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ITHY BROTHER.
When thy heart, with joy o'er flowing If thy soul, with power uplifted,
Slugs ft thankful prayer, Yeurn'for glorious deed—
In thy joy, O let thy brother Give thy strength to servo thy brother
‘With thee share. In his need.
When the harvest sheaves lngnthcrcd Hast thou borno a secret sorrow
Fills thy barns with store. In thy lonely breast?
To thy God, and to thv brother, Take to thee thy sorrowing brother
Give the more. ' For a guest.
Share with him thy bread of blessing,
Sorrow’s burden share;
When thy heart enfolds a brother,
God Is there.
—Theodore C. Williams,
A * LYING * LOVE.
kj R. GREGORY
fgM Gilmour, soliei
/gk|9 tor, AVakelield,
IM ||fl in the County of
yM York, was be
t r AW) SM 1m liove(1 l> y ! * Rr, ' at
fc i /\ number of deep-
ITr l k sighted people to
JU ”i bo one of the
l|l ’cutest lawyers in
3K T (A England. He
'* was something
JJ more. He was
v 5 v_/' an astute man of
| the world, who
dearly loved pleasure, but who had far
too hard a head to ever allow the tin
inly jade to run awuy with him. His
wife had died in giving birth to his
only son, Frank, and ho was certainly
one of the gayest widowers Wakefield
had ever seen.
He hunted, he kept a liberal table,
and be made love with a reckless
liberality that not a little scandalized
some of the good people of his native
town. At the period of our story he
was fifty years of age, upright as a
dart, tall, slim, with a young, fresh
eolored, hairless face. His appear
ance had not altered since he was j
thirty years of age, and it appeared
probable that another twenty years
might pass over him without produc
ing any material change.
One day his sou, who, without tak
ing the trouble to notify his father,
was about to marry the lady of his
heart, received a letter from his father
ordering him to go to Wakefield upon
business of the utmost importance.
When he reached his home he was sur
prised to learn that Mr. Gilmour had
been called suddenly away to the
North. He had, however, left a mes
sage to the effect that his sou was to
remain in Wakefield until his return.
He stayed in the pleasant, sleepy
little town for some ten days, at the
end of which period the post brought
him two remarkable letters.
One was from lady love. It con
tained three words:
“Goodby for ever.”
The other was signed by a Mrs.
Chambers, under whose roof Frank
had first met the woman of his choice.
It implored him to return at once to
Paisley. Home villain, she said, had
stolen Rosa’s heart from him, and the
poor, bewitched girl had run away
with her new love.
Frank read these letters with
amazement. At first he refused to
belive that- Rosa, whom he had loved
with such unselfish devotion, liad
tricked and jilted him. He had such
faith in her truth and purity that it
seemed impossible for him to associate
her with aught that was dishonest and
cruel. During his tedious journey to
Paisley he promised himself 'hat Mrs.
Chambers had been mistaken, and that
when he came to thoroughly sift the
matter he would find that his darling
Rosa had been wonderfully misjudged.
But when he entered the little house
his heart fell within him and nearly
all his hope fled. The good old lady
had so changed that he scarcely knew
her. Her eyes were red with, weep
ing and deep purple rings surrounded
them. The kindly face was worn and
haggard and was sadly thin.
He took both her trembling hands
and pressed them gently in silence.
Then he led her to a chair and said:
“Tell me everything. Do not spare
me one detail. I can bear the truth
better than doubt.”
Ere she could speak Mrs. Chambers’s
tears flowed fast.
“My tale is a short one,” she said at
last. “Dear, dear! it all seems like a
nasty dream. Sometimes I sit here
and fancy that her bright face will ap
pear before me as it used, and that all
that troubles me is but the wandering
of ail idle, foolish brain. I am sorry
for you, j\lr. Gilmour; indeed, indeed
I am.”
“Come, come,” he said; “compose
yourself, and let me know the whole
miserable truth.”
“Soon after you went away,” said
the tearful woman, “I noticed a great
change in Ilosa's manner. She be
came absent-minded, dull, and more
than once I saw that she had been
weeping, f pressed her to tell me
the cause of her sorrow, but she al
ways maintained that she was very
happy and she had nothing to grieve
her. She went out more frequently
than she had been in the habit of do
ing, and often at inconvenient hours.
