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J. W. ANDERSON, Editor and Proprietor
&
an old proverb.
Pouting, my darling, because it rains,
I And flowers droop and the rain is falling,
Ld drops are blurring the window panes
; And a moaning wind through the lane is
calling!
Drying and wishing the sky was clear,
And roses again on the lattice twining !
j,, well, remember, my foolish dear,
“’Tis easy to laugh when the sun is shin¬
ing !”
Vlien tho world is bright and fair and gay,
And glad birds sing in the fair June weather,
.nd summer is gathering night and day,
Her golden chalice of sweets together;
then blue seas answer the sky above,
And bright stars follow the days declining,
fly, then, ’tis no merit to smile, my love;
“Tis easy to laugh when the sun is shin¬
ing
3„t this is the time the heart to test,
When winter is near and storms aro liowl
ing,
Mini the earth from under her frozen vest
I Looks up at the sad sky mute and scowling;
pile I brave little spirit should rise to meet,
Und The season’s gloom and the day’s repining;
this is the time to be glad, for, sweet,
I “'Tis easy to laugh when the sail is shin¬
ing !”
By Ives tail’s W ife.
| It was the summer assizes for Griqua
Jland In West of culpable The jury homicide had just returned
verdict against
In di zeu out of some fifty Skangaans
■who stood huddled together, helpless
Inikl frightened, in the dock, charged
■with participation in a fatal tribal affray
■at tho Lone Slar Diamond Mining Com
Ipany’s Isentenced compound ; the Judge had duly
the gaping unfortunates, and
I the jailors were endeavoring to sort them
lour from among their unconvicted com
Irades, when the Crown Prosecutor, a
[ [idea fresh- colored Englishman, with no small
of his own importance, turned in
[his [whispered seat at the barristers’ table, and
to the official who sat
[behind Sylvester. him to put forward Dick
The prisoner was a tall, handsome
colonial, with dark gleaming eyes, black
! beard, and a skin the paleness of which
had been ripened into swarthiness by
the tierce African sun. He was erect
and fearless ; he threw a glauce of de¬
fiance at his enemies ; he nodded with
a smile to his friends, and then as the
door of a private entrance to the body of
the court opened, and a figure draped in
purest white, with bright golden hair
rippling in rich profusion over the
shapely shoulders, glided in softly and
quietly like a sunbeam from the free
world outside, he leaned over the rail
which interposed between him and
liberty, and hoarsely whispered her
name—the dearest name on earth to
him.
It was Sylvester’s wife. She responded
quickly with a look more eloquent than
words ; and then tho prisoner drew him¬
self up to his full height, folded his
arms, listened intently as the clerk of
court, an old friend with whom he had
spoilt many a roystoring evening in his
bachelor Gays, droned through the in¬
dictment, and in a clear voice replied
to the charge of wilful murder, “ Not
guilty.”
The Crown Prosecutor began to
sketch tho history of the crime; the
judge lounged back in his chair and
leisurely sought for tho clean pages in
his record book ; the counsel for the de¬
fence pushed back bis wig from his per¬
spiring brow, and lmuted out a refer¬
ence iu an almost forgotten work on the
Roman-Dutch law; the spectators
hushed their murmuring; the punkah
swayed regularly to aud fro overhead;
slid Sylvester’s wife, sitting there in the
well of the stilling court, with her sweet
blue eyes rivited on the prisoner, and
her luxuriant locks rising and falling
with the artificial breeze, looked to me
even more beautiful thau two years ago,
when she nightly ravished the hearts of
susceptible diggers in the make-shift
theater in the Dutoitspan Road.
In those memorable bygone days she i
was Mademoiselle Marie La Cour, aud
the star of a traveling theatrical com¬
pany, which, like most other “combina¬
tions of talent” visiting the Diamond
Fields, never, as a whole, got any fur¬
ther. The proprietor made so much
money in a short season that he left to
assume the lesseeskip of a big Austra¬
lian house, and Marie’s father took over
1'ie management of the sheep thus be
left of their shepherd.
In the zenith of her fame she married
U.rk Sylvester, aud if ever a man de
served his bride he did, for his passion
were him almost to a shadow, and his
dark eyes gleamed dangerously if a rival
presumed as much as to speak to her.
