Never since the foundation of McClure’s model village of Syndicate has the valley of the Hackensack rung with such hearty, innocent mirth as it did yesterday, when McClure’s birthday was observed in a fitting manner by the inhabitants of the literary village. Mr. McClure, who generously bore the entire expense of the merrymaking, arrived in the village nearly a week ago, and since then has been engrossed in his preparations for what he declared should be the most notable literary gathering ever seen on this continent; and when the factories closed at six o’clock on Saturday evening all the hands were notified that they would not be opened again until Tuesday morning, and that the piece-workers would be paid for Monday as if they were salaried employees, in order that the holiday might cost them nothing. It is by such acts of generosity that Mr. McClure has made himself beloved by all literary workers whose good fortune it has been to do business with him. And it is because of this and many other acts of generosity on Mr. McClure’s part that that upright and discriminating manufacturer found no difficulty in securing a score of willing volunteers at an early hour on Monday morning, when it became necessary to transfer to the lighter _Paragraph_ several cases of Daniel Webster portraits and a section of the new Kipling serial for immediate shipment to New York. This work accomplished, the hands returned to the village in time to prepare for the merrymaking, which began shortly after one o’clock. At precisely twelve o’clock a special train arrived from New York laden with invited guests, among whom were a great many men and women well known in literary and artistic circles. Mr. McClure welcomed us cordially as we alighted at the station, and then led the way to the art department, where a toothsome collation had been spread. The fires had been put out in the forges, the huge bellows were all motionless, and the anvils now served to support the wide boards which were used as a banqueting table. It was difficult for me to realize that this well-swept, neatly garnished room was the smoky, noisy art department, with fierce flames leaping from a dozen banks of glowing coals, that I had visited but a few days before. At the conclusion of the banquet the guests were escorted to seats which had been reserved for them on the village green, and immediately afterward the sports began. The first athletic event was the putting of the twenty-pound joke from “Harper’s Bazar.” There were eight competitors in this contest, including Mr. Hamlin Garland, who mistook a block of wood for the joke, threw it, and was disbarred, as were two other contestants who were unable to see the jokes after they had put them.