Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 September 1892 — Page 5

COWS!

llfce list Poe* Sto My «weethe«rt' my loveling! yen flarrkeired *ll the day, When from my silent dwelling your footsteps turned away; The morn was dark as midnight, the noonday sad as dawn, The milk-white daisies drooped their heads along the dewy lawn. My darling! my dearest! I sought the garden round, Bat never in a blossom your precious free I found. Mo rose was red beside your lips, no Hy She Jour throat, Mo Sound or thrilling of your voioe to any thrush’s note. Ah! what is Kke your eyes, dear? gray sparkles of the sea, So clear and crystal shining their beryl glances be; And where is any flower of all that may compare With the softly danoing glitter of the sunshine in .your hair. Alone through lingering daytime I listen for yeurfeet, Those springing «teps no longer along the pathway beat; I hear the dewdrops rustle In the branches overhead, But bome and yon together for many a day have fled. My life .is sad and weary, too dark with want -and pain, Butyour dear eyes would bring its light and gladness back again. J«y soul tis tired of desert sands, bereft of cheer and balm, Bor you were like the diamond spring beneath its lonely palm. ♦ • Home back) come back, my darling! Across the spaces bearl Gome light this night of griet and gloom, my Hesper shining clear; Mot long have Ito linger, not long to call or cry; ■Gome back, my treasure! come, my heart, and bless me e’er I die 1 —[Bose Y. Cooke in the Independent.

A COSTLY EARTHQUAKE

It was at Havre, during the height of the season; the low tide signal was flying and the usual crowd of men that one always sees there at the bathing hour had ranged themselves along the edge of the little wooden walk from the cluster of bath houses to the water's edge to see the fair bathers trip in. I had seen it all a hundred times at least and knew the scene by heart. The fat woman satiated me, the thin ones repelled me, the sands of this pebbly beach were never intended to be sat on comfortably, and I was about to retreat to the shaded corridors of Frascati’s wellknown hostelry, when M. le Qual, a tall, robust, well-preserved compatriot, whom I had first met at the table d’hote a week ago, approached and took a seat beside me. He was alone and naturally I remarked, -scanning the crowd of heads bobbing about on the waves before us: “Madame, I presume, is in the bath, monsieur?” “Yes,” replied he, pointing her out to me; “behold her!” She was standing erect now; the waves leaving to view a charming head. A beautiful head, I should have said—rich black hair, soft dark eyes, red lips and transparent -skin—in short, an ideal and piquant brunette, so pretty that I could not help telling the husband of my admiration. “But,’’said I, “she surely cannot be French, monsieur; she looks too much dike a Spanish woman.” “No,”.he answered, “she is neither the one nor the other,” and then, without further preamble or hesitation, .he began, and told me the following -story; 4 ilt was a Summer evening in the year 187 —,” said he, “and I was sitting on :the veranda of a charming dwelling in the outskirts of the city of Caracas. Before me stretched a perspective of beautifully kept lawn and shaded walks, while farther along, among the shady trees, shone the silvery gleam of a tiny lake, and far off in the distance the dazzling white of the Caracas houses against a background of sun and sombre mountains.

“But it was not at Nature's painting ithat J was gazing at that moment. I did mot need to search the landscape for ibeauties ,-to charm the eye when at my side was seated what seemed to me then and still—for -she is now my wife, sir—tfhe .loveliest woman that I had ever set 'eyes’on. “To describe ito you the ardor with Which I regarded the lustre of the dark hair, the gentle depths of the black eyes, the scarlet curves of the smiling lips and sylph-like figure is simply impossible. Suffice it that I appreciated them so thoroughly. that I had just proposed to her- - though it took the courage of a Napoleon to do it—and was waiting breathlessly to receive my answer, •‘•‘She liked me, I knew, her father also, and I had been a great deal at their house; but liking is not love, and whether Nina 4e Latore loved me or not, the cool friendliness of her manner, so tantalizing to a lover who his doom ahead, had hitherto prevented my finding out. “Yon know of course, sir,” pursued M. le QuaL, diverging a moment from the line of his story, “how frequent earthquakes are in that part of South Africa, especially in summer, when they oecur almost daily. At the day I speak of, every since early morning, the ground had been shivering inwardly, while from time to time a low, deep rumble could be heard, like the mutter of distant thunder. “Like every one else, however, who lived in Caracas, I had grown accustomed to and in a measure indifferent tq these constant seismic disturbances, but now, even in the absorbing interest of the subject that filled my thoughts, I could not help noticing how greatly of late these quaking tremors had increased. “In fact, I had hardlyfinished my lover’s plea, when a huge porcelain va6e at the fodt of the steps was jostled from its pedestal and shivered to atoms and at the same instant I was thrown violently to the floor of the balcony. With a haste that ■ great peril only inspires, I was on my feet again and turning to seek Nina to seize her in my arms and if possible to bear her to a place of safety. She was no longer beside me, and looking about me, dazed though I was, I could no longer see her. “It was useless as well as madness to wait longer, and with difficulty keeping my footing on the rocking floor I fled down the staggering, steps and from the dangerous neighborhood of the groaning house. To go far, however, on the tossing ground was impossible; sick and dizzy, I was forced to my knees. The house behind me swayed and swun<* from side to side; the chimneys cracked and toppled down on the roof; whole planks.