Dirk was proprietor of one of the richest
c.aims at the New Rush. She seemed
to have fallen in love with him quite as
much as he had with her.
They took a little villa at the extremity
°i Dutoitspan Road, a neat verandah
suriounded residence, screened from the
dust aud heat bv tall blue gums, raid
half eovere ’ v.. a creepers and tropica!
flowers. Alter that we saw little of the
euce so well-known Marie La Cour. Oc
cask ’Rally at long intervals they would
ini it e a lew bachelor friends—myself
included'—to witness their bliss, and on
&ueh evenings the great bullfrogs which
invaded the garden of “the Oasis,” as
thtir place was rightly named, would
their vile croaking os Sylvester’6
'■ho trilled forlh some gay ekansonette
to the accompauimeut of tho Broadwood
which Dirk specially imported for her
H lie i (j .auuioton
from Europe; or sometimes the happy
pair would ride over to a picnio on the
banks of the meandering Modder River,
and Mrs. Sylvester would deign to as¬
tonish us with the feats of marksman¬
ship which she could accomplish with
the pretty revolver—ivory handled and
chased with gold—which Dirk had given
her.
One night, as I strolled into the Albert
Saloon for a game of billiards, I found a
knot of diggers gathered around a new
arrival—a handsome little Frenchman,
who had come to the Fields to look after
somo claim in which a Parisiou firm had
invested. He was laughing conceitedly,
and stroking his carefully waxed impe¬
rial with a self-satisfied air, when Dirk
came iu ’ and was immediately hailed by
a man who was no friend of his—the
manager of somo ground which was al
ways tumbling into Dirk’s claims and
smashing his gear.
1 did not hear exactly what was said,
but my attention was suddenly arrested
by seeing Dirk make a bound at the
Frenchman, and seize him by the throat,
while his eyes fairly blazed with passion.
The Frenchman tried to elude his grasp,'*
and in a moment Dirk had dashed him
to the floor and was standing over him,
raging with fury.
“You miserable liar and scoundrel,”
he cried, “if ever I hear of your men¬
tioning my wife’s name again, I’ll kill
you !” Then he strode out of the sa¬
loon.
* A silence fell on the company stand¬
ing round the fallen Freuclimau, and as
he staggered to -his feet and slunk away
into a side room, where the rattle of tho
dice went on all day long and far into
the night, no one found so much as a
word to throw after him.
I met Dirk on several occasions after
this curious episode, but, as if by mutual
consent, we avoided the subject. One
night, however, when the moon was sail¬
ing majestically overhead and lighting
up the dusty road between “the Pan”
and Kimberley with a flood of Jambent
light, I was riding slowly into camp
when I heard the rapid pattering of a
horse behind me, and turning iu the
saddle confronted Dirk. He was agi¬
tated and angry, and without a word of
greeting plunged into the subject up¬
permost in his mind.
“Do you know, old fellow,” he said,
“I’ve just been told by a digger at
Hallis’s that that rascally little French¬
man has been repeating his lies about
my wife. Not only that, but he says
he has a miniature of her which she
gave him set in gold. The unmitigated
liar ! If I flud time I shall canter over
to his cabin tbe other side of the min
to-night, and if he can’t produce ths
souvenir it will be hard for him. If h
does, it won’t be in his possessior
long !’’
“Don’t do anything rash, Dirk,” 1
said. “Remember, there is another t
think of besides yourself.”
“That’s what it is that bothers me,
old fellow,” he replied; and then, rein
ing in his horse, and jogging along by
my side, he told me his trouble. It
appeared that his wife denied any inti¬
macy with the Frenchman, but stated
that her father tried to force his at¬
tentions on her in the old days when he
was a half-starved ballet-master, and she
a struggling aspirant at a Paris theatre.
Tbe miniature'was a new feature in the
story, and Dirk firmly believed it to be
a myth, but was bout on liuding ont
whether it was or not.
After a while ho grew calmer, and
paid more attention'do 'my entreaties to
him to proceed with caution.
