HUMAN LIFE. BT AUHBEV D* TEBB. Sad is our youth, for it is ever going, Crumbling away, beneath our very feet; Bad is our life, for onward it is flowing, In current unperceived because ho fleet: Sad are our hopes, for they are sweet in sowing, But tares, self-sown, have overtopped the wheat; Sad are our joys, for they are sweet in blowing; And still, oh! still, their dying breath is sweet. And sweet is youth, although it hath bereft Of that which made our childhood sweet er still; And sweet our life's decline, for it hath left us A nearer good to cure an older 111; And BW'et urn all things, when we learn to prize them Not for their sake, but His who grants them or deuieH them. Si/as Norris' \ 4 Brave Start, t W A woman and a boy cannot do much with fifty acres. Mrs. Norris knew it, because she had tried. Her husband had left her the farm, 120 acres, and she had done her best with It. She had kept her boy Silas at school, she had planted berries, trimmed vines, cared for the orchard, milked her own cow and tended the chickens, but somehow she didn't get ahead much. She had watched her boy grow from a weazen, freckle-faced child into a great, hulking, stoop-shouldered "man" of 20. Year after yoar she had seen his patrimony diminished till the 120- aeres were reduced to fifty. He could read, write and figure and he was "handy" with machinery. Sometimes she believed that the farm was "hold ing him back" and that she should send him to the city to make his way." But she loved him now even as she had loved him when he was all that was left to hor of company, of affec tion, of hope. He looked as his father lokcd when they were married. He had been born in the cottage in which his father had been born. The berry patches, the orchard, the five-acre meadow, the rickety henhouse, the river which ran past the pasture lot, were in hor eyes transfigured by the knowledge that they were liis, that some day her boy would own them in his own right and make his home there for all his days. And so she strug gled along, doing her own work, mak ing, mending, planting, herself the foremost and the swiftest of the berry pickers, the first in the field in the morning, the last to bed at night. She was thin now, with whitening hair and sallow cheeks, hands browned and hardened with the v/ork, shoul ders stooped with bending over the earth and the wash-tub. Silas, the boy, was big and red. There were freckles and pimples on his wide, ex pectant face and he had been shaved a dozen times. He wa3 commencing to take on the ways of a man, for he went to the Saturday night dances at King's I.anding, bought an occasional pint of beer from the steward of the steamboat May Graham, and smoked his cigar with the confident assurance of a person of aitairs. When he wont down to the landing with his load of berries he hailed Captain Fykes as "Cap" and called the amiable clerk "Charlie." He had a personal ac quaintance with John Egan, the first mate, and had no hesitation in slap ping him on the hack and asking, "How's traffic, John?" The widow had seen and admired these evidences of broadening character, and deep in the fond recesses of her heart she knew that her boy Silas was "cut out" for a man of business, that he had a future before him and that the narrow environments of a small fruit farm Were "holdlbg him back." Silas had been to St. Joe and Ben ton Harbor more than 20 times. He had done a "heap of trading" and the town atmosphere was the breath of in spiration to his nostrils. He had seen each year the incursion of smart "rcsortors" from Chicago, and feeing, yearned to look, to feel, to act as they did. Full of this ambition he talked to his mother about "taking boarders." It was easier than farming, he said, and more profitable. The Joneses had done it and made money enough to buy twenty acres of the Norris farm. It would give him a chance to get ac quainted, who knows but it might give him "an opening," an opportunity to settle in Chicago? The hoy's eyes widened at the very thought, and Mrs. Norris, eager to help her boy along, yet dreading the prospect of losing him, stiPed her selfish hopes of having him "all to herself" and advertised for summer boarders. The widening hopes of the possibili ties of converting the little farm into a "popular resort," they planted only enough for the maintenance of a few hoarders. They figured on cuttting the empty barn into halves and mak ing cottages of it. June, July and half of August came and went, and they had many letters of inquiry about the place, the water, the mosquitoes, the bathing, the terms, the roads, the fruit, the beds, and the "general ac commodations," but only one boarder disembarked from the wheezing steam er, and the widow's heart was down cast in spite of the happy smile she gave him, and the thrill of pride sho felt when she heard him call Silas, her Si "Mister Norris." He was a bookkeeper for the com mission firm which had handled their berries, and showed all the ball marks of tlio strenuous anu