"In spite of a press of matter, we determined to make room, in our issue of to-day, for another poem from the pen of our gifted young poet, Mark Gildersleeve, which will be found on the third page. The favor with which the 'Withered Chaplet' and 'The Spear of Ithuriel' were received, encourage us to print the present verses. They are hexameters, and remind us in their flowing rhythm of the earlier efforts of Longfellow, while in gorgeousness of imagery and luxuriance of diction, they equal some of the finest passages in Keats. Altogether, we congratulate Mr. Gildersleeve on this exquisite production, whose symmetry and polished beauty can only be fitly compared to a capital of Pentelican marble from the chisel of Phidias." Dr. Wattletop, though, said "Bosh" to this, when he read it, and it could not be denied that he was a competent critic. He, also, had trod the primrose path of literature in leisure moments, not as a poet, but as an occasional contributor of essays to magazines and reviews. There was a literary club in Belton, composed of young men who loved to indulge in debates and other intellectual gymnastics. Mark, as might be supposed, was an active member, and, indeed, at one time president of this association. Besides deciding the momentous topics of "Whether men of thought, or men of action, have done the most for civilization," or "Whether the execution of Mary Queen of Scots was justifiable or not," and other questions of similar perplexity, the society gave lectures, or rather lectures were given, to quote the posters, under their auspices, during the winter months. At their solicitation, Dr. Wattletop was induced to prepare and deliver a lecture on "Eccentricity," a theme which he was well qualified, at least from experience, to treat of. He diversified it with many humorous anecdotes of Porson and Abernethy, and it met with much applause, and elicited very flattering encomiums from the _Belton Sentinel_. So successful, indeed, was it, that efforts were made to have the doctor repeat it in neighboring towns, but he excused himself on the plea of want of time. Then proffers of money were made to induce him to comply; this only served to incense him, and an indignant refusal was the result. He was inclined to blame Mark a little in his displeasure. "Mark, you rascal, all this is your fault. I never would have given that confounded lecture but for you. It ill becomes a man of my years and profession to waste the time he owes to his patients, in relating stale jests to a grinning audience. I don't know what I could have been thinking of. In future, spin your nonsense as much as you like, my boy, but don't ask me to join you--at my age, too! My remnant of life is too short, and time has become too precious to me, to be squandered in that way."