The Ellijay courier. (Ellijay, Ga.) 1875-189?, September 08, 1881, Image 1

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~'f J uat jumps with Joy
, , To fee you (erred with milk and butter.
WM 4adt I ter beyond the saa.
By dfty thewaand atrle adored.
The motto or ay ml would bar
"Tba Uk-bXI lata own rewardP*
Oh, noble cod!
1 .0 To you I nod;
1 Ikni araka me end and medl-Mtrw:
When toned with wine
You're quite dlriue
tlnto the Massachusetts natlre,
OJII len Tin old and beat and fray,
■ ! With wholoeomo moral* richly stored,
IIU baldly face the world and ay:
' 14 The fish-ball la it* own reward!”
A STRAJXGE STORY.
1 I have : a strange, almost incredible,
story to tell of an experience of my own
one fearful night in the woods. Tm.
agination had nothing to do with it, for
• <<2' am -a dmekwoedV daughter, accus
tomed to the wild sounds of the forest,
the londiness, and all that is terrifying
, tSa novice.
My father was a good man, serving
God after his own simple fashion, seeing
Hiifc anff loving Him in His works. I
have heard him hold forth on the provi
dent ways of the beaver. “ Why 1 the
littjo eritter’d starve in the cold season
ft it hadn’t used its little flat tail for
I hujjflintots house, and then fillin' it with
inffcne 1" I have heard him tell ol
HigScarAou || “ Look at that, too,” ha
wotfd lay, “and the moose. Now,
the caribou has to travel often a matter
of twenty miles for his dinner, for he’s a
dainjy 'unh and only eats the long gray
■mols'that hangs from the trees ; so God
gave him snow-shoes, good as an Injun
"erid make ’em, to skim over the ioe
crust—while the big, heavy moose there
sinks right in. His dinner is close at
hand. He could live for months on an
acre lot.” He could speak the loon, and
its adaptation in every way te its watery
home—always ending such talk with :
“All God’s works are ’pon honor;
there’s ho half-way with Him.”
J waa the only one left of ten children.
My fatter, when mourning over and
missing the others, would never oom
'plaih’but only say, “They’re better off,
Why, if we can’t trust the little chil
dren thhf don’t know the meaning of sin,
there ain't any ohanoe /or the men 1’“,
And so he liveddiis quift life J-his hSirt
beating close to nature’s heart, and his
soul unconsciously seeking and finding
nature’s God.
\ My mother must have been beautiful
‘ifl her ybuth. She was a lorette Cana
dienne, and her bright French spirits
carried her gayly over many hard trials
in her life of frequent deprivation. One
rcat, overshadowing sorrow of her life
as the unaccountable disappearance ol
her little year-old daughter, her only
childr-the yqe in lie* own bu
dget, wlioin ftom the' first she loved with
a peculiar tenderness.
. The oliild had been left alone in her
llttie birch-bark crib for a short half
hour, while mother was busy at the
Ipriag, * mile from home, in the midst
of the woods. I, little 6-year-old, was
off ih the canoe with my father, as a
treat for having been especially good
the day before. Father and I had a
splendid time—we always did when we
were away together—and, our canoe full
of trout, we were coming gayly home
tovrard evening, when a cold chill fell
on our happiness, and my child’s heart
felt a strange thrill as I read a sudden
anxiety in my father’s face, whose every
change I knew. His quick ear had
caught the sound of mother’s voice, and,
after a while, I, too, could hear a hope
less moan, a dreadful, heart-broken
sound. We found mother kneeling on
the floor, her hand leaning on the empty
if 111 !® ffioaning as one that could not
b% comforted. The baby was gone.
Haw or where we could not tell—we
never knew. Weeks were spent in
fce*rc4ing : fof' her, and at length, to save
mother’s reason, father forced her to
log cabin in the woods
by the lake, where this last sorrow had
*’’ ebme tfijoil her, and we went io Mon
wblrved quietly for years dur
ing the winter time. .The nuns of the
great convent of-the Gray Sisters took
charge oT my education. Mother nud
I had neat little rooms in the French
quarter, while father went off moose
hunting fa** weary months; hat the
tsuinkilirne we always spent with him.
He would choose lovely spots for our
- summer encampments, never on the site
of the log cabin deserted after the baby’s
of my 19th year.
