"Silly" he'd a kept on saying "Silly,"
from time to eternity. He always did, because you know, he wanted me to
pay pertikkeler attention, and I ginerally did; no woman was ever more
attentive to her husband than what I was. Well, he says to me, says he,
"Silly." Says I, "What?" though I'd no idee what he was gwine to say,
dident know but what 'twas something about his sufferings, though he
wa'n't apt to complain, but he frequently used to remark that he
wouldent wish his worst enemy to suffer one minnit as he did all the
time; but that can't be called grumblin'--think it can? Why I've seen
him in sitivation when you'd a thought no mortal could a helped
grumblin'; but _he_ dident. He and me went once in the dead of winter in
a one-hoss shay out to Boonville to see a sister o' hisen. You know the
snow is amazin' deep in that section o' the kentry. Well, the hoss got
stuck in one o' them are flambergasted snow-banks, and there we sot,
onable to stir, and to cap all, while we was a sittin' there, husband
was took with a dretful crik in his back. Now _that_ was what I call a
_perdickerment_, don't you? Most men would a swore, but husband dident.
He only said, says he, "Consarn it." How did we get out, did you ask?
Why we might a benn sittin' there to this day fur as _I_ know, if there
hadent a happened to come along a mess o' men in a double team, and
they hysted us out. But I was gwine to tell you that observation of
hisen. Says he to me, says he, "Silly" (I could see by the light o' the
fire, there dident happen to be no candle burnin', if I don't
disremember, though my memory is sometimes ruther forgitful, but I know
we wa'n't apt to burn candles exceptin' when we had company)--I could
see by the light of the fire that his mind was oncommon solemnized. Says
he to me, says he. "Silly." I says to him, says I, "What?" He says to
me, "_We're all poor critters!_"

WHAT LACK WE YET?

BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE

When Washington was president
He was a mortal icicle;
He never on a railroad went,
And never rode a bicycle.

He read by no electric lamp,
Ne'er heard about the Yellowstone;
He never licked a postage stamp,
And never saw a telephone.

His trousers ended at his knees;
By wire he could not snatch dispatch;
He filled his lamp with whale-oil grease,
And never had a match to scratch.

But in these days it's come to pass,
All work is with such dashing done,
We've all