to those concerned!
'Tis yours?

M. LOYAL
Ah no,--some cynic wits;
And called (I think)--
(_Placing his hat upon his breast_),
"The Cap that Fits."

ENIGMA
[Sidenote: _Mark Twain_]

Not wishing to be outdone in literary enterprise by those magazines
which have attractions especially designed for the pleasing of the fancy
and the strengthening of the intellect of youth, we have contrived and
builded the following enigma, at great expense of time and labour:

I am a word of 13 letters.

My 7, 9, 4, 4 is a village in Europe.

My 7, 14, 5, 7 is a kind of dog.

My 11, 13, 13, 9, 2, 7, 2, 3, 6, 1, 13 is a peculiar kind of stuff.

My 2, 6, 12, 8, 9, 4 is the name of a great general of ancient times
(have spelt it to best of ability, though may have missed the bull's-eye
on a letter or two, but not enough to signify).

My 3, 11, 1, 9, 15, 2, 2, 6, 2, 9, 13, 2, 6, 15, 4, 11, 2, 3, 5, 1, 10,
4, 8 is the middle name of a Russian philosopher, up whose full cognomen
fame is slowly but surely climbing.

My 7, 11, 4, 12, 3, 1, 1, 9 is an obscure but very proper kind of bug.

My whole is--but perhaps a reasonable amount of diligence and ingenuity
will reveal that.

We take a just pride in offering the customary gold pen or cheap
sewing-machine for correct solutions of the above.

THE HAPPINESS OF SIR THOMAS BROWNE
[Sidenote: _Religio Medici_]

In my solitary and retired imagination (Neque enim cum porticus, aut me
lectulus accepit, desum mihi) I remember I am not alone, and therefore
forget not to contemplate Him and His Attributes who is ever with me,
especially those two mighty ones, His Wisdom and Eternity; with the one
I recreate, with the other I confound, my understanding; for who can
speak of Eternity without a soloecism, or think thereof without an
Extasie? Time we may comprehend; 'tis but five days elder than
ourselves, and hath the same Horoscope with the World; but to retire so
far back as to apprehend a beginning, to give such an infinite start
forwards as to conceive an end in an essence that we affirm hath neither
the one nor the other, it puts my Reason to _St. Paul's_ Sanctuary: my
Philosophy dares not say the angels can do it; God hath not made a
Creature that can comprehend Him; 'tis a privilege of His own nature....

[Sidenote: _Religio Medici_]

Art is the perfection of Nature: were the World now as it was the sixth
day, there were yet a Chaos: