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J. "W. ANDERSON, Editor and Proprietor IN WINTER. nr LOUISE chakli.ee mocltok. ■Dli, to go back to the days of June, J Just to again be young to the and mad, alive sweet again, tune ■Hearken with I Igonth Birds were singing might and main; they flew at the summer’s wau | Leaving their nests for storms to harry, IBiiice time was coming for wind and rain I Under the wintry skies to marry, pVeaiily wander by dale and dune I Footsteps fettered with clanking chain— IFiee they were in the days of June, I Free they never can be again; (Fetters of age and fetters of pain, Joys that fly, and sorrows that tarry— I Youth is over, and hope were vain Under tbe wintry skies to marry. Now we chant but a desolate nine— “Ob, to be youcg and alive again ; But never December turns to June, And length of living is length of pain; Winds in the nestless trees complain, Snows of winter about us tarry, And never the birds come back again Under the wintry skies to many. ENVOI. Youths and maidens, blithsome and vain, Time makes thrusts that you cannot parry, Mate in season, for who is fain Under the wintry skies to marry ? —Century for April. A ROMANTIC STORY. Startling stories are told and thrilling effects produced in the many rovels of the day, but it is seldom we find any¬ thing more startling or thrilling in fiction than this “ower true tale” of a belle of the early part of the present century. There are those still living who can attest to the facts; bnt were it not that the principal actors have passed from the stage, I should hesitate yet to make public such a peculiar family history. As it is I will “tell the tale as it ’twas told to me,” only begging pardon for concealing the real names. “In what was than a charming sea¬ side town, there lived, fifty years ago, a most lovely girl, named Amy Provence —bright and radiant and witty, hot, alas ! as the sequel shows, most unwise, to say the very least. Of suitors she had many, and when she first appears in the light of a hero¬ ine, she had already promised her hand, with her heart in it, to a prosperous and highly respected young merchant. There was not so much of fashion and folly then as now; young ladies did not lie awake over trosseaus and establish¬ ments, or mar their beauty and redden their eyes, dimming their luster by late hours aud high living. But Miss Prov¬ ence approached her bridal day in all her youthful freshness. Her lover Ernst Rhodes, was ardently attached to her, and the course of true love ran, appar¬ ently very smoothly. But the old fash¬ ion fate has of turning momentous re¬ sults on very small hinges, was in style then as now, aud fate was busy with them. Miss Amy was invited to visit Miss Woolsey, a wealthy old aunt in Khode Island, before her marriage. So, bun¬ dling up some of the mysterious wed¬ ding paraphernalia, for a last beautify¬ ing touch, for her fairy fingers were very tasteful and swift, she left her lover, with regret, I know, aud left him for a week’s sojourn with her aristocratic relative. This week was understood to be the last of her maidenhood, aud the young girl felt even that to be a small eternity. But what young./jancee, on the eve of marriage with the dear one of her choice, cannot find a wealth of enjoyment in loving thoughts even for a whole week? Miss Woolsey was a lady of position and consequence, and the rare beauty aud grace of her niece gave her a pres¬ tige in the eyes of the many visitors to the house. Her entei tain meats were unique and ‘ just the thing,” and it was With a certain degree of pride that an invitation to Miss Woolsey’s was accept¬ ed by the surrounding gentry. It is the same the world over, and has been for far more years than this veritable history covers, that a certain element in charac¬ ter is gratified by tbe notice of those who are considered a round higher on the social ladder. Amy was delighted with the evidence of luxury about her; and her vanity was flattered by the nu¬ merous attentions she received from the various visitors to her aunt’s house. Ernst at home was impatient for her re¬ turn, chafing and wondering how Amy could go away from him, even for a week, if she loved as he loved 1 Fate was weaving her first thread ! Among the many who came to Miss beauty Woolsey’s attracted by the exqu site of Miss Amy, was one, a certain Mark Halse, of whom people knew lit¬ tle, save that he seemed to live in some style; at least, h A kept a carriage, a luxury that f , indulged in in those days, and said very little about himself and his antecedents. Each evening he came, and each evening saw him at Amy’s side. He had not talked of love, hut shrewder eyes than hers saw whither he was tending, and fate was weaving her second thread. In the meantime Amy had been very diligent; the work was finished, the last touehes given to the dainty finery, and in the near future the sweet hope of her lhe would be fulfilled; so thought she. Ernst was at homo, waiting as only lovers can wait, and each one of yon knows how patiently that is. Amy would go to-morrow. Fveu at this distant time, in the light ®lie Comnaton u Btax. of ail the sufferings that followed, my pen almost refuses to chronicle the rec¬ ord of the last eventful evening of the poor girl’s visit. We do have some¬ thing to do with onr deBtinv, inasmuch aB the reins are put into our own hands, and we may turn whithersover we will 1 So Mark Halse came and Amy received him. As nsnal he sat by her side, and, as usual, she let him linger there. Alas 1 for the dear boy at home she knew she loved, and whom in spite of all that fol¬ lowed, you know she loved f Ernst was not by to give her his warning look, and save her from the tempter. The soft voice spoke: “My dear Miss Amy”—and very ten¬ der was his look—“you are going away, and do yon knowhow I shall miss you ?” “You can’t ‘miss’ me much longer,” she blushingly replied, laugning at the innocent pun. “Ah! that is what makes my heart ache so,” said he, "for when you are gone, and I think of all your happiness, I shall regret more than I can tell yon that yon ever came among us to so dis¬ turb the ripples of my quiet life;” and a deep sigh enforced his words. “Please don’t talk so, Mr. Halse,” said Amy, “for even in this short week I have learned to prize your friendship highly, and I should be sorry indeed not to retain it,” “Amy,” said he, casting off all reserve, and abruptly seizing her hand—“Amy, I can stand it no longer; I must know my fate from your own lips ! When you talk to me of quiet friendship, there rushes upon me like a wave the thought of all that I lose in losing you! Will you be my wife ?” His impetuosity startled her, and she drew hack. “Do not talk so to mei” she cried, “Do you not know that in a few days I shall bo Ernst’s wife?” Mark Halse knew not and cared not who “Ernst” was; he only knew that she had promised her troth to another, and he meant to win her from him. Don’t tell me that sho was wrong and imprudent to listen to him—don’t I know it ? I am only telling yon a true story, and it is my duty to record that this particular Amy Provence was no ex¬ ception to the corps of silly girls. “Yes I know it, I know it,” he plead¬ ed “bnt, Amy, darling, how can I let yon go ! I will do anything for this dear hand. I will give yon a princely home and every surrounding that wealth can purchase, if you will only come to me and be my beloved wife !” “No, no,” said Amy, “do not tempt me. Ernst is not rich, I know, but I love him and he loves me dearly, and I will be his wife.” Do you think that Mark Halse gave up the chase ? Not he ! His voice was very wiuning, and as he talked on and on, be¬ lieve me or not as you see fit, the girl 1 >ogan to listen to his persuasive tones. Ernst was away, and Mark, with his fine presents and finer promises, was near—even at her very feet. So it came that Amy Provence was not even “off with the old love before on with the new,” for when Mark Halse added to all the other temptations the promise of a carriage for her very own, the poor, ambitious victim yielded, and gave to her tempter her broken faith. What he cared for it will soon appear. The forsaken Ernst bore as well as his fortitude and outraged love would let him, the cold letter announcing to him his Amy's treachery, and never sought for an explanation. He was too mauly to resent the insult, and treated the whole affair as beneath contempt, rightly judging that the false-hearted girl who could trifle with his tenderest feelings was not worth mourning for. It would be well for all if I could leave it here, but truth compels me to pro ceed. I need not tell you of the poor mother, whose whole heart was in Amy’s marriage with Ernst, of all who were so indignant at her decision; or of the for¬ saken lover who had loved so blindly only to be made to suffer so deeply— my story is uot with these. Miss Woolsey was well pleased at the turn in the tide of aflairs, and offered the deluded girl all the necessary assistance. She was married in a few weeks from her aunt’s house in a style seldom seen at that time, I should like to linger here if my heart was in it, and tell yon of all the flue things that was said and done, in spite of the unpleasant state of things, but I will forbear. Ambition and love are always at war, and one must be viotor, so when Amy swallowed down the love she gave the reins to her ambition, and looked for¬ ward to her lordly home with what pleasures she might Bat she knew nothing more of the man who had “led her his own way’’ than he had told her himself, so that when she came to he sad awakening it was as if a thunderbolt had fallen at her feet What were his promises? Mere empty air ! The home he took her to was a miser’s home, and henceforth, and for