i
TRAUMEREL
Out of the ashen day that's done—
(O violin, wail for visions fled—)
Out of the shadow that was sun,
Out of the roses that were red.
Come, as of old, ye dreams that died,
Gray and chill with a hope denied;
Time has blotteca what Life begun;
But dreams return, be they quick’ or dead.
Joy o' the morn is withered soon,
(O violin, soft the song grows old—)
Into its wonder flames the noon,
Falters and fades and shudders cold ;
Dreams of the day-—the 5s drift high—
Far, cold in a mocking sky.
Life grow 1int, and the hopes of June
Fade and follow like tales untold.
None of the old, sweet loves remain—
(O violin, whisper, love flees far-—)
Never a goal is left to gain,
Never a ps is left to mar.
Come from the dusk, ye dreams and steep
Heart and brain in your magic sleep.
(Call, O violin !—soft, again—)
Hope returns with the dreams that are.
—Fannie Heaslip Lea, in New Orleans
Times-Democrat.
RALAAAA AULA RARRARAARA RARE
Mattie Hunter's
Confession.
Satna
; By R. R. ENGLE.
REF IREREFEFARTS
but that
LOLOL:
Mattie had a: fiery temper,
was her worst fault.
When she married Marsh Hunter,
people opened their eyes in wonder,
and said:
“She’ll make his life a warm busi-
ness for him.”
But Mattie thought differently.
“I'll show them what a triumph love
will work. [I'll teach them not the
vixen I seem,” and so she married him.
The wedding was a very pleasant af-
fair—something to look back to as
long as they lived. Mattie looked very
sweet in her white Swiss muslin and
apple blossoms. Her jetty curls
trembled and shone in the brilliant
lamplight; her eyes sparkled like twin
stars, and her soft cheeks were man-
tled in softer blushes as she leaned
trustingly on the strong arm of the
stalwart man who was to be her guard
and guide through life.
The honeymoon was rich with the
pleasures of new-married life to the
humble pair; but the time soon came
when the bride must leave the old
rooftree for the untried realities of a
home of her own. That was the first
sorrow—the trial of leaving home and
mother—but it was fleeting, for in the
excitement of ‘setting up” housekeep-
ing in the white cottage ,on Squire
Blackburn's farm, the little sorrow was
drowned.
It was very funny, and Marsh
laughed, when. just they two sat down
to the little new table and ate from
the new dishes on the new cloth the
wholesome viands prepared by Mattie's
own hands and cooked on the new
stove. «+ Everything was new and
strangely sweet.
Everything went on nicely, and Mat-
tie was- triumphant. But-all things
earthly must change. Happiness: does
not come unalloyed. The weather
grew warm and the kitchen hot, and
one of the hottest days of the season
Mattie had a distressing headache, and
the supper must be ready at five
o'clock. Mattie tried to get it ready,
but burnt her wrist to a blister on the
stove; then she burnt the bread in the
oven. Then she looked at the clock,
and saw it had stopped, and looking
out at the door she saw Marsh wash-
ing his warm face and hands in the
water trough.
“Is supper ready?’ he asked, and she
blurted out something, and they had
their first quarrel! Oh, dear me! the
first quarrel! How sorry it made the
sick little woman. But Marsh looked
sullen, and went off to the field with-
out kissing her.
They never talked that quarrel over
simply because each was too proud to
broach the subject. After that quar-
rels came often and easier. They did
not mean to quarrel, but somehow an-
gry words would come up.
After a while a little boy came to
their household, and it seemed a
month or two a good deal like the
well-remembered honeymoon; but Mat-
tie’s wretched temper would fly to
pleces again, and the happiness was
spoiled.
“It’s curious we can’t get along with-
out so much quarrelling,” said Marsh,
one winter day, after he had just put
on a heavy “back log.”
Mattie felt the tears in her eyes in
a moment, and her heart softened to-
ward Marsh, and she was about to con-
fess her failings and ask his forgive-
ness, when he continued:
“It is all your hateful temper, Mat-
tie; you know it is.” .
“Oh, dear me! It is my wretched
temper—I know it is,” sobbed
after Marsh went out; “but he needn’t
have said so.”
“If 1 wasn’t so blunt,” said Marsh
to himself, with a sigh, as he sauntered
toward the stable.
So things went from bad to worse.
