Uncle Bill says he ain't seen Nowhere such a good machine. Brother Jim, he keeps a-braggin' 'Bout the speed of our new wagon. But, oh, it sounds so grand and noble When sister Sue says automoble. _Puck._ AN "AUTO" IDYL. The automobile owner crawled With haste into his car And said good-by, for he was called To travel fast and far. He grasped the steering wheel with glee And gave the clutch a yank, And then, with objurgations, he Climbed down again to crank. Again he mounted to the seat Prepared like wind to fly, Yet there he lingered in the street; The water tank was dry. He filled the tank; it seemed a cinch, Once more he starts to chauff, Behold, he does not move an inch-- The differential's off. In rage he toils with might and main Till he is faint and weak; Again he starts--and stops again; The tire's sprung a leak. The shades of night are falling fast, But joy illumes his brow, He shoots ahead--his trouble past, Pray who can catch him now? And yet, around the corner we May find the same machine; Its owner is not there, for he Has gone for gasoline. _Council Bluffs Nonpareil._ SHORT STORY OF SPEED. Thisisthewayheracedalong Ateighteenmilesanhour; This the speed he walked back home When busted was his power. _Exchange._ SONG OF THE AUTOMOBILE. By Joe Cone. I am coming, I am coming, don't you hear my thunder roll, Don't you feel my mighty power thro' your body and your soul; Don't you dread my awful presence, my momentous throbbing feel? I'm a dashing, thrashing, bucking, clucking Auto-mo-bile! I'm a wonder, I'm a snorter, I'm a bull put on parade, I'm a devil, I'm a terror for the people who're afraid; I can paralyze the horses, I can make 'em dance a reel, I'm a rearing, tearing, rumbling, grumbling Auto-mo-bile! Clear the track, ye meek and lowly, for I claim the right of way! There's no limit to my tenure, or my speed by night or day; To the woods with everybody, that's the way we devils feel, I'm a lusty, dusty, ramming, jamming Auto-mo-bile! _The Pneus._ GRAVE, GAY, AND EPIGRAMMATIC. LOVE, THE ILLUSION. Love is just a cobweb, wet with morning dew; Love is just a fairy spell, invisible to view; A tread--a touch too heavy, and the cobweb is not there! A sigh too long, and lo!--the spell has vanished into air! Love is just a morning-glory, doomed at noon to die; Love is only half a story, told in passing by; Love is gold so delicate, the faintest flame would melt it; Love's--NOTHING; but--God help the man who's never known nor felt it! _Helen Rowland in Life._ WON HIS BET.