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VOLUME VI.
THU SCHOOL TEACHEH.
Twas Salimlay night, and a leacber sat
Alone, her iask pursuing;
Khe averaged Ibis and she averaged (bat
()1 all her cla s was doin ’,.
She reckoned her per centage ho many b >ys,
And so many gills i: 11 eemned,
And marked all the lardy and absentees,
And to what all the absence amounted,
Names and residences wrote in full,
Over many columns and pages;
Canadian, Teutonic, Alrican, Celt,
And averaged all their ages,
Ike ditto of admission of eveiy one,
And cases of flagellation,
And prepared a list of the graduates
For the county examination.
Her weary bead sank low on her book,
And her weary heart still lower,
For some of her pupils bad little brain,
Ami slept, she dreamed—it seemed sbe died,
And her spirit went to Had. s;
And they met her there with a question fair,
“State what the per cent, of your glade is?”
Ages had slowly rolled away,
Leaving but partial (races,
And the teacher’s spirit walked one day
Iu the old familiar places.
A mound of fossilized school reports
Attracted her observation,
As high as the State house dome, and as wide
Ah boston since annexation.
She came to the spot where they buried her
bores,
And the ground was well built over,
But laborers threw out a skull,
Once planted beneath the clover.
A disciple of Galen wandering by,
Paused to look at tire diggers,
And plucking the skull up looked through the
eye,
And eaw it was lined with figures.
“Just as I thought,” said the young M. D.
“How ea v it is to kill 'em!
Statistics ossified eveiv fold
Of cerebrum and etrebellum.”
“It’s ft great curiosity, sure,” said Pat,
by the bones you can tell the creature?”
“Oh, nothing strange,” said the doctor, “that
Was a nineteenth century teacher.”
MISCELLANY.
THE END OF TWO FLIRTS
BY IDA WILLIAMS.
It was about a week before Th mks
giving when two young ladies sat to
get her before a bright tire in the study
of a handsome country house.
Miss Etta Laugdon was a sweet,
laced blonde, looking like the content
ed ‘Some body” that she was.
Miss Beatrix Dayton was a tall and
sfyli sh woman, with fascinating gray
eyes, curling brown hair, and a beauty
of the most bewitching type.
‘And you arc not even engage 1 yet?
Etta said inquiringly. ‘Do tell mo,
Beatrix, now, that we are alone to*
getker/
‘No, dear, not even engaged. Near
ly 25 and I have not yet seen the man
1 would like to marry.’
‘And you have had so many ad
mirers \*
Beatrix laughed a low, musical
laugh, that was one cf her charms.—
A fe w men have been fools enough to
run after me but most of them are
such bores V
M believe you are quite spoiled bv
adoration/ Etta sai 1, thoughtfully.—
‘But it would be dreadful if you never
mairied, Beatrix ; you would miss the
best happiness o' life.’ Etta was en
gaged herself.
‘You think so, little housewife?’
Miss Dayton said with an amused
smile.
‘I do indeed/replied Etta, earnestly.
Mbit tell me, Beatrix, why do none of
these men suit you ?’
‘I doi/t know, dear unless perhaps
it is because they are all such easy vie- j
tuns. 1 have sometimes thought that
if l could meet a man whom it cost
some trouble to captivate, it might
give me a little interest in him, but as
it is, they all run after me with such
abject ness of surrender, that it is sim
wearisome, ’ and she made a little i
gesture of disgust.
‘You are like my cousin, Frank Vin
cent/ said Etta, ‘lie says women are
such easy victims there is no fun in
following one/
(’h, does he, indeed?’ exclaimed
Beatrix, what a coxcomb he must
be V
‘Oh, no, I don’t think he is / said Et
- 11, quickly, ‘but he is very handsome
and has a sort of merry way that at
tracts every one/
She stopped abruptly : there was a
ring at the door, and starting up, she
bad only time to say :
H)h, bore he comes now !‘ when a
She dustman S lines.
tall and handsome rnan came into the
room—a man whose features were not
especially regular, but who had laugh
ing blue ey< s, and a ruddy wholesome
look that made him singularly attrac
tive.
He gave Etta a hearty, brotherly
hug and kiss and then was presented
in due form to Miss Dayton. Site re
ceived him amiab'y, and yet there was
a shade of defiance in her manner even
at tliis first interview.