her whole life of fifty years, she saw such sufferings as woman seldom secs. nothing Do yon ask me if he gave her of all he promised ? les, the oairiage, which was the thing that turned the scale in his favor; he gave her that, and thus fulfilled his literal promise. stood Ho gave her fch£ carriage, but it in the bam for fifty years, with never a horse, and never a ride had she with It 1 COVINGTON, GEORGIA, MAY 13 , 1885 . For fi'fty years there was present before her eyes this constant reminder of a lov¬ ing heart trampled upon—for fifty years Mark Halse made her feel his iron hand ! Children came to her, but no comfort with them; one grew up a miserable drunkard, and another went out from her for many years, returning finally, to settle down at home, taciturn and mo¬ rose. Her husband died, and this son seemed ali she had to live for, and, as his father’s will was made up entirely in his favor, the wretched woman, who had absolutely no society or friends, leaned on him for her daily bread. But in a little while he died, and all the poor mother could now do was to be thank¬ ful she was not a pauper. Meanwhile how read his will ? All, everything, be¬ queathed to a wife and son in South Amerioa of whose existence nobody dreamed ! By the terms of the will, the son was to come North immediately on being ap¬ prised of his father’s death, take the family name and look after the property: hut not a word of the old mother, no care for her declining years, no love ex¬ pressed, nothing for her—all as if she were not 1 Is it strange after all these reverses, and the corroding remorse of fifty years, that the poor woman found her burden greater then she conld bear ? When she felt her miserable life drawing to its olose, she sent for Ernst, and for the first time in all these years they two stood face to face ! Ha with his white locks, but still commanding figure, and line, stern faee, was an avenging angel I she with her bent and trembling form, her wrinkled, careworn face, with its hungry look for human sympathy, was scarcely the brilliant, beautiful girl who had gone from her home in her youth and innocence to briDg upon both their lives such a terri¬ ble consummation ! They gazed at each other without a word, till, at length, she spoke, and the words which rang upon his ears came from the depths of a broken heart. “Ernst I”—the name, the once-loved, still loved name, lingered upon her lips like a strain of forgotten music—“Ernst, can you forgive me ?” Gently the old lover took her trem¬ bling hand in his, but with everything of love crushed out for all the years; calm¬ ly the words fell on her ears: “Amy, I cannot I Yon rained my whole life! But for your trampling out my young heart I should have been a different man ! But for your treachery we might have been happy ! As it is> you destroyed my faith in woman; I conld never trust another !” She cowered in her misery, and putr ting her poor shrunken hands over her worn face, she cried: “Before God, Ernst, I pray for your mercy! He knows how I have suffered, and if ever a poor criminal expiated his guilt with his heart’s blood, I have! Let me feel that your jnst resentment will not follow me to the eternal world!” “Amy, let us understand one another. We are both old now. Since yon and I met in the old, old time—” his voice 1 quivered, and he raised his dewy eyes * to heaven—“it is half a century. But all this fifty years is but as a moment to what is to come. I have lived a lone¬ ly life, without wife or children. I should rather a thousand times have seen the green sod over your grave, and felt that you were lost to me beoause God took you, than to have it as it is. But your own hand gave the blow, and it was your own hand which crushed all my fife. But if it will be any comfort to yon to feel that I do not hold resent¬ ment still, then be comforted, Amy. I am willing to leave all with God.” He bowed his head over her hand and was gone. When they came to her, hours later, she lay peacefully asleep, her white hauds clasped over her breast, and the expression on her dead face calmer and serener than it had worn in life since the last time Ernst had looked upon it. Fate had woven the last thread. Dwarf Love Making. Count Magri, the dwarf, who is soon to marry General Tom Thumb s widow, was dining in a restaurant, when a newspaper man imformed him that his fiancee has spoken of him most com plimentarily in a printed interview— had, in fact, said that she was madiy in love with him, and other words of similarly burning import. The count hung his head, blushed deeply, asked for her exact language, and took out a lead-pencil and wrote it down in midget letters on the bill of fare, in order, as he said, to show it to her, and see if she really did feel so. Three days after¬ ward he was found again. “I read that to her,” he observed, sadly, “and she said she never said anything