I did not care to chide her, but I con
fess that her frequent absence from
home perplexed me. Perhaps I ought
to have inquired more strictly into her
movements, and God forgive me if I
■IH not take sufficient care of her.
Thinking that she would soon leave
to be your wife I felt that it would l>e
ungracious of me at such a time to
scold her or to compel her to pay more
attention to her duties. One after
noon a gossiping woman, who often
comes iuto my shop, told me she had
seen Rosa walking arm in arm with a
gentleman in a little used thorough
fare in the outskirts of the town. 1
lost my temper, anil I declared that
the woman’s statement was untrue:
Nevertheless I questioned Rosa on
the subject. She indignantly denied
the accusation, but something in her
manner convinced me that she was
guilty. I cannot properly explain to
you what a cruel shock this discovery
was to me. I was too upset to pursue
the subject then, but I resolved that
when evening came, and after the
shop was closed and we were alone,
that I would strive to bring her to a
sense of her duty to me. But I never
saw her again. Within half an hour
after I hud spoken to her she had
flown, and this was all she left behind
her.”
Mrs. Chambers drew a crumpled let
ter from her pocket and gave it to
Frank; then she buried her face in her
handkerchief and appeared to bo dis
inclined for further conversation. This
was the letter Rosa left for Mrs. Cham
bers. It was written hastily and there
was a certain hardness about the phrase
ology that bespoke a heart numbed by
grief:
“You have been kinder to me than
my mother ever was, and you will think
me very had and ungrateful to leave
you as I do. God knows I have no
chance. I must go, and go even as I
go now. It is all for the best—for
you, for Mr. Gilmour, for my wretched
self.’’
Ho it ended. She hud forgotten to
sign her name.
“Is there nothing else?” he asked,
in a low tone—“no other clew?”
For some time Mrs. Chambers re
mained silent. After an effort she
said, though still hiding her face:
“She did leave something else, but
not willingly—not knowingly.” 1
“What did she leave?” he asked
anxiously.
After another pause she placed a key
in his hand, saying:
“That is the key of her bedroom. I
have kept it looked ever since she left.
On her dressing table you will find
something I picked up from the floor.”
Hlie turned from him, for her he:;rt
was so full she could scarcely speak.
He pressed her forehead gently with
his lips and left her.
As Frank went up stairs, lightly
holding the key she had given him in
his hand, he muttered between his
! set teetli:
“I will find the man who has taken
her from me, and when I find him I
will kill him.”
He paused before her door. He
turned tlie lock with strange reluc
tance. and when he stood upon the
threshold of the little room, which was
still fragrant with the odor of sweet
flowers, he again hesitated.
She had gone and was unworthy of
him; she has proved truthless, and he
of all men should no respect for her.
Still that apartment seemed to him
sacred, and a feeling of guilt took
possession of him as he entered it. He
walked to the dressing table and at
first he saw nothing. Then he noticed
that a photograph was on the centre
of it, lying face downward. He thrust
liis hand out greedily to secure it—-
the thought running through his bruin
that it was the likeness of the man
who robbed him of his love, and that
now he would not have much trouble
in tracking him.
He picked up the carte. There were
some words written on the back of it,
and these he read with a feverish
haste. As he perused them his face
became even more pallid than before,
and beads of perspiration stood upon
his forehead. These words were:
“Yours very dearly. Gregory Gil
mour.”
He let the thing fall from his hands.
As it fell it turned, and now it lay upon
the dressing table face upward. This
face was his father’s—the face of Greg
ory Gilmour, of Wakefield, solicitor
and esquire.
Afr. Gregory Gilmour, composed,
pleasant looking, and dressed irre
proachably, sat in liis easy chair, some
times smiling, more often studying his
almond nails. Before him—white,
passionate, a fiery indignation blazing
ill his eyes—stood his son, speaking
hoarsely, and trembling as he spoke.
“I swore in my heart,” Frank de
clared, with intense though subdued
earnestness, “that when I discovered
the man who had stolen her from me I
would kill him. I had scarcely so
sworn before the horrid truth was
made manifest to me that the scound
rel was my father, and, being my
father, his villainy must go unpun
ished.”
Air. Gilmour smiled.