On parting, he shook me by the
hand, and his last words, shouted to mo
as he galloped off, were—
“I sha’n’t trouble the little French
man to-night, but let him keep ont of
my way !”,
The next morning tho body of Jules
Lacroix was found lying on the floor of
his cabin, with an ugly hole in the left
temple. In one hand he grasped tightly
part of a gold ph Uain and the swivel of a
miniature. Th e bullet "found in the
brain fitted Dirk’s revolver to a nicety.
It was not long before Dirk was in
custody, and the case looked black
against him. His threat to shoot the
Frenchman was well remembered; his
excited demeanor in Hallis’s bar at tbe
Pan, when the news of the Frenchman’s
reiterated assertion was brought to him,
was commented upon, and the circum
stantial evidence was strong.
As for Dirk himself, he utterly de¬
nied going near the Frenchman’s cabin
on the night of the murder, and he ac¬
counted for the fact that he did not
reach home for nearly an hour after
leaving me by saying that, feeling hot
aud excited, he went for a scamper
over the veldt, and the beauty of the
moonlit night caused him to stay out
longer than he intended.
He pressed me to tell all I knew
ibont the matter, and I reluctantly did
so, making the most of his expressed
determination on leaving me not to
visit the Frenchman that evening.
The trial dragged ou until late in the
night, and at 12 o’clock the jury came
into court with a verdict of Guilty.
I shali never forget the look of mute
agony on his wife’s face as Dirk stood
up to be sentenced to death, or the
calm, proud way in which he heard his
doom.
JjvfMi ON, GEORGIA, JUNE 10, 1885.
7
“Mark my words, boy., Sylvester’s
wife will get him reprieved.”
The spedker was lounging at the
counter of the “Yellow Bar,” in the
Transvaal Road, and his words evoked
a murmur of sympathy.
Ever Bince the conviotion efforts had
been made in all directions to prevent
the dread sentence of the law being car¬
ried out, and Sylvester’s wife had be¬
come the heroine of the camp. Thera
were few who did not believe that he
shot the Frenchman; but why should
he die for an offence which was light
compared with some which lay quite
easily on the consciences of not a few of
the inhabitants of Kimberley ?
As the hum of approval subsided,
some one directed our attention to a lady
walking rapidly in the direction of the
jail. We recognized her at once, and
respectfully saluted her as she drew
near. She stopped for a moment and
spoke to the foremost man, who, as she
hurried on, turned and gave a great
shout.
“Hurrah,” he cried, “Dirk’s re¬
prieved ! The little lady has just had a
telegram frftm Cape Town. Three cheers
for Sylvester’s wife 1”
1 doubt if the attention was pleasing,
but the kindly jailor told me that, she
smiled for the first time since Dirk's
conviction as that cheer reached her
ears, jnst as she stepped into the prison
yard.
* * * * * * *
Three weeks afterward I had occasion
to call on the governor of the jail, and
as we sat in his cool little room, discuss¬
ing his Martell and smoking his Boer
tobacco, ho looked up suddenly with a
troubled air, and said, “By-the-by, do
you know that Dirk Sylvester goes to
Cape Town with the next lot of I. D.
B.’s (Illicit Diamond Buyers)?”
I expressed my surprise, as I knew
1 the governor had the selecting of the
prisoners to bo transferred to tbe break
water at Cape Town, and had heard that
he had an idea of making Dirk a clerk
iu the Kimberley Prison Office. There
was little chance of his ever being a free
man again, but it was something that he
should serve his weary years at Kimber¬
ley, among friends who could visit him,
and close to his faithful wife. I men¬
tioned this, and the governor, stepping
to a little cupboard, turned the key and
took out a little blue packet.
“I have had to forbid Mrs. Sylvester’s
visits,” fie said; “and when I tell you
the reason I think you will agree that I
am right in sending Dirk to Cape Town.
You see, he seemed to expect, when the
reprieve came, that, he would be set at
liberty; and so did she, but, as you
know, the death sentence has only been
commuted to one of imprisonment for
life; and how on earth they managed to
persuade the Governor to do that I can’t
tell. Well, since that has been made
plain to Dirk, he has been a changed
man. He talks hopelessly of his future
—and God knows, poor fellow, it’s dark
enough !—he seems to be pining for
freedom; he says the convict dress clings
to him like cerecloth; and the other day,
just after his wife had visited him, I saw
such a queer look in his eyes that I
quietly turned over his things. At the
bottom of the basket of ‘comforts’ she
bad brought him I found this. ”
He opened the packet and poured out
before my eyes a whitish powder.
