Image provided by: Yamhill County Historical Society; McMinnville, OR
About The Telephone=register. (McMinnville, Or.) 1889-1953 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 25, 1887)
»EHI-WEEKLY TELEPHt )NE M’MINNVILLE, OREGON, FEBRUARY WEST SIDE ’TELEPHONE. AN EVERY TUESDAY AND FRIDAY In one of the count!« ss chambers \V here slumber held its sway— Dreaming perhaps of E ister— A tranquil sleeper lay, When the whisper of w mrs beside hex Waited her dreams away. 'Fin-nei-, «S¿ Publisher« and Proprietors. SUBSCRIPTION RATES: Six months . ............................... Throe months........................... Is It a bird? she wondered Lift.ng her startled head. As she heard the delicate flitting Circle around her bed. And anon against th«» casement The sweep ot those wings outspread. .. 1 25 75 Entered In tbe Poatofflce at McMinnville, Ur., as second-class matte.. H. V. V. It was not the palpitant duffer or some po »r terrified thing That heateth th * bars of Its prison, And bruiseth Its tender wing But an eager, exultant motion. Glad a" the impulse of spring. JOHNSON, M. D. IJurthwutt corner of Second and B streets, M c M innville - - • The flash of a thought, and the listener Had U rbted her lamp anew. And wide on the sha lowy chamber Its fullest radiance threw. When straightway toward Us shining The beautiful visitant flew. oregon May be found at his office when not absent on pro- fea tonal buihieM. LITTLEFIELD & CALBREATH, Physicians A moth, a marvel of measure. From tip to tip <-f It« wings. Painted In colors respondent— Lightest and fairest of things; Type of the Resurrections The angel’s own message it brln <s! and Surgeons, M c M innville . O regon . Office over Braly’a Bank. Physician and Surgeon, - - There lay the chrysalis empty, Fiad shell of tlie past, outworn; Here was the living creature Exulting In beauty new born, And trembling as If to utter The truth of t he Easter morn ! —Harriet M. Kimball, in Christian Union. oregon . - All calls promptly Office and residence ou D street. anitwered day or night DR. G-. F. TUCKER, BERTIE'S MISSION .DENTIST, - m < minnville • oregon . • He Found Out on Easter Sunday What He “Was For.” Office - Two doors east of Bingham’s furniture ■tore. Laughing gas administered for painless extraction. W. V. I’ltiCJlC, PHOTOGRAPHER Up Stairs in Adams’ Building, M c M innville - oreoon CUSTER POST BAND, The Best in the State. Is prepared to fuiiiluh nnmic for all occasion» at reason able rates. Address IX. .T. ROWLVM) Business M mager, McMinnville. M'MINNVILLE Livery Feed and Sale Stables Curn.r Third and D streets, MeMiunviU. LOGAN BROS. & HENDERSON. Proprietors. The Best Rigs in the City. Orders Promptly Attended to Day or Night, “ORPHANS’ HOME” BILLIARD HALL. A Strictly Temperance Report. Bom« good(T) Church members to the contrary not withstanding. “Orphans’ Home” TONSORIAL PARLORS, The enly first clast, and the only parlor like shop in tb« i city. None but First - elaaa Workmen Employed Flrtt door south of Yamhill County Bank Building. M c M innville , oregon . H. H. WELCH. OF GENERAL INTEREST. —Nearly forty-nine thousand dollars are on deposit in the savings banks of New Hampshire. —Paper plates for bread, butter, cake, etc., have been introduced at the ___ _ They are in papier Berlin hotels. mache, with gray-colored borders in relief. -The cities of marvelous growth are >' t ail in the West. Baku, a Russian t' wn on the Caspian, had twelve thou sand inhabitants in 1873 and fifty-eight thousand in 1883. —The Mexican stage coach always has two drivers—on; to hold the reins and the other to do the whipping. The latter carries a bag of stones to throw at the leaders.— St. I.ouis Globe. —A New Hampshire court has lately dec ded that a physician’s horse and buggy are “tools.” and as such are ex empt from seizure for debt when they ■re necessary to enable him to practice his profession with reasonable success. — In the language of flowers a moss rosebud is a confession of love; a red rosebud implies that the giver considers the recipient young and beautiful: and >f she returns a white rosebud she de clares that she is too young to love.— — "Vi. missus. J's tanOle skeereu. Laa’ night I dreamed mos’ all night I wuz a-dyin’. an’ l’s ’feared I ain't long fer dis world.” "Why, you ahou’ In't be alarmed; you know dreams work by the rule of coiitrariea.’’ “No. missus. 1 kan't see dat. coz. night To’ last I dr. amed 1 felled down a well, an' shuah I doan' understan' how I could tall up one.”— iiirpcr's Laar. i Did the angel himself, descending And passing through hamlot and town To waken once more the faithful. Their sorrow with joy to crow’i^ Touch with finger transcendent 'lhut tiniest cradle brown? S. A. YOUNG, M. D. M c M innville INCIDENT. In moonlight the world wa« Bleeping, As It slept on tnat nUht ot old When tlie Von leriul angel descend d And the stone tiom t ie sepulcher rolled; The vigil of Eustm w is ended, '1 he hour of midnight tolled. •---- Issued----- Tnlinage EASTER i All day the burning sun had scorched the dry earth. Along country roads the dust lay, fine and light as powder; the grass by the wayside was browned; the fields of yellow grain fell in great swaths beneath the scythe, and lay like glittering gold along the ground, while the crimson, blistered face of the pant- ing reaper pleaded in vain to the cruel luminary to hide his own glowing conn- tenance behind a friendly cloud. The very trees of the forest gasped for air, their leaves shriveled and the bark giv ing forth an ominous ordor of possible combustion. « Since early morning—when the sun’s rays but faintly foretold the heat to come —a slight, pale woman had been walk ing along those hot and dusty roads. By noon she had traveled many miles and yet her journey was but half done ; for she had set o”ut to reach the great city, where so many sad hearts are lost in the crowd save to their unhappy owners. She carried a little child who looked so pale and wan that he ought have been mistaken for one-half his real age. which was almost two years. But even his light weight, upborne by the love which makes such weights easy to carry, was at times insupportable to the weary mother. From time to time she came' to the shade of a solitary tree and then sat down at the root of it or on a stone by the wayside to rest for a few moments, and on each occasion she stooped over the child to kiss his brow or lips, as if to assure him that he was not the cause of her fatigue. She often removed his little straw-hat, too, and gently fanned the tiny face, fair as a snowdrop and, notwithstanding its deli cate pallor, exquisitely lovely. At high noon the travelers met a buxom country girl returning from the field after carrying dinner to the mow ers, who stopped to admire the child and inquire if it was ill. “No, not ill,” the mother answered, gazing wistfully at her child; "but he’s never very strong.” ••How old is he?” was the girl's next question. • He will be two years old next month.” ................ "Land sake! And don t he walk vet?” , ••He has never walked—yet—he’s lame. But I hope he will walk someday. I am taking him tu the city, because I have been told the doctors there are clever; and if I earn money enough I hope to have him made strong, for h’s never had any accident. One little ankle is so weak that he can’t put the foot on the ground wnen he tries to stand. You see he’s never been able to learn to walk, like other children of h's eShe spoke with a pitiful pleading, as if it was necessary to tind excuses for the child, because he was less forward than other children. ..... , ••poor little f. liow!” «aul the farmer s e’rl kindly enough, “and you have to carry him all the time-how tiresl yon must be! Come to Ute house and rest Perhaps he would take a cup of milk The woman thanked her with a X/ate ful look, and ihe g rl continued, hold ing out her hands t. the child: “Let nte carry him for you. I love children, and the little rogues know it. Come, little pretty! W hat s his name. “His name is Albert, but call him ^“Cone to me. Bertie." said the girl, and the child »miled and held out his 'S“And vour own name?” the girl went on with an inquisitive look at the moth er. “Mrs.