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About The Butler herald. (Butler, Ga.) 1875-1962 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 24, 1885)
THE BUTL HERALD. W. N. BENNS, Editor and Proprietor. r jb E BE LIGHT.” Subscription, $1.50 in Advance. VOLUME X. BUTLER, GEORGiV Wk, ^ESDAY. NOVEMBER U NUMBER 4. Thanksgiving Day. When the orchards with blossoms are blushing, The willows unrolling their leaves, And the fields the tender wheat flushing, That soon would be waving with sheaves, Not then went the toiler to labor, The task of subduing the earth, With tho sound of the pipe and the tabor, With anthems of joyance and mirth. Nor yet when processional flowers Passed on through the fight or the gloom. When the vivid and picturesque hours Laughed out in a splendor of bloom. When the oriole, royal arid golden, Flashes forth like a jem in the sun, Stijl mail by stern duty was. hoiden, Not yet was the victory won. When the vines on the trellis.was burdened With clusters all purple and aweet, • ! When the hand of tho worker was guerdoned With bounty of harvests complete When wide over mountain and valley The banners of autumn, unfurled In a vast and magnificent rally, Shed lustre and pomp o’er the world Then, pausing to think of the story Of promise, fulfillment and cheer, The hopo and the faith and the glory, The crown of the beautiful year, From the 6tross of our care-weightod living, 'Hie st min of our hurrying days. We break and uplift a thanksgiving To God, who is worthy of praise. Atid what if the storms fie befofts U3; The days that are weary ahd cold; Sihcc the 1 vO that is Vigii iht o’er its GuhrdH ever the j'ouiig ahd the old; fetill ahswet-s the em host endfeavor With more thaii a measured rfeward, Ai]d puffers our weariness never To slip from the grasp of the Lord. So, .siiverpd-hairod father ami mother, So* middle-aged sturdy and strong, So, denr little sister and brotuer, Join voices und hearts in the song Toll jo sound of the pipe and the tabor, Weave, chorals of gladness and mirth, Foi'ithe toiler nmy rest iroiri his lubor, And plenty hath dowered the earth. JACK’S MISTAKE. A THANKSGIVING ST OKI'. “We must try to keep Thanksgiving Day after a fashion,” sighed Mrs. Spikenard to her daughter Florella; "though, to be sure, two poor chickens | and a bought pie won’t be much of a j dinner. “How different it used to be in the country, where we used to kill the fattest gobbler in the flock for Thanks giving dinner, and made pumpkin ] >ies with scuds of fresh eggs and rich milk in ’em ! An’ fur vegetables, we had Bweet potatoes, an* squash, an’ pickled cabbage, an’— But, law ! it’s differeht in the city—that is, if you ain’t made of money ! The markets are lined with turkeys an’ fowls of all kinds, an’ vegetables by the wagon load; but it takes a forchin to get ’em a’most. I give thirty-five cents fur them two pore-lookin’ chickens, an’ ten fur that little measure of turnips. I did want to git a few cramterries fur Bass, but Jack had sot his heart on bavin’ a pie, so 1 got one.” Mrs. Spikenard shook her head as she turned over the contents of the little worn market-biisket on . (lie kitchen table. “Oh, we can make quiet a nice din ner of these” said Florella, lifting up the chickens; “and I have a nickel left. We can buy a dish of jelly with it. I walked home to-night, and saved it on purpose.” “But it won’t seem quite like a Thanksgiving dinner unless we have some one to help us eat it,” persisted Mrs. Spikenard. “I’vealius been used to havin’ the house full on Thanks giving Day, an’ it don’t seem jest right to set down an’ eat what we’ve got all by ourselves.” “There’s old Mr. Barber, that lives up in the third story,” suggested Flor ella. “He’s as poor as we are, if not poorer. Suppose we ask him to eat dinner with us ?” “Why, to-be-sure,” said her mother, brightening up. “I’ll send Jack up to ask him as soon as he comes in.” Xhe Spikenards occupied two tiny rooms in the back part of a respectable tbree story house in Cote Brilliante. The rooms were small and not very comfortable, to-be-sure, but they were decent and cheap, and poor as they were it took about all Florella could earn as “saleslady,” in a commercial house down town, to pay the rent and buy food, fuel and clothing for herself, her mother, and