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District Council Elections.

Death of Mr. J. G. Morgan,…

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Coursing at Sully.

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Musings.

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AMERICAN HUMOUR.

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AMERICAN HUMOUR. PERFECTLY GOOD FLIES. Fliee," said the quiet man, who had been listening to a conversation that had covered pretty nearly every imaginable iniquity of the creature and was apparently about to begin all over again, "flies are really very intelligent." The others stared at him. Intelligence had not been generally attributed to the creature under discussion. When they act together," added the quiet man, as if making an explanation. I can't say that I ever saw them act to- gether," said his neighbour, doubtfully. When I was a young man," continued the other, half a dozen of us built a little camp house in the woods. Screens weren't as common as they are nowadays, and our house was very badly protected. We had fiies- big flies and little. They came in families, and then the family would settle down and send a little boy off as fast as he could go to call all the relations. It was the annual reunion of the fly family." "I suppose sticky fly-paper hadn't been in- vented, as well as screens," remarked a listener. Sticky fly-paper," replied the story-teller, fortunately had been invented. That "is what I am coming to when I speak of concerted action and a high order of intelligence. To mawe a long story short, we purchased several thousand sheets—I should say several sheets—of the stuff, and put-it in different places. It attracted the flies immensely. In fact, they liked it so well that when one sheet was full, two or three flies would get together and pry a fly off and then fight for his place. It seemed foolish of them, but the way we argued it out was that the flies that weren't on the paper were making pigs of themselves and deserved summary treat- ment. Of course, when the newcomers found themselves sticking, it was a different matter." The audience gasped, but made no remarks. "That night in camp I shall never forget," went on the story-teller, with a touch of remi- niscent melancholy. It was a warm night with a full moon, and, as I was more imaginative and nervous than the other fellows, the buzzing of the flies kept me awake. There was one paper of them on the table, not far from my bunk, and I got to watching it. Well, about midnight, all at once those flies stopped buzzing and seemed to be trying to lift the paper by all moving their wings together. They tried two or three times, and then, by gracious! up the paper flew and out through the door like one of these modern aeroplanes." That's all very pretty," remarked one of the listeners; "but they were still stuck to the paper." "So they were," replied the narrator; "but they flew to the nearest pond and soaked them- selves off." LITERARY REMINISCENCE. Jimson: I had a' conversation once, when I was a boy, with Longson, the great poet, whose works you are so fond of." Jackson: "Indeed! That is something to re- member. What did you say, what did he say, and how did he appear? Do tell me all about it." Jimson: Well, as near as I can remember I didn't say anything." Jackson: "Bashful, I suppose." Jimson: "Well, yes, you might call it that. It is difficult to describe his appearance, al- though I distinctly recall that it was very sud- den (I was not expecting him), and he displayed remarkable energy." Jackson: "Placed his hand kindly on your head?" Jimson: "No, no; he gave me a good, swift drive with his foot, and hollered, 'Get out of here!' He caught me in his cherry tree." JOHNNY ON SCHOOL OPENING. Vacation is over and I must return to school again. I think of this with the greatest plea- sure. I shall fall in love with my teacher, and the walk between my home and the schoolhouse will be romantic. Last term I had orthography, writing, his- tory, grammar, mathematics, drawing, current events, and about fourteen other things. This term I hope I shall have about fifty studies. Last term I had to study all day and until ten o'clock at night, and then get up at six in the morning and go at it again. This term I hope I shall have to study all night and all Sun- days. Nothing does a growing boy so much good as to work his head so much that he has no ap- petite and goes about wishing he was dead. He ought to be made to take up at least forty studies that will be no use to him whatever as a man. "Last term, in order to be perfect in my studies from day to day, I had to have the help of my father, my mother, my brother, my sister, and my Uncle Jim. My father and Uncle Jim did the swearing for the whole crowd of us. There are boys going to private schools who don't have more than six studies, and who have time for recreation and sleep, but I don't envy them. It is such boys that grow up to become pirates in the end. The way to make a good man of a boy is to send him i o a public school and cram him so full of knowledge that he will go around with his eyes half shut and his mouth wide open." A PROGRESSIVE AGE. "I'm a practical and experienced widow," said the woman in black, and I want to look at some coffins without any foolishness." I The undertaker looked up with the unhappy smile of his craft. We have them all styles and prices," he re- plied, softly and hopefully. "And how about trading stamps? Give 'cm, I suppose?" No-o," admitted the proprietor, almost los- ing- his professional poise. "The truth is that at these solemn moments our customers do not, as a rule, indicate any desire for stamps." I guess I know a solemn moment all right," rejoined the widow, but, there's no use in mak- ing it sclemner. I've just lost my tnird, and don't intend to lose a chance at a cuckoo clock into the bargain." She was gone. The undertaker realised that in the race for business he was being left behind.

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