SEMI-WEEKLY i- L _ ■ ■ u f -j pwj VOL. I. iE’S DY,: MCMINNVILLE, OREGON, MAY 13. 1887. ¡ST SIDE'TELEPHONE. Purser.) r Jenny Wilson was sitting sewing bv h» wmdow of the little shabby parlor that loeked out ou the High street. It was a dull afternoon in November; the sky was covered with heavy, drab colored tin, Rrst few yellow leaves were rnlnmsre & 'Tinner, clouds; neys . falling from the great elm in tlie market lublitlwr» Proprietor». place, and there was u raw chill feeling “UlB-ilJV. I 1. the air. Jenny was stitching away SUBSCRIPTION RATE« diligently. She had set herself a task to |2 00 ......................................................... . 1 25 finish Ix-fore tea time—a silk gown to E c0., I »year MuBths • .................. .............................. 75 mend and alter for the clergyman's wife, * 1 months............................................... who was going to dine tliat evening at red in the Poetofilce at McMinnville. Or., ’ system ! Ier Reyhill place. j as second-cluee matter. ■"‘ingaU.I Jenny was not pretty, but she had a ,|v Hhf-ij fresh, sweet little face, a large, smiling I v. v. JOHNSON, M. D. mouth, plea aat gray eyes, and neat, smooth hair. There was something cheery NdrthwtiBt corner of Baoond and B streets, ’oniarh a0« LrxviLLE - - OREGON. and courageous aliout the little woman. mi Itefore | Life was not very smooth to her. She ......the o|J had to stitch morning, noon and night to llle tew fgl „ found at his office when not absent on pro- keep her invalid mother, and it was hard ■ ' frw fr-i J i iuLial bualne»8. work to make both ends meet. But no coiw one ever heard Jenny complain. She used to go singing about her work, and LITTLEFIELD & CALBREATH, portico-1 up and down the dark creaking stairs es. that led to her mother’s bedroom. Jenny's fe and effJ voice was delightful. It did you good to 11 and young MuMINNVILLE. OREGON. ’e hundred! hear it, it was so clear and sweet and fresh, like the voice of some lark on dewy case Office over Braly’s Bank. edy summer mornings. And it had been very well trained by the organist, who wil­ ICKfiCo, lingly devoted his spare hour of nn even­ s. A. YOUNG-, M. D. oiT~^ ing to teaching the little seamstress to I ly and sing. TleMMt oo, 1 Htaüip for tai The market place looked very empty LnrNVILLE • OREGON. a co.; when Jenny looked out on it every now •wiiioo, Cal. ‘S Ottice and residence on D street. All calls promptly and again to rest her eyes. But pres 'ntly Lwrrtni day or night. she heard the noise cf wheels, and saw «Wt stori the Reyhill carriage with Lady Violet »supplied .1 herself in it, and another lady, Lady j • GRAY, DR. G- F- TUCKER, Eleanor Arden, a frequent visitor to Rey­ hill place, seated by her. Lady Eleanor dentist was dark and pale, with a lieautiful L MINN VILLE - - - OREGON. mekincholy face an I large sad eyes— She was Oflce-Two doors east of Bingham’s furniture eyes that seemed to haunt you. an heiress. People said that she had [Uughing gas administered for painless extraction. cared all her life for Mr. Richard Feyne, one of Lady Violet's penniless younger brothers. I .ally Violet, so tho story ran, would have been very glad to have had W. V. PRICE, her for a si iter-in-law, aid was always asking her to Reyhill to meet Mr. Feyne; hut he never seemed to regard Eleanor in any other light than that of a mere friend. Lady Eleanor had had a great UpStairs in Adams’ Building, deal of trouble; she had lost both of her OREGON parents and her only brother, and the HINN VILLE wealth that would have been such a pleasure to many people, seemed to her only a burden. To Jenny's astonishment the carriage UDE b stopped before her mother's house, and March, The Best in the State. 5 pa«f«, the powdered footman rang the bell. I prepared to fulnisb muflic for all occasiona at reason Jenny ran to open the door. If li over able rates. Addi'css Iona -a “Does Miss Wilson live here?” tsked Gallery, V. .T. H.OWLAJNI», Lady Violet, from the carriage. • Pried “My name is Jane Wilson,” answered oil« for Business Manager, McMinnville. how to Jenny, with a vague hope that Violet had ’ every* I come to order a dress of her. “I am a ear, or j dressmaker. ’ ’ CABLE M’MINNVILLE Lady Violet Sprang out of the car­ (leaned riage and Lady Eleanor followed her. Id. We iny ad- “We want to hear you sing,” said defray Lady Violet, pleasantly. "Will you sing ,i from to us?” Corner Third and D streets, McMinnville Jenny’s little workroom had never too. held such grand visitors before. It was uro. III. a dingy little parlor, with horsehair chairs OGAN BROS. & HENDERSON, and sofa. There were a few prints on the walls: The lord lieutenant of the Proprietors. county, holding a roll of papers in his hand, and with a pillar and a curtain in The Best Rigs in the City. Orders the background; "The Meeting of Wel­ ¡Promptly Attended to Day or Night, lington and Blucher after Waterloo,” and a lady simpering at a dove upon her finger. jenny sat down shyly to the little old piano, anil began, with a certain tremor ORPHANS’ HOME” in her voice, “Angels ever bright and fair. ’ ’ The pure notes. like the song of a lark, rang out through the little room, BILLIARD HALL. growing stronger and clearer as Jenny gathered courage and went on. Lady Violet was warm in her praises A Strictly Temperance Resort. of Jenny’s singing. “Wil you come up to Reyhill this Sw goodffi Church member« to the contrary not- evening, and sing to us?’ ’ she asked. witbBtandng. “We want to have some music; my brother, Mr. Feyne, is so fond of it. What would be your terras?” she went on, hesitatingly, and with a pretty blush “Oi-pliti iiw' Home” of embarrassment, and then she named a sum which filled Jenny with delight. What would it not buy for her invalid TON SORI AL PARLORS, , 0B. motherl That evening at Reyhill, when the only first class, and the only parlor-like shop in th» sfa ladies came into the drawing after din­ city. None but dû I ner, they found Jenny already awaiting First-class F»rkme» Kmployed! them, as Lady Violet had directed. She flat door south of Yamhill Count, Bank Building. 3 had dressed herself in her Sunday black silk, with a bunch of violets fastening nd *1 M c M innville , oregon . her neat muslin fichu, and a silver cross H. H. WELCH. __ lier only ornament—on black velvet round bar neck. Lady Eleanor came up lln U.I.I panel u l».r mv.l-piun, es­ and said a few kind words to her. pecially in large sizes, is a popular one Eleanor was very gentle, often very si­ iiij with French ladies. The newer bar lent, but when she spoke you could not but listen, the voice was so sweet, pins are shorter, with the liar effect choose and the words themselves never seemed iirukep by a medallion or other design 5 - in the center of the pin.—Y. Y. ItorlJ- trivial The drawing room at Reyhill was sepa­ •c* —Millions of washboards are made rated from the dining room by large ind sold annually in this couhtry. It folding doorsand a heavy brocade cur­ Ft 7 h estimated that not less than 7,200,000 tain. As Eleanor was speaking Jenny a of them are sold every year between saw an absent and preoccupied expression the Allegheny mountains and the Mis- come over her face, and, following the 1 direction of Eleanor’s eyes, Jenny saw Bouri river. —The Chevalier van Flewyck. of that the curtain had lieen pushed abide to admit one of tho gentlemen. He Louvain, has just perfected, after came up to Lady \ iolet. thirty-eight years of labor, a machine “I could wait no longer, he said; for recording all music extemporized “thev were discussing hounds and horses, u •pon the piano. His invention is and I thought it woul 1 never end. ^ow, »■irked by means of electricity, and he Violet, when is our music to begmr VGl Lady Violet intro luced him to Jenny h:« been assisted in the mechanical de­ tails by M. Kermis, an engineer of as her brother, Mr. Lcyne. “Miss Wilson is going to sing to us, Brussels. a — Mamma, what arc yon look-n» Richard." ske said. "Will you and > foi ?” asked Little Mamie Flapjack of Eleanor take her into the hall and settle * b*r mother, the widow Flapjack. “I’m with her wlut the music is to be? 1 * IT fook n» for my wedding ring- I to must go and 'talk pretty,’ “she con­ * lontci for it high and low. I woti'dn t tinued, in an undertone to her brother, 11 ”*1 it for anyth ng.” *‘I woul ln tboth- glancing at tho other lad es, and pres­ »■ »bout it, mamma. If it comes to the ently we will come in and I“«®”- The piano stood at one end of the hall, •mat you can get married again. That s 8 h^‘ •hnt I'm going to d> when I m a and here at night it was , to sit and listen to music in the dark Widow.'’— fii.u Si/tiiijt. and Surgeons, Physician and Surgeon, j , HOTOGRAPHER CUSTER POST BAND, liiery Feed and Sale Stables I NO. 1MÎ i ------ Ibsiiud------ w, L by TUESDAY AND FRIDAY um, i —IN - ’8 Worn, Lrisois Building. McMinnville. Oregon, bysicians TELEPHONE mcr tieside the piano, where he could watch tlie singer almost unseen himself. Jenny followed Lady Eleanor into the hall. Mr. Feyne opened the piano for her and arranged the music. There was a kindness and a oourtesv in his manner which were ,ieculiar to him—a great gendeness and deference whenever he addressed a woman. He was by nature very enthusiastic, and, whatever the en­ thusiasm of the moment might be (and the one succeeded the other with great rapidity), it was to hint at the time the ono great aim and object of his life. Music was now his passion. A few weeks ago he knew little about it, and cared less. Now he could conceive no greater pleasure than listening to music all day and every day. Lady Violet had sung to him until she was hoarse, al­ though her stylo of music was not ac­ cording to his taste. She sang nothing but modern ballads and little b’rench and Italian songs, and had attempted in vain to render classical music to his liking. Then it was that she had taken counsel of the organist who had recommended Jenny to her. So Jenny sat at the piano and sang ono song after another to him. Her reper­ tory contained chiefly old balkmls—such as “My Mother Bids Me Bind My Hair”— and solos from the oratorios. Mr. Feyne said very little, but sat in his dark corner with his eyes fixed on Jenny. It was only when Lady Eleanor said that she feared they were tiring Miss Wilsan that he said in a low voice to Jenny: “Ah, I forgot that I was selfish; I could listen to' you forever.” Lady Violet, who had come into the hall, rang the Lcll and asked the servant to show Miss Wilson to the liousekee|>er's room. "You will want something after all that singing,” she said, kindly, “and I have told Mrs. Benson to have some supper ready for you. ” Jenny was Ixiwing her way out when Mr. Feyne made some hasty steps towards her. “I cannot thank you enough,” he said, gently; “you have so much reverence and religion in the tones of your voice, that one feels better for listening to you.” When she was gone the party criticised her singing. “It is a pity,” said Mr. Reyhill, “that she doesn't learn something besides those old songs and sacred music. It’s all very well of a Sunday evening to have sacred music, but one likes a little change of a week day.” Mr. Feyne answered a little hotly that to sing any other kind of music would spoil Miss Wilson’s voice. “Don’t you agree with me?” he cried, turning tc Lady Eleanor, “that her style is perfect. Any change would be for the worse.” “She sings charmingly,” replied Lady Eleanor, a little vaguely. Whereupon Mr. Feyne returned. “Ah! I forgot, Lady Eleanor. You don't care about music. I wonder at it.’ Eleanor grew crimson. ‘ ‘I am learn­ ing to care for it,” she said hesitatingly. The next day at breakfast Richard begged bin sister to ask Miss Wilson tc come up again and sing- Lady Violet was only too glad to be able to proride some pleasure for him. She readily acquiesced, but when she and Lady Eleanor were sitting together in the little boudoir, she referred to the subject of Jenny, ar 1 found Eleanor far from responsive. Lady Violet’s sitting room was a pretty little room overlooking tho lake and distanl woods. It was simplv crammed with knicknacks and pretty little uselesi things. There were plenty of little tablet covered with china and silver boxes and bric-a-brac. There was no such thing as a reasonably sized table at which any one could write in comfort. There was a great enamel box of French bonbons which was con­ tinually replenished, there were plenty of magazines and novels, and a profusion of delicately scented hothoust flowers. Everybody became hopelessly idle directly they entered the room, and they always spent the morning with theii feet on the fender, carrying on the most desultory conversation. “I am so glad Richard liked her sing­ ing,” Lady Violet was saying, “for il will help me to persuade him to stay or here.” “Yes,” answered Lady Eleanor, e little drily, “Miss Wilson’s singing may have that desired effect.” “Why, Nell, what's the matter? there's no harm, surely”----- “No, no,” cried Lady Eleanor, quickly, “nothing! I feel sure she is a very good girl, it is only my folly. I thought—1 fancied—oh, never mind. , Don’t let’s talk any more about it. Let’s see this new frock of yours. I can’t be sure whether I should like the silver with the salmon color.” And her cheeks still re­ mained crimson, though she was ap­ parently occupied with tlie consideration of Lady Violet’s wardrobe. So Jenny came up again and again to Reyhill place, and sang of an evening to Mr. Feyne. He was always courteous and kind. There were moments, so Jenny fancied, when he entirely lost sight of her personality, suid only identi­ fied her with her music, as one might think of a bird. He said many things to her in praise of her voice, but never made her anv mere compliments. There was. Jenny felt, a curious relation established between them. Unconsciously, and with­ out analyzing the feeling, she looked for­ ward eagerly to these evenings. Tlie dim hall, with its vague Bcent of violets, the warmth and the luxurious beauty of the house, after the