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the sin of omission. It isn't the thing you do, dear, It’s the thing you leave undone, Which gives you a bit of heartache At the setting of the sun. The tender word forgotten, The let,er you did not write, The flower you might have sent, dear, Are your haunting ghosts to-night. The stone you might have lifted Out of a br other's way, The bit of hearthstone counsel You were hurried too much to say; The loving touch of the hand, dear, The gentle and winsome tone, That you had no time nor thought for, W itb troubles enough of your own. The little acts of kindness, So easily out of mind; Those chances to be angels Which every one may find— They come in night and silence— Each chill, reproachful wraith— When hope is faint and flagging, And a blight has dropped on faith. For life is all too short, dear, And sorrow is all too great, To suffer our slow compassion That tarries until too late. And it’s not the thing you do, dear, It’s the thing you leave undone, Which gives you the bit of heartache At the setting of the sun. —Christian Leader. THE NEW CURATE. “You haven’t seen him yet? Well, that's a pity. He’s quite a catch, lam told. Young, handsome and single. Why don’t you, set your cap for him, Hattie? You've got as good a chance as the rest of them, and twenty-si? is not old, by any means.” She leaned over the garden gate as she spoke, this veritable village gossip. I can see her now, with her great poke bonnet, from beneath which the cluster ing gray ringlets peeped; the keen blue eves that seemed to read your very tnoughts; the trim little figure, clad al soffipre brown. ■<•««•- ‘j* Nev'er was there a wedding, funeral or christening in the village without this estimable lady’s presence. What a harm less little body she appeared, and how incapable of carrying about that wonder ful budget of information ! How nicely she imparted her knowledge to her listeners, beginning with, -‘Well, I don’t mind telling you,’’or, “They do 1 say, but of course you can’t believe everything;” and ending with, “That’s between you and'me; it will go no fur . . . . I was in the garden that morning, training some early June roses; my .tb, ou g| lts were not the brightest, scarcely in haMony""with Xaturb, whiyh was decked in gne of her brightest mantles'. It was quite unnecessary lor Mrs. Briggs ; to me of Thy I was Ihfnk- : ifjg seriously _of i£. Twenty-sixj , Not very old, to be sure, ami not very young to an unmarried woman. I must be content with fewer laurels, less con quests. I must step out of the field, as it were, and leave the romance and day dreams to younger and fairer girls. It mattered little to me whether the new curate was young and unmarried, or a. portly old fellow, with a wife and grown daughters. At heart I disliked ! (this interfering old woman w T ho had Droken in on my reverie. I thanked her kindly for her advice, telling her that at present 1 had no in tention of setting my cap for any one, not even for the new curate; so saying I went back to my work and the roses. “There, Mattie, don’t get riled. Of course it’s nobody'sHnisiness if you’re going to leave yourself an old maid; but take my advice and don’t spend your time fretting and worrying over Bob Preston, for he ain’t worth it, nohow.” She shook her head wisely, and was off before Iliad time to recover from the cruel thrust that had opened the old wound—Robert Preston and the past. I had tried to guard my heart, to trample under foot the old love. I could have laughed at my girlish folly as if it were a dream until a thoughtless word had brought back the past, like the dead risen to life again, or a smouldering fire that needed but a gentle breeze to make it a burning flame. One by one the roses dropped from my hands. One by one the blinding tears fell. Iwason'yaweak woman, after all, as, covering my face with my hands, I sobbe^l: “Robert, O Robert! Why were you false?” It all came back to me —that visit to Aunt Martha, where I first met Robert Preston, a young student just returned from college. 1 cannot tell all those bright, happy day-dreams; how I loved him and waited for the happy day when he would ask me for that love. He read my answer in my tell-tale face before my lips uttered it. r So, engrossed with Robert’s society, I took little heed of other matters, scarcely giving a thought to the fact that a young lady, the daughter of a deceased friend of my aunt's, was going to make her home with us. She came. From- the moment I looked upon her lovely face my happiness was gone. I was a pretty girl, fair, and fragile, yet one might as well compare a simple little daisy to a full-blown poppy or a rich red rose as my frail beauty to this girl’s exquisite loveliness. For a time his love was unchanged. I