It was soon after this that O. Henry was advised to go to New York, where his ability would command a higher remuneration. But after making all preparations to try his wings in the great metropolis, Fate intervened and O. Henry went instead to South America. The last columns of O. Henry's brilliant paragraphs appeared in the _Post_ of June 22, 1896. The Sensitive Colonel Jay The sun is shining brightly, and the birds are singing merrily in the trees! All nature wears an aspect of peace and harmony. On the porch of a little hotel in a neighboring county a stranger is sitting on a bench waiting for the train, quietly smoking his pipe. Presently a tall man wearing boots and a slouch hat, steps to the door of the hotel from the inside with a six-shooter in his hand and fires. The man on the bench rolls over with a loud yell as the bullet grazes his ear. He springs to his feet in amazement and wrath and shouts: "What are you shooting at me for?" The tall man advances with his slouch hat in his hand, bows and says: "Beg pardon, sah. I am Colonel Jay, sah, and I understood you to insult me, sah, but I see I was mistaken. Am very glad I did not kill you, sah." "I insult you--how?" inquires the stranger. "I never said a word." "You tapped on the bench, sah, as much as to say you was a woodpeckah, sah, and I belong to the other faction. I see now that you was only knockin' the ashes from you' pipe, sah. I ask yo' pahdon, and that you will come in and have a drink with me, sah, to show that you do not harbor any ill feeling after a gentleman apologizes to you, sah." A Matter of Loyalty Two men were talking at the Grand Central depot yesterday, and one of them was telling about a difficulty he had recently been engaged in. "He said I was the biggest liar ever heard in Texas," said the man, "and I jumped on him and blacked both his eyes in about a minute." "That's right," said the other man, "a man ought to resent an imputation of that sort right away." "It wasn't exactly that," said the first speaker, "but Tom Achiltree is a second cousin of mine, and I won't stand by and hear any man belittle him." Taking No Chances "Let's see," said the genial manager as he looked over the atlas. "Here's a town one might strike on our way back. Antananarivo, the capital of Madagascar, is a city of 100,000 inhabitants." "That sounds promising," said Mark Twain, running his hands through his busy curls, "read some more about it." "The people of Madagascar," continued the genial manager, reading from his book, "are not a savage race and few of the tribes could be classed as barbarian people. There are many native orators among them, and their language abounds in figures, metaphors, and parables, and ample evidence is given of the mental ability of the inhabitants." "Sounds like it might be all right," said the humorist, "read some more."