chilly dinginess of her home, the sense of easy leisure after the toiling and moiling all day brought to the little seamstress an indefinable sense of pleasure. Had Lady Violet been older she would have foreseen the danger, but such an idea never occurred to her. She was much too busy with her own round of enjovment. And Mr. Feyne himself, abeorbeil in the pleasure of tlie music, and too chivalrous and modest to think he was inspiring any other feeling the" tnat or tug merest fnentlslup, where it was his intention to inspire nothing warmer, never dreamed of any drawback to his intimacy with Miss Wilson. There was a little woman staying at Reyhill who always liked to have her share in what was going on. She was a little old spinster of good family and very small means, who spent her life in visiting— going from ono great house to another, playing when others danced, writing letters for tho lady of the house, going in to dinner with tho boro of tho evening, and performing a thousand little duties of tho kind in return for the hospitality offered her. Sho was a toady and a mis­ chief maker, but was so useful that she was still a welcome guest. Sho had al­ ways an inexhaustible store of confidential gossip, and could make herself very agreeable after her own fashion. In per- son she was very tiny, with black hair, and bright eyes like shiny beads. She was very anxious to ingratiate herself with Lady Eleanor, to whom she had hitherto paid court in vain, and she saw at a glance the present position of niTairs. “Tliat foolish Richard Feyne,” she said to herself, “will get himself into a scrape by and by, and will lose all his chances with Lady Eleanor (a good £7,000 a year, and that beautiful old place in Hamp­ shire). lie doesn’t see what he’s doing, and a friendly word in season will pu* things straight, and make Eleanor my friend for life. ’ ’ So, after luncheon one day, she sidled up to Richard, and asked him to come into the hall to see some art needlework she was doing for his sister. When they were alone she began to her unsuspect­ ing companion: “I dare say you think me very meddle­ some, Mr. Feyne?” As a matter of fact, Richard had never thought of her nt all. and now lie looked at her startled and utterly unprepared for what was coming. “I have known you so long, she con­ tinued, "that I must give you a warning. 1 know you don’t see the thing as others do. but you really mustn’t spend every evening listening to that musical little dressmaker. l‘eo[de uro beginning to talk,” she went on, inventing on the spur of the moment, “and you don’t know what you have put into her silly little head—sho will expect you to marry her; and she is head and ears in love. I assure you. if she conics up like this, night after night, to sing to you. there will be all kinds of stories. No one re­ spectable would employ her as dress­ maker if she sets her cap at gentlemen!” The color roso in Richard's face to tlie roots of his hair. For one moment he was too angry to speak, and tho foolish woman, taking his silence for a sign of consent, went on archly: “You are throwing away all your chances with Lady Eleanor. Yes, yes; I know she's been in love with you ever since she was a child in the schoolroom; but you can't expect this kind of thing to last forever, and one day she will get tired refusing all tne great people who propose to her.” By this time Richard had recovered his voice. “All that you have said to me is utterly false and untrue!” he cried, his voice trembling with anger. “Neither Miss Wilson nor myself have ever enter­ tained for a moment the ideas you have been good enough to impute to us. And if jieople have talked, they have simply done so because they are malicious and coarse minded. ’ ’ Tho little woman was now frightened at what sho had done. “I’m sure I only spoke because I wished to spare Lady Eleanor pain; anybody could see that she cares for you.” Richard was beginning to deny this story too, when suddenly he stopped. Something within him told him that tliis at least was true, though he had never before known it. The silly woman rambled on incohe­ rently, trying to excuse herself for med- dling. “Of course, it was ruining the girl and I felt sorry for her—Miss Wilson, I mean. A girl's character is so quickly questioned, and then what remains? I couldn't bear to think of it!” “Do you mean to say,” Richard de­ manded, furious, "that Miss Wilson’s reputation has suffered in the slightest degree, or that she has been lowered in the eyes of the world, by my fault?” Ilis opponent prevaricated, hesitated, and then finally agreed that it was so. She was so terrified that she scarcely knew what she w:is saying, and her one idea was to e-cajie from Ricliard, who, erect before her, his handsome face still handsomer with passion, and his angry eyes fixed upon her, was ready, so she declared, “to kill her!” “There is only one remedy,” Mr. Feyne said, slowly; “I must ask Mias Wilson to be my wife. That is, it ap­ pears to me, the only way to put every­ thing straight;” and he strode out of the room, leaving the wretched creature to recover her senses. Without asking any­ body’s advice, without pausing to consid­ er, lie proceeded to act on his blind im­ pulse. It was a pouring wet day; the rain had been steadily falling all day and the ground was sodden and the trees dripping with moisture. Hie landscape looked blurred and blotted, and the only sound in the air was the regular, rhyth­ mic sob of the rain. Richard passed before the hall windows, wrapped in the black Spanish cloak that lady Violet used to call his "conspirator’s cloak.” Ho heard a tap on the glass, and turned round to see Lady Eleanor, who smiled and waved her liand to him. “I wish you joy of your wet walk!” she cried laugh­ ingly. Ricliard moved hastily away; a stuMen consciousness seized him that this really was the woman he loved. He hail never realized it liefore; new it was too late. He hurried down to the little town and rang the bell at Jenny's house. The little apprentice showed him up into the parlor, where presently Jenny, with a flushed and startled face, made lier appearance. He went up to her, regardless of liis dripping cioax mat was maxing puuaics on tne threadbare carpet, and Ix'giiM earnestly: “I am afraid. Miss Wilson, that you havo been annoyed by these abominable reports and scandalous stories." Ho paused, taking Jenny's blushes for a con­ firmation of his words. “I am deeply grieved,” he went on, “that any one should havo dared to make my name the source of any discomfort to you, but if you wish these stories can be silenced at once. I havo come to ask you to be my wife.” It seemed to Jenny as if the room reeled with her. For ono moment, and for one moment only, she hesitated. He continued in a faltering voice: “I am poor, as you know, but I would endeavor to make you happy if you could be con- tent with tho little that I can offer.” Then Jenny turned her honest eyes towards him and looked him full in the face. “I liavo heard no slanderous re- ports, sir,” she said, with simple dignity; “and even had I heard them I could put an end to them. You have done me too much honor. I could never really suit you. You ought to marry a lady; and,” dropping her voice almost to a whisper, “you don’t love me, sir; and I couldn’t marry any one who didn’t. I can’t thank you enough. I shall remember your goodness to my dying day; but you must excuse me, sir, and ono day you will be glad for what I have done.” Tlie tears unbidden rose to her eyes, but, courageous to the end, she made him a little curtsey that bail, he felt, a world of grace and dignity in it, and left the room. So the matter ended. But three months after, when Mr. Feyne and his bride were spending their honeymoon in Hampshire, they went for a long ride over the downs, and Richard told Eleanor the whole story. She gave a cry of» surprise, and then, putting her hand softly on his arm, "Ah, Richard,” she said, “don’t you see, sho loved you too well to do you any harm, and it was because she loved you that she refused you?”—Annie Fellowes, i.i Leisure Hour. Beautiful Bermuda. Everything is bright, every outline is sharp, every house like a house made of enow, roof and all. scarlet and yellow flowers in masses, ti ees so full of birds that it seems as if every leaf were a bird, yet not a bird to be seen—they are only heard; the whole beautiful island res­ onant like a bell. Such is Bermuda.— Bermuda Letter. Another Word Needed. Tlie government ought to oiler a re­ ward for anybody who will invent a word that will pleasantly, picturesquely, agree­ ably deline a happy evening among friends. “Social” is one of the most horrible words in the language, used as a noun. “Party” means anything or nothing. It is absolutely unexpressive. “A good time” comes in for a big drunk, or a picnic, or a funeral, even, for there are people who enjoy, really enjoy, fune­ rals. “A dinner party” seems to stop with the eating. Now if there is a time when people are unsociable, it is at a big dinner party. If you are fond of eating, conversation’s a nuisance, and you can't get up any reasonable discus- sion that will not lie broken by the courses. You’ve either to devote yourself to the menu or to your neighbor. If she’s pretty, you don't eat your dinner; if the dinner's good it requires a perfect self abnegation to pay any attention to her. A dinner party is neither one thing nor the other. But lifter dinner! Well, that’s different. “Soiree” is an ulxnninable word. The man that coined it should have been killed. Now, what can you call a happy, merry evening? You can't call it anything short and nice and pleas­ ant. People talk about “spending the evening” just as if they hail to put in the time somehow, and that was all they wanted to do. "Calling” suggests a straightbacked chair, your hat in your hand and the hostess in discomfort, wish­ ing you'd go. And there's only one word in the English language that means comfort, anil peace, and happiness, and enjoyment, and that word is "Home.”— San Francisco Chronicle “Undertones.” Woman's Work In Early Time». I Prior to the American revolution every colonial farm house and every black­ smith's shop was a manufactory. For everything was literally manufactured: that is, made by hand. The bl.u'ksmith hammered out axes, hoes, spades, plow­ shears. scythes and nails. A tailoress went from house to house to make up the winter clothing, and was followed by the shoemaker. The farmer prepared the leather from skins which hail laid in the vat for a year, and Ills wife made ready the cloth. Spinning wheels buzzed from morning till night. Skeins of woolen and linen yarn hung on the walls of every house. Seated on the lm seat, the best woman of the family plied shut­ tles anil treadles, weaving blankets, sheets, table cloths, towels, bed curtains, window curtains, flannels yind cloth for garments. Every woman in the house­ hold manufactured something. The aged grandmother spun flax with the little wheel; the youngest daughter carded wool, and the oldest, if the men were busy, hatcheled flax. It was hand work that did it, and every liand did what it could l.-st do. The women, whose •‘work was never done,” not only carded, spun and wove, hut they milked the cows, made butter, bread and cheese, soap and candles, cooked the food, did tlie wash­ ing. and it, harvest raked hay, pulled flax and dug pitatoes. Tho neighbor who hapfwned in for an afternoon's gos­ sip brought her work. The mother patched or knitted as she rested by the fireside, or quartered apples for the children to ■■»tring” and hang _ in the morning in festoons on the sunny out­ side walls. All were busy, alwaji» busy. —Youth's Companion. i i Golden Age of the Baseballist. | j ' | IDYL OF THE PRESENT DAY. . arn, where he could not be got at, and he, therefore, smilingly an­ nounced: “1 beg pardon for having disturbed you, but I caiqe to say that I have lately reformed. Come down and let’s talk it over.” “Not this eve!” replied the Goat, as be chewed away at an old pair of overalls. “Then you distrust me/” “Oh, no, no! I’m simply waiting for a Lamb to come along and test the stability of your reformation.” MORAL. Few rascals reform except to their own profit.—Detroit Free Press. Au Outlaw Indeed. A woman who keeps a Ixiarding house on Larned street called at jiolice headquarters yesterday to complain that a gentleman boarder had skipped her house, leaving u bill unpaid. “He owes me about $40 and I want him caught,” she added. “What kind of a person was he/” asked the sergeant. “Well, the day before he went away he offered to marry me to settle the bill. You can judge what cheek he has.” “And you refused/” “Yes—no no, I didn’t!” she exclaimed as she blushed clear hack to her ears. “It was all settled that we should I m » married, and that’s one reason why 1’11 pursue him to the ends of the earth. A man who’ll jump a board bill and a marriage engagement, too, is an outlaw who should lie locked up.”—De­ troit Free Press. 1*1 hi . I ut loll Phllonopliy. De bigger kin louden! »Ing and »hout Is agwine to rob some hen roast Afore de week is out. —Quoted by Senator Vanoe. A Cliary Man. “Isn’t it your opinion that we shall have an early spring/” he asked of a Grand River avenue grocer. “I shouldn't like to prodi t,” was the reply. “Afraid of making a mistake, chi’’ “Yes. I’ve got a Jot of old debtors on my books, and have predicted a dozen times over that this one or that one would call around Saturday night and settle, but I’ve been left every time.” “Ila! ha!” laughed the other in a forced way. and as he walked off he muttered to himself: “If he thinks he can bulb lose that four dollars out of me in any such way as that lie’s mistaken. I'll pay when I get ready, spring or no spring.”—Detroit Free I‘row. He lln«lit't Aliy. A huckster from the market yesterday halted a farmer on Grand. River avenue with: “Hey, are you loaded with produce?” “Humph!” sneered the farmer as he pulled up. “We don’t grow any of that stuff out our way.” “What