Then a great desire took possession of
my mother to go once more to the old
had been very delicate that
wmter, ana my great, rough father de
nied her nothing, I shudderwhen I
think of that beautiful, direful place
now—it seems as though our evil fate
' hovered about it. All the anguish I ever
knew centers thera
We passed one peaceful month to
gether, disturbed only by distant ru
mors of diphtheria, a scourge which
seemed to be striding from village to
vhlag?v fif' l on 1110 r ‘ T *' r . tlien nearer
us on the great lake; but we never
thought of its touching us, until on*
ELLIJAY COURIER.
w. r. c>Mßt*i
CSitnr /nd Publisher; f
miserable night, when father came
home, languid and feverish, from one
of liis numerous expeditions, snd wo
read in his fsoe that tho ghastiy finger
of the scourge had set its mark upon
him. After the second day of anxiety
about father all strength seemed to fail
my delicate little mother. From the
first she had despaired about him, and
now I saw that, if father's life were
taken, I should have to pan with them
both.
Her life would die with his. for sorrow
forges stronger bonds even than joy, and
they had suffered so much together, his
love always supporting her, iliat he had
become life of her life. She conld not
exist alone.
I struggled hand to hand, and sick at
heart against what I felt to be an in
exorable fate. and. on the afternoon of
the eighth day, I found myself alone and
almost despairing, save for the happi
ness of the two I had loved best in the
world.
The sunset came, as I sat by the lake
side, flooding my desolated world with a
heavenly glory, like a sign from them to
me of their new-found joy.
The stars had come out, before I ven
tured to return to the worr utan deserted
house. I could not hope for help from
any neighbor until I sought it out iflyself
the next day, and I had to look forward
to a night, how horrible. I did not fore
see or I could not have endured it.
What followed I could scarcely credit
myself, if I did not bear on my hand a
tangible proof in a well-defined scar;
and, even now, I could not bear to write
of that night’s experience, bad not my
children’s laughter, and my loving hus
band’s care long since banished all un
natural gloom from" my life.
While I had been sitting alone on the
lake shore, toward the evening, I had
heard a distant shot; it scarcely roused
mo. A sportsman, I thought, had wan
dered from his encampment on the op
posite shore, and seen some game in our
wildwoods, killed it, and his canoe had
long since carried him away. In the
gathering darkness I groped my way
back through tho familiar little path,
and reached my own door. I alone
should pass the threshold in the future;
their feet were still; the busy feet that
had toiled for me, followed me, und had
])£en pvpt pearjne !J-pts Lxgoon my,
rMged path alone ! HeSfiffick and over-
I stopped at tne door, and, lean
ing my head against? it, sobbed in un
controllable despair. Tired out at length,
I had grown quiet, and was about to lift
the latch, when a faint moan, as of an
animal in pain, and close to me, startled
me ; then a death-like silence reigned.
I knew I had been mistaken. I felt
that I must forget myself -anil help the
poor creature in distress. “It is very
good for strength to know that someone
needs you to be strong.” No longer
hesitating I hurried into the little cabin,
struck a light and went in the direction
■whence the moan had reached my ears.
I thought of the shot I had heard. It
was quite possible a poor wounded deer
was lying in the bushes. Yes, I could
now see its skin—unmistakably a fawn
—spotted dun color. It lay quite still—
perhaps that moan bad been its dying
gasp—and so I came quite close to it,
leaned over, and, paralyzed with horror,
saw my mother’s faee, only young and
very beautiful, as she must have looked
when a girl. Deathly pale, possibly,
she lay—matted hair all about her face,
and clothed in doe-skin. Just then she
stirred; it was not death. All wonder
ceased within me, every feeling fled be
fore the thought that this being what
ever, whoever she was, might be saved
to life.
I dragged her the few stops into the
house, laid her on my hemlock boughs,
untouched by me since the Bickness vis
ited us. Then I found a wound in the
poor Creature’s side and bound it up,
bathed her head, and, in the quiet, now
again I felt startled at seeing my moth
er’s image, young and fair, before me,
and, when at length her great eyes
opened, I felt it must be that sister lost
to me till now, and sent back in this sad
hour to take my mother’s place. I
leaned forward, in an access of tender
ness, to welcome her, when a look of
fright, an animal-like wild terror, took
possession of her face, and a ( low sort of
snarl broke from her human lips.