I laughed in my foolish heart at my doubts aud fears. At times 1 would find his serious eyes wandering from me and resting admiringly on the beautiful face of Kathleen Lee. No man could resist that wondrous, fascinating face. She uever encouraged him: but the drooping lids, the faint flush, the trembling of the little hands, all told plainly thaf she, too, loved him. How I suffered! In my mad jealousy I grew almost to hate the child. He loved me be ore she came, with her beau tiful flower-like face, to rob me of that love. AY as she blind that she did not see that we were betrothed? I prayed that she might go away and leave us to ourselves once more, and Robert would go back to his old fond ways. His ca resses were growing colder, his kisses lighter. I spoke of his seeming neglect. He answered lightly, taking both my hands in his aud looking fondly at me. “Nonsense, Mattie! Do you know, my little girl, that you are growing nearer and dearer to me every day?” For a time I was satisfied, trying to bo satisfied with but a share ol his love. We were seated in the garden, one af ternoon, early in the autumn, Robert, Kathleen and I. She was looking unu sually handsome in a dress of soft Indian mull. My lover had just paid her a well merited compliment, for which she was about to make a gracious reply, when aunt Martha came to us. “Robert,” she said, placing her hand fondly on his shoulder as she spoke, “will you gather some grapes forme? I find that some of the bunches hang too high. The girls will go with you and hold the basket.” He rose to comply with her request. Kathleen was at his side in a moment, while I refused to join them, feigning a severe headache. “They do not want me,” I reasoned within myself. I watched them as they walked away together, he carrying the little wicker basket, and she tossing her bright curls with that coquettish air that came so natural to her. I cannot tell you w'hat tempted me to follow them: it must have bq£<* ome evil genius. Slowly I foll|T • down the pathway, taking every A tcaution, how ever, not to be observed. Seated upon a little rustic bench, I could see every movement of my lover and Kathleen. How lovely she looked standing in the orchard, the sunlight falling athwart the lovely upturned face, on which a smile rested! .Never was seen a fairer vision. Her sleeve of soft texture fall ing back showed the shapely, out stretched arin. Sometimes a peal of merry laughter would fall upon my ear. They did not miss me—noteven Robert; he was content with Kathleen. The basket was full to overflowing, and still they lingered. One bunch of ! luscious grapes, the last gathered, was in Robert’s hand. He stooped to place it with the others, when then eyes met, their hands touched. Was I dreaming? Alas! no. I saw him stoop and kiss her fondly. I waited no longer. With a cry of pain 1 turned and fled to the seclusion of my own room, where I i sobbed qpt the trouble „of my young heart, with only God to hear me. • I went away quite unexpectedly. I was homesick, I told Aunt Martha. I left a letter for Robert, giving no ex planation of my conduct; simply telling him it was better we should part. 1 was a proud girl and would not stoop to acknowledge a rival. I rejnember taking the ring he had given me from my hand, and what a struggle it cost me to place it with that letter—the last I should ever write to Robert.' I came home to mother, who was quite an invalid and needed all my care. 1 never heard from Robert save once, through Aunt Martha, who wrote: “Of course, Mattie, you’ve not for gotten Robert, whom, to speak candidly, you treated rather He has gone to New York to practid£ medicTnS. < He is dping w?ll. ” '“An old newspaper had fallen into my hands, where an account was given of a brilliant reception. Among the guests were the names of Dr. Robert Preston and wife. I knew it was Robert and Kathleen. I made no inquiries, and, receiving no further information, took it for gianted that Aunt Martha’s kind ness of heart prevented her from again referring to the past. I closed my heart forever. The world will never know me as a disappointed woman, I thought, flattering myself that I had quite suc ceeded in deceiving general, until the gossip had come up* me with her idle words, bringing to life the bitter past that I thought I had buried years ago. * * * * * s* * “Going to service. Miss Kemvood?” It was my neighbor who asked the question, Marcia Hall—a dear little girl with the utmost faith in mankind in general. I smiled faintly as 1 caught sight of the new bonnet with its dainty ribbons, evidently got up for the new curate. “Young and foolish,” thought I. “Wait uutil she’s six-and-twenty, and I’ll wager she will not buy a new bonnet for all the new curates in town.” Slowly we walked to church