_
Bellefonte, Pa., April 10, 1908.
WHEN CUPID DELAYED DINNER.
By Bessie K. Hoover.
T was 8 o'clock on a raw morning
in early summer, and the teams
that were to take them to the lake
bad not yet arrived.
There were but two men in this
chilled company on the church steps,
for the superintendent and several of
the teachers could not leave their work.
The Rev. Albert Pashley was one of
the faithful; the other was Ike, the son
of Deacon Ciutner, a rich dairyman.
Ike was allowed a substitute on this
momentous day, and, while a hireling
slopped milk into the motley dishes of
the customers, Ike abandoned himself
to the varied pleasures of the Sunday
school plenie.
Ike Cluiner was a stoop shouldered,
amiable fellow with no particular fea-
tures. He looked singularly out of
place in his best clothes minus his milk
can and measure,
The first wagon rattled up after an
hour of wintry waiting. There had
been some mistake about the time—
there always is. The Rev, Albert Pash-
ley clambered into the wagon as a mat-
ter of course. Phyllis Jones, who had
walked In from the country, was al-
“AW, THUNDER!” GRUMBLED IKE.
ready in the wagon when Ike Clutner,
brushing aside the squirming children,
forcibly took his seat beside her. lke
did not mean to leave his courting to
chance, for holidays were scarce with
him. But Mrs. Pashley, the minister's
wife, who was going to wait for the
last wagon, cried:
“We'll need a man in our crowd. Ike,
you stay and go with us.”
“Aw, thunder!” grumbled Ike under
his breath and climbed disconsolately
out, and the first load rumbled away,
The second wagon came in half an
bour. Ike, fearing that he might be
left out entirely if the minister's wife
happened to think of any reason for
his staying behind, plumped himself
«down by the driver's side and left the
mothers and children to scramble in
as best they could.
“Which way?’ questioned the driver
when they were within a mile of the
lake. “Are you goin’ to Coggin's gap
or to Feather's?"
This caused consternation among the
mothers, who all knew that they were
going to the “gap.” but did not know
which one.
“Coggin’s,” volunteered Ike, with the
intuition of a lover.
“Feather’s gap,” corrected the min-
ister's wife. “I remember now. It's
Feather's.”
“Aw, thunder!” muttered Ike gloom-
ily to himself.
When the heavily freighted wagons
wolled protestingly into the deep beach
sand Feather's gap lay wrapped in ut-
ter solitude but for the intruding team.
The low lying dunes were as guiltless
of a footprint as if man had never
passed that way. The other wagom
bad not come to Feather's gap.
“I knew all the time that it was
either Feather's or Coggin's,” sald
Mrs. Blish, president of the Ladies’
Ald. “Now, driver, take us round to
15."
The driver grudgingly turned his
horses, growling about “fool women,”
when the minister's wife spoke out
sharply, “And remember we don't pay
you anything extra for this blunder.”
“Whoa!” shouted the driver. “Pie
out!”
“Pile out!” echoed Mrs. Pashley in
a scandalized voice. “We will not!
You should have found out where we
were going before you started. Drive
on Immediately.”
“It'll be a dollar more,” announced
the man, with gloomy unconcern.
“It will not be a dollar more,” de-
clared Mrs. Pashley angrily. “Climb
out, everybody. [I shall speak of this
to Mr. Pashley.”
The picnickers poured quickly into
the lake sand. Then the dinner for
the whole crowd was clawed from un-
der the driver's seat and dumped in a
ttle pyramid on the ground. The team
. started off, the man muttering.
The children ran shrieking to the
-take. The mothers carried the dinner
and placed it in the shade of the wil-
lows. But a cry of black ants was rals-
ed, and, as the women were already
exhausted from wading in the deep
eand, Mrs. Pashley ordered Ike to
transfer the dinner to a place of safe-
iy, as if he were the state militia.
“Take the dinner out by the lake—
not too near the water,” directed Mrs.
Pashley, who was going about with a
pained, consecrated face as if they had
just been shipwrecked on a desert is-
land.