The start she gave caused a fresh flow
of blood; dimness passed over her eyes.
Again I stanched the wound and pre
pared nourishment In case she waked.
Too busied in these ways for further
speculation, only with a strange weight
at my heart and weariness of body, sud
denly I felt the gleam of eyes watching
me. Such strange eyes! No human
expression about them; a stealthy look
in them now. Gently as I could I ap
proached her side. She trembled and
tried to hide her head when I offered
her my carefully-prepared food. I moved
away and studiously avoided any ap
pearance of watching her. Yet I waa
intensely conscious of her every move
ment. I could see her eying, with a
wretched, famished look, a raw venison
steak that had been forgotten and lay
on the table eloi m beside her. Stealthi
ly, like a beast, of prey, her feeble hand
Ktole toward it, and in a moment she
had torn it in pieces and devoured it.
ELLIJAY, GA., THURSDAY. SEITKM BER 8, 1881.
Horn* “"led my heart. Could this
creature U. human T I sat still in the
corner, whore, myself unseen, I could
watch and restrain her if necessary, and
•eon—weakness overcoming her after
this last effort—she lay tossing in nn
eafc oleeo
Oh! i wu* so weary and so very
onely 1 The dreadful night was almost
at an end. I went to her side, threw
myself on the bed beside her, and pnt
my arms about her neck. Again be*
wonderful eyes opened full in my face.
I fixed them with my own. I caressed
her, coiled her by the endearing names
of old. I liesought her to bo gentle and
to love mo. I told her she was my own,
the only creature left for me to love and
care for ! One short second it seemed
os if a soul looked out of her glorious,
deer eyes, then, with a groan as if aha
gave the straggle over, and with that
low, fearful growl again, she fastened
her white teeth in my hand.
Shrieking with pain, I fainted. When
I came to myself, dawn was struggling?
in at the window; leaf-Bhadows flickered
on the floor. Fearful pain in my hand
roused me at length, and a consuming
thirst drove me into the woods toward
the spring to allay it.
I struggled through the underbrush,
and there, close to the water, discerned
a confused mass. There lay my poor
sister, dead, her head pillowed on a
wild cat of the woods, shot by the same
hand, probably, that had wounded her
fatally.
TELLING TRUTHS.
It is very important, said Coleridge,
that truth should be put into its proba
ble shape in order that it may be be
lieved. lam often accused of ljeing a
Quaker, because I seldom give a direct
answer to sundry questions; but that
arises from the incomplete manner in
whioh they are pnt to me. lam also
sometimes charged with exaggerating
facts; but my accusers seem to be ig
norant that truth is like an actor on the
stage, who requires a little rouge to
make him look natural by gaslight
The samo rule applies to everything,
said the dear old sophist. H you aim at
a target yon have to calculate the dis
tance and elevate your arrow to a cer
tain angle, otherwise it falls below the
mark, tip like an orator, wiio
wishes tojoonvincc, must color his re
cital to tlte capacity of his hearers. An
intelligent preacher should, therefore,
accommodate his discourse to Ids con
gregation, else he disgusts instead of
convinces. When Wliitefleld told a
fashionable congregation, in one of his
sermons, that there were infants in hell
not a span long, they shuddered and
believed. At all events, they received
the horrible announcement in silence.
But when he preached the same doctrine"
to the begrimed colliers of Newcastle,
their human nature rose against it, and
they pelted him out of town with coals.
And yet it is evident tho thing was as
true one day as another.
THE OLD HIGHLAND CHIEFTAIN*.
