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Show On rurade. It was a great day in the driving pork, and there had never been a finer display of wealth on wheels seen in that locality, local-ity, and a man had come out to see what it all meant. It was plain he had never seen a carriage parade before. After a bit he turned to one of the great mass of spectators. "What is it?" he inquired, nodding toward the gorgeous pageant. "It's a carriage parade of our most fashionable classes, ' ' was the reply. "Oh, "said the man, "it's a kind of a parade of the unemployed, is it?" The other one looked curiously at the man. "That's all right, " said the man, a9 if he knew what he was talking about, and he walked away. Detroit Free Press. The poet writes of the music of the woodland depths, but he omitted to say that it is the pine tree that gives the pitch. Lowell Courier. |