wrenched fev the tmrtft from their fastenings, 'leaving great holes m the walls; the stairs writhed and fell apart , the beams slid from their supports an crashed fco the earth in a debris of wrecked wood, glass, bricks and plaster. “In less than a moment, it seems to me, the beautiful villa of an hour ago was reduced to a heap) of dust and broken rubbish. All this happened in less time than it takes to tell it, but a still more terrible scene remained to be ■enacted, for all of a sudden, with a report like musketry, the earth cracked open and the ruins were swnllowed up in its depths. ‘ ‘At the same instant there was a scream behind me in Nina’s voice. I turned, but alas! only in time to see the earth open again where she lay and engulf my beloved as the ruins had been. “ ‘God have mercy upon us!’ I cried, and sought on hands and knees to fight my way towards the crevice that I believed had swallowed her, but now on every side great rents were coming and going, nearer and nearer each time to where I crouched, reckless and paralyzed with despair, and then, before I had time to realize the horror of it, and with only a momentary vision of dense blackness before my eyes, I too was engulfed in the earth!” M. le Qnai paused to wipe his damp brow, beaded with sweat at the mere recollection of that hideous moment. “Monsieur,” resumed he, presently, when he had somewhat conquered his emotion, “if ever you have dreamed that you were buried alive, then you have had a foretaste of the feeling with which I once recovered consciousness. No hell could have been blacker than the place where, on regaining my senses, I found myself, prone on my back. No crack or cranny permitted entrance to a single ray of God’s blessed light, and to know the full torture of eternal darkness you have only once to experience it. The deadly silence, too, of the place was awful ;my breathing sounded to me like the hissing of a furnace. I could plainly see my heart beat, and even, it seemed to me, the blood surge through my veins. “When I tried to move, sharp pains shot through my whole body, but I soon found, to my joy, that I was only bruised and no bones broken. God knows why I was not killed, for the floor of my prison was of solid rock. “How far had I fallen? With an effort, I dragged myself to my feet, and taking a trinket hung to my watch-chain, I hurled it with all my strength up into the darkness. It struck, but not before its force was nearly spent. The last hope left me. I was buried alive in a pit—a pit more than a hundred feet deep! “Overcome by the anguish of my thoughts and the oppression of the pitchy darkness, I sank again to the ground and gave myself up to utter despair. “After a while, an eternity in length, I determined to explore the extent of the cavern into which fate had plunged me and which was destined to be my grave. Perhaps, too, a sound that for a little while past had been gradually becoming audible to me had something to -do with rousing me to action. “This noise came from a distance, and to my heated fancy and sensitive ears, sounded like the wheezing of a subterranean bellows. I cautiously moved forward and found the ground seemed to slope towards the point whence the noise came. “Walking on slowly, with outstretched hand, groping, you may say, it was not very long before I struck against a wall of rock. Retracing my way, I came against another, equally solid. “ ‘I am swallowed in a cleft? thought I, shudderingly, ‘high, narrow., burrowing deeper and deeper with with every inch and leading—God knows where. — to the bowels of the earth, perhaps? “Crushed by this discovery, for awhile I was powerless to advance a step, but then, as I had nothing to lose, I determined to make an effort to press on and leave no stone unturned that might set me at liberty. Creeping little by little down the stony gorge, I was at last close to the point whence those panting puffs came. My heart beat like a hammer.