For lke the forenoon passed gloomily
away, but he put in a good day's work
waiting on the women,
As dinner time approached they be-
gan to expect the other picnickers to
look them up, but no one came, so Mra.
Pashley sent Ike to Coggin’s gap to ask
the minister and his crowd to come to
Feather's gap to eat, as that would
save carrying the dinner a mile.
Ike struck out through the woods
that skirted the bluffs above the sand
dunes. When he had gone about half
the distance he met Phyllis Jones,
“Hello!” he shouted.
“Where you been?” cried Phyllis,
“Feather’s gap.”
Though Phyllis had a good disposi-
tion and a great capacity for work, na-
ture had not seen fit to bless her with
much chin, but she had an honest free-
Kled face. and Ike considered her per-
fection.
“We supposed you folks had gone to
the wrong gap,” explained Phyllis, “so
the minister told me to go over and tell
Mis’ Pashley that, as she had the din-
ner, we'd all come over to Feathers
gap to eat—or if she'd ruther come” —
“Mis’ Pashley 'd ruther eat where
she is, so that's settled.” answered Ike
easily, Then he proceeded to forget
the other picnickers entirely.
“Lookie,” he cried, producing a dingy
candy heart bearing in bold red letters
the suggestive motto, “Be My Honey.”
“I mean worse'n that,” hinted Ike
darkly, slipping the heart Into her
hand, immediately presenting her with
another saccharine sentiment, “Yours
For Eternity.”
After reading this solemn promise
Phyllis fished out a candy heart from
her own pocket, which as a thrifty and
farsighted young woman she may have
secreted for this very emergency, and
gave it to Ike. who read with great sat-
isfaction, “I Am Yours.”
“When ?’ he asked briefly,
“Not till after butcherin’ time,” an-
swered Phyllis promptly and firmly.
“Aw, thunder—stop!” cried Ike, great-
ly displeased. “Talk sense.”
“You don’t want me very bad if you
can't wait till I'm ready. Pete Jen-
ner 'd walt till doomsday.”
“I'll-I'll wait till next grass—if you
! say so.” vowed the distressed dairy-
i
|
man recklessly.
“No, Ike. Butcherin’ time's long
enough. I'll be ready by then.”
“Lookle,” cried Ike. “here's a path
that leads to the lake. Let's go down.”
Following this path, they found a
little cove sheltered from the world by
high clay ridges that shut them com-
pletely from view of either gap. Here
they sat hand In hand watching the
waves and. growing hungry, lunched
on a whole bag of amorous worded
sweets that Ike produced from a bulg-
Ing pocket.
“Maybe we ought to look the others
up.” suggested Phyllis after a long sea-
son of blissful munching.
“Aw, thunder—no!"” objected lke.
“There might he something to do—
somewheres,” she added vaguely.
“I done it all,” The assured her.
In the meantime the minister's wife
and her satellites walted impatiently
for Ikke and the other plenickers,
“Let's feed these children and eat
ourselves.” suggested Mrs. Jenner.
“No,” sald Mrs. Pashley emphatical-
ly. “The others might not like it.”
“Mis’ Peters would have a fit If we
et without her,” declared Mrs. Blish.
“Let's all go over to Coggin's gap and
then send Ike and Brother Pashley
back here for the dinner.”
“No. If we go. we'll take the dinner
with us,” said Mrs. Pashley. “Albert's
chest isn't strong.”
“It's a long walk to tug all these
victuals,” sighed Mrs. Blish.
“But 1 guess it's the only thing to
do.” replied Mrs. Pashley. “Mrs. Jen-
ner, you get the children together and
we'll go.”
They went through the woods, as Ike
had gone, for that was the shortest
way.
At last they filed thankfully down
the crooked path into Coggin's gap.
But the Rev. Mr. Pashley and his half
of the crowd were not there,
“Where's Ike?” burst out Mrs. Blish
as she sat cumbrously down on the
sand to rest in the shade of an ant
covered willow.
