The Hennessey Clipper. (Hennessey, Okla.), Vol. 16, No. 5, Ed. 1 Thursday, June 29, 1905 Page: 2 of 8
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THE OLD, OLD HOME.
When I long for cainted memories
Like angel troops tiny come
If I fold my arms and ponder
On the old, old homo.
The heart has many passages
Through which the f«ellngs roam,
But one aisle is ever sacred
To the thoughts of old, old home.
Where Infancy was sheltered
Like rosebuds from the blast,
Where girlhood's brief elyslum
in joyousness was passed.
01). tli ie ne'er were days more Joyous
Than our girlhood days at home,
And no spot so full of glory
As the old, old home!
Would that we might somehow call back
One short day, that w< might roam
Out among the clover blossoms
Or the orchard's fragrant bloom
To that sweet spot forever,
As to some hallowed dome.
Life's pilgrim bends her vision-
"Pls her old. old home.
Dear father sat, how proudly,
By thiii old hearthstom ■ rayii
And told his children stories
Of his early manhood days;
And a loving eye was beaming—
From chlhl to child 'twould roam—
A dear mother watched her darlings
In the old, old home.
The childish glee, the mirthful song,
The dear old psalms and hymns
(Most of those who helped to slug them
then
Are with the seraphlms).
The evening's prayer, the fond good-
nights.
Then quiet sleep would come
And fold us oil together
ill the old, old home.
Like a wreath of sweet forget-me-nots,
< *Ios<* intertwlntd each heart,
Though time and change In concert
Have blown the wreath apart.
Hut dear and sainted memories
Like angels ever conn-
As I sit alone and poncjer
Of the old, old home.
— United Presbyterian.
Little France
A ROMANCE OF THE DAYS WIIKN
"THE GREAT I.ORI) HAWKE" WAS
KING 01-' THE SEA ^ Ml ^ ^
Cyrus Townsknd Brady
Author nf "Commodore Paul Jones,'
"Reuben James." "l-'or the Free-
dom of the Sen," etc.
—i «
Copyright, 1MJL by 1). Aupleton A Co.. Now York.
C ti A PT EH X V.—Cc N r iNf i: i).
The physician, who had been previ-
ously summoned, was speedily forth-
coming, and under his ministrations
the How of blood was staunched and
Grafton presently opened his eye
again.
"My friend," cried do Vitre, as Graf-
ton recovered consciousness, "what
can I say? What can 1 do to repay
>ou? On the ship yonder you saved
my lift'. A moment since, in this hall,
you saved mv honor, and I believ •
it is to \ou 1 owe my greatest happi-
ness."
And what is that?" whispered Graf-
tOn.
".Mademoiselle has consented to do
me the honor of becoming my wife."
"Ah!" exclaimed Grafton, as if
stricken again.
"What is it. what is it?" cried the
Frenchman, "what can I do?"
"You might have let me die do Vitre
But there, 'tis nothing. Take me
hence."
"Where will you lie taken, mon-
sieur?" asked the governor.
"He shall go back to my house." in-
terrupted Anne, "whence he came.
And you, Monsieur de Vitre, will ac-
company "
"Your pardon, mademoiselle." said
de Kamesav, "I believe Monsieur de
Vitre to be innocent of all the charge*
that have been made against him. but
my duty compels me to detain him in
the castle until I can communicate
with the English. One of my aides will
accompany you home."
""lis useless, sir. 1 have here a
faithful guard. If you will have some
of your soldiers bring a litter to carry
Monsieur Grafton, it will be enough."
"Watch over him well, mademoi-
selle!" cried de Vitre. as the soldiers
bore him from the room. "I owe him
much—everything!"
"Trust me, monsieur," replied the
voung girl. "Monsieur le Governor,
Lieutenant do Vitre, gentlemen. 1 bid
you adieu!"
With a sweeping courtesy she left
the room
Attended by Josette and guarded I
Jean-Henaud. with brimming eyes and
a leaden heart in her bosom, she
walked by the litter its the soldier?
bore it through the street. With down-
cast head she moved, yet no moven nt
of her wounded charge • caned le r.
Grafton lay on the stretcher with hi
eyes closed. Once, as the bearers
ftumbled, he opened them with a sharp
exclamation of pain. Instantly she
bent over him. As her ga/.e fell upon
his face he slowly turned bis head
away, as if the Bight were too much for
him and he could not bear to look upon
her.
"Are you in pain, monsieur?"
"Ah. Mademoiselle de Couedic!" h«
answered, "such pain as 1 trust yon
may never know."
"Why did you turn your head from
me?"
"Mademoiselle." he answered softly,
still not looking nt her, "I am thinking
of some pregnant words in an old book
which 1 iiad read to me when 1 was a
child."
' 'Thou shall not covet.' You un-
derstand the English?" he whispered.
"I understand—everything, mon-
sieur."
"Monsieur de Vitre," said the gov-
ernor, "il you give ui« your parole you
may have the freedom of the chateau.
1 congratulate you first upon your ac-
euittal, and more, monsieur, upon the
prize you have gained. Faith, sir.
yours is like to be the one victory of
the arms of France!"
CHAPTER XVI.
RECOGNITION.
GRAFTON still lav on the
great bed in the upper
chamber, although it was
the evening after the day
of the battle and the visit to the cha-
teau. He had been promptly put
there again by the faithful Jean-He-
naud when his bearers had reached
the house, and alter a quiet night and
a long (fay of perfect rest he felt
much better. I)r. Arnoux, who had
called to see him in the morning, bad
reprehended him severely for his ex-
cursion of the day before. Although
the surgeon had been filled with gen-
erous admiration at the devotion and
courage Grafton bad exhibit* d in be-
•half of (ie Vitre in the chateau, he
had strictly forbidden him to rise
again from the bed for some time at
least. With the remembrance of bis
unfortunate collapse in the chateau
at the trial of de Vitre, the English-
man was inclined to heed his advice.
Indeed, he could do no less, since his
uniform, as a further preventive, bad
been taken away by Jean-Renaud un-
der the orders of Mademoiselle de Ro-
han.
The tedium of the day had been re-
lieved by two short visits from the
mistress of the household. Had she
consulted her inclination only, she
would not have left him for a mo-
ment, but she did not dare trust her-
self long in his presence. Vet bare
hospitality, the consideration due a
sick man whom fate had thrown upon
her hands, constrained her at least to
inquire as to his health and to super-
vise in person the meager arrange-
ments which the straitened circum-
stances necessitated by the rigorous
siege nf Quebec permitted her to make
for his comfort.
Her visits had been brief, however,
and while they lasted she had delib-
erately stood in the shadow of the
bed-curtains, so that no opportunity
for a fair look upon her lace had been
vouchsafed him a thing lie was
thirsting for anil yet which he felt ut-
terly unable to bring about. Indeed,
his thoughts had been so busy with
her personality and her image, that
the time, which might have dragged
as only time can linger, leaden-footed
in the sick chamber, had passed be-
fore h noticed it.
Yet he was very dissatisfied with
the situation. There was something
about the young demoiselle which
moved him powerfully, something be
could not explain. The- thought of her
betrothal to de Vitre filled him with
a certain jealous dismay—he could not
exactly tell why. It was hardly pos-
sible he could be In love with her him-
self, a girl he had seen but a day
since! He se-med to have known, or
to have met her before. th<"igli. How
was it? De Couedic! And >et
But what could he do? Nothing.
He1 was ina*Tor oi" himself now—in th°
full possession of hi- facilities, with
no excuse of weakness, wounds, or
fever, that is and there could be no
possible reason for so personal an ap-
peal to her as he bad made when in
fevered confusion he had asked her
if she loved de Vitre.
During the day he was attended
by a strange servant, and saw neither
Jean-Henaud nor Josette. either of
whom might have enlightened him
had not both been kept from him by
the orders of their mistress. The con-
versation between the two. therefore,
on the occasion of these two visits was
necessarily brief; confined on her part
to inquiries as to his well-being, bis
needs, and desires, and upon his part
to expressions of gratitude tor lo r
kindness, and earnest deprecations of
ilte trouble he was giving her and her
household.
As for her. every time she ap-
pt t i< lied him she longed to declare
herself With the passionate aban-
don of a French woman who loved lit-
erally fur the first time, who found
herself in the actual presence of a
long-cherished ideal, before a realiza-
tion of her girlish and maidenly
dreams, she would lain have thrown
herself upon his breast -into bis
arms. She longed to gather him to
her heart and lavish upon him those
treasures of affection which all the
gallantry, courage and devotion ot tie
Vitre1 could not evoke. And all this
in the lace of the keen jealousy she
suffered over the locket he wore, and
the resentment sin- felt, in despite of
the precautions she took to prevent it,
that In had not recognized her—which
was unreasonable but essentially fem-
inine.
Hut si; had controlled herself like
an American. The marquis himself
could not have been more coolly and
coldly polite than sh ■. As for Graf-
ton. he had not yet, to use his own
expression, "got hi bearings. Never
in his life had he been so moved by
the presence of a woman as during
the last two days. He could hardly
reason about it clearly in his present
condition. But at last he thought
that the explanation of this infatuatoin
must lie in his weakness and her
beauty, for with singular fatuity he
had not succeeded in discovering any
other reason for his interest.
In the first place, owing to the pre-
cautions she had taken, he had not yet
had that clear, full sight of the girl
ior which he longed. She had always
been in a halt light, or concealed in
some shadow, or with face turned
away, when she had been with him.
He might have looked upon her care-
fully in the hall or the Chateau St.
Louis, but his mind was bent upon
other things then, and his physical
weakness and the resulting collapse
had possibly impaired his judgment
ab well as his vision.
resides all this, she had informed
him that her name was de Couedic,
which appellation told him nothing,
but had actually thrown him entirely
on the wrong track. By no possibility
could he have imagined that the Coun-
tess de Rohan, whom he had left a
child a few years before in the Cha-
teau de Josselin in Brittany, would be
found now inside the walls of Quebec
in America.
Josette he had scarcely seen since
he was wounded, and he paid no at-
tention to her anyway in the pres-
ence of Anne—one does not look at tlie
moon when the sun is by. The same
might be said of Jean-Renaud. The
sergeant bad not Impressed himself
very deeply upon Grafton's conscious-
ness when he had been held a prisoner
at the chateau, and the changed uni-
form and dress, together with the
lapse of time, had prevented his be-
ing recognized. Anne had been very
careful not to call the names of her
two servitors in his presence after she
had recognized him, and during me
day he had not seen either of them.
Luck, too. was against him. Indeed,
how could he have recognized in this
glorious specimen of glowing woman-
hood. the thin, undeveloped little girl
of other days?
Anne de Rohan was now IS years of
age and in the first flush of beautiful
womanhood. Of medium height, with
a figure which combined the lovely
proportions of her American ancestry
with the daintiness and delicacy of the
women of France; with a clear, cool,
pale yet not pallid face, exquisite
features, scarlet lips, proudly, ay. even
' •*." _ 'H
r-' JUbL X
n
"I UNDERSTAND."
disdainfully elegant in their graceful
curves; deep blue eyes, so deep that
they were almost violet when filled
with feeling or glowing with passion,
and the whole framed in her midnight
hair; she was indeed a rarely beautiful
woman. The performance of her ma-
turity was indeed greater than her
childhood's promise had been. Onlj^
a prophet might have seen the one in
the past, or a seer recognize the other
in the present.
A strange concatenation of circum-
stances had brought the girl to New
France. After Grafton's departure
from the chateau d^ Josselin she had
drooped and faded. She was growing
too rapidly, thought the marquis and
those who advised him, who never
suspected the real reason for her ill
health. She actually had pined for
the young man who had left her be-
hind and yet had takeu her childish
heart with him. But of this, of course,
she said nothing, so the wise men con-
cluded that she had st lulled too hard,
had been too closely confined, and so
on. The physicians who were on
stilted, after the simpl • remedies of ih"
time had proved unavailing, finally
recommended a sea-voyage.
As it happened, the marquis lia.i
just then been summoned to the King
to take part as a commander in onu
i f the campaigns of the Seven Year.-'
war, his experienc e and ability being
too valuable to allow him to be neg-
lected. The old man, therefore, ha 1
taken advantage of the departure of a
heavy Fn nch squadron, carrying gen-
eral. the .Marquis de Montcalm, his
suite, and some troops, to send his
grand-daughter to Canada under the
charge of the general, an old friend,
who had been appointed to the supreme
command in New France. An ancient
relative of the house of Rohan lived in
aflluencc and ease in Quebec, and to
her the marquis consigned the young
countess.
She bad remained in New France
with this estimable lady ever since her
arrival, for two reasons: One. it had
been difficult—well-nigh impossible,
indeed, on account of the number of
English ships cruising to intercept the
traffic between Canada and Frao.ce-
to get away; and the other, as th
marquis was still - ngag"«l in the French
army, she would have no pla- e to which
to go. no place where she could have
lived so comfortably and safely if she
returned to France. The marquis was
determined that be would not throw
her into the ho'bed of dissipation and
intrigue of which Louis XV. was the
j focus, in Paris or at Versailles.
Her health, much benefitted by th
i voyage, was soon completely restored.
and with her great beauty, her ancient
i name, her powerful grandfather, th
! great estates to which slu* was sole
I heiress, she became, as childhood gave
i way to womanhood, the undoubted
belle of New France. The officers of
• the army, the sea officers from the var-
I ions ships or squadrons which from
■ time to time arrived from Fran e, the
voung Canadian noblesse, all laid their
j hearts at her feet. She could have
i chosen any one from among them,
but as yet none of them had suce > ded
in touching her heart. Most of them
she liked and the society of many of
them she enjoyed.
Among the many she had no t who
had paid court to her. the man she
most liked, and who was. in fact, per-
haps the finest among them, was the
young sailor to whom, iu fear of her
love f« r Grafton, she had just engaged f
he rself. She had refused his suit many
times before, but with undaunted gal-
lantry he had persisted in his at-
tentions.
How her grandfather, the marquis
would regard the engagement upon
which she had so suddenly and cap-
riciously entered was problematical.
In fact, she felt that he would disap-
prove; but while she was wholly
French in her training and in her ideas
she was not for nothing the daughter
of an American mother. She combined
a determination to exercise a certain
liberty of choice as to the disposition
of her heart and person with the stub-
born, inflexible will power of her
grandfather. Therefore, she could
meet the certain antagonism of the
marquis with two weapons—his own
■ nd her mother's. She trusted alsc
that lie might be won to her view; she
was sure he would rather see her
dead than have her marry an English-
man. an enemy, and she hoped, when
she explained to him that in utter
despair she had thrown herself into the
arms of the one to escape the prompt-
ings of her heart, whites would fain
have thrown her into the arms of tho
other, that he would acquiesce.
She had no one to advise her, poor
child! The ancient relative to whose
care she had been commifted, had died
n few weeks since of the cares, anx-
ieties and privations brought about bv
the seige. An ordinary French girl
would have gone to a convent under
the circumstances, but Anne possessed
a certain amount of self-reliance and
independence, and she resolved, for
the time being, at least, to remain at
her own house with old Jean Renaud
■ nd Josette. If the English were driven
away she made up her mind rTiat at
.••ny hazard she would ta'.e ship for
France. If. on the contrary, the Eng-
lish captured the town she would'prob-
ably be sent back a prisoner. So she
awaited the issue of the campaign, in
the meantime busying herself with
caring for the sick and wounded
It was evening. She stood by th*3
dormer window looking out on the
street. Grafton watched her closely
from tbe bed. She had stopped a mo-
ment to inquire for him. her third and
to be her last visit that day, and
then, attracted by a commotion out-
side. she had gone to the window.
A little cortege filled the street be-
low. Some soldiers bore upon their
shoulders a rude wooden box. Over it
was laid the golden-lilied white flag of
France, and upon the flag a handsome
sword. A half-dozen men. holding
nine torches whose flickering, wavering
flames cast an uncertain illumination
over the scene, walked by the make-
shift coffin. Immediately behind came
a few priests, and then Monsieur de
Ramesay and his staff, and a little hud-
dle of townspeople—the idle and the?
curious.
Tiiere were no strains of martial
music; there was neither blare of
bugle nor roll of drum, nor tolling
bells. There was no ceremony, no
pomp; there were no women even.
Anne leaned her head upon the case-
ment. her tears falling softly. Her
body shook with sobs. Grafton stared
at her keenly and curiously. There
was i strange pain at his heart when
he saw her weep.
Presently the funeral procession
passed the window. The lights from
the torches, almost at a level with her
face in the window of the low-studded
old house, threw it into high and bright
relief. She was off her guard, not
thinking of herself or even of Graftoi^
for th<"* moment. It was the first time
that he had been able to -e her well.
Suggestions of the truth came across
him with a sense of shock, and yet
be did not quite recognize her. FLi
was not sure. It could not be.
[To Be Continued.]
THE SUBJECT WAS CHANGED.
■-'.very tli Int; Wan Lovely 1'iitll h Plot urn
of Pathetic Reality Wttn
1'resenteii.
"Yes," said he, "life is so lonely "
"It is lonely sometimes," she an-1
swered, in her most affectionate tones.
"Wouldn't it be sweet to have a lit-'
tie cottage with all the front covered
with ivy and honeysuckle and roses?"
"Oh, wouldn't it!"
' And when a fellow comes home
tired from business to have a nice
little wife to meet him at tbe door
with a kiss?"
"Y -e-e-s!"
"And then, the winter nights, the fire
blazing brightly in the cosy parlor,
and you—I mean a wife—at the piano,
singing in the gloaming. It would be
lovely!"
"I think it would be1 sweet !'*
"And then "
At this point, relates London Ti'
Hits, a careworn woman came round
the corner wheeling twins in a peram-
bulator. A dead silence fell upon the
air. Then they changed the subject
<1 «if th«* l lnullMh t il IUVIinui>
A lecturer, who had a very fine lec-
ture on "The Decadence of Pure Eng-
lish," gave his address before a wo-
man's club.
At the close of the talk, a very much
overdressed woman of the "fuss and
feather.-" type came up to him and
said: "I did enjoy your talk e ver and
ever so much, and 1 agree with you
that the English language is decading
awfully. Hardly no one talks proper
nowadays, and the land only knows
what the next generation will talk like
if nothing isn't done about it."—Kan«
sas City Independent.
The Fourth Will dawn as It always d' es,
Ar.d the powder will fla h as before;
The nickel wi.i whiz and th* candle will
Hare.
And the Chinese cracker will roar.
And the iron cannon will sit on the hill
And salute with a dozen booms;
While *1 • stic k of punk will smolde r away
And greot you with stifling: fumes.
[Ve-. f
..vir
The Fourth will dawn as it always Ices.
And the pun ier will burn in the street;
nd the sj.it -:. \ i: s fire will circle art un I
Till It gets mixed up with your feet.
Ar.d the* policeman will take- out his book
And re-ulster down the mishaps.
While John in his laundry will no: be sate
From Hying torpedoes and caps.
iliM
Jiawetef, ho has forgotten that tin/
bedstead has a hard and sharp-cor-
nered post at either side of hij head,
j and he has come in contact \*1.*h one
of the corners with sudden and unex-
pected severity. This accident is not
calculated to increase his affability
and .smoothness of disposition, but It
dops thoroughly waken him. Then ho
hears rhe rattle as of musketry with
now and' then the deep, loud pounding
of artillery, small firecrackers going
by the bunch, giving much the sound
of the rattling fire of rifles, while the
single big fellows are distorting one's
sense of the reasonableness of things
by their terrific explosions. So the
thing keeps up all through the long
and tedious watches of rhe night with
I aggravating monotony. The only va-
j riety is In the combinations and per-
mutations of "big and little" sounds
! as they would seem to a sleepy man.
I First there is a small "crack," then
anothe** and another, and then the air
■c/i
i iJV/
The Fourth will dawn It always does.
And the country «-ousins will go
To a pine- platform somewhere in a grove
To hear an cloquc nee blow,
Df Hunke r Hill and Liberty bell
And the tale of King George's reign;
The same old speech of a hundred years,
Hut a.ways worth l eaning again.
The Fourth will close as It always does,
To the scream of the parting bombs;
And the- blistered boy will repair to his
room
To count his fingers anil thumbs.
Bring out bandage- and arnica vial.
Away with the cracker and giro;
"Two weeks !:; In-d!" but then l;e will say;
"I'm more than paid in di fun!"
—Chicago Daily News.
ill
* itr) ',v ' fa
[lllliU—.
"DON'T BE AFRAID.'
seem'- to be rent in twain by the re-
port of a cannon cracker. With
sounds of half a dozen intensities the
thing keeps up an all-night bombard-
ment. and it is probable that never are
the same combinations of "small and
large" sounds repeated throughout the
entire time. It is the kind of variety
that drives one insane, for he begins
to try thinking up new combinations
of sounds until there is a continuous
procession of haunting explosions go-
ing through his mind like an endless
chain made up of phantom links. It
moves and moves until Grufftone is
just dozing off again, when a frightful
explosion right in front of the house
brings him to full consciousness. This
sort of thing is a doubtful prepara-
tion for Grufftone. and millions of
others in his situation, and bodes ill
for his equanimity on the morrow.
This may account for the growing in-
difference exhibited by elder people
towards the glorious Fourth and its
old-time celebration. At any rate, as
people grow older, they certainly do
lose their interest in ihe noise and
roar of the Fourth and feel more like
I retiring to some quiet spot in the
j country where they can rest in peace.
; But the youth of the land are as de-
j termined as the youth of old and the
i noise they make is as fierce as ever
noise lias been. Somehow, there is in-
I born in them the idea that the spirit
| of patriotism in themselves is in direct
, proportion to the amount of noise they
make and the quantity of stuff they
cause to be destroyed by fire. Peculiar
vy
The Glorious Day
It Brings Wildest Joy to Every Eoy
After a Disturbed Night to
the Light Sleeper.
There is not a holiday >f any kind
that does not strike joy to the heart
of the American small boy. but it re-
mains for just two of them afl to In-
cite in linn any Interest. (Jne of these
is Christmas and the other is the glo-
rious Fourth of July. All rhe other
holidays are good because they give
him a chance to get away from school,
to go skating, fishing or a-frogglng. but
these two have in themselves some-
thing of interest for young hearts.
Nor have the means and the methods
employed in celebrating them changed
much in 1' • years, although the fur-
ther we get away from the Declaration
of Independence of 1770 the1 more im-
posing and impressive does that event
seem to be.
It is a had season for worn and
shaken nerves. Tbe light sleeper se-
cures little or no sleep the night be-
THE HERO OF TIIF HOI It.
though this idea seems, it is wide-
spread. Perhaps it is fostered by the
fireworks concerns, but certain it is
that there Is no calculating the
amount of money and energy that is
annually thrown away in fireworks,
1 powder, fire, lights and noise on the
Fourth of July. This is, no doubt, the
cynical frame of mind that Grufftone
! has got into because of his night's ex-
, perlence. But when he sees the little
fore the Fourth, for there is one con !
tinual serenade of explosions. To add
P
HE SITS I P IN BED.
Work of \rt.
Smith—Softkins recently began a
correspondence with n woman who ad-
vertised for a husband, and after seeing
her photograph be proposed by mall.
"And they met and got married,
eh?"
"Not exactly. They met. all right,
but Soft 1 ins is now looking for the
photographer with a gun."—Chicago
Dally News,
to the aggravation, the night is hoc
and all the available windows must be
kept open as far as possible. There is
no keeping out the noises under these
conditions, and it is probably a fact
that more sleep is lost during the
night of July 3 than on any other
night of the year, perhaps more than
In all the other nights put together,
taking Into consideration the entire
country. For all over the rutted
States practically the same thing is go-
ing on, and in the cities at any rate
it is safe to say that half the inhabit-
ants lie awake. Think of it! Thirty
millions of people losing a night's
sleep?
"Boom," a tremendous noise comes
from away downtown somewhere, and
Grufftone starts from a troubled doze
into which he had fallen. His diges-
tion has not been good for some days
past and his temper has assumed a
correspondingly yellow tinge. The sti-
lling night is enough of itself to put
him out of sorts, and not a breath of
air is stirring. He is but half awake |
when another "boom," louder and
nearer at hand than the other, drives
away what remains of his unconscious-
ness, and he sits up In bed with a
sleepy expression on his face and a
sentence of condemnation for the
! small boy on bis lips In sitting up,
S
fellows having good sport with the
firecrackers and nigger chasers in the
morning he gets the fever again and
feels a little like taking a hand with
them. Crackers and burned fingers
and punk are the principal ingredients
of the day's programme for the young.
Some go to the ball game, some to
races of one kind and another, or up
to the island, and some stay at home
and nurse their hurts. And at night,
after the candles and rockets and
fancy fireworks have been shot off,
and the last crackcr has done its work
in the world, the small hoy and the
small girl, too, are finally persuaded
to go to bed. completely exhausted
with their day and night of excite-
ment. Detroit Free Press.
Suggestion.
Sapleigh—I—aw—keep me eyes open,
when I'm in society, donc.her know,
still I'm always putting mo—aw—foot
in It.
Miss Cutting—Well, why not try
keeping your mouth shut for a change?
---Chicago Daily News.
A Suggestion.
"What can a fellow do when he gets
to the end of his rope?" m irraured the
despondent citizen.
"Throw the cigar away and light a
fresh one," suggested the idiotic citizen
cheerfully.—Chicago Sun. .
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Miller, C. H. The Hennessey Clipper. (Hennessey, Okla.), Vol. 16, No. 5, Ed. 1 Thursday, June 29, 1905, newspaper, June 29, 1905; Hennessey, Oklahoma. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc105434/m1/2/?q=virtual+music+rare+book: accessed June 10, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.