of the kind.” Down at the Heel. —Dan Rice, the circus clown, is running a ten-cent circus in the French quarter of New Orleans. He talks sadly of the good old days when his Floating Palaoe was the sensa¬ tion on the Father of Waters, and thou¬ sands upon thousands of people swarmed from far and near to see him. He, gave an entertainment a few nights ago when not 300 persons were present, and about one-third of those were professional and other deadheads, PROGRESS IN ARKANSAS, SENATOR GKOIKETT SPEAKS ON THE RAILROAD FREIGHT BILL,. lie Desiree l.nws Framed that will Build up Her. a Glorious Stute instead Dwai'flo*’ The Little Rock (Ark.) Gazette prints in fall the speech delivered in the Sen¬ ate of that State by Colonol “Bob" Crockett on the bill to regulate railroad freights. Following are some of its elo q nent paragraphs : “Sir, for whom are we legislating ? For ourselves alone ? Alas, Sir, heaven' will never smile upon suoh Belfish legis¬ lation. In a little while you, Mr. Pres¬ ident, and my venerable friend, the father of this bill, whose snowy locks are even now being tossed by the breezes of another world, and I will have passed away and quietly sleep beneath the sod. The winter snow will drape the mounds above us with a winding sheet, but Hie sting of its bitter cold will be all nfl heeded by ns. The spring birds will sing their sweetest notes in the swing¬ ing branches above our graves, though their music will not be heard by us. '■' “Bat Arkansas—God bless her I—like a gentle mother, will fold us to her lov¬ ing breast and drape oar bed with sweet flowering-vines, sing soft lullabies o’er our dreamless rest with the low, sweet music of murmuring winds. After ns will come another generation, who, if they And our State standing shoulder to shoulder with her sister States in the battle for development and material prosperity, through our wise legislation, will rise up and call us blessed. But, on the other hand, if they find her dwarfed by unwise and restricted legislation, they will spit upon the graves of those whom they should honor. “Let us remember that Arkansas is a growing State, and legislate for her on the plan that my dear old mother, of blessed memory, was wont to cut my clothes in my boyhood days. She always cut my breeches two years ahead and I always grew to them, and, alas! sometimes ‘got too big for ’em J and when I did—hut that was my mother’s business. Sirs, let us cut Arkansas’s breeches—hut I see I must drop the illustration or change the sex of our State, which I would not do for the world—God bless her ! We do not carry this selfishness into our private life. If I were to find my old friend Uncle Bob McConnell putting out fruit trees and were to say to him ‘Uncle Bob, why trouble yourself to put out fruit trees ? they’ll never benefit you,’ the old man would straighten himself to his full height and reply: “ ‘No, Bob, I’m old and will probably never see these trees blossom or fruit, but I have children and grandchildren who, as they climb these trees and pluck the ripe fruit long after I’m dead, will say: “Grandfather planted these with his own hands,” apd they’ll bless the old man, as they eat the fruit for his kindness in planting the trees for their benefit.’ So let it be with us. Let us frame laws that will build up our glori ous State instead of dwarfing her by hostile legislation against railroads, the grandest of agencies of modern civiliza¬ tion for developing the resources of a new State. Let us not s&y to capitalists abroad, ‘Come and look upon our bioad prairies, onr fertile valleys, our magnifi¬ cent forests, our mines and quarries, which are sleeping untouched for want of transportation. Come, help us de¬ velop these grand resources.’ “And when in response to our urgent pleading they do come, let us not turn upon them and throttle them with de. etructive legislation. It is true, Sir, that while we do not stand upon our borders and welcome capitalists, ‘with bloody hands to hospitable graves,’ we do stand upon those borders and wel¬ come them with such obstructive legis¬ lation to disastrous bankruptcy. I stand not here to-day as the special defender of the railroads, as railroads alone, hut I do nphold and would protect, foster, and encourage them ns the means ol building up our beloved btaie. “ It is for Arkansas and her brave bods and fair daughters who shall come after us for whom I plead. Sir, in the core of my heart I believe that this bill and all others of kindred character are wrong in conception, and if adopted wonld be ruinous to the railroads, and as an inevitable consequence the ruin of Arkansas. I cannot support the bill, and earnestly hope that it will not pass. ” Maine’s Prohibitory Law. A dispatch from Portland says: The new Prohibitory law has gone into effect Drummers can no longer solicit orders for liquors, On this point the law is very emphatic. The next im¬ portant change is one intended to pre¬ vent a liquor dealer from concealing the fact of his guilt by destroying his stock. No fine is imposed in cases of intoxica tion. Drnnkards will be imprisoned from five to thirty days for a first offence, and from ten to ninety days for a second offence. Gen. Dow believes that very little good will result from these and other changes made by the last Legislature in the prohibitory laws. It is reported that “bottle carriers” have again become quite numerous. These men have only a bottle at a time, from which they peddle out drinks, Of course they are liable to arrest. Bread Cast Upon the Water. About a month ago an old New Yorker dropped his luggage before the clerk’s desk in an Old Point Comfort hotel and dashed off his autograph in a free and easy hand, “John McKesson, New York city.” Day after day passed and the visitor seemed to be enjoying Virginia with a great deal of zest. When he finally made up his mind to move homeward he tripped once more to the clerk’s desk, this time to ask for his bill. “McKesson ! McKesson!” ejaculated the clerk, “there’s no bill here for any Mr. McKesson.” “No hill ? why, what are you talking about. Do you know liow long I’ve been here, Mr. Clerk ? “Yes, sir, I do know, but I have orders from headquarters to take none of your money—not a cent.” Now comes on the scene a genial hotel pro¬ prietor. to beam upon the astonished old Knickerbocker and grasp him by the hand after an enthusiastic fashion. “You’re the same old John McKesson I knew thirty years ago,” ejaculated tho hotel mau. “Don’t remember me, eh? Well, let me recall a little incident which happened when I was struggling along in the world years and years back. You belonged to one of the loading wholesale drug firms in Maiden-lane, and I was the driver of an express wagon. One day I had to unload some packages going from your store to some Western town. My horses wore scared just as I was handling the goods and one package was dumped to the ground and broken. At headquarters I was told that I’d have to make good the loss, a littie matter of $20 or so, which meant a great deal to me. With a sore heart I went down to your store the next day to ask wbat was the lowest figure at which I could settle, and you, without a mo¬ ment’s hesitation, told me that I need not pay one cent, that you could stand the loss better than I could, and that must be the end of it. But it isn’t the end of it, all the same, for I am making a round $100 a day down here now, though if I wasn’t making a cent I’m dashed if I’d let you pay for anything under my roof, if you staid here the whole year through.” A Scrap of Tartar History, The remarkable swordsmanship of the Tartars is proverbial. Their favorite weapon is a long, curved eimetar, quite different from that of the Turks. It is made of the finest steel, richly alloyed with silver, and a sword becomes an heir¬ loom in a family and desoends to the first born so long as the race exists. When the last representative of a fam¬ ily dies his sword, which may have come to him from a hundred generations, is broken and buried with him. The blades of the weapons, which are beaten out on an onyx stone anvil in the an¬ cient Mogul city of Taztchintzy, the Holy Place, are very thin, and the won¬ derful feats performed with them are astonishing. Once when Bobo, the cousin of the Great Mogul, was caught in a rebellion, his execution was ordered. The most skilful swordsman of the empire was provided for the beheading, and the Great Mogul and bis court assembled to see it. For a second the keen Tartar blade flashed in the sunlight, and then descended upon the bare neck of Bobo, who stood upright to receive the stroke. The sharp steel passed through the ver tebi se, muscles and organs of the neck, hut so swift was the blow and so keen the blade that the head did not fall, and kept its exact position, and not a vital organ was disturbed. In sui prise the Great Mogul exclaimed: “What, Bobo, art thou not beheaded ?” “My lord, I am,” replied Bobo, “hut so long as I keep my balance right my head will not fall off.” The Great Mogul was so pleased with the deftness of the executioner that he ordered a bandage to be tied od, and Kobo speedi¬ ly recovered. He afterward became a loyal subject, and was made cashier of the empire, because, as the Great Mogul remarked: “He knows that if he keeps his balance right his head will not come off.” It is one of those curious scraps of history that are often overlooked.— Pittsburgh Chronicle. Paris as a Seaport The old idea of making Paris a sea¬ port, ventilated in 1825, has again been taken up by an engineer, M. Bouquet de la Orye, who is a member of the In¬ stitute. He proposes to deepen the Seine between Rouen, where large ves¬ sels can sail or be towed up from the sea. and poiesv, a pleasant summer re¬ sort of many Parisians, within easy dis¬ tance of the metropolis. The distance to be deep'' led is something over 93 miles. The projector, however, says nothing of the dangers likely to result from the numerous islands which stud the Seine between Poissy and Rouen, and which would render river naviga¬ tion exceedingly dangerous for vessels of large tonnage, such as those who pick their way so carefully from Havre to RoueD. The cost of deepening the Seine, with its tortuous windings be¬ tween Poissy and the Norman towD, is estimated at $30,000,000. The engi¬ neers who, in 1825, conceived the gigan¬ tic plan, spent $10,000 in studying the problem, hut their labors were inter¬ rupted by the revolution of 1830, and the project has been since in abeyance, VOL. XI, NO, 26. EDITOR AND BOOK AGENTS. lie Objects to the Feuinles* but uot to the Mules. The Richmond (Va.) Religious Herald says: We can stand a book agent, provided he is of the masculine denomi¬ nation. We are not afraid of him. We know that he is coming and can deal with him without buying his book. He may be pompous and courtly or he may be pimpled and cadaverous ; his lips may be bedewed with honeyed flatteries; he may be oily and crafty in his ap¬ proaches ; he may modestly ask for “just a moment of our precious time;” he may say that he only craves (he use of our name, or he may charge in upon us and seek to carry us by storm. This does not matter with na. Ho is a man, and so are we in a small way, and we have our rights. We tell him what we will and what we won’t, and that ends it. But when she comes—then is the win¬ ter of our discontent. We bow to the storm, and have no remarks to submit. All the hidden resources of our polite¬ ness are called into requisition. She is a woman, and has the a dvantage of us. She has seen better days, and has a tear in her eye. She belongs to an old fam¬ ily, and swam in luxury in her youth. Littie cares she for money—character is everything with her. She is working in the interests of literature and to lift up society. Her book is for the home circle, and is destined to ennoble the character of mothers, and in that way to add glory to republican institutions. She came the other day. How glib and rattliog she was ! She had us be¬ fore we knew it. She had us sitting as erect as a sunbeam in July, and meekly nodding assent to her sage observations. We neither moved hand nor foot, and as for talking, we had no chance. She talked fast, and she talked long, and she talked all the time. After regaling us with the grandeur of her ancestry, the pleasures of her childhood, and the sur¬ passing excellences of her hook, she touched us up. She did it handsomely. She expatiated on the potency of our influence, the value of our personal sig¬ nature and the well-known warmth and kindness of our heart. Greatness, she hinted, always had a tear on its cheek for the struggling and unfortunate. And there we were—dumb and foolish, a victim to her spell. Time came and went, but she went on, and on, and on. We felt fatigued and lonesome, and wondered how it would end. Finally she gradually descended from her cir¬ cumlocutory flight, and lit in the region of business. The atmosphere became commercial, and it was a question of dollars and cents. She had a book for sale and desired to sell us a copy. It ceased to be a question of ancestry, and the poetry and praise all faded away. The spell was broken, and all we had to do was to say whether or not we would buy the book. We did it as well as we could—we spoke in a bright and respectful tone— we even thanked her for her visit—we paid a tribute to her brilliant conversa¬ tional gifts—we wished her high fortune and a golden future, and expressed re¬ gret that it had to lie so. How her whole aspect changed 1 She patted her cheek with petulance, her face flushed, she breathed wildly, and swept angrily away. And yet truly we felt sorry for her. It hurt us to think of her hard lot, and her desperate devices to stem the tide of adverse fortune. We would have bought her book, except that we could not conscientiously pay an exorbitant price for a useless article. Bill Arp in a Strange Tavern. Where do all the people come from and what are they after ? The cars are full of them and the hotels are crowded wherever I go. They come and they go. They seem as restless as the troubled sea. As I sit among them in this large lonnging room I cannot help wondering what is their business and what they are thinking, and how many are happy and how many have some secret sorrow, and I wish I was a mind reader and could follow them in their thoughts of home and family—wife, children or mother away off somewhere. How much we are all alike if we only knew it. Sometimes I venture a remark to a stranger who sits near me by the stove. When I draw them out on home and distant kindred it seems a welcome subject, and as we get more familiar, they warm up, and will venture to tell me of their families and their business. Strangers in a strange land are very quick to appreciate civility. A man may be offish and uncommunicative when at home but when he gets away off he looks longingly around for a .’riend —somebody that knows somebody that he knows. At times I have felt awfully lonesome in my wanderings, and I would have rejoiced with unfeigned gladness to have seen my little dog Fido. I could have almost cried over the affec¬ tionate wag of his little tail. This ever oonstant mingling of the people from all the States is obliged to do good. W T e are all assimilating; we are rubbing against each other more and more every day, and we understand each other and find that we are all just human and are sailing in the same big boat upon the sea of life. The North and the South, the East and the West are being fast drawn together, and not even the politi¬ cians can much longer keep us apart.— Atlanta Constitution. BRACE OF FUNNY THINGS FOUND IN THE COI.UJINS OF OUB HUMOROUS) EXCHANGES. A Bit ol Broken Chlnn-The Writer*' Crninp-Tlic Groeer—Out In the Bead. wood Country—The Animal Fniuten Etc.. Etc. IN THE DEADWOOD COUNTBY. Marriage in Arizona: “Do yon take this woman whose hand you’re a squeezin’ to be your lawful wife, in flush times an’ skimp?” “I reckon that’s about the size of it. Squire.” “Do you take this man you’ve j’ined fists with to be your pard through thick an’ thin?” “ Well, you’re about right for once, old man.” “All right, then. Kiss in court, an’ I reckon you’re married about as tight as the law kin j’ine you. I guess four bits ’ll do, Bill, if I don’t have to kiss the bride. If I do, it’s six bits extra.”— Chicago Ledger. ON ItOLLEll SKATES. h This girl had :sr on her roMrr - skates, Chicago was her home. When she struck out her number « * eigjita the poo- • o o * pie gave her room. * Like freight ing-cars on # wheels, im jnense her • pedals seemed, and • more, as she, regardless of expense, sailed up and down the floor. The girl dashed on; she could not stop; her feet momentum gained. “Down brakes !” they cried; “Oh, maiden, flop !’* She greater speed attained. How gracefully she skated there !—just like a big giraffe— and puffed and shrieked in mad despair, and made the people laugh. Then came a burst of thunder sound, as on the floor she sat upon her bustle big and round, and made it— oh !— so flat, the sat in misery complete, a n d blushed. She couldn’t stir; but never tried to hide 00 oo her faet, because those feet’ hid her. oo oo —H. C. Dodge, in Puck* NEVEB KNOWN TO CATCH ANYTHING. “Are you going to send that man down among those rotteD tenements?” asked a visitor at the New York Police Headquarters. “Of course. Why not?” asked the officer in charge. “Because there is small-pox there.” “Oh, he won’t catch it.” “Why, has he had it ?” “No ; he’s a detective." “Beg pardon, I didn’t know that.” GBBAT CONSIDERATION OF A GBOCEB. “Who was it that rang the bell, Jane ?” asked the lady of the house. “The grocer, mnm.” “With a bill, I presume.” “Yes am.” “You told him to come next week ?” “Yesum.” “What did be say ?” “He said, mnm, be had been here a dozen times already and he wouldn’t come again, and to tell you so.” “How considerate. I didn’t think it of a grooeryman. ”— Cine inn ati Trave ler, BROKEN CHINA. Flenchee manse comes, Fiinkee liavee lun, Figlitee Chinee soniee, tiling along big gun. Fiinkee Chmamanee Lunee light away, Fiinkee firm with faneo, Mebbe with tea-tray. Chinamauee watohee, Gitee mightee mad, Flenchee armee catchee, Hurtee plilty Lad! Flenchee figbtee flnee, Gun go slapce bang ! Allee aamee Chinee Lickee him Dong Dang. —Chicago Tribune. AN0THEB SION OF SPBINO. Smith keeps a savage dog on his premises, and near his kennel a board is displayed with the warning in large let¬ ters, “Beware of the dog.” “I suppose,” said Jones, pointing to the warning, “you have painted that sign in large letters so that ‘he who runs may read. 1 M “No,” said Smith, “but that bo who reads may run .”—Boston Courier. THE WANING OF THE HONEYMOON. Mrs. Cherry—“You see, my dear, I am prompt about calling, I always make it a point to call on the bride early, before the honeymoon is over, you know.” Bride (wearily)—“I fear you are too late. ” Mrs. Cherry—“Too late ! Why, you have hardly got settled in your new home yet.” Bride—“I know; but the honeymoon is over. ” Mrs. Cherry—“Over?” Bride—"Yes; the m&iket bills have begun to come in.” NOT THAT KIND OF TIRED. “Mother, did you say I can’t go to the rink to night ? ’ “Yes, Mamie, I did.’’ Why, mother?” Because you have been there every ! and so much exertion will ruin your constitution.” “Why, I’m not a bit tired, mother.” “Well, if you are not, come and help me wash these dishes.” j “Oh, pshaw ! I’m that kind of tired, but not the skating kind.” j She helped wash the dishes all the same. —Kentucky State Journal,