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THE FA TIMER'S WOOING,
•fh* daisies nodded In tho graaa, tbs bnttoronp*
wera alecplng,
knd jnat acroaa the rlrar aanf tbs fanners at that!
reaping;
Upon tho Mils, ao blue and far, tha maple Imtm
Waro allowing
rholr aoft whlto beauty In tha braeie that from th«
•oa wna blowing.
A little niald cAme through tba lane, with song and
rippling laughter;
lha buttoroupa mod# way for bar, tha dalalea nodded
i atrong young farmer eaw her panaa baalde tha
parting rlvorj
•ha draw a Illy from tta depths wlih goldsn heart
a-qhlvor.
w Thou aft more fair than lUlea are," aald ha with
head uplifted,
inn threw e peppj, u,, „„ lm tow.rf Ul , milam
drifted.
She cat tho flowera In her hair, the rad and whlta to-
A cloud
and rainy u
black- before tli
the weather.
me acroaa tha river thon, the farmer fi
Do minded not tho water’s depth, he oared not for
Ita flowing.
“O love!" aald he, “If gleaming sun and cloudleaa
•itlea o’erlean ua,
Tho rlT-r’a barring wldlh may sail unpiaeed, untried
®nt when loud thunder fills the air, and clouds and
I'll ,
the ooean to your aide, I am no falrday
i day tha Tillage belli rang out aoroaa the
buttercups and daisies all
’ a Illy from the stream ao
Their muaio aat
Whilo aonie one
blithely flon... 0 ,
And plucked a blood-red poppy that amid the wheat
wua growing;
The ranldca aat them In bar hair, the red and while
together,
With many smile, a tear or two, and glancea at the
weather.
'They passed beneath tha chopel’a ahadc, (he farmer
Where archee crowed above tbetr heads, with anowy
blossoms laden,
And In that place of holy calm tha binding worda
were spoken;
Ho lu hla heart bora out tha truth, aha on bar head
the token.
The years went by, and some wet* bright and some
were clouded over,
*ut aver stood he at her aide—ho waa no fair-day
JOHN'S WIFE,
Whatever possessed Brother John to
go up to the city and marry that yellow-
tmired, blue-eyed bit of a school girl,
when he could have lmd just his pick of
girls nearer home, was something I
could not understand. There was Lida
Handscombe, just dead in love with him,
as anybody could see, and the best
bread-maker in tho whole country, be-
*ide taking prizes at the State Fair for
pickles and jollies, and ever so much
bettor looking, too, than Myra. No
yellow bangs over her eyes; slio just
combed it back off hor face and did it
up in a hard knot that staid. She sent
John a birthday cake, and knit him a
comforter, and everybody thought it
would be a match, but John said ho
didn’t like her eyes; they were haud-
sorno eyes, to my idea, and could look
yon through and through, they were
that clear and bright; but did you ever
know a man to talco advioe? “Marry
that ferret,” said John,“ and never have
any peace of my life; well, I guess
not! ” and with that off he goes to town
and telegraphs back, “Expect ma and
my wife.” Dear I such a shock os it
gave me, and our spring cleaning not
done, and the minister coming to board
v/ith ns while his wife welt home on a
visit—it was a trial, you may be sure 1
And when she did come, it was more
like having a wax doll in th* way than
anything elso, with her big wondering
eyes, and childish ways, and silly ques
tions, and hanging on John’s arm, and
lcauing over John’s chair, with two lit
tle insignificant feet in the rungs at the
back, and her clothes I Such fallals,
just like a doll’s rigging, and I just sot
my foot down that if she was to live with
us, she must conform to our ways. I
hadn’t been forty years in this world for
nothing. If she wanted to wear line
white laces and rutiled apron*, she had
to wash and iron them herself. I
wouldn’t bo her slave. And snob silly
fiiestions as she asked, they just made
»e sick : “When did the cows shed
Uieir horns ? Which cow gave tho but.
termilk? Were there any dear little
fellow chicks ?”
Dear little yellow chicks, indeed!