D went on after this in old fashion
between these two. There was no de
nying that in a certain way they seem
ed to attract each other, and vet, ca
pricious as Beatrix was apt to be with
men, her caprices toward Vincent were
even more strange and unaccountable
than toward any other of her admir
ers.
The town was very gay, All the
Lingdoti's friends had visitors, and
par'ies and merry-making succeeded
each other in rapid succession. Beatrix
as usual soon hud a staff of admirers
about her, and was the acknowledged
star of every while Vincent
was a univ< rsal favoi ite. One evening
at a party, he approached Beatrix as
she sto >d by Ella and claimed her for
a dance. She raised her brilliant eyes
to his with a flu - h on her face and took
one step forward, then suddenly drew
back.
‘No, thank you; I will not dance/
she said.
Vincent looked at her in surprise and
said :
‘Will you promenade then/ offering
her his arm.
‘No/ she petulantly, ‘I am
tired/
‘Them you will at least allow me to
sit beside you,’ li * urged, with a snd
don gravity overspreading his fea
lures.
‘thunks, no/ said Beatrix, turns
ing away ; T want to speak with Et
ta/
Her manner was so pointed that
there was no evading it. Vincen turns
ed gravely and walked off. Etta, who
had watched the co’loquy with paiti
ed surprise, as Beatrix sank on
to a sofa and took her pluc : beside
her:
‘Why, Beatrix, were you so rude to
Frank ?'
‘Was I rude?' asked Beatrix half
averting her face ; and th n suddenly
turning and showing eyes that were
blazing with strange light and glowing
cheeks, said :
‘Yes, it was rude of course but he
can easily c nsole In ms If. He has
been devoting himseif half ihc even
ing to that Miss May—let him go back
to her.’
‘But you know he does not care for
her/ urged Ed...
‘That may be but she is plainly in
love with him, ..s I snp >os>e he thinks
every woman M. Soe, ii *is with) her
now !’ sh*‘ cried in sudden agitation,
and at tin tnoui' ut as one of her lovers
approached, Beatrix aec< pted his offer
ed arm, and in another instant was
waltzing with him, and smiling into his
face, as if she cared for no one on earth
but him.
Now, in point of fact, poor Frank
was himself rather the victim of Miss
May, who was of the “button-hole"
order of young ladies, a id had seized
him as her prey early iii tlm evening.
If Frank had a weakness it was his
amiability, and thin it was which had
made people declare that he was a
liirt. Ilf proved the possession of tins
gentle quality now bv meeting Miss
Dayton with the most unchanged cour
tesy when the hour came for their de
parture, and awaiting upon her home
in the most' friendly manner.
‘You see he does not care a particle,*
sail Bea.rix, angrily, to Etta, as they
parted for the night.
‘1 think, deer, he did care/ replied
Etta, who had held a private chat with
Frank, and who h id begun to cherish
certain plans of her own. But you
know he is very good-natured.’
‘1 liate good'iiatured men / exclaim
ed bitterly. ‘Good-night/
and she was gone bef re Etta could
remonstrate.
It was no U'-o, however ; it was p r
fectly impossible for even such a spirit
ed beauty as Bmitri: toholdoutagaius*
Frank/s porsistent amiability, and the
next morning she found herself chat
ting with him beside the library tire,
and feeling, as if she had from the first
a singular pleasure in his compani ni
sliip.
This was only fora little time, how
ever. By night, when the Landons
gave a dinner party, Beatrix came
down stab's iced towards p >or frank,
who, without seeming to notice her
ind (Terence, devoted himself to a iresh
little girl who had just made her debut
while Beatrix revenged herself by
flirting desperately with her partner of
the night before.
The evening wore on, wretchedly
enough, if tne truth was told, to these
two rather foolish young people, and
at last even Beatrix’s powers of c>-
quetry seemed to flag, and she ende !
by snubbing her poor partner unmer
cifully, while Frank, after he had -een
the pretty girl to her carriage, came
towards her with a strange, eager look
in his eyes.
‘You are going up stairs V he
asked meeting with her at the parlor
door..
‘Yes/ replied Beatrix, shortly.
‘Won't yoiqshake bauds ?' he asked
earnestly.
Beatrix half hesitated, then held out
her hand. He took tin* slender fingers
in his broad palm and endeavored to
detain hen. For a moment she stood
us if spell-bound by the warm,
finn clasp, while his dark-blue eyes
were fix< and on her beautiful fa e with a
strange intensity.
‘Beatrix/ he s. id.
