The Emperor Claudius on going up the steps of the Capitol at Washington one day found a Beggar who had a bad case of Eczema. Now the Eczema had staked off its claim on that particular spot on the Beggar’s back where he could not scratch it. The Emperor being a tenderhearted man, and a generous, acceded to the fellow’s prayer and ordered a slave to scratch the Beggar’s back. Next morning on mounting the Capitol steps the Emperor found two Beggars in place of one. But instead of assigning two slaves to scratch the backs of the two Beggars, he remarked in a sweet imperial falsetto: “Here you shabby sons of guns! scratch each other!!” and passed on in maiden meditation fancy free. * * * * * To Jehn Z.—No, Way & Williams do not publish _The Short Horn Register_. * * * * * I descend again to Mr. Bok, and apologize to the Philistines for having once seemingly coupled his name with that of Mr. Howells. That particular issue of the PHILISTINE is now listed at seven dollars with no copies to be found. Whether the scarcity arises from the agents of Mr. Howells having bought up all obtainable copies and destroyed them, or whether Mr. Bok’s emissaries scoured the book stalls for them, to keep as precious heirlooms, or both, I cannot say. * * * * * _The New York World_ recently gave two full columns to old epitaphs, and how the writer missed this, the choicest of them all, I know not. I hope, by the way, that none of the enemy will be deceived by its typographical form and quote it as a Stephen Crane poem: Here lies, Foundered in a fathom and a half, The shell Of Hawser Trunnion, Esq., Formerly Commander of a Squadron In his Majesty’s service; Who broached to, at 5 P. M., Oct. 10th In the year of his Age Three-score and nineteen. He kept his Guns always loaded, And his Tackle ready manned, And never showed his poop to the enemy, Except when he took him in tow. But, His shot being expended, His Match burnt out, And his upper works decayed, He was sunk By Death’s superior weight of metal. Nevertheless, He will be weighed again At the Great Day, His rigging re-fitted, And his Timbers repaired; And with one broadside Make his old Adversary Turn tail. * * * * * When George Haven Putnam said, “The chief business of the True Publisher is to discourage the publication of books,” he made a strong bid for immortality. The mot deserves to rank with Tallyrand’s concerning the gift of language. * * * * * In a recent issue of _Harper’s_, “the pastor of Mt. Clemens” has something to say. And who would ha’ thought Mark Twain had a pastor? * * * * *