“And where's Brother Pashley and
the rest gone to?’ exclaimed Mrs. Jen-
ner.
“Well, they've gone,” declared Mrs.
Jenner, “and we can’t help it. So we'd
jest better unjack these victuals double
quick.”
“No, no; it won't do at all!” cried
Mrs. Pashley sharply as several wo-
men, anxious to feed the clamoring
children, fussed over the baskets,
“Put those covers on again,” eom-
manded the minister's wife. “Mr.
Pashley and the others will probably
come in a few minutes.”
But nobody appeared, and they be-
gan to think that the crowd must have
gone to Feather’s gap by the wagon
road or the beach and that they had
missed them.
It was long past dinner time and the
shadows were beginning to lengthen
when the woebegone party, still ably
commanded by the minister's wife, re-
traced their steps to Feather’s gap.
But not a vestige of the other party
or Tke was to be found there,
“Now, if you'll take my advice, Mrs.
Pashley, we'll eat a snack,” urged Mrs,
Jenner as they dumped the dinner in
the sand at Feather's gap.
"We'll do Bo such thing” wioried
er eh HE Tawaed
sald that I meddled with the dinner.”
The children, too tired and hungry
to play, dropped languidly on the warm
sand or tried to drown thelr
in coplous drafts of warm lake water.
“I'm going home,” sald Mrs. Jenner
firmly, after another bitter season of
fruitless walting. “I shall take the in-
fant class and my five and go. The
rest of you can do what you please.”
She would have opened her own bas-
ket and fed the children, but it con-
tained only sour pickles and cabbage
salad, and she dared not thrust such
food on the empty stomachs of the in-
fant class, not to mention her own five.
“1 thought we'd have a man to help
us,” fretted the minister's wife, “but,
no; I send Ike on an errand, and that's
the last of him.”
“1 should think that Brother Pashley
would do something,” observed Mrs.
Jenner,
Mrs, Pashley let this remark pass in
#llence. “We will all go home now,”
she announced in a tired voice. “That's
all we can do. Each one carry some-
thing.” And again they were marshal-
ed along, but this time it was toward
home.
They had planned to walk back, for
the Sunday school could not afford to
ride both ways. Drearily they snailed
along. A mile passed by, and its
weary length seemed stretched to half
a dozen.
As ‘these picnic tollers rounded a
bend in the road that now led through |
treeless, open fields they beheld as in
a vision a dispirited company halted
by the dusty roadside for a rest in the
hot sun.
It was the Rev. Albert Pashley. the
formidable Mrs. Peters, several other
matrons and a dozen or more glum chil-
dren, all sitting dejectedly on the grass
dangling their tired feet In a dry ditch.
The Rev, Albert arose as spokesman
for this disgruntled assembly. “Where
have you been?’ he inquired ungra-
ciously of his wife, as If she and her
crowd were the offending ones.
“Looking and waiting for you—all |
day long,” replied Mrs. Pashley coldly
“Where's Phyllis Jones?" asked Mrs,
Peters, coming forward. “We sent her
to tell you that we'd come to Feather's
gap and eat dinner with you, but she
didn’t come back. So we went over
there, but you was gone. Then we
went back to Coggin's again, and final-
Iy we started home.”
“We ain't none of us saw Phyllis,”
returned Mrs. Jenner. “But where's
Tke Clutner?”’
“None of us has seen him,” answered
the minister.
“The only thing to do now is jest to |
unpack these victuals double quick,”
began Mrs. Jenner,
“Land sakes!” broke in Mrs. Peters
shrilly. “Ain't you folks et yet?”
“No, ma'am,” answered Mrs. Blish
fcily,
“Well, of all fool things!” commented
Mrs. Peters. “Totin’ all that truck all
day long and not eatin’ your share!”
“I'm surprised, Mrs. Pashley,” said
ORDERED THE FOOD DUMPED ON THR
GROUND.
the minister, “that you didn’t take the
initiative here. At least you could
have fed these little ones” —
“That's what I said all the time,” in-
terrupted Mrs. Jenner,
“It has been ten hours since I myself
ate,” he concluded solemnly, referring
to his watch.
