Newspaper Page Text
a wtmmtmm malula
m BMttt . RUL
\ Lffkgrmgk tWUliin twH*,
mi; • krm jk u Mi
VteNMMrvMMUMtat
Wfawt la tto Mtilffct wtetar
WIM y-cuu* folks go to JZfßl' sdftMi
,0 Aa'ftttoklado’tradsr;
w br* riUsf* foMlpa hr ra' Ml
Tte*r kiatd of kanakas iUMc,
TMn llred Mehstaboi
And booont young Pbll*&4r.
MoboUbelvnsjratraswrat
An* fair ec rammer weather;
She bed the oateet lratie feel
Tbet ever trod in leather.
An* then those mild, soft ejee o* lenn
Wy! elder wem*t no clearer—
Tlwy made Phllasder'e Tleage burn
Whenever he eot near her.
Philander he wne tall an* thin,
A kind o' slender feller;
Be bed a sort o’ goelln chin.
Hie hair wui long an' yeller.
I>reet lx. hie go-to-meettn’ doe*,
A stendin' collar bpartin’,
He went down croaa-lote Sunday nights,
To Deacon Spencer’s, oourttn*.
There down he sot afore the Are,
A thinkln’ an’ a lookin’;
He praised the Deacon’s sheep an’ raws.
He praised her mother’s oookln’.
He talked all round the tender pint,
But, somehow, couldn’t do it;
His WQjrds got kind o’ out o’ Jint
yf . Af|re he oould git through It
*Twus twelve otelook me Sunday night,
' blarin’ fire was roarin’.
The old folks hed gone off to bed.
The Deacon, he was snorin’.
Around the time-worn room the light
Fell kind o’ soft an’ rosy;
The old pine settle It was drawn
Up by the fireplace cosy.
Mehetabel sot on one end,
Philander he sot by her.
An’, with the old tongs In his
Xep pokin’ at the fire.
He tried to tell her how he felt,
It sot him in s flutter;
The sweat it jest rolled down his faoa,
Like drops o’ melted batter.
So there they sot an’ talked about
The moonshine an’ the weather.
An’ kep’ a kind o’ hitchin’ up,
Until they hitched together.
The Deacon snored away in bed,
Philander he grew bolder;
He slid his arm around her head
An’ laid it on his shoulder.
An’, when she lifted up her eyes
An’ looked right into hls’n,
It seemed ez if Philander’s heart
Into his mouth hed risen.
He sot an’ trembled fur a while,
She looked so sweet an’ clever.
Some npeerlt whispered in his ear:
** Jest do it now or never I”
Sez he: 11 My dear Mehetabel,
My house an’ home are waitin’;
An’ ain’t it gettin’ to be time
That you an’ I were matin’?”
An’ then sea she, jest loud enough
Fur him to understand her:
“ Ef you kiu.be oontent with me,
I guess it is, Philandar 1”
The Deacon woks up from his dreams.
Sez he: “ There’s sumpthin’ brewin'.”
He peeked out through the bedroom door
To Bee what they were doin’.
An’, when he saw ’em sittin’ there
i. -,- p Lw© leetle lambs in olover,
He almost snickered right, out loud—
It tickled him over.
He nudged his.wife an* told h\ too,
An’ my! how It did plesso her. ’
An’ then they talked ’emselves to sleep,
An’ snored sway like Ceazcr.
PkTander sol there all night long;
He didn’t think o’ goin’
Till, when the day began to dawn.
He heerd the roosters crowin’.
An’, when he started over home
Alone across the holler,
He kep’s talkin’ to himself
An’ fumblin’ with his collar.
Sez he, “ Ther’ never wus a chap
That did the bizness slicker
An* then ho gin himself a slap.
An’ my 1 how he did snicker.
An’ now blue-eyed Mehetabel
Is married to Philander,
An’ villago gossips idly tell
That ne’er was weddin’ grander.
The peaoeful, moonlight winter nights
Hev not yet lost ther’ splendor;
The young folks go to singin’ school
An’ still get kind o’ tender,
♦ ;
Away down East, where mountain rills
Are through the hollers flowin’,
Where cattle browse upon the bills
When summer winds are blowin’.
— Fr&m Poems of the Farm and Fireside.
THE JILT.
