SULLIVAN REPUBLICAN.
W. M. CHENEY, Publisher.
VOL. X.
Out of 110,000,000 souls comprising
the Russian Empire, fully 80,000,000
are engaged in agricultural pursuits.
A French company is now building a
street car line in Tashkend, the Capital
of Russian Turkestan, where, not very
many years ngo, any white man who
had visited the place would have lost
his head.
New York contains an average of.'l 7, •
675 inhabitants to the square mile, or
fifty-eight to the acre. The population
varies from three to the acre in Ward
Twenty-four to 471 in Ward Ten. This
last, which is at the rate of 303,360 tc
the square mile, is the densest in the
•world.
Since 1885 the course of the River
Volga, in Russia, has rapidly been
changing, until the city of Saratoy, once
called the "Golden Port of the Volga,"
is left three milts away from its banks.
Saratoy is a wnll-built city of about
135,000 inhabitants. Its trade, which
was very large, depended mainly on the
liver.
There were published last year in this
country 4065 books,according to figures
just compiled. In this total, which has
been surpassed in the last six years only
by the number credited to the year
1886, are included- new editions of
American books and reprints and trans
lations of foreign books, as well ai
original works.
In his "Race Prussienne," Quatre
fages maintains that the Prussians are
not Germans. Ethnographically they
are a different race, he sayS, but they
have acquired the Teutonic tongue, just
as the Highlanders have received Eng-<
lish. According to- him, the German is
the vassal of the Prussian now, as he
was of the Roman in the past.
Doctor Sargent, the Director of the
Harva-d Collage Gymnasium, and an
authority on physical training, has for
years been making a careful study ol
the human form. As a result of his in
vestigations he has determined upou
what would bo considered the ideally
perfect man from a physical point ol
view. W. C. Noble, the sculptor, is to
prepare a bronze cast based upon these
measurements which will be exhibited at
the Columbian Exposition.
Loyalty to the lost cause dies hard in
England, confesses the San Francisco
Chronicle. The death of Mary, Queen
of Scots, is still commemorated, aud
those who hold the Stuarts in. veneration
may lay flower.? upon the tomb of this
loveliest and most unfortunate of her
race. There is something touching in
this reverence, and in this country we
could have more of it with proSt, for the
number of heroes that we hold in grate
ful remembrance is painfully small.
A curious movement of population is
noted by the New Orleans Picayune in
Illinois. Sixty-nine cars recently left
Peoria for Central lowa loaded with farm
ers, their families and household ef
fects. The emigrants are mostly from
McLean County, 111. Thera were in all
112 adults and eighty-two children.
They said that they were moving be
cause their Illinois lands had grown so
valuable that they could not farm them
with profit, so they sold out and bought
lands equally good but much cheaper in
lowa.
The Christian population of the world
is ascertained to bi about five hundred
millions, constituting a third of the in
habitants of the earth. It is an interest
ing fact, remarks the Atlanta Constitu
tion, that the increase within a century
and a half has reached this number from
only 200,000,000. A year ago the pro
gressive nation of Japan revolutionized
the Government and adopted a more
popular form. At the first election for
members of their Parliament it was found
that several Japanese believers in Chris
tianity had been chosen by popular suf
frage. There are no-.v tliirieen Christiaa
Japanese in the present Parliament and
many offices of note are held by Japanese
of the Christian faith. In fact, this
beautiful country must soon take raalc
among the Christian nations, aud when
we consider how r.ear it may be made to
us commercially by the construction of
the Nicaragua Canal, as well as
by rnpid transit acioss the American con
tinent, we may expeo - - our people of the
twentieth century to , icome nearly as
familiar with Japanese they are with
Europeans.
IN THE BATTLE.
If a trouble binds you, break it;
Life is often what we make it.
Good or ill—and so we take it;
Let not disappointment fret you,
If a seeming ill beset you,
Cast it off, and hopeful get you
On your way—
As you make it, so you take it,
In the battle every day.
If your genius slumber, wake it;
For our life is what we make it;
As we shape it, so we take it;
If we hunt for care or sorrow,
We shall only always borrow
Trouble from n better morrow
Kvery day—
As we make it. so we take it—
So the life will run away.
If the heart is thirsty, slake it;
If a blessing offers, take it;
For our life is what we make it;
Joy abounds in happy faces;
Pleasure lives in rosy places;
Let us court the goodly graces
By the way;
And we'll take it as we make it
In the battle every day.