They wore dear enough before we raised
them and got their heads off and we had
them ready for market, and if that silly
child didn’t sit down find cry because
they were killed ; said she had named
svory one of them and watched them
grow up. And she waa our John’s
idfe! ball I
Then she did the silliest thing of all—
wont and bought a book called “What
[ Know About Farming, ” and used to
lit out under a treo studying it by the
hour; and one night, when she went
flown to the bars to meet John, I heard
her ask:
“John, why don’t you get a washing
machine and a wringer, and save your
own flesh and blood. Look at the blis
ters on my hands 1”
And the next thing it was the talk of
the neighborhood that we Elliots, who
bad set ©nr faces against modern im
provements, had given ont before that
little pale-faced thing, and not only got
a wringer and -washer in ‘our kitchen;
but several hundred dollars’ worth of
farm machinery at work. John said he
THE BUTLER HERALD.
W. N. BENNS, JAMES 0. RUSS. Editors.
Volume v.
■ 1.ET TUiUlK 1 IK l.KillT.”
BUTLER, GEORGIA, TUESDAY, JULY 26. 1881.
Subscription, SI.50 in Advance.
NUMBER 43.
»nd told her what X thought of it after
ho went out to his work. She looked
kind of frightened, and pretended she
was going to cry, and then she spoke up
Huiok like and said:
“Sister Janet, it’s a triumph of mind
over matter. You can wash now, and
not be all tired out, and sick and nerv
ous, and—and—John can afford it.”
Perhaps if I had known that she had
Daid for it all, and it hiuln’t cost John a
sent, I might have been more forgiving,
bnt I just straightened up and said :
“ Mrs. Elliot, you may go on and ruin
your husband with yonr boarding-school
Ideas, but, as for me, I’ll never touch
the things. I can work, thank good
ness, while I’ve got my health. I wasn’t
brought up in idleness.”
She never took it to heart a bit; the
next thing I knew she was at the little
parlor organ she had, singing and ploy
ing ns if that was all there was in life.
And that silly old minister—men never
flo have a bit of sense, but you expect
more of a preacher .of the gospel—but
he just sat and talked to her as if she
was a companion for him, and they
walked about the fields and stayed down
whore John was working, and all around
'em souls a-perishiug for want of th*
bread of life; such a sinful waste of time
I never saw 1
Janet, do you love the hills?” she
naked, one day when I was Booming the
knives outside the door. She had of
fered to do them for me. but law ! her
whito /lands were no) fit for anything so
useful.
j »ve the hills I Well, I’d like to
• what there is to love about them.
I gui Bs if you climbed them a spell you
wouldn’t lovo ’em much.”
Thay're so high and grand,” she
said, looking up at them ; “ they seem
near the cool, far-off heaven I I love
to climb to the top and drink iu the
sweet, fresh air; it does me good here- •
hare.”
She laid her hand on her heart, and
stood looking off with a strange ex
pression on her face, and I thought
maybe she was homesick, and I told her
to go in and out some carpet rags, and
’em together, and, would you believe
it, she up and refused.
No,”ahe said, “I cannot cut any
carpet rags. I hate thorn I ”
I never saw her so excited before.
“A fine temper you have I ” was all
the answer I made her, but I never felt
■ insulted in all my life.
For a week or two I didn’t see much
of her; she was either out with John
“ sketching,” as she called it, dabbling
away at some bits of pasteboard with a
load pencil, dr up in her room where I
never went. She came down, singing
away, with a large package in hor hand,
and soon John came up with the ponies,
and they drove off to town together,
laughing like two children. I hope none
of tho neighbors notioed them. Any wayj
they never sa# him conduct himself in
that way with me.
When they came home sho waa all
tired out, and they had a big roll of stuff
they dumped down in the entry.
It’s something for you, Janet,” she
said, laughing hysterical-like. “It’s
carpet-rags.”
I unrolled it, and there were twenty
yards of bright ingrain carpet I
Myra,” said I, “ this is wioked ex
travagance,” for I know hor money was
All paid out.
‘But it isn’t,” she said, laughing ; “I
earned it myself by drawing and paint
ing those bits of sketches. I sold them
all, and can sell all I can do. That was
my way of cutting carpet rags.”