eighty ear-old Jack, who went to school, and wore out more jackets and trowsers than he was worth, so his mother declared. Jack soon came in from the bakery, where he had been sent for a loaf of bread, and was at once dispatched to invite old Mr. Barber to the Thanks giving dinner the next day. Mrs. Spikenard was setting the ta ble for supper, and Florella was cut- ^^jj^loaf of bread, when he came iher! Mr. Barclay I cried Florella. Shrieked the widow, ker asked him!" flared Jack, boldly, to ask him !” er, you dreadful tat are we going to “No, no—of course not!” cried his sister, drying her tears and beginning to laugh at the ridiculous side of the affair. “We must make the best of it now of course; but what will he think of us? I can stuff these mis erable little fowls with some stale bread-crumbs,” she added, as her mother looked hopelessly on. “And we must polish up our bits of silver and 1 ptlt the best foot foremostbut it will be a ridiculous Thanksgiving dinner, after all.” .Mr; Bernard Barclay was a bach- ellor, V’ell-to-do, anil good-looking, Florella admitted, who occupied the second-story front-room in Mrs. Loyd’s house, and took his meals at a restau rant, as Mrs. Loyd only kept “room ers”—that is, she let lodgings only, without board. Mr. Barclay had frequently bowed to Mrs. Spikenard, as they met in the halls or on the stairway, and had even exchanged a few words with Florella, on the front steps; and once he had brought her home from the street-car under his umbrella, during a heavy rain. But what Would, he think of them for inviting him to a Thanksgiving dinner ?—and such a dinner, too! Fiorelia lay awake half the night, puzzling her head ever this problem. Thfe sun shone ont on a clear, frosty ■thanksgiving Day, the next morning, and Flprella and her mother were bustling about, putting the little rooms in holiday order, when shuffling steps came up the stairway, a thump ing knock sounded on tho door, and a shock-headed boy asked: “Mrs. Spikenard live here? "Yes, said the widow, wonderingly. “That’s my 1 atne.” “This hire’s fur you, then. Nothin’ to pay.” And having deposited a well-filled market-basket on the table, the boy shuffled away, leaving the widow and her daughter staring at each other with astonishment. “It’s a mistake!” cried Florella But no, there was a card, witli Mrs. Spikenard’s name and number, care fully attached to the basket; and hav ing made sure it was meant for them, Florella fell at once to rilling it of its contents. “A twenty-pound turkey, I do be lieve! Just look, ma! and half a pumpkin! A paper of sugar. Eggs —two dozen of ’em at least—and sweet potatoes. Half a dozen lemons; now 1 can make some lemon-pies. And raisins, and currants, and citron, and ginger. What else, 1 wonder? This is sage, for tho dressing, and here’s a bucket of something—oysters! And a paper of cranberries—and that’s all. But who could have sent them ?” Florella and her mother stared blankly at each other, while Jack helped himself to currants and raisins, unrebuked. “If ’twa’n’t fur the oysters an’ lem ons, 1 sh’d think ’twas sister Sary sent ’em,” said Mrs. Spikenard, at last.” “It’s a God-send to us, anyway, wherever it came from,” declared Flo rella. “And I’m going to get dinner right away. And now we can ask old Mr. Barber, too, after all. The twenty-pound turkey was soon sputtering in the even, and the aro matic odor of lemons and spice filled the little kitchen and floated out through the hallway, penetrating even to Bachelor Barclay's very door. The dinner was a success. The oys ter soup, roast turkey, the sweet pota toes, the lemon and pumpkin pies and cranberry sauce were cooked to perfec tion, and Mr. Barclay could not help contrasting his lonely dinners at the restaurant with this cozy meal; with kind-hearted Mrs. Spikenard presiding over the coffee-urn, and pretty, violet eyed Florella busy helping every one but herself. Old Mr. Barber, too, witli his digni fied, old-school manners, was no de traction to the merry party around the well-spread board. And when it was all over, and Bachelor Barclay had gone to smoke a cigar in the solitude of his own room, he mentally decided, as the blue wreaths curled over head, that “it was not good for man to be alone.” In fact, before many moons had come and