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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,. 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