on that bright Sunday morning, (Marcia chatting gaily and I, dressed in the plainest of dresses, walking silently beside her. 1 had not fully recovered from Mrs. Briggs’s unkind remarks, and was de termined to show her my disinclination to “set my cap,” as she termed it, by ap pearing in an exceedingly unbecoming gown. I was really disappointed, in catching a last glimpse in the mirror, to find that, notwithstanding my plain toilet and my six-and-twenty years, I was still a pretty woman, and to hear my mother say as 1 stopped to kiss her, “How well you’re looking, Mattie!” How crowded the little village church was—filled to overflowing. Every one was there, even that hateful (Mrs. Briggs. I caught a glimpse of the great poke bon net as I walked quickly to my seat. They were singing as we entered, yet I scarcely heard them, feeling rather em barrassed at coming late to be gazed at by the entire congregation. I sank wearily among the soft cush ions, gladly taking refuge behind a palmleaf fan kindly proffered by a port ly old gentleman beside me. Now a hush, a slight flutter among the eongregatiou, a rustle of garments, with now and then a subdued whisper as the pulpit was rolled close to the chancel, and the new curate ascended. “He’s just lovely,” whispered Marcia, pulling goftly at my sleeve. “Do look at him, Miss Kenwood.” I kept my eyes downcast. If every woman in the congregation cast glances of admiration, I was determined to do otherwise. “Am Imy brother’s keeper:” was the text. Clear and distinct were the words of the speaker. The first words had caused my heart to beat wildly. How like that voice of long ago, that rich, soft voice that pleaded for my love! I listened like one in a dream, until I raised my eyes to see before me—Robert Pres ton. Yes, Robert Preston. Changed, to be sure; not the bright, boyish face of long ago. There were lines of care and suf fering on it now, while the dark hair was streaked with silver. Was Kathleen dead? I wondered. Had he given up his practice? Was he happy? Fifty different queries crowded upon my memory. Why had fate thrown us once more together after my bitter struggle to forget? One thing I was determined upon: I must leave the village. I dared not trust myself further. Reason as I would, my heart told me that I loved him still. It was all over! I could hear the whispered comments of the worshipers on the eloquence of the new curate. The singers were chanting in that nasal, drawling tone so natural to village choirs, and still I sat dreaming. “Are you coming?” asked my com panion; then, as I arose mechanically to obey, “Don’t you like him, Miss Ken wood? Do tell me! You listened at tentively, and once, as I looked at you, I thought you were going to faint away, _ you looked so pale. Are you ill?” “Yes, I like him,” I added aloud, while my heart whispered: “God pity me, ] love him!” We were out once more in the bright sunshine, coming quite unexpectedly upon a little group composed of the wealthier members of the congregation, gathered around the new curate. They had learned he was a man of wealth and standing, choosing his calling simply as a matter of taste. Some one—l think it was the pastor’s wife—presented me to him. Our eyes met; our hands touched, as, resting those serious eyes upon me, he said: “I have had the pleasure of meeting Miss Kenwood before.” I cannot tell how it happened that we were all walking out through the church yard toward the highway, and I found myself alone with Robert. He was the first to break the silence. It pained me to think it was a common place re mark. “How is Kathleen?” I asked, endeavor ing to show him how little I cared for the past, and how, withont betraying the slightest emotion, I could inquire after his wife’s health. “Kathleen?” He looked dazed at the question. “I believe she is well, but not happy, poor girl.” He believed she was well. How strange! Had he grown weary of her as of me? Was he utterly devoid of honor? “Not happy?” I said, as I toyed nerv ously with the roses in my bomce. “She should be very happy as— as —your wife,” I falterj^j. **As mfy wife!” he said, gazing in blank amazement. “Did you—oh, Mattie, you have judged me wrongly. I never married Kathleen.” He looked like a man upon whom a sudden truth had dawned, or one ac cused of a great wrong who could prove his innocence. it was in the twilight before service that he told me it all. The notice con cerning Robert Preston and wife referred to his cousin. He had entered the min istry from choice, as he had come into a large fortune through the death of his uncle. True, he had admired Kathleen as a man would admire a beautiful wo man, but he never entertained the slightest feeling of love for her. The scene in the orchard was but a simple ruse gottep up by Robert and Kathleen to excite my jealousy, little dreaming of the seriouls result?”’'