The man, woman, child, or animal who pens "Postscripts" for the Houston Post is a weird, wild-eyed genius and ought to be captured and put on exhibition with the "nameless things" they are taking out of the government well at San Marcos. There is certainly a reward for both specimens. Kyle _Star-Vindicator_ Although we can stand a great deal, this attack has goaded us to what is perhaps a bitter and cruel, but not entirely an unjustifiable revenge. Below will be found an editorial from the last number of the Star-Vindicator: "Spring, with her magic word of music, pathos, and joy, has touched a thousand hills and vales, has set a million throats to warbling; sunshine, song, and flowers bedeck every altar and crown each day more glorious. Imperial spring is here--the brightest, gayest, and best of all God's seasons. Springtime is like the little child--crowned with its own purity and love not tarnished and seared with the hand of Time. It is like the bright, sparkling miniature rivulet that bursts from the mountain side and goes merrily over the shining pebbles before it hastens into a dark, deep, dangerous river. The sweet cadence of music, the scent of wafted perfumes, the stretch of glorious landscape, radiated and beautified with lovely gems of Oriental hue, catch our attention at every step. The world today is a wilderness of flowers, a bower of beauty, and millions of sweet native warblers make its pastures concert halls, where we can go in peace at even-time, after the strife, the toil, the disappointments, and sorrows of our labors here and gather strength, courage, and hope to meet on the morrow life's renewed duties and responsibilities." No Help for It "John," said a Houston grocer the other day to one of his clerks. "You have been a faithful and competent clerk, and in order to show my appreciation, I have decided to take you into partnership. From this time on you are to have a share in the business, and be a member of the firm." "But, sir," said John anxiously, "I have a family to support. I appreciate the honor, but I fear I am too young for the responsibility. I would much rather retain my present place." "Can't help it," said the grocer. "Times are hard and I've got to cut down expenses if I have to take every clerk in the house into the firm." Rileys Luck Riley was a lazy fellow, Never worked a bit; All day long in some store corner On a chair he'd sit. Never talked much--too much trouble-- Tired his jaws, you see; When his folks got out of victuals, "Just my luck!" says he. Fellow offered him ten dollars If he'd work two days; Riley crossed his legs and looked up Through the sun's hot rays; Then he leaned back in the shadow, Sadly shook his head; "Never asked me till hot weather-- Just my luck!" he said.