The Lynx-Eyed being yet on a journey the _Chip-Munk_ spells it “Carlysle.” Or is it only a pricking of conscience for quoting in dead earnest from the works of Carlisle, who now is only spoken of by scholars in connection with Imogen Such, Abe Slupsky, Thomas Collins and Wigelow Vorse? * * * * * William Marion Reedy, who holds _The St. Louis Mirror_ up to Nature, is one of the strongest writers that this glorious Republic contains. He has wit and better still he has humor. He writes with a pen that does not scratch; and in his ink there is a goodly dash of Attic salt but no vitriol. Yet when Reedy declined the Ph. D. offered him by the Chicago University, and said in his letter “I hardly consider myself worthy to be so honored by Chicago’s great institution of learning,” was it tincture of iron or what? Anyway, Rockefeller’s mad. * * * * * A Boston paper describes Mr. Hornaday’s book, _The Man Who Became a Savage_, as “an artistic romance, penned by a man who believes in art for art’s sake.” From other sources I hear it spoken of as “a novel with a purpose, written by a crank with a tandem hobby.” _The National Brewer’s Gazette_ calls it “a musty piece of bombastic fustian, written by a ranting Methodist preacher.” * * * * * I understand that a movement is on foot in Chicago to treat divorce as a sacrament. And as a straw that tells which way the wind blows in the Windy City, please note that Judge Gibbons has recently issued an order that a certain man shall be paid twenty-five dollars per week alimony by his former wife. * * * * * Last week all of the Boston papers contained a large picture of J. Stilman Smith, secretary to Dr. Edward Everett Hale. It was explained that Dr. Hale is the author of etc., etc., etc., and the reason that Smith is shown to the world is because he had a severe attack of influenza coupled with poster-mania, and was cured by taking two boxes of Dr. Muckyroot’s pills. Great is Dr. Hale! Great is Dr. Muckyroot! Great is Smith! * * * * * I warn the public against a book called _Youth: A Poem of Soul and Sense_, by Mr. Michael Monahan. It is dedicated to “The True and the Chaste,” which evidently was an attempt to flatter me. But I’m not for sale. Still, I read the book—read it to Her—read it through, and we two voted that it could not be safely recommended: for many people on reading it would be very much shocked and the dear public shall not be shocked if I can help it. Portions of the book are addressed to the poet’s wife, and several of the poems (the best) I believe were written by her. Now a man who is not enough of a man to do his work without calling in his wife to help him is not much of a man after all—that’s just what I mean and I don’t care who knows it! * * * * *