gone, pretty Florella Spiken ard had resigned her situation as “saleslady,” and assumed the more re sponsible position of housewife, with the matronly title of Mrs. Bernard Barclay. And not until then, did Mr. Barclay confess that he had sent the basket which bad so puzzled Florella and her mother. “I overheard your conversation, when you discovered Jack’s blunder,” he confessed, “and, of course, on learn ing the circumstances, 1 thought it was only my duty to help you out of the dilemma.” And Florella only laughed at her husband’s explanation, and declared she had suspected him all aloug. But a load was lifted from Mrs. Spikenard’s mind, for, according to her >wn confession, “she couldn’t skeerse-, ip o’ nights, fur Wonderj on ’arth that basket ,rHelen Whitney Clar, THE COWBOY’S ROMANCE. Saving a Boston Girl’s Life With His Lasso. And Then Himself Beooming Entangled in a Matrimonial Noose, In a late number of the San Fran cisco Alta we find the following exter* taining story of a cowboy’s romances The movements of a real cowboy on Kearney street attracted atteritiofi yes terday; He stood nearly six feet in his boots; and hjs regular features and dropping blopd moustache gaye Iris face an aspect of beauty fully in keep ing with his handsome proportions. His attire was . that of the vaquero, consisting of buckskin itrousers, a woolen shirt fastened at the throat with a carelessly knotted silk hander- chief, a coarse chinchilla sack coat, and broad-brimmed hat Of the sombre ro pattern. An Alto, reporter learned his name and his history. His name was Edward N. Willetts, and six years ago he was at college, when he received peremptory orders from his father, a wealthy Boston merchant, to enter the theological blass aiid fit himself for the ministry. The bommand came like a thunderbolt to the liappy-go-lufekj fel low, Who had alwtays believed himself destined to follow his father in business when the latter should be ready to re tire. A quarrel with his pere was the result, and the young fellow suddenly left. v The wild life of the cowboy caught his fancy. Salary proved, little object, and he had little difficulty in attaching himself to a big ranch until he had mastered his new vocation. The open ing of the summer found him engaged with three or four comrades in driving a small bana of steers over the Santa Cruz mountains. Toward the end of the drive the steep bluffs that line the road on either hand kept the steers in fairly good order, and only occasional ly did an unusually juicy bunch of grass tempt some hungry one to bolt up the slope or into the canon below. It was an occasion of this sort that sent Willetts careering among the brakes and ferns on the slope above, A chase of half a mile had seen the truant return to the road; and Willetts was skirting the edge of the bank some distance in front of the drovo in search of a safe place td desfcend, when in the middle of a harrow road ha saw a lovely girh The drove was thun dering down on her, and promising to soon crush her young life out beneath their ponderous weight. Escape for the girl seemed impossible. From the road to where Willett’s horse stood was a wall of rock full twenty feet in height, and below to the bed of the stream was a sheer descent of double that distance. For only a sec ond was the horseman inactive. Then; with the speed born of long practice; he lifted his trusty rawhide Hath from the horn of his saddle and threw it. “Put that under you? arms, miss,” was Willett’s hasty injunction. It was obeyed, and not a moment too soon the girl was lifted above the heads and horns of the oncoming cat tle. . . Wheh they were well by Willetts slOvviy slacked down until his “catch” dropped softly to the earth. Five minutes later, when he managed to find a pathway down and reached the subject of his daring bit of horseman ship, she was lying in the dust in a faint. When she recovered he learned that she, too, was from Boston, and with her father and mother was spending the summer amid Califor nia’s most favored spots. The old gentleman, her father, was highly de lighted when he learned of Willett’s identity, as he soon did. “His daugh ter foolishly placed a high value on my little service,” explained Willetts, blushing, “and when I saw how she had over-estimated it, I meanly