The telephone exchange was a great convenience.

The wheel of fortune was a downright swindle and a shameless gambling show. It should have been supressed earlier.

It wasn't warm enough to suit the lager beer men on the grounds. There was not heat and dust enough to get up an extensive thirst.

A couple of pickpockets were caught and sent to the city lockup Monday and other light fingered gentry were obliged to look a "leetle oudt."

One of the most interesting features at the great show, is the exhibit of the Boston One Price Clothing Store, where the spectators can see the cloth cut, and turned into handsome suits. Nothing like showing how it is done.

Sam Eckert, of St. Louis, is the owner of several very fast trotters, among them Pilot Temple, Mambrino Boy, (not the one which went here) and others, but he will not trot a horse for money, as he declares there is too much "shenangen" about the thing.

A long haired medicine man and crack shot made a lively pair on the grounds. One shot off his gun and the other his mouth. He declares all the journals in the country endorse his remedies except a few quack papers in Minneapolis. And Tom King stood by and smiled.

N. B. Lampman don't propose to have his pocket picked. Not much! Fred Dillingham, his co-laborer, while in the crowd Thursday, fingered all over his pockets but failed to arouse his attention until he put his hand in his side coat pocket and gave him a severe pinch. Lampman felt the pressure and thought he was being robbed. Without waiting to see whose hand he held, he grabbed Fred's arm, and whirling about very excitedly, exclaimed, "Hold on! no use! I've got him! I've got him!" A crowd gathered in a moment, and Lampman was glad to say cigars and call it square.