—what?” “My name is Tingler,’ the pale wom an answered, coldly. The farmer’s girl did not pursue her auction*. for she saw they were unwel come: »n instinct of good breeslmg oftener found among tbe untaught than I they get credit tor. tom ner lurtuur in quiry might give pain. Mrs. Tingler proceeded in silence; but the girl chattered to the baby and drew from hint many an unexpected peal of laughter, while at every sound of his merriment the pale mother smiled and brightened till nerown laughter mingled with that of the child. At ftte farmer's house they fared well; ■nd the good people refused to let them proceed until they had rested from th 'it journey. When they again set out on their way, although tbe heat was in creased, the pale mother did not feel it so much; for kindness and sympathy had lightened her heart. All the after noon she walked steadily on, and her little boy was held so close to her heart that she did not realize how nearly she was worn out with fatigue and hunger. Toward n'ghtfall she camo to the outskirts of the great city, and the prospect was not encouraging to eyes accustomed to the freshness of the coun try. As she passed street after street there seemed a mingled odor of oil, dirt, grease and general untidino s everywhere. Ash-barrels and garbage- pails stood all along the sidewalk, and here and there a half-decayed orange, or a lemon peel, or a wilted cabbage was flung in the way of the foot-travel- err. Ill-tempered, snarling dogs ran out of the tumble-down tenements, whose human inhab'tantslooked equally snarling and ill-tempered. "What if I have made a mistake in coming here at all?” thought the anx ious mother, with a shudder, as she looked into the face of her delicate child "How hard it is to know what is best but I could not stay any longer wit), them. They hated me, and thev hit.sl my child, though their own son was hi» father! Ah, William—dear William! How could you leave me to fight thair hard hearts alone?” A sob of anguish tried to struggle up from the almost bursting heart, but the brave little woman crushed it down, and held her child closer to her breast. Night was com ng on, amt she felt the urgent need of food and shelter for Bertie; inexperienced as she was, she had but a dim idea of the difficulties be fore her—alone, and in a great city for the first time. She began to glance about anxiously, eagerly how dark it was!—and how suddenly the night had come on. Then for the first ne she observed that the heat was not so great: a cool breeze had sprung up, and it blew straight in from the country fields she had left so far behind her. ft was cool and moist, and it bore the sweet odor of wet grass and hay and of the damp earth. While she was feeling rather than thinking of this change in the atmosphere, came the rumbling roar of thunder, at first far oil'. but 1 ... gradually coming .. nearer. The clouds gathered more darkly, and from out their gloomy depths leaped forked tongues of lightning. Then came peals of thunder that shook the ground she walked on, while little Ber tie trembled and clung more closely to her. Anxiously now — wildly —the poor little mother glanced to and fro in search of some shelter. Her breath came quick and short—a dizzy tumult possessed her brain she heard the wild throbs of her own heart, then it seemed to stop beating. A terrible faintness overpowered tier; the darkness grew blacker. She had an indistinct vision of an open door a little further on; she struggled blindly toward it, tottered, swayed to and fro, made one last ef fort and ran. then fell, faint ng. across the threshold. Thank Heaven! there are kind hearts to be found, even in the midst of squalor and misery that too often harden the gentlest. Bertie's mother had scarcely reached the floor when she was caught by a pair of strong arms and a good- natured voice exclaimed: “God bless us! but look at that, now, and the child in her arms nigh killed! Is it dhrinkin’ ye've been? An’ a burn- in’ shame fur ye, with that swale child to take care of—the Lord forgive me! What was I sayin’? Sure there's little sign of dhrink in the pale face av her, but dead bate entoirely, an’ fainted away altogether. Come here, Biddy, an’ take the child.” A tall girl came forward and took Bertie in a very motherly manner, like one well used to the task of caring for children. She disappeared with him in to an inner room, and divining that food and drink wore his chief wants, fed him copiously. In the meantime, Mrs. Flynn had car ried the mother to a small apartment - little better than a