THE IRRIGATION AGE. 



423 



It appears that locomotives cannot always 



get a grip 

 On the slender iron pavement 'cause their 



wheels are apt to slip; 

 And when they reach a slippery spot their 



tactics they command 

 And to get a grip upon the rail they 



sprinkle it with sand. 



It's about this way with travel along life's 



slippery track, 

 If your load is rather heavy and you're 



always sliding back; 

 So, if a modern locomotive you completely 



understand, 

 You'll supply yourself at starting with a 



good supply of sand. 



If your track is steep and hilly, and you 

 have a heavy grade, 



And if those who've gone before you have 

 the rails quite slippery made. 



If you ever reach the summit of the upper 

 table-land, 



You'll find you'll have to do it with a lib- 

 eral use of sand. 



You can get to any station that's, on life's 

 schedule seen, 



If there's fire beneath the boiler of ambi- 

 tion's strong machine. 



And you'll reach a place called Flushtown 

 at a rate of speed that's grand 



If for all the slippery places you've a good 

 supply of sand. Sel. 



THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES. 



Oh, those old familiar faces, how they 

 linger in the mind, 



How the recollection of them 'round our 

 mem'ry is entwined. 



There's a man in Keene, New Hampshire, 

 who was going to die for sure, 



Till he swallowed sixteen bottles of Dead 

 Shot Consumption Cure; 



Down in Linden, Alabama, lives that well- 

 know blacksmith's wife. 



Who, by means of Filler's Pellets, found 

 the pathway back to life. 



Both their faces linger with us, and re- 

 fuse to go away, 



For in many advertisements we can see 

 them every day. 



Up in Tuttle, Colorado, dwells a famous 



miner who 

 Lost two legs in one explosion. Jones's 



Life Saver pulled him through. 

 And in Manly Junction. Iowa, two section 



hands reside, 

 Who, by using Johnson's Tonic, keep this 



side the Great Divide. 

 In the town of Burton, Texas, is a man 



who the M. D.'s 



Said would die in twenty minutes. Ran- 

 som's Oil cured his disease. 

 We can see them all before us, though 



they live so far away, 

 For their portraits all are printed in the 



papers every day. 



And the babies! Ah! the babies, sitting 



on their mothers' knee?, 

 While the man who takes the picture 



smiles and says, " Look pleasant, 



please!" 

 How the pudgy little features are engraved 



upon our hearts, 

 Though the little ones that own them live 



in very distant parts. 

 What a wilderness of babies we have 



lately come to know, 

 Who've been saved by foods aud mushes, 



clear from Maine-to Mexico. 

 We have never heard their wailing nor 



their prattle and their play, 

 But we know them, for we've seen them 



in the papers every day. 



Portland Oregoman. 



HIS FERVENT HOPE. 



Mrs. Sleepyize "Henry, the alarm 

 clock just went off." 



Mr. Sleepyize "Thank goodness; I 

 hope th' thing '11 never come back. "- 

 Columbus (0.) State Journal. 