Dig the garden, smooth it, rake it;
For the math is what we make it;
As you work it, so you take it;
Sit not idly hoping, dreaming—
Wrapt in fancy's futile teeming;
Victory does not come by scheming—
Strike and stay!
As you make it, so you take it.
If you faint not by the way.
—M. V. Moore, in Detroit Free Press.
HER LITTLE JOKE,
« ISS JOCELYN is
BP lookiug out of the
\ Jrm w ' n dow. It is a
m-»o\ drenching day, and
I B there is nothing to AAI
AAI f//g H be seen but the gar
(*en > ' ts heavy
I/t m heated roses droop-
C )B,V § n ing under the down
n> 3 P our > the vil
<\ W I H lage street beyond,
JSV. now fast becoming a
water-course.
"I call this the dullest place in exist
ence," said Miss Jocelyn, half aloud—
"the very dullest."
She does not finish her sentence, but
turns to the massive pier glass to look at
the reflection of herself—a handsome
girl in a smart frock. After one glance
she turns back to tho window with a
sigh.
"What's the use? One might as well
wear sackcloth trimmed with ashes in
this place, for all the people there are to
see one's gowns. It was much more fun
at school, alter all.
"Why"—suddenly craning forward—
"if that isn't that frumpy little Miss
Blake with Mr. Stanford, and he is hold
ing his umbrella over her! She has got
his arm, too! I wonder how he likes it?
Poor mau—l wonder if he ever notices
whether a woman is old and plain or
young and pretty?
"Now he's gone splash into a puddle,
and she is actually looking up at him
and blushing and laughing. Oh, what
a joke. Fancy her blushing! Why she
must be forty if she's a day—quite forty.
And these little curls bobbing about as
she goes!
"I wonder if lier sister makes her
wear her hair like that? I wonder if she
is in love with him? Poor old soul!"
Mr. Stanford is a curate, but he is a
man first and afterward a cleric. Strcng,
manly, gentle, lie plays cricket with the
village boys, is ready to gossip for a few
moments with the old gaffers, is a mem
ber of the debating society as well as the
rowing club.
But Miss Jocelyu is young, and is not
vet able to grasp more than the fact that
she is better looking and better dressed
than most of the girls whom she knows.
So to her Ruth Blake is a ridiculous
sight, and Mr. Stanford's quiet courtesy,
which he would extend just as readily
and pleasantly to his washerwoman, is a
"good joke."
She watches them part at the Misses
Blakes' little green gate, and thinks she
can see Miss Ruth's upward glance and
smile at the line face above her before
Mr. Stanford turns and comes striding
and splashing back through the puddles.
Then, having nothing else to do, Miss
Jocelyn plans a pretty little piece of mis
chief, which she promptly seta about
carrying out. She has one gift, this
handsome Miss Jocelyn; she is very skill
ful with her pen, and after a little prac
tice c.in imitate almost any handwriting.
And now she remembers that there is
in the study a letter of Mr. Stanford's to
her father, and her eyes sparkle with de
light.^
"What fun to send poor old Miss
Blake a love letter! Perhaps she has
never had one. It will be a kindness,
positively! How she will blush and
simper—silly old thing! Well, serve her
right! When there are so few young
men in a place, what business have old
maids strolling about with them under
umbrellas.
"Miss Cornelia's a lying down, Miss
Ruth. She have one of her bad head
aches, and she says as how no one is to
disturb her. And your tea is ready and
waiting, Miss."
Ruth Blake turns into the prim little
dining room, seats herself upon one of
the straight backed chairs and begins to
draw off her brown cotton gloves.
She is an odd little figure, small and
slim, and dressed in a hideous antiquated
plaid, with shades of glaring blue and
LAPORTE, PA., FRIDAY, APRIL 22, 1892.
green; yet her fair hair—which tho wind
and rain have ruffled and made to look
like a halo about her meek, small face—
painful curve of her lips, aud her slightly
flushed cheeks, render her nppearance
not altogether unpleasing.
She eats her simple tea quickly, glanc
ing from time to time at a book which
she has propped up against the milk jug
—a book Mr. Stanford mentioned inci
dentally one day, and which she has ob
tained from the village library.
The next morning Miss Ruth gets a
letter. She knows the handwriting upon
the envelope before she opens it.
•'Parish matters, of course," she says
to herself. "Perhaps it's about the
school treat."
She opens the envelope, unfolds the
note within and is reading it slowly,
when suddenly she utters a low cry, her
breath conies fast and the familiar world
about, her grows iu a moment strange and
unreal.