Well, we put the carpet down, and it
did look pretty—though I didn't say so.
It isn’t my .way to spoil anybody with
flattery, and I saw John’s wife was get
ting tho npper hand too fast. The neigh
bors were beginning to notice her, and
that foolish old minister, when his wife
oame back, had been over there; and
she led the singing in church and pre
tended she hod got religion, and all the
time she never scrubbed a floor, or
washed a dish, or put her hands to the
churn.
“ John can afford to hire-help,” she
icl to me one day, “and I’m not very
strong, and my mother died of consump
tion.” Then she began to cry like a
baby, and John oame in and looked at
e as if it was my doing.
I must say she could succeed in doing
all sorts of useless things—raising flow
ers in every nook and oorner, making
pete of all the animals, and painting, or
playing on ths organ. 8he was real orna-
mohtal, and I suppose some folks
thought she was pretty. John did for
one. I don’t know that she made me
much work eithei. She did her own
washing as long as John wonld let her,
and kopt her room neat enough, though
it was mostly littered up with flowers
and birds and her sketches, and at
first she sang from morning till night,
and she did have a real lovelv voice,
rii anow mat, but alter a while sne
didn’t sing and didn’t talk mnoh, and
then John began taking her meals up
to her. The first time I law him getting
a tray ready, I said:
“ It’s a good tiling you were brought
np to be handy, John, seeing you've got
He didn’t say anything then, but a
few days after he came to me and said
“ Janet, get a girl as soon as you can,
and let Aont Betsy corns over and stay
with Myra; she is nervous and low
spirited, and needs company.”
“Well, I suppose you’ve guessed the
npshot of it all; a little daughter was
bora to John, and it seemed to me that
s miraclo was worked in the house. Per
haps I had never really loved John’s
wife—she was so different in her ways
from me—but when I heard that baby
ory, I felt thrilled to my very soul, and
I just threw my wqrk-apron over my
bend and cried for the first time in
years.
Myra didn’t get strong, and the days
went on and still she didn't get np, and
I folt it was my duty to go and tell her
that she mustn’t favor herself that way,
that she couldn’t lie abed and let stran
gers take care of hor child, and that
she’d never get strong till she’d got out,
but I mode up my mind to spenk in a
gentler sort of way. I had been think
ing it over and about concluded to let
Myra live her own way and not try to
mako her over, especially since John
aeemed so well satisfied with her, and I
went up-stairs and opened the door
softly and Btepped inside. Jolin was
standing at one window looking ont at
tho sunset—it was all red and gold, and
the room was in a flame. He turned ns
I came in, and the tears were rolling
down his cheeks, I never saw John
ory l)efore since he was a grown man I
“What is it?” I whispered, going np
close to him.
Ho made a motion with the back of
his head in the direction of the bed. I
went over there. Aunt Betsy was in a
rocker by the side of it, reading the
Bible. Myra was looking at the sunset,
tlftn at her baby’s sleeping face. I'm
not dull to see things, and I saw there
what made my heart turn cold—it was
the vjdlsy of the shadow of death 1
That all happened these three years
ago. There is a simple rustic cress up
in tho graveyard with “Myra” carved
on it, and little Myra and I go np there
every Sunday and carry flowers to deco
rate it, and the dear ohild sits in my lop
and puti her blessed little arms about
my neck and whispers: “ Auntie, talk
al»ont my mamma in heaven,” and I
toll how patient and gentle she was, and
how she sang and played, and how sho
shall do the very same thiug somo day
—for I know, now, that flowers arc as
nocossary to God’s oreution ns tho wood
and grain, and the least littlo thing that
makes sunshine in the world is of gloat
value in the dark places, and I fool sure,
when I look np to the hills she loved,
that Myra has reached far-off heaven
before me. Perhaps—perhaps, she will
intercede for me there.
A VNITKD STATES BOUNDARY LINK.
