I then tottered a few minutes, and fell back into the arms of my attendants. If you do not believe this, I can still show you the clenched teeth. Also the attendants. I had a hard time with this physician, but I still live, contrary to his earnest solicitations. I desire to state that should this letter creep into the press of the country, and thus become in a measure public, I hope that it will create no ill-feeling on your part. Our folks are all well as I write, and should you happen to be on Lake Superior this winter, yachting, I hope you will drop in and see us. Our latch string is hanging out most all the time, and if you will pound on the fence I will call off the dog. I frequently buy a copy of your paper on the streets. Do you get the money? Are you acquainted with the staff of _The Century_, published in New York? I was in _The Century_ office several hours last spring, and the editors treated me very handsomely, but, although I have bought the magazine ever since, and read it thoroughly, I have not seen yet where they said that “they had a pleasant call from the genial and urbane William Nye.” I do not feel offended over this. I simply feel hurt. Before that I had a good notion to write a brief epic on the “Warty Toad,” and send it to _The Century_ for publication, but now it is quite doubtful. _The Century_ may be a good paper, but it does not take the press dispatches, and only last month I saw in it an account of a battle that to my certain knowledge occurred twenty years ago. All About Oratory. Twenty centuries ago last Christmas there was born in Attica, near Athens, the father of oratory, the greatest orator of whom history has told us. His name was Demosthenes. Had he lived until this spring he would have been 2,270 years old; but he did not live. Demosthenes has crossed the mysterious river. He has gone to that bourne whence no traveler returns. Most of you, no doubt, have heard about it. On those who may not have heard it, the announcement will fall with a sickening thud. This sketch is not intended to cast a gloom over your hearts. It was designed to cheer those who read it and make them glad they could read. Therefore, I would have been glad if I could have spared them the pain which this sudden breaking of the news of the death of Demosthenes will bring. But it could not be avoided. We should remember the transitory nature of life, and when we are tempted to boast of our health, and strength, and wealth, let us remember the sudden and early death of Demosthenes. Demosthenes was not born an orator. He struggled hard and failed many times. He was homely, and he stammered in his speech; but before his death they came to him for hundreds of miles to get him to open their county fairs and jerk the bird of freedom bald-headed on the Fourth of July.