cultivated life of a great city. He had drop-stitched stockings and patent leather "low quarters." He v.ore a singular sort of muffler, which he eelled "a stock,' and when he saw the wheat stacks looming brown upon the yellow hills he said he "supposed those were bee hives." When he saw Silas milking the cow he wondered why somebody hadn't invented an automatic cow milker; he didn't know beans from buckwheat in the fields, and he could n't bait his own fish hook because, he said, the "worm made him feel creepy." But he took a marked lik ing for Silas, and the widow began to think that he was a very capable and even brilliant young man. In ex change for innumerable courtesies ne told the farmer boy that if he would come to Chicago "he would never leave it." "It's the only place," exclaimed the resorter. "Why, a fellow that knows as much as you do about farm machin ery, crops, fruit and farming in gen eral would be snapped up right away. The agricultural implement trust is loooklng for men like you all the timo. I wish I knew as much as you about such things. You wouldn't catch mo slaving away for S2O a week." And. Silas not only believed it, but in long talks with his mother at night after the boarder was gone to bed he drew such roseate pictures of hjs hopes, his ambitions, and such gloomy, desperate predictions of "his finish" if she kept him there to vegetate on the farm, that she agreed to the step, though the decision cost her many a sleepless hour and many a blinding tear. I saw them standing in the knee high, golden meadow by the river the day he left her. She wore an old faded calico wrapper and the blue runbonnet upon her head was rusty and limp. The little steamboat, which will stop anywhere, wheezed and chortled up to the green bank, and a mob of inquisitive tourists crowded to the rail to watch them. He was dressed in his bravest Sunday clothes, with a red necktie, his shoes brightly polished and his moon face shaved and blushing. I saw her hold him an instant to her fiat bosom and kiss him, and I saw him draw away from her, ashamed of the senseless onlookers and eager to be off. He came aboard the narrow gangplank, bustling and looking as though this trip were a matter of course, but it was not a mat ter of course to the lonely woman standing there in the gray twilight watching her boy' 3 departure. A lone blue crane came sweeping down-stream out of the shadows, the little steamboat puffed and steamed away, the dark green waters of the old St. Joe tinkled a dream-song against the lush banks, and lite woman, her hands behind her tired back and her sad eyes fixed on the vanishing steam er, stood all alone in the dim light of the crooning river.—John H. Rafferty in the Chicago Record-Herald. CAUGHT AT THEIR TRICKS. Two J'artifM or Anglers Had Been Tlay in; Ihe Same Game. Rochester, N. Y., is laughing at the ludicrous outcome of a fishing trip taken by a dozen well known young society men to the Manltou waters the other day. The bass and pickerel were running Well, and largo catches had been made. These twelve sportsmen resolved to take a try at luck. They divided up into two parties, six in a boat, and each side put up a bet of $lO that it would return to the hotel at a given hour with the larger catch. There was a bit of a gale on the lake, und the fish wero striking poorly, when one boatload saw an aged angler puling for shore near by them. He was hailed, and held up a fine catch of pickerel, weighing altogether with several bas3 and perch, about forty five pounds. There were several big fellows in the lot, and the eager occu pants of lloat No. 1 hit upon a bril liant expedient. Dickering folowed, and finally the veteran fisherman ex changed his catch for six one-dollar bills, each member of the party put ting in the same sum. "Wait," they whispered exultantly when the old man had pulled away. "We'll make those jack spots in the otbor boat feel like thirty Canadian pennies." The aged fisherman, knowing the waters thorougly, instead of departing for home, sought a sheltered cove and caught five more pickerel, which weighed about twenty-five pounds. By chance he met the party in boat No. 2, and, fate hovering aroud with sup pressed laughter, they had a flash of genius like that which animated boat No. 1, and the old fisherman sold the catch for $2.00. Then he went back and fished for an hour longer and caught a nine pound pike. "Wait," said boat No. 2, "wait, and we'll make the other gang feel like a counterfeit note in the fist of a treas ury expert." The two boatloads met on the hotel piazza, and boat No. 1 crowed loudly and exuberantly with joy. They had forty-five pounds of fish. Boat No. 2 was chagrined; it had only twenty live pounds. Just then the aged angler appeared around the corner dragging a nine pound pike. He was a just and equaro man, and he went up to the spokesman of boat No. 2. "Here," he said, "the string I sold to you fellers wa'n't quite so good ez that I sold to the other fellers, so I'll throw to you this here nine pound yaller pike fer half a dolar." And then there was a tableau. As for the aged angler, he is wondering yet, "what in thunder made them durn dudes all holler ter wunsl fer?"