For it is a love letter. ' She is thirty
three, and this is her very first.
And from such a man—the man whom
she has looked up to and reverenced and
I followed so humbly and modestly ever
since she first saw him! She goes down
to breakfast with a flushed face, quiver
ing lips and radiant eyes.
"Miss Cornelia's just ou the ramp
this morning, miss," says the little maid
warningly, as she meets Ruth in the nar
row passage that does duty for a hall.
Miss Ruth nods and smiles as if this
were the pleasantest intelligent possible.
Cornelia's diatribes this morning fall up
on heedless ears.
Ruth answers at intervals, "Yes,
dear,"and "No, dear," and"l will see
to it, sister," as in duty bound; but her
heart and soul are tilled with one thought
—thar wonderful letter.
After breakfast, Miss Cornelia goes out
to visit her district. Then Miss Ruth
takes up her pen and writes tremblingly
out of the fulness of her heart:
DEAH MR. STANFORD—Your letter has
surprised me very mueli. I scarcely know
what to say, excapt that 1 am most grateful
to you. It is so good of you to love me as
you say yon do, aud love lias always seemed
such a beautiful thing to me, thoujen I never
thought that it was likely to conn* to either
my sister or me. But I atn very, very glad
to have had your letter, and shalL always be
so, even if you change your mind, for, in
deed, X am not worthy of all the {jood things
you say of rae. .Still, whatever liappens, I
stuill always feel happy to know that you
onco thought as you have written. And 1
beg you will think the matter over well.
Though it seems impertinent of me to advise
you, yet I think only of your good. And 1
am always your faithful friend.
RUTH BLAKE.
She reads the letter over .several times,
and then shakes her head.
"How poorly I have said it!" she
thinks. "But he is sokind; he will un
derstand that I mean well."
The curate, when he receives the gen
tle, humble epistle, is filled with dismay.
He paces wildly up and down bis small
sitting room.
"Somebody has played a cruel, heart
less trick upon that poor little woman,
and I have to face her and tell her so. 1
would rather be shot."
He drinks his scalding tea in great
gulps, and is glad of the pain it causes
him.
"But what am Ito do? Go and tell a
woman—a kind, gentle, little lady—
coarsely and brutally to her face, that
she lias been played with and insulted;
that I never dreamed of loving her;
that it is impossible for me to do so?
Oh, cruel and cowardly! How can I
strike a gentlewoman, or indeed any
woman, such a blow as that?"
lie rests his head upon his hands and
groans.
After a while he readsithe letter over
again slowly. He reads between the
lines and seems to see a soul laid bare
before him, and he realizes how much
that means to her. What a new flood of
light has been poured suddenly upon
that sad, unselfish life!
And there is no help for either of
them. He must do it? Well, then, let
it be done at once.
Mechanically he takes his hat down
from its peg and goes out into the street,
walking with his head bent down, see
ing nothing, hearing nothing until he is
close to the little green gate; then a
child's clear, high voice reaches his ear.
"My g'aunie made it," she says.
"Ain't it pitty?"
"It's a beautiful doll," a gentle voice
answers. "Is it a goad baby?"
"Welly dood," the child says, tucking
the rag doll under one chubby arui.
"Dive me a wose, please."
Miss Ruth plucks one of the few re
maining June roses, one of the prettiest,
aud puts it into the little outstretched
hand.
As she turns to look after the child
Miss Ruth sees him and pauses shyly.
Something has to be said, so he comes
forward.
"What a lovely evening?" he exclaims,
though he scarcely knows whether it
raius or whether the sun shines.
"Yes," she answers. "Won't you—
were you—will you come in?"
He follows her into the hou9e with an
intense longing lor something, however
dreadful, to happen to him, and save
him from what is to follow.
Ruth takes him into the dining room.
He feels vaguely that hi 3 task is becom
ing more difficult. In the bare, chill
little drawing room he could have said
his say better. But she brought him
straight into the sauctuary ot her home,
and again he feels oddly that her life
lies open before him.
There is her work lying folded togeth
er. What a tiny thimble! He glances
down at her small bare hands. She has
taken off her ugly gloves. What a bit
! of a woman for a strong man to tight!
What a gentle life to be mnrred arfd
shattered by a bitter shame!
Still Mr. Stanford does not speak,
but stands there before her, looking
very pale. His back is to the window
and she cannot see his face well, but the
light shines full upon hers.
"I did not show my sister your letter,"
she begins hesitatingly. "I thought I
had better wait—that perhaps you
would change your mind, think differ
ently about it all, and then it would be
best that only we two should know."
