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.
General Miles, in company with a friend, was walking down Pennsylvania Avenue, when a person, entirely unknown to the veteran soldier, rushed up to him, and grasping his hand, said, warmly, "Well, Nelse, old boy, I'll bet anything you don't remember me!"
"You win!" coldly and laconically replied Miles, as he released himself from the grasp of the stranger and resumed his walk.—Woman's Home Companion.
SORRY HE LEARNED IT.
Attorney William S. Barnes, of San Francisco, has a new office boy. The last boy with whom he was associated resigned a few days ago because the law business did not suit his peculiar temperament.
"How long have you been here?" asked Barnes, when the small boy made known his intention to engage in a different vocation.
"Six months," replied the boy.
"And you don't like the law business?"