delayed,

For with gifts of wattle-gold

Shall your country's debt be paid;

From her sunlight's golden store

She shall heal your hurts of war.

The Aliens in our Midst.

"But most of the people aboard that car, if they had been truthfully outspoken, would probably have said, 'Dem's my sentiments.'"—Evening Paper.

"MARK OF CENTENARIAN.

"Mrs. Rachel ——, a former resident of this city, was the guest of honor at a dinner served yesterday at her son's home in Wilkinsburg, the occasion being the 92nd anniversary of her birth. Mrs. —— was born in Somerset County and resided in this city before the flood."—American Paper.

At first we thought the headline a little previous, but the last sentence shows that it is, on the contrary, decidedly belated.

Indignant Patriot (to Local Food Committee). "I WISH TO REPORT THAT THERE'S A GROCER IN THIS TOWN WHO IS SELLING BUTTER, SUGAR AND JAM WITHOUT COUPONS. HE—"

Food Committee (as one man, ecstatically). "WHICH IS HIS SHOP?"

SOMETHING LIKE "LITERARY GOSSIP"!

Are you not, dear reader, a little tired of what is called "Literary Gossip"? Be frank. Aren't you? And have you not sometimes longed even more to know what the industrious fellows were not writing than what they were?

But suppose we could come across an authentic column like this?

Mr. KIPLING is putting the finishing touches to a new Jungle book. The first and second Jungle books have waited too long for this new companion; but it is now on its way. A friend of the author, who has been privileged to see an early copy, says that it is full of all the old enchantment.

Our Burwash correspondent informs us that, not content with the re-incarnation of Mowgli, Mr. KIPLING has completed a new romance of wandering life in India, not unlike Kim in treatment, to be entitled The Great Trunk Road.

An album has just come to light, the value of which is beyond computation. On the faded leaves of this book, which once belonged to Fanny Brawne, are inscribed three new poems in KEATS'S own hand. Not mere album verses, but poems of the highest importance, equal to rank to the Odes to the Grecian Urn and the Nightingale. The book itself will be sold by auction next week, but meanwhile the poems are to be issued in pamphlet form by Sir SIDNEY COLVIN.

An enterprising firm of publishers announces for immediate publication a volume by President WILSON, entitled From White House to Buckingham Palace. This work is in the form of a diary of singular frankness, and it contains some vivid accounts of conversations as well as the writer's honest opinion of some of the most prominent personages of the moment.

Admirers of O. HENRY will be excited to hear that a bundle of MS. stories in his best vein, some seventy-five all told (and how told!), has been discovered in a cupboard in one of his old lodgings: much as the manuscript of TENNYSON'S In Memoriam was found in his rooms in Mornington Crescent. How it happened that the historian of the joys and sorrows, the