merchants are princes,"-I quote from the Twentythird of Isaiah,-here, in these free states, I am shut up, cribbed, cabined and confined, and not allowed to see a newspaper. Have you a book or a paper with you, sir? Please let me see it! I need something new, I must have something fresh. I am sure I shall find something old in it. I beseech you, sir, take pity on me."

He looked so sad and so savage that I hastily felt my pockets, desiring to comply with his wish. Unfortunately the only printed thing about me was a small pocket reprint of Horace Walpole's letters, which I must have thrust into my coat-pocket unwittingly. The binding was modern and rather gaudy. I supposed that Mr. Quin Siddons would probably have read it, but still I drew the volume from my pocket, and handing it to him, I said, pleasantly:

"I am sorry that I have only this old book. I regret having nothing new, but I like old books; indeed, I think that I love everything that's old."

He had greedily taken the book from my hand and was already glancing at it as I said this but he looked up at once and hastily rejoined:

"Ah yes, that's from Goldsmith. She Stoops to Conquer.' Scene 1. Act 1. Thank you, however, for the loan of the volume. I will see that it is returned to you. Good afternoon." And with a stately bow he left me, as a jaunty young man stepped up briskly and said:

"Has old Quin Siddons been talking to you about stealing the great thoughts of others, and plagiarizing, and all that sort of nonsense?

I told the rather flippant young man that I had just heard a few admirable remarks from Mr. Quin Siddons on the subject of plagiarism, and that I— "Yes of course," interrupted the flippant young man, "of course-that's all very well-but after all plagiarism is only one form of parody!"

I suggested that perhaps parody was only one form of plagiarism.

"Of course," rejoined the flippant young man. "I see you have never studied the subject of parody. He is a mere plagiarist,-I should say he merely collects plagiarisms, while I not only gather parodies, the stray coins from the am also a parodist myself. course, to have a collection. able to parody yourself."

mint of genius, but I It's a great thing, of But it is greater to be

I did not mention that this remark was susceptible of two meanings; I only said:

"Indeed?"

That was all he was waiting for; it was enough to open the sluice gates of his eloquence.

It

"Of course, I don't despise a collection. Why should I? Mine is the best in this country. Perhaps M. Octave Delepierre's is better-but I doubt it. Then of course mine is the best in the world. cost a great deal of time and trouble to collect and money. Cash covers a multitude of sins. That remark itself is a parody. I was in Wall street working hard, toiling and moiling for several years making the money to make my collection. And now I have made it it is of course the best in

the world. I have one hundred and seventeen parodies on Mr. Edgar Allan Poe's poem 'The Raven,'-No, no! now don't! please don't!" I looked at the flippant young man in astonishment and said nothing.

"Ah, thank you. I am glad you didn't say the one hundred and seventeen authors were ravin' mad. I congratulate you. People generally say it. Very often they think it is an original joke. Poor things! To continue: I have of course all the parodies of the Heathen Chinee,'-over one hundred. No, no! now don't! please don't!"

Again I looked at the flippant young man in amazement, again the flippant young man thanked me for refraining.

"I am really very much obliged to you for not doing it. I congratulate you. When I speak of the hundred parodies of the original Ah Sin, people generally say there are a hundred a-sinine writers. And they think the poor puny pun original. Bah! To continue-I have also over fifty parodies ot 'We are Seven', thirteen of the Chatge of the Light Brigade,' including my own, which is of course the best, and twenty-one of 'To be or not to be.' At this moment I saw Mr. Keesir was coming toward me leading two boys by the hand. 'Well, how do you find them?" said the warden, coming up. "Curious folks, eh? But you have not seen the worst case. Here they are! These two boys are the only ones I ever knew who were afflicted at so young an age!"

"Have you any other relatives?" "Anna."

"That's their sister!" remarked Mr. Keesir, adding: "What has become of her?" and the twins immediately answered: "Nun!"

"Have you no other relatives?" "O, no!"

Every answer certainly was a palindrome. It was remarkable. I began to wonder if they could be asked any question to which they could not make answer in a palindrome.

"How did your father bring you here?" 'Gig."