No men were .prouder of their rank
and descent. Not a few of them were
educated in France or England, and had
once been in the habit of mixing in a
society from which they seemed to be
hopelessly banished. Impoverished and
disappointed, thrown bock upon their
own diminished resources, the petty mon
archs and tyrants of all they surveyed,
they lost their slight culture, and their
failings grew into vices. With many of
the outward signs of native high-breed
ing, the Highland chief grew more and
more narrow-minded, as he lived on,
year after year, in a contracting circle
of ideas, striving to interest himself in
his shooting, fishing and cattle-breed
ing. Ho wo s imitated in all respects by
his tenants and kinsmen according to
their lights. Bat the smaller man,
while dutifully submissive to his chief,
showed his inborn haughtiness still
more objectionably; and, as he had
known nothing of the world beyond his
native -wilds, was more absolutely wed
ded to his antiquated prejudices. One
and all were lavish in their hospitality,
though their opportunities of practicing
it were less fnequent than they could
have desired; for the visits of strangers
were few and far between, at a time
when admiration of the beauties of na
ture was still a taste of the future. As
for Highland festivities, when they did
come off, they took the form of hard
drinking—necessarily such talk as there
was turned on topics that were strictly
local; so that, even when the guest
chaneed to be a man of ideas, he did
little to enlighten the darkness of his
hosts. — Blackwood’s Magazine ;
a ladt in Austin sent her oolored
servant, Matildy, to the grocery store to
get a loaf of bread for breakfast. Matildy
got back pretty soon with the bread,
and as the lady of the house took it she
remarked : “ This is nice, fresh bread.
It is warm yet from the oven.” “ Dat
ain’t what make* it hot," intemrpted
Matildy. “ What does make it warm ?’>
“ I put de bread under my arm and ran
Hie whole way from de bakery. Dat’s
wind, warmed it up so.” The bread got
(-•s-l before the lady did when she heard
this explanation.
OVR JVVRXILKS.
/ With I Ytop ■ Ora-m-Up.
Oh. laW 11 M crown- p.
And nobody obuld say,
i 1 No, n yob can't do ■ .i.d-ao,"
J. ‘lf nod, yds may."
vwn-apVwtted to bo good
Safora they bad tbstr fcin v ,
A great deal that te going on,
I guaaa, would not be dona.
Oh, I wlah I waa a grown-op.
Then I’d play with bag/sr boys.
And apand a hundred dollar*
For nothing elaa but ton.
I'd give the fellowa all a hat,
a knife and kite and baft;
I’d alt up late, and emretvm
Wouldn't go to bed at A.
Ob, I with I waa a grown-up, ,
I’d woar my very beat,
With long gold chain a-dtngUnf
Across my stiff white \tst;
With big top-boots so heavy
I could wsdo out anyw .are f
With a gold watch In my pocket,
And a olose shave on tij hair.
Oh, I wish I was grown-’ip.
As tall as my papa,
I’d have a pistol and a cane,
And marry Maggie Carr.
I’d have a party every night—
How joliy ifVould seem!
I’d have a house of cltrrh oaka
And a lawn of lemon bream.
Oh, I wlah I waa a grown-up,
I’d have a stunning jaaht,
And eat at the first table
While the beefsteak w hot;
I’d go right In the parlor,
No matter who was tsars;
f and have a span of horstey'
And keep a dancing t*,-.
But, then, I ain’t a gtotti-np,
I’m a boy that ties to telr.d,
With a little blua-obe^kHkproa,
And my tmusera ogfiHtel&d;
And the women cnmegjjy kiss me.
And call me “ little difcr;”
And I shan’t he a grow >-up
In many a long yeabflK
Youth’t Companion.
The King and t'i Page.
A pleasant story is told of the old
King Frederiok the Or#at of Prussia,
Once when he rang Ida Itell for his page
to come and wait on him, there was no
answer. He rang again, and still there
was no answer. So ft* went out into
V *
the ante-chamber, and there he found
his page fast asleep, fhe step of the
King does not awaken ljam, so soundly is
he asleep. A letter staking out of the
boy’s pocket catches tie King’s eye, and
he is curious enoqgf isr> take it out and
rejfl it. Not any more honorable that
f for a than any ijLc.else.
■ Bitf*/lfcouto 1)6 afraid
or ashamed of the-' curiosity, for
it was a letter irom ibid poor mother,
thanking him for tending her his
wages, and praying (lod to reward his
kindness and attention. After reading
it the King went softly back to his
chamber, took a bag of money, and with
the letter slipped it into the pocket of
the bov.
Again going to his chamber he rang
the boll loud enough to arouse the sleep
er, who immediately answered its sum
mons.
“Yon have been fast asleep,” said the
King.
Frightened and confused, the poor boy
put his hand into his pocket, and what
to find but a bag of money ? He took it
out, and, looking up to the King, burst
into tears.