closet -which did duty a« her own sleeping-room. There she placed the insensible woman on the bed, untied her bonnet, chafed her cold hands, marveling at their whiteness, and observed with an approving nod the plain gold ring on the third finger. "Poor craythure!” she murmured; ••a widdy, I suppose, like meself.” It was long before a faint color came back to the pallid lips and flaxen face; but at length the large blue eyes opened and gazed wonderingly into the red. good-natured countenance that met them—the next moment th* poor moth er remembered, and asked in an anxious whisper. "Where's Bertie?” "Whist, now! don’t hr afther worrith- in'. The child's cared for, ye’ll be betlier in a moment an’ thin yez can talk.” "But he’s hungry, and I've money to buy food." “Be aisv, now! D’ye think we're haithens here? Yer baby's had all he wants, an no thought av pay.” The tears that shone in the grateful mother's eves spoke mute, but eloquent thanks. She was too weak to speak and gladly refrained from making tbe effort for awhile. Mrs. Flynn was a widow, with a large family. which she managed to suppoil. as she sa d herself, “by turning ner hand to siveral trades." She did wash ing and ironing by the day, or dozen— also scrubbing and house cleaning. She kept a small store for the sale of eggs, milk and butter, which a friend on the outskirts of the town supplied her with. Then her two eldest bovs sold papers and swept crossings, while Biddy -who was housekeeper and care-taker in gen eral to the family, in her mother's ab sence—had a great gift at knitting and often made a few oxtra shillings in that way. After much talk on the subject Mrs. Flynn now consented to add another to her various modes of money-making: and agreed to take Bertie and his moth er as boarders. At first the arrangement had been “until they could tind a better place;” but weeks and months grow into years, and Mrs. Tingler and her little boy still continued to board with Mrs. Flynn. Bertie was now five years oid, and though still a slemter and delicate child, he was stronger and hardier than on that hot summer flat carried when his mother had him till she had fainted at the door of Mammy Flynn. He was still lame, but he walked with the help of a little cratch; and thd doctors gave his mother good hope that be would, in time, out grow his lameness. During the throe years in which she had been Mrs. Flynn’s boarder, the sad little mother had known much disappointment and frequent hardship. It had been hard to get work of any kind, and the walk to tlie city in the morning and back again at night had tried her strength severely, apd more than once she had broken down and felt that all was over. But as often she had rallied again and made another trial, and the good-hearted Irish woman had always encouraged her: and although she needed the little weekly sum paid by Mrs. Tingler, she never asked for it when it was not forth coming. At last Mrs. Flynn decided to move further down into the city, andthat made it easier for her lodger, for she hail found steady employment in a book-bindery, where the pay was so good that she every day put awav a few pennies in the little purse she was sav ing up for Bertie,who needed medicines and strong h ming food and a certain mechanical appliance for his little ankle, all of which could only be got with money. These were blight days for Mrs Tingler, ami she was so happy that she no longer wept in the night, or waked up from dr, amsof terror, calling for the husband, whose ear was stopped with dust, and the i clutching her c hild to her heart to still its aching. Tlmn Bertie was growing so strong and beau tiful—the thought of him filled her lite with jov. When she came home in the long bright summer evenings and saw his sweet face pressed againt the win dow, watching for her, there were a thousand rich women with every wish gratified before it could be spoken who would have gladly changed places with Clara Tingler. There camo an evening when B *rtie watched at the window longer than ever before for the well-known figure and the face that was always raised to his with a sntile. But the sunset glow died away ami the twilight dr. v on and brought the night. The lamps were lighted in the streets and the stars