SULLIVAN REPUBLICAN.
W M, CHENEY, Publisher.
VOL. X.
The nations of the Old World are now
so well armed, avers the St. Louis Star
Sayings, that none dares fire the firsl
shot.
In Australia no newspapers are pub
lished nor railroad trains run on thi
Sabbath. Telegraph offices are closed,
and all business is suspended.
The Guatemalans are evidently adepts
in the arts of the ward politician, thinks
the Sau Francisco Chronicle. In theii
recent election the Cjnserv.itives at
Esquitia are reported to have voted the
soldiers iu the morning in unifor.n and
again iu the afternoon in citizens' dress.
It is estimated that the expenditures
necessitated by the World's Fair will
exceed *28,000,000. Over 818,000,000
of this will be expende I directly by the
commission in the erection of buildings,
pay of employes, etc. The remainder
will be expended by the State i and for
eign Governments.
The production of pig-iron during the
last six months of IS9I was unprece
dented,but the output for January shows
a further increase. It 100 ts to the New
York Commercial Advertiser as if Eng
land had been permanently passed in
this line of industry. Except We3t
Virginia the Southern States showed an
increase iu production last year as co n
pared with any earlier year. Pennsyl
vania and Ohio showed a heavy falling
off, due largely to stagnation in the rail
trade.
The consumption of those delicious
Crustacea, crabs, in bota varieties, hard
and soft shell, has grown so fast, de
clares the Boston Transcript, that a
goodly sum is invested in the fisheries.
At Crisfieli, Md., which has been the
principal point of production since some
body there started the business about
fifteen years ago, to the amusement of
unbelievers, there are employed nine
huudrod to a thousand people, over
seven hundred boats are in use, capital
umouuting to nearly *IO,OOO is required,
and the catch foots up about 5,000,000
crabs a year,i valued at $150,000.
Souther Farm, near San Leandro,
Cal., has constructed and fully equipped
a saltwater swimming tank, and it is be
lieved to be the first ever built for the
use of a horse-training farm. Experi
ment so far have all gone to demonstrate
the practicability of the swimming tank
as a labor saving device for training,
which will sooner ot later come into
general use. Ilorses, like all other ani
mals, require baths, and it is claimed
that while taking his bath he indulges
in swimming, which affords a different
but as helpful exercise as does the track.
Swimming is now clainie 1 to be a great
assistance in developing speed, and the
drudgery of track and road work is
thereby wonderfully reduced. The tank
at Souther Farm has a concrete basin,
ninety leet long over all, twenty feet
wide and eight feet deep. From each
wall there is an easy grade to deep
water, making it safe for a horse to walk
down. A platform is constructed over
the centre of the tank, which swings
from the roof. Upon this elevation a
mail stands and guides the swimming
horses, giving them the required amount
oi exercise.
Pieuro-pneumonia is one of those
things, admits the American Dairyman,
that will not "down." We can keep it
pretty well under control in this country,
where the air is comparatively dry, but
in moist England it keeps bobbing up
serenely. Just now it is making consid
erable trouble and great losses to the
farmers in various parts of England and
Scotland. Sixteen outbreaks have been re
ported and 872 head of cattle slaughtered
in the past eight weeks. This looks to
us in this country as a fearful slaughter.
There have been a few outbreaks on the
Atlantic coast, where the air, we presume,
is more moist than iu the interior, but
this diseaso has never taken on an epi
demic form heje, as it constantly threat
ens to do in some couutries in Europe,
and will do unless the most energetic
remedies are constantly employed. Long
Island seems tc carry the burden of these
ills for the United Stages, at least such is
t'ne frequent report of the authorities,
but always denied by those who live
there. It has the misfortune, so far as
pieuro-pneumonia is concerned, to be
entirely suriounded by water, thus mak
ing the atmosphere damp and arousing
the suspicions of the doctors. Like
conditions, they think, are liable to pro
duce like results.
ACROSS THE SEA.