“What is the matter?” asked the
King.
“Ah, sire,” cried the poor fellow,
throwing himself on bis knees before
Frederick, “ somebody is trying to ruin
me. I know nothing about this money
which I have just found in my pocket”
“My young friend,” said the King,
“God takes different ways of helping
us. Send the money to your mother.
Salute her from me, and tell her I will
take good care of both her and you.”—
Christian Weekly.
Eugenio Mauricio Dengremonf .
I wish that ail the children in the
world might get together some beautiful
Juno day, and then there certainly could
be nothing more charming for them than
that they should all be still for a while,
and listen to the wonderful violin-play
ing of Eugenio Mauricio Dengremonf
the child-artist
Let me tell you what I know of him:
Ho was bom Marcli 19, 1866, at Rio
Janeiro, Brazil, ilis father, having
other boys, as well as girls, and being a
musician in moderate circumstances, had
no idea of making musicians of his chil
dren, and did not dream that the son
born to him this day was so gifted. But,
at the age of 4, Mauricio asked his papa
to teach him to play the violin. This
his father did not feel inclined to do.
He was himself a violin-player in the
theater orchestra, and felt the life of an
ordinary musician an uncertain one and
not desirable for his son; but, the child
never gave up the idea of being a vio
linist, and would leave his play at any
time to stand near his father and eagerly
watch his practice.
At last, in 1872, when the boy was 6
years old, his father removed to Monte
video, where he played again in the
theater orchestra, whither the boy usual
ly accompanied him. Here Mauricio
begged so earnestly to study the violin
that his father, taking him at his word,
decided to gratify him, and said;
“ Well, my boy, if yon begin to study
the violin, yon will hare to carry the
business through.”
“ I shall do so, Pa|ia,” said the boy ;
and his lessons begar.
Ho was so small I and so ranch in
earnest I and his father spent hours
llending over the tiny figure, and guid
ing the boy’s little arm in the lmwiug.
And now take notice, all boys and girls
who “would so much love to play well,
but cau’t bear to practice. ” Great as
this child’s natural gifts are, he, at first,
practiced three and four hours faithfully
every day. To bo gifted, no doubt,
makes the work easier, but a certain
amount of real drudgery must be dono
one who succeeds in any art, no mat
ter how gifted he may be.
After four months’ study, Mnurieio
‘fcould play the scales—and in thirds, also
(quite difficult on tho violin) —as well
and as rapidly as his father; and, be
sides, he played so remarkably that his
father discovered him to bo really a
genius, as his name indicate and, and so ho
faithfully and strictly attended to the
boy’s teaching.
After fourteen mouths’ study, tho
father decided to allow the boy to givo
his first concert, but tearing lest his son
might not have the Helf-control necessary
for a successful public performance, he
took him to a little town—Paysander—
up the river, to make trial
The oonoert at Paysander entirely
satisfied the father of the boy’s nerve
and self-command, and, returning to
Montevideo, bo gave bis first concert
there to benefit tho unfortunate victims
of a railroad accident. Here Ills play
ing created a great excitement, and,
after that, every appearance of his in
üblic concerts was an ovation.
Since this modest beginning in the
South Ameriean town, tho boy lias been
petted and flattered by all Europe, al
though he was singularly unspoiled,
both Bon and father being of a generous
nature. But I like to think of him, in
childish grace and beauty, beginnw
his musical career with this kindly decU
He seems to mo capable of doing such a
thing nobly.
After the.concert at Montevideo, and
a grand concert at Rio Janeiro, he left
liis brothers and sisters, and his mother
—whose personal beauty he inherits—
and went with liis father to try liis fort
une hi the Old World.
Ho first went to Lisbon ; thence to
Madrid, where ho played before tin
King, and received no end of honors
and decorations; and from tliero to
Paris, where lie gave Ten'concerts.
Think Of it—sdAn’dfy' 10 yc:rrs old !
From this time—W7d- i -‘hu lwid private!
lessons from Leonard, in Paris. These
lessons hardly would have occupied more
than a year, if given without a break,
but they extended over a longer period,
during whioh ho traveled over idl Eu
rope, excepting Russia and Italy.
Everywhere ho met with great success.