glit tered in the sky above, and Bert e could not sen any face or figure, for he could no longer see through tho thick tears that scorched his eyes. At last Mammy Flynn put him to lied, wondering almost as much as himself at the non-appearance of his mother, but not so much al irtned as surprised. She comforted the child with the assurance that “mamma would be there when ho waked up,” and with that hope in his heart little Bertie had cried himself to sleop. There 1 1 been an accident on Broad- wav that day-a stage had been upset, and another had collided with it, and the horses ha 1 become wild and unmanage able. When order was restored a slen der little woman in black was picked up ins.ns’ble—a blow on the temple had done it—and carried to the nearest hos pital. Sb" never recovered conscious ness, though for a moment her eyes had unclosed, and she murmured one word —“Bertie.” Then a gtay shadow crept over her face, and all was over. There was nothing found on her by which she might have been identified — the body was kept for two days, but no friend claimed it, and she was buried. A little purse of money, all of small coins, amounting to a few dollars, was found s -wed within the waist of her dress. It had been carefully—oh. how carefully and hopefully! saved for little Bertie, ft now paid for the pine coffin that held all that could die of Bertie’s mother. Mrs. Tingler’s disappearance soon be came an old story in the Flynn house hold, except to the heart that pined for her. At nr«L Mrs. Flynn pitied and comforted the child after her own way —“for,” she said, "he was a big boy now. and it spoiled children to bring them up too soft-hearted.” Then she was disgusted with the con duct of her late lodger—“For av course she has run away, an’ left the child on my hands, geein' as I hadn’t enough of nry own," she S lid to a neighbor. The thought made her bad tempered and discontented, and at odd momenta she vented her ill-humor on B Tlie. But to do her justice, suchojcasions were rare, and being remorseful afterward she of ten gave the child a rough hug and a warm kiss to make up for her harsh ness. Rut as years pa««ed on her ill-humor increased, and her regret for it died away. Bertie grew weak and sickly without his mother’s watchful care, and his lameness increased. He always walked with a crutch, now, and there seemed no 1 keliho<xl that he would ever NO. 74 walk without that assistance, ne nau grown accustomed to being pushed out of the way, and to being told that he had no right to the little he ate and drank—and to much more that, while it sunk like a stone to the depths of his heart, seemed also to cut like a thrust from a knife. But there was one hard speech that cut him more than all else. He heard it often bo h from Mammy Flynn and from the boys, who had grown up to be a care and worry to their mother, and the chief cause of her growing discontent and bad temper. “What are you for, anyway—a sickly cripple, a trouble to herself an’ a bother to ¡very one else—eh? What are ye for, anyway?” These were the words that were like knife-thrusts to Bertie's sensitive heart. How well he could remember his moth er’s warm kisses, and her tender assur ance that ho had been sent into the world to lie the joy of her heart and to reward her for every sorrow she had ever felt. He had been only a child, , that ho had understood—in those happy days ho had known what he was for. But now, alas! He began to ask the same hard question of himself why wa- he in tho world? Was there ny room for him? What was there for him to do? In brief, as Mammy Flynn, and Dan and Patsy so often said, what was he for, anyway? One member of th»family never asked ; that question. It was little Conn—Mrs. l'lynn s grandchild. The boy was a lit tle Irish beauty -great gray eyes, jet black brows ami lashes, a mane of dark curly hair and a skin of cream —big. strong and heartv. Bertie loved him with devouring affection; he was almost jealous of the child's own mothe rhough yet a child in years, sorro suffering had matured his mind; that fine, healthy child he saw all the possibilities forovor shut out of his own life. He played witn Conn by tho hour together, sung him to sleep at night and told him marvels of fairy loro. But, though