"Is there anything that you desire?" They hastily answered, both together: "Pup!"

Suddenly I noticed Mr. Quin Siddons rushing rapidly toward us. He had an open book in his hand. He appeared excited, as though flushed by some great victory or discovery. As soon as he recovered his breath, he said to me:

66

Ah, sir, I am glad you have not gone. I am really very happy to see you again, and to be able to tell you of a horrible outrage!"

"Has there been a murder?" I asked, and he gravely replied, "Not of anything merely corporeal, sir, but an outrage on the work of a great man; the brilliant thought of a great writer has been stolen. Worse even than theft, it is a 'murder most foul,'of course I quote. Here in this book, which you were so good as to lend me,-here in the letters of this Walpole, I find a glaring plagiarism. Listen, gentlemen, listen, and I will prove it to you. This fellow has stolen the striking and original thought of Lord Macaulay about the New Zealander some day viewing the ruins of St. Paul's. And this petty plagiarist, this empty imitator copies this, steals this, alters this, mutilates this, and serves up this fine thought to his readers with his own weak sauce. Listen to Mr. Walpole," and Mr. Quin Siddons, raising the book, read as follows: "At last some curious traveler from Lima will visit England, and give a description of the ruins of St. Paul's, like the editions of Baalbec and Palmyra!" Then he paused and looked at us with evident self-satisfaction,

and his equanimity was not disturbed even when Mr. Keesir remarked, "I think there is a mistake!" "Mistake?" ejaculated Mr. Quin Siddons. "Why, gentlemen, no mistake is possible. You all know Macaulay's New Zealander, and here you have just heard me read you this fellow Walpole's most impudent plagiarism."

"Excuse me, I think there must be some mistake," insisted the cheery little warden. "Lord Macaulay was born in the year 1800, and this letter of Mr. Walpole's is dated-please let me see the book."

Mr. Quin Siddons handed it to him, and after glancing at the open page, Mr. Keesir continued: "And this letter of Mr. Walpole's is dated the 14th of November, 1774."

Mr. Quin Siddons was thoroughly astonished; he hesitatingly observed:

"I did not look at the date!"

"This paragraph of Walpole's," continued the warden, "was, therefore, written twenty-six years before Macaulay was born; so that, if plagiarism there be, the English historian is the plagiarist."

Mr. Quin Siddons was confounded; but suddenly a light seemed to break in upon him; he breathed a sigh of relief and said, hastily:

"Ah, well, I always did suspect that Macaulay of stealing, and now I know it!"

I wonder if Mr. Quin Siddons will ever see these lines, and I wonder if he has ever read of the visit Dr. Holmes once paid to the Asylum for Aged and Decayed Punsters? J. BRANDER MATTHEWS.

port of San José; by sailing vessel to Belize, steamer to Izabel, and thence overland to the capital; and overland to San Francisco, and thence down the Pacific by steamer or sailing vessel to San José or Champerico. The first is the most direct route and the one chosen by our party.

It was the morning of the 29th of November, 1875, when, after fourteen days of travel from New York and five days from Panama, we reached the port of San José de Guatemala. There was a good deal of bustle and commotion on board, as we • steamed up to our anchorage, for, besides our own party and a few Spaniards, we had an opera-troupe with us also bound for Guatemala City. We were fortunate in getting ashore in the agent's boat rather sooner than the other passengers. A pier, nine hundred feet in length and forty feet high, runs out from the shore; but the steamers cannot lie alongside of it on account of the heavy surf which usually prevails there, as San José has no harbor but is simply an open roadstead. We men managed well enough, by watching our opportunity, to jump from the boat and scramble up the side of this pier by means of a little narrow iron ladder; for the ladies, this was of course out of the question, and we were rather curious to see how they would be able to land. We found on the pier forty nuns, who had been turned out of the country by the government, and were about to embark for California on the steamer which we had just left. To accommodate all these ladies, what they call "la silla" (the chair) was brought into requisition. This is a sort of open cage with four seats in the center and an iron rail running around to hold on by, and is worked by the small steam-engine which supplies the power for hoisting and lowering freight. It was indeed a strange and amusing sight; the tearful and somber-looking nuns entered the "chair" with evident misgiving, and clung to the iron rail in fear and trembling as they were gently let down into the lighter below, while the gayly clad sopranos, contraltos, danseuses, etc., of the opera-troupe, came up laughing and screaming by the return trip.

