A man who was on the same traiii with Wilde, coming from Reno to Ogden, relates an amusing experience. Wilde was lounging back in nis seat, dreaming of asphodel, etc, when the train boy woke hitn np by shouting : "Hoscar Wilde'tf poems for 10 ets!" The poet started up to a sitting position, witb : "Great Gurod! Is it possible tuat rny poema have reached such beastly figures asthat?" "Three for two bits," continued the boy. He offered the poet som e copies of the Seaside Library edition in paper. Wilde grabbed the book and Üxed his bis eyes on the boy. "Do you kiiow, my dear sir, that you are lending your countenanee to a hellish iníringement on the right of an English author?" "Ib that so?" replied the boy,slowly "Do you 'spose the feller that writ the book will know it!" "Of course he will. How can your guilty acts escape his eognizance? ' "IIíb cognuzzence ain't anything to me. It aiu't loaded, is itl" "I am the author of those poems." "Ah ! go away," snickered the boy. "You are wringiug in for a eonimish. 'Twon't work, Cully. Folks put up jobs on me every day. Ilere, take a waisted peanut and flll up. If I thought such a looking chap as you rit theni Unes, d'ye 'spose l'd peddle 'em? No sir!" The crowd roared, and Wilde joined heartily in the laugh. After the boy was assured that the man was none other than the poet, he went to Wilde and offered him a dozen orunges to cali it square.