Across the sea, the shining Southern sea,
Is she with whom I am full fain to be,
Though well I know her heart has turn ad
from me.
Fly through this wintry, rainy Northern
air-
Fly, Love, to herl Fly, eager Love, to
where
The purple South smiles, warm and flushed
and fair!
Stand by her. Love, when fast asleop she
lies
And drop for me, on her dear lips and eyes,
A kiss, that for my longing shall suffice.
Be thou to her as song, and scent, and shine;
Let all thy dearest memories combine
To turn once more her <[ueenliest heart to
mine.
—Philip Bourke Marston, in Lippincott.
A SILK HANDKERCHIEF.
BV EMMA A.* orPER.
Corn had promised
to go. '•She'll never
on her' blue silk
handkerchief to-day
and don't I kuow by
W experience that she
wears it only when she's feeling dismal
and thinking over all the troubles she
ever had or will have, and that she never
wants me to do anything when she's
that way. Oh, dear! And I told
him—"
Cora paused in her reflections and
turned to face, with a courageous smile,
the stout and dignified lady who had
entered.
"There's a picnic at the Lodge this
afternoon, Aunt Cecilia," she began—
"just a little impromptu affair. They
talked it up the other night at Bess Lang's
party, and I promised to go. Of course
I meant to speak to you first."
"Certainly!" said Aunt Cecilia. The
blue silk handkerchief was folded around
her plump neck in a particularly un
becoming way. "You should have
spoken to me immediately. Who has in
vited you?"
"Mr. Pierce." Cora raised her soft
eyes anxiously—"the young man who is
here prospecting for the Bryan Valley
Railroad, you know. They are think
ing of putting a branch through here,
and Mr. Pierce has been hero several
times this summer. He's very nice and
he's invited everywhere; and—and we
seem to know each other very well now,
for he always talks to me, you know."
Cora spoke with pretty, eager rapidity,
her cheeks flushing. "He wants to call,
and he's coming this morning to see if it
is all right about my going this after
noon. 1 told him of course it would be.
We want to start about one—"
"Pierce?" said Aunt Cecilia. "One
of the West Gainesbro' Pierces? '
"I don't know; presume not. No, I
think he's from—"
"I know the West Gainesbro' Pierces
root and branch," said Aunt Cecilia, de
liberately ' 'root and branch—and I
would no more allow a niece of mine to
associate with one of them than I would
allow her to associate with—Never mind;
i \vill not argue it, Cora. I know the
Pierces. lam grieved and I am dis
pleased that you have formed an ac
quaintance so unpleasant to me, whom
you should have considered. I hope not
to hear of another—"
"But he isn't one of the West Gaines
bro 1 Pierces," Cora cried—"l'm sure ho
isn't, Aunt Cecilia' I can't think of the
place he docs come"trom. He told me,
too. But ch, Aunt Cecilia, he's so gen
tlemanly and—nice!"
Helpless tears stood in her eyes. She
had not quite realized before how much
he had come to be to her—handsome,
bright-mannered Albert Pierce.
"I desire you to have DO more to do
■with him," said Aunt Cecilia, showing
her niece a severe, straight profile. Aunt
Cecilia was certainly good-lookiug; her
niece resembled her. "A clandestine
acqaintance of that sort, Cora! lam
astonished! Even were his family
worthy—"
"It is—l know it is. And 'clandes
tine,' Aunt Cecilia? How can you say
so? And what shall I do? He's coming
this morning to see about it, and—dear
Aunt Cecilia—"
"I should prefer not to have him
come," said Aunt Cecilia. "We will end
this undesirable acquaintance here and
now, Cora. He is at the Lane House, I
presume? I will send Matthew there
with a note, if you will write it. My
niece cannot attend picnics with a stran
ger, and a Gainesbro' Pierce."
Aunt Cecilia moved away. If she
heard presently, from her seat by the
sitting-room window, something like a
faint sob, she persuaded herself that she
had not heard it.