—New York Tribune. Merely a Rcicctln. Miss Thirtyodd—l want to give my fiance a surprise on ids birthday. Can't you suggest something? Miss DeFlypp—Wc 11, yon might tell ; him your age.—Chicago News. ** So There." M My dear Matilda," hints Mamma, "It vexes me, as you're aware, To hear you end each sentence with "80 there!'" "I don't know," Matilda cries, Speaking as crossly as she dare, "That I said anything like that— -80 there!" "You naughty girl," Mamma exclaims, "For punishment you'll now prepare; Into that corner take your work— -Bew there!" —Chicago Rocord-Herald. Pet* of a Qnnen. The love of animals always Indi cates a noble and gentle character, and doubtless Queen Alexandra's love of animals has endeared her doubly to her many subjects. England's queen has a collection of pets at Sand ringham that contains a wide variety, embracing dogs, chickens, doves, horses and parrets. Many years ago, when she visited Ireland, a dove was given her as an emblem of peace and goood will, and on her return to Lon don she bought a mate for it. Their descendants are numerous, and tho queen always has one specially trained for her boudoir. This particular pet has its cage in the room, and will leave it at her call to perch on her finger or nestle on her shoulder. These doves are all white, with pink eyes. A small island in a pool is the home of a number of foreign birds. Among them are some curious specimens, of which several oyster catchers are re garded as peculiarly interesting by their owner. They have black and white plumage and long red bills, which they use like scissors to detach the mollusk. Three turtle doves are recent additions. They were on board the steamer when her majesty returned from Denmark last year, and she became so fond of them that they were sent to Sandringham. The queen's kennels are extensive, and in them are collies, Newfoundlands, deer hounds and otner varieties. Ter per sonal pets are two Japanese spaniels, carrying them everywhere with her. Each kennnel has a bedroom and a sitting-room, and all open upon a largo central courtroom. There is also a hospital, and when a dog dies it is buried in a litttle cemetery and a tombstone is placed over its grave. Sam, the pooodle who was a pet of Princess Victoria, lies here. The princess used to have the clippings from his long and silky coat made into yarn for crocheting little shawls. Queen Alexandra is well known by every dog in the kennel. Horses come in for a goodly share of,her majesty's affection. She has been a fine horse woman from childhood, and still rides nearly every day. Migrating ltlr<l*. The Hock of Gibraltar is an ideal spot from which to note the arrival of tho birds from Africa on their spring passage. It is not such a general resting-place -and "cross-roads" as is Heligoland; but, standing as it does at the narrowest point in the Mediter ranean, it forms one of tho jetties at the birds' crossing-place, while the neighborhood of Tangier is the corre sponding pier of this invisible bridge. For five seasons the arrival of the birds was very carefully watched by Colonel Irby, who also acquired tho notes of a French naturalist, M. Fav ier, who lived for 30 years in Tangier. The notes, both of M. Favier and of Colonel Irby, give us something more than a plimpse, not only of the arrvial of the birds which mean to settle for the summer in Spain, but of what we never see, and very few people ever realize to be taking place when they do see it, the passage of the birds midway on the journey from Equator ial Africa to England. Some, the swal lows, for instance, drop detachments probably along the whole lino from North Africa to Sweden. Some stop at Tangier, some at Gibraltar, some in Spain, some, doubtless, along the French coast. Others come to Eng land, others go on still further. There is every reason to believe that it is the same pair of birds which stays each year at its usual nesting place. Yet there is nothing to stop them where they do stop, except free will. What can there be in the mind of one swallow hatched last year which takes the little bird to Seville, while an other will not be content till it reaches Christianla? M. Favier says that "great flights of swallows pass the Straits from Africa to Europe in Jan uary and February, returning in Sep tember and October to join those which have remained at Tangier to nest. Then they all go further south for the winter." Where they go he did not know; but they are now said to be found ail over Africa in midwin ter. "The Moors say that it offends God to kill a swallow as much as it conciliates Satan to kill a raven," says M. Favier, "and that swallows and storks were inspired by Allah for iho destruction of fliee and noxious rep tiles." —The Spectator. Thf Discontented Beetle. There was once a big, discontented beetle. He had no pretty colors on his wing cases, and tho wings them selves, folded beneath, were too small to hold his heavy body up for any length of flight. All day he burrowed in the earth and decaped leaves and at night he crept out to envy the Are flies. 1 "Oh" ho sighed, "what happiness to I fly about in the warm air carrying one of those beautiful lamps. How I wish I was a lightning bug and not a clumsy old black beetle." One day as he was digging In the earth he came on an angle worm's tunnel. Now the bug people think that the anglo worms are very wise and useful, and so they are, for all their lives long they spend in work ing the soil over and over so that it will be loose for the roots of the trees and the flowers to move through; you know they do moue, very, very slowly, or else they would always stay in one spot, and not go crawling under the ground this way and that. "Say," asked the discontented beetle of the angle worm, "you are wise, can you tell me where tho Are flies buy their lamps?" "No," the worm answered, turning his blind, pink face toward the beetle, "but I have heard the grass roots talk ing together, and, if 1 remember rightly, they spoke of a fire somewhere up in the sky that warmed them; maybe the lire flies light their lamps there." Then the worm turned away to bite off a great mouthful of clay, swallow ing it quite contentedly. "Why don't you ask the fire flies themselves " it mumbled, seeing the beetle still waiting there, "that Is what I would advise your doing." Now the beetle was very shy and very proud. He was not afraid of a blind angle worm, imt when it came to introducing himself to a Are fly, with a lovely red head and black mark ings—to say nothing of the lamp —that was too much. "I will not ask any more questions. I will hunt the world over till I find that Are for myself, said the beetle sullenly, so oft he started. When he stuck his head out of the earth worm's tunnel the first thing he saw was a bright red light, glittering behind the leaves. He was sure it was far away, because he felt no heat from it. Cer tainly that must be the Are the roots were talking of. He would go there as straight as he could crawl, so ne scrambled oil over the ground, his nose pushing the grass and his two little feelers showing him the way, just as you see any of the bug people walk, If you watch them. Bye and bye he looked, up, thinking, undoubt edly, that he had made a long jour ney and must be near the end. Mercy! not a sign of the fire anywhere, no smoke even, which was not strange when you think that what tho stupid beetle had taken for a fire was the setting sun, which had dropped over the edge of the world long ago and left only a big pink stain in the sky where it had been. "Dear me," fretted the'beetle, "how tired I am all for nothing and 110 good!" and he burrowed under some dry leaves to sulk. When he looked up again, however, he forgot that he had been discouraged, for there, white and beautiful and shining, be tweeen the tree branches he saw an other fire, and as soon as he saw it he made up his mind that this was tho very one he was looking for. "Here goes!" exclaimed the beetle cheerfully, and he began to climb the first tree he came to. It was a slow journey,'and many a time he would have fallen but for the hard, hooked claws which he dug into the bark Of the tree. He did reach the top at last, as men and beetles always can if they dig their claws in and work hard enough, hut when the tip-top had been reached, dreadful to say, the white fire had flown a million miles away up among the stars! Can you guess what it was that had fooled the old beetle so? For a long time the discontented heetle stood on tho top loaf, which looked to his little eyes like a wide, black floor, swinging and tilting with the wind. There was no use, he thought, ho would givo up his hunt and go back to his cell in the ground, where he could neither see nor hear, for what good were eyes and ears ex cept to put impossible ideas in one's head? As he turned to go down the tree he stopped suddenly, dusted his eyes with his feelers and looked again. Was it possible —there in the street below him, the very Are he was look ing for? Yes, there it shone, dang ling from an iron post and so wonder fully white that the moon looked like a dirty silver plate beside it. A per fect cloud of bug people danced excit edly around it—come to light their lamps, too, the beetle told himself, and the next moment he stretched, his wings and went skimming through the darkness. He forgot the other hug people dancing there, forgot the red sun that hid over the hill, the white moon that ran away to the stars, the long journey he had come on; forgot everything except the great, blazing diamond light that was growing nearer with every quiver of ills wings. "Where are you going? You will burn yourself!" The next morning when the man came to clean out the electric globes he found, with a pint of other burned up bugs, the body of a big black bee tle. "How can such a large bug have so little sense!" he exclaimed, but when the grass roots told the angle worm he said nothing, because his mouth was full of dirt—Washington Stay. Hard on Ike Father. A little girl, three years old, who is very fond of music, has a father who cannot distinguish one tune from an other. However, she is always urging him to sing. He was trying his best to please her with a hymn one day and flattered himself that he was do ing very well. Suddenly the little ty rant turned upon him and demanded: "Why don't you sing, daddy? You're oniy making a noise."