She does not say a word about
changing her own mind. She stands
there before him, a sweet, fair woman,
in spite of her old fashioned gown and
her oddly arranged hair.
She looks at him with smiling, stead
fast eyes, and bids him take or leave her
as pleases him best. And his courage
to hurt, wound, perhaps kill her, fails
him. In a moment his resolution is
taken. He strides hastily forward.
"Ruth, do you love me?" he asks,
holding out his hands. And the calm
of her face breaks up as she sinks into
his arms.
"Oh, so much—so much!" she almost
sobs. "But lam not worthy of you.
You should marry some one ever, ever
so much better and younger and prettier
than I. Do you know," hiding her
ashamed face and confessing it as she
would have confessed a sin, "I am
thirty-three."
"And I am thirty-four," he answers.
"Dreadful isn't it?"
When Miss Jocelyn hears the news,she
goes away suddenly on a visit to some
friends.
Three years have passed, and Laura
Jocelyn is older, sadder, wiser. She
has loved and suffered, and learned to
sympathize with others. But she has
never seen Mr. Stanford or his old maid
wife again.
When she returned home the marriage
was over, and they were gone to his new
living.
"This was the worst thing I ever
did," she says sadly to herself. "I
will go and confess, anil tell him how
sorry I am. What a horrible thing to
have ruined two lives!"
So she goes on her penitent errand to
th<j small town forty miles away. On
getting out of the train she asks the way
to the vicarage, and walks there slowly.
A child's laugh startles her from her
bitter musings, and she looks up and
across the sweetbriaj' hedge that is in
bloom at her side, for it is July again.
She sees but dimly an old-fashioned
garden, a quaint, rambling house, for
that is Mr. Stanford himself standing so
close to her that she could almost touch
him.
And who is that lady, the pretty little
woman in the dainty gray gown, her
fair, wavy hair knotted close to her head,
and her eyes shining with happiness?
With a gasp Miss Jocelyn recognizes
her. That is—no!—that was Ruth
Blake.
"Now let him come to me," the little
woman cries gaily. "Harry, you are
spoiling the child. Let him come to his
mother."
Ruth stoops down and holds out her
arras, and a tiny figure in white rushes
wildly for a little distance toward her,
and then totters unsteadily, and finally
sits down plump upon the grass, the per
formance being hailed with a shout of
laughter from the father, echoed inoro
softly by Ruth.
Under cover of their mirth MissJoce
lyn steals away. She has received for
giveness unasked, and she has the sense
to see that to apologize to either of these
two happy, blessed people would be an
impertinence.—Boston Globe.
Frogs" Are Dainty.
It is not a hundred years since Dr.
Kitchener, in his quaint old book, "A
Cook's Oracle," gave among culinary
curiosities, with "roasted horse and
lizards in hot broth," "fried frogges."
Yet a dish of frogs' legs is to-day a
dainty dish that almost any one will ap
preciate. It has been estimated that over
40,000 frogs' legs are used in New York
in a single season. When it is remem
bered that they seldom sell for less than
fifty cents a pound, it will be seen that
they are no inconsiderable feature of our
markets. They will be in market in the
spring time, being in prime condition iu
the latter part of April and in May. The
only part of the auimal used is the hind
legs. The finest quality of frogs' legs
come from Canada. They are brought
to market skinifed and ready for use. All
that is necessary is to twist off their
claws. Sprinkle them with salt and pep
per to broil them; dip them in sweet oil,
squeeze over them a few drops of lemou
juice and lay them on a broiler. Broil
them very carefully, about five minutes
on each side, until they are a very deli
cate brown. Tiiey should be served with
a maitre d'hotel nutter.
A more fannli ir way of cooking frogs
is to fry theui. Wipe them off, seasou
with salt and pepper, squeeze a few
drops of lemon juice over them if you
wish; dip them in beaten egg aud then
in the finest silted bread-crumbs. Lay
them in a frying-basket so that they do
not touch and plunge them into a kettle
of boiling fat. When they have fried for
five minutes lift them up, lay them on a
h otplatter. aud serve them with a little
decoration of green. Tartare sauce is
very good with them. No one who eats
frogs' legs cooked in either of these ways
will be tempted to try the most elaborate
fricassee of frogs' legs. —New York
Tribune.
The gossip believes half she hears and
tells the other half.—Elmira Gazette,
Terms—Sl.2s in Advance; 81.50 after Three Months
SCIENTIFIC AND INDUSTRIAL.
