If Plato were writing to-day he would have no occasion to revise his notion of democracy--"a charming form of government, full of variety and disorder, and dispensing equality to equals and unequals alike." * * * The older we grow the more impressed we are by the amount of bias in the world. Thank heaven, the only prejudices we have are religious, racial, and social prejudices. In other respects we are open to reason. * * * From the calendar of the Pike county court: "Shank vs. Shinn." Strange all this difference should have been 'Twixt Mr. Shank and Mr. Shinn. * * * HOME TIES. Sir: Discovered, in Minnesota, the country delegate who goes to bed wearing the tie his daughter tied on him before he left home, because he wouldn't know how to tie it in the morning if he took it off. J. O. C. * * * THEY FOUND THEM IN THE ALLEY. Sir: A young man promised a charming young woman, as a birthday remembrance, a rose for every year she was old. After he had given the order for two dozen Killarneys, the florist said to his boy: "He's a good customer. Just put in half a dozen extra." M. C. G. * * * "When," inquires a fair reader, apropos of our remark that the only way to improve the so-called human race is to junk it and begin over again, "when does the junking begin? Because...." Cawn't say when the big explosion will occur. But look for us in a neighboring constellation. When they junk the human species We will meet you, love, in Pisces. * * * THE TOONERVILLE TROLLEY. Sir: Did you ever ride on a street car in one of those towns where no one has any place to go and all day to get there in? The conversation runs something like this between the motorman and conductor: Conductor: "Ding ding!" (Meaning, "I'm ready whenever you are.") Motorman: "Ding ding!" ("Well, I'm ready.") Conductor: "Ding ding!" ("All right, you can go.") Motorman: "Ding ding!" ("I gotcha, Steve.") Then they go. P. I. N. * * * O WILD! O STRANGE! "That wild and strange thing, the press."--H. G. Wells. It's now too late, I fear, to change, For ever since a child I've always been a little strange, And just a little wild. I never knew the reason why, But now the cause I guess-- What Mr. Wells, the author, calls "That wild, strange thing, the press." I've worked for every kind of pape In journalism's range, And some were tame and commonplace, But most were wild and strange. I ran a country paper once-- Or, rather, it ran me; It was the strangest, wildest thing That ever you did see. Some years ago I settled down And thought to find a cure By writing books and plays and sich, That class as litrachoor.