unlettered and unread —for he had never been seat to school—Bertie had a command of language and a fervor of imagination that was mar velous. Even the queer sounds in the old house, as he lay awake at nights, fur nished him with material for quaint fan cies. The poor child was often kept awake by pain, and at such times he was glad of any thing that Would lift his thoughts from his sufferings. He had none of the natural timidity of his age, and the rumblings and ereakings that seemed to till the wall when all else were asleep sounded like spirit voices to Ber tie: and h’s fancy built them up into weird stories to entertain little Conn on the next day. • Once, after a night of great pain, Bertie fell into a »mop sleep toward morning. And in that sleep a face that he knew as well as his own though it was but a memory the pale, sweet face of his vanished mother, stooped over him, and pressed on his lips a long, tender kiss. When ho opened his eager eyes that k’ss was still warm on his lips! What joy! what agony! He knew, then, that she had d ed" and gone to Heaven, and with a burstiug heait, he cried out that he must go, too, since on earth there was no place for him. He was frantic with grief and long ing that day; and even tho pretty wavs of little Conn failed to bring any joy to his aching heart. He took his crutch, and went out nto the streets, and there he heard the sound of church bells, and noted how still every thing was, for it was Sunday. By and bv ho found him self in a crowd, ami as they were all going t.o church, he wont along with them. He would presently have been put out., but a kind old lady opened the door of her pew an I invited him into it: and there he sat during the service. He listened, but didn't understand much; till at once ho hoard words that seemed to drop into his soul. “For we have all some work to do." ho heard the minister say —“the hum blest the smallest of us. It may not be great or wond 'rful—but It is ouri! The one thing appointed for us since tho beginning, and in good time it will be shown to us.” To Bert’e this seemed a message di rect from Heaven: it brought him peace and patience; and he felt that he could wait now till h;s “work" was pointed out to him. (In the next Sunday ho would have stolen out again, but Mammy Flynn ba le him take care of Conn, for it was Easter Sunday, and the whole family were go ng to church. So he stayed with the child, and told him a story of a bird that used to he like a Jonny VVren, but had never known how to sing till the morning of the first Easter Sunday. When the stone was rolled away and Christ had come forth, the bird had burst into triumphant song, and then had flown away, singing to all the world the glad tid ngs that tho fxird had risen. After 'he story Conn demanded n song, and Bertie sang an Easter hymn. Ix>ng before it was finished the child was fast asleep: and his oareful nurse placed him, flushed and beautiful, in his eriulle. Then he sat down to amuse himself with some pictures that Biddy had pasted in an old «crap book. What soiiml was that? Bertie started np and looked about while he asked the question. What a strange, crackling, crumbling noisr then a loud rumbling and trembling! What ailed the wall that it bent so toward Conn’s cradle? With a shriek of horror Bertie bounded for ward and flung himself over the sleep ing child then followed a crash and a roar like thunder! j cnurch the house that had been their home was a mass of broken timber and mortar. "God help me! Mr child!” screamed Conn's mother, and fell insensible. “Tho baby's safe. Mrs. Flynn," a neighbor hastened to tiasnre the poor grandmother, who stood, dazed and stu pid. gazing nt the ruins. “Come with me and see him—the little boy won't let him out ot his arms." Mrs. Flynn allowed herself tvr be led in silence. Whiter than a snow wreath Bertie was holding the baby in his arms; while the little fellow fondled the cheek already damp with the dew of death. Mrs.' Flynn b irst into loud weeping, as she clasping them both in her arms; and she k:ssed B Tt e with a thrill ot pain at her heart that would leave an ache there as long as she lived. “Oh. my poor darling! Are ye hurt?" she a-k'‘d. Bertie smiled as he answered: "1 feel no pain. Mammy Flynn, and now I know what I wa< for,'’ and lu gently pushe I little Conn into hl» grandmother's arms. Mammv Flynn would havo asked h;m to forgive her to forgive the cruel, thoughtl ‘ss words that had wounded — but a sudd m awe chained her tongue ■• she looked on Bertie. The child’s face was illuminated w th joy: a glory seentei to rest upon his golden ha’r; h's lipi parted, and then with a soft, rapturom cry: "Mamma, matnnta!” his sp ril tied to her embrao<>.