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Show T . A Jealous Burro, At the Falls of the Seven Sisters in the South Cheyenne canyon, in Colorado, there is a photographer photo-grapher who is the happy possessor of the now aged burro formerly owne'd by Helen Hunt Jackson. Jack-son. About 000 feet above the highest of these falls is a charming spot which the gifted writer named Inspiration Point, and where she spent, much of hortime. when writing. She was accustomed to riding up there on a white burro named Dick. This little, animal has long outlived its mistress and its usefulness, but he is still held in great honor, and tourists and children are permitted to have their pictures taken while sitting on his back. At the photographers galleries there was an insignificant in-significant little brown donkey tied to one arm of the settee, while historic old Dick was tied to the other. As soon as I heard Dick's story I sat down on tho settee and tried to make friends with him, but he resented my advances, laid back his ears, braced his feet, and resisted with all his might my effort to draw him to me. So I gave up and turned to the other one. He was all ready to be petted; laid his head on my shoulder, shut his eyes and looked a picture of contentment. In a moment I felt a nudge atmy arm, and turning around I saw old Dick close beside m. I looked at him in astonishment, and he gave me another an-other nudge with his nose. All tho contrariness was gone from his face and he had a most pleading expression. I glanced at the photographer, and saw that he was watching and laughing. "What does it mean?" I asked. AOh," he said, "Dick is jealous and wants you to pet him, too." , "But I tried ta do so first, and -he would not let me," I replied. . "That is the way he does," said the photographer. "He won't allow any one to make of him until he ! sees the other one getting attention, then ho changes, his mind and wants some of the petting also."': ' ' ' I immediately forgave the little fellow his former for-mer coldness, and he assumed the attitude of his rival. As I sat there with a burro's head on each shoulder, we were three happy comrades, and I shall -.always regret that I did not have a picture taken at that moment. Western Watchman. . Forget-Me-Not. . This is a German legend of the Forgotmenot : Thousands of years ago God gave names to all the flowers. They were very proud of their names, the stately rose, the poor white lily, the dreamy violet, vio-let, the April primrose, the straight, slender tulip, the pansy, with its laughing eyes. For amusement they repeated their new names to themselves -all but one small flower that bent, beside a rivulet and wept. lie was very, very tin3-, but he seemed td -have a great sorrow. "How now?" asked, the Kose. "What is the matter mat-ter ?'' . j The little blossom wept silently. "Don't cry" continued tho rose. "Take pattern j from the pansy yonder, and laugh. Why, even the j shy litle violet is more cheerful than you.',' I "AlasJ" replied the flower, betwen its sobs. "I l |