“‘lt is a precipice,’l thought, iand the wheezing sound the wind in its depths. Better be killed outright than die a slow death of starvation!’ “And I put out my foot expecting to encounter only spaee. Instead I stumbled over something soft and fell forward. Blindly I felt about me and my hand touched something warm a human face ! “I felt again, running my hand along the body as the blind explore, and made out a dress! Like a flash it dawned upcn me. ‘Nina, Nina” I cried aloud, my voice rolling and reverberating like the voice of a thousand. “She was not dead, either, for it was the sound of her breathing that I had taken for a wind in the subterranean depths or the smothered rushing of a volcanic stream. I eaught her hands— I chafed them in mine—but it is useless, monsieur, to go over again those dragging moments of agony when I worked over the half-dead body of my love, or those moments of mingled joy aad torture when her returning consciousness had to struggle with the fearful reality. ‘‘l told her as well as I could where we were and how we had come there. To her piteous pleas for comfort I could only respond with a sorrowful silence or an equally piteous entreaty to her to be hopeful. “At that moment, sir—how strangely does the aspect of things change as the wheel of life goes!—we would both of us have given ten years of our lives to have escaped from our living tomb. Now I, at least, would not have escaped that experience. I should then never have known those bitter-sweet hours when my love and I, buried together and with death staring us in the face, were drawn together bv the strongest tie humanity knows—the bond of a common adversity. “When at last, on my persuasion, Nina sought to move, she fell back helpless with a loud cry of pain; she had sprained her ankle and could not stir without agony. Nothing could be done but to lie there where she had fallen.

“How long we remained thus I do not know. Hunger and thirst came in time, two new troubles added to the rest. Though we could not lose ourselves in sleep, still our minds were tortured with waking dreams, horrible to think of now. The strain, in truth, was so hideously cruel, that Nina, at times, grew delirious, tossed and writhed regardless of the pain she gave herself and filled the darkness with her heartrending cries. “Then again peace would return and she would cling to my hand for human companionship simply to feel that some one was near. As I say, how long this lasted, I do not know, but, suddenly, after an eternal torture, a shiver struck brusquely through walls and floor, followed by another and still another, accompanied at first by a faint rumble that :i"-ay in the echoing bowels of the ... it soon the rumble grew to a roar, the roar to thunder. The noise was deafening. The rocky ground heaved like the ocean. It was my turn now to lose my reason. I knew not what I did, but

Nina tells me that I seized her in my arms, that in & frenzy of despairing love I covered her face, her hands with kisses, crying aloud wildly; “ ‘lf die we must, Nina, wo can at least die together! You are mine, mine forever now! Not even death itself can part us!’ “Proportionately as I lost my senses Nina became calm, besought me to regain my composure and pleaded with me to think only of the next world—so near. “But heaven ordered otherwise. In the midst of the tumultuous tossing of the earth the roof of our cavern suddenly split in twain, letting in so blinding a glare of light that even with our eyes closed our eyeballs felt as if pierced with red-hot knives. Either this was tho signal for quiet again or the dying throe of the giant chained in those rock-ribbed vitals; the rumbling died away, the sickening quaking ceased. “When we at last dared to open our eyes and look at each other we found ourselves in a rift of comparatively shallow depth. The second earthquake had been our savior and forced up the bed of the subterranean gorge that imprisoned us perhaps eighty feet.” “But how did you get out then?” cried I, shivering with interest, as if I myself had been the victim of this terrible catastrophe. “With no trouble at all, monsieur,” Mme. le Qual responded, who had long since come from the water and now advanced from the shelter of her bathhouse, “ the Caracas people drew us out with ropes, you know. They had run, as usual, to the earthquake ground to give what help they could, and the rest was easy.” “My poor little girl!” murmured her husband tenderly, as he drew her to his side, “you speak of it lightly, but that earthquake cost you dearly—home and father at a blow, with only a husband to balance the loss.” “Exactly,” she answered, laughing lightly and pulling him to his feet with the roguish abandon of a happy child, “a husband too infatuated to mind the fact that owing to that self-same earthquake his goddess—limps I—[From the French.

The Modern Tooth.