“Why, I thought—it would be nicer
to eat together,” began Mrs, Pashley,
but nobody seemed to hear her,
For Mrs. Peters ordered all the food
dumped on the ground by the roadside.
The ravenous children squatted
quickly before the delayed dinner. The
older people lowered themselves to the
ground awkwardly, but gratefully.
Then the Rev, Albert asked the short-
est picnic blessing on record, and the
meal began by the dusty roadside.
At last around a bend in the road,
hand in hand, came lke and Phyllis,
Ike's pockets were bulging with stones
and his face wore a satisfied grin.
Phyllis showed a nervous tendency te
giggle.
‘You're great folks!” cried Mrs. Pe-
ters. “Where've you been?”
“Back apiece,” replied Tke boldly.
“We sort of lost track of time,” con-
fessed Phyllis gulltily.
‘We've most of us been there our-
selves,” the Rev. Albert remarked gen-
fally, with an added unction in his
voice In view of the possible wedding
fee.
“Aw, thunder!” grunted the red faced
Ike, who didn’t know what else to
say.
The Charges.
Ford—Your lawyer made some very
severe charges against the defendant,
didn’t be? Brown—Ye-e-e-e-s, but you
ought to see how he charged mel-
Liverpool Mercury.
Great minds are wills; others, enly
wishes. —German Proverb.
She Conquered the Germans.
In the Franco-Geriwan war the
French hospital at Veudome was in
charge of Mie. Coralie Calien, one of
the most noted nurses of the time.
There, aided by two nurses and seven
Christian Sisters of Mercy. she re-
ceived thousands of French and Ger-
man soldiers. When the Prussians oc-
cupied Vendome they wished to hold
the hospital and plant on it the Ger-
man flag. Bat, warned of the enemy's
intentions, Mme, Cahen early one Jan-
vary morning visited the Prussian gen-
eral, who, surrounded by his staff, was
about to seize the building.
“Sir,” she exclaimed, “we have re-
ceived your wounded and nursed them
as though they were our own. We will
continue to do so, but we will remain
in a French hospital. We will not have
it converted into a German hospital.”
“Madame,” was the reply, “we are
masters.”
“In the town it may be: here, no!”
was the answer. “We are protected by
the Red Cross and the French flag.
Yon have no right to touch either the
one or the other.”
She conquered, and from that day
the utmost admiration was openly
evinced for her by the Germans,
A Wise Critic.
Francisque Sarcey was for forty
years a figure of great prominence in
French literary life. As a critic of the
drama he was looked upon as one hav-
ing authority, and praise from him
meant success to the struggling play-
wright.
His criticisms were honest. fearless
and independent, and it is remembered
of him that he refused the honor of
belonging to the French academy lest
he should come under obligation to fa-
vor the plays written by other mem-
hers.
Sarcey’s good sense was often put to
the test. One day a friend came rush-
ing iuto his room waving a paper.
“What is the matter?’ inquired the
critic.
“Here's some one,” cried the other,
“who has been calling you an ‘imbe-
clie’ In print! Are you going to chal-
lenge him?"
Sarcey smiled. “Certainly not,” he
replied. “I owe him my thanks. The
public will soon forget the word ‘im-
becile’ and will only remember having
read my name.”
Got Even With Dickens.
When Charles Dickens was in Wash-
ington he met one morning on the
steps of the capitol a young congress-
man from Tennessee whom the great
novelist had offended by his bluntness,
That morning Dickens was in great
good humor. “I have,” said he, “found
an almost exact counterpart of Little
Nell.”
“Little Nell who?" queried the Ten-
nesseean,
Dickens looked him all over from
head to foot and from foot to head be-
fore he answered, “My Little Nell.”
“Oh,” said the Tennesseean, “I didn’t
know you had your daughter with
you!”
