notion to to if you've got a nice fresh corpse, fetch him out! - or, by George, we'll brain you!"

We make it exceedingly interesting for this Frenchman. However, he has paid us back, partly without knowing it. He came to the hotel this morning to ask if we were up, and he endeavored as well as he could to describe us, so that the landlord would know which persons he meant. He finished with the casual remark that we were lunatics. The observation was so innocent and so honest that it amounted to a very good thing for a guide to say. There is one remark (already mentioned) which never yet has failed to disgust these guides. We use it always, when we can think of nothing else to say. After they have exhausted their enthusiasm, pointing out to us and praising the beauties of some ancient bronze image or broken-legged statue, we look at it stupidly and in silence for five, ten, fifteen minutes - as long as we can hold out, in fact — and then ask, "Is — is he dead?" That conquers the serenest of them. It is not what they are looking for especially a new guide. Our Roman Ferguson is the most patient, unsuspecting, long-suffering subject we have had yet. We shall be sorry to part with him. We have enjoyed his society very much. We trust he has enjoyed ours, but we are harassed with doubts.

AN UNSUSPECTED FACT

EDWARD CANNON

IF down his throat a man should choose
In fun, to jump or slide,

He'd scrape his shoes against his teeth,
Nor dirt his own inside.

But if his teeth were lost and gone,
And not a stump to scrape upon,
He'd see at once how very pat
His tongue lay there by way of mat,
And he would wipe his feet on that!

A WARNING TO THE HEEDLESS 1

MARK TWAIN

I WAS always heedless. I was born heedless, and therefore I was constantly, and quite unconsciously, committing breaches of the minor proprieties, which brought upon me humiliations which ought to have humiliated me, but didn't, because I didn't know anything had happened. But Livy knew; and so the humiliations fell to her share, poor child, who had not earned them and did not deserve them. She always said I was the most difficult child she had. She was very sensitive about me. It distressed her to see me do heedless things which could bring me under criticism, and so she was always watchful and alert to protect me from the kind of transgressions which I have been speaking of.

When I was leaving Hartford for Washington one day, she said: "I have written a small warning and put it in a pocket of your dress vest. When you are dressing to go to the Authors' Reception at the White House, you will naturally put your fingers in your vest pockets, according to your custom, and you will find that little note there. Read it carefully and do as it tells you. I cannot be with you, and so I delegate my sentry duties to this little note. If I should give you the warning by word of mouth, now, it would pass from your head and be forgotten in a few minutes."

It was President Cleveland's first term. I had never seen his wife the young, the beautiful, the good-hearted, the sympathetic, the fascinating. Sure enough, just as I had finished dressing to go to the White House I found that little note, which I had long ago forgotten. It was a grave little note, a serious little note, like its writer, but it made me laugh. Livy's gentle gravities often produced that effect upon me, where the expert humorist's best joke would have failed, for I do not laugh easily.

1 From Mark Twain's Autobiography, copyrighted by Harper and Brothers. Used by permission.

When we reached the White House and I was shaking hands with the President, he started to say something, but I interrupted him and said, "If Your Excellency will excuse me, I will come back in a moment; but now I have a very important matter to attend to, and it must be attended to at once." I turned to Mrs. Cleveland, the young, the beautiful, the fascinating, and gave her my card, on which I had written, "He did not" - and I asked her to sign her name below those words.

She said, "He did not? He did not what?"

"Oh," I said, "never mind. We cannot stop to discuss that now. This is urgent. Won't you please sign your name?" (I handed her a fountain pen.)

"Why," she said, "I cannot commit myself in that way. Who is it that didn't- and what is it that he didn't?"

"Oh," I said, "time is flying, flying, flying! Won't you take me out of my distress and sign your name to it? It's all right. I give you my word it's all right.”

She looked nonplused, but hesitatingly and mechanically she took the pen and said: "I will sign it. I will take the risk. But you must tell me all about it, right afterward, so that you can be arrested before you get out of the house in case there should be anything criminal about this."

Then she signed; and I handed her Mrs. Clemens's note, which was very brief, very simple, and to the point. It said, "Don't wear your arctics in the White House." It made her shout; and at my request she summoned a messenger and we sent that card at once to the mail on its way to Mrs. Clemens in Hartford.

PYRAMUS AND THISBE

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

SCENES FROM A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM

CHARACTERS

PETER QUINCE, a carpenter

SNUG, a joiner

NICK BOTTOM, a weaver

FRANCIS FLUTE, a bellows mender

TOM SNOUT, a tinker

ROBIN STARVELING, a tailor

PLACE: Athens and a wood near it.

SCENE I. Athens. QUINCE's house

Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, STARVELING Quin. Is all our company here?

Bot. You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the scrip.

Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our interlude before 5 the duke and the duchess on his wedding day at night.

Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on, then read the names of the actors, and so grow to a point. Quin. Marry, our play is, The most lamentable comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby.

Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry. Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scroll. Masters, spread yourselves.

Quin. Answer as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver.
Bot. Ready. Name what part I am for and proceed.
Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.
Bot. What is Pyramus? A lover or a tyrant?
Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love.

ΙΟ

15

Bot. That will ask some tears in the true performing of it: 20 if I do it, let the audience look to their eyes; I will move storms, I will condole in some measure. To the rest yet my chief humor is for a tyrant: I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split.

25

30

35

The raging rocks

And shivering shocks
Shall break the locks
Of prison gates;
And Phibbus' car

Shall shine from far

And make and mar

The foolish Fates.

This was lofty! Now name the rest of the players. This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein; a lover is more condoling.

Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows mender.

Flu. Here, Peter Quince.

Quin. Flute, you must take Thisby on you.
Flu. What is Thisby? A wandering knight?
Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love.

Flu. Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard 40 coming.

Quin. That's all one: you shall play it in a mask, and you may speak as small as you will.

Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too. I'll speak in a monstrous little voice, "Thisne, Thisne — Ah, 45 Pyramus, my lover dear! thy Thisby dear, and lady dear!" Quin. No, no; you must play Pyramus: and Flute, you Thisby.

Quin. Robert Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother. Tom Snout, the tinker.