In the pleasant village of Aoton, situ
ated near the city, on the Somersetshire
side of the Avon, resided, some two
years since and for aught we know re
sides there otill, an elderly gentleman
whose household affairs were superin
tended by perfect paragon of a niece—a
lovely and accomplished young lady,
just emerging from her teens, and
graced with that most appreciated of all
oharms in this nnromantio age, the pos
session of a small fortune. On her ar
riving at the age of 21, she was entitled
to the sum of £I,OOO. Need it be said
that, with these attractions, numerous
were the enamored swains sighing at the
feet of the fair Celia, who, however,
turned a deaf ear to their solicitation*,
and restricted her affections to a favorite
kitten and a “ love of a spaniel,” till at
length a stalwart knight, sturdy and
bold, entered the lists, end soon dis
tanced all competitors fos the hand of
our heroine and her £1,004.
Matters progressed favorably, and,
after a time, the fair Celia began to con
sider the eyes of her knight better worth
looking into and his countenance more
attractive than that of her juvenile grim
slkin, and even the pet, Flora, was
neglected. Numerous were their walks,
Dovn ia th. Tile whore the sweet witers gliding,
r. murmuring itmro. ripple through the dvk
fro re;
And sundry were the ejaculations of the
knight—“ How beautiful!” though
s v they waf e anplied to the scen
ery or Ins companion must still remain
an open question. Some six months
elapsed, and our scene now opens in the
loveliest month of the year warm,
glowing, sunny June. It was the eve of
the Ist of June, and the knight and the
“fair ladye” were taking their accus
tomed walk. The moonlight lay bright
upon the river, and the water trembled
beneath it like timid lips beneath the
> first kiss.
A nightingale began to sing in the
ELLIJAY 0| COURIER.
W. Jl\ COTVIRSt
Editor and PabUaher. f
valley, which had derived its name from
the inimitable songster, and another an
swered it from an adjaoent grove. It
was a night in which one not only loves,
but is beloved, in which one not only longs
for blessedness, but will be blessed. The
knight drew the “ladye” closer to his
side, and more compressed was the pres
sure on her delicately rounded arm as
he poured his vows of affection and un
alterable love into her willing ear. His
advances were not discouraged, for the
happy pair returned to the uncle, who
doubtless said, in the language of old
stage comedy gentlemen, “Take her,
you dog, take her, though you don’t de
serve her.”
• • * • •
Time rolled on; four times had the
seasons changed, but no change had
taken place in the. relative positions of
Celia and her knight. They were still
affianced, bat alas, for the fickleness of
woman ! snob was not long to continue
the case. A Mr. D , who in early
life had exchanged the quiet and roman
tic soenery of his native village for the
busy, bustling soenee of Manchester, re
turned to Aoton for the purposo of
visiting his parents, and in the course of
hia sojourn was introduced to our fair
out fickle heroine. Verily, if Cupid shot
the dart, he has mnch to answer for; but
certain it is that the yonng linen-draper
created, unwittingly, an interest in the
breast of the lady far deeper than that
she felt for her former lover 1 But, alas!
the flame was not mutual.
Whether Mr. D was aware of the
engagement subsisting between Miss
Celia and her knight, or whether hia
affections were of a platonic rather than
ardent caste, is uncertain; but. never
theless, when bis leave of absence ex
pired, he took leave of the damsel with
all conceivable coolness and unconcern,
and deserted the charming Celia for
calicoes and oounter-jtunping. Poor
girl! the shock to her susceptible affec
tions was insupportable. She pined and
withered, walked about the house with
an absent, distracted, melanoholy air,
took to singing doleful ditties, com
mencing with “ Sweet Blighted Lily,”
and, in short, was fast becoming a prey
to “a lean and yellow melancholy.”
In vain the assiduous knight, who lit
tle suspected the cause of his fair one’s
misery, redoubled his attentions. In
vain he entreated her to put a termina
tion to his doubts and fears, and crown
his happiness by beooming Mrs. K .
No ; the image of her knight was sup
planted in her faithful heart by her dear,
her darling Mr. D ; and finally, when
she became of age, she quietly sent a
letter to the yonng gentleman at Man
chester, avowing her predilection for
him, and offering herself for his accept
ance, “for better, for worse,” as the case
might be. As soon as the Manohester
man received the letter he at once out
the calico trade, and came as fast as the
wings of love and an express train could
bring him to throw himself at the lady’s
feet. Fortune was favorable.