“1 am speaking of the Little Nell of
my story, ‘The Old Curiosity Shop.’
sir,” retorted Dickens, flushing.
“Oh,” said the imperturbable Ten-
uesseenn, “you write novebds, do you?
Don’t you consider that a rather tri-
fling occupation for a grownup man?”
Chinese Laundry Tickets.
It is not generally known that the
Chinese laundry system of ticketing a
bundle of soiled clothes is based on
the many gods and goddesses of the
laundry.
The Chinese laundryman at the be-
ginning of each week makes out a
bateh of checks in duplicate, to be
used as wash tickets. He selects the
name of some god or goddess or of
some object, as the sun, the moon or
stars. To this name he prefixes a
number, as “Moon No. 1,” “Moon No.
2," and so on. In the space between
“the two legends—for the signs are re-
-peated—he has his own name, as, for
instance, Wong Lee.—Harper's Week-
ly.
Tenure of Office Act.
The tenure of office act, passed by
congress in February, 1867, during its
bitter fight with President Andrew
Johnson, was a bill limiting the pow-
ers of the president in removals from
office. Among other things it took
from the president the power to re-
move members of his cabinet except
by permission of the senate, declaring
that they should hold office “for and
during the term of the president by
whom they may have been appointed
and for one month thereafter, subject
to removal by and with the consent of
the senate.” The president vetoed the
bill, but it was passed over his veto.—
New York American. :
The Standard Size.
“Here's another alleged humorous ar-
ticle about coal by that new jokesmith
of ours,” said the editor's assistant.
“Shall I use it?"
“What size is it?’ asked the editor.
“Oh, chestnut size, of course!”—Phil-
adelphia Press.
Making Sure.
“I pay as I go,” declared the pom-
pous citizen.
“Not while I'm running these apart-
ments,” declared the janitor. “You'll
pay as you move In."—Louisville Cou-
rier-Journal.
Wisdom of the Seer.
Young Lady--Will the young man I
am engaged to make a good husband?
Fortune Teller—It's up to you to make
& good husband of him. All bad hus-
bands are self made.—New York
World.
Nothing is so oppressive as symme-
try because symmetry is boredom, and
boredom is tbe basis of melancholy
and yawning despair.—Victor Hugo.
“BRR a
GRR
A Story of Henry Clay.
The following auccdote of Henry
Clay was told by oue of his personal
friends:
While making the journey to Wash-
ington on the National road. just after
his nomination as candidate for the
presidency, he was traveling one
stormy night, wrapped up in a buge
clonk, on the back seat of the stage-
conch when two passengers entered.
They were Kentuckians, like himself.
He fell asleep and when he awoke
found them discussing his chances in
the coming campaign.
“What did Harry Clay go into poli-
ties for?” said one. “He had a good
bit of land; he had a keen eye for
stock. If he had stuck to stock raising
he'd have been worth his fifty thou-
sand. But now he doesn't own a dol-
lar.”
“And,” the great Kentuckian used to
add, “the worst of it was, every word
of it was true!”
It was characteristic of the man that
at the next stopping place he hurried
away and took another coach lest his
critics should recognize him and be
mortified at their unintentional rude-
ness,
Impertinent Lady Holland.
In “A Family Chronicle,” a book of
gossip, Is a story about the fearful
and wonderfu! Lady Holland which is
comparatively unhackneyed.
She was at Lord Radnor’s, and they
could not get rid of her. Lord Radnor
thought of unroofing the house, but
tried first what prayers of a Sunday
evening would do. She was highly
pleased (very gracious, Lady Morley
said, because she knew they longed
to get rid of her) and said she would
go down for prayers. Whether she
was {ll 1 do not know, but it seems
she had to be carried downstairs and
wrapped herself up in cloaks, ete. In
the midst she called out for more
cloaks, which were brought her. When
she went up to the drawing room again
she sald to Lord Radnor (he hav-
ing finished with the Lord’s Prayer): “I
liked that very much, that last prayer
you read. 1 approve of it. It is a
very nice one. Pray. whose is it?”
