"Yes, but it was wuss when I got her reply. She told me she hed n't hed a happy minute sence I left, although she hed gone up to Saratogy, but the water tasted like something was into it, an' she'd come away after one day, an' was now on the farm at Goodspeed's Landing. An' she said thet ef _I'd_ be'n so sick _she 'd_ proba'ly die, an' she could n't bear to think of bein' heaved into the Atlantic, an' must stop where she was. Ah me! Sence then we 've be'n as lovin' as we could be, writin' reg'lar an' rememberin' each other's birthdays an' aour weddin' anniversaries; but we hain't sot eyes on each other, an' won't until we 're both safe on that other shore they tell us abaout. An' I hope thet trip 'll be a smooth one." "And what does Mrs. Taintor do all alone?" He knocked the ashes out of his pipe and put it into his pocket before he replied: "She runs the old farm as I never could have run it. She's a born farmer, that wife of mine is. She has a hired man to help, but she does a good share of the work herself, an' every year she sen's me half the airnings; an' I live on here, hatin' it all an' hopin' for the time to come when the ocean'll either dry up or freeze over, or that Cynthy will overcome her dislike to the trip. Married life ain't e'zac'ly pleasant so fur apart, but I c'n truthfully say we 've never quar'led sence I come here, an' I ain't seen a woman sence I landed thet could hold a candle to Cynthy. Cynthy is a pretty gal." Shortly afterward the old man retired to his own room, and then my friend, who had not spoken once since we came out, wickedly hinted that maybe Mr. Taintor only imagined that he loved Cynthia, and that they were happier separated; but I hate to spoil idyls in that way. To me it is very beautiful, the thought of that dear old lady in Connecticut, who runs the farm and writes loving letters to her expatriated spouse and sends him a share of the profits, but who cannot overcome her antipathy to the unstable sea. And when I think of Mr. Taintor as he appeared that evening in Bloomsbury, with his honest Yankee traditions, and his ardent love far his absent wife, I say, "Hurrah for both of them!" --Charles Battell Loomis. =Kileto and the Physician= It was now about a month and a half since Kileto felt something harsh in his throat. He took a mirror and opened his mouth as wide as possible. On looking at the mirror he saw some of his large papillae. He was so greatly frightened to see such "red bodies," as he called them, that he exclaimed, "Ah, dear Life, you are going to depart soon! But, anyhow, I will at once go to the doctors to have these things identified." Without further delay, he went to a doctor, whose name I must not mention, lest he be angry with me for publishing this piece of news.