Such is a meager history of this won
derful boy’s ohild-life—-enough, how
ever, to give us hope of a glorious man
hood for him, for Matu’ieio is not An i un
natural ly-precocious child—a forced hot •
house blossom—hut a healthy, fun
loving, boyish hoy, with buoyant ani
mal spirit, and as ready for wholesome,
fun as for earnest study; aud, withal,
certainly much more of a child tlinp the
average American hoy of liis age.
But, then, when his face is quiet, the
violin under his cliiu, and his bow in
motion, he is again something strangely
above us—a true musical genius.— St.
Nicholas.
THE USE OE WEALTH.
There are thousands of rich men who
are not skinflints, who have tho reputa
tion of being so, because they have nev
er been known to have done any special
good with their money. A man wlio is
worth $60,000 can do more to make him
self loved and respected by all with
whom ho comes in contact by tho judi
cious expenditure of SI,OOO in charity
than by giving the whole $50,000 after
he is dead. It seems as though it would
be mighty small consolation to a million
aire to leave money to some charitable
purpose after death, and be so confound
ed dead that he couldn’t see tho smiles
of happiness that his generosity had
created.
Suppose a millionaire who has never
had a kind word said of him except by
fawning hypocrites, who hope to get
some of his money, should lay cut a
beautiful park, worth $1,000,000. and
throw it open free to all, with walks,
drives, lakes, shade and everything.
Don’t you suppose, if he took a drive
through it himself and saw thousands of
people having a good time, and all look
ing their love and respect for him, that
his hcait wonld be warmed up and that
his days would be lengthened? Wouldn’t
every look of thanks be worth SI,OOO to
the man who had so much money that it
made him round-shouldered? Wouldn’t
he have more pleasure than he wonld in
cutting oil coupons with a lawn-mower ?
— Peck's Milwaukee Sun,
THE aIEEEUEIfCE.
Mic wanted to know the other day if
we could tell the difference between a
dromedary and the author of the “ Gal
ley Slave.” While we were computing
the multifarious differences there might
be he took shelter behind the well-top
and shouted: “ Because one’s all camel
and the other’s only Bartley Campbell.”
Yonkers Gazette.
Logic helps us to strip off the out
ward disguises of things, and to behold
and judge of them in their own nature.
HUBSCKII'IIdiV \’| li \r I XT FA OiY
f L.TiO |i*r Annum i ’/Is. VI. ".AW, ,)2,
GEN. EARTSUEE’S STORIES.
“ When I was a cadet,” said he, “ I
was one rainy day on sentinel duty, when
Gen. Scott, who was visiting the Point,
came by, wrapjied in a great military
cloak and carrying a huge umbrella. See
ing me pacing np and down in the rain,
the old gentleman’s kind heart induced
him to stop and say to me, * Young gent
leman, you will catch cold out in the
wet. Come under my umbrella, and
walk with me up to headquarters, when
I will have yon excused.’ I marched by
liis side in fear and trembling, and, to
my great relief, was not reprimanded by
the commandant. ”
Again he told us: “ 1 was once ordered
to the front to take part in a forward
movement under Gen. Shields. Shields,
he it known, had unquestionably kissed
the blarney-stone. I arrived with my
regiment in the evening, and at once re
ported at. the General’s tent. Thero were
a number of Colonelssittingandstanding
about the tout; and when I went in Gen.
Shields eiune forward to meet me, and,
putting his hand up to his mouth,
whispered in my ear, ‘l’m glad to seo
you h to,’ emphasizing tho you in a
complimentary manner. Presently an
other Colonel arrived and came in. when
Shields stepped up to him and wont
through the same motion. Then another
’rived with the samo result. When
w - wore all dismissed, with or
ders to report noxt morning nt
daybreak, wo bid the General good-flight
and walked outside together. When we
were out of ear-shot, said l, ‘Gentlemen,
l think I can tell each one of you what
Gen. Shields whispered to him.’ ‘Wlmt?
what’? asked they all. ‘Why,’said I, ‘ho
silLtfrty said, 1 1 tun glad to sec you hero.’
Every Colonol bowed assent. Gen.
'Shields bad politely and politicly ad
dressed to each one of us the samo grat
ifying formula, bnt next day wo fought
none Hie worse for that, although an oc
casional smile would break out.”