But with a sudden effort she tore her
hand away and rushed upstairs. On
the landing she met Etta, who tried to
detain her.
‘Your cousin is the most outrageous
flirt I ever saw/ she said vehemently;;
‘I hate male flirts!’ and swept away to
her room.
The next day was Thanksgiving. A
hglb snow had fallen during the night
but the moaning was bright, though
frosty The whole party walked io
church, and somehow coming home
Frank was by the side of Beatrix.—
She was full of jest and merriment,
and the sound of light Blighter wps
very pleasant to hear Yet befoie
they reached the house she permitted
another of her admirers to join her
and suddenly gave him all her atten
tion, leaving .pour Frank out in the
cold.
As usual, however, his ami bilily did
not flag, and at Mr Langdoi/s gate lie
touched his hat and walk and off to say
a few words to Miss May.
That evening there was a tableaux
party given by one of the Langdm/s
friends. Beatrix appeared in several
seen *B, and all went off well until the
last picture was presented. In this the
old story of Pygmalion and the statue
was represented. Beatrix stood on a
peder tal, her slen ler, graceful form
draped in white doth, which fell in
graceful folds from her shoulders and
down to the floor. The effect was
quite startling, her beautiful neck and
bead rising above the vyl ite mas° as if
indeed a living woman were emerging
from the marble.
In front of !ic r knelt Frank Vincent
in the costume of *he Greek sculp' r*.
and there was leal adoration iu li>
dark-blue eyes as lie gazed on he
beautiful creative above Idm,
A murmur of applause ran through
the room, and the curtain was dr *ppel
for the last scene. In the first Beatrix's
eyes had been closed, but in this they
were to open, while her arms were to
be extended toward the lover who had
now risen to clasp her in his arms. At
tliis moment someone said that a lamp
had better lie changed, and one of the
lights was removed nearer the pedestal.
When the curtain was raised for a few
seconds, these two gazed into each
other's eyes with a long look that was
a revelation, then there was a scream
of terror.
The draught which had followed the
rising of the curtain had blown some
of the light draperies too near the
lamp and the flames went rushing the
pedestal at the back. A girl standing
at the rear had seen this, and it was
she who had screamed.
There was a slight confusion, and
then Frank saw what had happen and
and suddenly clasped Beatrix in lis
arms and tore her from the pedestal.—
It was tc late—her flowing robes
were all on fire, and us she half fell to
the floor the flames curled up to her
shoulders, leaping from thence to
Frank’s dress, which was of white lin
en.
Th ‘re was a wild scene as he fo al
ly clasped her closer to Idm, striving
with his hands to extinguish t 1 e
fire.
‘My darling ! My beautiful curling 1
he cried passionately
lie tore away her clinging dress,
seized a heavy rug which lay there
and then, though himself scorched and
burnt,|coutrived, with the help of oth
ers, to put out the flames.
It was only a few moments till it
was all over ; he carried her pale and
fainting to a sofa, while he himself was
taken away by b’s friends to have
EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, NOVEMRER 28, IS7S.
Fi ft ecu Pe ualt ie
The ■ enah v >f opulavity is envy.
T lie’ alty of thin shoes is c )I<l.
The penalty of tight bonis is corns.
T o penally of a baby is sleepless
nights.
The penalty of a public dinner is bad
wine.
The penalty of marrying is ; moth-.
er-inßaw.
The penalty of a pretty c >ok is aa
empty larder.
The penalty of a godfather is a sil
ver knife, fork and spo n.
Tne penalty of kissing a baby is ball
a dollar—one dollar if you are liberal—
to the nurse.
The penalty of having a haunch of
ve isor ; ein you is inviting a dozen
friends to come and eat it.
The penalty of interfering between
mar. mid wife is abuse, frequently ac
companied with blows from both.
J lie penalty of remaining single is,
having no one who cares a button for
you, as will be abundantly proved by
the state of your shirt.
The penalty of buying very cheap
clothes is the same as that of going to
law—the certainty of losing your suit
and having to pay for it.
The penalty of a legacy, or a for
tune is the sudden discovery of a host
of poor relations you never dreamt of,
and of a number of debts you had quite
forgotten.
Tne penalty of lending is—with a
book oi umbrella, the certain loss of
i ; with your name to a bill, the sure
payment of it, and with a horse, the
lamest chance of ever seeing it back
again sound.
