The subsequent report proved that twenty-eight prisoners had conspired to effect the break, and by secreting the tools they wrought with in their sleeves passed in on Saturday from the wall-building to cut an entrance through the ceiling of their own corridor into the loft above Mr. Foster's room, through which they dropped while the family were at dinner, choosing that hour so as to produce a surprise and secure the child, who always went below with Lester to help carry up the coffee. Of the whole number, five were killed outright and six wounded: twelve escaped uninjured, but were nearly all afterward retaken; and five repented their share in the movement or lacked courage to carry it out, and so remained in the prison. The most interesting item of the whole came to me at San Francisco in my friend's letter. It said: "We are looking forward with great delight to your visit, and planning every pleasure our sterile life can yield to make it enjoyable. But you will not see Lester: he is gone. His pardon, full and entire in view of his courage and fidelity, and the manly stand he took against the murderous plotters, came on Monday last, and at nightfall he left the prison to go by the stage to meet the midnight train. 'To Mexico!' were his last words to us. Heaven bless him, and grant him wisdom and courage to retrieve the past and open a fair bright future!" MARGARET HOSMER. FAREWELL. [From Friederich Bodenstedt's _Aus dem Nachlasse Mirza-Schaffys._] Aloft the moon in heaven's dome. Sultry the night, tempests foretelling: For the last time before I roam I see the surf in splendor swelling. A ship glides by, a shadowy form, Faint roseate lights around me sparkle, A gathering mist precedes the storm, And far-off forest tree-tops darkle. The silver-crested waves are lashing The pebbly shore tumultuously: Absorbed I watch their ceaseless dashing, Myself as still as bush or tree. Within arise fond memories Of moonlight evenings long since vanished, Once full of life as waves and breeze, From this familiar shore now banished. Hushed in the grove is the birds' song, Spring's blossoms tempests caused to perish; Yet what through eye and ear did throng The heart for evermore will cherish. AUBER FORESTIER. THE INSTRUCTION OF DEAF MUTES. While I was a teacher in the Illinois Institution for the Deaf and Dumb the following letters were written by some of the pupils. The first was written the day after Thanksgiving, and ran thus: "DEAR MOTHER: We had Thanks be unto God, no school yesterday, Turkey mince-pies, and many other kinds of fruits." The day after Christmas a boy wrote: "We had Glory to God in the highest, no school yesterday, and a fine time." What he really meant to say was, that they had a motto in evergreens of "Glory to God in the Highest," and they had also a holiday.