Tho northern boundary of this coun
try is marked by some cairns,iron pillars,
wood pillars, earth mounds nnd timber
posts. A stone cairn is 7$x8 foot, an
earth mound 7x14 feet, an iron pillar 8
feet high, 8 inches square at the bottom,
nnd 4 inches at tho top ; timber posts 0
feet high and 8 inches square. .-There
are 882 of these marks between the Lake
of the Woods and tho bnso of the Rocky
mountains. That portion of the bound
ary which lies east and west of tho Red
river valley is marked by oast-iron pil
lars at even-mile intervals. Tho British
plnco one overy two miles and tho United
States one between each two British posts.
Our pillars or markers wero. mado at
Detroit, Mich. They nro hollow iron
castings, three-eighths of an inch in
thiokness, in the form of a truncated
pyramid, 8 feet high, 8 inches square at
tho bottom and 4 inches at tho top, ns
before stated.
They have at tlio top a solid pyramidal
cap, and at tho bottom an octagonal
flange one inoh in thickness. Upon the
opposite faces are cast in letters two
idles high tho inscriptions, “Convention
of London” and “Oct. 20, 1818.”
The inscriptions begin about four feet
six inches above the base, and read tip*
• ward. The interiors of the hollow posts
are filled with well-seasoned cedar posts,
sawed to fit, and seourdy spiked through
spike-holes cast in the pillars for that
purpose. Ths average weight of oodi
pillar when completed is eighty-five
pounds. Tho pillars are set four feet in
the ground, with their inscription faces
to the north and south, and the earth is
well settled and stamped about them.
For the wooden jtoets well-seasoned logs
arn soleeted, and the portion above the
ground painted red, to prevent swelling
and shrinking. These posts do very
well, but the Indians cut them down for
fuel, and nothing but iron will last very
long. Where the line crosses lakos,
monuments of stone have been built, the
bases being in some plaoes eighteen feet
under water and the tops projecting eight
feet above the lake’s surface at hi£h-
water mark. In forests the line in
marked by felling the timber ajxxfwide
and clearing away the underbrush. The
work of cutting through the timbered
swamps was very great, bnt it has been
well done and the boundary distinctly
marked by tbe Commissioners the whole
dwltmce U'9B Miflktftft to
THB TREATMENT OP WOMEN,
It fell In the way of Multhun in his
celebrated work on population to search
in tho aooounts of travelers for those
causes which oporate, in different ceun-
triea of the world, to chock the progress
and to limit the numbers of muukind.
Foremost among these is vice, and fore
most among the vices is that most un
natural one, of the cruel treatment of
women. “In every part of the world,”
says Mai thus, “one of the most geuerul
characteristics of the savage is to de
spise and degrade the female sex.
Among most of the tribes in America
their condition is so peculiarly grievous
that servitude is a name too mild to de
scribe their wretched state. A wife is
uo better than a beast of burden. While
the man passes his days in idleuess and
amusement, the woman is condemned to
incessant toil. Tasks are imposed upon
her without mercy, and services are re
ceived without complacence or grati
tude. There are somo districts in Amer
ica where this state of degradation has
beon so severely folt that mothers have
destroyed their female infants, to de
liver them at once from a lifo in which
they were doomed to such a miserable
slavery.” It is impossible to find for
this most vicious teudoncy any place
among the unities of nature. There is
nothing like it among the beasts. With
them the equality of the sexes, as re
gards all the enjoyments as well os all
the work of life, is tho universal rule.
And among those of them in whioh
social instincts have been specially im
planted, and whose systems of polity
are like the most civilized polities of
men, the females ot the raco nro treated
with a ntrange mixture of lovo, of loynl-
ty, and of devotion. If, indeed, we con
sider tho necessary and inevitable re-
salts of the habit prevalent among sav
age men to maltreat and degrade their
women—its effects upon the constitu
tion, ana character, and enduranoo of
ohildren—we oanuot fail to see how
grossly unnatural it is, how it must tend
to tbe greater and greater degradation
of the raoe, and how rcaovery from this
downward path must become more and
more dittoult or impossible. Bnt, vi
cious, destructive, unnatural us this
habit is, it is not the only one or the
worst of similar character which prevail
among savage men. A horrid catalogue
come* to our remembrance when wo
think at them—polyandry, infanticide,
cannibalism, deliberate cruelty, syste
matic slaughter connected with warlike
passions or with religious customs.
