"What is it?" asked the editor, "a lawn mower?" "It is an answer, sir, to the President's message: a refutation of each and every one of his damnable doctrines, a complete and scathing review of every assertion and every false insidious theory that he has advanced." "About how many--er--how many pounds do you think it contains?" said the editor thoughtfully. "Five hundred and twenty-seven pages, sir, and--" "Written in pencil on one side of the paper?" asked the editor, with a strange light shining in his eye. "Yes, and it treats of--" "You can leave it," said the editor, rising from his chair. "I have no doubt I can use it to advantage." The individual, with a strong effort, collected his breath and departed, feeling that a fatal blow had been struck at those in high places. Ten minutes later six india-rubber erasers had been purchased, and the entire office force were at work upon the manuscript. The great weekly came out on time, but the editor gazed pensively at his last month's unreceipted paper bill and said: "So far, so good; but I wonder what we will print on next week!" The Old Landmark He was old and feeble and his sands of life were nearly run out. He walked with faltering steps along one of the most fashionable avenues in the city of Houston. He had left the city twenty years ago, when it was little more than a thriving village, and now, weary of wandering through the world and filled with an unutterable longing to rest his eyes once more upon the scenes of his youth, he had come back to find a bustling modern city covering the site of his former home. He sought in vain for some familiar object, some old time sight that would recall memories of bygone days. All had changed. On the site where his father's cottage had stood, a stately mansion reared its walls; the vacant lot where he had played when a boy, was covered with modern buildings. Magnificent lawns stretched on either hand, running back to palatial dwellings. Not one of the sights of his boyhood days was left. Suddenly, with a glad cry, he rushed forward with renewed vigor. He saw before him, untouched by the hand of man and unchanged by time, an old familiar object around which he had played when a child. He reached out his arms and ran toward it with a deep sigh of satisfaction. Later on they found him asleep, with a peaceful smile on his face, lying on the old garbage pile in the middle of the street, the sole relic of his boyhood's recollections. A Personal Insult Young lady in Houston became engaged last summer to one of the famous shortstops of the Texas baseball league. Last week he broke the engagement, and this is the reason why. He had a birthday last Tuesday and she sent him a beautiful bound and illustrated edition of Coleridge's famous poem, "The Ancient Mariner." The hero of the diamond opened the book with a puzzled look. "What's dis bloomin' stuff about, anyways?" he said, and read: It is the Ancient Mariner