de manded the largest reward I' could think of. The details were settled yesterday, and I came up by the even ing train to fit myself for her society. She swears that 1 look like an angel in my woolen shirt and buckskin trous ers, but I will try and get used to civilized garb, for vaquero’s dress is hardly the thing for .esthetic Boston.” “Are you going back?” “Yes. We shall tour Yosemite as man and wife, and then go back home. My father-in-law says that my father has long been anxious to have me come home, and that he will set me up if the old gentleman doesn’t, so I think I had better go.” Ferrets as Bat Catchers. During the pass few years an enter prising business.nas been successfully carried on in Nelv York City of which the general pu$ic know little. The nature of the business is made appar ent by the sign which swings in front of the principal store in a down-town street: “IloUses cleared of rats by trained ferrets,” Beneath the sign is a glass case in which two large ferrets are exhibited. A Tribune reporter stopped before the case the other day, and ivhiie Watching the antics of the animals,' one of the Clerks Of the estab-' Iisment remarked: “It’s a curious thing to see how. well you can. train dumb, animals,like, these. Now take Jim here, as we call .him, and put him on the scent of a. rat and say the word ‘go,’ and he’ll have him in an instant. But just say, ‘guard: him,’ and he’ll keep a rat in the middle of a circle for an hour by just running around him and heading him off when he goes to get away.” - “Do you do much business in the way of letting out ferrpts ?” was asked. “Yes, but not so much this season of the year as later on. Most of the rats, I guess, take a vacation in the suriimfer, as we never have so many calls for ferrets as in the winter.” “IS it iii the better Chisses df hduseS tliat your serVifces are usually required, of in tenement houses?” “Chiefly in the former, such as those in Fifth-five. arid. Forty-second-st; You see the proprietors of tenement houses won’t spend , the money neces sary for a ferret. They don’t have to suffer, and so don’t pay much' atten tion to the annoyance. But hotels and high-class private houses rent a ferret as soon as they discover any traces of these pests. We had a case in Forty-second-st. last winter where we kept two ferrets at work for three days. At the end of that time I guess they had killed nearly two dozen rats. The owner had been annoyel so that he thought of moving to got rid of the rats, but when we showed him the pile of dead animals he was so tickled that what must he do but buy one of the ferrets attd keep him as a pet. The other day I had occasion to call at his hoiise and he showed trie the same ferret. lie had bought a handsome Cage for him and fitted it tap in elegant style. A silk collar was fastened around his neck With ‘Pet’ embroidered bn it. To show me how v eil he had trained him since the purchase he called ‘Pet’ to his side and dropping his pencil behind a large immovable desk where it would be almost im possible to get it again, he merely said, ‘get it,’ In an instant the ferret was off, and soon back again with the pen cil. The gentleman sain that he had been of great service to him in that way, and he recommended them to all old ladies who are in the habit of los ing tiiinibies ahd spectacles in out-of- the-way corners and holes,”—New York Tribune. * Doing the Kow-Tow. The kow-tow ceremony, as witness ed by a reporter one day recently at A Chinese temple on Waverly Place, will bear description. The guardian of the temple was just sounding a barrel shaped drum suspended from a wood en framework. Having evoked a few dull, rolling sounds, he wakened the echoes by pulling a massive bronze bell hanging underneath. Then tak ing the sticks of incense, he placed a mat on the floor before each idol, on which he knelt, first bowing down with - hands joined, and then raising them above his head like the priest el evating the host at mass. He then performed the kow-tow, which consist of knocking the head against the floor six times before minor idols and nine times before major gods with great rapidity and violence The Mongolian devotee fulfills his religious task with no half-hearted zeal, making the floor vibrate again as he introduces his head to it. The thought would natu rally occur that this would be rather trying even to an opium-befogged Chinese cerebrum; and passing near the worshiper as he rose from his task, it was noticed that he had on the top of his head a bungling protub erance as large as an average fist—the result of frequent and vigorous kow towing. Tuis must have become per fectly callous, as in response to a query on parting the custodian remarked that the frequent bumping was the cause of no pain or unpleasantness.