“ Well ?” I said interrogatively.
"Poison!” he briefly replied, as he
swept the powder back into the packet.
“And now,” he added, “don’t think me
hard if I send Dick to Cape Town.”
There was an unusual stir and excite¬
ment in Kimberley; the streets were
crowded with men and women whose
faces bespoke every kind of emotion,
from despairing rage to rejoicing malice;
while hither and thither among the
throng in the market square, rode offi¬
cials in the dark blue uniforms of the
Civil Service.
At length there was a cloud of whirl -
ing dust in the Transvaal Road; the
crowd swayed and parted, aud at a hand
gallop two heavily laden mule wagons
passed through the surging ranks and
halted for the escort to close round.
A woful ireight those wagons bore; a
load of human misery; a company of
wretched convicts, into whose souls the
iron of captivity had already entered; a
consignment of bsffled, trapped, and
forsaken seekers after illicit wealth.
Louth aud nge were there, and the g til¬
ing fetters bound all together iu the
links of common despair. Chained as
they were, like wild beasts, some stood
up, and in agonized voioe called upon
friend, wife, and child, who answered
not; while others, crouching hi a corner
of the rude conveyance, bowed their
heads between their trembling hands
aud sought to keep out the light of *
sun that hail become hateful to them.
Suddenly I caught sight of Dirk
thin and pale with confinement and suf¬
fering. I called to him, but he heard
not; his gaze seemed fixed on some far
away object, and a smile played upon
his wan lips. of the oavai
I hurried on in advance
cade toward “The Oasis,” which I knew
it must pass on its way to the open
veldt. I remembered that the governor
of the jail had told me the night before
that he had allowed a last interview be¬
fore the fearful journey to Capo Town
between man and wiie, and that they
’ ~p~ which
spoke some words in French, he
did not understand, but which soemed
to have a wonderful effect on Dirk.
As I beared the gate of “The Oasis,”
over which the blue gums cast their
shade, and where the sweet trailing
Hewers were in their full autumnal
,
beauty,^ I Baw Sylvester’s wife standing
motionless. She was attired in the plain
white dress she wore on the day of the
trial, and also when she crowned Dirk’s
hope and rendered him the envy of the
bachelors of the Fields by becoming his
own. Her golden hair floated unheeded
on the lazy breath from the distant
plain; her eyes were turned npward to
the deep blue sky above, and her lips
seemed to be moving as if in silent
prayer. There was no need to tell her
of the approach of the convict party;
their coming was heralded by the wild
refrain of a dismal song chanted by the
prisoners; and adown the startled air
came the sound of creaking wheels, the
cracking of whips, the shouting of
orders, and the responsive curses of the
mob. I was unwilling to obtrude my¬
self on her notioe, and therefore I did
not speak to her, but merely took up a
position close by the gate.
Nearer and nearer came the rolling
wagons; and the crowd Bushed on
through tbe eddying dust, till suddenly
they caught a glimpse of the lonely
watcher in the gateway. There was
not a man there who did not know that
the slight, pale woman standing with
her hands clasped convulsively together,
and her whole soul concentrated as it
were in one long gaze, was Sylvester’s
wife. Even tho officials kuew his his¬
tory; they knew he was no midnight
purchaser of stolen gems, but only a
passionate, hapless man; and, as if by
instinct, the melancholy procession
slowed and steadied and paused before
what was once the home of a pure and
holy loye.
Dirk was standing now; the smile on
his lips lit up his whole countenance;
he looked like the careless, happy Dirk
of former days; the lines of care and
dull agony seemed to soften and disan
pear from his face.
He made a motion with his left hand
to his breast; with his right he pointed
to the awful blue of the cloudless
heaven, and then—a thin streak of
flame leaped from the midst of the
creepers aud the quivering leaves, a
sharp report rang out upon the morning
air, a puff of smoke curled upward
from the gateway, and Dirk Sylvester,
with that strange, glad smile upon his
lips, fell heavily forward, shot right
through the heart by his wife !”
