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VOL UHL. THUEr
KU JI 9Lt TWENTY-EIGHT
WHAT WE THINK OF WHAT WE SEE
Uy A. E. EFIMS A UR, Managing Editor
A little widow now and then
Plays havoc with the single men.
—Houston Post.
Because a widow loves these men
Like mother, sweetheart —and some then.
—J udge.
For a little widow’s heart is large
Enough to take them all in charge.
—Chicago Journal.
So, bachelors, don’t trust to luck,
But, when you see one coming, duck.
—Judge.
‘ ‘ Duck?” What virtue in this lies
She’ll be right there to grab you when you rise.
It is reported that six men in St. Louis committed
suicide to escape the heat. And after all their
trouble, they probably didn’t.
We note in The Christian Index a reference to
“Bungo’s Ghost.” Must have meant “Banquo.”
This is a great day for “near” things in Atlanta.
“I’m going to get a gown to match my complex
ion. ”
“But aren’t those hand-painted gowns awfully
expensive ? ’ ’
Mt
The school board of Austin, Texas, has banished
the Barbara Frietchie story from its reading se
ries. It will probably not be many years before
somebody will be claiming that Aunt Carrie Nation
never existed.
Mt
A day on the planet Jupiter is just fifty thousand
times as long .’.s a day on the planet where this
great paper is being published. A little ten days’
visit from mother-in-law must make the sons-in
law pretty happy up that way.
“Is your husband up yet?’ asked the early morn
ing caller.
“I guess he is,” replied the stern looking woman.
“I’d like to say a few words to him.”
“I’d like to say more than a few. He hasn’t
come home vet.”
Mistress: “But, Dinah, maybe you are quarrel
some, too. Be easier with your husband. The Good
Book says ‘Heap coals of fire on his head.’ ”
Dinah: “I don’t know about coals of tire, Mis
sus, but I done Hung hot watah on him onct, an’ it
made him wuss. I don’t b’lieve nothin’ will do dat
nigger any good.
ATLANTA, GA., AUGUST 27, 1908.
. Mr. Chafin, the Prohibition candidate for Presi
dent, promises, if elected, and Congress refuses to
pass a national prohibition law, to ciall out the mi
litia and the standing army and enforce prohibition
in every inch of territory under the American flag.
It does seem that he has struck upon the very best
plan, if he means to use the army in a campaign of
annihilation.
A Canadian newspaper prints the following adver
tisement of a nursing bottle: “When the baby is
done drinking it must be unscrewed and laid in a
cool place under a tap. If the baby does not thrive
on fresh milk, it should be boiled.” We do not
pretend to any very expert knowledge on the sub
ject, but it does seem to us that the average baby
wouldn’t last long under such treatment.
Governor Haskell of Oklahoma, is the poet-lau
reate of Mr. William Jennings Bryan. He has writ
ten a number of campaign songs that ripple and ring
with melody. One of the most popular is entitled,
“If you Don’t see it in the Platform, you Needn’t
Be Afraid.” Another is, “Drop in your Dollar,
and Hear ’em Holler, The-Trusts are on the Run!”
But perhaps the most inspiring is, “Bedfellows in
the Whitehouse.” The first stanza meanders thus
ly:
“hi the prairie dog's hole live the rattler and owl,
Ami all in the nest do agree;
So Bryan and Kern will live check by jowl,
When they in the White House we see.
They say that we Democrats never unite,
And that harmony never can he,
But Bryan and Kern will show them a sight,
When they in the White House agree;
Hooray, Whoopee!
When they in the White House agree!”
M!
Two miners were returning from a lecture at the
village institute, when one of them, after a thought
ful pause, remarked:
“Say, Bill! 1 doan’t see the necessity o’ bring
ing-chaps frae London to teach us aboot manners
in the ’ome! We ain’t so bad as that feller made
out! ’ ’
“O’ course we ain’t!” replied Bill.
“Not by a long way,” went on the first. “I
never swears before my wife —”
“No more don't I!” put in Bill. “I alius sez.
ladies fust! That’s me.”
A certain worker in a Chinese mission in Doyers
Street, New York City, became greatly interested
in two Chinamen who owned a flourishing laundry
in her own neighborhood. She was accustomed to
looking in on them occasionally to see how they were
getting along, and quite a friendship sprang up be
tween the Chinamen and herself. One morning she
stopped by the laundry and found Sam, smiling
and cheerful as usual, but John was missing.
“Where is John this morning?” she asked.
“Oh,” answered Sam amiably, “Chlistian gen’le
mian hit him in the head with a brick, and he all
same in hospital.”
We hiave found the following recipe in an ex
change :
“Oat Cake —Quarter pound coarse oat meal, quar
ter pound flour, dash of sugar, a little salt, quarter
pound lard or drippings, ia good teaspoonfid of bak
ing* powder. Mix all to a light dough with milk;
roll out thin and bake on tin sheet. Break to any
size required. Do not cut with knife before or
after. Bake a light golden.”
And that’s all there is to it. No directions for
taking, nor anything said as to what use it is to be
put. Now we ask you fairly: Is it for horses or
folks?
*
Judge Sam Cowan, of Texas, is given credit in the
Saturday Evening Post with a story of a certain
very fatal disease to which a gentleman in his
State had succumbed. The incident is related as
follows: “Down in our country we had a case
in one of our minor courts where a lawyer was try
ing to collect a bill he claimed was owed to the late
husband of his client.
“ ‘lie didn’t pay no money to the diseased,' said
the lawyer. ‘He didn’t get the money, the dis
eased didn’t. He didn't receive one cent, the dis
ceased didn’t.’
“ ‘Diseased?’ inquired the judge, ‘what was this
person you are speaking about diseased of?’
‘May it please your Honor,’ said the lawyer,
‘he was diseased of death.’ ”
We have recently read the following true story:
“We have lots of curious ‘last requests’ from
patients who are about to have operations per
formed,” said a nurse in the woman’s surgical ward
of one of the New York hospitals, “but 1 thought
about the last word had been said on this subject
one day last week when one of my patients before
going to the operating room, called me to her and
asked me to write two postal cards to her husband
so that she might sign them before the operation.
One was to read: ‘My dear husband: The opera
tion was at 10 o’clock this morning, and 1 am get
ting along fine!’ The other one was: ‘My dear
husband: The operation was at 10 o’clock this
morning, and I am sorry to say I died. From
your loving wife.’ ”
Now there is one woman who is determined to
have the last word!
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