— San Francisco Chronicle. CHILT)KEY’S COLUMN. ThankigtYtiiK Day. Ton noedn’t ’spect me to tend to you, Dolly, darling,—because, yon see, To-day I’ve a woman’s work to do, I’m juatrfts busy na I can be. Company’s coming to-morrow, dear; Uncles and aunts, and a lot of cousins, Coming to spend Thanksgiving here, And grandma is making pies by dozens. Now go back to yonr little bed, 1 can’t 'ford time to talk to you, Have to be busy with bands and bead When I’ve o woman’s work to do. To-morrOw yod’ll wear your bestest dross, And yon mnst behave yout prettiest Way; There, go’ to Sleep! When yon wake, 1 gness You’U fifiS it has cotire Thanksgiving Day. The. Chcatons* Thanksgiving Dinner. Mrs. Cheston, wgs very poor; she Jived alone . with her little daughter May in a lonely garret. It was Thanksgiving Day, and there was not a morsel of food in the house. Mrs. Cheston sighed wearily, as she folded up some embroidery. “May, darling,” she said to her daughter, “take this work back to the store and get seventy-five cents for it That is not much, to be sure; but it will keep us from starving for a day or two." May donned her little ragged shawl and hat, and hastened out in the cold air With the bundle under her arm. When she reached lief destination she fotand the store Closed. “dh; i am so sorry,’' she said to her self; “i am sd hringty.” Mriy slowly Walked honie. While a lew tears trickled down her cheeks. “I wish’ papri had hot gone to sea. We do not know whether he is dead or alive, and mamma cries so much,” she said, quite unconscious that she was overheard. “What’s the matter little girl ?’ said a bright, childish voice behind her, and upon turning around May saw a little girl about her own age. But what a contrast! May’s dress was ragged and torn, so were her shawl and hat, while the little stranger was clad in velvet, sealskin fur. “"What is the matter ?” she ex claimed again. “We are very poor,” said May, “and I haven’t had anything to eat for two days” “Poor little girl!” said the other. “My name Is Hilda—Hilda Summers; What’s yours ?” 'May Cheston,’’ replied otif little heroine. “What a pretty name! Tell me where you live, arid i might be able to help you,” said Hilda. May told her, and Hilda left a bright ten-cent piece in her hand, saying as she did so, “that is all the change I have with me today.” May walked home with a glad heart, and as she turned down the street she stopped at the little grocery store to biiy a loaf Of bread. “Very sorry; Miss, biit I can not trust you any longer r your mother owes me a bill now” said the grocery- man. “I don’t wish you to trust us for this,” said May, as she handed him the money “Oh, that alters the case;” he said, as he handed her the bread. “See, mamma, see !” cried May, as she ran iri the room; “a whole loaf of bread 1” “My child, where dli you get it?” asked her mother. In a few words, May explained it, and Mrs. Cheston reverently blessed the little maiden who had been so kind to her daughter. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. May opened it, and a man stood there with a large basket. “Does Mrs. Cheston live here?” he asked May said that was her name- “Very well, this is for you,” he said, as be pushed the huge basket into the room. Then he left, without saying another word. May looked at her mother, and her mother looked at her- “Open is, May, ahd see what it con tains.” She cut the cord, and the lid flew open. On the top was a card with “Hilda’s love” written on it. There was a warm dress for May and her mother ; hats, shoes, stockings, coats, shawls and blankets. Then there were underneath, potatoes, bread, but ter, cake, and a turkey. In an enve lope there was found ten dollars in bills. And that was how the Chestons had a grand Thanksgiving dinner.