She never lived to take her trial, in¬
deed she was unconscious from tho
time when by one supreme act she
broke the fetters which were wearing
Dirk Sylvester’s spirit down into the
dust aud ashes of a misery too keen for
his endurance, till within a few minutes
of her death.
Then a new light shone in her fast
closing eyes; she stretched ont her
arms as if to embrace a viewless form,
and with the words “Dirk I Dirk 1 Free
forever, dear! Free, Dirk, free!” trem¬
bling on her lips, her soul went forth
rejoiciug on the mystic journey to the
dark hereafter.
*
Soon after she had been laid to rest
by the side of her husband in the ceme¬
tery, white with many a memorial stone
to ruined hopes, lives wrecked and shat
tered, and affections sundered by th
cruel hand of Death, a Kafir, sentenced
to the extreme penalty of the law for an
atrocious murder, confessed that he, and
he alone, was the cause of tho French¬
man’s tragio end. He had watched,
through the half-drawn blind, the miser¬
able man toying with a golden chain to
which a miniature was attached, and his
cupidity fired by the sight, crept on
him unawares, and tried to wrest it
from him. A straggle ensued; the
Kafir snatched a revolver from the
Frenchman’s hand and shot him ; tben>
fearing discovery, fled with only the
miniaturo in his possession. The size
of the bullet and the spoor were coinci¬
dences only; but there is one mystery
which will never be cleared np. Was
the miniature that of Sylvester’s wife ?
— Belgravia.
WnEN our gallant marines pitched
their tents on the Isthmus, some of the
officers made temporary beds by spread
ing their blankets on boxes of provisions.
A distinguished captain in the course ol
a bloody battle with mosquitoes kicked
the cover off and discovered that he was
sleeping— when he did sleep— upon three
boxes of biscuit marked “ U. S. S.
rhetis.” Those biscuit less than a year
igo were in the Arctic seas with the
Greetv Relief Expedition. The thought
f it has kept (he captain cool ever
jnce
The last censns report in Chili pre¬
anomaly that is Piling the
sents an The married popu¬
ieople very much. distinct
lation of the country, mm
and widows, is stated to be
widowers half of this num-
593,312. Of ■■
299 156, ought to be ma*es an
ber, or: such is not the case,
half females, Bnt which
according to the census report, of
the married persons consist
avrs 297,735 females
300 577 males and wlUlOUj
This leaves 2,812 8^ men
visible wives.
FOR SUNDAY READING.
A SUNDAY MUIIOOL LESSON FOH T|1K
VOIINU.
Christ onr Example. Plilllpplnns II, 5-10.
The particular matter in which Christ
is here presented as our example is un¬
selfishness. The apostle, in the verses
just preceding these of the lesson, has
been exhorting the Pkilippitwi disciples
to discard self-seeking, so that each one
shall think of others, rather than of him¬
self. And this injunction he explains,
as well as enforces, by citing the
Saviour’s example. He exhorts them
to have that lovo for others which the
Saviour had. The Lord Jesus was
divine; but he did not deem it as most
to be prized to enjoy the delights of his
high station. He counted it better to
be a servant than a divine ruler, and so
he took upon himself the nature of man,
that he might serve, and he gave him¬
self to the most thorough service, even
suffering death in his consecrated sub¬
jection. And it is because of this hum¬
ble service that he has his greatest exal¬
tation. It Is because he was such a ser¬
vant that his name is so glorious that it
commands the adoration of ail created
beings. And so the apostle counsels
them to discard all selfish murmurings
and dispute)gs, so that they may set be¬
fore an ungodly world a blameless ex¬
ample; and he adds in verse 17, which
really belongs to this lesson, that he is
willing himself to do what he has coun¬
seled them to do—viz., to serve his breth¬
ren; and even if in this service death
shall become his portion, and he shall bo
sacrificed, he will rejoice therein. The
whole passage is one of pathos and of
power, a glowing exhortation to unsel¬
fishness and to self-sacrificing devotion
to the good of others.
The term “the form of God” (v. 6)
implies true deity, as “every form of
humau nature” means real human
nature, and “every form of evil” means
real evil, not merely what looks like
The reality is here indicated, as
“taking the form of a servant,” implies
becoming really a servant, not merely
having the appearance of servioe.
