October

The Bostons are the 1897 champions! Baltimore cannot win the pennant now.

The section of the subway that was opened yesterday is not so pleasant as the section with which the public has become well acquainted. It is more like a whited sepulcher, and the trip through it, especially on the outward journey, is rather depressing than exhilarating.

And now the negroes have lynched an abandoned white woman in Virginia who had long been their companion in vice and crime. There is at least variety in this lynching madness.

``The state spends a terrible lot of money on things calculated to amuse children,'' remarks a niggardly Kansas statesman in opposing good roads. He evidently needs a wheel.

Those who tried to transfer from incoming cars to outgoing cars at the Park St. station yesterday found that a rule of the company forbade anybody to board the cars until after they had rounded the loop. In other words a passenger from Cambridge desiring to go out to Forest Hills, even though he has an eight-cent check and so doesn't need to buy a subway ticket, must climb two long flights of stairs, and go down into the bowels of the earth again, when he might just as well step on board a car standing less than 10 feet from his starting point.

Was there ever such an October?