An old traveler tells a pretty tough
st3iyabo.it being lost in the woods
with his dog, where he could And
nothing to eat. and had to cut oft his
dog’s tail, which he boiled fur himself,
and afterward gave the dog the bone !
We would rather borrow one hundred
dollars than believe that story
The dollar of ‘our daddies’ is papa’s
money.
his wounds dressed. Ho had protect
ed Beatrix by his clinging embrace so
that she was absolutely unhurt, but it
had been done at the cost of terrible
burns on his hands and wrists.
Etta, with hei parents, took Beatrix
home as soon as she was sufficiently
recovered. She did not say miic l r
the cairidge, but when they reached
the house, instead of going up stairs
slv* drew Etta into the library.
‘I must see Frank before T can sleep/
she cried.
She was very pale and half trem
bling.
‘Yes dear ; yes, of course you shall/
replied Etta. ‘Come and lie down on
the sofa here, he shall come in the mo
ment he return/
‘Do you think he is much hurt V
ask<* 1 Beatrix anxiously.
Not seriously, of course, t! ougd. ;*
“oo ilea l burnt, I fear. If.irk ! there
is the carriage : lie must h tve surely
come.’
She went out, leaving Beatrix alone,
who lay on the sofa pale and lovely
with her eyes half closed, until there
was a sound beside her, and she look
ed up.
Frank had come in. He too, was
very pale, and then* was an expression
'.fsufforine on hi face ; both ! is hand
were r.mfij and in linen cloths, s;> that lie
seemed quite helpless.
..is Beatrix saw hi n her eyes filled
with tears and she tried to speak. —
en Frank came and knelt beside
her.
‘Jig Mr Vincent/ sh faltered, ‘how
can 1 thank you ? You saved my life.
And your poor linn.ls ! Are you muc’
hurt ?'
e S mcv’hat burned, but what of that
since y u ar safe /
‘You have been too good t > me,’sbe
said, brokenly ; ‘what can .0 to show
my gi atitude ?'
‘Can you not guess, darling V ho
said, bending nearer to tier : ml laving
one in limed hand on her Mi** lder :
‘you know that < love you. Toll me
that I may em ote my life to you, and
i shall ha.e. all the reward lean as' /
uit’i a sullen sob of tendenv* s
BeaJ-lr cla pal her ar m ..bo t his
neck as her !i| s met his, an 1 fol tliai
at lea t s ie had found her life’s !; ppi
lle iS.
When Etta came in, ten mi iuh*3 la
ter, she was delighted at the result she
had long wished for.
‘I am so glad, dear Beatri / he
said, as she kissed her. ‘And so you
too are caught, Mr. Frank/ giving ! im
her hand : ‘and this is the end of two
flirts/
A Paper Bag Story.
Here is a store! And here is a win
dow in the store! But what do you
think is in the window?
Why, rabbits! All as alive as can
be! Anud ho v ing about, in and out!
Rabbits of all sizes and colors.
T wish a little girl ± knew were here
to see them.
Ha! 1 have an idea!
I'll ask the man to sell me one, and
take it home to her, to surprise her.
In I go.
‘Mr. Man, for how much will you
s* 11 me one of your rabbits?
‘A quarter apiece for the smallest
ones.'
‘Put me up one of the oretty little
white ones, with pink eyes/ say, and
am going to add, ‘and that gray one
too/ but forget to say it, because I
am astonished to see Mr Alan pick up
1 ttle Bunny by his long ears and drop
him, plump, into a square pane. bag!
‘Can he breathe?' x. inqnivi, for the
top of the bag is twisted together, and
tied with twine.
‘PI! fix that/ Mr. Man says, and
quickly he dabs two small holes near
the top to let in the air.
‘VVeIl # well ’ I think; ‘this is indeed
’he age of paper! Paper collars, paper
cuffs paper hags, and even pa tier haad
kerchie s! And now they have got
so bad that they do live things up in
paper for you to carry home —just like
any other parcel/
T wonder if, when a farmer buys a
cow, now-a-davs, he carries if home
tied up in a paper bag; or, when Bar
num buys an elephant, he lakes it io
his menagerie in a huge paper contri
vance—like Go's, only bigger.
T walk along, and forget Bum>y, I
am so busy vith these great thoughts,
unti: he begins to bump .nd thump
. round, and makes me think iha' 1
bough ;* small earthquake "instead of
a rabbit!
.'aybe he is Jr and. "or oes : ; o' like
ids narrow quarters. a glad to gck
! Dim*.