“Well done, Frank! Quite melo
dramatic I declare. AVheu I was your
age I would have done the same thing
myself; though perhaps not quite so
well—not quite so well.”
“Don’t mock my misery,” the
young man cried, impetuously. “It
is a hard, 11 bittter, a wicked feeling
to cherish, lmt I despise you, I abhor
your name. I wish to God I had died
before I knew this shame.”
“Sons,” said Air. Gilmour, with a
tinge of bitterness in his tone, “are
slow to pardon their parents’ errors.
This is strange, seeing how much
parents have to forgive. Even now I
am doing a great thing—l am pardon
ing your insolence.”
Frank turned from the speaker with
a gesture of impatience and disgust.
“Come, young gentleman”—Air.
Gilmour spoke authoritatively—“l
want to talk to you. Don’t run away;
so far you have had nil the conversa
tion to yoursell'. You must now listen
tome.” Seeing that Frank evinced
no disposition to remain in the room,
he cried, sten*y:
“Hit down, sir! While you are in
my house you shall obey me. ”
Sullenly Frank threw himself into a
distant chair, and liis father again
smiled.
“I’ve a little story to tell you,
Frank. It is all about the young
lady you know by the name of Rosa
Noyce. Last year, while you were
away iu Scotland, I became mixed up
with a very extraordinary forgery
case. The crime had been committed
in liimdon, ) ju t one of the principal
sufferers chanced to be my very oldest
client, and so it came that I was con
sulted about the matter. I need not
bother you with tlie details of the
case. The important facts for you to
know are simply these: The culprit
was a man named Morris, a heartless,
designing knave, who, unfortunately
for society, had the fascinating man
ner of cultivated mau of means. Aleu
of the world were deceived by his
plausiblo tonguo and his elegant ex
terior, and he was particularly success
ful in blinding the ladies. Some time
before his conviction ho had won the
confidence and affection of a young
lady of blameless life and good family.
Ho induced her to run away from
home to bo secretly married to him.
Shortly aftor this union the infatuated
girl discovered the true character of
the fellow whq. had tempted her to for
get her duty to her father. She was
wedded to a penniless swindler of the
worst class. AVliut the feelings of a
confiding, stainless girl would he
upon making such a discovery you
can perhaps understand. She re
garded hor husband with abhorrence,
and she hated himself for ever having
listened to him. She resolved that
she would leave him forever. Taking
nothing with her but a small handbag,
she escaped from her husband’s house,
and was never.heard of again by her
friends. Some thought that she was
dead—others, that she had gone
abroad. It happened that before her
marriage to this fellow Morris I had
known her and her family, and during
the time we were prosecuting him I
often thought of the poor deceived
girl. He was sentenced to a longterm
of imprisonment. What I have to tell
you now directly concerns you.
Mechanically the young man did as
he was told. A change was slowlj
passing over his face. His head was
no longer bent upon his chest. He
looked into his father’s eyes eagerly.
“My friend at Glasgow, in whose
office I placed you some time back, re
cently wrote to me to the effect that
you were making an ass of yoursell
over some obscure girl at Paisley.
Mr. Redfern had seen you with her at
Glasgow, and it had come to his
knowledge that you had taken a house,
and it was pretty evident that you in
tended marrying her almost im
mediately. Since you had not thought
it worth while to consult me upon the
subject, I determined to see for myself
the woman yon contemplated giving
your name to, I wrote' to you asking
you to come here, and I journeyed to
Glasgow. Mr. Redfern accompanied
me to Paisley. I was saved the trouble
of calling upon Mrs. Chambers, for in
the street we met the young lady to
whom you were engaged. To my
amazement I recognized her. She was
Mrs. Morris, the convict’s wife. ”
“I was afraid that was coming,” said
in a low, nerveless tone.
“I hail always sympathized with the
girl’s unhappy lot, but my sympathy
was not sufficiently strong to close my
eyes to the fact that the bigamous
marriage she proposed would irretriev
ably ruin my son. I had more than
one interview with her, and at these
interviews I urged her to abandon
you. She said that she could never
look you in the face if she jilted you.
I advised her to leave Paisley. I pro
vided her with the necessary funds. I
had, I thought, at least saved my son
much pain and suffering.”
