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"LUCIUS AGATHO PRISCUS.

"Neither the husband, nor lover, nor friend;
Neither grieving, nor rejoicing, nor weeping;
But all (of these)-—-

"This-neither a pile, nor a pyramid, nor a sepulchre
That is built, he knows and knows not (which it is),
It is a sepulchre containing no corpse within it;
It is a corpse with no sepulchre containing it;

But the corpse and the sepulchre are one and the same."
-Translated by E. Cobham Brewer.

Oriental riddles are mostly in the form of poetry; even the impromptu "cup-question," given out at a festival or banquet, must be in verse. When the riddle was published the author appended the answer "up-side-down." Here are two illustrations from Hariri, elegantly translated by Rev. William R. Alger:

It is a more prodigious tree,
A weaker man it seems to be.
It is its fate to join with ail
The solid things upon this ball.
But with the falling of its foe-
Bow strange it is!-itself doth go."

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One of the best forms of the riddle is the anagram, specimens of which may be found in Hebrew literature. The ancient Jews ascribed to it cabalistic and occult

eccentric German, boasted that for fifty years he had kept up the practice of celebrating, by way of obituary, the names of distinguished persons, "called down into the grave," and that in every case he had produced a successtul anagram. He tells us that the cheerful occupation was attended with physical torments resembling the deathpangs of the persons whose names he anagrammatized.

The modern riddle is generally a puzzle-sometimes it is little more than a course jest. Having no object in view but that of amusement, it is so arranged as to provoke laughter. Here is a specimen from the sixteenth century riddles have not improved since then: "What is the worst bestowed charity that one can give? Alms to a blind man ; for he would be glad to see the person hanged that gave it to him." Here is a riddle in the form of a conundrum, and bearing evidence of very recent construction: "Why is this insurance policy a contradictory thing? Because when I can't sell it I can-cel it; and when I can-cel it I can't sell it." Schiller sought to restore the riddle to its original religious solemnity, and he succeeded so far as to invest it with a certain literary finish, but no further. Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes has given us one of the most ingenious of rhymed riddles.

"I'm going to blank,' with falling breath,
The falling gladiator said;
Unconquered, he consents to death;'

One gasp-the hero's soul has fled.
'I'm going to blank,' the schoolboy cried;
Two sugared sweets his hands display-
Like snowflakes in the ocean tide

They vanish, melted both away.
Tell with one verb, or I'll tell you,

What each was just about to do."

qualities. Plato entertained curious superstitions with re- From a dozen answers to the above we select two:

gard to it, and thought that every man's destiny might be discovered from his anagram. The solemn Puritans employed it in sermons and hymns, and for political purposes. Thus Cotton Mather, extolling the virtues of John Wilson, the first pastor in Boston, speaks of

"His care to guide his flock and feed his lambs

By words, works, prayers, psalms, alms and anagrams." Camden has devoted considerable space in "Remains" to the subject of anagrams, and a very pleasing chapter on both anagrams and echo-verses may be found in Disraeli's "Curiosities of Literature." The best of all anagrams is that which changes Pilate's question to our Saviour-Quid est veritas ?—into the only true answer, Est vir qui adest. The author of the famous anagram is unknown, but he was certainly a very devout and skillful artist in words.

Some of the most ingenious and interesting of the many

anagrams on record are: Charles James Stuart (James I.),

claims Arthur's Seat; Marie Touchet (Mistress of Charles IX.), Je charme tout; Frère Jacques Clement (assassin of Henry III.), C'est l'enfer qui m'a crée; Georgius Monke, Dux de Aumarle, Ergo regem reduxit Ano. Sa. MDCLVV.; Sir Roger Charles Doughty Tichborne, Baronet, You horrid butcher; Orton, biggest rascal here; Horatio Nelson, Honor est Nilo.

Lady Eleanor Davies, wife of the poet Sir John Davies, thought herself a prophetess, because she found in her name the anagram "Revel, O Daniel !" She published a number of mad predictions of questionable patriotism, which brought down upon her the vengeance of the authorities. The discovery of the following anagram robbed the good lady of her dar delusion-"Dime Eleanor Davies, never so mad a lady !" It was a better anagram than the first, which had an L that did not belong to it, and was wanting by an S. Frenzelius, an

"Succumb,' the gladiators groans,

And breathes away his life with moans;
'Suck 'em,' the schoolboy cries in glee -
You needn't, Dr. Holmes, tell me.-SUCKER.”
"This blank, blank verse is well no doubt,

Although it breathes a Holmesic strain;
But certain facts have been left out,

Which mark this interesting twain.
Obedient to some mystic plan,

Like language still their lips employ-
'I'm gladiator,' sighs the man,

'I'm glad I ate 'em,' cries the boy. And he whom mortal thrust hath pricked Quite fails his rival to outdo,

For while he owns he's badly licked,

The schoolboy boasts that he's licked, two."