Fresh from' his recent revelation as to the inevitable results of higher education on the woman of the future, Sir James Crichton Brown, who presided over a meeting of the British Association, ha 9 felt it is painful duty to call attention to the lamentable condition of' the tooth of the present. The picture he draws is truly desolating, and it is all the more so in that it is founded on the relentless basis of actual investigation. Out of 1,861 children under twelve recently examined the proportion of those blest with normal or perfect teeth in need of neither extraction nor filling was only one in eighteen. Even more alarming are the dental statistics of Leeds, where the teeth of 90 percent of the population are bad. Furthermore Sir James stated that no fewer than 10,000,000 of artifical teeth are used ia England annually. Of the three causes to which Sir James Crichton Brown attributed the present parlous condition of the human tooth —soft food, high pressure and vitiated atmosphere—the first, at least, is by no means an inevitable condition of latter-day life. On the other hand the nervous tension of modern existence and the growth of large towns are factors which cannot be eliminated from the great dental problem, and are bound to exert an increasingly destructive influence on the type of the coming man. We are rapidly tending toward an era of total baldness, and this, it seems, is to be further aggravated by toothlessness. There is an ancient Greek legend of the daughters ■of Phorcys, who had only one eye and one tooth among them. This, we take it, must have been a prophetic view of the results of culture and civilization on the woman of the future.—[London Globe.

A Fine Rifle Shot.

■“The best rifle shot I ever saw was an East Tennesseean who acted as scout for the army of the Cumberland,” said Major R. B. Baer at the Southern. “His name was Brownlow, but whether he was a relative of the fighting parson of that name Ido not know. Brownlow was a tall, lank specimen of humanity and looked like a typical frontiersman. He wore a coonskin cap and carried a rifle a foot longer than himself, with which he could put half an ounce of lead squarely between a man’s eyes at a distance of nearly half a mile. He fought for sheer love of it, was always hunting for victims, and used to boast that he averaged a dozen a week. He hung on the enemy’s picket lines night and day, and when Old Tom,’ as he called his lingering eternity of a gun, cracked there was certain to be a death. One day, during a sharp skirmish, Brownlow ensconced himself in a big cottonwood tree and was dirojppaaag Confederates as fast as he could feed bullets to ‘Old Tom,’ when a Mississippi sharpshooter made a sneak for another tall cottonwood about six hundred yards distant. The Tennesseean sped him, there were two puffs of smoke from among the freen leaves and the two killers came own head first, with their long deer rifles rattling after them.—[St. Louis Globe-Democrat.

A Snake in Church.

The services at Grace Methodist Church were rather unpleasantly interrupted last Sunday evening by the appearance of a snake in one of the aisles. The reptile, the species of which cannot be agreed upon by members of the congregation, was about two feet long, and as it crawled along the passage with a wicked look in its eyes made things mighty uncomfortable for those in the immediate vicinity. One or two ladies were especially loud in their exclamations, and would probably be still standing in the pew in their attempts to get as far as possible from his snakeship had not a courageous young man picked up the serpent and carried it out. The ladies then regained their seats, also their breath, and the programme continued.' The reptile was probably a harmless gopher snake, but some have been so bold as to say that it belonged to a more dangerous type.— [Santa Barbara (Cal.) Press.

Big Oysters are Sick.

The enormous oyster shells displayed in front of a popular restaurant are an abnormal growth. In the Indian Ocean the shells sometimes reach an extraordinary size, but the remarkable thickness is caused by a disease, which, to the oyster, is something like elephantiasis to the man. The disease is common enough among oysters, but it is rare that so exaggerated a case is seen as in the huge shells already mentioned.—[New York Journal.

WANE OF THE SEASON.

THE SUMMER GIRL IS DYING HARD, The Stylish Gowns Displayed by tho Dovotoes of Fashion at Stylish Resorts Some Becoming Outdoor Costumes— Suitable Children’s Dresses. Delightful Gausy Efleets. New York correspondence:

ILENDER figures, gloriously longkwaisted, and long ■ arms superbly set off w with the enormous puffs which have done duty as sleeves this season, will, if rumor proves true, disappear from the domain of Queen Fashion ere many moons. At last the dumpy woman is to have her revenge, and what an exquisite pleasure it will be to her to see her hated rival shorn of all power to fascinate the fickle throng that frequents the gayer walks of life. This -rumor is to the effect s*that the empire gown will be the only wear this fall and next

winter, that the shorter the waist, tho greater the hold the owner will have upon popular favor, that all this talk of long, flowing lines and linked graee long drawn out will be confined to artists’ studios, and that the dumpy girl with her chubby cheeks and plump figure will alone be in the mode and will catch the flying favor of the hour. Well, we shall see. It took more than one summer girl to make a season, and It may take more than a handful of plump beauties to make an autumn. I’m not going to bo rash enough to advise one of my fair readers to order an empire gown, not unless she contemplates attending a swell literary reception in October. It doesn’t matter so much where tho mistress of a literary salon sets her waist line, provided she keeps a good supply of puns, epigrams, and fine sayings on hand for impromptus. But this much I can safely say, that woolens will be worn plain, that stripes will be relegated to the sweet gone-by, and that black will again come Into favor fbr evening dresses. Prophets should never be rash in their predictions, and, as all signs fall in dry weather, so it frequently happens that no colors count until they have been adopted. The king is not dead yet, although wo are approaching so dangerously near to a change in the ministry of happiness. We are still under the regipie of sunshine and open air, henoe you will not expoot me to utter treasonable words

LATE SOMMER

concerning wraps and autumn gowns. In my initial illustration you will find pictured a very pretty costume for an afternoon or reception, made up in a marble foulard, richly garnltured with Irich eoru guipure, forming a plastron In front. The belt Is composed of two broad ribbons hooked together. The lower sleeves are also of the guipure. The skirt is finished with a ruche at the bottom. In this particular material the changeable colors were gray and salmon, and the marbled markings white. All through September we shall have outdoor fetes, for the summer girl will die hard. She has no fntention of setting her dainty little shoes up in a line and marking them “Ichabod” before the time comes. I can’t blame her, either. Summer is such a delight that it often seems as if it never would come again. It is like a beautiful and satisfactory experience of falling in love, where two warm souls meet In June and go through July and August together. They are like the grasshopper: they dread to think of faoing the wintry blast, the rude gale and uncivil squall of snow. Anyone can be cold, grumpy, and freezing; it takes the summer girl to follow the example of the flowers and sunshine, and be beautiful In thirty different ways every month. I take pleasure in showing her as she still lives and moves and has her being. Take, for instance, the delightful creature as she appears in the second picture, wearing an exquisite "gossamer gown of which the overskirt is of embroidered ecru batiste and the under of mauvo silk. The former has two Insertions and a border of Irish guipure. At the waist there is a ribbon belting in the overdress. The corsage at the top has a crossed fichu of plain batiste. The epaulets ars of embroidered batiste, the bell sleeves plain, and the cuffs in

EARLY AUTUMN.

guipure. A white sunshade trimmed With laoe, white hat and white shoes oomplete a costume which is, in a word, a midsummer dream of fleecy clouds, just edged with color enough to show that autumn is near, and that tones will soon deepen as the plums take on a richer purple and the apples a ruddier glow. Another and a different look at the

■umm«r girl Is had in the third Illustration. She is olad in a lovely gown of silver-gray bengaline with embroidered muslin plastron, framed with an edging of jet to hide the lino of union with the bengaline. The aleeves aie finished with ribbon at theeflbow, and the lower sleeves are of muslin. Ribbon, belt, and skirt are finished with a narrow ruffle of the material. Said a charming girl to me at one of the fashionable watering places: "Why, I have heard and' read so much about this everlasting summer girl, with her July jollity and August agony, her walk and her waist, her brag and her braces, her gowns and her “go," and yet, where is she? All the girls I meet are built on the same lines as I am; they wear the same style of dress, talk like me, and act like mo." “Yes,” said I, laughingly, “thero’s a good reason why you oan't find the summer girl, a very good reason, and it is that you are she. You didn’t recognize the type, for you expected to find something different from what you had been looking at in your own mirror these many days. ” And that maiden went her ways marveling groatly. The fourth picture shows you yet another manifestation. This time wo lay hold of the thing—for it is so protean, so variable in form and so changeable in color as to merit the name of thing—as it appears when it alights upon solid ground and permits you to gaze upon it calmly. For the first you dlsoover what its hair is like, and whethor its nails have been polished, and how it looks in

STAMPED FOULARD.