“You must forgive me my violence,”
Frank pleaded in a scarcely audible
tone. “I am sorry for the words I
used to you just now. Still—still,”
he went on wistfully, “perhaps I would
rather have been left in ignorance.”
“AVait until yon have heard all I
have to say;” he smiled at Frank as he
spoke. “AA 7 hen T saw Airs. Morris at
Paisley I had no idea that her wicked
husband was dead—-”
“Dead,” cried Frank, joyfully,
“dead?”
“Yes, dead. The foolish girl did
not tell me so. She imagined that I
objected to her marriage with my sou
because her husband had been a con
vict, and not because I thought he was
still alive. It appears that he died in
his cell ”
“Thank God for that!” Frank mur
mured, forgetting how indecent his
gratitude was.
“Now that the girl is free,” Air. Gil
mour went on, “I confess I am indif
ferent whether you marry the young
lady or not. I may, however, mention
that within the past few days Rosa’s
father has also died and has left her a
large sum of money, nearly £15,000,
and that Rosa herself is in this house
at this present moment. ”
Frank started from his chair and
ran to the door. Suddenly he paused.
Turning to his father he said:
“On Rosa’s table I found a photo
graph.”
“Possibly,” Air. Gilmour returned,
dryly. “It seems that at one of our
interviews I dropped it—pulled it out
with my handkerchief, or something of
that kind, and she carried it home with
her, intending to give it hack to me.
In a few days you’ll know who it was
intended for. I am tired of being a
bachelor. There, you mercenary
young rascal, go and comfort your
£15,000.
Ere his father had finished speaking
Frank had left the room. In another
moment Rosa was nestling in his arms.
“AVheu I went to Paisley,” he
whispered. “I thought that you were
a Lying Love ”
“And so I was,” she said, dropping
her swimming eyes; “but I could not
.” She said no more. His pas
sionate kisses smothered her words.—•
Boston (England) Guardian.
Diving With si Purpose.
The telephone cable running from
the Battery to Governor’s Island parted
the other day, probably because some
craft ran afoul of it. Three men were
sent out from the battery in a rowboat,
to grapple for the broken ends. They
were unable to raise them. Then one
of the men, Leon Cholet, who is an
expert diver, put on a bathing suit and
vanished under water, nearly twenty
five feet. He made a line fast to one
of the broken ends and it was hauled
up. He came up tor a breathing spell,
anil then went down and got the other
end. The ends were spliced and the
repaired cable was lowered to the river
bottom.
Long Reigns.
It- is not generally known that Nor
way can boast of one of the longest
reigns known in European history.
Harald Fairhair, the founder of the
kingdom of Norway and of the dynasty
which reigned during 400 years, be
came King at the age of ten in 860,
and died in 033. If he had not re
signed owing to his advanced age in
030, he might have held the “record”
of Europe, which now belongs to
Louis XI\ r . of France. Next to Ha
rald Fairhair comes his also very not
able descendant, Haakon the Old,
1217-63, with forty-six years of glori
ous reign.
THE REALM OF FASHION.
Jaunty Jacket for Misses.
This jaunty little top garment, says
May Alanton, is made of satin-faced
cloth in the deep shade of red known as
Bureaux, the decoration consisting of
black silk braid. The loose fronts
close at the neck only, but the hack
is made snug by means of a centre
seam, side-back and under-arm gores.
The neck finishes with a close stand
ing collar. The back shows the regu
lation coat laps and plaits and in the
front useful pockets are inserted and
misses’ jacket.
are covered with pocket laps. The
sleeves are two-seamed and follow the
arm closely above the elbow, standing
out above in a puff of exceedingly
moderate dimensions after the fash
ion of the day.
The mode is adapted to all manner
of light-weight cloakings in covert,
cheviot, serge, etc. While braid is
the accepted trimming the garment
may be simply finished with machine
stitching. When developed in mili
tary, hussar or postman’s-blue the
effect is exceedingly good.
To make the jacket for a miss of
fourteen years will require one and
three-eighth yards of fifty-four-inch
material.
A Bolero Waist.
Silver-gray cashmere and almond
taffeta silk are the materials repre-
LADIES’ BOLERO AVAIST.
seated in the stylish basque, depicted
in the large illustration and described
by May Manton. The loose portion
of the bodice made of the taffeta and
trimmed with lines of bebe rib
bon that hold to position the ruffles
of cream-white lace. The foundation
consists of a glove-lilted body lining
tnat is adjusted by the usual number
of seams and double bust-darts, and
closes invisibly at the centre-front.
