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he was doing in the restaurant, perhaps he might get leave to vote. Mr. Delano said: "I was engaged in the great work of self-protection." Mr. Vance interposed, "I thought perhaps the gentleman might have been engaged in the matter of internal improvements."

VANCE's quick wit was much in evidence during his college days at the University of North Carolina. Ex-Governor Swain was then President. President Swain was in the habit of lecturing before his class on political economy, and related with much glee that the currency of the State of Franklin (cut off from North Carolina) consisted of coon skins. "After awhile," the Governor said, "the traders got to sewing to possum skins the tails of the coons. What kind of a currency would you call that, Mr. Vance?" the Governor enquired of Zeb. The young man answered him at once: “A retail currency."

WHILE Vance was in the University a temperance lecturer of great power, Philip S. White, started a total abstinence society, which was quite numerously joined. One morning before breakfast a knot of students gathered around the well, which stands in the quadrangle, and contains water so pure and cool that our alumni ever long for it as they journey through life. A friend said: "Vance, why are those boys gathered about the well?" "Why, they are members of Philip S. White's Temperance Society. Tom Blank got on a spree last night-Governor Swain was in hot pursuit of him. As he ran by the well he threw his tickler in and broke it on the rocks of the curbing. Those temperance fellows have been drinking water since day-break."

Senator George Vest, of Missouri, was once commenting upon the inadequate postoffice facilities in Kansas City. "Why, Mr. President," he said, "I have seen waiting at the delivery windows a line of ladies half a mile long.' "Mr. President," put in Vance, "I wish to inquire if that is the usual length of women in Missouri.”

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HENRY WATTERSON.

OSCAR WILDE, in his lecture at Louisville, Kentucky, was denouncing the invasion of the sacred domain of art by the meaner herd of tradespeople and miscellaneous nobodies. Rising to his climax he exclaimed, “Ay, all of you here are Philistines-mere Philistines."

"Yes," said Watterson, "we are Philistines, and that is why we are being assaulted with the jawbone of an ass.”

LETTERS

As in the case of Anecdotes, Letters have not been excluded merely because the writers have already appeared in the preceding volumes. Letters are necessarily more or less autobiographical. They may also contain material of great historical value. The following selections have been made with such purposes in view.

6361

"AGNES" TO MRS. ROGER A. PRYOR

[From 'Reminiscences of Peace and War,' by Mrs. Roger A. Pryor. Copyright, 1904, The Macmillan Company. Used here by permission.]

RICHMOND, April, 4, 1863.

MY DEAR: I hope you appreciate the fact that you are herewith honored with a letter written in royal-red ink upon sumptuous gilt-edged paper. There is not, at the present writing, one inch of paper for sale in the capital of the Confederacy, at all within the humble means of the wife of a Confederate officer. Well is it for her-and I hope for you— that her youthful admirers are few, and so her gorgeous cream-and-gold album was only half filled with tender effusions. Out come the blank leaves, to be divided between her friend and her Colonel. Don't be alarmed at the color of the writing. I have not yet dipped my goose-quill (there are no steel pens) in the "ruddy drops that visit my sad heart," nor yet into good orthodox red ink. There are fine oaks in the country, and that noble tree bears a gall-nut filled with crimson sap. One lies on my table, and into its sanguinary heart I plunge my pen.

Something very sad has just happened in Richmondsomething that makes me ashamed of my jeremiads over the loss of the petty comforts and conveniences of life--hats, bonnets, gowns, stationery, books, magazines, dainty food. Since the weather has been so pleasant, I have been in the habit of walking in the Capitol Square before breakfast every morning. Somehow nothing so sets me up after a restless night as a glimpse of the dandelions waking up from their dewy bed and the songs of the birds in the Park. Yesterday, upon arriving, I found within the gates a crowd of women and boys-several hundreds of them, standing quietly together. I sat on a bench near, and one of the number left the rest and took the seat beside me. She was a pale, emaciated girl, not more than eighteen, with a sun-bonnet on her head, and dressed in a clean calico gown. "I could stand no longer," she ex

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