"'"'"'"Once upon a time," she said, "I was riding with my uncle's stepfather across this valley, when he gazed upon that grove of trees and said: "'"'"'"'Have you ever heard the legend of San Jacinto?' "'"'"'"'Nay,' I said. "'"'"'"'I will tell it thee,' he said. 'Many years ago when I was a lad, my father and I stopped in the shade there to rest. The sun was just setting, and he pointed to the spot and said: "'"'"'"'"My son, I am growing old and will not be with you long. There is an old legend connected with this ground, and I feel that it should be told you. A long time ago, before you were born my grandfather one day--"'"'"'"'" "See here, you old blatherskite," said the _Post_ reporter, "you've got this story back about 600 years before the Pontius Pilate's time now. Don't you know a news item from an inscription on the pyramids? Our paper doesn't use plate matter. Why don't you work this gag of yours off on the syndicates?" The aged hermit then frowned and reached under his coat tail, and the reporter ran swiftly, but in a dignified manner, to the _Hoodoo Jane_ and embarked. But there is a legend about the San Jacinto battle ground somewhere in the neighborhood, if one could only get at it. (_Houston Daily Post_, Sunday morning, April 19, 1896.) Binkley's Practical School of Journalism Last Tuesday afternoon a ragged and disreputable-looking man was noticed standing on a corner of Main Street. Several persons who had occasion to pass a second time along the street saw him still standing there on their return. He seemed to be waiting for someone. Finally a young man came down the sidewalk, and the ragged man sprang upon him without saying a word and engaged him in fierce combat. The young man defended himself as well as he could, but he had been severely handled before the bystanders could separate them. Of course no policeman was in sight, and the affair ended with as little noise and confusion as it began with. The young man slunk away with a black eye and a bruised cheek, and the ragged man with a look of intense satisfaction on his face turned off' down a side street. A Post Man who had viewed the occurrence was struck with something extraordinary in the man's appearance, and, satisfied that there was more in the situation than appeared on the face of it, followed the aggressor. As he came up behind him, the disreputable-looking man said aloud to himself in a voice that expressed a deep and triumphant joy: "That's the last of the lot. After all, the pursuit of revenge gives more pleasure than its attainment. I have robbed my existence of its aim." The man continued his course, turning corners in a hesitating way, with the manner of one unfamiliar with the town, and after a time entered an obscure saloon on Congress Street.