THE "CLARA" CUP. WE MAKE SOLID SILVER ONLY, AND OF BUT ONE GRADE-THAT OF STERLING, FINE; THEREFORE PURCHASERS SECURE ENTIRE FREEDOM FROM FALSE IMPRESSIONS, AND THE QUESTION "IS IT SILVER OR IS IT PLATED?" IN NEVER RAISED CONCERNING A GIFT BEARING OUR AND FINE MILLINERY. WEAR. 893 BROADWAY, 13 EAST 19th STREET, NEW YORK. Street. ESTABLISHED 1798. Largest in America. Established 1829. Price List Sent Free Published every Thursday. $5.00 a year in advance. Postage to foreign countries in the Postal Union, $1.04 a year, extra. Single copies, 10 cents Back numbers can be had by applying at this office. Single copies of Vols. I. and II. out of print. Vol. I., bound, $30.00; Vol. II., bound, $15.00. Back numbers, one year old, 25 cents per copy. Vols. III. to XVI., inclusive, bound or in flat numbers, at $10.00 per volume. Subscribers wishing address changed will greatly facilitate matters by sending old address as well as new. Rejected contributions will be destroyed unless accompanied by a stamped and directed envelope. THE HE attention of Miss Frances Willard (extra sec) and her friend Lady Henry Somerset is respectfully called to a seditious paragraph that is going about in the newspapers which quotes Prince Bismarck as observing that drinking seems to be dying out more and more in Germany, and as hoping that the Germans "will not become like the English, who drink only water and tea." The Prince is a brewer, to be sure, and has business interests which may have biased his judgment, but his notion that the English are teetotalers is fit to scandalize Lady Somerset, while his hope of a bibulous future for Germany will be an inexpressible shock to both ladies. The antics of the youthful German Emperor give special weight just now to anything the Prince says, and make his lamentable views about beverages peculiarly untimely and distressing. In view of the large number of Germans in the United States with whom the old man's personal opinions carry some weight, it would seem incumbent upon Miss Willard to make a pilgrimage to Friedrichsruhe and try to indoctrinate him with better notions of what is good to take. DU * UE and timely notice has been served on the American poet to come out of his hole into the glad Spring air and show what he can do. An eminent soap firm is calling to him on the covers of the May magazines to tune up his lyre and sing of soap. Nearly $2,000 worth of song of this nature is called for, to be delivered in a dozen distinct lots and paid for according to quality. It is not distinctly stated, but it is natural to suppose that the lots selected are to give glory to the soap firm's exhibit at the Chicago Fair. The call is magnificently liberal, especially since the decease of two very eminent American poets, and the absence of a third (Mr. Stedman) on a journey for the good of his health, leaves the field practically open to the lesser bards. THE New Evening York Post cannot break itself of the practice of publishing a certain amount of out-of-doors news from the colleges, most of it relating to the crews and nines. Considering the Post's views as to the deleteriousness of intercollegiate sports, it is odd that it should permit its valuable inside space to be used to pander to a taste so mischievous. It almost seems as if the Post might sometimes be influenced by a regard for what it calls "the great journalistic principle, If a paper will not sell, it must be made to sell.'" The journals conducted on this basis did their full duty by Ferdinand Ward. On his return from prison their reporters dogged him and counted the number of tears he shed when he embraced his infant son. GRAY-PARKER Imported Paris Omnibus Horse: MON DIEU! BUT YOU HAVE THE SAD AIR! Fifth Avenue Stage Puller: YES, OLD BOY. COME INTO OUR COMPANY AND YOU'LL LOOK LIKE THIS AT THE END OF A MONTH. THE LIGHTNING CHANGE ARTIST AND THE ESCAPED LION. IN TOO MUCH OF A HURRY. E ran ten blocks to be in time HE To take her to the play, And there, within the parlor dim, He whiled an hour away. THE BAD NOVEL: Don't worry. She put me down here when her mother called her. But she will throw me back of the hat box on the top shelf before any one gets a chance to see me. It's dreadfully dark up there. THE GOOD NOVEL: I'd rather be there than here on the library table, where every one that calls picks me up, throws me down and says "Pshaw!" THE BAD NOVEL: But look at the condition I'm in-all torn and soiled. Why, every one in the house is reading me, and every one is trying to conceal the fact by putting me back in the same place. One of these days I shall be discovered by two of them at the same time, and then I shall be burned in the furnace. Ugh! THE GOOD NOVEL That's better than being given to the Sunday Schonbrary when you get old and gray. THE BAD NOVEL: But they're always talking about you. THE GOOD NOVEL: Well, they're always thinking about you. THE BAD NOVEL (sighing): Well. I suppose their very detestation of me is in a way a compliment. The very first person that read me, cut me. That shows what they think of me. THE GOOD NOVEL: And I've never been cut by any of them. That shows what they think of me. Tom Hall. サー Friend, back of him: JUMP AT HIM SUDDENT, JIMMY, AN' KNOCK HIM DOWN AN' THEN I'LL SICK MY DOG ON HIM! |