Jewess in a Russian town saved her property and her lite during the recent attacks upon the Jews. A great hu'king ruffian entered her shop and bought a loaf of bread. After swallowing a couple of monthfuls he threw himself on the ground outside the shop-door and began to howl piteously that he was poisoned-the Jews had poisoned him. Of course an infuriated crowd instantly assembled, and it would have fared ill with our Jewess if she had not dashed out of her shop and snatched the bread out of the impostor's hand, and began to eat in sight of them all. The crowd stopped, thunderstruck. A broad grin dawned on every countenance. One of them called out to her, "Alosha, lend me your knout, will you ?" Then the im postor started to his feet and scudded off, pursued by a mischievous but no longer sanguinary crowd.

THERE is a very pretty story told of how a lovely

LOOK in thy heart and write. He that writes to himself, writes to an eternal public.

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ROB LANGTRY'S RED-LETTER DAY.

BY K. V. HASTINGS.

WINTER in Southern California, warm, soft and breezy as an Eastern May; the first rains over, and all green things just springing into life. The sea was bluer than a dozen Mediterraneans; the sky an overarching copy of the sea, not a white fleck on its azure depths, nothing to break its cloudless blue except a wedge of wild geese speeding to more congenial climes.

Sharply drawn against the eastern sky the Coast Range reared their yellow peaks, the giant pines upon their tops appearing in the distance

like the fringe on the gentian's lip.

Between the mountains were deep gorges-or, in California lingo, gulches, cañons and arroyos-and in their depths sycamores, live oaks and cottonwoods flourished, being, with the exception of the distant pines, the only trees on the landscape. The mountains were dashed here and there with broad gory streaks, showing oxide of iron and cinnabar in more or less quantities; while here and there, where those minerals were in the ascendant, the Sienne yellow disappeared entirely, and a whole peak of a dark blood-red reared itself into the sky.

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Jungles of mustard lay in huge yellow patches outspread in the valleys, while the foothills were gorgeous with great sheets of golden poppies, blue squills and scarlet "Indian pink." Here and there a "Spanish-bayonet" leaned its huge candelabra of sweet white flowers out over some black chasm beside it, while perhaps a goldfinch, gayly coated as Joseph of old, swung and chatted on its topmost blossom. Tracts of fierce - looking cactus, of the pricklypear variety, bristled in the broader portions of the valleys, and opened their blood-orange blossoms to the sun, while down at our feet, in the shadow of the live oaks, nestled the tiny golden fern, with its friend the maidenhair, and the wild cyclomen perfuming the air around.

Vol. XIV., No. 6-43.

"A MAN'S FIGURE CAME DASHING DOWN THE SLIMY TROUGH."

High up in the azure a lark was singing and soaring, while from every crevice and from under each leaf the little brown-and-green lizards were skurrying to take a look at us, then darting away again faster than they came.

Over all this the California sun-hot, but not fierce; bright, but not scorching-threw a brilliancy and gayety over all it touched, till even the graveyard, gilded by its genial rays, seemed rather a frisky place of its kind.

Below us-for we were on the crest of the foothills-lay the mining town of Anchorville; a long, straight street of wooden shanties, with one larger than the rest, evidently doing duty as church, courthouse, theatre, and place of public meeting in general.

Opposite us rose the next range of foot hills, lower than those on which we stood; then another valley, with a few scattering hills; then a long crescent of beach, and the sea sparkling and dazzling in the noonday sun.

Through the middle of the town ran the coach road, and just below it lay the mines, these last a succession of chasms, dug in the surface of the earth, a crane standing erect in the centre of the largest, and the "rocker lessly shaking itself to and fro.

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"Splendid view !" said my companion, looking beyond the sluices and the workaday world at our feet, and letting his eyes wander over the shady gulches and sunny hills to the dazzle of the sea beyond.

We-Rob Langtry and I-had both been working in the next mining-town, some fifty miles behind us by the trail -thirty, as the crow flies-and had left it together to look for more promising fields. My claim had petered out, leaving me with my last week's clean up, my mustang, my seven shooters, the clothes I wore, and a clean flannel shirt-very little else. Langtry, I imagined, was not quite so badly off, and, indeed, he had a little bag of dust in his saddle-pocket, and a watch heavily cased in gold of his own digging.

But his claim, like mine, proving worthless, we decided to leave Hubtown together and try our luck in Anchorville, which, as yet, was not so overrun with adventurers. We had "chummed it" together more or less ever since first making each other's acquaintance; but as, according to California etiquette, we had asked each other no questions, were both of us nearly in the dark as to each other's previous history. He was a Californian and handsome, as most Californians are-quick, keen and graceful, with the grace born of strength. Not a very young man he must have been on the shady side of forty-but a man whose age showed only in his face, his figure being lithe and agile as in his first youth. I was a Bostonian, but two years absent from the Hub, seeking what I have never yet found-my fortune. That I was "clever goes without the saying; that I was handsome is also a matter of course; that "culchor" had done its utmost for me it is superfluous to add. After all this, it is mortifying to be obliged to state that I am merely a "supe" in my own story.