One's first impressions of Central America, as obtained at San José, are not very encouraging. The town consists of a few wooden houses, built down close to the beach, with one street running back three or four blocks from the shore. On either side of this street are native huts, made of bamboo-sticks, and covered with leaves

from the cocoa-nut tree. Back of this street are pools of stagnant water, constantly poisoning the air with miasma; the temperature is generally about 90° and the atmosphere is heavy and oppressive. The place is very sickly, and it is almost impossible for any foreigner to live there more than a few months at a time without seriously impairing his health.

We found the "captain" of the diligences was not willing to start for the capital until the following morning, and all the available mules were engaged to take up our baggage. Nearly fifty of us were packed for the night into a miserable little hotel, which had only accommodations for fifteen or twenty. We rose at three the next morning, but the eight diligences that were to convey us to the capital were not in readiness before seven. After much scrambling, pushing and fighting for seats, we finally got under way. The country near the coast is very flat, but the vegetation is rich, and tropical fruits and flowers abound. The road is good, but excessively dusty in the dry season. Jerking and jolting along all day in the rickety old diligence, through the dust and intense heat, we were very glad to reach Escuintla a little before sunset. The town is only about three hundred feet above the sea, but perceptibly cooler than San José, and comparatively healthy. It is a place of considerable size, and quite prettily situated in a valley about half way between the port and Guatemala.

We were on the road next day before sunrise; the morning dawned brightly, the air was fresh and pleasant, and our road now wound about among the mountains through a magnificent country, affording us some splendid views of the volcanoes of Agua and Fuego. Agua and Fuego. As we continued to ascend, the air became clearer and cooler, and our spirits rose, with the change, to a full appreciation of the richness and beauty of the scenery about us. At noon the town of Amatitlan is pointed out, situated far below us, near a beautiful lake of the same name, in a rich valley about six leagues from Guatemala. As we wind down the mountain into the valley, past picturesque sugar-mills, and through cochineal plantations, with the glistening lake ever before us, and the sunlit town beyond, the scene is one of rare beauty, which could hardly fail to impress even the dullest mind. We rest here for an hour or so, and then begins the last stage of our journey to the capital.

Our road still wound about through the

mountains for a couple of hours, when we | reached the summit of a high ridge, whence we obtained our first view of the great plain in which is situated the so-called "Paris of Central America." It was a beautiful scene, and one which I shall not soon forget. The city lay some distance below us, the domes and steeples of its many churches looming up in marked contrast to the rows of low white buildings gleaming in the slanting rays of the sinking sun. The surrounding hills were almost dazzling in their bright suit of green; and, here and there, what appeared at this distance to be clusters of rich foliage, indicated the locations of small coffee plantations and orange-groves in the suburbs. The great volcanoes to the westward were already casting long shadows toward the city, softening the general brightness of the scene, and thus completing a picture truly grand and beautiful. As we neared the city we passed long trains of pack-mules, laden with the produce of the surrounding country, which they were bringing for sale to the markets of the capital. We entered the gates just before sunset,

and, half an hour later, were comfortably quartered at the Grand Hotel.

The streets of Guatemala are tolerably clean, and the city is well laid out in blocks of about three hundred feet square. The houses are mostly white, with tiled roofs, and are very solidly built with thick walls of stone, or brick and plaster, and generally of only one story, being so constructed as a protection against the earthquakes which are sometimes very severe. There are no blinds or shutters, but the fact that almost every window in the town is carefully guarded by an iron grating, is somewhat suggestive of the character of the people. Most of the better-class dwellings are entered by heavy double wooden doors opening from the narrow sidewalk into a paved passage which leads into the "patio," or large court-yard, in the center of the building. These patios are always paved, and, in some few instances, borders of shrubs and flowers are planted around the edges. Facing the court-yard on every side are wide corridors, from which doors open into the various apartments of the dwelling.

The