*- Kathleen mad£ a most unfortunate match, like most beautiful women, mak ing a poor selection from her many suifors. Poor girl, what a dear, kind letter she sent to us, telling how happy she was to hear we were reunited! “Just to think of it!” said (Mrs. Briggs. “He came back to her after the other girl had given him the mitten. I wouldn’t take him. Would you?” We can afford to laugh at her idle * gossip, we are so happy, Robert and I. I smile proudly to think that without “setting my cap” I have captured the new curate, after all. The Simple Natives of Jamaica. The natives of Jamaica, says the New York Observer , are ingenious and skillful with their fibers. They mike many pretty for sale, which can be bought for very little. They utilize the palm leaves in many ways, making from them hats, pretty fans, ornamented with gay wools, and dainty little baskets with handles and covers. These they weave of strips of palm, making the body of the basket white, with a colored border of strips dyed red and yellow or black. They also carve well, aud some of the sets of jewelry, tiny vinaigrettes, and rosary beads, made from the root of the “groogroo palm” are exquisitely done, with carvings in relief almost equal to the best Swiss carvings. They are emi nently a people of expedients, and are. very clever at adapting the various tropi cal growths to their needs. Living often far from a railroad and on an island where needful things cannot al ways be procured, they set their in genuity to work to furnish sub.-titutes. The coarse, fibrous network which hangs from the base of the cocoa teaves, they call “cocoanut strainer,” and use to strain milk, rum punch, coffee, etc. A cucumber-like vegetable, full of 30ft fibre, they call the “Dish-rag” plant,and scrub their kitchen utensils with it. They cut the husk from around the cocoanut, favel it out into a brush and polish floors with it. They wrap the leaves of the cashew tree around meat to make it tender, and hang butter in a draught in a porous clay vessel, which they frequently wet to insure rapid evaporation, and thus cool it in the ab sence of ice, and have hundreds of labor saving plans of a like nature. They are clever at making pottery, and use the clay “yabbas,” a kind of earthenware bowl, in lieu of pots and kettles, doing most of their cooking in them. They make them of all sizes, for beating up cake, washing tea-things, and also in the shape of large jars, for various purposes. Pitchers for water aud filters are also made in this pottery, some of which are exceedingly graceful both in shape and ornaments, with ears of corn moulded on the sides, and other designs. A Famous Pear Tree Dead. The world-famous Endleott pear tree, planted by Governor John Endicott on the ancient orchard farm at Danvers New Mills in 1630 or *1033, is dead. Tradi tion has it that 1030 was the date when the venerable tree was planted, but there is also evidence that Governor Endicott did not break up the ground for his orchard until 1033. There is no doubt, however, of the great antiquity of the pear tree, and that it was from 250 to 260 years old when its last vitai spark went out. The tree stood on the north bank of the river, about half way between the Mills and the ra.lroad track. It had but one rival—an ancient pear tree at Truro, on the sands of Cape Cod, planted prior to IG44. —Boston Journal. Redhead is the name of the richest man in Hutchinson, Kan. He made his money in baking powder. BUDGET OF FUN HUMOROUS SKETCHES FROM VARIOUS SOURCES. At the Gate—A Sympathetic Heart —At the Picnic—More than He Could Stand— Etc., Etc. _ 'lights were low, the hour was la The popping time had come; And, gazing idly at the grate, Her love <at chewing gum. She asked hitn if he'd risk —dear girl— With her the final step; He gave his gutn a listless whirl And yawned and answered “yep.” —Oil Citg Blizzard. A Sympathetic Heart. “Can you give me a little breakfast, ma’am?” pleaded the tramp; “I’mhungry and cold. I slept outdoors last night and the rain came down in sheets.” “You should have got in between the sheets,” said the woman kindly, as she so the gate. —New York Sun. At the Picnic. He (with a bunch of wild flowers in his hands) —“Ah, my dear Miss Sereand yellow, what kind of posies will you choose? She (in a perfect twitter) —“Oh, te, he; te, he: I will choose pro-posies.” Mr. Smith sinks into the earth.— Wash ington Critic. More Than He Could Stand. Grocer—“ How is it, Mr. Swartman, that you are so particular to pay cash uow-a-days? You used to run a weekly bill.” Customer—“l know I did, and you would always give me a cigar when I squared up Saturday night.” Grocer—“ Yes.” Customer—Well, It was smoking that cigar that impelled me to pas cash.”