Smith's Gingersnaps

SMITH'S GINGERSNAPS.

From the Pungent Pen of Smith of the Jackson Sunday Herald.

Postmaster C. W. Pullen, of Milan, has been granted an increase of his pension, from $14 to $17 per month--thus proving the truth of the old adage, "It is the steady pullin' on the hair that lands the insect in the fire."

Now that A. B. Smith, of the Milan Leader, has sold his paper and is bound to leave town, people there begin to appreciate him, mourn is loss and write verses to his memory. It may show contrition after the murder to apologize to the corpse but to the victim it comes like mortuary insurance--he has to die to get it.

The conductors of the Ann Arbor street railway have been dismissed and the bob-tailed service is again in force. the public don't like it, but the road, not satisfied with political prosperity, will try the economy expedient. But it makes a motorman who has the machine and fares to look after, so cross eyed that he often goes to the back door to look out of the front one.

Daniel Burch, of Sharon, left home six years ago as a clerk of a threshing engine; next he became an engineer on a Lake Erie steamer, and finally enlisted in the navy and was in the fight at Santiago. He is home on a visit and will re-enlist. The Manchester Enterprise quotes the following conversation: "Well, I suppose you took a drink now and then," suggested the citizen. "Not one," he answered; "When I left home I promised father I would never get drunk and I never have." There are two ways to avoid getting drunk. 1. Don't drink. 2. Keep drunk. Burch chose No. 1.

The position of the populist ticket so near the foot of the ballot, is all due to the apathy of the sage of Scio, Mr. Peters. When the old gentleman ran for congress on the populist ticket he made the suds fly, although he was defeated, a circumstance which he ascribes to a slight indiscretion of which he was guilty, in Ida, where he spoke in a church. At the close of his address, some one turned off the lights before Uncle Peters was ready, and forgetting the sacred character of the edifice, he fumbled at the top of the pulpit and exclaimed, "Where in h--l is my hat?" Speaking of the incident, Mr. Peters said, "I give 'em my political doctrine for three hours, and I'll be gol dinged if I got mor'n two votes in the hull durn township."

The probate court of Washtenaw county, in addition to his official duties, raised during the past season, by his own muscular effort and the help of farm phosphate, a potato, weighing 3 1/2 pounds, which he exhibited with pride to everyone who came into the office. Even the relict of the "dear deceased," who came in sable habiliments to petition for the probate of the estate, was sometimes interrupted in the midst of pathetic discourse of the loved one, with "Madam, I sympathize with you deeply;" then warming up, the judge would continue, "Madam, do you see that potato? I raised it. It weighs three-and-a-half." Happening in the Freeman house at Manchester the other day, the judge was telling everybody about his potato, when some one gently drew his official gaze, to a 4 3/4 pound Burbank that lay lazily on a shelf, winking its "off" eye at the judge. Beaten by a Burbank! It "took the starch" completely out of him and gave him the "Pinkeye" to think that he had "Early Rose" all summer and worked and sweat like a slave, hoeing and killing bugs, only to be out-potatoed by some old "Peach-blow-faced" "Meshanik" of Manchester! He went home with a "Merino" countenance, and grabbing his pet, threw it out of the window, nearly breaking the leg of a dog that happened to be passing that way.