Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 14, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 April 1892 — Page 5

AITOTRBR SPRING POEM. Winter is an ol’ gray duff, Dressed and muffed in woolen stuff, flettin’ at the kitchen fire, cramped with torturin’ roomatism. He is lumberin’ an’ stiff j'inted, An’ his hopes is disapp'inted,— But young Spring is full er ginger, full er’ giggle, gush an’ gism. Like a girl she’s pert an’ pure, But she’s fond er furniture, Fond er filagree an’ finery an' fluffs an’ furbe lows; An’ her dandlin’, dancin’ laces Make a joy in lonesome places, An’ her smile’s so warm an’ tender —thet it melts away the snows. Like a pretty silver chain Cross the buzzum of the plain Does she wind her gurglin’ trout brook in its bendin’ links an’ lines; An’ she takes the shiverin’ boulders An’ she pins about their shoulders Booty stylish capes er mooses, trimmed ’ith creepers an’ with vines. An’ she makes a dark green dress For the naked wilderness, An’ she throws her green grass jackets roun’ the wretched, ragged hills, — Jackets jest like stylish women’s With bright dandelion trimmin’s. Laylock bowkays in their bosoms, ’an with pussy wilier frills. Then ol’ Winter, ol’, gray duff, Dressed and muffed in woolen stuff, Grumpy, grouty, gruff an’ grizzly, groan through all the sunny hours; Then the grass grows up permiscus, Sproutin’ through his snowdrift whiskers, An’ Spring buries the ol’ dead man un’ernqath a mound er flowers. —Sam Walter Foss, in Yankee Blade.

THE GOOSEHERD.

BY HERMAN SUDERMAN.

rttANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN By ELIZABETH A. SHARP. Listen and I will toll you the story of my first love. Do you know who my first love was? A gooseherd, a live goos’eherd! I am not joking; I have shed bitter tears over the sufferings which he caused me, even when I was a grown-up and most highly respectable young lady. At the period when he set my heart aflame, it was my highest delight to go barefooted. 1 was eight and he was ten years old; I was the daughter of the Lord of the Manor, he the sou of our smith. In the mornings, when I drank my coffee on the balcony with mamma and mv brother, he would drive his geese down below us, and vanish toward the heath. At first he used to stare at us in native wonderment, without it occurring to him to lift his cap; and when my brother had reproved him, and instructed him to give the company a morning salutation he cried out each time, with a great flourish of his cap: “Good-morning to you.”

If my brother happened to be in a good humor I was allowed to reward the herd for his urbanity by taking a roll Sown to him; and he always seized it out of my hand with a certain curious anxiety, as though he feared 1 might draw it back from him.

What was he like? I can still recall him vividly; the sleek blond hair hung like yellow thatch-work over his sunburnt cheeks, his merry, sly eyes peeped out from under it, his tattered breeches he had fastened above his knees and in his hand he carried a herding switch, in whose green rind he had artistically cut a row of white spiral springs. My childish longings were greedily attracted by this switch. It was lovely to me, to hold this sort of magic wand so totally unlike any other of my toys; and when I further pictured myself herding geese with it, and allowed to go barefoot, it seemed to me I would reach the acme of all earthly happiness. It was one such switch which made us more familiar with one another. One morning, when sitting at coffee, 1 saw him waving a greeting. 1 could no longer restrain my desire, I pieced together the honey-roll which I was eating, concealed it, hastily made my excuses, and ran after him. When he saw me he stopped and shouted to me wonderingly; but when he saw the honey-roll in my hand, his eyes twinkled knowingly. “Vt ill you give me your switch?” 1 asked. "Now why?” he returned, standing on one leg and rubbing its calf with his other foot.