Nor are these vices, or tho evils result
ing from them, peculiar to tho savage
state. Some of thorn, indeed, more or
less changed and modified in form, at
tain a rank luxuriance iu civilized com
munities, oomipt the very bones and
marrow *f society, and have brought
powerful nations to decay and death.—
Duke of Argyll, in Contemporary Re
view.
O’ CONNELL OVERTHROWN.
It is not strange that no one sympa
thizes with a lawyer whon he is over
thrown by a witness whom ho is cross-
examining. So many have suffered from
lawyers’ sharp questions that they enjoy
seeing one of them fall. Daniel O’Con
nell once received a witty reply that
turned the laugh against him, from a
witness whom ho was cross-examining.
It was a case of riot committed by a mob
of beggars, and the witness for the pros
ecution had represented the affair ns
very serious :
“ Pooh, pooh! ” said O’Connell,
“ now Just toll the court how many there
were.”
“Indeed, I nover stopped to oonut
them, yoar Honor, but there was a whole
tribe of them.”
“A whole tribe of them 1 Will you
tell us to what tribe they belonged ?”
“Indeed, your Honor, that’s more
than I con do at all; bnt I think it mm t
have been the tribe of Dan 1 ”
“ You may go down, sir,” cried O'Oou-
nell, in a rage, while bench, bur uud
spectators laughed
CHINESE WITTICISMS.
The awful dignity of the Chinese
gentleman will not allow him to manu
facture Ills own witticisms. Ho appre
ciates wit, and is fond of tea; but lie
would as soon grow his own tea as make
his own jokes. When ho goes into socie
ty, he carries in his pocket a package of
wittioisms and repartees, whioh he pur-,
chases at the nearest joke-shop. When
conversation flags, and he perceives an
opportunity for doing something brill
iant, he draws a humorous remark from
the top of his package and gravely hands
it to his neighbor. The latter nsgravely
reads it, and, seleoting from his bundle of
repakee the one which is appropriate,
returns it with a bow to the original
joker. The two then solemnly smile in
fi. courteous and undemonstrative way
and resume their conversation, satisfied
as to their having acquitted themselves
with conspicuous brilliancy. This pro
ceeding has one marked advantage—
the wittioii ms are generally very good.
OUR JUVENILES.
Th* Emu’s Party.
Ad ancient maldan Emu
Ilad a breezy country villa,
With an axtenalTe aea-vlew,
On tha south coait of Auitralla.
o Dodoa, and tha
social,
nn and kindly;
i party,
it blindly
md tha Sea-ffnlla,
And UioughUoaaly Included
Biz littlo unfledged Eagle*.
Then tlia called on Madam Duck-bill,
At ber borne beside the water,
And proceeded with effusion
To tnrlta bar Infant daughter.
“I will take care, my daar madam,
If you nil! be ao good
Aa to trust ua with your Buale,
That aba eata tba plainest food—
“ Rome simple vermin chowder,
Or only ante on toast,
With smothered flies In honey
• And a tender lama roaat;
“Marhad angle-worma and apldare,
Or, If you think It beat.
Grub aoup with vermicelli,
Which la stay to digeiL
'• She ahall be at boma by bed-time,
Or any hour you choose. ”
Said Mrs. Duck-bill, solemnly,
“ Unv« you asked tho Kangaroos 7"
“Why, no; tbe thought, dear madam,
Bad not entered In my head;
I liuve bnt alight acquaintance with
That fore-ahortenod quadruped."
“ Then I’m afraid, Mies Emu,
That Snalu cannot go;
Her grandpa waa a mammal,
Well connected, aa you know.
