Forest City press. (Forest City, Potter County, D.T. [S.D.]) 1883-19??, 1912-04-25
&c DIPPED FRon
g. svlthe
49, STREAM

~ RESTAURANT man :t Lies MONIES mas
been arrested for cooking onions. The
evidence against him is probably
strong.
\ gentleman named Theodore Rab-
bit lives at .Alpcna. Mich. lit seems as
though he ought tn run for something.
a cure for lazincss has been discov-
cred. but there is some doubt as to
whether it viii eyer be as effective as
fatler'S trunk strap.
The c.. o.. II. is said to be looking for
a man to pour oil ON the troubled
political waters. What's the matter
with John d.:
III Italy really wants to whip Tur-
key she should send out ii few thou
sand of those bloodthirsty Camorrists.
About time to run the Taft steam
roller out of the garage and oil her up
for the 1912 handicap.
The l~inotypers are still referring to
All, YES. IT'S 1912.
Now comes the campaign orator. he
of the fog norm voice.
Who tried to make us think that
he can name the ation choice.
He pulls the good old eagles tail and
waves the starry flag.
We will applaud to hear him bluff
and buster and blow and brag.
He is the seasoned orator N charms
uS NIJu Ills SOIiE.
And we all think he's right until
the next n come along.
The mex one says the first is wrong
and we agree with him.
And stamp our feet and clap our
hands with patriotic vim.
The third n comes and proves to us
the other two were wrong.
They're demagogues and hypocritcs
and simply don't belong.
We throw our hats up in the air and
cheer with might and main.
This fellow's right. We know it and
we change our minds again.
The ourth one comes and then the
fifth. II many more as we'll.
And every n of them has a brand
new tale to tell.
They're out to SAY The country. but
they've got to have our aid
We quite agree with every n in
turn, we are afraid.
It's mighty entertainin'. and the
speakers do not know
That we've all had our minds made
up at least a yea or SO.
We go down to the opry house and sit
there at our ease.
And listen to 'em spout away, then
vote az we durn please.
-
The Gray Path.
An Irish Mothers Lament.
There was no path like the gray path.
for 1t led down to the sea.
And up and down the children raj to
smile and call to me:
The sun like gold sh0ne on that path-tlle
gray path to the sea.
There was no path like the gray path. for
It he'd down to the sea.
a M Irs~n~U nnnAR \ deem fhA,.S vyneunU-l man
passed, all stepping bold and free:
The light was shining IN their eyes as
they went toward the sea.
leads down to the sea.
dark the shadows on 1t fall, and
there In none but me
To wander down that m0urnfui path the
Elisabeth 8. C. Honeybourne.
AT THE BOARDING HOUSE.
II want you to understand. Mr..
flasher. that I didn't always run q
boarding house for q lot of bald
headed. hair-breined. sarcastical old
gtnks,: said the landlady firmly.
and if you have any partickler OBJ
jectton to them prunes you can state
Il and not be i~nstnuating anything A.
for that hash, my late husband always
81 the v.y. what happensd to
your hu16and?" asked the vaudeville
Sactos G1siug q the hash intently
:ssrhSt 8 neither herr NO there. hut
u you want 70 start snythtn8.
.9os Sssdn't set sore," oontiued
IT, yeudrvl1ae psseen, ~
ftEHctFtfhN-ErH Hf-a~ftN