—New York Press. PEARLS OF THOUGHT. Love lifts. Virtue is wealth. The light needs no label. Destiny depends on origin. Innocence is not character. Treachery leads to tragedy. Self is a synonym for all sin. Disposijion is more than position. Silence is often the sign of strength. Pride needs to look out for puncture. Many a small engine has a big whis tle. Your life will be worth what it costs you. The man who thinks leads' the crowd. Better a fair failure than a false success. A good man will always flndBome good in men. God sends the seed, but we must furnish the soil. To loso sympathy with men Is to miss success with them. The lesser things of life are the ones we can least afford to lose. Small vices may be fordable one at a time, but they soon unite into an impassable river.—Ram's Horn. HOW THINGS LOOK AT FORTY. Men on lleaclilng Mature Age Cannot Account for Foiling of Youth. Tho chief distinction between 20 and 40 seems to be that the youth is buoyed with the wisdom of conceit, whereas the man is burdened with the conceit of wisdom. It is a very silly thing to generalize from one's own personal experience. Nearly all the men I know are liars, yet doubtless I touch elbows with truth every day. At 20 you blush when a man praises you, at 30 you think him a clever fel low; at 40 you wonder what he wants. Be prepared from early youth to make the most splendid self-sacrifices, provided you do not change your mind as to their utility. The cynic is the most conceited ot human beings. He believes all men are knaves or fools, and excepts him self. Friendship is a benefit, association (limited) which, by going bankrupt, enables you to discover that you are your own best friend. Persons who have never nursed an illusion may have laid up a dollar or two, but all their money can never buy the delights of a dreamer. What a shock to the virtuous man who late in life discovers that the principles he fought hardest for were only prejudices. It is an appalling possibility that at BO I may pity the fool at 40—myself— as at present I cannot account for my folly at 25. A compensation of personal tragedy is that it frequently quickens the vic tim's sense of humor. A pessimist is not a good many things he thinks he is, but he is some thing he never thought of —one who is constantly trying to stand in his own shadow. An optimist Is a good many things he thinks he is'nt; but chiefly he is simply a person afraid to face the truth. A keen sense of the ridiculous may be a bar to success, but as long as you keep it you will never feel yourself wboly a failure. Clilnwe Fanner* In I.urk. The Chinamen who are market gar dening out at Astoria have begun to feel the same prosperity that is com ing to the farmers out west. Lee Wah, who has a truck farm on the road opposite St. Michael's cemetery, said that he had never made money so easily as this year. There never was such a demand for vegetables. Leo Wah says he has made more than SI2OO so far this year out of his green stuff. His customers are the Chinese laundrymen, who go to Mott Btreet on Sundays to do their marketing. People out at Astoria say the Chin ese truck farmers ought to be prosper ous. They are always puttering round in their gardens. From long before daylight until long after dark they are out there. Every day they are at work. There are four or five other Chin ese truck farmers in Astoria besides Lee Wah. They are sevral thousand dollars to the good already this sea son.—New York Sun. How to Capture Itnllfroga. The bullfrog, brown, big and hoarse of voice in August, will give many a half day of good sport, to say nothing of the delicacy his plump hind legs will furnish. There are three ways in which he may be pursued successfully. He may be angled for with a rod and bit of red flannel for a bait which, waved before him, is as the red rag to a bull. He may be stalked with a light-handled spear, and stealth and skill add zest to this method. Or he may be hunted with a 22 rifle when a good eye and steady hand are necessary to insure a dinner. —Country Life in America. He Tried it Once Too Often. A professional burglar in Berlin found a new and original way of add ing to the ordinary profits of his pro fession. After each burglary he sent a full account of it to one of the daily newspapers, and for this ho received payment in the usual vay. But he tried his plan once too often. The edi tor became suspicious and gave in formation to the police, vfco soon found how this amateur reporter was able to beat all rivals in the way of early information. FAIRY STORIES. Ah, how we used to like the dear Old fairy talea our mothers told; Although we knew they De'er were true, We used to gladly heur them through' We loved the gentle Princesses I Aud Princes bravo und bold— We heard them o'er and o'er, but still The stories ne'er grew old. Ah, bow we like to hear the dear Old fairy tales sweet women tell; Although wo know they can't be true, Btill, still they thrill us through as4.