Did any one every hear such a thing?
I cannot imagine why people should
bear her lmpertinence.
Eight Points of the Law.
A correspondent signing himself “So-
and-s0” overheard some men—"evi-
dently lawyers,” he says—talking over
a case recently when some such ex-
pression as this reached his ears:
“Well, he couldn't help winning. He
had the eight points of the law in his
favor.”
Ever since he heard this “So-and-so”
has been wondering what were the
eight points referred to, and he asks
me if I can enlighten him on the sub-
ject.
The eight points of the law, “So-and-
80.” are these: First, a good cause;
second, a good purse; third, an honest
and skillful solicitor; fourth, good evi-
dence; fifth, able counsel; sixth, an up-
right judge; seventh, an intelligent
jury; eighth, good luck.
It is well understood in forensic ecir-
cles that if you have all these in your
favor you stand a sporting chance of
winning your case. But, on the other
hand. of course you may lose.— London
Standard.
Bonaparte as a Deadhead.
Frederic Febvre publishes in the
Paris Gaulois an interesting docu-
ment preserved In the archives of the
Theatre Francais. It runs as follows:
“Pass the citizen Bonaparte to this
evening's performance of ‘Manilus.’—
Talma.”
This shows, of course, that the Em-
peror Napoleon when he was only a
lieutenant of artillery was very glad
of “orders” for the theater. M. Febvre
adds a story which he heard from Tal-
ma’'s son to the effect that the future
ruler of France used to lie in wait for
the tragedian in the galleries of the
Palais Royal and that the tragedian
used often to whisper to his compan-
fon: “The other way, if you don't
mind. I see Bonaparte coming, and
I'm afraid he'll ask me for seats.”
Evidence Against Him.
“] am proud to say,” said the man
with the loud voice, “that I have never
made a serious mistake in my life.”
“But you are mistaken,” said the
mild mannered man with the scholarly
stoop. ‘You have made one very seri-
ous mistake.”
“I'd like to know where you get your
authority for saying so.”
“Your declaration is evidence that
you have never tried to see yourself as
others see you.”—Exchange.
The Marvelous Resistance of Water.
If it were possible to impart to a
sheet of water an inch in thickness
sufficient velocity, the most powerful
bomb shells would be immediately
stopped in their flight when they came
into contact with it. It would offer
the same resistance as the steel armor
of the most modern battleship.—Strand
Magazine.
The Law's Delay.
Betty—That case hasn't come on yet.
Isn't the law's delay maddening? Cis-
sie (absentmindedly)—Perfectly fright-
ful! I've been six months getting that
young barrister to propose.—London
Opinion,
His Loss Our Gain.
Poet—I had a poem here, but while
I was waiting for you I carelessly
upset some Ink over it, and I fear that
I cannot remember it to rewrite it.
Editor—That's good.—New York Press.
A Quick Switch.
Jack (studying geography)—Father,
what Is a strait? Father (reading the
paper)—Five cards of a—that is, a nar-
row strip of water connecting two
larger bodies. — Harper's Weekly.
At one time it was widely credited
that flying fish possessed the power to
nccelerate thelr passage through the
air by flapping their “wings,” as their
enormously eicugated pectoral fins are
sometimes called. Had this been prov-
ed these fish would have actually shar-
ed with bats, birds and insects a pow-
er which has been denied to all other
living creatures. But men of science
are now agreed that the motion of the
fine sometimes seen when the fish
leaves the water is merely a continua-
tion of its swimming movement and in
no way aids the passage of the fish
through the air. The method of the
fish's flight is this: It rushes through
the water at high speed, hurls itself
into the atmosphere and. spreading its
buze winglike fins, glides rapidly for-
ward until its momentum is exhausted.
Then it drops back again into the wa-
ter. Bo great Is the impetus gained
that these fish under favorable condi-
tioas will “fly” for a distance of 500
feet. But when once the impetus is
exhansted the fish is quite unable to
svatain itself in the alr by muscular
effort. —8cientific American.