an attitude of repose. The gown worn in this instance is altogether charming and delicate. It is a foulard of soft ivory, over which some fairy has scattered flowrets as bluo as corn flowers. The lace yoke is set around with a deep lace flounce, and the bolt is fashioned from a bias of amber-colored velvet. The sleeves have braokets of the velvet and lace ouffs. The bottom of the skirt is gamitured with three narrow pleadings of the material laid on ae indicated. Fan and shoes match. At many of the summer resorts this season I have been sti uck by the beauty of the oostumes worn by little maidens of 12 and 14, who, although still school children, are already growing restive over problems that have no human interest in them. Foreigners assure us that we have no children in our country, and I’m greatly Inclined to believe that they are right, especially when I see one of these same schoolgirls, so called, who would much prefer to witness a tug of war or a game of foot-ball between two sets of college boys than to read bow “Horatlus kept the bridge, in the brave days of old." In my last illustration I present such a child. Her costume is very pretty, and she wears it with a grace that would do credit to an older sister. It 1b composed of dark-blue and ecru linen. At the bottom of the skirt there is a deep band of blue material. The yoke, belt, collar and lower sleeve are of the ecru, embroidered. The puffed sleeves are of the blue. The blouse buttons on the left side, its folds being held in place by the belt. At the same summer resort I noted a very fetching sailor suit consisting of white serge waist and skirt, with paleblue sailor cuffs and collar, sash and long enas of the blue, and white sailor hat with blue ribbon. But now comes the original part of the costume. Across the front of the skirt a huge anchor and

BLUE AND ECRU LINEN

colled rope were embroidered in blue, and the effect was very pleasing. With the very first cool breath of autumn air our thoughts will very naturally turn to the subject of headgear, for nothing goes so quickly out of fashion as a hat. Hence it may be advisable to have a word to say right here of the coming style in hats. During October it is quite likely that the cloth felts will be very modish, especially in soft shades of light-brown and tan. The shapes will run to toques and English country hats. There will be nothing very new about these first comers, for they will be quite independent of winter styles. They will be essentially round hate, qualified to bridge over the supplemental season, with nothing original or fantastic about them. In addition to these cloth felts, we shall have the late summer hat in black and pearlgray straw, trimmed with velvet bands and loops, and set off with oetrich tips. Young people who Intend doing the supplemental season will lay aside flowers for fruits and berries, worn wreathwise, and where feathers are used the popular “feelers,” simulated by cock’s feathers, will be sure to hold their place, the lower part of the quill being laid bare and only an oval bit of the extremity coming in sight. Copyright, lavi. Queen Victoria Is at her old tricks—-match-making—as fast as ever she can. The formal announcement of the betrothal of the Duke of York to his cousin is looked for daily by the anxious London fashionables, and a royal wedding in St George’s Chapel, Windsor, is prophesied for about next March 01 ApriL The Educational Society of Bosenhagen is the name of a society consisting of a number of citizens of Kosenhagen, N. J. Their object is the education ol the residents of the town in the English language.

THE JOKER'S BUDGET

JESTS AND YARNS BY FUNNY MEN OP THE PRESS. Why He Couldn’t Take It Out—Why She Licked Him—Not as Exquisite as She Thought—Astronomical, &e., &c. WHY HE COULDN’T TAKE IT OUT. Principal Smith is one of the wisest and kindest of teachers, but now and then his watchfulness makes him oversuspicious. In the geography class the other day his eye fell upon a boy who seemed to be eating something. “Jack,” said the master, sternly, “tako that piece of candy out of your mouth at once.” To his astonishment a giggle went round the room, and the next instant poor Jack answered: “I can’t, sir; it’s a gumboil.”—[Detroit Free Press. WHY SHE LIKED HIM. He had brought her a chair, then a fan, then an ice, and as he went after her shawl her friend remarked: “You seem to think a great deal of Mr. Simmons.” “Y'es,” was the reply, “I like him for his fetching ways.—[Washington Star. NOT AS EXQUISITE AS SHE THOUGHT. Miss Thin—Don’t you think my new dress is just exquisite? They all say so. Fannie—Oh, lovely! I think that dressmaker of yours could make a clothes pole look quite graceful.—[Chicago Evening Journal. ABTKONOMICAL. She read of the planets, she read of the stars, Though the subject was none to clear; “Oh, what do you think of this visit of Mars?” She said to her husband dear. Then over her liege lord’s merry face There scudded a look of pain, And he gasped, us ho choked on* his buttered roll, “Is your mother coming again?” [ —New York Recorder. A CONSIDER ATE WOMAN. “I’m very glad to have been of any comfort to your poor husband, my good woman. But what made you send for me instead of your own minister?” “Well, sir, it’s typhus my poor husband’s got and we dinna think it is just richt for our ain dear minister to run the risk.”

