NORTH) SHORE* BREEZE 
oF 
A FEW SMILES. 
A bachelor’s life is incomplete. Not 
until he is married does he see his 
finish. 
Mother (to small son)—‘ Did you 
do something bad that sister sent you 
out of the room?” 
nial! 5on — ** No; her feller is in 
there.” —Cleveland Leader. 
The man whose business corre- 
spondence is extensive requires a 
rapid stenographer, but he will find it 
difficult to enlighten his wife as to 
the difference between ‘“rapid’’ and 
‘tast:’’ 
Making love to a widow is a good 
deal like shooting the rapids— you 
push from the shore, and the current 
does the rest. 
P. S.—This is also true of old maids. 
N.B.—And likewise of young girls. 
She Goes Free. 
Counsel — ‘‘ What is 
madam ?”’ 
Witness —“ Forty-seven, sir.” 
Counsel — ‘“ Married or single? ”’ 
Witness — “Single. I never had 
an offer of marriage in my life, and if 
it is of any interest to the Court, I 
don’t mind saying that I have worn 
false hair for nearly 30 years.” 
- Counsel —‘“‘ Hem! That is all, 
madam. There is no use trying to 
shake the direct testimony of so 
truthful a woman as you are.”’—£x. 
your age, 
A mother was trying to impress on 
her four-year-old son the importance 
of going to bed early. 
“You know,’ she began, “the 
little chickens always go to bed with 
the sun.” 
‘* Yes, mamma,” he replied, refer- 
ring to a story she had lately read 
him, “but the big hen always goes 
along, too.” —Piiladelphia Public Led- 
ger. 
Of an Old Family. 
The engagement of Mr. Dunwoody 
Dinwiddie, clubman, whip, raconteur, 
and corespondent in Bellairs, De la 
Van, Villiers, Warburton, Billingsby, 
O’ Dustin and other leading divorce 
scandals, and Miss Anabel Anson- 
leigh, one of the season’s debutantes, 
is authoritatively announced. The 
Dinwiddies are a very old family.— 
‘Sie 
Ida—‘‘ They say Ernestine and her 
gentleman friend quarrel every time 
they go out.” 
May—Gracious! Maybe the elderly 
lady I saw with them was a referee 
instead of a chaperon.— Philadelphia 
. Record. 
HARRIET P, SPOFFORD, 
A Visit to the Home of the Well Known 
Authoress. 
The beauties of the Rhine and the 
Hudson have been heralded far and 
wide and are visited each year by 
thousands of lovers of beautiful 
scenery, but to the nature lover of 
New England no more beautiful spot 
can be found than along the shores of 
our own Merrimac, a river which 
bathes the shores of so many places 
made immortal by the pen of Whit- 
tier. 
In one of the most charming bends 
of the river, in a spot made attractive 
by its historical setting and the mem- 
ories that cluster about it, as well as 
by its great natural beauty, is the 
home of Harriet Prescott Spofford, 
Deer Isle. It would be hard to im- 
agine a more picturesque spot, and as 
the visitor looks at the river gliding 
by, the beautiful stretches of field and 
woodland, and his mind reverts to the 
many tender and historic memories 
that cluster about the spot, he does 
not wonder that here Mrs. Spofford 
has had inspirations which have been 
so well given to the world by her own 
pen. 
The entrance to Deer Isle is over 
the old historic chain bridge built in 
1810 and famous as the first suspen- 
sion bridge in New England. As 
we near the end of the bridge we 
catch a glimpse at the left of a long 
gray house almost hidden by trees 
and shrubbery, modest in appearance 
and proportions. Around the house 
dropped here and there in the well- 
kept lawns are shrubs of various kinds 
and fir trees left to grow where 
Mother Nature put them. On the 
edge of the island where the banks 
are steep are rustic chairs and seats 
of the most enticing kind. A broad 
piazza is at the west front of the 
house, and to sit here and watch the 
glorious sunsets is an inspiration to 
the most prosaic mind. A feeling of 
restful satisfaction seems to fall upon 
the beholder. 
Within, the house is characteristic 
of the owner. One enters a large 
and spacious hallway hung with 
family portraits. The large living 
room occupies the west side, and from 
its windows one may look out over 
the river and see the sun as it sets in 
the western sky. From the lower 
end of the living room opens the 
library -and -den. of the authoress. 
One could not be lonely here, for 
memories and books are companions 
enough. To the right of the hallway 
is a small sitting room and off of that 
the spacious dining room. Here are 
} old cabinets filled with beautiful china 
and the old family silver. Every- 
thing is large and wholly free from 
any suggestion of ‘cramp.’ The 
fireplaces attract the attention of 
visitors, being most beautifully inlaid 
with Serpentine Rock taken from the 
** Devil’s Den,” a place of interest to 
all visitors to Newburyport. 
The house and its entire setting, 
surrounded as it is with picturesque 
nooks where nature and not man_ has 
been the artist, overflowing with ten- 
der memories of the past and the 
present, is a fitting setting for our 
authoress. It is not to be wondered 
at that Mrs. Spofford, after a year 
spent in travel abroad, is glad to re- 
turn to her island home and to say 
that in all Europe no spot: can com- 
pare with her own “ Deer Isle.”’ 
C:iseay 
“THE SONG OF THE EOW.” 
Manchester G. A. R., S. of V. and W. R.C. 
Listen to Patriotic Address. 
In the Baptist church, Manchester, 
last Sunday evening, at the invitation 
of Rev. EetH- «Brewster, ithe mncal 
Grand Army Veterans, Sons of Vet- 
erans and Women’s Relief Corps 
attended the services. 
- The church was crowded, the body 
of the church, in front, being taken 
by the 19 members of Post 67, 24 
members of Camp 149 and 26 mem- 
bers of the W. R. C. who attended. 
After the singing of ‘ The Son of 
God goes forth to all” by the congre- 
gation, Fred K. Swett rendered in a 
most effective manner ‘ Calvary.” 
The Scripture lesson was from. 2 
Sam., I. Following the prayer Mr. 
Swett sang a selection from Elijah. 
Mr. Brewster had for his subject 
‘*The song of the bow,” taking his 
text from 2 Sam., I. 18 —‘“ He bade 
them teach the children of Judah the 
song of the bow.” 
‘‘Is there anything so stirring as 
the battle-song?”’ said the speaker. 
«‘ The ragged peasant forgets his pov- 
erty and his soul is awakened by its 
sound. The American, a shop-keeper 
by day, a poet at sunset and a student 
of the stars by night, is stirred by the 
note of the battle-cry till his heart is 
fired within his breast. 
‘‘ The song of the bow is the narra- 
tive of history, and ever since men 
were they sang the song of the bow. 
The nations of the world each have 
their work to do. Weare Americans. 
We hail the brotherhood of races. So 
long as Plymouth Rock repels the 
waves we remain Americans. Saxon, 
Norman and Dane are we; but. we 
are Americans forever. 
“‘We are Americans by virtue of 
the past. Weare Americans because 