Noi
olilldrc
llure,
11 know the Eagles,
iatly higher circles
at pnrae-jiroud Kangarnc
o Parrots nnd the Pigenni
Can hold hla bea
-I wish you, ma'am, good-by."
o Ruale Duck-bill
iartificial attitude
And aald, wi
— Harptr’s Uagazy
aglca’ laughter a
th tear*, “I wleh
i foarfully genteo
Perpetual motion is perhaps impos
sible to obtain, but you can approximate
' it by putting a boy on a chair at a funeral
and telling him to be still. — Boston
Dost,
A nobleman hud n favorite monkey,
a largo orang-outang, which you know
is tho largest species of monkey except
the gorilla. This monkey was very
much attached to his mnster and to the
baby boy, who was tho pet of the whole
family. One (l»y suddenly a lire brokp
out. in the house, and everybody was
running hero and tliero to put it out,
whilo tho little boy in his nursery was
almost forgotten; and when they
thought of him tho stair-case was all iu
flames. What could 1* done ? As they
wero looking up and wondering, a large,
hairy hand aud arm oj>ened the window,
and presently the monkey appeared with
tho baby in his arras, nnd carefully
climbed down over the porch nnd
brought the child safely to its nurse.
Nobody else could have done it, for a
man cannot climb liko a monkey, and is
not nearly so strong. You may imagine
how the faithful creature was praised
and petted niter that- TbiB is a tine
story, and the child who was saved was
the young Marquis of Kildare.—Chil
dren's Treasury.
Pony Contain.
Polly Gonzaloz lived in Havana street,
Havana.
Tho house is paiuted yellow, and the
door, which is wide enough for a horse
and carriugo to enter, is a bright blue,
and tho windows, nearly ns largo as the
door, haven’t a hit of gloss, but are
barred with iron.
The street is so narrow that the curious-
looking vehicle called a vofantc, in which
we havo arrived, cannot turn around in
it, and the sidowulk is also so narrow
that without, moving from our seats we
ean announce our arrival on tha big brass
knocker on ths door, and can step di-
reotly from ths volanteiuto the reception-
room.
Beyond is the courtyard, and this is
Polly’s particular domain.
It is paved with stone, is open to ths
sky, aud has a small garden filled with
the choicest tropical foliage, while from
the larger garden, whioh is on the top o!
the house (it being but one story high),
the vinos cling and festoon themselves
over the gray walls in the loveliest
manner.
Hanging on one side of the wall is a
mountain trumpeter, called by the Mex
icans a Glarines, a beautiful singer. Near
by is a cage containing four Australian
love-birds, pretty little green things
marked with gray, with blue bills shaped
like Polly’s own.
Polly was brought from Mexico about
seven years ago.
He was a forlorn-looking bird at that
time, suffering from some disease that
; bad mado him lose liis feathers aud his
| beauty, too.
1 But Uad . Utuk tcBro, w
that was sufficient recommendation for
his future speaking abilities, be wns
nursed with tho greatest care, and now
Polly Gonzalez can tell his own story,
nnd ns well in English as Spanish.
Parrots ar^ quite as vain in Spanish
os iu English, for though they are not
saying “Pretty Poll” all tho timo they
continually scronra in Spanish, “ Royal
bird,” and that is quite as conceited, I
think.
Polly also says in Spanish, “Royal
bird! Royal bird! No ouc equals me.
You for Spain, but I for Portugal.”
When Polly Gonzalez is obstinate ho
iR always obstinate iu Spanish. If we
oxelnim, “ Viva la Cuba!" his eyes
grow red with anger, whilo ho shouts,
“ Viva I'Espagnef" but ho is just as
patriotic for Cuba if wo express a pref
erence for Spain.
Polly is dovoted to Sailor, our grout
Newfoundland dog. Ho follows Sailor
around, just ns Sailor follows his mis
tress, and when Sailor takes his aftor-
noon doze ou tho liousc-top, Polly will
be found rooHting on one of his paws
and blinking guard over him.
When we sit down to breakfast, “ Pol- }
ly wants his breakfast now,” He aiku j
if we want our coffee hot, because “ roi
ly wants his coffee hot. ”
If any one wants Andrews, the boy i
who waits on the table, Polly wants him \
more than any one, and lie calls him so I
loudly that sometimes ho has to be pun- i
isbod.
One day when Polly found tho sim-l j
door open ho concluded that ho would j
take a short promonado ; he was soon i
missed, however, and was Bren walk- ;
ing along the Btreot but a few houses i
distant.
Andrews, the boy, rushed after hi in ; !