"Because I want it!” I answered impetuously, and added more gently, "I will give you my honey-roll.” His eyes wandered longingly toward the tidbit; bit he said conclusively; “No, 1 must herd the geese with it. But 1 will make you one like it." “Can you, yourself?” I asked, admiringly. “Ach, that’s nothing at all,” he replied, deprecatingly. “1 can also taake flutes and daucing men.” I was so completely carried away by this that without further ado I gave him the honey-roil. He bit a hearty piece from it, and without deigning to give me another look drove his feathered Cock away. I looked after him with bursting heart. He might herd geese while I was obliged to go upstairs t.> Mademoiselle to learn the French vocabulary. “Yes,” I thought, "happiness in this world is indeed badly divided.” In the even.ng he brought me the promised switch, which was more beautiful than any I hud imagined in my wildest dreams. Not only nad it the white rings, but it ended with a knob on which a human fupe—•mine or his, I could not guess, was roughly carved. I was the happiest of mortals. Tnereafter we were friends. I divided my sweet morsels with him; he in return gave me worksof art made by his cunning fingers —flutes, kittens, houses, and above all, bis celebrated dancing men, with which 1 immediately became the bugbear of the entire household. Our place of evening rendezvous, where we exchanged our wares, was behind the goose house. The whole day 1 rejoiced in thought over the meeting with my young hero. I pictured him to myself, lying on the grass in the sunny heath playing his flute, while I labored at my detested lessons; and even stronger and more strongly did the yearning grow in me to share his good fortune of goose herding. When I told him of my feelings he laughed aloud and said: “Why don't you come with me?” That gave the decisive impetus; without further reflection I answered; "Tomorrow. I will cornel”

“But do not forget to bring something to eat with you," enjoined my friend. Luck favored me. Mademoiselle had at the right moment one of her bad headaches and postponed the lesson. Feverish with joy and anxiety, I sat at the coffee table and waited for him to come oast. Mv Dockets were stuffed with dainties of all sorts, and near me lay the switch which I hoped to-day to use in right earnest. There he came sauntering along! He blinked his eyes significantly at me while he called out his customary, “Good-morning to you;” and as soon as I could absent myself without remark I ran hastily after him. "What have you with you?” was the first question. “Two gingerbread cakes, two bread and butter sandwiches and sausage, a sardine roll and a piece of strawberrytart,” I answered, showing him my possessions. He immediately began to eat, while proudly, with ill-suppressed joy, I drove the geese before us. From the firwood, whose further half was not wholly familiar to me, we passed to unknown regions. Stunted undergrowth rose on either side, forming a straggling hedge, till suddenly the wide stretching, endless heath lay before me. Ah, how beautiful it was! As fur as the eye could reach, a sen of grass and brilliant flowers, and dotted over with wave-like rows of molehills. The hot a r wavered. It seemed to dance over the breezy heath. Summer bees made music, and the golden sun rode high in the deep blue heaven. At the wood’s edge was a swamp with a little pool in which a yellow-gray thick water glimmered. Flocks of ducks swam there; round about it the edges were so moist that great water bubbles oozed up between the grasses, and thousands of prints of the feet of the geese were to be seen, so that the whole ground was patterned over like a carpet. Here was the drove’s paradise. Here we halted, and while the geese paddled contentedly in the pool we raced about upon the heath, chasing butterflies and plucking blueberries.

Then we played at man and wife. “El»e,” the tamest goose, was our child. We had nearly kissed and knocked the poor animal out of life when it struggled away from our hands after frantic efforts. Whereon 1 prepared my husband's meal. I unried my white pinafore, laid it upon the grass f>r u tablecloth and placed on it the remains of the dainties. He sat himself gravely down before them; out of sheer joy at playing at house I watched him as he disposed of one sweet after another.

The hours passed as in a dream. Higher and higher rose the sun, and its rays burnt straight down upon us. A buzzing srund began in my head, a dull feeling of exhaustion crept over me and 1 became aware of considerable hunger; but alas, my husband had already eaten everything up. My throat was dry, my lips were fevered. In order to cool them 1 plucked the moist grasses and pressed them against my mouth. Suddenly the sounds of bells floated to us over the wood from the far distance. I knew well what it signified. It was the mid-day signal which called me to dinner. And when I should bo found to be missing— O, dear, what would become of me! I threw myself on the grass and began to sob bitterly, while my companion, with the hope of comforting me, stroked my face and neck with his rough hand. Suddenly I sprang up and raced to the woods as though lashed by the Furies. For nearly two hours I wandered, weeping, through the thicket; then Lheard a voice calling my name, and two minutes later I lav in my brother’s arms. The next morning my poor friend appeared as my instigator and accomplice before a high tribunal of his lord of the manor. It seemed to him quite natural that he should be made the scapegoat; lie made not the slightest attempt to exculpate himself from the whole blame of the escapade, and took the punishment which my brother applied with great stoicism. Then he rubbed his smarting back against the post of the veranda, and sped away out of sight, while 1 lay sobbing on the ground. From that day I loved him. I invented a thousand tricks and means in order to meet him secretly. I stole like a magpie so that he could enjoy the fruits of my thieving. 1 nearly stifled him with the excess of my tenderness, with which I sought to make amends for those terrible strokes of the riding-whip. He let my love flow over him quietly, and requited it vjith pathetic devotion and a sound appetite. A year later fate separated us. My poor mother, who had long been ail* ing, was pronounced consumptive, and ordered South by the doctors. She confided the property entirely to my brother, and traveled to the Riviera accompanied by me.

