the stuffed
tarantula which I brought back with me from Arizona."

Dr. F.M. Bristol: "Another interesting relic that should go into
that corner-stone is the stump of the cigar which the Rev. Dr.
Gunsaulus smoked at camp-meeting."

Dr. Gunsaulus: "I will cheerfully contribute that relic if upon his
part Brother Bristol will contribute his portrait of Eliphalet W.
Blatchford disguised as Falstaff." (Cheers.)

The Rev. Dr. Stryker: "I have a completed uncut set of 'Monk and
Knight,' which I will be happy to devote to the same cause."

Dr. Gunsaulus: "The contributions will be hardly complete without a
box of those matches with which Brother Stryker wanted to kindle a
bonfire which was to consume the body of the heretical Briggs. But
speaking of that novel of mine ('Monk and Knight') reminds me that I
wrote a poem on the railway the other day, and I will read it now if
there be no objection." (Cries of 'Read it,' 'Go ahead.') "The poem,
humble as it is, was suggested by seeing a fellow-passenger fall
asleep over his volume of Bion and Moschus. This is the way it goes:

_Wake, wake him not; the book lies in his hands--
Bion and Moschus smile within his sleep;
Tired of our world, he lives in other lands--
Wanders in Greece, where fauns and satyrs leap.

Dull, even sweet, the rumble of the train--
'Tis Circe singing near her golden loom;
No garish lamps afflicted his charmed brain--
Demeter's poppies brighten o'er her tomb.

But half-awake he looks on starlit trees--
Sees but the huntress in her eager chase;
Wake, wake him not upon the fragrant breeze,
Let horn and hound announce her rapid pace.

Blithe shepherds pipe within the Dorian vales,
Hellenic airs blow through their sun-bright hair,
To him alone the wooers whisper tales--
Bloomed kind Calypso's islet ne'er so fair.

Unbanished gods roam o'er the thymy hills,
Calm shadows slumber on the purple grapes,
Hid are the dryads near the star-gemmed rills,
Far through the moonlight wander love-lorn shapes.

Gray olives shade the dancing-naiads' smile,
Flutes loose their raptures in the murmuring stream,
These, these are visions modern cares beguil--
Echoes of the old Greek's dream._"

Mr. Stryker: "That is good poetry, Brother Gunsaulus. If you would
tone it down a little, and contrive to work in a touch o