‘Cotir here, little girl ! gu \ss what
have for you iu this paper bag/
How she hops ! .s* on one foot and
hen on the ot’ er ! But cannot guess
alter all.
1 do not tell her, b cr; isj I want to
surprise her; bn: ] untie the string,
and untwist the top, and turn th nag
up, and gently shake, shake, shake.
Hu< 1 am 'nor- surprised than she,
or nothing cones, i peep in, and she
peeps in. There be is, clinging tight
ly aid determined not to let go.—
/ .tying in tha< paper bag so long
has made him eel quite at home in
f. At last, out he comes. And while
iie draws I imself up in a frightened,
fun a v yballj bis new mistress, with
tiup y squeals and skips of
u: s ior a basket and pops him in
to it, and shutting down the cover,
stampers off to show her new treas
ure to every one in the house.
Sauce Fit For Both.
A friend of ours has a little boy,
who, on account of his mother being
an invalid, has been under the especial
care of Ids nurse. During the sum
mer, however, his mother went away
for the taking the little boy
and Ids grandmother. Being unused
to receiving orders from his mother he
atone time rebelled, and she was
obliged to punish him. To this he de
mnried, affirming that only the nurse
had a right to punish him, and going
to his grandmother he complained that
his mother struck him.
•That was right/ said she, *if you
were naughty ; she is your mother,
and has a right to whip you if you do
not behave ’
The little fellow sobbing, asked :
‘Have mothers a right to strike their
children V
‘Certainly/ she repli and.
‘Are you her mother?* he asked.
*lY> be sure I am/
‘Well ? then/ cried he, “hit her/
Married at Last.
Mrs. M. is rich and fash
ionabie, but unfortunately, very igno
rant. Even our little alphabet is, as
yet, to her, a mystery.
One day while calling upon her
friend, Mrs. 8., she perceived e richly
bound c >py of the Holy Bible, and
smilingly she inquired if she might
take it home and read it.
Wondering much Mrs. B. assented
And one week later the bo- k was
returned. ‘Were you pleased with
it V asked Mrs. B. drily.
The sweet, blue eyes of Mrs. M.
fairly sparkled with pleasure. ‘Oh,
my dear triend, it was a charming ?wv
el. They got married at last /
A fact.
Father Mathew’s Resolution.
Few reformers have done more real
good in the world than the sincere and
earnest temperance worker,the famous
Father Mathew. The account of how
he was called to be the ‘Apostle* his
countrymen have named him is thus
given in the Lot*, don (Ontario) Ad
vertiser ;
Mr. Martin, a Quaker and a staunch
temperance man, and Father Mathew,
a young Capuchin monk, were one
morning visiting the hospital at Cork.
' : Tiere they witnessed the miseries
which drink constantly brought on
the people, and they talked seriously
about it. Mr. Martin, in a burst of
passionate grief or invective, suddenly
exclaimed, —
‘Oh, Theobald Mathew, Theobald
Mathew, what thou couldat do if thou
wonldst only take up Ihis work of
banishing the fiend that desolates the
houses of thy people so 1'
The voting Capuchin seemed as if
struck by some mysterious power.—
lie remained silent, walked moodily
on till he parted from his Quaker com
panion, then went home, pondering
words which all that day and all
• ■rough the night seemed to ring in
his ears.
If there was one man in Cork City
who had tried nearly every way of
rescuing and uplifting the people, it
was he. What had he not tried ? and
yet he drink-fiend baffled and defeat
ed him ! But was not Martin's scheme
impracticable ? Did not every one
laugh it to scorn ? Could he do what
Martin suggested ? One morning, as
he rose from his knees in his little
oratory, he exclaimed, aloud, —
‘Here goes, in the name of God !'
An hour afterwards he was in the
office of William Martin. ‘Friend
William/ he said, ‘I have come to tell
you a piece of news. I mean to join
your temperance society to-night.’—
The honest-souled Quaker rushed over,
flung his arms round the neck of that
young Popish friar, kissed him like
a and cried out, ‘Thank God !
ill mk God !'
Thus entered Father Mathew on that
work in which lie achieved a wonder**
ful moral revolution that startled the
kingdom. The news that the popular
Capuchin had taken up with ‘the
teetotal men' soon spread in Cork.
Crowds came to hear him, for he had
always had the repute of being emi
nently practical and soon thousands
flocked to his 'standard.’
Rules of Conduct.
Never associate with bad company.
Have good company or none.