Little mistakes were magnified into
terrible wrongs. The neighbors had
their fill of gossip about the matter;
and finally, one day, when Marsh was
away, Mattie thought the thing over
“] am a wretched littie nuisance,’
she said, mentally; “I don’t know why
I am so, either; but I caa’t help it!”
she said, despairingly, her lips quiver-
ing, and her eyes filling with tears.
“I’ve a great mind to take Neddie and
80 home, and stay there. My unhappi-
ness couldn’t be greater than it is.”
She clapsed the baby close to her
arms and the big tears fell fast on his
curly head. Her heart seemed burst-
ing within her, but she wrapped the
child in her shawl, and with quicken-
ing step she fled the place and hurried
across the snow-covered fields to her
mother’s.
“What's the matter, child?” asked
her mother, as Mattie, pale and shiver-
ing, appeared at the door.
RERRRRRRRRRE RY
thoughts
| with sure welcome to the boy,
Mattie, |
i the world to get hold of a boy
“Don’t ask me, mother,” sobbed the
wretched little woman.
“You haven't left home?”
“Yes, mother, forever!”
“Don’t say that to me! You shall
go right back this instamt!” said her
mother, thinking of the scandal.that
was sure to follow such a proceeding.
“Oh, ‘don’t, mother!” and Mattie
looked the picture of despair.
“Tell me about it, my child!” said
the mother, melted into tenderness by
that look.
Then Mattie, through her tears, told
her mother all, and ended with these
pitiful words:
“But, oh, mother, 1 love him, the
father of my child—I love him, but. he
doesn’t understand me. If he could
but understand me!’ and she fell sob-
bing beside her mother's knee.
“Let me advise you, my child,” said
the mother, softly stroking her daugh-
ter’s glossy © hair. “I’ve passed
through it all, and 111 tell you a little
secret. It is almost certain that little
mistakes will come up beween hus-
band and wife, and often words are
spoken that are regretted a moment
afterward. But, my child, such a word
can do no harm, if it is repented of
and confession made. If you have said
anything to wound your husband's
feelings, no matter what he may have
said to you, go and tell him your are
sorry, and I insure it, he will not only
forgive you, but will beg you to for-
give him. The hour that follows will
| be more delightful than the hour of,
your wedding. Let me tell you.of a
little instancz in my own life;” and
the mother told her of one of those lit-
tle family differences that come up be-
tween so many worthy couples. The
story ended so pleasantly that it
soothed the tempest in the breast of
the heartsick daughter.
After the story. was done, Mattie
still kneeled, resting her tired head on
her mother’s knee. Her mother
stroked the glossy hair in silence for
a quarter of an hour; but Mattie’s
were busy. Suddenly she
arose, took her child in her arms,
wrapped it close in hér shawl, and
prepared to go.
“Where are you going, my child?”
asked her mother.
“To make my confession,” answered
Mattie, through ‘her tears.
“Heaven bless ‘you!”
mother, with’ deep emotion.
‘When Marsh Hunter came home that
night a pretty scene met his view. The
fire was burning joyously on. the
hearth, and before it stool Mattie,
dressed in a neat’ calico wrapper with
snowy collar and cuffs, and a scarlet
bow of ‘ribbon at her throat. Baby
sat on his pallet_before the fire, crow-
ing Iustily and beating the floor with
a tin rattle. Supper was on the table,
and the tea was steaming on the
hearth.
« Marsh was cold, but Such a scene
warmed him. He went straight to the
pallet and commenced a romp with
baby. Mattie went and knelt there,
too, determined to make her confes-
sion; but she did not know how to
commence. , It was easy to think of
beforehand, but when the.time came
she was lost. There was an awkward
pause; then both spoke at once. ..:
“Mattie, I've been——"
“Marsh, I'm sorry——"’
Their eyes met, -and each saw the
tenderness in those of the. other, and
all was told in an instant. Both had
made their confession. Marsh opened
his arms, and Mattie fell sobbing on
his breast, while baby looked on in
amazement.
“Mother told the truth,” she said;
“It would be better than the wedding,”
whispered Mattie.
‘‘Have you seen her? Did she tell
you the same she told me?” cried
Marsh.
“I don’t believe I want any supper
tonight, do you?” said Marsh, after
they had their talk, and the supper
had become cold.
“I guess I'll drink a little tea,” said
Marsh, and he did.—New York Weekly.
said her
The Unchaperoned Boy.
‘We chaperon our girls and carefully
guard them against unworthy boys,
but we leave the boy to choose for
himself his associates and his achieve-
ments.
Girls are naturally winsome, gentle,
companionable. They win their way
in homes and hearts. But the boy,
noisy, awkward, mischievecus, is invit-
ed into few homes, and feels none too
much at home in his own
About the only door that swings
about
the only chair that is shoved near the
fire especially fcr the boy, about the
only place where he is sure of cordial
greeting, is where he ought not to
go.
It is one of the hardest things in
to get
a sure grip on him.
| and will have it.
He is hungry for companicnsiip,
You can’t chain him
away from it. He wants the compan-
ionship of boys, and nothing will take
its place.
If the rime of selfishness has so en-
cased your heart that the joys and
hopes of vour boy cannot enter inte
it, the boy is io be pitied, but so are
Milwaukd® Journal.
you.
The Rez! Grand Duke Vl!adimir,
The Grand Duke Vladimir, who, on
the authority of the less well informed
part of the London press, has been
held up to oblcquy as the leader of the
ducal ring which seeks to sweep
bac! tide of reform with the
knout an sword, is said by those
most conversant with Russian affairs
to cccupy po Uo n
imperial fami
lic affairs and
ence on them.
of the 152 I
izes that t
absolutism is a w
than anarchy itse
grand
in the
ecog-
p of the idol! of
of monarchy
The Slaughter of
3 Railroad Employes
} |
i By Frederick Upham Adams.
(2 rire BT
HE appalling slaughter of railway employes due to the re-
tention of the old-fashioned freight car. couplers so aroused
public sentiment, years ago, that congress was forced into
passing a law,making. obligatory the use of automatic de-
vices. .. The railroad interests had figured it out, to their
own satisfaction, that it was cheaper to keep on killing and
maiming tens of thousands of their men than it was to buy
new couplers. ' Every possible influence has been employed
to delay and defeat the enforcement of this law, the aim
of which was to check the wholesale murder of hard-working employes. The
corporations declared that there were no practical coupling devices, so puerile
a falsehood and so absurd on its face that even those who would have been
willing to aid in the outrage declined to do so on this ground. The railroad
companies fought the law in the courts and were beaten. It seemed incom
prehensible to them that a corporation should be compelled to spend money
for so vain and profitless a thing as the saving of human life. :
They induced congress to give them an extension of time, That exten-
sion has long since expired, yet the statement is made and not denied that
that there are thousands of cars not provided with automatic brakes. The
more progressive railroad managers now recognize that the change from the
murderous old couplers to the new ones is a profitable one. No modern war
has wrought so vast a devastation in human life and happiness as the reten-
tion of the-antique couplers years after-inventive genius had solved the prob-
lem.
A report recently issued by the Interstate Commerce Commission shows
that the total number of casualties to persons on railroads in tie Unitea
states, during the fiscal year ending June 30, 1904, was 55,130, comprising
2787 killed and 51,343 injured. This shows a large increase over any other
year. It is a large total, and, in comparison, may be said to be similar to the
complete destruction of any.one of such cities as Salt Lake City, Utah; San
Antonio, Texas; Racine, Wisconsin; .Topeka, Kantas; “Waterbury, Connecti-
cut; Wilkesbarre, Pennsylvania; or Augusta, Georgia, neither of which has
anything like 53.000 inhabitants. In both the American and British armies,
September 19, and October 7, 11, and 12, 1777, in the series of fights and
movements around Saratoga, as included by E. S. Creasy, in his “Fifteen De-
cisive Battles of the World,” there were less than twenty thousand men;
while the highest total given by C. K. Adams, in Johnson’s “Cyclopaedia,” of
the killed, wounded, and missing on both sides at Waterloo, one of the great-
1
¢
est battles of all time, is 54,428 men—not so many hy. 702.as last year’s total
of United States railroad casualties. The number of. collisions. and derail-
ments during the past year was 11,291, involving $9,383,077 in damages to
rolling stock and roadbeds. This gives the astounding increase of 648 colli-
sions and derailments over 1903—astounding but for. the reduction of em-
ployes, in 1294, by 75,000.—Success. “ i pms
Respect to Parents {
By Beatrice Fairfax.« :
1
0000600696 ACK of respect toward their elders is a ‘deplorable character-
: S istic of the young people of this country.
® b 4 Girls speak to their parents in a manner “which both
3 3 they and the parents should be heartily ashamed of. The
® @ parents are quite as much to blame as the child, for this
Asani ad lack of respect is the result of bad up-bringing. i
@ "5 ri If from infancy a child is allowed to break into all con-
S 2000S versations, to have a voice in every discussion and to thrust
itself forw ard on all occasions, the chances are that it will
grow self-assertive and domineering, and as it grows older come to think that
it knows more than ‘both its parents put together.
If it is a boy he will patronize his father and call him the “governor” or
“the old man;” if a girl she will take precedence of her mother on all occa-
sions, answering when the latter is spoken to and acting in a general way
as though she—the daughter—were the one to be most considered.
If the girl who speaks disrespectful to her mother.only knew the impres-
sion she creates on outsiders, I am sure she would try and change her way of
‘speaking. There is nothing that so prejudices people against a girl as seeing
her by word, look or deed show the slighest disrespect to her parents.
The false pride that makes a girl ashamed of the hard-working mother
and father, who have toiled and sacrificed themselves in order that their chil-
dren may have luxuries and education, is the outcome of an-ugly feeling that
should be strangled at its birth.
Many girls who really love their parents grow into the habit of thinking
them old-fashioned and ignorant.
You often hear a girl say, “Oh, mother means all right, but she doen’t
know,” and then the daughter goes ahead and does some foolish thing that,
had she consulted her mother’s wiser judgement, she might have been saved
from doing.
Excepting in very rare cases, the mothers always know best. Guided by
the instinct of love and mature wisdom, they invariably choose what is best
for their children.
Not long ago I overheard a delicate mother complain of not feeling well.
“Oh, mother,” broke in her disrespectful daughter, “I’m tired hearing of sick-
ness; you're always ill.”
What do you think of that daughter's manner to her mother, and if any
man who was thinking of marrying her had been there, don’t you think he
would have gone away in a very thoughtful mood?
One thing that leads to this state of affairs is the badhabit of many Ameri-
can parents of effacing themselves when their children have visitors. The re-
sult is that the young people get into the way of thinking that they can run
things themselves and that the presence cf their elders is quite unnecessary.
The American girl is the best girl in the world, but she is just a trifle too
independent and cavalier in her treatment of her elders.
A well brought up English girl would exclaim in horror at the free and easy
way her American cousins have of speaking to their parents.
Nothing is more beautiful than the tender respect and deference shown by
youth to age, and it is a great shame for the American girl to let her charms
be marred by this one blot.—New York Journal.
SPW Se To FAS ha
Causes of Unhappiness
By H. B. La Rue.
Lonnie enfin p
©90000060000 AN is a creature of his senses; woman of her ideals. And
P¢P00099009 i13t is the main reason that woman can never understand
why men do not and cannot love as women do. A woman
loves the man that honors her; he loves the woman that
takes care of his comfort. Like a dog, he loves the hand
that feeds him, and no other. He may claim toc have the
higher ideals and expatiate ‘on them, but he must be com-
fortable before he can expatiate on anything.
The great cause of the mass of human unhappiness is
that we expect too much of each other. Our ideals are very largely formed
The heroes and heroines of our best fiction always present
vear shoulders, but marriage dispels all such illu-
00090000
96990000
:
i
by our literature.
fifty year heads on tweaty
sions.
A man marries simply for a home, and the woman that takes care of it
and him can do anything with him, and if s does not she can do nothing
with him. When a man, is looking for a wife he does not demand beautv or
accomplishments, but does want the *“‘zood face to have around the house.”
That is the won he is looking for. He will leave society beauties and mar-
rv a demure little “country mouse,” and society wonders.
: A girl less twentv- five or thirty years old is not fit to select a hus-
band; any 3 acknowledge that. A man that a girl wc ould
elope with spise at thirty, fight at forty, anc
fifty, if he proposed
jo)
1 shoot at
IT iage.
PEARLS OF THOUGHT.
Custom is the arch foe of progress.
Self-conceit deceives no one but
yourself.
Returned wanderers may make the
nest guides.
+ Adversity tries faith; rosperity
tries fidelity.
Our service does not depend upon
our smartness.
Righteousness is praised by all,.but
honored by few.
Character may be lost,
never be stolen.
To neglect the moral is to under-
mine the mental.
As the deed is, so was the thought
which inspired it.
A little forethought usually
much afterthought.
A man may be measured by his esti-
mate of other men.
The idle rich are paupers, as truly
as are the idle poor.
The higher you climb
vou fall, and the harder.
The man who suspects everybody is
surely a suspicious character.
Running in old ruts may be more
risky than blazing new trails.
If the mind is open to the sunlight,
there is no room for the darkness.
The man who sows nothing always
reaps something a good deal worse.