Prance now produces incombustible
shoes.
There are twenty thousand different
kinds of butterfly.
Animal life ceases to exist in the oceau
at a depth of one and a half miles.
Fifty-one metals arc now known to
exist. Four hundred years ago only
seven were known.
There is talk of putting a fleet of elec
trically propelled launches on the la
goons at the Chicago World's Fair.
It has been found that milk can be
thoroughly sterilized by heating it to a
temperature of 140 degrees Fahrenheit.
A recent improvement in making
water conduits consists in imbedding
wire netting in the cement used. The
piping thus made is greatly strength
ened.
J. J. McDonnell, Day Chief Operator
in the Western Union Telegraph office at
Tacoma, Washington, has developed a
sextuple system of telegraphy and ap
plied for a patent ou it.
Frederick Schwatka, who once ex
perienced a temperature of seventy-one
degrees below zero in the Arctic regions,
is said to be the only civilized being
who ever endured such cold.
The Dead Sea loses every day by evap
oration several million tons of water.
This enormous mass is easily drawn up
by the rays #f the sun, the valley wherein
the sea lies being one of the hottest upon
the globe.
The skeleton of a whale, over 100
feet long, has been discovered buried in
the sands on the shore of Baranhoff
Island, off Alaska, far above the high
tide mark. It is supposed to have been
there hundreds of years.
Pipes of cement, in which wire net
ting is imbedded, are now manufactured
iu Berlin, Germany. The wire netting
is said to greatly increase the strength of
the pipes against bursting, so that they
arc well adapted for water conduits.
Recent experiments show that the per
manency of the power in magnets is
greatly increased by heating them in
steam and remagnetizing them. When
this has been done several limes the
mugnct will suffer very little from heat.
When Portland cement is mixed with
water and used in atmosphere below the
freezing point it will set, but rapidly
disintegrates. It has recently been
found that the mixing of a small amount
of caustic soda will overcome this diffi
culty.
To say that Venus and Jupiter recently
came in conjunction is a figure of speech,
by which is meant that Venus, in running
her orbit, swings into the line of sight
from the earth to Jupiter. Jupiter is
really 1400 times as large as Veuus, and
their distance apart is more than 400,-
000,000 miles.
A French physician is authority for the
statement that the regular tramp of
marching soldiers is much more harmful
10 brain and body than the less regular
walk of the ordinary pedestrian. Ac
cording to the scientist, walking ton
miles in line is ar exhaustive as walking
twenty at a go-as-you-please gait.
A novelty in the line of building ma
terial comes from Germany, where a
firm ha? perfected a means by which
sawdust is mixed with an acid and the
whole is then pressed into ihe required
shapes. The process makes the material
non-coinbustible. It is lighter than iron
or steel and stronger than wood, being
also very cheap.
Electric heating is now attracting gre.it
attention, due in part to the success
which has lately been made iu street-car
work, but more particularly to the in
crease in the possibilities of obtaining
current at a reasonable figure. The
strides made in the transmission of power
from a cheap source has opened up a very
wide field for this branch of the electric
art.
Miss Eleanor Omeroed is the most dis
tinguished entomologist of England.
Her first object in takinz up the science,
it is stated, was to save the farmers'
grain from destruction, and, in order to
render herself familiar with the habits of
insect life, she often spends hours
stretched upon the ground studying
them. She has been appointed Consult
ing Entomologist to the lioyal British
Agricultural Society.
Electricity Serves All Purposes.
Wondrous boasts are made in this
country of the progress of electrical
science, and many Americans seems to
imagine that the United States leads the
world in this regard. But the fact is
claimed that little Switzerland is far
ahead of all ompetitors in the use of
electricity. Its rushing streams and
waterfalls are everywhere utilized for the
production of electric power. Arrange
ments have just been completed at Ma
loja ICursaal for heating a great hotel by
this agent. The heaters are to be scat
tered about the buildings, just as stores or
steam coils would be, and it is understood
that the curreut is to be employed for
cooking too. The circuits run, of course,
into every room, and at night nothing
will be easier lhan to uuship one of the
little lamps and put iu the wires for a
hot-water "'grog" boiler, or tor a bed
wanner, both of which will stay warm
through the whole night, and at one
predetermined heat.—New Orleans Pic
ayune.
Of course a fellow is pushed for time
when an officer hustles him iQto a peni
tentiary.—Binghaiuton Republican.
NO. 28.
LIFE'S TANGLED THREADS-
A woman sits the livelong day
By a swiftly moving wheel.