The words, "it is not robbery,” would
mean that he knew that there would be
no wroDg in his retaining his high estate.
He was divine, and he had a right to re¬
main such. Tho Revised Version reads
“counted it not a prize (margin—‘a
thing to be grasped’) to be on an eqality
with God.” The meaning is that he did
not consider his primeval divine estate
that which was to be cherished above
everything else. He did not ding to
that exalted condition, bnt divested him¬
self of his glory—“emptied himself” is
the literal wording, as iu the Revised
Version—became a man with all human
limitations and descended to the lowest
estate of a depressed humauity, suffer¬
ing death, and that a death of ignominy.
The assertion that he “emptied hitn
selt” teaches that, in his incarnation,
the Divine Son came within true limita¬
tions, the Infinite became Finite. The
incarnation was the assumption not
merely of an apparent but of a real hu
manity with all its imperfections, We
mean, of course, the imperfections in¬
separable from humanity, which would
not include sin, as this is an accident,
not an essential of humanity. Tho in¬
carnation was not a theophany in human
form, like the appearance x>f Jehovah to
Abraham or the plains of Mamre. The
child Jesus was as truly human as any
infant. The assertion that he increased
in wisdom involves the truth that his
intellect was at first undeveloped. When
a boy he had just as much trouble
with his lessons as any boy, and in all
points he experienced “the feeling of
our infirmities.”
The declaration that his name is
“above every name* is an assertion that
the God-man is more glorious than pure
deity, that the greatest exaltation of
the divine is in its servioe to its creatures;
that God’s highest glory is his love.
The apostle applying the lesson, calls
the disoiples (v. 12) his “beloved,” dis¬
closing, in this tender address, the
spirit of-the living Christ. He urges
them, as they have always obeyed, or as
in the Greek have listened to him. they
shall “work” with redoubled zeal, shal
work not only as they had done when
he was with them, but even more ener¬
getically, now that he their teacher'was
from them. He urges them to
work out their salvation from selfishness
other evils, “with fear and tremb
]i ng ” ; not a slavish fear, but that tremb
Hng anxiety which a physician might
feel in an important case, or which an
artist miglit feel in giving the final
touches which lie hoped should make
his work a thing of beantv and glory.
^ n d they aro to work all the more ener
getically that they lovingly may be pleased co-^orkers to be
with God, who is
carrying on his work iu them. God’s
spirit is at work in the hearts of us all,
and instead of resisting that spirit, we
should work with it.
The apostle's warnings against self
seeking are an echo of the Saviour s re¬
proofs to tho disciples who desire to be
“greatest,” and every thoughtful ob¬
server will discern the fact that in self
laerifice is the truest glory. The really
great men in the world’s history are
not those who have obtained the most
from their fellow-men, but those who
have done the most for their fellow men.
He that would bo greatest, let him be
more than others a servant.
VOL. XI. NO 30.
THE LIME-KILN CLUB.
A Lecturer wlio svns I,eft Because lie linil
Been Drinking.
Upon opening the meeting Brother
Gardner fined Elder Toots $300 for
breaking a lamp chimney with his
elbow, and then announced the fact that
the Hon. Overplus Boggs, of Delaware,
was in the ante-room and waiting to de
li>.;r his celebrated lecture on “Will the
Coining Man Shoot Off His Mouth ?”
The reception committee went out to
escort the great man in, but presently
returned with the statement that he was
lying on a bench in a deep stupor, and
that he had evidently been drinking
heavily.
“De committee, assisted by Giveadam
Jones,” said tho president, “will escort
de leckturer down stairs in de most con¬
venient manner, an’ when he has
reached de alley doah it will be de
dooty of de committee to see dat de
occasion be made a memorable one in
his diary fur 1885.”
Two boot heels and a broken suspen¬
der were found in the alley next day,
and it is presumed that somebody
exerted himself.
A GOOD INVESTMENT.
