P—
"Twill all come right in the morning;
There's never a night so black,
But following after the shadows,
The sun is on its track;
And whatever there ia of sorrow,
And hatred’s bitter Xorning,
We have no need to borrow
"Twill all come right in the morning.
«From “Birch Leaves,” by Mrs. Alice BE,
AA SAAAAARAAAL SAMARAAAANANAAN,
THE DRUGGIST'S DILEMMA
NAAN AANA NANI SINNISNINI NINN NINIIININ
o
SNSDNINNISIINNNG
AAA
more than a shop-counter
acquaintance with him as
“fussy,” and indeed a close student of
human nature could hardly have pur-
chased a cake of soap from the trim
little man without registering men-
tally some such epithet. Spare and
spectacled, with a drooping mustache
and a half-apologetic air, he conveyed
the impression of being in a perpetual
State of subdued anxiety. Perhaps the
cause was to be found in the reputa-
tion for counter-prescribing he had
built up during the ten years he had
been in business — a reputation which,
on the principle of mnoblesse oblige,
could not fail to make him feel at least
as old as he was; perhaps it lay in
the fact that his returns were not quite
large enough to justify so cautious a
man in keeping an assistant; perhaps
again it was connected with the dom-
inance of a masterful wife.
But whatever the cause, the effect
svas plain—Hubert Watkins showed to
the world a careworn countenance.
‘And on a certain day his habitual ex-
pression was more marked than usual,
for he had a cold. It was not a dan-
gerous, nor even a severe cold—the use
of a clinical thermometer selected from
his stock soon settled that point—but
it was bad enough to cause a snuffle in
his speech, and he was fretfully ap-
prehensive that his customers, perceiv-
_ ing it, would begin to doubt the effi-
cacy of medicines in general and of
kis in particular.
It must have been the harassing ef-
Fect of his cold #hat resulted in his
making a terrible mistake. In all his
honorable career he had never been
known to go astray in deciphering a
prescription, and, having had a thor-
ough training in dispensing, he had
made his name in the little town of
Burgmore as the best, or, as he would
liave said, the most elegant dispenser
therein. The writing of the local doc-
tors had naturally become familiar to
him, and if a prescription from a
strange hand was brought to him
could almost always master its hiero-
glyphics.
Just after noon on the day in ques-
tion Dr. Crabbe, a practioner who pat-
ronized him, handed over the counter
& prescription which Mr. Walkins, as
was his wont, received with the brief
ritual of a bow and a “Thank you,
doctor!” Then, taking in the patient's
name and the directions at a glance,
he murmured, “Every four hours, I
see; I'll send it at once.” Dr. Crabbe,
a massive personage with a preoc-
cupied air, briefly ejaculated, “Thank
you,” and went his way.
Now it chanced that the prescription
was written for a patient, Miss Pur-
fleet by name, for whom Mr. Watkins
had a peculiar esteem. She was not
only the most influential member of
the choir chapel which the Watkinses
attended, but she was distinguished
from her colleagues by a pretty figure
set off by a taste in dress that in a
more worldly milieu would have been
called coquettish. Mr, Watkins’ regard
for her was of the palest platonic
order—the application to her of such a
word as “coquettish” would have
moved him to grief—Dbut, strictly dis-
interested though it was, he would
never have dreamed of mentioning it
to his wife. (f that lady’s all-embrac-
ing scrutiny happened to result in her
pronouncing, on the way back from
Sunday morning service, she being a
yard or so in front of her spouse—
*Miss Purfleet was pretty well got up
this morning,” he would discreetly re-
ply “Ah, yes!” and give no further
sign. It was the one secret which—
he hoped he did right—he shared with
no one; and, although the force of his
sentiment would not have disturbed a
bit of floating gossamer, he cherished
the feeling assiduously, marking with
a tick in red ink on the calendar over
his desk the days on which Miss Pur-
fleet set her gracious foot inside his
&hop.
Just as he was stooping to a locker
fn which medicine bottles were kept to
select the smartest looking, Mrs. Wat-
kins called peremptorily from a balf-
opener door at the back of the shop:
“Dinner, hub!”
“One moment only, lovey!” he
meekly responded, feeling that it was
a trifle unfortunate that he should be
obliged to hurry so sacred a.task as
the preparation of a mixture for the
exquisite singer. Disastrous hurry!
For, reading in his haste ‘“Tinct. Opii.”
for what was really “Tinet, Quin.” the
“Q” being very indistinct—he poured
into the bottle an ounce of tincture of
opium in place of an equal quantity
of tincture of quinine.
Summoning his errand boy from the
cellar in which that hireling had been
cutting sticks of licorice—and incident-
ally his finger—Mr. Watkins des-
patched the bottle, addressed in spite
of his hurry not less neatly than usual.
Then, leaving the bell of his shop-
door “on,” he obeyed the summons of
his wife, who by that time had become
ominiously ruffled by his non-appear-
ance. :
During the meal Mr. Watkins’
“7 "I'WILL ALL COME RIGHT IN THE MORNING.
a ———
AAA AAAI
»
as. /
"T'will all come right in the morning;
For ever the truth will rise;
And ever the coward error,
Before her coming flies;
Bo whatever there is of trouble,
Or falsehood’s cruel scorning,
When justice pricks the bubble,
"T'will all come right in the morning,
Bartlett,
NU arian
ANNNNK
-
PANINI IS ANA ANIA
AAAAA
patient to whose restoration to health
he hoped to—
Good heavens! How many doses
was that ounce of tinct. opii. divided
into?, Mr. Watkins sprang to his feet
in a cold perspiration.
“What is it?” said Mrs. Watkins,
sharply, not without a tinge of anxiety,
for such behavior on her husband's
part was quite unprecedented.
“Nothing,” murmured the unfortu-
nate druggist, growing paler and paler,
“That is—I've forgotten something.”
Reaching his desk, he tore the pre-
scription from the file on which he had
left it, and stared at it distractedly.
Then some vestige of reason returned
to him, and on a sheet of blotting-
paper he made a penciled calculation
of the amount of tincture of opium
in each dose.
“The first dose may not be fatal—
may not be fatal,” he said aloud, and
he hastened to prepare at emetic,
Luckily the distance to Miss Pur-
fleet’s house was not great, and the
boy, even allowing for the snail-like
habits of his kind, would be back soon.
He did, in fact, appear while Mr. Wat-
Kins, with trembling fingers, was writ-
ing a label—“Half to be taken at once,
the rest in ten minutes if no result
follows.” By this time other problems
had crowded into his perturbed brain,
his head felt like bursting. He knew
that susceptibility to opium varied
enormously with different persons,
though the chances were that Miss
Purfleet, taking the emetic at once,
would not have absorbed sufficient of
the poison to— He dared not dwell
on the horible thought.
Then how was he to explain the
mistake to her; and, again, how was
he to keep it from the knowledge of
Dr. Crabbe? If that redoubtable pa-
tron got to know of it—as it was quite
likely he would—the reputation of Mr.
Watkins, so laboriously built up, would
be blasted forever. Instinctively he
looked round the shop, holding the
now wrapped and addressed bottle in
his hand, till his glance fell on the
wondering errand boy.
“Tom,” he almost shouted, “run with
this to Miss Purfleet’s as hard as you
can! Say it ought to have gone before
the other, and that a dose is to be
taken at once!” Then come back—I've
a telegram for you!”
“A telegram?” queried Mrs, Watkins,
at that moment appearing from the
house. “Come and finish your dinner!”
“I tell you I can’t be bothered!” said
her husband, snappishly.
Mrs. Watkins gasped; toe errand boy
grinned. Never had such a thing hap-
pened before. Then, recovering -her-
self, the lady thundered, “Go, boy,
when your master tells you!” and with-
drew, slamming the door.
The telegram was a brilliant inspira-
tion—the most brilliant, perhaps, that
had ever come to Mr. Watkins in the
whole of his, professional career. Read-
ing one of his trade journals—he sub-
scribed to three—that morning, he had
seen an advertisement that had aroused
his interest. It related to a new gen-
eral antidote, for which it was claimed
that it would completely neutralize, or
even in the worst cases sensibly
modify, the action of every known poi-
son. Mr, Watkins, as became a man
of scientific training, had said to him-
self that the idea was medieval and
almost incredible. But now, in his
hour of need, he thanked the happy
Providence that had directed him to
read that advertisement, That he had
been specially guided to read it he had
no shadow of doubt, and what a bless-
ing it was that London, whence it
came, was only thirty miles away! He
wrote the telegram in terms of the
greatest urgency, asking for full in-
structions to be sent with the nostrum,
On the reappearance of the boy he
pelted him with questions—*“Whom did
you see? What did they say?” and the
like.
The boy had an incurable stammer:
it was some seconds—to Mr, Watkins
it seemed hours—before he got out,
‘Miss P-P-Purfleet d-d-didn’t come—to
—the—door—herself,” the last part of
the sentence being discharged as out
of, a catapuit.
Mr. Watkins's rage waz boundless.
“I know that, fool! What did you
learn?”
“L-l-learn ?”
“What—did—they—tell you? The
shout attracted Mrs. Watkins, who
loomed in the coorway more massive
than ever.
“N-n-nothing. 1 g-g-gave the—"
“Here, take this telegram! And then
wait at the station for a parcel by the
next London train!”
‘Another telegram!” cried Mrs. Wat-
kins. “I insist—""
“Do leave me!” almost shrieked the
frenzied druggist. “Can’t you see
I'll tell you everything later, indeed I
will!”
Mrs, Watkins stared, reflected, and
then, to the wonder of her husband,
who was beginning to tremble at his
own audacity, slowly turned and re-
treated.
An hour and a half passed before
the all-important parcel arrived from
London, and the boy, in handing it to
his employer, who was pacing the floor
of his shop like a caged lion, thought
thoughts naturally reverted to the fair
it desirable to say.
“1 haven't I-I-lost a=minute,”
But Mr, Watkins was already teare
ing the parcel open. With cager eyes
he began reading the directions, dis-
tinguishable at once by their heavy
type. “Select a fleshy part of the body
~sterilize the syringe bhy-—" caught
his eye. The paper dropped from his
hand, The stuff had to be injected
under Miss Purfleet’'s skin, then? He
was lost!
But yet in such an emergency could
not she, if she had not already col-
lapsed, be instructed how to use the
antidote herself? He would take it
to the house—a desperate case de-
manded desperate measures—and ask
leave to tell her the truth. She would
not refuse to see him; at the worst,
she would let him speak to her through
the half-opened door of her room. Un-
less she had sent for the doctor—and
his blood ran cold again at the thought.
He mixed himself a dose of sal-volatile,
Then he put on his hat and rushed
out, telling the boy, whom he had
never left in charge of the shop before,
that he would soon be back. Before
two minutes had elapsed the youth's
researches in the drawer labeled *‘Sem,
Hyosec.,” which, as he knew, contained
digestive candy, were interrupted by
the reappearance of Mrs. Watkins.
“Where's your master?’ demanded
that lady, in no happy humor at reflect-
ing that her husband's hemchman had
witnessed her recent discomfiture,
“I-~th-th-thing he's gone to—-"
Mrs. Watkins shook the boy in angry
incredulity.
“Gone out—without telling me!
dare you utter such foolishness!”
Thoroughly alarmed, the deputy
druggist managed to disclose the in-
formation—which was nothing more
than conjecture on his part—that his
chief had gone to the house of Miss
Purfleet. He inwardly wondered
whether it would have been better for
him to have held his tongue.
The face of the predominant pariner
of the Watkins establishment was a
study. Naturally jealous, she had been
acute enough to foresee that in marry-
ing Hubert Watkins she obtained a
husband whom it would probably not
be difficult to “keep in order.” But
now that, after his mysterious conduct
about telegrams, he had “sneaked out”
(so she phrased it to herself), leaving
his business to the tender mercies
of an ignorant and as good as speech-
less youth, she feared-she knew not
what. It was an ominous sign, the
worst sign possible that the over-
dressed Miss Purfleet should be a party
to the intrigue—for that there was an
intrigue afloat she had now made up 4
her mind. She ran upstairs and ar-*
rayed herself in her most imposing
finery, then sailed majestically out in
search of her husband.
Meanwhile that much-enduring man
had arrived at the dwelling of the in-
nocent victim of his error and had
timidly rung the bell. To his fervent
“And how is Miss Purfleet?’ the well-
trained maid servant returned a discreet
but slightly puzzled “Pretty well,
thank you, Mr. Watkins. Shall I give
her any message?”
“Is she—is she dangerously ill?” he
rejoined, inconsequently, crushing his
hard felt hat with a loud crash be-
tween his hands.
“I think not,” replied the girl, de-
murely, biting her lips.
“Then can I se her?”
“I'll give her your card.”
Thus reminded, the druggist took one
from a card case, adding:
“And please say it's very important.”
A minute later he was in the dreaded
presence, stammering almost as egre-
giously as his errand could have done.
She was a little pale, but he saw that
the worst was over, and his natural
cunning began to come to his help.
“I wanted to—tell you that—there
has been a—a little mistake in your
medicines, Miss Purfleet, that might
have been—serious.”
Miss Purfleet raised her eyebrows.
“Oh, you mean that the second bot-
tle should not have been sent first,
after all?” she queried, with the inten-
tion of helping him out.
“Yes—no—that is—how
you taken of—"
“You see them both there,” inter-
rupted Miss Purfleet, pointing to the
mantelpiece and speaking rather more
stiffly. She was beginning to think
that the man had no tact.
Hubert Watkins gave an audible
gasp as he followed her indication.
One dose of the emetic had been taken,
but the opium mixture was untouched.
‘““The dost I took,” pursued Miss Pur-
feet, “made me downright bad, so I
thought I wouldn't touch either again
till I had seen Crabbe.”
A moment later Mr. Watkins had
put both bottles in his pocket. His
professional manner had returned to
him.
“If, for my sake, Miss Purfleet, you
will allow me instead to rectify the
slight mistake of which I spoke I shall
ever be deeply indebted to you, believe
me,” he pleaded. “If you knew the
anxiety—" But his agitation again
mastered him.
“Oh, very well!” said Miss Purfleet
with decision. “But it’s a rather cool
request on your part, isn’t it?”
To her astonishment the little drug-
gist took her right hand and rgised
it to his lips. The next moment he
rushed from the room. Before she had
quite recovered herself she heard the
front door close gently.
As he turned away from the garden
gate Hubert Watkins, chemist and
druggist “by examination,” ran into
the arms of his wife.
“And now,” vociferated that virago,
“perhaps you'll explain!”
But in the last five minutes the
storm-beaten druggist had found him-
self, and now, with a single word,
he broke the spell of his tyrant’s long
dominion. For the first time in his
life he used language unbecoming a
gentleman and a chemist “by examina.
How
much have
| them.
THE LANGUAGE OF CITIES,
Bhe asked with enchanting grace
(To talk to her with perfect bliss)
What was his own, his native place;
Sald he, “I am from Jackson, Miss"
Dh, towns that suffer from a fire,
If friendly fakes would useful be,
In your distress, just send a wire
To Doctor Baltimore, MD,
Why did old Barnum do so well
In foisting fakes mankind upon?
The reason’s casy quite to tell
He used a deal of Bridgeport, Conn,
Said Julius Hardup, “Goodness knows
1 can't hire help. I wonder--gosh!
If I agreed to iron the clothes,
I wonder would Olympia, Wash, ?”
“Whom are you with?’ the father
cried;
“Have you permission from your
ma?’
“Why, yes, indeed,” the maid replied;
“And this is Mr. Scranton, Pa.”
The constant growth of Gotham town
Is such a dire and dismal pill,
Whene'er she sets the figures down
It always makes Chicago, IIL
“We must have speakers, if we'd win,
And get the State in line again!”
The boss declared, and to begin
Gave Bristol five and Memphis, Tenn,
It is the girl who marries a rough
diamond who often gets the most real
diamonds to wear.—Life,
“Did he earn a large salary with that
company?’ “No. He didn’t earn it,
He just drew it."—Washington Star,
Great wealth may often signify,
A ickoning without the host.
14d
The things that riches cannot buy
Are those the rich man wants the most.
“What's this I hear about your giv-
ing up your regular practice?’ “Had
to; didn’t have time for it. I have been
appointed physician to an auto club.”—
Houston Post.
“The man died eating watermel-
ons,” some one said to Brother Dickey.
“Yes, sub,” he replied; “sometimes
Providence puts us in paradise fo’ we
gits ter heaven!”"—Atlanta Constitu-
tion.
“You may refuse me now,” said the
persistent suitor, “but I can wait. ‘All
things come to him who waits.”
“Yes,” replied the dear girl, “and I
guess the first thing will be father; 1
hear him on the stairs.”—Philadelphia
Ledger.
Lady Driver of Automobile to
Tramps by the Wayside — “Can you
show us the way to Great Missingden,
please?” Weary Willie—*Cert'nly,
Miss, cert'nly. We're agoin’ that way.
Op up, Joe. Anythink to oblige a
lady !”"—Punch.
A penniless fellow named Gough
Contracted a very bad cough,
Now, he hedn’t the dough
To pay the doctor's bills, sough,
Unaided, he shook the cough ough.
—Philadelphia Press. _
“You know Borem, don't you?”
“Oh, just well enough to say ‘how are
you?” “Well, don’t do it.” “What
do you mean?’ “Don’t say ‘how are
you? to him. If you do, he'll hold
you up for ten or fifteen minutes and
tell you.”—Philadelphia Press.
“Yes,” said the magnate, “I began
life penniless, and now see where I
am.” “Oh, cheer up,” said the happy
but seedy-looking individual. ‘Per-
haps you can find a college or a church
some day that will relieve you of your
money.”—Manchester Mirrorand Amer-
ican.
Mr. Staylate—“My! it’s 10 o'clock.
However, my train doesn’t go till 11.10,
and it's very pleasant here on the
porch.” Miss Subbubs—“I'm glad you
like it.” Mr. Staylate—‘“Yes, but—er—
perhaps I'm keeping you up.” Miss
Subbubs—“Not at all; I'm going to lock
up and go to bed now.”’—Philadelphis
Press.
pm
Such is Balzac’s Fame.
Notwithstanding the lectures and ap
preciations of Mr. Henry James, the
genius of Balzac is not understood in
all quarters. There is one Ninety-sev-
enth street woman who is particularly
deficient in her knowledge of French
fiction. She was calling on a friend,
the other day, who owns a very fine
set of Balzac’s works. In this edition
the title of the volume sometinges called
“The Magic Skin” is translated “Wild
Ass’ Skin.”
“I would like to sell the books,” said
the woman who owns them, “but I
am afraid I couldn't get anything for
It is an excellent edition, too,
and cost me a heap of money. The
binding is especially fine.”
The Ninety-seventh street heathen
held in her hand at that moment the
volume labeled “Wild Ass’ Skin.” She
looked at it curiously.
“Yes,” she said in all sincerity, “I
imagine it is. I don’t knew anything
about the different binding of books,
but I suppose wild ass’ skin is very
good.”—New York Press.
The Value of an Opinion,
An unusually brilliant bird in a young
lady’s hat attracted attention in a
street in Hamburg, says a London pa-
per. Some spectators denounced the
cruelty of killing these innocent crea-
tures, Others criticised the pose and
arrangement of the plumage as unnat-
ural,, On reaching home the intelli-
gent fowl (which happened to be a
real one and had settled on the hat
absent-mindedly) flew off and roosted
on the furniture. The girl has trained
it to come to her whistle. As it suits
her complexion charmingly, she in-
tends wearing it with each of her hdts
in turn.
tion.”—The Family-Herald of London.
i
———————————_ a ————— 1 T———— S—
OVERWORKED HEARTS:
—r ——
How the Most Important Organ of the
Body is Imposed Upon,
So large a place is given In these
days to the development of the mus-
cular system, especially in the case of
boys, that the dangers of overexer-
tion are sometimes forgotten or ignored
until mischief has been done. The
heart, as all know, Is the largest and
most important muscle of the body,
and the moment it ceases to do its
work perfectly the whole system suf-
fers. It is reasonable to suppose that
80 important an organ is so constitut-
ed as to be able to meet a good deal of
strain.
But it is often forgotten hat hearts
differ in individuals as much as do any
other parts of the body, and that of
two youths of apparently equal phys-
ical equipment, the amount and kind
of exercise that one will thrive on may
permanently disable the other.
All exertion means an increased
blood supply to the heart muscle, one
of the immediate effects of which is a
more rapid pulse. When the exertion
has been well within the powers of the
Individual this increased blood supply
tends only to strengthen the heart, and
the rapid pulse will very soon go back
to its normal beat and there will be a
feeling of added strength and well-be-
ing. If, on the other hand, to much
blood is constantly forced into the
heart not strong enough to use it, the
muscle grows too big, it stretches,
loses its natural elasticity, and becomes
flabby and weak.
The temporary distention of the or-
gan, which is normal, turns into a
more or less permanent dilatation, giv-
ing rise to many signs of impaired
health. Then follows that condition
known to athletes ing stale.”
The pulse is feeble and i ilar, the
color pale, sleep often impaired, and
the sense of fatigue permanent,
If heart strain is carly recognized
and proper treatment instituted the re-
covery may be both quick and com-
plete, by reason of the great powers
of compensation with which the hearg
has been endowed. When there has
been a condition of strained heart it is
very important that after the period
of necessary rest and treatment has
elapsed the return to any form of ac-
tive exercise should be looked upon as
experimental—it should be both guard-
ed and gradual—and the patient kept
under medical supervision and watched
with close attention for some time.—
Youth's Companion.
WORDS OF WISDOM.
as "g
Saying and doing are two things.—
Henry.
For pity melts the mind to love.—
Dryden.
Second thoughts, they say, are best.
—Dryden,
For hope is but the dream of those
who wake.—Prior.
All men think all men mortal but
themselves.—Young.
Man makes a death which nature
never made.—Young.
Better it is to be able to make friends
than to build up finances.
The modern conscience is made with
a lever to throw it out of gear.
Sacrifice always looks most attract-
ive when it is too late to give it.
It is a maxim that those to whom
everybody allows the second place have
an undoubted title to the first.—Swift.
As long as it is grievous to thee to
suffer, and thou desirest to escape, SO
long shalt thou be ill at ease, and the
desire of escaping tribulation shall fol-
low thee everywhere. —Thomas a Kem-
pis.
“Slated”? va. “Booked.”
That extremely well written Jour-
nal, The New York Nation, remarks
in a leading note that “the Kitchener
plan for the reorganization of the In-
dian Army is slated to pass the Com-
mons,” meaning, of course, that it is
scheduled or “hooked” to go through.
This is a use of the word which on ibis
side we have not yet adopted or have
already abandoned; in these matters it
js seldom safe to say which. :
In the States a party program If
often called its slate, and to ‘smash
the slate” is to extinguish that pro-
gram. And we are accustomed to
“wipe the slate”’—the equivalent to the
German “Schwamm dareuber.” But a
“slate smasher,” according to Henley
and Farmer, is not so much a success
ful opponent as a leader who ignores
the wishes of his own party. Over
i as g meant a cen-
slating has long mean
here a 1g fa on
sure, but of late years it Ih i
brought specially into the field of liter-
ary crit jsm.—London Chronicles
et
A Biographical Rule.
One of the most helpful books to
keep upon your table, ready to be con
sulted as you read other books, is a
biographical dictionary. Then, who
you come to some historical characte!
about whom your knowledge is a lit-
tle faded, it will require but a mo-
ment to refresh your memory. and
make your reading more intelligent.
You have a right to the acquaintance
of these distinguished men and women,
should keep up at least friendly
relations with them, if for no other
reason than in gratitude for what they
have done to make’ your life pleasant.
—S8t, Nicholas.
ee — eri
and
Musical.
The dramatic editor had kindly con-
sented to answer the.queries for the
Helpful Hints man, who was ill. The
first request the dramatic editor read
was:
“Please tell me what I should wear
with a fluted skirt.”
“If we were you,” wrote the dra-
Efftontery.
Voice (through the telephone)—*“Is
that the society editor?”
The Other Voice—"Yes.”
Volce—*Will you please say that
Argie Higgum’s back—"
The Other Voice—*I don't care for
any items about Archie Higgum's
back.”—Chicago Tribune.
A Distinction,
“What is the difference between a
practical and a theoretical farmer?”
“A theoretical farmer,” answered
Farmer Corntossel, “is one that insists
on tryin’ to make a livin’ off the farm,
an’ a practical one jes’ faces the in-
evitable an’ turns the place over to
summer boarders.”—Washington Star.
The Artist's Industry.
Bacon—*“You say your artist friend is
industrious?”
Egbert—“Very; why, I've known him
to work over four years on one pic-
ture ”
Bacon—*“Is that possible?”
Egbert—“It is. He was a month
painting it, and four years trying to
sell it!”"—Yonkers Statesman,
Left in Doubt,
First Pennsylvanian — “Well, that
tainted chorus girl couldn’t make a go
of it and they've disbanded her show.”
Second Pennsylvanian—“A tribute to
our Pennsylvania good sense.”
First Pennsylvanian—"I don’t know
whether it is or not. Maybe they fig=
ured that if it wouldn't go in Pennsyl-
vania it wouldn't go anywhere.”
A Hint,
Jack—*“Her heart is as hard as glass, -
I've little hope of making an impres-
sion on it.”
His Sister—“Why not try a dia-
mond ?’"—Illustrated Bits,
Not All Alike.
“When you know that a man is a
devotee of golf,” said the enthusiastie
golfer, “you can be absolutely certain
of his mental caliber and be as-
sured—"
“Oh, come, I wouldn't say that,” re-
plied the plain man, “I don’t doubt
that some men play golf who are really
quite sensible.”—Philadelphia Press.
Didn’t Care to Sit Down.
“Thank you, young gentleman,” she
said to the boy who permitted her to
take the seat in the trolley car that
had just been vacated, ‘but, perhaps,
you had better take it. You look
weary.”
“I guess you'd look weary, too, lady,
if you'd been fishin’ an’ got ketched at
it by yer dad.”—Philadelphia Ledger.
The Main Chance.
“Let's go over and call on the Greens
to-night,” remarked Mrs. Fox, as the
evening threatened to drag.
“I don’t care to go there unless we
have an invitation,” replied her hus-
band.
“But why not?”
“Because they wouldn't have a lunch
ready if they didn't know we were ..
coming.”’—Columbus Dispatch. gi
vv
’ ont
Casus Belli.
“Now, the trusts ” began the pats
ent churn man, addressing the washing
machine agent, “the trusts, let me tell
you, are—"" \
“Here, now, gentlemen!” remonstrats
ed the landlord of the tavern at Polk-
ville, Ark. ‘That's what the fight here
yesterday started about; and it's going
to cost me $3 or $4 for new window
glass alone!”—Tom Watson's Magazine.
The Absurd Poor.
“Give you a nickel?” said Miss De
Style. “Oh, no! I never dispense pro-
miscuous alms. Why do you not ob-
tain employment?”
“Please, mum,” was the timid reply,
“I have a small baby, and people won’t
be bothered by a woman with a child.”
“Then, you absurd creature, why not
leave the child at home with its
nurse ?’—Philadelphia Bulletin.
Shrewd Move.
Mrs. Fox—“Great news!
engaged to Miss Roxley.” .:
Mr, Fox—“What! Our son engaged
to Miss Roxley? I must object!”
Mrs. Fox—*“Nonsgflle! Are you out
of your mind?”
Mr. Fox—4}
kick a 1
doped
George is
but if we don't
: will think we
d they’ll prob-
matic editor, “to wear with a fluted
skirt we should piccolo cut waist’—
Illustrated Bits,
olic Standard
r
_—
The
i veils I
; season
doubt
veils g
which
ignore
best i.
velvet
Ther
or thr
The
selves
growil
the fa
nets a
head t
For
apt to
match
veil, |
fancy
of hat
A se
tint la
button
0 ag
vouche
maker:
nal it i
are oil
The g:
bowl
The w
of cou
paint t
compa:
right «
reache
dip the
quickly
bottom
‘bottom
paint t
ily to
Shake
is
efore
Process
M
‘Wha
the dr:
sides Ib
Shall 1}
shall h
retire |
evening
tionabl
No! to
persons
and in
bilities
the bes
These
Zenda”
make ¢
mon, |
—and 1
The
where
conseie
a ques
find ha
those 1
dren to
They
young-
and it
both tc
they ti
road
makes
le.—Ix
Head
uresqu
f the
rian |
pS up
comi:
11 fl
pular
fate o
bt on
th flc
rqui
S ma
an
en, TC
ence.
isually
while 1
strictly
all-featl
cept ve
Felt 1
the der
handsor
hats ar
trimmin
tn milli
felts ar
Plumes
ionable
more th
the larg
new ric
down to
sed.
dorns 1
{ason’s
ol\ly tri
oi
There
form wl
the new
for chu
really g
onger c
best cle
clothes |
pleasure
the pla
every dt
days.
raduall
me it
at the
endin