— Ella Wilson. Grant and the Hoys. “On one occasion I remember, after Gen.Grant was a major-general.chance brought him in the neighborhood of the regiment, and he rode into camp to see the boys. He hitched his horse in front of the ookmel’s tent, and went in to have a chat. The boys slipped up and proceeded each one to puli » hair from that horse’s tail as a memen to of the general. The horse, a fine Clay-Bank stallion, stood it patiently, it he was in danger of being entirely when Grant himself came to |cue. Colonel Alexander, to be a little hj Grant disi le and Nome Peculiar Effects of Sea Salt. A correspondent on one of the islands of the Gulf of Mexico writes: The Cheniere, as well as Grand Isle; was once a sugar plantation, but the force of constant winds, blowing from one point of the compass, has several times caused the rollers to sweep across it for mariy days, and this, added positively to transpira tion water, after a timp made the saccharine juice more salt than sweet. The residenj^HHfllBBtfteithei. use the wi or bring As the A Good Reason. “How does it happen that there are so many old maids among the school teachers?” asked a reporter of a school superintendent the other day. “Because school teachers are,, rule, women of sense, and no will give up a $60 positior man,” was the reply.— Press. A straight line is morals as in mathen TOPICS OF THE DAT* , Although French families' are no toriously small,' exceptional cases oc cur. Thus, in Royoy-Belleval there lives a couple, the man being seventy- three, the wife sixty-eight years of age, who have twenty-five living chil dren, not to mention two who died. Three of the sons are in the army. Years ago the musical piping of two tiny song birds at Skye Farm, away up in New Hampshire hills, at tracted the attention of song lovers, children of those who listened to the Cary sisters.- Elaine and Dora Good- ale were the poetic babies.- Mis Elaine Goodale; after practical exjyetiesce as a teacher iri the Hampton Institute and as editor of the Indian depart ment of the Southern Workman, goes to Nebraska and Dakota to study the social and educational needs of the Indian. A remarkable case of longevity is reported by a correspondent from the village of Sheepshed, - in Leicester shire, England, where a married cou ple—Richard and Elizabeth Wortley— have celebrated their diamond wed ding. The registry of the marriage in the parish church is dated in July, 1815, when the news of the battle Of Waterloo was still ringing through the country. Twenty years ago the golden wedding of this couple was celebrated, and they have now com pleted the extraordinary term of sev enty years of married life. “During eight Centuries,” says a correspondent of London Nature,- “one’s' direct ancestors amount to A far greater number than would at first be contemplated. Taking three genera tions to a century, one has father and mother (2), grandparents (4), great- grandparents (8). At the end of the second century the number of ancest ors springs to 64. Following the cal culation, you will find that at the end of eight centuries one is descended from no less than 16,000,000 ancestors. Intermarriage, of course, would reduce this estimate, and there is no doubt it must have largely prevailed. But the figures are so enormous that, in spite of all, I venture to suggest that the words, ‘All ye are brethren,’ are liter ally true.” Lieut. Dahenhower of the United States Navy has, according to the Army and Navy jorirnitl, prepared a paper on polaf explorations, to be read and disetassed at a meeting of the Naval Institute. For the general public the most valuable of the con clusions which this officer teaches is the following: “After having served with one Arctic expedition, and havifl|r devoted seven years to the study of the subject, as well as to the watchful- observation of the numerous-efforts and the comparatively insignificant results attending sacrifices of human life and-' df treasure, I unhesitatingly record thyself as opposed td further exploration of the central polar basin with our present resources. The grad ual extension of observatory stations in the interest of meteorology, magnet- isih, arid other scientific brandies should be lriade, but national support Bhould ridt be given td another polar expedition;” There has just