While through each hand a single thread
Runs from a whirling reel:
And aa the wheel turns round and round
In its unvaried track
The threads are twisted in a cord
Of mingled gold and black.
A fickle goddess sits supreme
Upon her throme of state,
While joy and sorrow through her handß
Pass like the threads of fate;
And as the wheel of destiny
Turns out life's cord, behold.
From end to end the fiber runs.
Of mingled black and gold.
Hope is the thread of shining gold,
The sable, dark despair,
And not a soul exists, but both
Are strangly blended there;
Yet when the tangled cord of life
By death's cold hand is riven,
Faith, like a silver thread of light,
Still reaches up to Heaven.
—L. F. Hills, in Atlanta Constitution.
HUMOIt OF THE DAY.
A wedding trip—The broken engage
ment.
The minister's study—How to make
both ends meet.—Life.
No form of error is more nauseating
than that vhich lauds itself as exclusive
truth.—l/ii'e.
The straage tiling is that hotel run
ners arc uot the people who run the
hotels.—St. Joseph News.
"We shall live by hook or by crook,"
said the fisherman when he married the
shepherdess.—Boston Post.
That no one will take a fellow's word
is not necessary proof ttyt he will keep
it.—Binghamton Republican.
If you have a Jonah k *jvmong your
friends don't sit down and about it;
ben whale.—Atchison Globe.
The professional thief is sometinies
called a bird of prey, and yet he's only
a robin'.—Binghamton Leader.
It must not be supposed that a woman
is out of temper because she moves about
with a bang.—Boston Gazette.
Astronomers do not attempt to knock
the spots oil the sun. They only stand
and look at them.—Picayune.
Wonder if this agitation against
"sweat-shops" will affect parties who
are running Turkish baths?— Boston
Bulletin.
No wonder the swine ran down into
the sea. Is there anything more rash
than a rasher of bacon ?—Binghamton
Republican.
High-school Teacher—"Why do come
dies always end with a marriage?" Pu
pil—"Because that is where the tragedy
begius."—La Figaro.
"Who is that across the street?" "Oh,
that's a very close friend of mine."
"Indeed!" "Yes, he never lends me a
cent."—Texas Siftings.
"Waiter, this steak is much smaller
than the one I had yesterday. How's
that?" "Oh, it comes from a smaller
ox."—Fliegende Blatter.
Raving—ls Parsons as much of a
bibiiomaninc as ever?" "Yes. He paid
SSOO to get his owu book published last
summer."—Brooklyn Life.
It is often the case that the women
who give their children romantic nam*?s
have husbands who do not know now to
spell them.—Atchison Globe.
Humanity appears to be very unequal
ly divided between those who can't stand
wrospeiity and those who can't get any
to stand.—Binghamton Republican.
"Do you wear your sunniest smiles
when you want to get an unusual favor
from your husb'ind?" "No; I wear my
briniest tears."—Yarmouth Register.
The two-headed boy may not have so
many corns in proportioa to his size as
other boys, but he must have a great
deal more toothache.—Binghamton Re
publican.
Officer—"Private Huber, how is a
soldier to behave when he comes in con
tact with a civiliau?" Soldier—"That
depends on how the civilian Iwhaves."
—Texas Siftings.
She—"What is that little silver design
on your 'anel?" He—"Examine it."
She—"lt's a tiny tree with an axe lying
near." He—"Exactly. It means that
I only need to be axed."—Pittsjurg
Bulletin. a
Mrs. Childers (at 3 A.MM. "Charles,
something's the matter with baby's .irm.
Hear how he cries? Perhaps Lis arm'j
asleep." Mr. Childers—"ls itl Then
don't wake it up—perhaps it will spread
to the rest of him!"— New Orleans Times-
Democrat.
Stein Father—"Arc you aware, sir,
that my daughter has always been ac
customed to every luxury that money
could buy?" The Young Man—"Yes;
but bless you, that won't make any dif
ference with me. I'd just as lief mar
ry that kind ot girl as any other.
Chicago Tribune.
An American lad}', visiting Paris, was
continually interested in the smart little
boys, in white caps and aprons, who de
liver the wares of the pastry-cooks. One
day she said to one of these boys, who
had brought her some cakes: "Ah, I
suppose you get the benefit of one of
these cakes yourself sometimes?" "What
do you mean, madam?" "You eat a
cake now and then?" "Eat themf Oh,
no, madame, that wouldn't do. I only
lick 'cia as I come along I"— Argonaut.