Where the Joke Lay.
He was an Englishman, taking a trip
on a Welsh excursion steamboat, and
Lie was watching a group of Welsh col-
liers lurking with one another, when
they suddenly seized one of their com-
panions and swung him to and fro.
The victim shrieked in terror as the
rinzleader shouted:
“Now, boys, overboard with im!”
fo real was the horror of the collier
that the Englishman jumped up and
Interfered successfully. The collier
picked himself up and backed to a safe
seat next the Englishman, who sternly
reproved him for uttering such nerve
shattering cries,
“It was only a joke, and you must
have known it,” he said.
The collier wiped his forehead.
“Iss, I knowed famous it wass a
Joke,” he retorted, “an' that's why I did
screech blue murrdurr. Eu don’t know
the boys, surr. The joke with them
wass 1o chuck me overboard. Thank
en kindly forr stoppin’ ‘em!"—Pear-
son's Weekly.
Didn't Want to Tell.
The late Professor Greene, author of
Greene's Analysis and the English
Grammar with which so many have
wrestled in their school days, was one
of the most genial and fatherly of men.
During the later years of his life he
was professor of mathematics and as-
tronomy in a New England college.
There was in one of his classes a some-
what slow witted though studious
young man, whom we will call Jones,
On a certain occasion after Jones had
repeated cavefully the text book state-
ments about the effects of the motions
of the earth and was trying to remem-
ber what came next in the book the
professor interposed with:
“Were you ever in the shadow of the
earth, Mr. Jones?”
Jones (slowiy)—No, sir.
Professor— Where do you spend your
nights, sir?
Jones didn't want to tell.—Univer-
salist Leader.
Banquets In Elizabeth's Time.
In Queen Elizabeth's time the first
course of a banquet is given as wheat.
en flummery, stewed broth or spinach
broth, or swallage, gruel or hotch pot.
The second consisted of fish, among
which are lampreys, poor John, stock-
fish and sturgeon, with side dishes of
porpoise, The third course comprised
quaking puddings, black puddings, bag
puddings, white puddings and marrow
puddings, Then came veal, beef, ca-
pons, humble pie, mutton, marrow pas-
ties, Scotch collops, wild fowl and
game. In the fifth course all kinds of
sweets, creams in all their varieties,
custards, cheese cakes, jellies, warden
ples, suckets, sillibubs and so on, to
be followed perhaps by white cheese
and tansy cake; for drinks, ale, beer,
wine, sack and numerous varieties of
mead or metheglin.—New York Trib-
une.
Chamois Maker Is a Magician.
Most everybody uses chamois, and
everybody imagines it comes from the
graceful goats of the Swiss Alps, but
it doesn’t. It really hails from the
cavernous depths of tanneries of Pea-
body, in New England. Peabody tan
ners make beautiful leathers of sheep
pelts. The chamois maker is a magi
cian of the leather trade. To his door
he draws sheepskins from the great
ranches of Montana or their possible
future rivals on the plains of Siberia,
the pampas of Argentina or the fields
of Australia. Mary's little lamb, mas-
querading as brave Swiss chamois, has
a wonderful career.
Natural Anxiety.
A very talkative little boy was al-
lowed to accompany his father to a
friend's house on the understanding
that he should not speak until some-
body asked him a question. He re-
mained silent for half an hour. “Fa-
ther.” he then murmured, “when are
they going to begin asking me ques-
tions?’
She Speaks Out.
“You aren't earning very much.”
“But, my darling, two can live as
cheaply as one.”
“I don’t yearn to live cheaply, young
man."—8t. Louis Republic.
Instinct.
What is instinct? It is th’ nachral
tendency iv wan whin filled with dis
may to turn to his wife.—Mr. Dooley.
\
Great Success.
“Were the amateur theaiFicais good?
“Splendid! I never saw anything
worse.” Life.
He doubles his troubles who bor
pows tomorrow's.—Spanish Proverb.
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