— New Turk Sun. Not Easily Embarrassed “Have you kept track of young Baboony lately? At the rate he is going on he’ll soon be seriously embarrassed. ’ “Embarrassed? Nonsense! you don’t know the man. He asked me for the loan of a hundred this morning without the quiver of an eyelid.”— Life. A Small Dividend. First Tramp —“Well, how much did ye get out of the felly?” Second Tramp—“Faix, only enough for rnesilf.” First Tramp—“ And is this de way yer stand in wid me, Mickey?” Second Tramp—“ Sure, all Oi got was a kick. Ye can take yer share of that, if ye want it. ” — Life. He Liked Cold Roast Beef. Young Housekeeper (to butcher) — “Have you roast beef ?” * Butcher—“Tes, ma’am.” “Do you keep it on the ice?” “Oh, yes, ma'am.” “Then you may send me some. My husband told me only this morning that he is very fond of cold roast beef.”— Siftings. Getting it Down Fine. Johnnie was under a cloud. He had been given six lines to learn before lunch-time, with the proviso, no lines, no lunch. The lunch-bell rang and his mother called Johnnie, who knew just one third of his lesson. “No lunch for you, my son, to-day!” was the maternal decision. “Please, mamma,” pleaded Johnnie, “can’t I have two lines’ worth?”— Judge. A Generous Offer. They were riding together in the moon light, and he was trying hard to think of something pleasant to say. All of a sudden she gave a slight shiver. “Are you cold, Miss Hattie?” he asked, anxiously. “I will put my coat around you if you like.” “Well, yes,” said she, shyly, with an other little shiver; “I am a little cold, I confess; but you needn’t put your coat around me. One of your sleeves will do.” — Somerville Journal. No Hope for the Future. “It grieves me to look back over a wasted life,” said a comparatively young doctor to a Chicago girl. “To think that with fame and fortune in my reach I have turned from them in order to pur sue a humble career.” “But is not too late to begin anew,” she suggested. “Alas; I realize too forcibly that it is.” “Can you not make one great, final effort?” “No. lam too old to learn to play baseball.” “Yes;” she said softly. It is very, very sad.” —Merchant Traveler. Steep Hills. “What have you been doinglately?” asked a traveling man of a former asso ciate in the same business whom he met in a Pennsylvania village. “I been having pretty hard luck.” “In what way«” “You see my uncle died and left me a farm out here in the mountains and I gave up traveling in order to come out here aud run it.” “Don’t you like it:” “No, I can’t say I do. lean stand a good deal but I do draw the line at farming where the hills are so dog-goned steep that the cattle have to stand on their hind legs to nibble the grass off them. —Merchant T/ave’ir. Dangerous. “lamgoingto stop bathing,” said a friend of mine, of good habits. The statement staggered me, for 1 knew he did not belong to the “great unwashed,” nor was he in any way retrograding to ward that bathless class, the tramps. He proceeded to explain: “You see, my wife’s brother is a young physician, and my wife’s father is an old physician. My own father reads medical works and talks a great deal about them. A near neighbor of ours is a rising young doc tor, and through him a number of medi cal men have visited us, and we have met the M. D.’s also at his house. Now, in such an atmosphere of wisdom you would think me safe. But I feel I am not. About everything I do from the time I get up until I retire, in the way of eating, drinking, washing, riding or | bathing is dangerous! I say ‘danger ous’ because that is the term they the doctors, use. lam mostalaimed ibout bathing. My father has found it ii the books that it is dangerous to bathewhile warm. My wife’s father says it i dan gerous to bathe while cold or chilly. Her brother asserts that only the trong est persons dare bathe on arising with out first taking food. The sane wise young doctor says it is dangerous and debilitating to bathe just befoe retir ing. They all agree that it is danger ous to jump into water just afte: eating heartily. Nothing has been sad about getting up in the middle of tie night and taking a light lunch and a bath, nor about leaving business in tin middle of the afternoon and going to a bath house for an hour, but as both these times are very inconvenient for me to indulge in ablutions, I have decided on the only alternative, not to lathe at all.” —Chicago Journal. Their First Dinner. They had just returned from their wedding tour and were to have their first dinner in their own Lome. “Well, Percy, dear,” sie said sweetly after breakfast, “what shall we have for dinner?” “Oh, anything you l : ke.” “No, dear; anything you like.” “But I shall like anything you like,my little rosebud.” “And I shall like anything you