It is time that American authorship had a champion before the people of this country.—_The Standard_, Syracuse. For Sale by all Booksellers. Sample copies cost 5 cents, or three for 10 cents. Current number 10 cents single copy. $1 a year in advance. THE FLY LEAF, 269 St. Botolph Street, Boston, Mass. THE PHILISTINE. NO. 4. March, 1896. VOL. 2. A BUCCANEER TOAST. To the Fiend of the Seven Seas, To the Print of the Dead Man’s Thumb; To a Curse at Death with a dying breath, Here’s Death in a Draught of Rum! _Here’s to Hell, toss it off in a quaff, lads,_ _Drink the health of the Devil and laugh, lads,_ _Pledge the tale of the Wheat and the Chaff, lads,_ _Here’s to Hell!_ To the Dead in the Dismal Sea, To the Bleaching Bones on the Beach, To a hate-born stroke of the Valiant Folk And the Tunes that the Sea can teach! _Here’s the Sea, for her grey clutch has got ye,_ _May her salt kisses poison and rot ye,_ _By the Soul of the Beast who begot ye,_ _Here’s the sea!_ To a slash at the Heart of a Don, To the Port that never may be, Drink deep to the Ghosts of the Spanish Hosts, Who loom in the Mists of the Sea! _Here’s to Hell, toss it off in a quaff, lads,_ _Drink the health of the Devil and laugh, lads,_ _Pledge the tale of the Wheat and the Chaff, lads,_ _Here’s to Hell!_ EUGENE R. WHITE. A GREAT MISTAKE. An Italian kept a fruit stand on a corner where he had good aim at the people who came down from the elevated station and at those who went along two thronged streets. He sat most of the day in a backless chair that was placed strategically. There was a babe living hard by, up five flights of stairs, who regarded this Italian as a tremendous being. The babe had investigated this fruit stand. It had thrilled him as few things he had met with in his travels had thrilled him. The sweets of the world laid there in dazzling rows, tumbled in luxurious heaps. When he gazed at this Italian seated amid such splendid treasure, his lower lip hung low and his eyes raised to the vendor’s face were filled with deep respect, worship, as if he saw omnipotence. The babe came often to this corner. He hovered about the stand and watched each detail of the business. He was fascinated by the tranquility of the vendor, the majesty of power and possession. At times, he was so engrossed in his contemplation that people, hurrying, had to use care to avoid bumping him down. He had never ventured very near to the stand. It was his habit to hang warily about the curb. Even there he resembled a babe who looks unbidden at a feast of gods.