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.