The full-fronts are gathered at. the
neck and at the waist, and may close
invisibly at the centre front, as illus
trated, or on the left shoulder, arm’s!
eye and under-arm seam. A distinct
ive feature of this design is the dressy
little bolero which is included in the
shoulder and under-arm seams and
has tlie'free edges decorated with rib
bon in two widths. Smooth under
arm gores separate the fronts from
the back, which shows two pleats on
each side of the centre-back, extend
ing from the shoulders to the waist,
where they are brought closely to
gether.
The waist is encircled by a wide
black satin girdle that is deepest at
the centre-front, where three chic
hows form the finish. The collar con
sists of a plain, close band, overlaid
with a stock of satin, surmounted by
a full ruche of lace. The mousquetaire
sleeves are mounted upon two-seamed
iinings and are decorated at the
wrists with a deep frill of lace and
bands of bebe ribbon. The mode can
he developed in all seasonable fabrics,
■md may be composed or two or even
hree materials, as combinations are
: he order of the day.
To make this basque for a woman of
medium size will require three yards
of forty-four-inch material, or two
and one-half yards, with five-eighths
of a yard of contrasting material for
he full front.
Fall Fashion* in Vests.
Vest effects appear in almost every
variety of fall waists, in the short
round waist, in the box-plaited waist,
which is now finished with a circular
ruffle below the waist-line, and invari
ably in the new, long basque. Asa
rnle the vests are narrow, not over
four inches wide at the throat, broad
ening to about fine inches at the bust,
and coming to a sharp point at the
belt. Occasionally vests, if very mas
culine in cut, are worn with chemi
settes and four-in-hand ties. A white
marseilles vest, white linen chemi
sette and white silk tie, are an inex
pensive but exceedingly cbic finish for
the simplest of costumes. For more
dressy toilets the vests are made of
solid rows of tiny tucks, or are shirred
from throat to bust. Vest effects are
also simulated by using ruffles of lace,
embroidery or chiffon from throat to
belt, or from the shoulders to belt,
where a broader effect is desired.—*
Demorest’s Magazine.
The New Headgear.
Alucli of the new elaborate headgear
is large in size, the hats tilted well to
one side over the ear, the other side
rolled high or arched in an upward di
rection. This model can be worn by
a young and beautiful girl with an
abundance of wavy hair, but there are
others who have elected for the style,
and as one beholds the courageous
wearer one is moved to look the other
way. Above a solemn-visaged face,
where time has left its sad, unmistaka
ble impress, a tip-tilted hat laden with
flowers, laces and featlierH is not at
tractive, and the wearer thereof fur
nishes only food for reflection to the
general observer, and inspiration and
delight for the artist of the funny
newspaper, seeking whom he may
caricature.
Fashions In Furs.
As to furs, sealskiu, astrakhan,
Arctic fox, Persian lamb, sable and
ermine,are shown by the big furriers.
Chinchilla is much more costly than it
has been for seventeen years, and
chinchilla of fine quality is very hard
io get. The Arctic fox in blue gray is
a novelty and very handsome.
ConifortalJe Dressing: Sarqnr.
The practical garment here shown
suggests ease and comfort. As repre
sented, it is made of spotted dimity,
trimmed with embroidered edging and
insertion.
The adjustment is extremely simple,
being accomplished by means of a cen
tre-back seam, side and shoulder
seams, with an under-arm dart that
renders the garment close fitting at
the back, with rippling fulness below
the waist line. The fronts are loose
fitting, and show gathers at each side
of the centre-front, where the closing
is effected with buttons and button
holes. The neck is completed by a
neat rolling collar. Tie strings of pale
blue taffeta ribbon are inserted in the
under-arm seams and are carried for
ward to the centre of the waist, where
they are stylishly bowed, and serve to
confine the fulness at this point. The
sleeves are two-seamed and gathered
as the top, while the wrists are neatly
decorated with lace and insertion.
Cashmere, challies and all soft
woolen textures are appropriate for
making, as well as flannel, in either
I / i"
if Kb
yj
A DRESSING SACQUE OF SPOTTED DIMITY.
outing or French styles. Alore elab
orate sacques can be made of surah,
India, China or foulard silks.
