country. We are pleased to see what these eminent critics have had to say. But we are surprised that none of them has called attention to the fact that Philadelphia is one of three American cities into which and out of which all railway trains back? The other two cities are Toledo, O., and Atchison, Kan. St. Louis is the only city we know of that can be approached from the civilized world by means only of a tunnel. Philadelphia discounts this underground or woodchuck method by running her railroad-line over the tops of houses; and, as this line is constructed in the shape of a Y, all incoming trains back in, and all outgoing trains back out.

Another curiosity in Philadelphia is its railway station. It is the only structure in America that is composed simply of a roof and a basement. All trains come in upon and depart from the roof: cabmen and hack-drivers lie in wait in the basement for travellers descending from the roof.

There are but two topics of conversation indulged by the patriotic Philadelphian. The first 90is a Clover-Club dinner that has been, and the second is the new City Hall that is going to be. The Clover Club is an erotic social organization, founded with a view to stuffing strangers with terrapin, and then flattening them out with a triphammer. The new City Hall is a hollow square of marble, covered with aerial derricks, and medallions of B. Franklin and W. Penn. It has already cost as many million dollars as the Philadelphian narrator believes you capable of swallowing.

“The Record” office is said to be the finest newspaper building on the continent. The counting-room has a tessellated floor: over the cashier’s desk hangs an oil-painting of the Holstein cow that chased the dog that worried the cat that ate the rat printer. Mr. Singerly, editor of “The Record,” owns this cow. He is very proud of her, and she of him. She can set up more ems of solid brevier milk at one sitting than any other lacteal compositor now on earth.

Philadelphia is the only city in the country where street-car fare is six cents, where New-York papers are sold for seven cents apiece, and where the barbers charge twenty cents for shaving a stranger. It is the only city, too, where Twelfth (as the name of a street) is spelled T-w-e-l-f-v-t-h on the lamp-posts. It is the only city, too, where people scrub their front-steps every morning in the dead of winter, and then sprinkle ashes on the steps to keep folks from slipping down. It is the only 91city, too, where editors of morning papers go home from work at 4.30 P.M. every day.

Philadelphia is also the only city that has beaten Chicago four straight games at base-ball.

Still, Chicago is hardly in a position to criticise Philadelphia unprejudicedly. Chicago has been so unfortunate as to become the adopted home of three of Philadelphia’s most enterprising sons.

One of these gentlemen is Mr. Joseph C. Mackin, who, owing to circumstances over which he has no control, is temporarily absent from this city.

Another is Mr. Gallagher, who ought to be absent, but isn’t.

The third is Mr. Charles T. Yerkes.