Individual honesty is the only last-
ing -foundation for national prosper-
ity. :
It is easy to preach on the benefits
of walking when you are in the band
wagon.
but it can
saves
the easier
cinch
> halter
‘When a man thinks he has a
on sin he is apt to find that the
is on him.
THE PRINTED BOOK.
Its History Traced Down toc the Pre-
sent Day.
“The Evolution cf the Printed Book
from the Ancient Manuscript to the
Present Day” was the subject of an in-
teresting lecture delivered recently by
William D. Orcutt, of the University
Press, in Wesleyan hall, before the
members of the Society of Designers
and. Engravers. The lecturer * first
pointed out the antiquity of the “mova-
ble type” and its having been known
to the Romans, Chinese and Coreans,
but never applicd in a large way cr
with a knowledge of its possibilities
until by Gutenburg about 1439. Soon
after this came the period of the
“Humanities” in literature and the
making of elegant manuscript books.
On the splendid work of the scribes
in the manuscript books of this period
‘was based the type races which have
beccme the standard for all time in
the Occident. :
The lecturer described the various
vicissitudes of erratic forms in types
through which the title page went, and
told of the contributions made to the
cause of printing by such men as Aldus
Manutius and his sons; Jensen, Chris-
topher Plautin, the Dutch printer, who
carried the title page to elaborate per-
fection, and William Morris, who
might be said to have restored the
.art of printing to its early ' glory.
Some of the defects of the Morris
style were pointed out, especially his
aversion to putting leads between the
lines of type, which resulted in a mas-
sive page withcut any relief in color
value to the lines. Still Morris ef-
fected a revolution and placed book
printing on a higher plane that it had
been for centuries.
Mr. Orcutt called attention to the
American faces that had been the re-
sult of the Morris movement in Eng-
land—the De Vinne, Renner, the Mon-
‘taigne by Bruge, Rogers and the Mer-
rymount face, by Gcodhue. These var-
ious type faces and the early manu-
scripts from which Aldus and Jensen
made their types were shown by
means of lantern slides, as were a
number of title pages by the various
printers, and finally the new type face
designed for the University Press bas-
ed on some of the best of the manu-
seript volumes of the “Humanities per-
iod” in Italy.—Bostcn Transcript.
“A National Calamity.”
The announcement which was made
by the New York correspondent of
The Times recently of the sale of the
great Rowfant library will come as a
real shock to many book lovers. That
such a collection should be bartered
away for American dollars seems lit-
tle short of a national calamity. Fred-
erick Locker-Lampson had a genius for
collecting. As his friend, Mr. Austin
Dobson, recently put it, *“ he may have
haunted Christie's and the bric-a-brac
shops but he certainly never ground
laboricusly at handbooks, or worked
museum cases. Not the less, he sel-
dom failed to secure the rare copy
with the A flyleaf, the impression with
0s unique remarque, the impeccable
ang de boeuf, the irreproachable rose
er He had the true collector’s
flair—an ounce of which is worth a
pound of pedantry. Of his success in
this way the ‘Rowfant Catalogue’ is
a standing monument, a veritable
treasure-house of Shakespeare’s
quartos, priceless manuscripts, first
issues, tall copies, and Blake and
Chedowiecki plates.”—London Chron-
icle.
A Well Spent Life.
The other day a man died at the
Limerick Infirmary at the age of 644
who had been brought there when 24
vears old, crippled for life by exposure
in a boat after shipwreck. But in the
40 years he has learned thcroughly
Greek, Latin, French, German, Spanish
and Italian, and had amused h
himself
by rcading the classics in all these
languages, besides closely following}
the events of his time
! the club,”
LESSLESSNESS.
Now that they have got horseless rigs
Frum here to Kalamazoo,
An’ telegraph that's wireless,
An’ smokeless powder, too,
There ought to be more lessless things
It sort o° seems to me.
Why can't we have a stingless wasp?
Also a stingless bee? v
Why can't we have sum schoolless towns?
An’ workless work to do?
An’ spankings that are slipperless?
An’ gogless orchards, teo?
An’ acheless stomachaches as well?
An’ wetless hair, w’'en
We go down to the swimmin’ hole
Ma won 't know where we've ben?
An’ w'en we getethese lessless: things
Pwill fill our hearts with joy,
An’ then you'll never see again
A hapless, joyless boy
“New York Press.
JUST FOR FUN
Poet—I can’t get a bit of fire in my
lines today. Friend—Here's a match.
