opuli.
Should he be a citizen, or declare his intention to become such, or even
though he be a voter only, without any notion of ever being a citizen,
he can help himself to the fire department or anything else by ringing
up the central station.

Electricity and spiritualism have arrived at that stage of perfection
where a coil of copper wire and a can of credulity will accomplish a
great deal. The time is coming when even more surprising wonders will be
worked, and with electric wires, the rapid transit trains, and the
English sparrows all under the ground, the dawn of a better and brighter
day will be ushered in. The car-driver and the truck-man will then lie
down together, Boston will not rise up against London, he that
heretofore slag shall go forth no more for to slug, and the czar will
put aside his tailor-made boiler-iron underwear and fearlessly canvass
the nihilist wards in the interest of George Kennan and reform, nit.

THE END.

* * * * *

AN ARTICLE ON THE WRITINGS OF

James Whitcomb Riley

BY "CHELIFER"

THE AMBROSIA OF JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.

"Chelifer" in "The Bookery."--Godey's Magazine.

There are writers that take Pegasus on giddier flights of fancy, and
writers that sit him more grandly, and writers that put him through
daintier paces, and writers that burden him with anguish nearer that of
the dread Rider of the White Horse, and there are writers that make him
a very bucking broncho of wit, but there is no one that turns Pegasus
into just such an ambling nag of lazy peace and pastoral content as
James--I had almost said Joshua Whitcomb--Riley. If you want a panacea
for the bitterness and the fret and the snobbishness and pretension and
unsympathy and the commercial ambition and worry and the other cankers
that gnaw and gnaw the soul, just throw a leg over the back of Riley's
Pegasus, "perfectly safe for family driving," let the reins hang loose
as you sag limply in your saddle, and gaze through drowsy eyes while the
amiable old beast jogs down lanes blissful with rural quietude, through
farmyards full of picturesque rustics and through the streets of quaint
villages. Then utter rest and a peace akin to bliss will possess your
soul.

To make readers content with life and glad to live is one of the most
dazzlingly magnificent deeds in the power of an artist. This is too
little appreciated in the melodramatic theatricism of our life. This