Nine years later I returned home, alone, and recovering from an attack of nervous fever. As I lay in the armchair, my gaze roved over the well-known objects, one picture after nnoth-r of the past flitted through my mind, and prominent among them came the image of my beloved fairhaired gooseherd. “What has become of him? ” I asked my brother: and received the good news that he had grown a smart, promising youth, and now helped his old father at the smithy. I felt my heart beat. I tried to reprove myself for my foolishness, but failed. The dear old memories were too strong, and I gave myself up to picturing to myself our meeting. A few days after my arrival I went out for the first time. I begged my brother to drive me through the wood, and 1 chose a mossy spot in sight of the smithy whereon to rest. My maid was with me, ana my brother left me there while he went to transact some business. I sent my maid to gather wild strawberries, and I sat down and dreamed to my heart’s content. The fir trees rus’.led above me, and from the smithy came the steady sound of the hammer. The fire of the forge burned brightly, and from time to time a dark figure passed to and fro. It must be my herd. I contentedly watched the movement of his arm, admired his strength, and trembled when the fiery sparks flew round him. When my brother returned, 1 endeavored with his help to walk to the carriage, but sank down powerless. "Hm. hm!” he said, thoughtfully. "I sent the coachman home. I thought I could put you into the carriage, but the seat is very high and I fear 1 cannot lift you alone without hurting you. Gretchen,” he continued, turning to the maid, "run to the smith, the young one, you know, and ask him to come and help me.” Therewith he threw a small coin on the ground, which the girl eagerly picked up before she ran off. 1 telt tiie blood rush up to my cheeks. I' should see him again—here, on this spot—he would act the good Samaritan for me! Pressing my hand on my heart I sat waiting till— There he is! How strong and hand-

somelio has grown! Like & young Hercules! Awkwardly he lifted his cap, which sat so becomingly on the back of his head; but I stretched out my hand smilingly, and said: “ How are you?" •• How am I? Well!” he said, with an embarrassed smile, wiping his fingess on his apron before taking my hand. • “ Help me to lift the young lady into the carriage," said my brother. He wiped his hands again, and seized me, not very gently, under the shoulders, my brother lifted my feet and the next moment I lay on the cushions in the carriage. * * Thanks, thanks,” I said, nodding and smiling at him. He stood by the carriage steps, holding his .cap in his hand, and looked at my brother and then at me with a questioning expression. There is still something in his mind, I thought to myself. How could it be otherwise? At the sight of me the old memories have awakened in him—he dees not trust himself—the past in his heart—l must help him a little. “What are you thinking about?” I asked, looking him straight in the eyes with a friendly, encouraging look. My brother, who had been busied with the horses, turned round and looked at him. "Ach, yes; you are waiting for your tip,” he said, and put his hund in his pocket. I felt as if some one had struck me with a whip. “For mercy’s sake, Max!” I stammered, turning hot and cold by turns. My brother did not hear me, and handed him—yes, he actually dared—and handed him a markpiece. I seemed to see how my friend would throw the money back in his face. I gathered all my strength and stretched out my hands to ward off the insult —but what is this? No, it is not possible; and yet, and yet, I see it with my own eyei; ho takes the coin—he says: “Thank you very much”—he bows—he goes!— And I? I look after him like an angry spectre, and then I sink back sighing among the cushions. Thus, my friend, did I take farewell of the dream of my youth. —[Independent.

THE MONKEY LANGUAGE.