ENCOURAGEMENT. Mr. Dolly—Did any ono over attemp to steal a kiss from you? Miss Polly—Oh, yes, the attempt has been made, but in vain. Mr. Dolly (sighing)—Then it would be foolish for me to make the attempt. Miss Polly—l suppose so. I don’t know. One cannot always be on the nlert, you know.—[Now York Press. A SIDE ISSUE. Her tennis costume is so gay, And tits so very neatly, The question whether she can play Must be ignored completely. —[Washington Star. UNCLE JEWRY HUSK’S CONCEIT. The President—Whjit’s the matter With Jerry this morning ? I started to congratulate him on the excellent quality of weather he’s furnishing, but ho turned away and walked off with his head in the air. i think he’s getting sort of conceited and vuin. ’Lije—Y'es, he is a little weather vain! —[Boston News. WANTED A WIFE. Miss Antique—You ought to get married, Mr. Oldchapp. Mr. Oldchapp (earnestly)—l have wished many times lately that I hud u wife. Miss Antique (delighted)—Have you, really ? Mr. Oldehapp—Yes. If I had a wife, she’d probably have a sowing machine, and the sewing machine would have an oil-can, and I could take it and oil my office chair. It squeaks horribly.—[ New York WeeKly, CRUELTY. Mr. De Fashion—l see an English woman has been fined for having her two dogs pull the baby carriage. Mrs. De Fashion—She ought to be, the cruel thing. Why didn’t she make the baby pull the dogs ?—[New York Weekly.

CAUSED THE FIRE. - Wool—lt is said the firefly strikes the spark by rubbing its wings together. Van Pelt—l presume that’s right; I have often read of fires being caused by a defective flew. PABT OF THE BIRD. The Young Housewife (to the butcher) —Have you a nice spring chicken this morning? “Yes, ma’am.” “Well, please cut out the croquettes and send them to my address.”—[Chicago News-Record. HE THOUGHT IT WAS LEAP TEAS. She—l love all that is grand, majestic and beautiful. He—Thank you very much, Miss Wilkins, but—er—really, you embarrass me. —[Boston Globe. WHERE SHE WOULD BE SAFE. * Ben has been promoted to i ‘pants.” He has thoroughly imbued his little sister with the idea of their grandeur. So, when her mother told her not to go to the meadow with Ben lest the cow should hurt her, she exclaimed: “Why, ‘course she can’t hurt me. I’ll just get behind Bennie’s pants.” THOSE GENERAL INVITATIONS. A sportsman who, on the strength of a general invitation, had gone to pass a week with a friend in the country, soon found by a gentle hint he would have done better to have waited for a special one. “I saw some beautiful scenery,” was the viator’s first remark, “as I came today by the upper road.” “You will see still finer,” was the reply, “as you go back to-morrow by the lower one.” HE KNEW HIS BUSINESS. Gushing Girl—Now, don’t you put my name in your paper; dlbn’t you dare. Experienced reporter—Very well. How did you say you spell your name?—[lnterOcean. MATCHED HER DRESS. Lady—You said you had two cats. Little Girl—Yes’m, a white one an’ a black one. Lady—You have only brought me the black one. Little Girl—Yes. They is both sheddin’ their coats awful, an’ I brought the black one ’cause your dress is black.— [Good News.

THE MATTER OF BAIT. The pastor was calling at the house of Brother Billings, and the small boy was entertaining him until the parents came down. "Do you ever go fishin’?” inquired the youngster, who had inherited his father’s fondness for the sport. “I am a fisher of men,” he responded. “Do you carry your bait in a jug, like papa does,” was the next question, and just at that moment Brother Billings appeared with a seraphic smile of innocence lighting up his genial countenance. — [Detroit Free Press. NO GOOD. “Been abroad, I understand? Visited Switzerland? How did you like it?” Piggleton (from Illinois) —Tell you the truth, I was disappointed in Switzerland. Too hilly, you know; nor a bit like Chicago.—[Boston Transcript. ONE WAY OUT OF IT. Travers Can yon have this hat charged to me? llutter—All our business is done on a cash basis, sir. Travers—Then lend me $5. —[Clothier and Furnisher. A FINE FINISH. Tramp—l see you are advertising for a pants finisher. ; Tailor— Yes, but you hardly look as if you had had any experience. Tramp—Experience 1 If this pair I’ve got on aiu’t finished, I’d like to see a pair what is.—[Brooklyn Life.

