You say, "_De mortuis nil nisi bonum_" may be freely translated, "If you can't say something good of the dead, keep your tarnal mouth shut about them!" Shades of Horace and Praxiteles! What would Pindar or Cæsar say? But I will not jest at the expense of sound scholarship. In conclusion, I simply submit the following _literal translation_ of the Latin sentence in question: "_De_--of, _mortuis_--the dead, _nil_--nothing, _nisi_--but, _bonum_--goods," so that the whole quotation may be rendered as follows--"Nothing (is left) of the dead but (their) goods." This is strictly according to the dictionary. Here, so far as I am concerned, this discussion ends. Your ob't serv't, T. BLODGETT. The country flared into flames of triumph. Blodgett's friends stormed the village and "_bully-ragged_" everybody who had stood out for the editor. The little Yankee, however, did not appear in the least disconcerted. His clear, blue, pop-eyes really seemed twinkling with half suppressed joy. Blodgett put a copy of the _Star_ into his pocket and stalked proudly, victoriously, out of town. After supper he dressed himself with scrupulous care and went over to see Miss Holland. Rumor said they were engaged to be married, and I believe they were. On this particular evening the young lady was enchantingly pretty, dressed in white muslin and blue ribbons, her bright yellow hair flowing full and free down upon her plump shoulders, her face radiant with health and high spirits. She met the pedagogue at the door with more than usual warmth of welcome. He kissed her hand. All that he said to her that evening will never be known. It is recorded, however, that, when he had finished reading his essay to her, she got up and took from her travelling trunk a "Book of Foreign Phrases," and examined it attentively for a time, after which she was somewhat uneasy and reticent. Blodgett observed this, but he was too dignified to ask an explanation. The "last day" of Blodgett's school was at hand. The "exhibition" came off on Saturday. Everybody went early. The pedagogue was in his glory. He did not know the end was so near. A little occurrence, toward evening, however, seemed to foreshadow it. Blodgett called upon the stage a bright eyed, ruddy faced lad, his favorite pupil, to translate Latin phrases. The boy, in his Sunday best, and sleekly combed, came forth and bowed to the audience, his eyes luminous with vivacity. The little fellow was evidently precocious--a rapid if not a very accurate thinker--one of those children who always have an answer ready, right or wrong. After several preliminary questions, very promptly and satisfactorily disposed of, Blodgett said: "Now, sir, translate _Monstrum horrendum informe ingens_." Quick as lightning the child replied: "The horrid monster informed the Indians!"