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[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] TALES OF A TERRACE. -0 BY HEBER K. DANIELS. author OF ME AND JIM." TERRACTAL MENITIES. A £ L.j* ■ I II E terrac9 of <, Underishott, in common with the City of Ancient Rome, shareR the reputation of hav- ing had a very phenomena) AI,4 growth. Origin. ally-let us say on the Saturday -a sloping glade of great pastoral C^T\U Y&/ beauty on the ^S3/mT' Surrey side of 7 the Thames, it became the fol- lowing Monday fn eligible site," to be snapped up on Tuesday, parcelled out 011 Wednesday for Thursday's instalment of shingle, and con- !erted on the proximate Friday fortnight Into as ephemeral an array of villas in the grease as ever gladdened the eyes of a jerry- building Romulus. 1 ,Pn'nv^nK> as was universally acknow- ledged to have been at thi3, its initial stage 4 formation, the terrace was, nevertheless, enabled by virtue of its isolation from the *ower lying districts of Battersea, Lambeth, *nu Brixton, to cater pretty successfully to a „*S8 of enthusiastic fcouse-bunters whose aSer pursuit of rusticity would, perhaps, th 'ess romantic circumstances, have led ern to inquire too curiously iuto its alleged j?undations or the continuity of its drains. they were given to understand, with a Jarful air of truth by the agent an ?Q°tioneer's cleric—that the right of way -Battersea was permanently blocked by e cemetery, that Lambeth saw an unsur- theUntable barrier to southerly development in • e property of u vestrvman who was hold- out," and that 'Brixtonian aspirations definitely cartailed by broccoli. Or- dia these inducements fail in securing the results—attention was directed to the au stream that brawled, so the agent said, *l0n8 the foot of the terrace; and few there rere among these house-seekers who could, /^•"frtively speaking, get over the River r;0*1*, after the auctioneer and estate agents £ 0DDg man had done full justice to the sylvan Pr°perties of the little tributary, wending its ^Sid way in the direction of the Battersea reaches. it came to pass that the "to let cards ^'sappeared from the windows one after pother, with a rapidity that spoke volumes °r the descriptive powers of the young man foresaid; and by the end of the first month from the date of completion the whole of the Sunny side of the terrace was occupied from basement to garret, together with a fair sprinkling of those houses on the shady side I facing—pshaw over-the-way. The next phase in the earlier history of the terrace is best described in the inspired ftietre of its poet (and dentist), on the left- band side going up James Somerville ^dson, of Acacia "Villa, to wit. Breathed J&dson one balmy spring morning over the Permanent hair restorer ad. of our local ■London and South Western Meteor, in this ^ise « » j 'roiti epic flights and lofty themes An^.tl,ee> my piu«e, descent], In Sin8 Undershott, g \Cce?,ta rarely pen'd areauaers innumerable—rapt votaries of art, "7 deep iu tuoos Belsravian, o'eriook on Suirey s « cl»art, *cet Ooze's silvet'd rourmurings—afar from In » and tug bug »y' haPPy fellowship of meadowsweet and *t was a daring flight, and attracted a con- deal of attention at the time; albei there were those among the hypercritical fin 1 terrace who took exception to Judson a as reflecting on the cleanliness of the nimunity at large in its implied bint on the t> for a liberal use of Keating. following week's issue of the Meteor 'Gaining no emendations or apologies 011 !*• part of the author, the lines as they j ^naHv appeared are destined to be posterity intact, as a remarkable faction of native Undershott soil. «. 0r the greater space of a year the inha' 1- of the terrace continued, Rasselas-like, u enjoy the manifold blessings attendant on 1 '^ique position even among London sub- Qrbs. Those few among its males whose pY^oations necessitated a diurnal trip to the Mty and back, always enlarging with fj-eat enthusiasm over their evening meals on Jb« exhilarating effect of the early mornings ;rQdge through the boundless acres of market J**den that intervened between their little Iv °n7 and absorption, and giving it out as Arm conviction that, were the compo- rt parts of Undershott atmosphere to be they would be found to bear v°or*bIe comparison with those of any ozone-boasting watering-place in the three kingdom's. Painful, therefore, as it must be to the feelings of my readers to learn that so Arca- dian a state of things was fated to be of but short duration, a rigid adherence on my part to the prosaic lines of contemporary history compels me, however reluctant, to ohronicle those events which, arising from the turbulent ambition of the neighbouring peoples, were destined at one fell swoop to change this sweet Auburn among our rural communities into a mere excrescence of brick and stucoo. The news that the Battersea Vestry bad succeeded at last in circumventing the burial ground fell like a thunder-clap upon those denizens of Undershott-terrace who had looked upon an irruption from that quarter as co-existent only with the resurrection of its dead, Stunned and horrified beyond description, they had appealed in impassioned periods, through the!medium of their poet and local organ, to the best instincts of that body of tradesmen whose commercial turn of mind had incontestably rendered themselves masters of the situation, but without the least avail. True, their objections had been discussed in detail at the weekly meetings of those vandal retailers "-vide Judson's letters — with an assumption of regard that would have done credit to a Church Congress; but on a motion by Guardian Smith, that these yer frivo- lous objections be now squashed," the insin- cerity of the whole proceedings was strikingly evidenced by the unanimity with which it was carried. Baffled, but not beaten, the terrace then appealed to the Metropolitan Board of Works, who referred their prayer back for re-conside- ration to the local board, who, again, through the "Gothic Smith "-(Judson's letters)- gave it its quietus with a show of language that exhibited in their true colours a body of gentlemen for whom even the licensed vitu- peration of a Judson could find no words sufficiently condemnatory. About this time the recalcitrant vestryman whose property had hitherto served as a bul- wark between Lambeth and the terrace, fear- ing a depreciation in land consequent on the invasion of the cemetery, bad re-considered his former terms and given in on the self- same day that the broccoli proprietor on the Brixton confines had for similar reasons given out, and with these two remaining barriers to transpontine progress beaten down, the dis- heartened terrace now saw their last hope of seclusion gone for ever. Little by little the broad red line of gravelled thoroughfare began to move silently, but surely, down upon the devoted terrace from the three cardinal points of Battersea, Lambeth, and Brixton. Quietly, but none the less inexorably, long rows of red-bricked Queen Anne's made their appearance over the neighbouring slopes, and proceeded with silent despatch to assimilate with those form- ing the upper portion of the terrace. Shops sprang into existence among cabbage patches and orchards as if by magic. A hand organ found its way into the terrace on Thursday afternoon and reeled off the greater portion of a new opera bouffe before it was discovered and thrown with its manipulator into the Oozie by the combined forces of an outraged community. Nothing appeared to be suffi- ciently sacred in the eyes of the ruthless invaders. Even the "ailver'd wfttera of the Oozle itself had been temporarily diverted in order to meet the degrading necessities of mortar and cement, and the miserable looking animals that constituted the motive power for the new line of half-penny 'busses, had they not been seen on more than one occasion to slake their thirst at its brink with the greatest impunity ? In this wise affairs went rapidly on from bad to worse, until at last one morning, when the terrace awoke to the fact that a fried fish shop had been established at its lower corner during the night, and that the water company had turned its river off at the meter, as it were, they resigned themselves, with a last sigh of regret, to what, after all, was only a further step in the inevitable prooess of Metropolitan federation. To one who has followed the fortunes of the terrace, as I have done, from its very com- mencement to the present day, it is needless to sav that the outgoings and incomings of its tenants have afforded a very large opportunity for the study of suburban human nature in its many varied phases; and that, even had 1 been without that observant turn of mind for which my worthy parents have from an early age given me the fullest credit. There- fore, with the foregoing very necessary preamble on the rise and fall of Under- shott-terrace (a material ebb and flow so strikingly in keeping with the domestic con- cerns of many of its inhabitants), 1 shall endeavour in my poor gossiping way to take my readers a little further into my confi- dence, and, with the certainty of their pre- serving these revelations an inviolate secret, initiate them into the private affairs of some of ihose more notorious among Undershott. characters as shall re-pay them for the trouble of perusal. But, again-as the law of libel nowadays is a thing not to be lightly trifled with-I must ask them to accept these disclosures in the very strictest confidence, and should they at any times be taxed on the subject, to bear in mind these, my words of admonition—" Don t tell anyone told you J Next Week— THE ELOPEMENT OF DOLLY RUDGE."

A one-legged Welshman was once bantering an Irishman, when the latter asked him, llow did you come to lose your leg « Well said the Welshman, "on examining mv pedigree and looking up my descent, 1 found that there was some Irish blood in me, and becoming convinoed that it had settled in that left leg, I had it cut off at once. "Be the powers," said Pat, "it would have been a better thing had it settled in your head." H My dear young friend," he said, as he rested his chin on the back of the seat ahead and tickled the passenger's ear with his breath, "do you look upon the wine< whenat is red ?" i\o, sir," was the reply; I don t touch liquor in any fo.m." "Let me shake vou by the hand, my friend. It hils1 my heart with unmixed joy to hear you say Liquor is a curse." It is to a inan in my business. I must have a clear head. hatl- road man ? "#No, air I am a gambler."

— (Jadbsry's Cocoa.—" A Coroa. poss^sing valu- nbl« flesh-forming qualities, and imparting s.ientf1 atayiiig power."—.Health. MazawattkeTeas are a household word in n Ales, They re call the delicious teas of 30 years ago. L-g

Dorothy; or the Mountain Trip. Well, good people, if we intend to olimb the mountain to-day, we had better hurry." At this remark there is a general scamper to the various roomr, and soon every one except Dorothy is down again and ready to start. She, lazy girl, has been lounging about in her morning gown instead of dressing at once for the expedition. Maude Drisooll calls up the stairs, We are going, Dorothy I" where- upon that young lady peeps over the banisters and tells Maude not to be in such a hurry she'll be down in a minute. Soon she appears, her lovely face all aglow. "We are going to have a delightful time, aren't we, Maude P" she cries with a sly glance at Roger Davenport's handsome, but gloomy face. She loves to snub this unhappy young man, for some reason best known to herself, and smiles a little at his present expression. Better not be sure, Miss Dorothy," answers a foppish-looking youth nicknamed "Pug." "A sudden shower might come up and spoil all our finery." He glances suggestively around the group, his eyes wandering from Ida Delsarte, gorgeous in Eiffel red silk, to Maude, in a cool-looking pongee, and at last rest on Dorathy. fl But it wouldn't hurt you, would it ?" he continues, looking admiringly at the fetching mountain costume of grey, with a wide band of patent leather on the skirt, high boots, and small hat. They all laugh—they are so accustomed to Pug's adoring speeches. Dorothy frowns a little, but as she sees Roger Davenport's dis- gusted look, smiles the sweetest smile in the world, and, touching Pug's arm and looking into his face, says, Oh, I am so glad you like my dress!" and then, as the others walk on, adds in a lower tone, but still loud enough for Roger to hear, It is so nice to have any- one we like tell us a thing is pretty By this time they have reached the road where the carriages are waiting, and in about an hour are at the base of the mountain, where, having procured a guide, they begin the ascent. They stroll off in pairs, and soon Mrs. Drisooll is left to the care of the guide. Charles M'Clellan is very attentive to Dorothy, while Pug seems perfectly satisfied with Maude. Ida keeps gloomy Roger by her side. Mrs. Drisooll and the guide have stopped for the rest of the oompany to overtake them, and she is too surprised to speak as she notes the disposition of the party, for usually Charlie and Maude seem to be all in all to each other, while Pug is either with Dorothy or Ida. At length they reach a level place, where in a few in\)ments Mrs. Driscoll and the girls spread luncheon. Dorothy, who is in wild spirits, makt\s herself charming to Pugduring the meal anljl after. "I believe I can beat you running," she cries, and almost before the delighted Pug has had time to gather DIlii'$eTt toother she is off. 'I She turns around to see it the young man is following. Yes, she can see his long legs flying down the road, and runs faster still, enjoying it all so much. She stumbles, but reoovers herself again and runs on, and then— she Leems to step into space. Come, all of you t I oarit find Dorothy cries Pug, bursting in among them, looking very much frightened and out of breath. With a muttered, "I knew something would happen I" Roger runs down the path almost as quickly as the guide. They call again and again Dorothy Dorothy Yiner but nothing save the echo answers. Then the guide tells Pug to examine one side of the path while he explores the other. Roger, almost wild with anxiety, tears his clothing and scratches his hands in a vain endeavour to find some trace of the girl. He comes to a deep gulch, and, pausing for a moment and looking at the road above, he thinks, If anyone should fall from the road down here he would roll quite a dis- tance." As this idea enters his mind he walks faster, and his heart almost stands still when he catches sight of something grey. He runs on, and—yes, it is Dorothy, white and cold. Catching up the slight form, he hurries along the path, shouting as he goes, hoping that the guide will hear him. Suddenly he stops, for Dorothy's eyes are wide open, and she is looking at him. "Ah so you hare found me," she says. "I knew someone would come- And closing her eyes, she sinks back in his arms. He soon reaches the place where they have been camping, and finds that Pug, with a sense of which one would hardly have believed him capable, has formed a sort of couch of all the coats and shawls he could find. They give her brandy, and soon have the satisfac- tion of seeing her recover. Of course the only thing to do is to return to the hotel as soon as possible, and as Dorothy is wholly unable to walk, she must be carried. Roger seizes the opportunity, when Pug has left her side for a moment in answer to a call from Mrs. Driscoll, to say: Miss Vmer, may 1 carry you home, unless you prefer the guide ?" "As you are a friend, of course I prefer you, though I have been enough trouble already." She says this in such a sweet tone that Roger feels as if he could carry her for ages. He takes her up as tenderly as if sne were a baby. They have been walking for some time, the rest of the ..arty hurrying ahead to try and find a carriage, when he suddenly stoops and kisses the white forehead. Dorothy flushed to the roots of her hair. Forgive me! I conld not help it. I thought you were asleep," he murmurs. She looks at hi^ reproachfully, .nd 8PYS nothing. But he tears that he has offended her. As soon as the hotel is reacned Dorothy is; put to bed until the doctor comes. lie says that no bones ar- broven,and Misn Viner will only suffer for thiee or four days from a bad shaking up" In a week s 1e is out again, and treats Roger more barbarously than ever. She avoids him on all occasions, and makes little flippant speeches which hurt him sadly. He, re- membering that stolen kiss, accepts his punishment meekly, but luoks gloomier than ever. One evening Dorothy attended the hop given at a neighbouring not* She looks love!) in a gown of blue er-pe, its only orna- ment a heavy silver girdle. I he "iitow Lsir is piled hir b on thf pretty head, and she Ioj -s like some old pictr' j It is eleven o'clcok • Dorothy is exerting herself to talk to a stupid young collegian, and is almost ready to cry with vexation; for, although Roger came with their party, he has not asked her to dance, but stands at one end of the long room talking to Miss Black, a dashing brunette. The girl is indignant. How dare he talk to any woman when she is by ? Has he not hitherto shown that be would be rather snubbed by her than adored by another? Perhaps she has gone too far. Perhaps-- "Will you dance?" asked the collegian. And Dorothy, glad to vent her irritation on somebody, refuses him sharply. He leaves her at onoe, crestfallen, and she is left alone with her thoughts. Presently Roger and the pretty brunette float by in the dance. He does not look iz her direction, and his face is bright with ani- mation as he gazes into the beautiful one opposite his own. Dorothy feels a keen pang of jealousy—yes, jealousy; she cannot deny it. She has been so sure of him And now he seems unconscious of her presence; perhaps is already in love with his charming companion. She goes into the quiet conservatory, and sits moodily in a fern-shaded corner. There are tears in her eyes, but she will not let them fall. After a long, long time she hears voices near her, and glancing up, sees the two of whom she is thinking. You cannot deny that she is pretty P" says the lady in a high, artificial voice. "Ii\ery one says so." The rose that all are praising—you know the rest," laughed Davenport. But that is not an answer." Have you asked a question ?" I will do so now; are you in lore with pretty Dorothy Viner ?" That is not what you asked before. No, I don't consider Miss Vyner exactly pretty. And when yoa are by how can I see another's charm ? It is the meanest gallantry, but the words cut Dorothy like a whip. She sits, later on, in an ante-room with a big square window, when ball dresses have been doffed, and the guests are ready for departing alone. Pre- sently a manly form enters, interrupting her reverie, for she is thinking of what might have been. Dorothy a low voice says. The girl starts violently, and turns to con- front Davenport. You here ?" she falters. I—I thought you were with Miss Black." Soniaeing in her tone arrests his attention. This is not the imperious Dorothy he has known. So I was," he answers in some surprise, until her partner claimed her. Then I came in search of you." Dorothy is playing nervously with her fan. It took you some time to find me," she says. u 1 kept a dance for you, but you did not care to clefts it." A great light rushes into Davenport's eyes. "1 was afraid to presume so far," he answers. Then suddenly seizing her bands, Oh, Dorothy, I love you dearly Why will you never give me a kind word ph "And you are not in love with Miss Black?'' she irrelevantly asks. Not the least bli In the world. Would yoa o&re if L.was—you wk<l:h»v* sa-ffL Dorothy's heart beats faster than it has ever beaten in all her gaj life. Her eyes fixed on the ground, she says, with increasing colour What if I don't quite hate you, Roger ?" She speaks his name in a tone sweet enough to bring any other man to his knees, but this one seems to be made of different stuff, for, still looking at her intently, he affirms, But you do. Your conduct proves it." I beg your pardon I—dou't. He is beside her in an instant. "Dorothy, you can't mean that Yes, I love you. Rather odd, do you think ? Well, I can't aocount for it myself," says Dorothy in a demure way. But I thought it was M'Clellan," he says, stroking the golden head now reclining on his shoulder. Why, what made you think so ?" asks Dorothy. Oh, the day on the mountain and all that, you know." He is not quite sure what the "all that" includes, but he has been so miserable that now, when it seems a very small affair, the only thing to do is to magnify his grievance. Ob says Dorothy. Well, you see, Roger, I was trying to make you jealous. Charlie cares nothing for me he is to marry Maude." You succeeded in your purpose," he answers. Oh, Dorothy, what a cruel girl you have been 1" Dorothy, remembering her own jealous pain, has nothing to urge in her defence, but looks at him with repentant eyes. Presently, when he has assured her of full and free forgiveness, she whispers: Roger, what made you tell Miss Black that you did not consider me pretty f" He stares at her in a moment, and then laughs outright. So you heard me talk all that nonsense ? Oh, Dorothy Were you jealous, too < She shakes her head, but her eyes betray her. "My darling," he says gravely, "you have no cause for jealousy or doubt. The explana- tion of my words is simple enough. My little sweetheart is not merely pretty—she is the loveliest woman in all the world to me And happy Dorothy blushes like a rose.

Tramp (at the pork butcher's) Could you oblige me with a scrap of paper to wrap a small parcel ? (After he has got it): Now, would Y JU be so kind as to give me a bit of sausage to put inside ? Head of nrm Mr. Travers, while you were at lunoh your tailor called to collect a bill. I am surprised and pained, sir, to lea-r that you are in arrear. Isn't it possible for you to live on your salaiy Travers: Certainl7 it is, air; but you don't expect me to support my oredltors, too ? Mr. Slifnpurse (who ha? been accepted by Miss Wealthy without inquiries being made as to his financial standing): I wonder, my darling, if }*>ur parents will give their sent. Miss Wealthy (thoughtfully;: Ma haa alwaTs been very particular about the moral cbaraoter of young men I associate vrith, < nd I'm afraid she'll IIsk a good many questions, Mr. Siimpurse (joyfully): Ob, I can get refe- rences from half-a-dozen ministers, Mi<,s Wealthy (delighted): That's splendid. Then after that all you'll have to do will be to t.t references from half-a-d zen banlcrs, rnf* you'll oa,b pa,

-LI:> :¡=. A "l HD TO Mothi,r.i. — RarnicVs "Mother's Favorite 'leetbing ^• rdeis L, eveat CoriTuUioni ig, And Js.6d. per box, SKlo -00& FRY'S PURE CONCENTRATED C 0 C 0 A: From W. H. STANLEY, M.D., Ac. I oonsider it a very delicious Cocoa. It is highly concentrated, and therefore econo- mical as a Family Food. It is the drink per excellence for Children, and gives no trouble in making." — — PARIS EXHIBITION1, 1889, GOLD MEDAL AWARDED TO J. S. FRY and SONS.

■ 1 THE DESERTED SHAFT. 0 By A. M." Have you ever stood at the edge of soiat old deserted shaft and peered into its ditmat depths, or let fall a stone and heard it olasht against the dripping walls, raising weird echoes ere its final plunge in the inkjl waters? Have you ever fancied what if would be like to fall down, down the pit, ot. to hang suspended over its hideous blacki neas ? The latter was once my lot! In dreami that fearful experience repeats itself, and V wake in agony to find-thank Heaven!—thati it is nothing but a dream, I was a young man then, staying for a timà in one of the colliery districts of Wales. The neighbourhood was new to me; the people, and their language strange. One night it waft dark; the moon had not risen. I was lottery iog in the road that faced my lodgings. AIR was quiet, though the distant pulsations ofl winding and pumping engines, the melanohol% sough of the steam, and the olank of tha^ signal to the banksman from below could bwi distinctly heard. Suddenly, a hundred yardaf off, as it seemed to me, 1 heard the sounds o^ a scu/Be. It lasted some seconds, then there was a report and a somewhat smothered crjry and footsteps rapidly approached me. <- In a moment I felt that there had been foul play, and that the assassin was perchance td be delivered into my hands. Strong of liralfc as I waF in those days, I hastily buttoned my coat ane grasped my trusty oak stick. The: form of a man apprc jched j as it passed I' dealt it a blow. it missed. You shall not escape me," thought I, and darted forward in eager pursuit. The guilty man quickened his pace. I vea close upon him. Over the road in the darV ness—away to the right, across the coramoii -almost neck and neck now—a few feet Tnora must decide it. My man makes as if to dodge ine, Faster—faster! A building looms in sight. Another yard-the assassin disappear. with a yell, and before I can check my speed I fall heavily across some rubbish, and do>>a vihere the damp air chills my blood— down where sullen echoes rise from a depth more dismal still. Deatit for assassin and avenger alike. Nor yet I feel my foot entangled and I my. self suspended above the chasm, the mur* derer's tomb. And now I had time to reflect' on my position. I was hanging head dowillt wards in that awful place. I dared not movg lest my foot should be disentangled and f plunged to the bottom of what I knew to ba no other than a deserted shaft. Cold sweafe broke over my body and dropped from 1t1'; hair. My cap fell and I beard the splash icf those far-off icy waters. It might be my turn next! Oh, the agony of the situation I was sick and faint. If 1 lost consciousness it mighS. be all over with me. Oh, God I must not do that. With a desperate effort I controlled myself. I prayed, aye, and m earnest. Slowly, the minutes, the hours, pass. At length the moon shines down in all her glora Its beams flood with their radiance even that miserable shaft. I feel that I am not alone. Farl far below me is the corpse of a murderer, but above is the Power that has miraculouslj saved me from his miserable fate. Courage! Assistanoe may be near. If nofr II must die. My foot and ankle, my wholl limbs, are in agonies. I can do nothing t# ease my position, and I wait; wait, counting the hours as they trail out their ghastll length. At last day breaks; the sun rises. I see my surroundings. A chain hangs past me to tho depths below it has saved me from a horribU death. Eagerly I clutch the ohain an4 attempt to shift my position. Horror MY foot slips. Another moment—no, it is still fast, thank G od. Safe yet. But I must not attempt to move, it may cost me my lifit Patienoe, patience, once again. Will helg never come P What! Voices? Coming nearer ? Thanfi God, and there rises a cry of joy from thaf horrible mine I I knew no more till I came to myself nporl the bank. Kindly forms were bending over, me. Others were preparing to descend the pil that, but for Heaven's mercy, would bavC proved my grave. Then I learnt that, as I surmised, k murder had been committed, and by-and-byat the 'remains of the assassin were laid at thdf pit mouth. Of course, my adventure was titdi talk of the district. It has left its traces oit my nervous systen, but :0 has given me K heart full of thankfulness to Heaven Jhat saved me from sharing the murderer's fate to the depths of the deserted shart.

Maulstick: Why don't you use hqth brushts f That kind is a ceutury behind tht times. Dauber: I know it is, tut I don't want to take an unfair advantage of the old masters. I want to put myself on an equal I masters. I want to put myself on an equal I footing with them, so that if I beat them 1 n'a* do so honestly, « Strange," sighs an editor, If tnat thf.earai men occupying high positions in business anf society in t^8 oity who do not know how toj rpt)." This remark is tug^ested by Feeingg th" number of intelligent-looking young nisig unable <"> decipher the mystic legend, neue hut the door 1" j Teacher: Yes, my children, remember ther4 is no human lovs equal to a mother's lorajf lAi*'eGirl • NVOm-on love their children l,etlo,ol than their husbands, ,do!J t they ? T.aoij#n ?eryoftop. J,i*tle 'Jirl: Yes, indeed. Wh«i re gets the hiccoughs msmma get* very mr* and t/ies to our9 'er.i, but wfesvi papa geti tzji > hiccoughs sne gets mad, v

gggp* an fm mtm astmnfim mm tas IKSIDB THE FIRST HALF.