Again lio said : “I was ono timo dis
cussing in Washington with Gen. Sheri
dan tha real value of brevet rank. I
argued that brevets should be limited to
a very few. Sheridan contested that
thay ought to be generously bostowed
for meritorious services. We were in
dulging in a glass of punoli together. I
took up Sheridan’s gloss of. rightly com
pounded punch and-pour odjdiks contents
into tho water-pitcher. Trie re,’ J ex
claimed, ‘ I have illustrated the value of
a liberal system of brevets. Drink your
punch 1’”
HEARING Ills Olt'S EUNERAL SER
MON.
It is doubtless pleasant for a man to
read his own obituary, especially if it is
a first-class notice. Such cases have
happened, owing to tlio man being re
ported dead when ho was living. Some
years ago a man listened to his own
funeral sermon, no lived in Houthbury,
Ct., and was known as an inveterate
joker. “Old Sim,” as he was called, was
a stanch friend of Lorenzo Dow, a wan
dering preacher, noted for liiseccentrici
tiss and popular eloquence.
Old Sim—his namo was Simeon Mitch
ell—determined to have a funeral, a
monument, and a sermon from Dow.
He made his arrangements, and then
made believe die. Ho was laid out in
the old style—a copper’ cent on each
eye, a handsome shroud and a mahog
any coffin.
Tho meeting-house bell tolled as the
procession solemnly marched to tho
burying-ground. The coffin was depos
ited by the side of the newly-erected
tombstone, and Lorenzo Dow preached
such a funeral sermon as had never been
hoard before. It was witty, pathetic,
severe and complimentary.
Old Sim, lying in his coffin, heard his*
character dissected by an unsparing
hand. His virtues were praised and his
faults severely denounced. The “mourn
ers” laughed and cried. Probably a
more truthful sermon was never preached
in that old burying-ground. When Dow
had finished, Old'Sim rose np, declared
himself satisfied, and ordered all,
preacher and “mourners,” to return to
his house.
It was the strange freak of an eccen
tric man and of a more eccentrio preach
er. It just suited Dow, who was fond
of creating a sensation. It must, how
ever, be said, in justioe to the preacher’s
memory, that he, generally, so used his
“sensations” that the people were ben
efited by them.
Tin? question what degree of heat )
necessary to destroy trichinae in swine’s
flesh is of importance. A G?rnsan ex
pert says that if the pieces put into a pot
to boil are large, trichina in the middle
are not certain to be killed by such de
gree of cooking as they are usually sub
jected to. As long as meat retains the
pink color known as “rare ” it has been
insufficiently cooked to destroy the par
asites. Smoking and pickling the meat
are of no use whatever.
Mas. Fennell says her minister’s
sermons are “ a little obscure, but,” she
says, “ I do love to sit and watch tho
lineages of his face 1”
War should you uevnr put a bib on a
child who has a |mxji appetite ? It will
be sure to go again it his stomach.
JtLRA SASTRUtB.
Tn English sparrow- ** Ham I driv
en all the other birds fit* this town ?
Well, I should twitter."
Said tho. General to the Major, “ What
is your rank, sir ? ” and the Major re
plied, "lam# Major, General.”
Wsr moors fur Orlmas—fete dsH(Ma<s Bva;
On fashion’s atrsate va find am,
And thay osar “ Old Ortmss’s anal,*
All battoaa&Am Lahiud ’sas.
“ Somethino to eat?” Tramp—
“ Yes’m. Bnt I don’t want no quail,
’cause it’s been awful hard with ’em this
winter, and they have had to feed on all
sorts of piaen berries.”
A wish father to his son— “ Now,
John, I do not object to your being a
fool and an idiot. Be a fool and t n idiot
if you want to, but what I do not wish
you to do is to let everybody know it.”
A omm-cest stamp for a circalatre,
A ou*-oen* stamp for s newspspair*,
A tbreeosnt stamp for a waled lcttalre,
All licked on the right comaire—
Lick, brothers lick, lick with csire,
On the right-hand side, not everywbalrs.
Unless you want the Postmwtaire
To make things hot and cuss snd swsire.
" With neatness,” he remarked, as he
shot down hill on a bob-sled, “ and dis
patch,” ho groaned the next day, point
ing to a 15-ccnt strip of court-plaster on
liis nasal appendage and classical fore
head.
