h the age of fifteen years. In confinement the lynx
never thrives. Specimens kept in menageries never become friendly, but
grow sullen and suspicious. Spending the day in sleep, at night they
walk restlessly up and down their cage, giving vent to hideous howls
and yells.

The glistening, piercing eyes of the lynx were formerly the subject of
strange superstitions. In the days of Pliny it was known to the Romans
by the same name it still bears. Specimens were first brought to Rome
from Gaul (the country now called France), and so terrible was the
glaring eye that it was said to be able to look through a stone wall as
through glass, and to penetrate the darkest mysteries. Hence, no doubt,
the expression "lynx-eyed," which is so often used to indicate keen and
sharp watchfulness from which nothing can escape.

THE DEAD-LETTER OFFICE.

BY MRS. P. L. COLLINS.

Of course, dear readers, all of you have heard of the Dead-letter Office
at Washington, and I suppose you have the same vague idea that I had
until I went there and learned better--that it is a place where letters
are sent when they fail to reach those for whom they are intended, and
are thence returned to the writers. Really, now, I believe this is what
most grown-up people think too; but in truth, it is such a wonderful
place that I am sure you will be surprised when I tell you of some of
the things you may find there, and I think when you come to Washington
it will be one of the first places you will wish to visit.

Probably you have never written a great many letters, and I do not doubt
that each one had its envelope neatly addressed by your father or
mother, while you stood by to see that it was well done. I hope, too,
that in due time your letters had the nice replies they deserved. You
would have been much disappointed if any of them had been "lost in the
mail," as people say, wouldn't you? You will not forget your stamp, I am
sure, after I have related the following incident:

There was once a little girl, only ten years old, who was spending six
months in the city of New York, just previous to sailing for Europe. Her
heart was filled with love for her darling grandpapa, whom she had left
in New Orleans, and she wrote to him twice every week. Her letters were
in the French language; at least, the one that I saw was, and it began
"Cher Grandpere cheri." She said, "I hope that you have received the
slippers I embroidered for you, and the fifteen dol