been admitted to' the military schooi at Weilburg, in Ger many, a youth with a curious name and a still more curious history. lie is called Sedan Bohme. Young Bohme is one of a very few who can claim to have first seen the light on the field of battle. Just after the battle of Sedan, in the Frenco-Prus- sian war, a sutler belonging to the German force gave birth to a child, and it was forthwith christened with the name of the decisive struggle. The Crown Prince acted as sponsor, and a Silesian battalion of chasseurs, now stationed at Gorlitz, took the infant under its especial protection. The son of the regiment has con tinued with his military protectors until quite recently, receiving fre quent tokens of the interest taken in him by the crown prince, and enjoy ing the marked care and attention of the battalion. It was naturally de cided that Skdan Bohme should fol low the trade of war, and so he has just begun study in the Weilburg school. Carting hay to the London market is a business by itself, and just now a particularly bad one. The carts start from Nazing abo.ut- 3 o’clock in the aftfimoail^and, after resting two hours two hours H a i/on- qd horses reach 1 a. n>. the fb; sells his|| 5 the^uyer. for all outlay and depreciation. The men complain bitterly that the author ities' of Whitechapel Market compel them’ tio keep’ their horses in the shafts till their hay is sold—sometimes six or eight hours—a piece of unnecessary barbarity, especially iri the winter, when hay is chiefly sold. A Siamese ytatfth, Moang Thukada, who has spent sufficient years in these United States of America to' get a certain grip of our language and learfl to admire our little ways, has just written a book about us. Mr. Thu kada, whoso heart genefally is better than his syntax, makes some remarks on Philadelphia girls which they will be justified in resenting, and which can only be accounted for by the fact Of his being Used to women whose straight dark locks are plastered to their heads With a' liberal quantity of pomatum. He is evidently not au fait to' ctarls and crimped bangs, as he say3: “The ladies of this city are much peculiar. Their hair, for the greater part, is blonde, but yet fievar seercS pretty and nice to look at; for its locks are eVef in disorder on the forepart of the head, and in the rear it takes shape what tlie natives cal! a Langtry knot, and which is ugly.” Commenting on the foregoing, the Philadelphia Call says: “We venture to say that Mr. Thu kada will find no prettier girls in any part of the world than he finds in Philadelphia, and that if he does not admire them it is because his taste is not educated up to the point of classical beads, Grecian knots, and waving masses of blonde hair, any more than our taste leads us to admire the bias eyes of the Celestials, or the half-opened eyes and straight locks of the Siamese.” Time’s Changes. The little birds in the branches Sing while tfc© days are long, And the sunbeams round them ling#, As th«y pour their heawfcs-uusong, (Lie still, my heart, While the tear drops start,- ad listen to their aong.) They sing of joy and gladness, They sing of lore and peace, Of joy, that knows no sorrow, Oflore, that ne’er shall eease* (Lie still, my heart, While the tear drops start; Who told thee it could cease?) But summer days are passing, As all earth's pleasures will; And off the dreary moorlands The wind blows cold chilL (Lie still, my heart, While the tear drops start;' Thou, too, hast felt its chill.) The little birds in tho branches Have hushed their sot/gs and fled; ^he snow lies deep o’er thtf meadows. And summer blithe is dead. (Beatlast, my heart, While the tear drops start; Thy summer, too, is dead!) HUMOROUS. The Flight of Humming-Birds. The humming-birds are small (the largest species attaining to about the size of A swallow, the smallest not much larger than a bumble-bee) and of delicate structure. They are famed for their magnificent plumage, which almost always displays metallic tints. The flight does not resemble that of any of our native birds, being main tained by rapid vibrations of the wings, which enable them to remain apparently motionless in one spot for a considerable time. Their passage from place to place is effected by a se ries of rapid darts, almost too swift for the eye to follow. Their flight might perhaps be best compared to that of a moth. Like these insects, the hum ming birds hover for long over a flower, sipping the honey with their long, thin bill, and in other particu lars also—in color and form, for exam ple—hrimffliug-birds and moths, nffi'er some remattaAAs phth’ae'is. Repre- sentatafes of each may be found, to distinguish between which needs a close scrutiny, and which, when on the wing, might perplex the best ob server. To all outward appearance the humming-birds are birds when at rest, insects when in motion.