Now, I hold it is not decent for a scientific gent To say another is an ass--at least, to all intent; Nor should the individual who happens to be meant Reply by heaving rocks at him to any great extent. Then Abner Dean of Angel's raised a point of order--when A chunk of old red sandstone took him in the abdomen, And he smiled a kind of sickly smile, and curled up on the floor, And the subsequent proceedings interested him no more. For, in less time than I write it, every member did engage In a warfare with the remnants of a palæozoic age; And the way they heaved those fossils in their anger was a sin, Till the skull of an old mammoth caved the head of Thompson in. And this is all I have to say of these improper games, For I live at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James; And I've told in simple language what I know about the row That broke up our Society upon the Stanislow. * * * * * A beginner in newspaper work in a Southern town, who occasionally sent "stuff" to one of the New York dailies, picked up last summer what seemed to him a "big story." Hurrying to the telegraph office he "queried" the telegraph editor: "Column story on so and so. Shall I send it?" The reply was brief and prompt, but, to the enthusiast, unsatisfactory. "Send six hundred words," was all it said. "Can't be told in less than twelve hundred," he wired back. Before long the reply came: "Story of creation of world told in six hundred. Try it." THE V-A-S-E From the madding crowd they stand apart, The maidens four and the Work of Art; And none might tell from sight alone In which had Culture ripest grown-- The Gotham Million fair to see, The Philadelphia Pedigree, The Boston Mind of azure hue, Or the soulful Soul from Kalamazoo-- For all loved Art in a seemly way, With an earnest soul and a capital A. * * * * * Long they worshiped; but no one broke The sacred stillness, until up spoke The Western one from the nameless place, Who, blushing, said, "What a lovely vase!" Over three faces a sad smile flew, And they edged away from Kalamazoo. But Gotham's haughty soul was stirred To crush the stranger with one small word. Deftly hiding reproof in praise, She cries, "'Tis, indeed, a lovely vaze!" But brief her unworthy triumph when The lofty one from the house of Penn, With the consciousness of two grandpapas, Exclaims, "It is quite a lovely vahs!" And glances round with an anxious thrill, Awaiting the word of Beacon Hill. But the Boston maid smiles courteouslee And gently murmurs, "Oh, pardon me! "I did not catch your remark, because I was so entranced with that charming vaws!" _Dies erit prægelida Sinistra quum Bostonia._