For Aunt Cecilia had a heart and a
warm one. Her niece knew that. Stand
ing with her eyes hidden, childlike, on
the back of her hand, which was wet
with her tears—standing with indigna
tion and real misery in her desparing
heart—Cora murmured, dismally:
"She never would have done it!
Don't I know it? It isn't like her; she
couldn't have! It's that blue silk baud
kerchief."
Aunt Cecilia had the phaeton brought
LAPOETE, PA., FRIDAY, MARCH 25, 1892.
wound early that afternoon and called to
Cora.
Cora, fresh as a rose in a pink cambric
dress, with white lace flounces, was
playing a new waltz in lively style.
Cora did not believe in worrying or
sulking.
The gay gown and the music, and the
bright look with which she greeted Aunt
Cecilia, when she stepped into the car
riage beside her, were the results of a
sensible determination not to make mat
ters worse than they already were.
Aunt Cecilia wore her blue silk hand
kerchief—that was enough. Perhaps—
yes,surely—things would come out right
somehow.
Cora hummed the waltz a3 they drove
away.
"If I'll run back and get you a laco
fichu, Aunt Cornelia," she ventured,
"won't you put it on instead—instead
of—"
"This handkerchief does very well,"
Aunt Cecilia responded. "I have had
it twenty-two years, and I wear it now
and then for old times' sake, Cora."
"Urn—yes!" said Cora, patiently.
"What are you going to do with these
two jugs, Aunt Cecilia?"
"I am going to have them filled with
boiled cider at Bently's cider mill,"
Aunt Cecilia rejoined.
"Oh!" Cora murmured.
Never, never would Aunt Cecilia have
driven to Bently's mill for two jugs of
boiled cider if she had not been wearing
her blue silk hankerchicf for old times'
sake.
"Yes, Cora," said Auut Cecilia,
gloomily. "I have had this hand
kerckief twenty-two years this fall.
I remember perfectly how I came
by it. Your Great-uncle God
frey had a store in West Gainesbro',
and lived there—that is how I came to
know the Pierces, Cora—and he gave me
this handkerchief. His store burned that
same winter, and the poor man lost his
sight only the next year. Was it that
year your Aunt Sarah died? No, that
was late the next spring. An excellent
worn,.n your Aunt Sarah was. She caught
a terrible cold, and it settle' l on her
lungs, and her death was painful and
lingering. The next year—"
Aunt Cecilia paused in her cheerfil
reminiscences.
"I wonder if Dan will be oil fidgety
at that machine up the road? I think
not. Can you make out what it is?"
"A steam thresher," said Cora. "Dan
wouldn't mind if it wasn't in the mid
dle of the road."
"We can manage him," said Aunt
Cecilia,who was always plucky. "There
are some men there to hold him if he is
nervous."
She drove on.
"Nervous?" said Cora, anxiously.
"I'm afraid he's more than nervous. If
we could turn back—"
But Dan was prancing rapidly on
toward the monster which had startled
him as by a frightened fascination.
Dan was young, and somewhat skittish
in his most soberest moments. He eyed
the machine askant, whinnying anl
pricking his ears and already trembling;
ahd when its steam whistle was suddenly
blown, he gave a neigh of wild terror
threw up his head and his hind hoofs,
and dashed on up the road, swervinj
dangerously near the ditch at right of
left as his frightened senses prompted
him, and oblivious of all but his foolish
equine fears.
That moment seemed a lifetime to
Cora. The roadside shrubs rushed ir
regularly passed, the dust flew.
Aunt Cecilia was pulling frantically
at the lines, with no faintest effect.
They would be overturned in the ditch
and hurt—killed, perhaps.
In which ditch?
Cora found her benumbed mind con
centrating itscll on that whimsical ques
tion.
On which side of the road would they
be found with broken arms or necks?
"Upon my soul!" said Aunt Cecilia
twenty seconds later.