The Secretary announced the follow¬
ing official report from the branch club
at Petersburg, Va. : “ The name of
this club is ‘The Anti-Liars,’ and we
have 121 active members. Our financial
policy has been to line each member $1
for each lie told. At the end of eight¬
een months we counted up and found we
had taken iu $1.80. Eli Perkins came
here to lecture before our Y. M. C. A.,
and after the lecture we made him an
honorary member, and in less than forty
minutes we took in over $900.
“P. 8.—Do you know any other per¬
son who would bo as profitable to us as
an honorary member as Eli ? If so,
who ?
FAIR WARNING.
A communication from Memphis gave
information that Division .John Smith,
as honorary member of the club, was ad¬
vertising to cure consumption by the
laying on of hands, and in order to fill
his purse was making all colo^d persons
within ten miles believe they had the
fell disease.
A communication from Richmond,
Va.', likewise announced that Prof.
Phosphate Wellington, another honorary
member, was practicing as a fortune¬
teller, aud everyone who paid him fifty
cents was given so much good luck that
work at $1 a day was no longer an ob¬
ject.
The Secretary was directed to warn
both members iu a large, bold hand, aud
red ink, that they must at once quit such
business or suffer expulsion, and Brother
Gardner added, for the benefit of his
hearers:
“When memliers am sick a straight
out-doso by a straight-out-doctor, will
either cure or kill. Yon git your money’s
worf, no matter which way it goes. We
can’t countenance no member imposin’
on human uatur’ by pawin’ around for
two shillin’ a paw. As fur de bizness of
teilin’ fortnnes, we all know de past an’
kin guess clns ’nuff de fucher to keep an
extra vest-buckle whar’ we kin find it
time de old one gives out. ”
any
SENT TO NOVA SCOTIA.
Trustee Pullback was then informed
that he was to be sent to Cornwallis,
Nova Scotia, to organize a branch olub,
to be called “The P. D. Q. Colored Ad¬
visers,” and the President added:
“Brudder Pullback, you has trabbled
befo’, but a few words of advice will do
you no harm. Doan’ spread yerself oher
more’n two seats in de railroad kyars.
Civil answers won’t cost you a cent, an’
may save yer shins from a kickiu’. You
may know all about anoder man’s game,
bnt doan’t bet on it. Thirty y’ars ago
our statesmen wiped deir noses on deir
coatsleeves, but dar’ has bin anew deal,
an’ you mustn’t forgit your bandana.
While it am handy to eat wid a knife,
de use of a fork at table may secure you
a Cabinet posishun. Doorfn’ de day
stick to de sidewalk, by night walk in
de middle ob de road. Dat’s ali, an’ we
will now sing our closin’ song an”dis
mantle de meetin’. ”
A Life Preserver. —It ought to be
generally known that a man’s hat will
serve in most cases as a temporary life
preserver to those in danger of drown¬
ing. When a person finds himself in the
water he should lay hold of his hat be¬
tween his bauds, keeping tho crown
close under his chin and the mouth of
the hat under water. The quantity of
air contained in the cavity of the hat
will keep the head above water for a
long time—somerimes for several hours
A Mystery.— A year and nine months
a?o the disappearance of the Rev. Mer¬
ton Smith excited much interest
throughout England. He was touring
in the Pyrenees with a friend, and left
his hotel for a walk. He was not seen
afterward, and the most anxious search,
stimulated by a .reward of £500, failed
to discover any trace of him. Mr.
Smith’s boqy has lately been discovered
among the mountains.
They Still Live. —There were but
700 enlisted men in the battle of San
•Tiicinto, which took place fifty years
ago, yet there are nearly as many names
on the pension list as answered to Sam
Houston’s bugle call So says a Texas
paper.
-
STRAY JOKES AND DASHES,
d -I !Ail
FOUND IN THE IlimitODS COLUMNS
OF OUlt EXCHANGES.
The Robles’ Fictures-Tlie Bible Hod
Wenlili—A Blot—The Nome Did It—Dim
aeruiiii to Oversleep, Etc., Etc.
THE NAME DID IT.
Margaretta Steigerwaldenzer and
Georgiana Warner, who live in Pike
county, went out for a walk. While
passing along the road they saw a rattle¬
snake lyiDg in the roadway. One of
the girls threw a stone at it, and it im¬
mediately coiled itself and showed fight.