-^-- through— t A pretty woman's flattery Still makes inau's bosom swell; ■ He knows 'tis but a fairy tale, But oh, he likes it well. —Chicago Beeord-Herald. HUMOROUS. "Her face Is her fortune." "Well, the wouldn't be very rich if she were two-faced." "She ran into my arms once in a darit hallway." "The hallway must have been dark." Little Girl (alter seeing many queer beaSts at the Zoo) —"But there aren't really such animals, nurse, are there?" "Do you really believe that all men are born free and equal?" "Well, yes; <r except that some grow up to be equal to a hundred others." 1 "What do you expect to be when you become of age, my little man?" f asked the visitor. "Twenty-one, sir," f was the bright one's reply. Tommy—Did you over hear of a cam el going through the eye of a needle? Bessie —Yes, an' I bet he got caught half way an' that's what made the hump. "Well, why don't you say some thing?" asked the angry woman, after her long harangue. "My dear," replied her husband, meekly, "nothing remains to be said." Interviewer —How do you account for your love of music? Drum Major—Well, { when me father was young he was a 1 furniture remover, and wan day a / pianny fell on him. I Kind l^ady—And you consider that f you were born lucky? How can you/ think that when you can never work? "Breezy Ben —That is the very y reason why I think so. * "This necktie." said the salesman, f "speaks for itself." "Speaks for it self?" repeated the customer as he took in the loudness of the design; "I say that it positively yells." "He was around trying to collect his bill again, I hear." "Yes, and I told him he could take it out in trade." "And wouldn't he do that?" "Not ex actly; he seemed to prefer taking it out in tirade." Jack —I was cunning enough to liber ate a mouse before kissing her. Tom —A mouse?" Jack—Yes, because I knew she was going to scream and when her father rushed in I pointed out the mouse. "Bridget," said the absent-minded author, "I can't have that cat in the room if it continues to yell so. Chaste it out." "Yes, sor; but ye'll hov tof help me. scr." "Why, where is it?" "Ye're sittin' on it, sor." "So Jack deliberately kissed you last niSTit." commoni "l Miss Antique se verely." "Well, I'd just like to see any man try to kiss me.' "Why not se lect a near-sighted man and wear a veil," naively suggested the sweet young thing." Pa—How did you get yourself in this condition? Fighting again? Willie— Yes, sir. "Didn't I tell you not to fight any more when I caught you fighting with little Tommy Green?" "No, sir; you told me not to fight with a boy smaller than myself." "Do you see that man with the brown beard?" whispered the girl in the ping-pong tie. "Well, he fills me with bitterness." "Ah, an old flame?" spoke her dearest friend. "No. he is , our family physician, and since v,ejT moved In the suburbs he forces me to> take quinine." The Clioloo of Two KVIIM. An omnious silence greeted Bobby's entrance. There was a wild look in his eye; his clothes were disarranged, and there was just a suggestion of blood about his mouth. Mamma frowned severely, and papa hid him self behind his paper. "Ahem!" began mama. Bobby squared his shoulders, and prepared for the coming attack. "Ahem! Don't you know, Bobby, that it's very wrong of little boys to fight?" Bobby pretended to find a point of interest in the pattern of the hearth rug. "Haven't I told you, Bobby, that it's very wicked to fight?" demanded his mamma, in a tone that was meant to be sorrowful. 'w Thus challenged, Bobby fell back >i!(Vr argument. "He hit me first, mama," ho pleaded. "Ah. but that doesn't make any dif ference. Nobody loves little boye who fight." Bobby pondered for a few moments and then his face brightened. "Is that so?" he asked. "Yes, my dear, nobody will love you if you are always fighting. And look at your clothes." "Well," said Bobby, with slow de liberation, "then, mamma, I thinks it's better to be unloved." Something between a shriek and a laugh escaped from papa as he fled from the room.—London Judy. ImllH'x MHIIV llnll<ty. Cawnpore has the proud satisfac.W tion (or otherwise) of knowing that ltf has more bank holidays than any other big town in India. Omitting Sundays, Cawnpore last year had 33, Bombay 26, Calcutta 24 and Madras 20 official holidays. The amount, as far as Cawnpore Is concerned, is thought excessive b> many, for busi ness reasons.- The Bangkok Times.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers