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Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 8, Issue 29, 9 April 1907, Page 6

A Ileal Labor of Love.

RETROSPECTIVE.

The use of ping-pong balls as post cards is the latest freak of seekers for novelty. It started in Liverpool quite recently, and despite its obvious disadvantages, is spreading in England. The principal result is. much unhappiness to the postman and a recent ne w regulation in some places forbidding all such unhandy missives. The balls were stamped, an address written under the stamp, and the message scrawled on the rest of the surface. These, clumsy and bulky post cards were posted in Liverpool by the thousands and gave the post office authorities an immense amount of extra work, says Ilearst’s Chicago American, Ampng those idle people who from time to time have wasted their superfluous energies in testing the forbearance of the postal officials, is a man in Southampton, England, whose favorite form of missive used to be a postage stamp. But as he wrote the address on the face, of the stamps, the authorities decided that they were not bound to deliver them. It was probably the same person who afterward posted a complete pack of playing cards, each neatly addressed on the back, but with no message whatever on the colored side, Another very peculiar letter found in a London pillar-box last autumn was a green apple on one side of which was cut an address, and on the other the simple, but expressive message; “Sour—like you.” Bank notes have been employed as a writing paper more than once by extravagant, or foolish persons. Among the effects of an English miser who died about 15 years ago was found a £ 5 note on which the deceased had written directions as to the disposal of his property. At Hampstead there lived until recently a wealthy bachelor of whom it was said that he once wrote a proposal of marriage to a lady on the back of a SSO note, and because it was sent back without a word of comment by the recipient, refused ever afterward to have anything to do with the fair sex. Whiting paper, or. indeed, paper of any kind, is usually at a premium among soldiers on active, service. Many very curious substitutes came from the British soldiers in Sduth Africa. One of the commonest has been mealie leaves. “Menlie” is the South African name for maize. Hound the maize cob grow a number of strong enveloping sheaths, which, when dry, turn to a pale yellow color and can then be written upon. After Colcnso there was found grasped in the stiffened handsofadead soldier a piece of leather with a dying message scrawled upon it with a stump of pencil. It was a layer of the sole of the dead man’s boot, which had probably been loosened with much marching, and which he had contrived to rip off. It safely reached the poor fellow’s family in England. From the Philippines, too, some curious letters have been received by the friends of American soldiers fighting in those islands. One of the most ingenious was a piece, of native bamboo, about a foot long, on which an address had been carved with penknife. The letter was inside this hollow lube, and hold there by wooden pins at each end. The writer explained that lie had found it impossible to gel an envelope nr to find any gum to make one, so had had recourse to this expedient. The ceiling of a room is, as a rule, so far out of ordinary reach that the idea of using it for writing on seems strange. But in a ease tried last year in England it transpired that a landlady had been in (he habit of using her ceiling in lieu of a reut-hook. Upon jf were inserd'ed the various amounts received from her lodgers. As it was, of course, impossible to bring this strange real book into court, a certified copy had to be made for the use of the judge. The Way of the Frontier. Ihe way of civilization in a new land passes comprehension. Its motto seems to he; ruin first; there is time afterward to save. Civilization is a good deal like a wild, full-blood-ed boy; it must first sow wild oats, waste its patrimony, disgrace its antecedents; Hum it is ready_to begin the serious work of life. That has been the history of the range country; swift ruin for HQ or 40 years, with a resulting wreck that it will require a century of hard work, perseverance and self-control to save.— Century. . Identity, Bunco Steerer (suavely)—Pardon me, but aren't you my old friend Farmer Mosshaeker, of (loshkonong? farmer I’roadhead (mysteriously) —No; I am old Nick Sleuth, the famous detective, disguised as a “good thing;” but don’t gimme away, young man.—Puck. Inconsistency, Barkley—Poyliter’s greyhound was awarded a prize of sloforperfectform at the dog show. Barker—Yes; ami then the ladies’ humane society had Poynter arrested, and he was fined S2O for shaping Jus dog with corsets.—Judge. , , & dAi.; > —— Scarcity of Game, City Sportsman—Have you seen anything worth shooting at around here? Farmer—Well, no; not till you ciuue.— Somerville Journal,

Young Wife—l knew you wojild like, the slippers, Har„ry, if for Other reason, because I made the A • Husband—You don’t mean this ia all your work? Why, what a talenfr ed little wife I have, to be sure. Young Wife—Y r es, all my work. Of course, I bought the uppers and Mary sewed them together, and I got a man to sole them; but I put the bows on and did them up in the box- And do you know, Harry, I’m proud of myself. I didn’t think I could ever do such things.—Tit-Bits. It Was Strictly Modern, “She has received a strictly up-to* date education, you say?” “Well, rather. She hasn’t a bit of practical knowledge about household affairs, but she has more theories than you could get in a book, and she can talk about parliamentary law in a way that will make her shine in any woman’s club you can pick out.”—Chicago Post. An Optical Optimist. "Me eyes Is crossed,” sighed Kate. "No, love; Not crossed,” cried Pat. "Be Jaborl ’Tls jlst thot alch Is Jealous of The beauty of Its neighbor.’*. ; ' ‘ —Philadelphia Press.

“Harayl’* .rr "What is it, Dorothy?’ 1 “Did you give me that parlor lamp last Christmas, or did I give It to you?”—lndianapolis Journal. l£vitnei«eenoe, What is success? Oh, who shall aajr When 'tia achieved, or how, The reigning novel o£ to-day ■ Is "rot” two years from now. •-Washington Star. At the Uendeavoua. She—What, sleeping! He—Excuse me, darling; but I began counting the minutes until 1 should hear the rustle of your tiny feet among the fallen leaves, and— She—Well? He—And, you know, counting always scuds me to ale op,—Brooklyn Life. ** The Humorist. Miss Dykermeadows That Mr. Hempstead with whom you hare been talking is a professional humorist. Miss Bensonhurst (yawning)—Weß, he certainly cannot be accused oS talking shop!—Brooklyn Eagle. His Heal Purpose. Mrs. Goodsoul (sympathetically)— Why, how did you come to slip down on the doorstep, Brother Lanka? Rev. Mr. Lanks (with chastened dignity)—l didn’t come to slip down on the doorstep, Sister Goodsoul —I came to call!—Puck. A Smart Man, Bliffer»—Your wife is 5 busy little woman. Makes her owa Blothoa, doesn’t she? Witters—Every stitch. “How did you work it?" “Always fell in love with he® (fretf makers,”-iN. Y. Weekly, yaln Regrets. "Ahl" she moaned. “I was a goose to believe him when he eald I was a duck.” Yet she could blame no one but hes?« self, for she was no spring chicken.— Baltimore American. Had Studied Some, Old Lady—l’m dreadfully afraid Di these new-fangled ’lectric lights. Young Lady—'Why so? Old Lady—Electricity makes thunder, I guess you know, and I’m awfully afraid of thunder.—N. Y. Weekly. Ladles of the Went, "While Mayme was engaged io Mr. Skaggs she admired his dignified beaming.” "Well?” "Now she calls him ‘that pompoUßdW coot.’ ’’—lndianapolis Journal, Not Unlikely. Mr. Jim sou—What? Is Bilson go» ing to get married? Ho told me positively he would never marry again. Mrs. Jimson (calmly)—l presume you asked him on the way to the funeral.—N. Y. Weekly. A Matter of Necessity, "Papa, why do they call actresses by their first names when they are married?" "That, my son, ia the only way to preserve their identity.” Detroit Free Press, Not UncsaaL "I saw a goblet to-day made £>£ bone.’ l "Pshawl I saw a tumbler made oi flesh and blood last night.’* "Where?” "At the circus. K. Y. World. How He Did It. "Dobley has at last painted a picture that will keCp the wolf from the door." ( "That so? Painted it on the door, did he?”—Town Topics. Over the Rail. First Passenger— Aren’t yoij amrfoui to reach the other side? Second Passenger—Yes, Indeed* | can wwoeijjftntftin my«g.-Puo«.