n facts; that is, if a 'feature' can be 'founded.' However, we
take the phrase from--but no, we are sufficiently abused by the
Democratic editors, as it is.

EDITOR OF THE CONTINENTAL: Among the lesser joys of maternity,
that of having your children interested in a vivarium is one of the
least--in fact, it is an elephantine sorrow.

James, my eldest son, is a genius; before he was twelve years old, he
invented a rat-trap, which not only caught rats, but cut off their tails
and--let them go. At thirteen, he spoke Italian so fluently that he
caused a hand-organ grinder to throw a brick at him. At fourteen, he
came home one day with six large panes of glass, some tin and putty, and
made a vivarium, a thing full of mud, water, leeches, dirty weeds, and
other improvements.

When James had finished his glass case, he placed it in the front
drawing-room window, so that the public might behold that exquisite
process of nature, tadpoles turning into spring water-chickens, as they
call frogs on hotel bill of fares. Unfortunately, the gold fish he put
in with them killed the tadpoles while they still wiggled, and a
pickerel that he had bought of a fellow-school-boy for half-price, its
tail being ragged, ate up the gold-fish.

If at any time vegetables bought for the table were missing, we all knew
where they went to; in fact, that vivarium, from the time green peas
came until cabbages were ripe, resembled a _soupe a la Jardiniere_, and
in summer-time a second course of boiled fish might easily have been
found there.

One evening, when I had a little company, and while Fanny Schell was
singing an aria, he caused her to conclude with an unusually high
scream, by announcing at the top of his voice, while he pointed to the
vivarium:

'Ma, the leeches have all crawled out!'

Imagine the feelings my little company had the rest of the evening.

I shall never forget the fright James gave me one hot night in July; it
was Saturday, I remember well, for that was one of my son's holidays,
and he returned home toward night unusually covered with mud, from a
long walk in the country, evidently having been taking practical lessons
in ditching. He was so very quiet after he returned, that I might have
known he was in mischief. However, when his bed-time came, he kissed me
good-night, and said:

'O ma! I have such a surprise for you in the morning.'

Unfortunately, I had the surprise that night. Business called my husband
away from