Two Scientists who Do Not Agree With Prof. Garner. Prof. Garner's theory of a language among monkeys, as perfect and distinct in itself as that of tho human family, has not achieved any encouraging recognition among the scientists of the country. Dr. D. G. Brinton, of Philadelphia, takes a decided stand against Prof. Garner. At a meeting of the Nineteenth Century Club in New York City, on Tuesday evening, Prof. Garner explained his theory at some length. Dr. Brinton followed, and said that while the professor's scheme of preserving the various cries of the monkeys by means of the . honograph is on original and effective one, some of his ideas concerning a monkey language are, in his opinion, decidedly at fault. Prof. Garner holds that the articulate language of human beings is similar to the language of monkeys. Dr. Brinton could not agree with the professor on that point. •“Human speech,” he said, - ‘is not derived from the sensations of pain, pleasure, hunger or the like, us Prof. Garner holds. It is the development of the logical and not of the emotional faculty, and is tho simplest form of expression. If, for instance, a man were to address you in a language with which you were wholly unacquainted, he might be protesting his love for you, while you might believe he was expressing the opposite sentiment; and vice versa. With the brute language it is different. It is not necessary that one should bo a student of the language of dogs to understand the difference between the yelps of rage emitted by one of those animals when his tail is trodden upon, and the bark of joy at meeting his master. ■‘■‘Language is a purely conventional and manufactured product, such as the brute creation are not competent to produce. The cries of a monkey are very similar to the interjections of the human language, but like these parts of the human speech, they cannot be parsed. Therefore, I hold there is no language among monkeys.” Dr. Perry, professor of Sanskrit in Columbia College, agreed with the remarks of Dr. Brinton. Prof. Garner felt rather incensed at the remarks of these gentlemen, but still maintains that monkeys can speak, and will etart for tho scene of his peculiar researches in a week or so. —[Philadelphia Record.

To Prevent Baldness.

A writer in an English medical paper says that much of the prevalent idiopa hie baldness, that is, baldness not due to previous disease or exciting causes, could be prevented, or, at all events, modified, if people would take a few sensible precautions. A head-covering should be used as little as possible and never indoors, in trains or in closed carriages. In summer and still weather straw huts are best; in winter, light felt, ventilated and unliued. Too constant washing of the hair is unnecessary, as well us harmful. Once a week is quite enough for cleanliness as well us for maintaining the strength of the hair. The same remark applies to constant brushing; continued brushing, csp icially with harl brushes, should be avoided. There is a common notion that greasing the hair is vulgar, and it is now regarded as “bad form.” The consequence is that many people fall into the other extreme, and never apply any pomade at all. After the hair has been washed it is quite beneficial to apply a moderate quantity of some form of simple grease or oil.—[Courier-Journal.

Cheerfulness and Health.

Men never break down in health so long as they keep a happy, joyous heart. It is the sad an I despondent heart that tires, and, whatever the load, we should always keep a cheerful spirit within. There nre two ways of meeting a hard experience. One is to struggle and resist, refusing to yield. The result of this is the wounding of the soul and intensifying the hardness. The other is quietly to accept the circumstances or restraints and make the best of them by enduring all cheerfully. Those who live in the first way grow old in the middle of life. Those who take the other way keep a young and happy heart down to old age, and often find the last days the best days and old age the happiest time of life.—[Detroit Free Press.

The oldest pensioner of the war of 1812 is supposed to be Isaac Hichards of East Machias, Me., who is ninety-nine years of age and lives in the same house with his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

HIGH-CROWNED HATS.

BEFORE FALL THEY’LL BE THE VERY THING. Sleeves Corilng Down and Crowns Going; Up—The Present Pancake Styles In Their Last Stages—Charming Spring Hats In Straw Lace. Gotham Fashion Gossip.

LD fashions revived, old patterns re-®oven, .old books reprinted, old songs re-sung—lt 'really looks as if Solomon was right when he sold there was nothing new under the sun. Ah, but the wisest of mankind didn’t

live in our day and gen ration, or he would have discovered thut although we may revive the old, it becomes really a new creation when touched by the magic wand of modern art. I'm inclined to think, says our New York fashion writer, that the spinet of our great grandmothers would hardly recognize its distinguished descendant, the grand piano, or that the purple and fine linen worn by the Queen of Sheba would show to good advantage alongside the delicious fabrics of our modern looms. Nor would the poke bonnet of other days be at all likely to recognize its elegant and refined groat granddaughter as she now appears borne along on the heads of our fashionable people. Well.it is the same in modes as it is polities, literature and art.