like, my precious old boy.” Well, theu, what shall be have, dear?” “Whatever you want, darling.” “But I want to please you, lovey.” “And / want to please you, precious.” “You old darling!” “You blessed old precious.” “But what shall we have?” “That’s for you to say.” “No, for you." “But I’m so afraid I’ll order something you don’t like.” “I’ll like anything you like, darling.” “Truly, Percy?” “Truly, my darling.” “Because I’d feel so badly I'd just cry it I had anything you didn’t like. Do you like roast beef:” “Do you? ” “I asked you first, dearie.” “ What if I don't care for it? ” “Then we’ll necer have a pound of it in the house.” “ You little darling! ” “jßut/o you like it?” ‘ ‘ De you- ” “O, Percy, you naughty old boy! How am I ever to get what you like if you go on like this? And Ido want to please you.” “ Please yourself and you’ll be sure tr please me.” “Then we’ll have the beef 1 ” “if you say go, lovey.” “But I don't say so.” “It shall be just as my own little, lovey-dovey, lifey wifey says.” “ What if I say beef? ” “Then I shall say beef, too.” “Well, then, we’ll have roast beef.” “I love roast beef.” “So do I.” “ Oh, I’m so glad.” “ So am I.” “ You old darling!" “You precious!" — Detroit Free Presi. Majilton, the Man Monkey. The original of the character of “Jocko, the Brazilian Ape,” was Henry Leech, an Englishman, whose profes sional name was Otto Motti. His body was of the size of an ordinary man’s, but his legs were only a foot long, yet such was his agility that he could outrun, ou all fours, a very fair runner. His skele ton is in Mine. Tussaud’s exhibition in London. The Ravels afterward intro duced the character in their pantomines, j but it was left to Majilton to bring it to I perfection, lie had wonderful strength in his hands and could walk with his hands hanging under an ordinary floor joist, his whole weight depending on the grip between his thumb-; and their op posing fingers with perfect ease; and he occasionally astonished a braggart of the profession by walking on his hands on a slack rope, or on the hawser with which the circus was towed by a steamer. This singular faculty made him an expert climber, and he would run up aud down the interior of the circus and leap the rail of the tiers and run along them with an agility that no ape could excel. He fairly rolled with laughter when he told how he frightened people on the Missis sippi. On one occasion, when he leaped among them, chattering and grimacing, many jumped in their fright through the windows of the circus into the river and were rescued with difficulty. In Decem ber, 1854, while playing in Charleston, S. C., he created almost a panic in the theater. One of the scrub women was stationed in the third tier with a stuffed baby, and Majilton, in his Jocko act. snatched it from her and, jumping to the side of the proscenium boxes, beat its head against the wood and then threw it to the stage and jumped on it, the woman yelling all the while and the audience in a terrible uproar of terror and indigna tion.—Detroit Free I‘ress. Tlie Dandelion. The dandelion is a neglected flower It blows and dies, returning To the vile dust from whence it sprung, Unwept, unhonored and unsung. Yet it comes early,blossoms freely and lifts so bright a color to the sky that it rivals the very sunshine that coaxed it from the cold ground. Not the C ali fornia poppy, the pride of the Pacific coast, glows with a more brilliant yellow, or shows more delicate gradations of color. The heart of the dandelion is warm and fervid like the rich gold of a ripe orange, while the tips of each deli cate calyx reflect the fainter tints that shine on the tender leaf of a buttercup, and so perfect is the shading that we cannot tell when the orange passes into yellow, and the yellow into the palest amber. "What can be prettier than this brave blossom set in the vivid green of the new grass? —Des Moines Register. Builders of the Florida Peninsula. Among the agencies which have helped to build up the peninsula of Florida, aro certain trees, like the mangrove and cypress, which grow on land more or less under water. Like the coral builders, they have worked slowly, but in thou sands of centuries the change wrought would be great. It is altogether proba ble that the thousands of tree-covered “islands” in the Everglades and Big Cypress were once mangrove thickets, and that the present mangrove islands will in time be added t the mainland. — Arkan&aw Traveler. A GREAT INVENTOR ~ He had a startling genius but somehow it didn’t emerge. Always on the evolution of things that wouldn’t evolve; Always verging toward some climax, but hi never reached the verge; Always nearing the solution of some theme he could not solve. And he found perpetual motion, but a cog wheel set awry