IT HAPPENED TO COME TO HER. Young Wife [at midnight) —Wake up! Wake up! Husband—What is it, dear? Robbers? Young Wife—Mercy, no! You asked mo at supper what ailed that cake. It just happened to come to me this minute. I forgot to put any sugar in it.—[Truth. INEXPERIENCED. Gladys—l don’t believe Mr. Hpooncj knows anything about driving horses. Grace—Why, how did he act? Gladys—Why, he drove with both hands all the whole blessed way.—[Chicago Inter-Ocean. A SAD PLIGHT. A tear stood in her bright blue eye, Her quivering lip told sorrow’s tale, Hers mingled with the zephyr’s sigh, Her bosom heaved, her check grew pale. Harsh fate had done for hei its worst, And at her anguish seemed to scoff; I found the gentle maid had hurst Her left suspender button off. —[New York Press. CONSOLING. He— “Y'ou do not love me; then farewell forever. I shall commit suicide tonight.” She—“ Don’t, George. Even though papa will not let me marry you, perhaps lie will lend you a little money.” A REVELATION. Young Mr. Yccrwed had been gazing for along time at the antics of his littlo three-year-old baby. The child was suns hair, sans teeth, lias a red face and a frightful yell, but she was his child, and lie loved her. At length the little ono looked up, and laughed; and the overjoyod Yeerwcd, turning to his wife, ejaculated, “By Jove! Maud, it actually seems as though baby was almost human.” —[Hurper’s Bazar. HARD LUCK. Many days he hesitated, Then his bitter fate he cursed; While for some good chance ho waited Another man, less agitated, Proposed and was accepted first. —[New York Herald.

VERY WRONG. “You did wrong to cull Dawson a flannel mouth duffer.” “Well, isn’t he?” “Of course he isn’t. Flannel shrinks, and Dawson’s mouth never does." —[Judge. REASSURANCE. Timid Lady going up.yi yVashington Monument elevator) —G’onuvtctbr, what if the rope breaks that holds us? Conductor—-Oh, there arc a number more attached as safety ropes. Timid Lady—But if they all break where shall we go? Conductor—(sh, well, mum, that all depends on what kind of life you have been living before. t QUESTION AND ANSWER. Mildred—What are you looking at mo for? Jack—l know what I'd like to look at you for. Mildred—What? Jack—Forever.—Boston Courier.

Spanish Laziness.

“One reason for the existence of the tremendous trees in California is the averseness of the Spaniards to felling trees or cutting live timber of any sort, ” said G. A. Satterlee of Los Angeles, Cal., at the Southern. “The Spaniards, you know, two centuries ago pushed their way through Mexico to California, and save the clearing of paths through the dense forests not a twig did their axes chop down. Nor do the Spaniards transplanted to this continent ever destroy timber. With stubborn pertinaciousness strangely at variance with their lethargic dispositions they continue to build their houses of stone and mortar at great expense of money and physical exertion when timber in abundance surrounds them out of which they could construct log houses, as did other pioneers, at a minimum of cost and labor. Why, the Spaniard doesn’t even fell trees for firewood, but picks up dead limbs as they fall to the ground, or pulls them from the trees with his lariat.”—[St Louis Globe-Democrat.

Universal Pigeon English

Many persons do not know and many may be interested in learning that for a hundred years Pigeon English has been the recognized language of trade and commerce for about 500,000,000 Asiatics and Africans in all their dealings with foreigners of all other nationalities. The English, Americans, French. Italians. Russians, Germans and Dutch must ajjL. use Pigeon English in order to tr4nga©t' r business with the natives. Pigeon English is more nearly a universal language than any other in the world, and if our alphabet could be made “fonetik” would likely soon become a special language for all nations, especialy if aidtxl by the 100,000,000 speaking regular English and its dialects. What is Volapuk alongside of Pigeon English? —[Minneapolis Tribune. Baby blue is the very height of fashion.