—Chicago Record-Herzald.
“Oi was at a wake last night.” “Wag
Kelly Tiss ‘“Whoi, Kelly was the
loife av th’ wake; he was the corpses.”
—Puck.
rocer—Be that an auto out in front
o’ the store thar, Ezry? Boy—I. dunno,
nothink.—Puck.
He—What would rou do if I should
attempt to Kiss you? She—I would
call for help. He—But I den’t need
any.—Philadelphia Record.
“What do you think of railway re-
bates?” said one citizen. ‘Any chance
of our getting any?” “None whatever.”
“Then, I'm against ’em.”—Washington,
Star. : .
Teacher—Now Johnny, if your papa.
caught one fish of three pounds, one of
five, and one of four, how much would
they all weigh? Johnny—Twenty.—
Harper's Bazar.
Hick—Didn't somebody tell me that
Bjenks has a hcuse over in Chelsed”
that he wants to sell? Wicks—I guess
so. Bjenks has a house over in Chel-
sea.—Somerville Journal.
Ma—Willie, what's your little brother
crying about? Willie—Jist ‘cause he
don’t ‘want to learn anything. I jist
took his candy and showed him how is
eat it.—Philadelphia Ledger. :
First Chauffer—What’s the matter
with you lately? You ain't got no
more nerve than a motorman. Second
Chauffeur—Oh, I cut out the hit-and-'
get-away game latelyv.—Brooklyn Life.
Mrs. Wheeler—Whatever else his
faults, we can’t but say Elsie's yourg
man is constant. Mr. Wheeler—*“Con-
stant”? Humph! 1 should think “con
tinuous’ expressed it better. ae
She—So you loved me for six months
before you dared to tell me? He—
Yes. ‘Your dad was mixed up in that
copper deal, and I thought he was on
the wrong side of the market.—Judge.
Mike—Sure, me rich Uncle Terry
died and left me all his money. Pat—
An’ did you get it? Mike—Oi’ did not;
after his death they found he was a
pauper, an’ oi’ didn’t get a cint av his
fortune! —Puck.
Mrs. Kalm (angrily)—Vat your brud-
der means by running down mein soli-
taire ven I show it to him? Mr. Hock-
ski—Excoose his absent-mindesses.
Id’s second ndture to him to run down
eferydings.—Judge.
“Is your husband a very generous
man?’ “Indeed, he is. You remem-
ber those nice cigars I gave him for
a birthday present? Well, he only
smoked one and gave the rest to his
friends.” —Pick-Me-Up.
Burroughs—Can you lend me a dol-
lar, old man? Markley—Don’t talk
that way. Surely you don’t mean that?
Burroughs—Why don’t I? Markley—
You mean, “Will you lend me a dol-
lar?”—Philadelphia Press.
Clarissa—Of course, I love you, Clar-
ence. Haven't I just danced eight
dances with you? Clarence—I don’t
see any proof in that. Clarissa—But
you would if you only knew how you
dance.—Chicago Daily News.
“After all,” said the moralist, “the
Almighty Dollar is man’s greatest ene-
my. It—" “If that’s so,” inter-
rupted old Roxley. “1 guess that
young wife of mine merely loves me
for the enemies I've made.”—Philadel-
phia Press.
Alice—When I came in she was turn-
ing her rusty black silk inside out.”
Carrie—And no doubt singing, “Turn
ye, turn ye, for why will you dye?”
She invariably sings something appro-
priate, no matter what she i3 doing
Boston Transcript.
Lady—For goodness sakes. Bridget,
what kind of greens are these? Brid-
get—The spinage was fed to the cow
by’ mistake, ma'am, so I cooked up one
s
o’ them parler palms. The guests
won't know the difference. Lady—
But, Bridget! Those palms were ar-
vaca wf Free Press.
nr
Ma,” said Tommy Twaddles, look-
ing up from his reading of “Terry the
Tenspot,” “what is a bootless at-
tempt?” “It’s the sort your father
mikes to get in without my hearing
him when he comes home late from
answered Ma Twaddles, in-
cisively.” Pa dcesn’t stop to remove
‘em at the foot of the stairs now. He
knows it’s no use—Cleveland Leader.
“Sunk Upward.”
Oozes sionally a mine-shaft is
> a paradoxical expreg
1, for someé special reason.
1aft is divided.temp borarily by brat-
-WOrk, the space on one side being
with excavated ork
The
and form-
the men.—Engi-
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