—Popu lar Science Monthly. 11 hat They Weighed. Johnny was tugging away at a sack of feathers trying to carry it up stairs, but finally gave it up and sat down to grunt awhile. “Why, johnny,” inquired his moth er, "What’s the matter?” “This sack's so heavy I can’t carry it.” “Heavy? Fie, Johnny, feathers don’t weigh anything.” He looked at the sack a minute, then at his mother, and plaintively queried: “Don’t a hundred pounds of feath ers weigh a hundred pounds,mamma?” —Merchant Traveller. Safe From Connubial Cvcloues. “Do I keep a cyclone pit ?” echoed a passenger from the West; “yes, I keep one not far from my house; but, bless you, I ain’t afraid of cyclones. The cyclone was never born that could scare me or make me run.” “But what have you got the cyclone pit for?” “WelJ, you see, my old woman has spells o’ temper, when ’tain’t safe for a feller to be around, ’speshully wash days. On them occasions I find my cyclone pit right^ifiart handy.”— Chi cago Herald. / Free wind—An amateur tenor. No man can carry a feather bed and look graceful. "Care will kill a cat,” says some one Then when you go out cat hunting be sure and take care The man who robs a clothes-line is not necessarily a laundryman, but he gederally takes in washing. It is said divorces are multiplying. It cannot be true, however, as a divorce from its very nature must be dividing. A great deal has been written about learning to say no. If you would teach a man to say no, just ask him “if he would like to pay that little bill to-day.” ^ ^^ Uncle—“Ah, my dear, iow rosy your cheeks are. I suppose the^easide and the mountains did that.” I«ece— “No, uncle. That was done ir( mam ma’s dressing room.” \ Guest—“Waiter, did you say, this was genuine turtle soup?” Waiter— “Yes, sir; it was made out of the water of a pond near here in which a turtle was kept last summer.” A Pittsburg woman, who watched two pugilists, who were suitors, fight sixteen rounds for her hand, wisely concluded to take the fellow who got whipped. He was easier to handle. John Bright thinks that Europe is “marching towards some great catas trophe.” It is conjectured that Mr. Bright has a presentiment that Oscar Wilde is going to begin another series of aesthetio lectures. Gay "Ata gOT.U&'man. to boy, on twelfth birthday: “I hope yua wSft improve in wisdom, knowledge and virtue.” Boy, politely returning com pliment, totally unconscious of sar casm: “The same to you, sir!” Jim Doolittle has not been married very long, but already complains that his wife has a very had temper. “When did you first get acquainted with your wife?” asked a friend. “1 have known her for a good while, but I didn’t get really acquainted with her until after we were married,” replied Jim, with a sigh. A bashful young man who was afraid to propose to his sweetheart in duced her to fire at him with a pistol, which he assured her was only loaded with powder, and after she had done so fell down and pretended to be dead. She threw herself wildly upon the body, calling him her darling and her beloved, whereupon he got up and married her. “Where are you going, my pretly maid?” He to the bashful beauty said. “I’m going to walk,” then answered she, “And if you see fit you may walk with mo.” “What is yonr fortune, my pretty maid?” “My face is my fortune, sir,” siie said. “Indeed,” he replied, as he let her pass; “I see; and you’ve got it all in brass.” From Miss Cleveland’s Book. We are liable to have notions until we get knowledge. Let us study career as means only to the end—character. I never knew a good man or a good woman who yvas not practically optimist.' ThepastJ thou as (Marine 1L As they) band playe Amid the: the horns j of drumsg taken ai the tunJ “ Wjf Band the sh