Sleeves ane coming down and hats are going up. But when I say sleeves ase coming down I should add thut, like the frog in the fable, they are puffing themselves up to such a wonderful extent that before the summer is over we shall see veritable balloons encircling the arms of ultra modish folk. • However, as these big puffs set off the figure most, charmingly, let us aceopi this latest ukase of the Czar o! all the Modes without grumbling. Yes, true it is that the hats are going up. The flat crown, which so often puzzled the lady of fashion where to stow her luxuriant tresses, will soon be a thing of the past. Half a foot in height will be nothing, for so graceful will the outlines be and so exquisite the garniture that the real height of the poke will never be suspected. I present this week some charming spring hats in straw lace trimmed with lace, especially old lace colored guipure. One in black rice straw with a high crown was beautifully garnitured with cream lace, set off with pink and yellow roses. No matter how small the bit of headgear, you must get it up Into the

OPEN-WOEK STRAW.

air, and by so doing you attain, especially on the heads of young people, a particularly -stunning effect, just Itovering between the swagger and swashbuckler. You will .see charming conceits in two colored straws, for instance, a brown straw lined underneath with u blue straw, and set off with a huge bow of blue and brown rfhot velvet with a tuft of feathers. Very stylish effects, too, are atta'ned by covering a black straw with a pale-rose pink, smothering the crofrn beneath pale-pink roses and trimming with a huge velvet bow made up double. In my second illustration you will find portrayed an appropriate liat for a young married woman, strikingly garnitured with a double velvet ruche and an aigrette placed on the Ipft side, with ; an additional bow at the back, beneath the brim, and resting on the hair. In this particular bit of headgear the straw is of a beige color and the velvet changeable, showing red, green, and lilac. During the season just passed there has been some sort of method in the freaks of fashion, some little care to keep this side of the border line of exaggeration. But now, bear well in mind, we are about to enter upon a season that will recognize no attempt to retrain fancy in personal adornment. Its flight will be daring, but artistic, all the same. The question will not be: Isn’t this pattern too fantastic? but: Haven’t you something in a broader stripe, a larger check, or a rqore striking combination? And headgear will lead all the rest. As you gaze upon lhe quaint and picturesque head coverings, you will be moved to cry out: Are you the great grandmother of this .party? when, to your surprise, the new-old-fashioned damsel

A DOUBLE VELVET RJCHE.

Will respond: No, I’m the great granddaughter. In my third illustration I set before you a most dainty hat composed of lace and moire ribbon, the crown being covered with Chantilly and rows of jet, with a knot of straight bows and an aigrette of narcissus and violets, and velvet strings. And speaking of strings, how often I see a lady of fashion out for her morning commissions and wearing a very stylish tailor-made, fitting her like a glove, but the effect of which is spoiled by an inappropriate covering for the head, a capote with strings. The dictum stands graven in harder material than bronze that no hat strings go with a tailor-made, nor any fancy or big

hat of any kind. The round hat is ths complement of the tailor-made, closefitting, clean-cut, chiming with the elegant simplicity of your garb and in no way marring the contour of the head or giving it a loaded-down look. You are out for business, or at least you arc pretending that you are, which is just the same. You are in light marching order, and you don’t want to feel like or look like a drum major in grand regalia, with velvet strings wound around your neck. As some people are always saying the wrong thing at the wrong moment, so some women seem to take particular pleasure in wearing the wrong hat on a given occasion. This is partly perversity and partly ignorance. A gentleman, as fussy and fault-finding as gentlemen often are, lately objected to an immense coaching hat which a provincial' lady thought the correct thing to wear to the theater. Overhearing his remarks, she turned around and said, rather pettishly: “The hut is uncomfortable enough without being obliged to listen to such discourteous remarks. ” Toque, shapes are extremely becoming to some fhces, and therefore, no doubt, someone will be pleased to note the high novelty which is pictured in my last illustration—a toque entirely composed of lilies of the valley and the leaves, and bordered with jet. The white ribbon which covers the crown

LACE AND FLOWERS.