Pilar, tho cook, rushed after Andrews; i
Conchita, tho nurso, rushod after Pilar, j
but the uearer they approached, tho |
farther away flew Polly.
* many Mrs. Gonzales rushed alter all :
of them, but Polly was obstinate, so she :
made a feint of crying as though her l
heart would break.
That was too much for Polly’s tender !
feelings to endure, so he immediately
flow to hor shoulder, aud she curried j
him homo in triumph.
Ha will dance if wo make music for
him, which wo do by scraping a chair j
over tho tiled floor.
When water is being pumped from i
the ohl-fadiioned woodeu pump, Polly
thinks it is music for his own especial j
bonofij, aud ho manifests his delight j
with head, wings and feot, all keeping
time to the strokes of the pump.
I wish you could hear Polly sing, |
I am suro that lie sings it as well as \
some grown people. But sometimes 1
Polly is too lazy to go more than half- t
way over tho river, and no amount of
coaxing will persuade him to go further j
than “ Over the ri ”
Ho will sing these four notes in per- !
feet timo and time, and thon wink nnd I
blink when we ask for tho end of the |
song, as though ha thought* it a good
joke.
He can imitate the crying of a child,
and his sympathy for one in trouble is
human-like.
Altogether, he is a wonderful bird,
nnd if ever a parrot deserves a roost on
the pinnacle of fame, Polly Gonzalez
does. — Youth's Companion.
A GOOD DEED.
There is notliing so noble and touch
ing as a really spontaneous act of gen
erosity, after all. The other day a rough,
careless-looking Btranger was walking up
Mission street, when ho observed a lot of
hoodlums clustered round the gate of a
small farmhouse, in front of which a poor
woman was weeping bitterly, surrounded
by her terrified children. A seauty array
of household goods on the pavement
showed that it was u case of ejectment.
“What are you abusing that woman
for ?” demanded the “ mau from below,”
addressing an ill-favored individual who
was carrying out the furniture,
“I ain’t abusing ber,” growled the
landlord ; “sho can’t pay her rent, und
I’m going to bounce tho whole outfit,
that’s all.”
“I’ve a good mind to bounce you,”
said the stranger, indignantly ; “ whut’s
the amount she owes you?"
“ Twenty-two dollars.”
“ Here, take it out of that,” and tho
angry man took outliiswnllctnDdhnnded
over a $100 greenback.
The evicter respectfully turned over a
receipt and tho change. Forcing an ad
ditional “V” on tho happy woman, tl
stranger walked rapidly away.
“ ’Centric cuss, that,” said the I use-
owner, looking after tho philanthropist,
musingly.
But tho philanthropist said nothing
until he turned the cornor, wheuhomur-
| mured softly to himself, as ho put ou a
littlo moro pedestrian Hteam*:
“ It’s no use talking—virtue is its own
reward. I couldn’t have gotten another
such chanco to work off that coun'erfeit
in a year."—San Francisco Post.
Some of you may think it very funny
that there is not a barber iu all tho Bar
bary States.
The man who soils sieves 1b in the
y ** ’ p
THE READING HABIT. '
Charles Dudley Warner says, in th*
Christian Union, that the extent of th#
rending habit is overestimated. Even in
the United States, where ths habit of read
ing is most prevalent, few of tho popu
lation read a book. In support of hi*
opinion, Mr. Warner brings out theYol-
lowing j
Nearly everybody takes a daily snatoh
at the nowspapers, at tho summary of
news or at ths telegraph columns, and
tho base-ball record, and occasionally
persons follow for days tha columns do-
voted to somo singular accident or curi
ous murder—oven women have acquired
the art of deftly skimming the cream of!
tho morning journal; comparatively few
of the entire population, even tho edu
cated, read books.
Unless a book by some good luck be
comes a fashion, and is recommended in
conversation, few see it; the number of
people who riginally seek out the read
able book from their habit of craving is
very small.
When a story becomes the fashion,
everybody reads it; but who is every
body ? Why, a novel is said to have a
“run” if 10,000 copies of it ar* pub
lished for 40,000,000 people.