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"Romera," my pony, began to start and whinny and pull on his halter-we had stopped for our noon siesta, and our horses were staked out to browse-and presently we heard the steady beat of hoofs far up the trail behind us. They came nearer, and yet more near; then horse and rider-a woman-flashed past us and were gone.

"Rose, Rose!" shouted Langtry, as she disappeared down the trail; and, leaping to his feet, made a motion to follow her. But he almost instantly changed his mind and flung himself down again.

"Do you know her, Rob?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied, after a second's pause, his eyes far off on the distant mountains. "She's an old friend of

mine, Mrs. Reynolds; I haven't seen her or her husband in several years; I didn't know they were living here. She quite took me by surprise."

"Don't you want to go after her? She didn't see us, I think."

"No. I'll hunt them up after we get into town; I guess anybody can tell me where they live-Reynolds is a pretty stirring sort of a fellow, always nosing around," he added, in an undertone; "everybody in town's likely to know him."

Meantime, I had flung myself down in a bed of wild cyclomen, nestling my nose close under a tall spire which reached over, and gently breathed its perfume in my face. "Is she handsome, Langtry ?" I asked, in mere idleness, nibbling off the topmost blossom, and blowing it high in air. "She has a splendid figure.'

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"Is she handsome ?" he repeated, still keeping his face turned to those distant mountains. "Yes, I think she is." He said this slowly and courteously, with a something formal in his manner very foreign to his usual free, frank, California ways. And as he spoke, he rolled over on his elbow and looked me full in the face with his brilliant black eyes-a look void of offense, but which told me plainly to drop the subject.

"I thought she must be," I answered; and taking the hint, closed my eyes and pretended to doze.

The hum of bees among the sagebrush droned lazily in my ears, the far-off low of cattle mingled in my drowsy thoughts, and soon I was once more walking down Beacon Street, daintily lifting my beaver to Boston's fair and intellectual daughters, receiving from them in return that frigid salutation which expresses their utmost cordiality.

But I did not long enjoy this somewhat monotonous pleasure; for soon I heard Langtry's voice shouting in my ear:

"Ranney! Ranney! wake up! You've got the nightmare.'

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This is what he called a vision of Boston's fair ones! I opened my eyes, and there, sure enough, was a sky bluer than the Hub ever saw; and instead of the parade of New England beauty of which I had dreamed, three little Spanish children were running and skipping and racing down the trail. The broad noon had waned a little into early afternoon; the shadows had sidled out a little from under each tree, and the breeze, stronger and fresher than when we had tossed ourselves down among the fragrant ferns showed that the latter half of the day had

come.

An hour's ride brought us to the town-a long straight street of about one hundred houses; the public hall aforesaid in its centre, and on either hand a saloon with-even here-green swing-doors. Wooden pavements echoed under the tread of a few women and children; a quiet, black-coated, beaver-hatted gentleman or two lingered round those same green doors; the rest of the men were at the mines.

We drew up at the "Bonanza Hotel ". -an old abode, with sundry wooden additions made by its American owner. On the doorpost was tacked the bill of fare for the day, while over the entrance was painted, in red letters: "Dinner, 50 cents." A Chinese stableboy took our horses, and a Spanish clerk greeted us with a "Comus tomas"; then, in excellent English, answered our questions. Yes, he thought there were workmen wanted at the mines; but the superintendent was away that daywould be back on the morrow. A good many gentlemen had been prospecting in the hills thereabouts, and some had found pay-gravel. Wouldn't the gentlemen take a room in the "Bonanza Hotel" till they had a chance to

look about them? So we settled down for the day, and | sion, six or eight rooms all on one floor, and a wide had that luxury dear to a traveler's heart-a "good wash." piazza, with a profusion of flowering vines hanging from "Ranney," said Langtry, after we had rested a while, its pillars. and smoked our cigars under the grapevine porch beside the house, "I guess I'll go and hunt up Reynolds and his wife. I suppose somebody in the house can tell me where to find them. Don't pine without me. Addios!" and calling back the gay Spanish farewell, he disappeared into the hotel.

Inside I heard the clerk answering his question. Yes, Reynolds was superintendent of the Anna-Maria mine and was away to-day; but Mrs. Reynolds was at home. Langtry had best go up and see her-she could tell all about her husband. So my companion went off to pay his call, and after a while I loitered down the street, still smoking, and trying to tell, from viewing them at a distance, which of those rolling hills was most likely to yield pay-gravel. On the side of one of these same hills I saw a tiny house, and, as it rather took my fancy, I began strolling up the gulch toward it. It must have been half a mile away, but, in this clear California air, it seemed as though I could put out my hand and touch it.