forms a triple bow at the front, set off with a buckle of jet and mock gems. The aigrette is formed entirely of lilies of the valley, and the strings, which start from a bow at the back, are in tone with the leaves. I see some very pretty lace brims in combination with velvet crowns, which may be richly embroidered. Mixed fancy straws also promise to be much affected, trimmed with upright bows of ribbon, perched on the brim, invariably in the spot where you would not expect to find them. Someone asks me which is the correct place to set flower trimming. My answer is: Put your lilies of the valley, your hyacinths, your crocuses, your tulips o.- your daffodils on one side, and they’ll be in the right place, or you may put them at tire back or nt the front, and they’ll be in the right place, too. Only see to it that you make them stand up straight; that’s the main point. The Hower aigrette will be done to death before the summerisover, but? you may as well help do it. In one case I saw a black Lace hat trimmed with yellow and lilac ribbons, and at the front towered a bunch of lilacs, sentinel like. Of course no bunch of lilacs ever grew standing up, but aever mind, fashion says that they must stand up, and that settles It. As has been said, with as much wit as justice, a bonnet nowadays is simply an excuse for a feather, a pretext for a spray of flowers, a support for an aigrette, and is placed on the head not to protect it, as did the wadded Iwod of the olden time, but that It may be seen better. However, the careful and intelligent devotee of fashion is always very particular what she puts on her head, for she knows that even though it be but a feather, or a spray of flowers and a bit of ribbon, yet there is quite enough of it to make or mar her style of beauty. An old adage says, “Never abuse a man’s hat or his horse," and I think that the fashionable woman will be found to be quite as sensitive on

the subject of her headgear. For this reason, if for no other, should she choose her hats with the greatest caution, and bring to the subject all the good taste and judgment at her command. Of making many laws there is no end, although of the enforcing of many of them there is never a beginning. Six State legislatures only were in session at one time, yet from .a catalogue of measures under consideration there may be cited such examples of legislation run mad as the following bills: Making it unlawful to make wearing apparel, artificial flowers, feathers, or cigars i’j any house used as a home; forbidding the entrance of disguised horses in races at agricultural fairs; making it unlawful to gather huckleberries except by hand: appropriating $lO,000 for a soldiers' monument in every county where the people will subscribe a like amount; giving old soldiers the preference for all offices and punishing violations of this requirement. It is true that not all of these bills may become laws, but the list is fairly representative of the mistaken' notions concerning the functions of government prevalent among those chosen by the people to make laws for them. An amendment to the New York building law prohibiting the licensing of a liquor saloon within 200 yards of a public schoolhouse failed in the New York assembly. The time will come, no doubt, when a demand will be made upon the school trustees to rent the basements of the public school buildings for poolrooms and beer saloons. It is sometimes said when a man exploits a visionary scheme that “it is all in his eye.” It begins to look as if Kaiser William’s peculiar notion as to the divine-right was “all in hie ear."

THE JOKER’S BUDGET.

