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SIDE LIGHTS 3
Hope is a great tonic. Old Repeater ie ae “clam” as au , i u oyster these days. "On earth peace, good will to ward meu.” Oliver Twist says kid gloves are A new one— Angelcorse—was sprang last week. Tailor Nelson says checks are stylish for fellers of checkered careers. The Fra for December says a man to be fullblown must run the gamut —including a term in jail. “I moost stay here anodder year yet, anyvay,” said Butoh, jr., “and den übetchu life I git out—may be!”"' Si Haskell dubs himself the baldheaded crank. “All; great men are cranks, Si,” said a neigh bor. Baron Slipupsky says this is fine weather for his business. What his business is he did not state. Says Montie: “When I have ze am particulai very particular —particular like hell.” Billy Pinkerton, jr., says some of the local laddie bucks really be lieve he is a professional sleuth. Such is fame! Prof. Webb’s apartments are fix ed up like an Atlantic City booth. The Professor is very fastidious in his tastes. Porfirio Alexio Gonzolio says when he geis another grip on free dom he will not need any medicine or medical treatment. A very interesting publication is the New England Magazine. It carries very fine illustrations of New England scenery. Wild Bill is “orayting” at the Chautauqua meetiugs like an old campaigner. He hid his light uuder a bushel too long. When the pot boils there is fire beneath. When a rumpus starts look for the fellow with the bung starter. A row never starts itself. Tailor Nelson’s fingerless deputy runner, Fingy, was asked recently: •‘How do you feel?” “With my fingers,” he replied. “Vat you tiuk ’bout dat?” “Them there things in that there lumber is knots,” opined the Chief Engineer. “Well, they ‘knotten ed’ to be there,” was the response of the party addressed. Hutch says: “If it freezes much mure we’ll have some cold weath er. Up in North Dakoty we used to have summer weather all win ter summer the time.” Mistali Waldorf leaves the circle of the elect the day before Christ mas. He says he is going to lose himself in Philadelphia —where he has 30,000 kinsmen in one bunch. Young Steady, the poet-printer pirate, is developing into a strong boy. If he keeps on in that direc tion he will be able to put Sandow and the Terrible Turk on the blink. A feller said: “When I first came here I was yelled at as ‘Hay, you!’ Later I was addressed as plain Blank. Now, it is Mr. Blank on all sides. What’s going to be pulled off next?” “Met h inks, methiuks,” said Mr. Heliograms, “this Jook of Ox ford is a bully bucko, judging from his writings. There’s noth ing banal or boobyish about him. He is a gossoon from the Ould Sod all right. Oi understand he is the leader of the 400 here—or perhaps Oi might more correctly say, the 700. Wall, auyway, he’s all to the pickled peppers.” the real thing for a private secre tary. But mitt 6 are all right for a business man with dough. Mr. John D. Rockefeller wears mitts, they say. That makes ’em o. k. “I certainly need a private sec retary or bookkeeper,” says King Menelik. “Keeping track of my finances in addition to my arduous duties keeps me so busy, suh, I don’t have time to properly attend to things, suh, nosuh.” There is a new man playing old mule in The Mirror office. He works without squealing or holler ing or asking to have the rules ameuded for his benefit. His name will therefore be enrolled on the Scroll of Honor as Silent Satisfaction. Spindleshanks, the ebony-hued assistant to Likehellhecan, says he would like to get into the local Hall of Fame so he can go back to Arkansaw a noted colored ce lebrity and deliver lectures on the subject: Is Coal Black as Black as Black Coal? House Steward Anderson says the only thing necessary to become famous in this place is to join the grand galaxy of chefs, cooks and caterers. “They are not only fa mous,” he said, “but they seem to be popular, also, a most wonderful situation to be in around here.’’ Read the Message to Garcia on the first page of this issue. It was this little story that gave Elbert Hubbard his big boost to ward fame and fortune. The Mes sage to Garcia has been printed iu every known language and is con sidered an American business clas- Prices are being slaughtered ,on several standard magazine sub scriptions to such an extent that it bpgins to look like “things is desprit” among their publishers. Local purchasers can save fifty per cent or more in ordering their sub scriptions through cutrate agen cies. Davy came puffing up the stairs to The Mirror sanctum the other day. Straightening himself up, he said: “The senator wants some letterheads.” “Who is the sena tor?” “lam,” he responded. “Sena tor Who?” he was asked. “Sena tor Black, of cohse,” responded the Senegambian affinity chaser. A couple of Officer Harvey’s pets in the scrambled noodle foundry have lately sent in requests to have The Mirror mailed regularly to their friends. “Looks like their scrambled noodles were beginning to resume a normal state,” observ ed a feller, “if they have sense enough to appreciate the family journal.” “Yen I leaf dis blace,” says Hu go, “I go me back to Chermany and shtay dere dill I die. I cum to dis country, join de Auti-Race Suicide Club, raise a large family und den dey put me in chail yet, besides. Ach, no vouder I haf de headache all de time. Yen I get out of dis blace I go back to de Kaiser und he vill be glad to know I cum back yet to de Faterland. Dis Auti-Race Suicide is all von grand humbug, I dink. Dere are doo many beople now vat vant to live mid out vorking—or else may be dey vant to live by ‘vorking’ somebody else yet, yah! Aber, ven I get back to Chermany I shall join not de Anti-Race Suicide Club, but de Highfliers’ Associ ation und I kiss everyding over here goodby, once, yet —yah. Freeh Air. “Fresh air is a good investment, whether it be in the home, the office, or the faotory,” says H. H. Windsor in the January Popular Meehanioe. “Without it the brightest mind beclouds and "the most energetic grow listless and lose force. The human engine cannot develop its utmost power without fresh air, any more than a candle can burn brightly or the fire under a boiler yield its utmost heat when deprived of the neces sary amount of oxygen. The Indian loses his vitality and the Esquimau speed ly develops tuberculosis when made to live as the civilized live. It does not follow that we should wear a few feathers instead of tailor made garments, or eat blubber and drink whale oil—which is largely a matter of taste —but we can be sensible and be as con siderate of ourselves in our daily ration of fresh air as well as select ing other kinds of food. “As a matter of ethios, there is little difference between breathing the impure air from our own and other people’s lungs aud bathing in the same tub of water that has served its mission several times. Of the two the dirty water is the least injurious.” Mr. Windsor follows this lead with some good advice to manufac turers, and then summarizes: “Good air: good production. Bad air: reduced production. “The twentyfive dollars which the ‘old man’ sends with such pride to Jim’s widow to help out the funeral expenses might better have been spent on ventilators.” The Green Book Album. The Green Book Album for Jan uary appears in a totals new make up, which serves admirably to present in a way most attractive to the eye, a great number of sparkling articles and stories per taining to the theatre and its peo ple. One notes, moreover, a num ber of articles by the best known theatrical writers in the country. Among the play authors who con tribute to the January issue of The Green Book Album are Henrietta Crosmau, Theodore Roberts, J. E. Dodson and Edmund Breese. The Psychology of the Ballyhoo, is entertainingly considered by Wal ter Richard Eaton, the newest plays are reviewed by Cbanning Pollock, while Rennold Wolf, in his Chronicles of Broadway, re flects the life of America's rialto. A bright article on the lively wit of Beerbohm Tree is one of the most entertaining features of the magazine. The playstory of the issue is Madame X, the European success of which is being repeated in this country. A complete novelization of Madame X appears as the leading literary feature of The Green Biok Album for Janu ary. A Marvelous Success. Although somewhat late it may not be out of place at this time to refer to the Thanksgiving number of the Christian Science Monitor, which was a remarkable produc tion from a newspaper point of view. The special number refer red to contained 96 pages, cram med with advertising from all parts of the country. When the Christian Science Mon itor was established less than a year ago, it was freely predicted that suoh an enterprise would be an extremely hazardous business risk. The Christian Science Monitor has proved conclusively that there is room in this country for at least one clean daily newspaper—omit ting all scandals and salacious news. pTi l ' The Land of the Poets. ff< ■———-— I IT THE SONG OF A ROWDY. Yes, I know ’tis unholy to moek at the fears That wring from the hearts of the lonely the tears. But hope shines so brightly o’er the path that I tread ’Twould seem that the shadows from my laughter hath fled. Though trouble assails me, unheeding I plod Confirmed with belief in the goodness of God. I must reap as I sow, so I’ 11 scatter the eed That blossoming sweetly, shall brighten life’s mead. From dark, gloomy aisles where weeping men pray To God whose reflection's the brightness of day, I gaze on the"hilts with green valleys between, And drink deep of the fragrance that’s breathed from the scene. All things by a wisdom no man can define, Are fashioned to meet the requirements of time. The mantle of winter, its bluff, stormy days, Enhances the beauty that summer displays. The sky that’s spread o’er us, the clouds that drift by, Were spread and drifting in centuries near and nigh. ’Midst decay of past seasons, fresh flowers are in bloom And the weak and the strong rest alike in the tomb. O, Listen! I'll tell you what experience has taught That misery’sthe prize, by selfishness caught, From laughter foreboding speeds quickly astray As the sunbeams at dawning drive darkness away. —D. M. THE SHIPS OF YULE. When I was just a little boy, Before I went to school, I had a fleet of forty sail I called the Ships of Yule. Of every rig, from rakish brig And gallant ba/kentine To little Fundy fishing boats, With gunboats painted green. They used to go on trading trips Around the world for me, For though I had to stay on shore My heart was on the sea. They stopped at every port of call From Babylon to Rome, To load with all the lovely thiugs We never had at home; With elephants and ivory Bought from the King of Tyre, And shells and silk and sandal-wood What sailor men admire; With figs and dates from Samarcand, Aud squatty ginger jars, And scented silver amulets From Indian bazaars; VYitli sugarcane from Port of Spain, With monkeys from Ceylon, And paper lanterns from Pekin With painted dragons on; With cocoanuts from Zanzibar, And pines from Singapore; And when they had unloaded these They could go back for more. And even after I was big And had to goto school, My mind was often far away Aboard the Ships of Yu ! e. —Bliss Carman in The Delineator. LONGINGS. Oft at night when all is silent, And the world is lost in sleep, Cling about pillow memories Of a woodland still and deep. Meadows clothed in softest violets, Shaded paths so sweet to roam, ' ” Visions of a vineclad cottage That once meant to me a home. Stands ajar the door at evening, While within the bright lights burn, ’Round the fire loved ones gather To wait in rapture my return. Perchance they speak quite often Of honor, wealth and fame, Hoped for their absent loved one % Whom the world has stamped with shame. Little know they that my absence Brings to me the greater grief; That freedom in their presence Would banish pain and bring relief. —Young Steady.