Poetic fame can be won this way: If you happen to have not a thing to say, And you happen to be close-pressed for time, And you can't for your life get a word to rhyme, And your knowledge of English is somewhat small, And you have no poetic turn at all, And can't write a hand anybody can read. You are in a first-rate way to succeed; For who in the world can mix things worse Than a popular writer of dialect verse? Recognition The new woman came in with a firm and confident tread. She hung her hat on a nail, stood her cane in the corner, and kissed her husband gayly as he was mixing the biscuit for supper. "Any luck today, dearie?" asked the man as his careworn face took on an anxious expression. "The best of luck," she said with a joyous smile. "The day has come when the world recognizes woman as man's equal in everything. She is no longer content to occupy a lower plane than his, and is his competitor in all the fields of action. I obtained a position today at fifty dollars per week for the entire season." "What is the position?" "Female impersonator at the new theater." His Doubt They lived in a neat little cottage on Prairie Avenue, and had been married about a year. She was young and sentimental and he was a clerk at fifty dollars per month. She sat rocking the cradle and looking at a bunch of something pink and white that was lying asleep, and he was reading the paper. "Charlie," she said, presently, "you must begin to realize that you must economize and lay aside something each month for the future. You must realize that the new addition to our home that will bring us joy arid pleasure and make sweet music around our fireside must be provided for. You must be ready to meet the obligations that will be imposed upon you, and remember that another than ourselves must be considered, and that as our hands strike the chords so shall either harmony or discord be made, and as the notes mount higher and higher, we shall be held to account for our trust here below. Do you realize the responsibility?" Charlie said "Yes," and then went out in the woodshed and muttered to himself: "I wonder whether she was talking about the kid, or means to buy a piano on the installment plan." A Cheering Thought A weary-looking man with dejected auburn whiskers, walked into the police station yesterday afternoon and said to the officer in charge: "I want to give myself up. I expect you had better handcuff me and put me into a real dark cell where there are plenty of spiders and mice. I'm one of the worst men you ever saw, and I waive trial. Please tell the jailer to give me moldy bread to eat, and hydrant water with plenty of sulphur in it." "What have you done?" asked the officer.