»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