JESTS AND YARNS BY FUNNY MEN OF THE PRESS. The Last Word—lmpossible to Keep —Both Alike—No Excuse—Two Recipes, Etc., Etc. TUB LAST WORD. Prattle (to his wife) —You don’t seem to have the courage of your convictions. Mrs. Prattle—-I’d like to know how you get at that conclusion. Prattle— You say, “There’s no use talking,” and then you talk some more. —[Puck! IMPOSSIBLE TO KEEP. Dukanc—You have a fine now watch, 1 see. Gaswell—Yes; isn’t it a beauty? It cost $l5O. “Does it keep time?” “Keep time? No; time flies ns fast us before 1 bought it.” —[Pittsburg Chronicle. BOTH ALIKE. “I look guilty,” The brooch from Attleboro sighed; “1 look guilty," The thief who pocketed it replied. NO EXCUSE. Mother—My dear, you were very rude during Professor Astralle’s call. While he was explaining the principles of theosophy you constantly interrupted him with questions. Little Girl—But, mamma, I didn’t know what he was talkin’ about. Mother—Neither did the professor, my dear. TWO RECIPES. O’Bcese—Say, Raysredge, how did you manage to get so thin? Raysredge—Helping dad tost his “Fat Preventative.” How did you manage to get so stout? O'Beoso—Helping my dad. Raysredge—What was ho doing? O'Boese—Nothing.—[Puck. SOCIAL GRAVITATION. Returned Tourist—What became of that fool, Saphead, who hud more money than ho know what to do with? Business Man—l don’t remember him. Was he much of a fool? “Perfectly idiotic ” “I presume he has dropped into society.”—[New York Weekly. my wife's bonnet. In allsho says I quite concur, Nor wish to disagree; For while it may be dear to her, It’s much more dear to me. didn't eat them. An American lady visiting Paris was continually interested in the smart little boys in white caps and aprons who do- • liver the wares of the pastry cooks. One day she said to one of these boys who hud brought her some cukes: "Ah, 1 suppose you get the benefit of one of these cakes yourself sometimes?” “What do you mean, mudume?” “You eat a cake now and then?” “Eat them? Oh, no, mad ime, that wouldn't do. 1 only lick ’em as 1 come along.”—[Youth’s Companion. losing her grip. Mrs. Witherby.—Mrs. Plankington doesn’t dross so well as she used to, does she? Mrs. Banger—No, since her husband signed tiie pledge she hasn’t the hold on him that she used to have.—[Cloak Review. DEPENDENT GEORGE. Ethel—Do say yes, papa. George can’t live without me. Closefist—l doubt if he could without me. THE VOICE OF EXPERIENCE. Young Callow—Do you think it is more trouble for a husband to manage a wife than it is for a wife to manage a husband? Benedick—l don't know, but if an experiment of that kind is tried in one family there is likely to be trouble enough for both.

THE FLY IN THE OINTMENT. Tramping Jake—lt’S getting to be too hard work to pick up a livin’ in this country. Es it wuzii't so fur away I’d go to Central Ameriky. A man don’t have to do nothin'there. Whole country's covered with bananas. Nothin’ to, do but lay under a tree all day an* eat bananus. Rusty Rufe—Gpt to pick ’em off n the trees, hain’t ye? “Course.'’ “I knowed thor' wuz some drawback.” —[Chicago Post. SHE WAR ON. “There’s trouble in sight,” said the gray-haired old funny man as he looked out of the window toward a body of men who might have been policemen. “Is there?” responded bis aged wife, who hud written many of his best jokes for him and wus up to his tricks. “Is there, dearie? Then possibly you had better get an older pair of glasses.” The ancient funny man, with a reproachful look at his wife, left the window with a sigh.—[Detroit Free Press. REWARDED. “I stole a kiss from you last eve,” He said to her; “alack, It was u theft for which I grieve— I come to give it back.” “You're very good, indeed,” said she; "Pray keep it for your honesty.” —[New, York Press. A MARTYR TO CANDY. Tommy—You did not give me the whipping you said you would. Father —Why, what a strange boy you are to want a whipping. Tommy—Well, I thought I should like the candy you always give me after it—[Once a Week. DISPROPORTIONATE. Perhaps it is too much to expect that the man who uses big words should furnish big ideas with them.—[Somerville Journal. Not so! He usually has the most tremendous idea of himself.—[Argosy. A MEAN HUSBAND. “I saw Mrs. Bunkerton to-day,” said Hicks. “She looked mighty handsome, too.” “She’s an odious woman,” returned Mrs. Hicks. “You never did admire any of my old girls,” said Hicks “That is only one, and I think you thought her perfe t. ” “Which one wao that?” queried Mrs Hicks. “Yourself,” retorted Hicks —[Bazar. PLENTY OF TIME. Husband—Your mistress went upstairs a while ago to write *a letter,