Burst his complex apparatus au u he could not get it fixed; And he made a life elixir—if you drank j ou’d never die— But the druggist spoiled the compound when the medicine was mixed. And he made a flying vessel tha t would navi gate the air, A gorgeous steamer of the heavens, a grand aerial boat, A matchless paragon of skill, a thing beyond compare, And the only trouble with it—he could never make it float. And ho found a potent acid that would change red dirt to gold; but the tube from which he poujed it had some trouble with it’s squirt, So the gold held in solution and would not let go its hold, And the dirt in dogged stubbornness it still continued dirt. And he made a great catholicon to cure all disease, A general panacea for every ache and pain, But first he tried it on himself his stomach achy to ease, And it killed him very quickly—and he did not try again. —S. W. Foss, in Yankee P’ade. PITH AND POINT. A country seat—The top fence rail. A patient man—One in ?. doctor's ofticb. A doctor must understand all tongues. Imaginary scholars—The pupils of your eyes. Ball players are capable of base in gratitude. A mau in his cups might as well be a tumbler. The high old time—The ancient clock in the steeple. Working like ahorse—A lawyer draw ing a conveyance. When a thin man visits you, lodge him in the spare room, of course. A sick burglar is very loth to call a doctor for fear tl at he may give him up. “Mine, miner, minus;” This is the ujrshot of speculations in mining stock. W’hat are ministers good for? They’re good because it is part of their business. The exact quantity of the lion’s share is not stated, but it is all the lion can get. When a woman is trying to write a letter ou a half-sheet of paper much may be said on both sides. —Naw dlai en News. “Talking is cheap,” they say: That’s not so clear. Just hire a jawyer And you’ll find it dear. —Judge. That one swallow does not make a Summer may be true, but one mosquito can make it hot enough for anybody.— Life. Smith—“l see by the papers that the Dey of Algiers is dead.” Jones—“ I’m glad to hear it. It’s time deoth took a Dey off.”— Siftings. “Madatne,” said the tramp, “I’m not a vegetarian.” “Ah? No?” replied the lady. . “I thought you were. You look like a beat.— New York Sun. A correspondent wants to know the difference between a dog-watch and a watch-dog. Well, not much; they are both kept on the bark. The Ocean. This world is but a fleeting show. And no wise man regrets it, For man wants little here belo w , And generally he gets it. —Somerville Journal. Ingenious thing, this English lan guage. When you hear a citi/en say: “Oh, he’s a good man,” you cau t tell whether he is talking of n pugilist or of a deacon. A criminal.lately executed in England protested his innocence on the scaffold, and his last words were that he was a good and faith/ul subject of the Queen. The subject then dropped.— Siftinys. “Nothing is ever lost,” Walt Whitman sings; But poets hava peculiar views of things; Few will agree with him who’ve had ill luck, When they the frisky tiger tried to buck, —Boston Courier. President McCosh, of Princeton, says he expects every fresh student who en ters the institution to rhyme his name with “by gosh,” and it is only rarely that he is disappointed. —Detroit Fret Press. E’en with scratches and bruises, And covered with loam, Though it’s nearest the umpire, There's no base like home. — Life. The King of Dahomey has had an um brella made for him twenty-one feet in diameter, the handle being twenty-one feet long. He is determined that no one shall take it in mistake of their own. Chicago Journal. Brown made a bet with Wagerly that he could cause nine out of every ten men who passed a certain building that day to touch the structure. Wagerly accepted the bet. Brown simply hung j out the sign “Paint.” — Judge. A lover called upon a Miss, And thought she looked bewitching,. He longed so much her lips to kiss, He chased her round the kitchen, But fell against the red hot stove As soon as he had kissed her, And though he thought the kiss was bliss, He found the burn a blister. —Siftings. Overtaxing his brain. Old Mrs. Bently —“ Did you hear, Josiah, that the young ; student, who has been boardin’ at tho Hendrickses’is very sick?” old Mrs. ! Bently—“Yes, I heard so; what’s the ! trouble with him?” Old Mrs. Bently— “Btudyin’ too hard I s’pose. The doc tor says he’s got information of the brain.” — The Epoch . “Miss Howjames,” said the agitated young man from Jersey City, “ifyoffi onlv could look with some degree ofl favor upon me! I know I express m| feelings but illy” “You certainly d| not express them welly, Mr. Ferguson,! replied the coldly critical Boston youal lady, “and it would be better, perha;* to change the subject.” —Chicago Irm une. f