The mention of several New York papers led to two or three questions. Thus: Whether the Editor of _The Tribune_ was _H.G. really_? If the complexion of his politics were not accounted for by his being _an eager_ person himself? Whether Wendell _Fillips_ were not a reduced copy of John _Knocks_? Whether a New York _Feuilletoniste_ is not the same thing as a _Fellow down East_? At this time a plausible-looking, bald-headed man joined us, evidently waiting to take a part in the conversation. “Good morning, Mr. Riggles,” said the Superintendent, “Anything fresh this morning? Any Conundrum?” “I haven’t looked at the cattle,” he answered, dryly. “Cattle? Why cattle?” “Why, to see if there’s any _corn under ’em_!” he said; and immediately asked, “Why is Douglas like the earth?” We tried, but couldn’t guess. “Because he was _flattened out at the polls_!” said Mr. Riggles. “A famous politician, formerly,” said the Superintendent. “His grandfather was a _seize-Hessian-ist_ in the Revolutionary War. By the way, I hear the _freeze-oil_ doctrines don’t go down at New Bedford.” The next Inmate looked as if he might have been a sailor formerly. “Ask him what his calling was,” said the Superintendent. “Followed the sea,” he replied to the question put by one of us. “Went as mate in a fishing-schooner.” “Why did you give it up?” “Because I didn’t like working for _two mast-ers_,” he replied. Presently we came upon a group of elderly persons, gathered about a venerable gentleman with flowing locks, who was propounding questions to a row of Inmates. “Can any Inmate give me a motto for M. Berger?” he said. Nobody responded for two or three minutes. At last one old man, whom I at once recognized as a Graduate of our University (Anno 1800) held up his hand. “Rem _a cue_ tetigit.” “Go to the head of the class, Josselyn,” said the venerable patriarch. The successful Inmate did as he was told, but in a very rough way, pushing against two or three of the Class. “How is this?” said the Patriarch. “You told me to go up _jostlin’_,” he replied. The old gentlemen who had been shoved about enjoyed the pun too much to be angry. Presently the Patriarch asked again: “Why was M. Berger authorized to go to the dances given to the Prince?” The Class had to give up this, and he answered it himself: “Because every one of his carroms was a _tick-it_ to the ball.” “Who collects the money to defray the expenses of the last campaign in Italy?” asked the Patriarch. Here again the Class failed. “The war-cloud’s rolling _Dun_,” he answered. “And what is mulled wine made with?” Three or four voices exclaimed at once: “_Sizzle-y_ Madeira!” Here a servant entered, and said, “Luncheon-time.” The old gentlemen, who have excellent appetites, dispersed at once, one of them politely asking us if we would not stop and have a bit of bread and a little mite of cheese.