I could see the door ajar, and a rocking-chair on the piazza, with some wrap or other feminine garment thrown across its back. A clump of tall white callas nodded before the door, and an acacia-tree waved its soft yellow blossoms beside the gate.

The house was on a little knoll, its front door and windows looking down over the town, but the trail led up the gulch to the back of the house, dodged under a flume which stalked on trestles through the yard, gave a sharp twist to the right, and came to high land once more just by the back door.

Once in the trail, I lost sight of the house, but still lounged idly on, puffing my cigar-smoke at the tiny lizards which raced up and down the trees beside which I passed.

Presently I heard the shuffle, shuffle of Chinese feet, and a Chinaman came into view, his felt hat tilted low over his flat nose, his white blouse newly ironed, hands in pockets. A generally jaunty air about him showed his afternoon's work done, and he out on a visit to his "cousins" and "flems." Evidently the China-boy from the house above.

Said I, "Hullo, John !"

"Hullo, John !" responded he, coming to a full stop just out of reach, evidently ready to run in case I resented the liberty.

He was a boy of about sixteen, his face not yet sodden with opium, and his little black eyes twinkling keen and humorous behind his three-cornered eyelids.

There was apparently no one at home, for all was still as the grave; but, also in true Californian fashion, the windows had been left open and the door ajar.

I sat down on the lowest step and gazed at the lovely view of the surrounding country.

Presently a low, soft voice within-a woman's voice, speaking very gently and tenderly, attracted my attention, and before I knew it I was listening.

"I knew you'd love me just the same, my dear. You said you'd love me just as much twenty years from that day, and it Las been only ten-hasn't it, Rob ?"

"Ten ?" answered a man's voice, in a muffled tone. "My God! I thought it had been a thousand! I should have loved you all the same if it had. My darling!-my darling! to think that I have you once more !"

"Well," thought I, "Smif's daughter is having a reunion with some long-missing lover. Pity to disturb them. I'il steal off," and I began to gather myself noiselessly together.

But just then the breeze freshened; a succession of quick puffs blew slowly open that door which had been ajar, and I, from behind my leafy screen, saw the tableau within.

It was a light, pretty room-parlor, living-room, hall, all in one; a table was in the centre, Japanese wolfskin rugs on the floor, and chairs and settees scattered round.

In one of the chairs sat a beautiful woman, her soft curling hair dropping over her back, the skirt of her pretty muslin dress flowing wide on the floor beside her.

One of her little feet was raised, resting on the rung of a settee near by, while her whole soft, sweet form was gathered into the close embrace of a man who knelt beside her and buried his face in her bosom.

Her tender brown eyes rested lovingly on him, and she leaned her cheek down to nestle in his hair.

Was she young? Not very; but not so old as Cleopatra when Antony "gave the world for love, and thought the world well lost." She was a woman whom "age could not wither nor custom stale."

The man beside her was a stalwart figure, dressed in the brown corduroy so common in California-a youthful figure, crowned with a head of black curls; further I coul not see.

There was a pause for a minute while he kissed her lips a dozen or more times, hot and hard.

"Why don't you kiss me?" he asked, almost fiercely, but with such a depth of tenderness in his voice that no woman, not the most prudish or idiotic, could have been

"What man live in house?" I asked, pointing up the frightened. gulch.

"Allee same Mellican man."

"What name Mellican man ?"

"Allee same Smif."

"You cookee ?"

"Yaas, me cookee, me washee. You likee me washum ?" and he touched, with a grin, my not over-clean flannel shirt.

Then seizing his nose between thumb and fore-finger, and exclaiming, with mock horror, "Ah, my! No good at all! too muchee dirty! You no go see Smif! Smif no likee you!" fled laughing down the gulch before the toe of my boot could even graze the skirt of his blouse.

So I went my way none the wiser, for that "Smif" was the name of him whose trail I was treading I did not in the least believe.

I soon stood beside the house-a true Californian man

"I try to," she answered, putting up her hand and patting his cheek, "but you give such tremendous kisses you burn my little miserable things all away. Keep still a minute, and let me kiss you. Then you'll see." And she kissed him, warm and firm, on the lips.

Why did I stay and listen?

At first from surprise; then, after the first moment, s I recognized Langtry and Mrs. Rose Reynolds, because if I move they would see me. What was their story I could not pause to think. I was only strongly conscions that I did not wish to intrude upon it. If that confound d door would only have blown shut again, how quickly would I have stolen away!

By this time Langtry had risen and seated himself, and held her whole sweet form, round and graceful as a girl's, on his knee.

Her head rested on his shoulder, and her slender hand

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