The question follows:  “Can snoring be prevented?” It is plainly a nuisance, and ought to be indictable.  I have heard of the use of local stimulants, such as camphire and ammonia—­how I longed for the sweet revenge of holding a bottle of aqua ammonia under that Roman nose!—­and also of clipping the uvula, which may cause snoring by resting on the base of the tongue.  The question demands the grave consideration of our railroad managers; for while the traveling public do not object to a man snoring the roof off if he chooses to do it under his own vine and fig tree, tired men and women have a right to expect a sleep when they contract for it.  Is there no lover of sleep and litigation who will prosecute for damages?

There is a prospect, however, of a balm in Gilead.  An ingenious Yankee—­a commercial traveler—­has invented and patented an instrument made of gutta percha, to be fitted to the nose, and pass from that protuberance to the tympanum of the ear.  As soon as the snorer begins the sound is carried so perfectly to his own ear, and all other sounds so well excluded, that he awakens in terror.  The sanguine inventor believes that after a few nights’ trial the wearer will become so disgusted with his own midnight serenading that his sleep will become as sound and peaceable as that of a suckling baby.

And yet there is nothing vulgar in snoring.  Chesterfield did it, and so did Beau Brummell, and they were the two last men in the world to do anything beyond the bounds of propriety, awake or asleep, if they could help it.  Plutarch tells us that the emperor Otho snored; so did Cato; so did George II., and also George IV., who boasted that he was “the first gentleman in Europe.”  Position has nothing to do with cause and effect in snoring, as there are instances on record of soldiers snoring while standing asleep in sentry-boxes; and I have heard policemen snore sitting on doorsteps, waiting to be wakened by the attentive “relief.”  We may be sure Alain Chartier did not snore when Margaret of Scotland stooped down and kissed him while he was asleep, or young John Milton when the highborn Italian won from him a pair of gloves; though it did not lessen the ardor of philosophical Paddy, when he coaxingly sang outside of his true love’s window—­

Shure, I know by the length of your snore you’re awake.

But really, I don’t know whether women do snore.  I’m not sure that the mellifluous soprano snore in the car was Nilsson’s, and Paddy may have been joking.  I know that only male frogs croak.

W.G.B.

FABLES FOR THE YOUTH.

THE LION AND THE FOX.  The Lion and the Fox once traveled in company.  Upon their coming to a public-house, it was agreed that the former should go in and get a dinner, while Master Reynard kept watch at the door.  In stalked the Lion boldly, and ordered a haunch of venison and a blood-pudding.  The servant-maid, instead of fainting away, bade him throw his mane over a chair and take his ease.  Locking the door as she withdrew, she sent for a policeman, and before night King Lion was snugly back in the menagerie whence he and his companion had that morning escaped.