Never look over the shoulder of an
other ho is reading or writing.
Never appear to notice a scar, de
foimity or defect of any one present.
Never arrest the attention of an ac
quaintance by a touch. Speak to
him.
Never punish your child for a fault
to which you are addicted yourself.
Never answer questions, in general
company, that have been put to others.
Never, when traveling abroad, be
over-boastful in praise of your own
country.
Never call anew acquaintance by
the Christian name unless requested
to do so.
Never lend’a borrowed Article un
less you have permission to do so.
Never attempt to draw the atteir
tion ol the company constantly upon
yourself.
Never exhibit anger, impatience or
excitement wl.en an accident happens.
Never pass between two persons
who are talking together, without an
apology. Never should the lady ac
cept of expensive gilts at the ha is of
a gentleman not related or engaged
to her. Gifts of flowers, books, music
or confectionery may ue accepted.
Never insult ano'her by harsh w r ords
when applied to for a favor. Kind
words do not cost much, and yet they
may carry untold happiness to the one
to whom they are* spoken.
Never attempt to convey the im
pression that you are a genius, by imi
tating the faults of distinguished men.
Because certain great men were poor
penmen, wore long hair, or had other
peculiarities, it does not follow that
you will become great by imitating
their eccentricities.
Avery light but dangerous young
lady, Carrie Seen.—Whitehall 'times.
She is a sister of Ben Seen.—Wheel
ing Leader. And a cousiu to Ann
Thracite, who is so grateful.—Hack
ensack Republican. The first two are
directly rcLteded w.th Pete Roleum,
although a more refined branch of the
family.—Galveston News,
On the rail—a sc tiding woman.
Oft in the stilly night—somebody
snores.
Did von ever see an Indian Pawnees
overcoat? 4
Uneasy sits the youth astride the
first saddle.
In driving a hen a woman is slow
but shoo-tier,
The eel is right in fashion, with his
eelskin coat.
The song of the soprano—the the
C, the upper C.
Every dog has his pay ,bitt the nights
belong to the cats.
Throw physic to the dogs; ile none
of it. And we castor away.
•
A dromedary is a camel that has
‘got his back up twice.’
.
Do you know what a man got who
took a car? He got aboard.
Sound advice is that which you re
ceive through a telephone.
How did Job Baxter get his pretty
wife? Why, Job Baxter, cf course.
Tne ‘sweet bye and bye’ is now
spoken of as the 'saccharine future/
''
Some ’young men ought to carry
pedometers to see how far they are in
debt
An English magistrate decides that
steel spurs on a game cock ane super**
fluous.
Mending blue stockings with white
yarn makes them a darned, sight too
conspicuous.
Boggs says the times- are so dull'
that it is difficult for him> to collect his
ideas.
Gen. Nepokoltschitsky, of Russia
complains that newspapers will persist
in spelling his name wrong.
It is said of a successful writer,whose
verbal promises are very poor, ‘His
penis mightier than his word/
—•
‘Where can I get good, cheap, plain
boaid?' asked the traveler. And the
boy sent him to the planing mill.
‘Know him V sai l Pat, speaking of
an acquaintance. f ßedad, I knew
him when his father was a small boy/
One of the easiest ways to get a
‘greenback’ is to lean against a door
that has just boen painted that color #
In a Danbury clothing store is a
card announcing, ‘Perfect fitting gar
ments, every article sets as good as a
hen /
A Cincinnati gambler accidently
swallowed a diamond which he was
w etting with his lips. His is only anoth
er case of diamond in the rough.
An Irishman, who stopped at a liute 1
in Chicago where placards announced
breakfast from 7 to 8, reports that hia
experience with every m >al was noth
ing to 8.
When a man reaches the top of u
stairway and attempts to make one
step sensation is as perplex
ing as if he had attempted to kick a
dog that . asi/t there.
‘A Woman's Mistake’is a ncwFrench
novel. We haven't read it, but are
willing to stake a week’s saliry that
her mistake wasn’t in getting her
boots a size too large for her.
‘Please g ve me the definiti >n of a
cautious man. Abet is pending. John/
A cautious man, John, is one who will
tell a red-headed woman tl at I er hail
is auburn. If you win send the cigars
along.
O
M lien he came home from the offioe
shivering and complaining of the cold,
she significantly pointed to a pile of
stovepipe, with cracked joints and
dislocated elbows, and toldh m to pus
Up or shut up.
NO. 48.