Dan was stopped—caught by his bit?
by a strong hand whose possessor had
first brokfcn his speed by springing into
his path and turning him aside. Th«
hand was not so strong, though, but
that it felt the powerful wrench; the
young man looked pale, and was wine
ing. Ilis hat was in the dust, and some
dark curls lay very becomingly on hi*
white forehead. lie was broad-should
ered, strong-faced, tall, and ho was
smilling pleasantly up at them, and bow
ing to Cora, too.
Auut Cecilia reiterated her ejaculation.
"Upon my soul! Have you sprained
your wrist? You certainly have. Well
I never saw anything braver. I— Well,'
said Aunt Cecilia, wiping her flushed,
excited face, "I can't express myself at
all! You might have been seriously in
jured—were you awaro of that? It isn't
every man that will risk his own life to
save a stranger's. Who are you?" Aun.
Cecilia demanded, her intent, admirinc
eyes roving from the tall head to th«
firm-set feet of the preserver.
"Albert Pierce, madam. And don'!
thank me!" Albert Pierce begged, "i
am so glad to have been of service tc
you and—and Miss Cora!"
His comely face shone.
"Oh, Sir. Pierce!" Aunt Cecilis
echoed, mildly, studying him thought
fully. "From West Gainesbro'?"
"From Russell County, ma'ain—fron
Saalsberg," said Mrs. Pierce.
"You don't say so!" Aunt Cecilii
cried. "I once knew u John Pierce win
moved to Saalsberg, liussell County
from my native town, Phrea—"
"Phoenicia," said Albert Pierce, yei
more stniliuglj. "Haven't I heard hid
tell Phoenicia legends till I know soma
of them by heart? John Pierce was my
father, Mrs. Turner."
"Dead I" said Aunt Cecilia, her face
softened. "Yes, yes! I remember hear
ing when John Pierce died. A fine man
he was—a man in every sense, and of a
fine family. And this is his son! And
his son, "said Aunt Cecilia,beaming upon
him with admiration and gratitude and
warmth, "has saved two lives."
"Nonsense!" his son protested. "Ex
cuse me, Mrs. Turner, but—"
"Two lives," said Aunt Cecilia,
"which I risked by my own rashness. I
will try to thank you, Mr. Pierce. Will
you drive us home?" Aunt Cecilia quer
ied, abruptly, there being a slight
quiver in her voice and an eloquent look
in her eyes.
He was in the phaeton in a second, his
feet among the jugs and his oyes on
Cora. Hers were dropped, and the rap
idity with which her breath came was
not accounted for by her fright, which
had passed over.
"I thought you would be at the pic
nic," she taltered.
"Did you imagine I would go without
you?" he whispered, reproachfully. "It
wasn't you, Cora, I know it wasn't. It
wasn't your idea, writing that note to
mo—that miserable little note? I know
better!"
"You will come home to supper with
us," said Aunt Cecilia. "I have a salve
which is unequaled for sprains. You
must let me bandage your wrist. John
Pierce's son! How strangely things
come about!"
"I don't believe it's sprained," said
Mr. Pierce; but he looked happy.
Aunt Cecilia wore a beautiful white
lace fichu at supper, and was in good
spirits. She eyed John Pierce's son, and
listened to him, and considered him from
all points of view; and when he had
gene, late and lingering, she pinched
her niece's pink cheek, sighing and
smiliug.
"I suppose if it is to be, Cora," she
said, "that I can stand it. I don't
want to lose you for some years yet, and
I don't think I should have looked
with favor upon anybody else. But a
son of John Pierce—"
"You will burn up that awful old bluo
handkerchief, won't you, Aunt Cecilia?"
said Cora, laughing as she kissed her.
"It's so—unbecoming! And you've
had it twenty-two years already; and—"
"Just as you say, my dear," said Aunt
Cecilia, placidly.
Life History of the Rattlesnake.