Mary. Please go up and see if she has finished it, as I want to go down town. Waitress—She has finished the letter, sir. and is just beginning on the postscript. Husband —Then I can go to the office for an hour or two before she finishes.— [New York Press. # A GENUINE ANTIQUE. Mrs. Suburb—ls this the house you’ve been talking about? I don’t like it at all. Agent—lt's the latest Queen Ann style, mum. Mrs. Suburb—l don't like it. The kitchen opens right into the parlor, or nearly so. Agent—Yes, mum. Queen Anne was a favorite cook, mum. She named that fine old apple pudding, ‘brown Betty,’ after Queen Elzaboth, mum. Queen Elisabeth was noted for doing things up brown, you know, mum. Mrs. Suburb—And, dear me, the cellar is half full of water. Agent—Yes, inum. In those old days people always kept water on hand, to use in time of a siege, you know, mum.— [New York Weekly. WHAT HE MEANT. , Ethel —What did you mean by telling Jessie I was the biggest flat you ever knew? George—l meant that, er—you were the most level headed girl in town. — [New York Herald. THE WILY FARMER. In the spring the wily farmer Sits him down with spirit glad, And to some city daily sends a Gorgeous summer ad. —(New York Herald. CIRCUMSTANCES ALTER CASES. “How many uro included in the general public?” “it depends on whether you are inviting it to subscribe for a newspaper, or to come up and take a drink. ’’ —[Kato Field's Washington. AN UNFASHIONABLE PAIR. “I think Mr. True and Miss Goodheart have concluded to withdraw from society.” “What makes you think so?’’ “Why they've been engaged for three weeks and there is no talk yet about the affair being broken off." ANYTHING TO ACCOMMODATE. I )r, iggist—Here's the only remedy in the world for a cold. Customer—l’ve tried that. I don’t care for it. Druggist—Then here's someth'ng just as good. BEFORE THE YEAR IS OVER. Belle-—Who do you suppose I'll be be: fore leap year is over? Blanche—Left, I guess. MYSTERIOUS. Dusty Rhodes—That Mrs. Dogood is u mighty mysterious critter. I asked hei for n ham bone this morning anti naturully expected to get a civil answer. Fitz William—Wlmtdid she say? Dusty Rhodes —She told mo to say nothing and saw wood.—[New York Herald. /wl EVERYTHING NEEDFUL. Old Grimes—Hullo, Bub, what y? doin' with that big dog? Smart boy—Can’t you see. I've got reins on him, an’ a whip. I’m out drivin’. Old Grimes—But ye hain't got n< wagon. Smart Boy—His tall is a waggin, ain't it?—[Good News. TOO MUCH FOR HIM. Upon Benny's return from his first day nt school his mother asked him il he hail learned anything new at school' “Yes’m,” he replied confidently, “1 learned the difference between a horidicular and a perpizontal line.”—[Philadelphia Times. HE DID. Bride (just after the wedding)—Alfred, you promised to give ine a surprise after we were married. Say, what ii it? Groom (s widower) —I’ve got six children, my pet.—[Comic.

ABOUT A CORK.

Its Autobiography Pleasantly Told In Jerky Sentences. I am a cork. Young in years, very young. One day I was taken from u bundle of other corks. Put into a bottle of champagne. Sent to the Hotel Continental, Paris. Thrown on the floor of room 95. Lay there two days. - Was picked np by Leon Gascon. He tried to put nw into a bottle of absinth. 1 wouldn't go in. Was cursed and thrown on the floor again. Kicked by Leon when he reached for his revolver, muttering: “It is false; good-bye, Louise.” ' Next day was picked up by a chambermaid. Thrown out on the street. A ragpicker took me up. Sold me to a cork cutter. Was plated among other corks. Next day wus trimmed, pared, till I was a very ghost of a champagne cork. Was sold to a druggist. Put into a pint bottle of eau de cologne. Bought by a lady. Placed in a dressing case. Confined to a trunk. Shipped to New Aork. Put on a train. Jolted around by an expressman. Taken out of the trunk, placed on the toilet table of u Prairie avenue belle. Carefully taken out and replaced each day for months. Began to grow spongy. Wrinkled in face. Lost my co or. » Grew smaller, narrower, shrunken. Head softened. Lower extremities withered. A prey to microbes. A tremble. A glass stopper will take my place tomorrow. I go—where?--[Chicago Times. There is a good story told of the powers of the Rev. W. H. Gladden, the evangelist. Mr. Gladden wus brought into prominence lust summer by his work at the Tarentum camp meeting. There the religious fervor ran so high that it wus a common occurrence for persons at the meetings to become overpowered und remain insensible for some time. One instance is recalled of a man who, becoming excited, shouted “Gio ” and then fell over unconscious, remaining in that condition for an hour. On coming to he completed the exclamation by saying “ry," showing that his mouth had been set to say “Glory," but at ths first syllable animation was suspended, and when the senses were restored ths lips had to complete the word.