And there are books that “ everybody
has read, and all the newspapers
talk of,” whioh have not got beyond the
third or fourth thousand.
The late Bamuel Bowles once told me
of liis experience. He had written his
capital book on the far West at the time
of the Pacific-railway exoitement, when
millions of people were eager for the in
formation his book contained.
Never did a book seem to be in greater
demand; it was sold iu England os well
as iu America, and all the newspapers of
both oountries quoted from it and com
mented on it.
Mr. Bowles said that he never met a
peraon who had not read it—or who did
not say he read it, I forget which. And
yet, ho asked, how many copies do you
suppose satisfied this enormous demand
of overybody? Fifteen thousand filled
the market.
I believe that the majority of business
men read a book very rarely; the ma
jority of young men in business aud in
society, I fancy, read little—they do not
give their evenings to reading, and are
not apt to take up a book unless it be
comes the talk of aociety.
People who spend a great deal of
money on dress, on dinners, on amuse
ments, would think it extravagant to
buy a book, and, if one is commended
to them, they will wait till they can
borrow it or g« t it from ths library.
They do not hesitate two minutes
about an ordinary $2 dinner, bnt they
will wait moutlis to borrow a 50-oent
book.
PERSONAL ANECDOTES.
Gen. Cameron once recounted to mo
raoqy interesting incidents, one of which
I recall: “ I wns one day sitting,” said
lie, “iu the saloon of the steamer,
whero a boisterous fellow was talking
disagreeably of Senator Tom Benton.
I listened for a while and finally said
to him : * Your remarks are exceedingly
distasteful to me,’nnd I used Home other
expressions to lot him understand that
I did not approve of bis assault upon
Mr. Benton.
“ The niRn immediately fired up and
retorted: ‘ Ho is my brother, sir, and
I’ll nbtiBO him as much us l’vo a mind
to. But I want you to understand that
I don’t allow any other man tie da it.’
Years afterward, when I became ac
quainted with Mr. Bonton in the Senate,
I told him the story to his vory great
umusement.”
A quaint story of Gen. Jackson is
told m the New Orleans Democrat
During tbe lattflr part of bis lifo ho was
in tho habit of coming down to New Or
leans to see his old friends and com
rades in arms and participate in the
celebration of the glorious 8th of Junu-
ary. It happened on one of these visit*
that the 8th occurred on Sunday. Gen.
Blanche called upon the old hero and
requested him to acoompnny the mili
tary to the battle ground on the anni
versary of tho great day. “Iam going to
church to-morrow,” mildly oBfterved the
General. The military preparations for
the eelebratioa .went on, and Sunday
morning dawned bright and beautiful.
At 10 o’clock Gon. Plauche called at the
Ht. Charles and informed Gon. Jackson
that the military and civio procession#
were ready to accompany him to ths
i scone of his glory. “ Gan. Plauohe,”
! responded Old Hickory, turning upoa
him the glance of his kindling eye, “I
told you I was going to church to-day.”
Gon. Plauoho withdrew, muttering to
himself, “I might have known better.
Tho celebration was postponed till 1 ’ths
next day, and Gen. Jackson listened on
that day to one of the most eloqnMit.
discourses in the church on Lafayefte
squaro from Dr. Scott ever -pronoufccsd
in tho pul])it .»-*
There was a new compositor in the
offioe this morning. He was a wander
ing “sub.” After wrestling a few thin-
utes with a “take” of manuscript]^#
put down his “stick,” remarked “I’m
sick,” slipped on his ooat and walked
out. A proof of his was soon taken
with tho following result; “I can’t
road Chinese. The man who wrote this
is evidently laboring under a fit of alco
holism. Before I would try to 1 yank ’
antimony from this manuscript I would
steal a jack-knife aud make shoe-pogs at
2 oenta a quart. The foregoing confes
sion I make in a moment of dospair,
after having turned this copy upside
down, t’other side up, and every other
way. One way it is Greek, another
somo antediluvian dialed or Egyptiaa
hieroglyphics from Cleopatra’s needle.
If you are after reputation, for humani
ty’s suko stop where yon are. I go, I
know not where."-Jfew Hoorn Begie-
ier.