To make this sacque for a woman of
medium size will require five and one
fourth yards of 22-ineh material.
Minding your own business is a good
enough policy until you can afford jto
employ a private secretary.—Puck.
WORDS OF WISDOM.
Truth is a rock large enough for all
to stand upon.
Caution is often wasted,but is a very
good risk to take.
A reasonable woman is one who is
not always unreasonable.
If some men were to loso their repu
tation t hey would be lucky.
The onlj really hapj>y animal is the
goat. He can eat anything.
Children cry for the moon and when
they grow up they want the earth.
Open the door of your mind to good
thoughts and evil ones will be driven
out.
There are several things worse than
disappointment in love, rheumatism is
one.
The scientific study of man is the
most, difficult of all branches of knowl
edge.
A person is always startled when he
hears himself called old for the first
time.
Controversy equalizes fools and wise
men in the same way, and the fools
know it.
Little minds rejoice over the errors
of men of genius as the owl rejoices at
an eclipse.
Even a man doesn’t like to have the
preacher call when the house is all
topsy-turvy.
People get wisdom by experience. A
man never wakes up liis second baby
to see it laugli.
Neatness, when moderate, is a vir
tue; but when carried to an extreme it
narrows the mind.
Life is a circus in which everyone
takes the part of the clown some time
during his sojourn.
Alost men appreciate a joke much
better when someone besides them
selves (is made a victim of it.—The
South-West.
The Ideal School Mouse.
To begin with, the entrances of a
school house should be made as in
viting as those of a home. If there
be a yard, no matter how small, it
should have, first of all, evergreen
trees in it, or some bit of leafage,
which, winter and summer, would
bring a message from the woods; it
should have flowers in their season
and vines should be planted wherever
possible. Within thq, school every
color should be agreeable ami harmon
ious with all the rest. Ceiling, floor,
woodwork, walls, are so to be treated
as to make a rational and beautiful
whole. In entrance halls, for instance,
where no studying is done, a fine
pleasing red or cheerful yellow is an
excellent choice; in bright sunny
rooms a dull green is at once the most
agreeable color to the eye, and per
fect as a background for such objects
as casts or photographs. In a room
where there is no sunlight a soft yel
low will be found of admirable use.
The ceilings should be uniformly of
an ivory white tint, which will by re
flection converge light, and will he re
fined and in key with all other colors.
The treatment of wood is a study in
itself. Briefly and for practical use,
wood can be treated in two legitimate
ways —either it can be painted with
relation to the wall colors or it can be
stained to anticipate tlie results of
time upon wood surfaces. —The At
lantic.
flow !!• Clot the Job.
A good story is being told about the
appointment of a Postmaster in North
western Ohio. It appears that there
were a number of aspirants for the
place, and when the announcement
was made to him that a German was
sure to secure the plum, every person
was anxious to be inline and congratu
late him on his success. One of the
congratnlators was a man who was
noted for being blnntand asking ques
tions from tlio shoulder, so to speak.
After tlie usual form had been gone
through with he blurted out:
“Why, no person had any idea that
you were a candidate, to say nothing
about expecting you to get the place.
AA 7 bat kind of a pull did you have?”
“I viil dell you,” said the German.
“You see, I used to go to school vid
de Congressman, and ve vere chumps. ”
Alost of the people of the town
agreed with the German, but that
didn’t interfere with his getting the
place and drawing a nice salary for
four years.—Columbus (Ohio) Dis
patch.
The Cofl'ee-Ifrinkerg’ Jubilee. S
Coffee-drinkers should soon be eeliß
brating the tercentenary of the intrß
duction of the fragrant beverage i) J
England. It is generally
tlmf coffee was first drunk in an
lisk home in one of the closing
of tlie sixteenth century. But
coffee-house was not set up until
when a merchant who traded
East bought, a shed in St.