Without attempting to enumerate the
traits of character popularly ascribed to
the rattlesnake, says a Florida corre
spondent, T may hero sketch the promi
nent fcatui in his life history so far as
they are accurately known. The age of
a rattler cannot be determined by the
number of his rattles. Individuals in
confinement have been known to acquire
from one to four rattles in a year, and at
any time they may accidentally lose one
or more of these appendages. Rattles
are a modification of the epidermis (a
step in this direction is shown by some
snakes which have the tail developed
into a horny tip), and their number is
added to from the anterior end of th/»
"string." The longest "string"
seen by the writer was comport of
twenty-two rattles and the customary
button, but there arc well authenticated
records of twenty- ght rattles. The
sound produced b» ibe vibration of the
rattle has been • iriously described by
different authori , the aptness of their
descriptions ar d comparisons depends
much on the et of the listener. To the
writer it rese jbles the rattling whir of a
mowing mm dine, heard in the distance,
and one is also strongly reminded of the
"song" of the common "locust" or ci
cada. The rattle, however, lacks the
musical quality noticeable in the note of
the cicada. As a ruie a lattler does not
sound his alarm v he considers him
self threatened and . lo nger; it is then
truly a note of warning, . d fortunate is
the man who appreciates iu. significance
in time to profit by it.
The distance which a rattler can strike
depends upon the position he strikes
from. When stretched out at full length
and with the muscles extended to the
utmost, he could not strike one inch for
ward, but it is said that from this posi
tion the head can, in one movement,
reach the tail. The typical position from
which to strike, and the one assumed
before the rattle is souuded, is the coil.
This is not necessarily a symmetrical
spiral, but the body is massed in more or
less regular folds, the muscles are con
tracted. and the reptile may then bo
likened to a set spring. From this posi
tion a rattler can spring about two-thirds
of his length. The blow is delivered
with a iapiditv which defies escape, and
:'s much more likely to be received below
the knee than above it. This is due not
alone to the augle at which the snake
! strikes, but also to the proximity of the
person struck at. The force of a rattle—
| snake's blow as compared with that of a
moccasin is remardable, and supplies the
| chief reason why the former is so much
! more deadly than the latter.—New York
Post.
A French physiologist reports an in
teresting experiment in preventive inocu
; latiou for consumption. About eight
{ mouths ago he inoculated two monkeys
with the tubercular bacilli of the fowl,
| and after six months they showed no
! signs of the disease. These animals and
I a third were then inoculated with human
; tubercle, with the result that those first
inoculated still continue well, while the
third died after a few weeks.
Terms—Sl.2s in Advance; 51.50 after Three Monti*
SCIENTIFIC AND INDUSTRIAL.
Glass coated bricks are annouueed.
About 1500 years ago we entered the
epoch of a more genial winter tempera
ture.
Common wheat bran, or any kind of
mill feed is recommended for extinguish
ing oil fires.
A reverse of seasons is supposed- to
take place upon this earth once iu every
10,500 years.
In his own laboratory Mr. Aitken cal
culated 30,000,000 of dust particles in a
cubic inch of air.
Experiments with two straight edges,
separated at one eud by a sheet of paper,
show that light can be seen through a
clean-cut opening of not more than
1-40,000 of an inch.
In some German telephone offices an
electrically driven clock is attached to
each telephone, which will work as long
as the telephone is off the hook, and
stops directly it is replaced.
Recent experiments have shown that
in the dog and the cat, as well as in the
rabbit, the removal of more than three
fourths of the liver is not followed by
serious consequences, and that the or
gan regains its weight within thirty-six
days.
Vaccine virus has been cultivated by
a Russian physician, who finds that the
artificially cultivated is as effective as the
genuine product, while having the ad
vantage of absolute freedom from germs
of scrofula, tuberculosis or other dis
eases.
Mr. Haly, Curator of tho Colombo
Museum, has discovered that carbolized
oil is one of the most perfect preserva
tives ot the colors of fish and other ani
mal specimens. The most delicate frogs,
snakes and geckoes retain their evanes
cent tints when kept in it.
The first white enamel factory in the
United States will be located at Dubuque,
lowa, and the plans for it have just been
received from Germany. The process of
manufacturing these goods is a secret,
and that it may not be discovered the
building will be constructed without
doors and windows except those opening
in an inner court.
It has been decided to work the Liver
pool (England) Elevated Railway by
electricity, using motor cars, instead of
separate locomotives. The line is six
miles long, and the generating station is
being erected near the middle of the
railway. Thert are several
bridges, and the structure is composed
entirely of iron and steel, spanning for
the most the existing dock railway,
which will thus be left free for the goods
traffic of the docks.
Forest vegetation is much richer in
North America than in Europe, and com
prises 412 species, of which 176 are na
tive to the Atlantic region, 10C to the
Pacific, ten are common to both, forty
six to the Rocky Mountain region, and
seventy-four are tropical species near the
coasts of Florida, as against 158 species
in Europe. Six North American specie*
of forest trees—the Judas tree, persim
mon, hackberrv, plane tree, hop horn
-1 .in and chestnut—are also indigenous
in Europe, all now growing there natur
ally south of tho Alps.
Legends of the Maories.
The Maories are sometimes generally,
and even exquisitely poetical. One of
them relates how the heavens and the
earth were at the beginning of things
united in marriage, and how the sky
was torn away from the partner of her
love by her own children, the storm
winds. Every nigh; she weeps over her
lost husband, and her tears are the dew.
Sometimes the stories are very quaintly
and oddly imaginative, as where tho
tale is told of three bretheren who took a
canoe to fish, and went far, far out into
the open sea, when one of them, who
prepared a magic hook, caught what was
supposed to be a great fish at the bot
tom, and, drawing it up to the surface,
found that he had discovered New Zea
land. That was how the land came in
being, and the Maories point to three of
the great mountain ranges as the stone
sanocs in which their giant ancestors
came from some far-off country to peo
ple the land. The mixture of childish
naivete and high imagination makes the
collection actually fascinating.—Con
temporary Review.
How a Russia n Peasant Dies.
Count Leo Tolstoi described thus
recently to Octave Houdaille,who visited
him at Jasnaja-Pojaua, how a Russian
peasant dies'.
"Death is dark and terrible on the
the canvas of the painter, but here in
this country it is almost a picture of
mirth. I just came from a peasant's
deathbed. The man knew that he must
die and his pain lasted several days, jet
not once did his serenity of soul leave
him. When death was quite near, and,
as is customary, a waxed taper was placed
in his hand, his face sssumed an expres
sion of unutterable happiness. It seems
strange to me that after such a scene
that I have felt so little emotion. Aside
from all religious feeling, death is for
these people a release from trouble;
therefore, all absence of the cloud of
sorrow seen elsewhere. It is the peace,
the slumber which the peasant has
longed for in tho depth of his misery,
aud the sorrow of living is over."
It is said that grip germs have been
caught and photographed. Wonder if
they "look pleasant?"— Statesman.
XO. 24.
MY LITTLE BIRD'S SONO.
My little bird sings all the Jay,
Sings of a magic land away
Beyond the darkness and the gloom, 1
Where all is sunshine, scent and bloom
Where buttercups and daisies play
In fragrant meadows through the day;
Where sloping hills and flowing streams
Know only blue sky's happy sheen,
And this my little bird tells me!
My little bird sings in the night,
Sings of that magic land of light
Where never diamond stars arise
To stud the shadow sprinkled skies.
For there the hours go glancing gay—
They know no other than the day.
With bud and blossom blushing bright
And dance of dainty sunbeams' light—
And this my little bird tells me I
I asked my little bird to-day,
"This magic land doth lie which way?
East? South? Where sunset's gates wide
sweep?
Perhaps the North star sentry keeps!'
My little bird up in his swing
Just pauses, nods, then blithely sings,
"The olden road of love commands
Sole entrance to the magic land!"
—St. Louis Republic.
HUMOR OF THE DAY.
Under the rose—The thorn.
A roll ol music—The drum solo.
The'best thing out—A conflagration.—
Drake's Magazine.
"Docs giblets move in the best so
ciety?" "Yes; ho has to move. He
never pays his rent."—Yale Record.
To begin at the top rung of the ladder
and to end at the lowest one is the great
combination of success in case of fire.—
Puck.
The old man in his second childhood
is rarely as ridiculous as the young father'
in his first babyhood.—lndianapolis
Journal.
A Vigilance Committee in Montana is
gunning for a church organist because he
passed off a false note. —Binghamtou
Republican.
Considering Mr. Gladstone's achieve
ment with the axe, wouldn't it bo more
appropriate to call him the "Grand Old
Feller?"— Boston Post.
A great deal of mystery attends the
running of the cars to the summit of the
White Mountains; they always go up
incog.—Lowell Courier.
Manager tt the Dime—"What's all
that racket up there?" Attendant—
"Why, a dog got in and has been gnaw
ing the ossified man."—Minneapolis
Journal.
Richard—"l know people consider
Miss Smart pretty, but there's something
about her face that I don't like." Will
iam—"Perhaps it is her noes."—Boston
Transcript.
A powerful example of moving elo
quence is when the old gentleman put his
head into the parlor at 2 o'clock and lays
it is time for callers to j;o.—Binghamtou
Republican.
"AVhat do you think of a man who
will deliberately tell you that his baby is
no smarter than the general run of
babies?" "I think he is a liar."—ln
dianapolis Journal.
, She—"Promise me if I die you will
never marry again." lie—"What! And
let people think my dear little first wife
was such a terror that I didn't dare to?
Never."—Brooklyn Life.
Master—"Mary, I wish you would be
more careful. lam very sorry to hear
my wife has to scold you so often."
Mary—"Oh, don't you ruiud me, sir. I
don't take any notice of it."—Comic.
Women are more faithful to a memory
than men. All of them cling as tenaci
ously and as long to their fyouth as they
can, and yet with many of them it is a
mere memory.—Philadelphia Times.
The begsjar was a reckless wight—
Perhaps it was las fate.
I handed him a nickel bright,
For to relieve his hungry plight;
He sought the nearest slot in sight •
And straightway tried his weight!
—New Orleans Times-Democrat.
Helping Him Out: Bingo—"Did you
succeed in cutting down your shopping
expenses this month as I requested?"
Mrs. Bingo—"Oh, yes, indeed, dear.
You know that nice woolen underwear
you wanted? Well, I got something iu
cotton much cheaper."—Cloak Review.
Mrs. Shoddy—"l want to make my
son's wife a birthday present." Jeweler
—"Would you like to see our styles of
diamond necklaces?" Mrs. Shoddy—
"Yes, 1 want to get her something hand
some to wear around her throat. Oivo
me some of those diamond tiaras I have
read about in the paper."—Texas Sitt
ings.
Captain's Wife (to her husband)—
"Arthur, love, I want you to give Jack
a good dressing down to-morrow." Cap
tain—"What for? lam perfectly satis
fied with the fellow." She—"Well, you
know, he has got to bent the carpets to
morrow, and he strikes ever so much
harder when he is in a bad temper."—
Swabische Dorfzeitung.
"Scrawk! Scrawk ! Serawk!"
Shovel the snow from your broad sidewalk;
Wake up the neighbor who sighs for a
snore;
Rest for a moment; then give him some
more
"Scrawk! Scrawk Scrawkity!—Serawk!"
Heed not the whirlwind of wild wicked
talk
That answers each burst of your snow shovel
din.
Piling up volumes of records of siu.
Just when the dawn is beginning to peep,
Just when we feel the true value of sleep,
Get out the shovel and all slumber balk
With a "Scrawk! Scrawk! Scrawk!"
—Lewiston (Me.) Journal.