THE SECOND POST. [The editor of the Winneconne, Wis., Local to his flock.] Dear Subscriber: You probably know that the Local editor and his wife have been away from Winneconne most of the time during the last ten months. Every month we expected to get back again. The suspense was somewhat hard. During the meantime Mrs. Flanagan, each week, would worry and talk about the paper as much as ever. The doctor desired to have it off her mind. During the meantime she did not want the plant closed for even a short time. Now it has been decided to take a holiday vacation, during which time Mr. and Mrs. Flanagan will release themselves from all business cares and build up in health. No doubt, you will realize the delicate situation of the affair, and bear with us in the matter until the Local again resumes its regular publication dates, for surely both of us are very much attached to the paper, the town, and its people, and the surrounding country. M. C. Flanagan. * * * THE DAY OF "DON'TS." Thanksgiving was a holiday I welcomed when a boy, But now it is a solemn feast without a jot of joy. It used to be a pleasure to attack the toothsome turkey, But now when I approach the bird I'm anything but perky. A multitude of dismal "Don'ts" impair my appetite; A fear of what may happen me accompanies each bite. There hovers round this holiday a heavy cloud of dread That never lifts till I am safe, with water-bag, in bed. I used to drink a glass of wine, but that is bad, I'm told, So now I ship in water--just as much as I can hold. To fail to fletcherize my food were fatal, without question; I never touch the stuffing, as it taxes the digestion. When the lugubrious feast is done I hasten from my chair To open all the windows wide, and let in lots of air; And then I sit around an hour and chew a wad of gum Until the fullness disappears from my distended tum. That pleasant, dozy feeling I compel myself to shake, For should I venture on a nap I'd never, never wake; And if I sneeze I take alarm and hasten out of doors, To start a circulation in my poison-clotted pores. The fact that I am still alive is due, I'm glad to say, To heeding all the dinner "Don'ts" that went with yesterday. It was, from soup to raisins, by and large, and all in all, The solemnest Thanksgiving meal that ever I recall. * * * A BALANCED TUITION. Sir: The fourth grade teacher in Roland, Ia., is Viola Grindem. Fortunately for the kids the high school principal is Cora Clement. T. B. * * * "We wish the coöperative factories, a success," says an esteemed contemporary on our left. So do we, with this prediction, that if success is achieved it will be by the same methods that are employed in the iniquitous capitalistic system. * * *