I gasped as I thought what had happened, for it had been my intention to merely have some fun with Cowan and make him work for his $1.00. I told Hank that it was me and not Chicago that had been sending to him and asked his advice about confessing the situation to the editor. "No, let him print it, it's good stuff and no one in St. Louis will know the difference," was the advice I got from Cowan and as he was much older and experienced than me, his advice was accepted. There was no more news sent over the "short line" after this and we locked up the office shortly after. I was impatient to get a copy of the St. Louis Chronicle the next morning, and there were all my dispatches, only more so, for the intelligent editor had freely padded them showing that he, too, was quite fertile in his imagination. Not only were the dispatches printed, but editorial comment was made on the Queen's alleged telegram to President Grant, a scathing rebuke was given Denis Kearney and his followers, attention being particularly called to the item from San Francisco, in "our dispatches." I was a little fidgety for a few days but as time went by and no mention was made of the hoax, I began to take more courage and laugh about it. A month later, I resigned to come West and 'fessed up to the manager the Fourth of July joke. When the enormity of the hoax dawned on him, he laughed loud and hearty, declaring it was the most daring, venturesome and awful joke he had ever heard. I was freely forgiven for the part I enacted, but the story was not told to the paper. This incident occurred many years ago, and in a recent visit to St. Louis, I looked up this enterprising editor, who had grown rich in the business. He remembered the Fourth of July, 1876, and all the circumstances, but when I related the story, he laughed so heartily that he declared that 10 years had been added to his life. It would be impossible in this day and generation to successfully carry out such a joke as is just related, press dispatches being scrutinized for the "bogus" with as much zeal by the diligent telegraph editor as he would a bunch of dollar bills in quest of counterfeits. And so it happened again that "All is well that ends well." ALONG THE SHORE. About a dozen years ago, B. A. Worthington was appointed superintendent for the Pacific Coast division of the Southern Pacific Railroad, with headquarters at San Francisco. In falling heir to this position, Mr. Worthington also acquired the private car of his predecessor, which had been named the "Texas." It was agreed, however, that the name of the car should be changed, as the former superintendent wanted to give that cognomen to his new car down South. There was a very wealthy railroad man, in the East, who used to pay a member of his family $1,000 a year, in return for which this member would find appropriate appellations for each new Pullman car turned out at the shops.