Persons of this description are found in large numbers in the rural districts, and, therefore, any story tending to cast ridicule on the city man who puts on airs, or, in other words, affects the amenities of civilized life, is sure to be appreciated. For example: It is the delight of sportsmen to fish for trout with fly-rods and tackle of an elaborate description, to the intense amusement of the yokel who catches fish, not for sport, but in order that he may sell them at an exorbitant price to some ignorant stranger. Now it is a very easy matter to compose a story on this basis suited to the comprehension of such a rustic. The following is a fair specimen of a story of the class I have described: “He was a real sportsman, just from the city, and he had come down into the country to show the benighted inhabitants how to catch fish. He had a new patent rod in his right hand and a brand-new basket over his left shoulder. In his coat-tail pocket he carried a silver flask, and in his breast-pocket a big wallet filled with all the latest devices in newfangled flies. He walked down the road with the air of a man who had come to catch fish and knew just how to do it. “It was growing dark when he returned to the hotel, wet, muddy, and weary, and sadly laid aside his implements of sport. “‘Fish don’t bite in this blawsted country, yer know,’ was his reply to the landlord’s cheery inquiry, ‘What luck?’ “And just at this moment who should come along but old Bill Simons’s sandy-haired, freckle-faced boy Jim, with his birch-pole over his shoulder, and a fine string of the speckled beauties in his brown paw. “‘Good Gawd!’ exclaimed the dude, ‘how did you catch those, me boy?’ “‘Hook ’n’ line, yer fool! How d’yer s’pose?’ was Jim’s answer, as he pulled a handful of angleworms, the last of his bait, from his pocket, and threw them out of the window.” McCLURE’S MODEL VILLAGE FOR LITERARY TOILERS. I paid a visit yesterday to the model village of Syndicate, founded by Mr. S. S. McClure for the benefit of the literary hands employed in his great enterprises, and I am bound to say that in point of neatness, order, and the completeness of its sanitary arrangements it is infinitely superior to the similar town of Pullman or any of the colonies established by the late Baron Hirsch. It is situated on a bit of rising ground that overlooks the Hackensack River, the site having been chosen with a view to economy and convenience in the shipping of material by water. The village has been in existence a little less than two years, but it already has a population of nearly four thousand able-bodied authors, poets and syndicate hands, together with their wives and families, most of whom do their work in the village, though fully a hundred go each day to the McClure factory, in Twenty-fifth Street, returning in the evening in time to take part in the social life of the community.