— Detroit Free Preus. WIT AND WISDOM. —There’s no flour in the idler’s loaf — H 'ate 1' 0 Observer. , —Great talkers are like leaky pilch era, everything runs out of them. — He is young enough who has health aud he is rich enough »ho has no debts; Swearing is delined as the miiieees; nary use of uurevised language.— Hun ton Globe. —It is hard for a man who follows i business that is so brisk that he eanno catch up to it. — Chicago .Journal, —Malaria is certainly n very incon sistent disease. It generally makes ao quaintauce- for the purpose of giviu. them the cold shake.— Norristown Her aid. — ‘•Talk about the wise man wh< I builded upon a rock," remarked Fogg "1 think the man who didn’t build upoi a rock the wiser of the two.” "How do you make that out?” asked the lan guid young man who sat at the foot o the table. “Because,” said F< gg. "n< ledge is power, you know.”— Bostoi Irameript. — The luckiest man we ever knew it his experience with the lottery tickets was the man who never bought one il his life. Of course, we wouldn’t recent mend everybody to follow his example for without the protection aft’ rded b; the people's money, the lottery enter prise would soon perish.— N. Y. Mail. — Variety is a good thing. Every mai and woman sees something good-look ing or attra-tive about themselves though they may be as homely as a mm fence. Suppose wo could all “see our sei’s as ¡there see us,” what an uidiapp’ lot of mortals we would be?— ExcJu.nge A few questions. Upon what dirt the “wairon sprlnir"? From whence flld th«» “pepper mint drop' How I nt; di<l the “Tammany Riiiff "? And where did the orgau-Btop"? Oh! where did the "poRtage-qtamp"? And what did the “corton-nook"? Oli! where dl«l the “RUffar- camp”? And wliat did tho “pantry-cook”? For whom di<1 the “paper-welffht"? And " hy «11«! the “thunder-map"? Oli • where did the “roll-akate" “And where did the “ringer-anap"? II Wife "My dear, do you know th« baby has four or five different kind < cries, and that 1 can understand he always — when she wants a drink w hen she is hungry, when she is in jiair . when she she wants to go out?” IIui band "So? That is verv nice. An can you talk back to her? Of coursi you can talk back to anybodv; but ca she understand you?” Wife—"Ot yes.’’ Husband—"Then you will p< litely signify to the young lady that she ceases to request her father to tak her < n promenade at four a. m. it will t something to h'r advantage in futui years.' ’— Troy Preu. — Gerinnn humor: “Herr ProfeMoi. how do you like mv new tragedy? •‘Very much, indeed. Esppcinlly th robber* they nt-e Hrnt rate. In fnc they are the beat thieve* I ever hear of ; even the word* they apeak ni stolen from other books.” —••Why, Allie dear, is that the wn to begin your dinner?” asked th mother of her little daughter, as si began the pie instead of the potato« with gravy. ‘•Well, I declare, ninmnn I was going to eat my dinner upsid I down, wasn't IP”—itochcster Democra — “Violet,” aald the voting man wit hair evenly balanced and eroaae | breeches, “I have come to-night to as | you a question that has been on m mind for week*.” “Well, Victor, j *ai«l tin- O.\ goddr.MS I alii HllxiOflU to know if you would take me for be i< r or f«>r \\ oix ' ' •’Well. Victor. I, look at you I should say worse!” Vi« Ur is single yet. — Yonktrn Sfalenmat ! —The Sundas school L acher waa III pressing upon her claas the important j of honoring their parent*. “Now chi • I»« ii . said «div. ••when yon arc naugl I ty and cross, your mamma does n« want you to I m » near her where she co are ) our naughty ways. But when y< are good she loves to have you by he Now. Tommy, when do you think yoi mamma loves you l*»*t?” “When • • am asleep,” replied Tommy. etontl( When the Flynn family returned from “8be s mo . Me r<. unit It, imvtkr, j I