A young lady and her father were
looking at a druggist, who was very
nicely balancing the delicate little scales
on which the prescription -was being
weighed. “ How precise I how fine !
how little 1” said the girl. “ Yes,” said
the father, “ but ho will not do so with
tho bill"
Im the spring the maiden’s fancy
Turns to thoughts of making hay—-
With a matrimonial view she
Fllrteth much and play a croquet;
But the young man does not tumble,
And, with mercenary view,
He consideis that it’s cheaper
To pay board for one than two.
“My love for you is like that glow
ing fire,” said Adolphus, as he blinked
at the burning anthracite and then at
tho object of hi* affections. “ What a
grato foil,” alio murmured, and the
spark got quite worm trying to think
how she spelled tho sentence.
In the Senate Chamber at Washing
ton, the Chaplain offered the. Lord’s
prayer. When he hod finished, Dool
mey leaned over to Josonby, and re
marked: “He stole that prayer, and I’ll
bet a * boodle ’ on it, for I heard the
same ideas expressed in Enreka at a fu
neral over two years ago.”
A Dutchman in Albany went out to
liis milkman in tho street with a dish in
each hand, instead of one as usual. The
dispenser of attenuated milk asked him
if he wished to fill both vessels ? The
Dutchman replied, suiting the action to
tho word, “Dis is for de miliuk, and dis
for do water—and I will mix dem so as
to shnto mine self.”
“Yes,” said the witness, “I remem
ber tho defendant’s mother crying on the
occasion referred' to. She writ weeping .
with her left eye—the only one she has
—and the tear were rnnning down her
right cheek.” "What!” exclaimed the
Judge, “ how conld that bo ?” “ Please,
your Honor,” said tho witness, “she
was awfully oroBS-eyed.”
A TmimniNO exhibition of nerve waa
furnished by a Cincinnati house-painter
Homo time ago. Wo quote from the
Commercial of that city: Bernard
Koehler and Fritz Ilisgon began paint
ing a large house at Betts street and
Central aveuuo. Three o’clock in the
uf tomoon found them close up under the
eaves of tho house, and sixty-five feet
from tho ground. They had just fin
ished the surface within reach, and had
started to lower tho scaffold a few feet.
When the required distance had been
reoched, Hisgen callod to his partner to
hang on to the rope until ho (Hisgen)
tied his own, when he would come over
and perform a like service for him.
Hisgen hod just completed his own knot,
when Koehler cried out; “Come over
quick; I can’t hold it.” Hisgen, as
quickly as possible, started across the
aerial bridge, but had not gone two steps
when he saw tho man let go his hold,
and felt the ladder give way beneath his
feet. Ab he began the fall, in the energy
of desperation he, with both hands,
grasped the al most-smooth top of the
fourth-story window cornice and there
hung in the air, a distance of sixty feet
from the pavoment. He then gave an
exhibition of nerve that terrified every
ono who saw it. Placing the toe of one
ltoot against the window frame he gave
liis body a slight pendulum motion away
from the house. A second push gave
him a better impetus, and as he swung
on the return toward the window he re
leased his hold and went crashing
through the gloss safely to the floor
of tho fourth-story room, from whenee
he immediately looked out through the
aperture he had made to see what had
become of his companion. Koehler had
not been quite so fortunate. As he went
shooting through the air he caught tbe
hanging rope with both hands and less
ened his speed all the way down at the
expense of all the cuticle of his palms,
which waa burned off by the friction.
He landed in a sitting posture on the
sidewalk, and was taken to the hospital
with a pair of very sore hips.
A little 3-year-old busied herself on
Sunday in looking at the pictures in the
Bible, and the one representing the
drowning erf Pharaoh, his horse* and
chariots, captivated him to snoh an ex
tent that he at once begaa ta play horse
with his sister. ‘* Way," said his mother,
“Johnny shouldn’t play horse on Sun
day ! ” “Well there’s a horse in the
Bible,” was the reply, and that seemed
to settle it.
The disgusted man who for the first
time tasted caviare puckered his mouth
and pronounced it to be “decomposed
liirdaliot so weak that the cook couldn’t
tire a hole through the bread.”