Miss Steigerwaldenzer picked up a club
and accepted the challenge.
“Oh, Margaretta Steigerwaldenzer I”
cried Miss Warner. “Don’t go near it.
Tt will kill you I”
At that the snake uncoiled itself and
hurried away. Miss Steigerwaldenzer
followed it, and, overtaking it, killed it,
the snake showing no further inclina¬
tion to defend itself. It was three feet
long, and had only four rattles.
“How quickly that snake lost its
fierceness,” said Miss Steigerwaldenzer
to Miss Warner.
“Yes,” replied Miss Warner. “It
heard me speak your name and knew
then that there was no use.”
The two girls are still friends.— New
York Nun.
ABLE TO BAY IT.'
“Well,” remarked the divorco lawyer,
“what alimony do you want ?”
“I think $300,000 cash and an income
of $30,000 a year besides lawyers’ fees
would only be fair,” replied the lady.
“Fair, madam?” answered theluwyer (
in surprise. “What business is your
husband in ?”
“He owns n skating rink.”— Graphic,
DANGEROUS TO OVERSLEEP.
;: Did you hear the dog bark and howl
last night ?”
“Yes, my ears were greeted with tho
canine symphonies. I could not sleep
because of them. ”
“Is the dog a useful animal?”
“Oh, very. His owner keeps him
tied in the backyard, and the dog en¬
joys life so well that he barks or howls
all the time. Thus the neighbors are
kept from sleeping too much. It is a
sad and dangerous thing to oversleep.”
—Chicago Ledger.
THE BRIDE HAD WEALTH.
Uncle Moso approached the County
Clerk tho other day to obtain a marriage
license. The clerk, in order to poke
fun at the old man, said serionsly:
“I hope the bride has got seventy-five
cents in cash, for the Legislature has
passed a law forbidding us to issue a
license unless the bride has that
amount.”
“Jess go ahead wid de papers, boss,”
said Uncle Mose, approaching the clerk,
and then he leaned over and whispered
in his ear, “dar’s reliable rumors about
a dollar and a quarter .”—Arkansaw
Traveler.
THE USEFULNESS OF TWO ANIMALS.
“They may talk about a goat being a
nuisance, sir,” said one passenger to
another on an elevated train, "but if it
were not for that animal I would not be
so well off as I am.”'
“Then I infer that you are in the kid
glove business, sir ? ”
“No, sir; I am a circus poster
printer.”
“Aha ! Well, I must say that I owe
a great deal to a much maligned animal
—the cat.”
“Are you a furrier?”
“Oh, no; I manufacture bootjacks,
sir.”— Journal.
A BLOT.
Boy—“Please, sir, Tommie Johnson
has made me make a big blot.”
School Board Teacher—“Then Tom¬
mie Johnson won’t go home to his din¬
ner to-day.”
Tommie said afterward, when the
teaoher had gone away: “I ’spose yer
think yer done a line thing by roundin’
on me, but, as it happens, I ain’t got no
dinner to go home to. Yah, yer sneak !”
—Judg.
MILLIONS IN IT FOR MILKMEN.
Sharp Inventor—“Yes, siree. I’ve
struck it at last. Do you see that model
of a pump? It’s my own invention.”
Friend—“Looks tome like an ordinary
pump.”
“Well, yes, there’s nothing novel
about the pump. It’s the name I’m
going to give it that I’ve got patented.
There’s millions in it.”
“Don’t see what difference a name can
make. What arc you going to call it.?’ 1
“The Alderney pump.”— Philadel¬
phia Call.
UGLY ENOUGH FOB A BOY.
These bright spring days have sent
all the young folks ont of doors, the very
young folks especially. This is very
pleasant indeed, as the youngsters who
have never breathed fresh air before ap
; parently think it great fun to be pushed
all over the sidewalks in their baby car¬
riages by their mammas and their
nurses.
“Dear, dear, he is such a daring little
fellow, isn’t he?’’said one mamma to
another yesterday,
“No, he isn’t. ‘ He’ is thb nicest lit
tie girl yon ever saw.”
“Oh, it’s a girl, is it? She looks ngly
enough to ha a boy.”
Another name erased from the calling
list.— Hartford, Post,