Churchyard and converted it
coffee tavern, under the
of a hotel cook, one Pnsqun, wlw/
brought with him from
the coffee was so expensive 1 7
tavern did not repay it- owut-jf
i an old record ill the
which shows that even
yens later eotli-e was a- .niicßß
a toll. At one time it rose tiH
ulous price of S'.mu a ton.
i- taken as the standard
obvious, but we read that
indulged in the luxury drank*
as three or four dishes at a tiuH
West min l. jflß
111 -ilil.fl
The la’e Professor .111*
•ion with I !a! hB
oe,- loj,. -;n lioli ,48
f th.‘ I .I' 11.- B
oh.-go near :... Si-n ; flB
>l,. : the -liny icti.inJH
the I >a.:dle 1 >ilH
r. a- dep'lti and to take t 111
■- -I 'el. lot a li.u;:! rani
;.._o-thri over tin- hills, in * •
a! 11 eh .1 1 ett Uttered 111
". liif. tin farmer v.a- too ifl
. to v, utiiri- a ■
nine
loused to . ■
iiiv . eei ■ ■ ’on., u ,dl at a B.
green. he
to. (,r lotl^B
Not
<Joll ill ()•* \
The gold contained ,1
v essei.ms and othfl
ed in die VatiealH
than 1 iB
|U ■ i- o op,Ml. eiS'lß|
GIVE MELAUCH,
Givo me a laugh, O AVorld!
I cure not for your tears.
Give mo your broadest smile,
I’d live 11 hundred years,
And givo me love and joy,
And give me kisses true;
Pelt me with roses rod,
With laughter rippling through.
Pile high the fairest flowers,
And sing me songs all dftv,
Pipe on a hundred reeds
Life’s happiest roundelay.
Give me a laugh, O Worldl
Away with frowns and tears.
With songs and joy and love
I’d live a thousand years!
PITH AND POINT,
A Kansas City woman has lost all
hold on her husband since he has
shaved off his whiskers.—Kansas City
Star.
“She is a decided brunette, isn’t
she?” “Very. They say her hus
band can’t call his soul his own.”—
Puck.
gif Doctor—“ You’re a long time paying
my account, sir.” Hardup—“Well,
you were a long time curing me.” —
Boston Traveler.
Alorgan—“Do yon believe a woman
will lie about her age?” “Shetland—
“ About it? Oh, dear, no; nowhere
near it!”—Boston Transcript.
There’s not a’ thing her beauty mars,
She has most all she wishes,
She loves to grasp the handle-bars,
But she will not handle dishes.
—Pittsburg News.
The millionaire who spent twenty
four hoitrs in a ’Frisco ]ail because he
spit in a street car must be thankful
that he didn’t have a hemorhage.—Buf
falo Enquirer.
“Was it a restful place out at that
country boarding house?” “Yes; in
the parlor was a sign which read,
‘This piano is closed for repairs, ’” —
Chicago Record.
Aliss Summerleigh —“Do you think
I read too much poetry?” Dashleigh
—“Well, the great danger in reading
poetry is that you may be tempted to
write some!”—Puck.
With all respect to the hand that rocks
The baby in its cradle curled,
’Tis the band that rocks the miner's pan
That just now moves tho world.
—Chicago Tribune.
Airs. Cumso—“Your husband dresses
very quietly.” Airs. Cawker —“Does
he? You ought to hear him when he
can’t find his collars, or his cuff-but
tons become mislaid. ” Harper’s
Bazar.
“If I should fall out of the hammock
what would you do?” she asked. “I
would catch you in my arms,” he an
swered promptly. “Get ready,” she
said with feminine impulsiveness. —
Chicago Post.
“Change,” remarked the thought
ful man, “is the order of the universe. ”
“And judging from the scarcity of it,”
said the practical person, ‘ ‘the universe
is a long way behind with its orders.”
—New York Telegram.
Mr. Sharpsburg—“What do y<>’/
think of Spitfire? Smart man, isi*
he?” Air. Alillvale—“Oh, yesrhejM
smart man, but he ain’t no scholß
He spells elephant with only
Pittsburg Chronicle-TelegraphJf
New Woman “Simply
woman marries a man is no ivnß
she should take his liudf*
Bachelor “That's mi. IJF
low ought to lie ai ,\l ed jf
thin:; lie could eali OvjF,
■ I -oppose that r BB
too lin .11.1 to - peak mA
lie I
gold ■■jßt I
plied Mi Si 11 ni^m
Oil w lie! i,. I he jfrh,
row .a lend/.-’
f I
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111 I I'll! ' m H
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