The uncle and guardian of the lady
were temporarily absent; and (we blush
to say it) the faithless Celia and her lin
en-draper lover were nnited in the indis
soluble bonds of holy matrimony. Swift
ly passed the hours, and they awaked
from their “dream of young love.” The
Manohester man explained to his sorrow
ing lady that oircumstanoes compelled
him to return to that city, and that it
would be highly inoonvenient for him to
take her with him just then. Wiping
away her tears with his snowy cambric
handkerchief (a choice sample of a re
cent consignment), he besought her for
a short time to keep their marriage se
cret ; and, assuring her of fidelity to
their pledged vows, said he should
shortly return and claim her as his
bride. They parted. Mr. D re
turned to his business; the deceived
knight was still constant in his visits,
and thus ends the second chapter of this
eventful history.
*******
Two days only had passed since the
departure of Mr. D , but in that brief
interval the train had been laid to the
mine which was to explode beneath the
feet of the unsuspecting Celia. The un
cle was informed of his niece’s secret
marriage, and while she was walking in
the valley we have before spoken of,
musing on her absent husband, and
meditating what she should say to her
present lover (for her knight accompa
nied her in her walk), he was preparing
to burl anathemas on her head on her
return. The son had sunk below the
horizon, and the silvery beams of the
moon were shining on the tops of the
tall trees, when the pair bent their steps
homeward.
The hour, the scene, all concurred in
reminding the knight of the day when
liia lady love first, blushing, owned she
loved him, and again he passionately
entreated her to name “ the day, the
eventful day," which should turn gloom
into gladness, and make his heart leap
with hilarious joy. Instead of informing
him of what had taken place, she owned
his passion was returned, and he accom
panied her to her residence, elate with
hope at the imagined prospect of his de
sires being gratified by the liestowal of
her hand and fortune. Judge of his as
tonishment, howvr, when, on wrrjring
ELLIJAY, GA., THURSDAY.SEPTEMBER 15, 1881.
at the door, an outburst of fury on the
part of the unde too soon revealed to
him the terrible truth.
The revulsion of feeling was too great;
he waa distracted; he tore hia hair; and,
with a wild gaze on the transfixed Celia,
he rushed from the house. Sleep was
out of the question; and, like Adam, he
still lingered around his lost paradise.
Meantime our heroine had to endure the
reproaches of her incensed guardian,
who even proceeded to personal violenoe;
and in the dead of night she packed up
her worldly goods, not forgetting the
£I,OOO, determined on the first blush of
morn to be “ off and away.”
She carried her determination into et
fect, and at “ early dawn” left the house
and proceeded on her road to Bristol.
She had not taken many steps, when, to
her surprise, she met the disconsolate
knight who had so hurriedly “out his
stiok” the previous evening, looking a
perfect picture of woe-begone wretched
ness. Who shall fathom the heart of
woman!—her partiality for him revived,
she longed to console the wretched wan
derer, and to his frantio entreaty she re
plied. in accents sweet, “My own dear
knight, I am afraid I have been t little
fool. Can you forgive your poor, un
happy, wretched Celia V Her overbur
dened heart oould say no more; she
swooned, and was caught in the arms of
her faithful knight, who, with many a
fond, endearing expression and sundry
pressings to his bosom, recalled her to
life.
“ What shall we do ?” murmured the
unhappy girl. “Cut and run,” sug
gested her lover, though not, perhaps,
in these very forcible words. Some
thing, indeed, he said about flying with
him in a state of felicity, declaring she
could not think of doing suoh a thing,
and, finally,
Whlipertng, “ I’ll new consent”—consented.
They fled, carrying with them the
£I,OOO sterling, and the disconsolate
husband does not know where to find
either the fugitive lovers or the winged
riches. Moreover, the clandestinely
contracted alliance being displeasing to
the lady’s friends, they will not assist
her liege lord and master in discovering
her whereabouts.
THE MAX WHO WAB Mil ED.
“ Beally, but I hope you will excuse
the intrusion,” said the shabby-looking,
man, as the insurance agent looked np.
“ You are excusable, sir. What did
you wish ?”
“Well—you—see—l’m a bit mixed.
Was it Napoleon or Washington who
crossed the Alps?”
“Napoleon, of course.”
“Just so—thanks. I was inclined
that way myself, but yet I knew that
Gen. Washington was always scooting
around, and he might have taken it into
his head to cross the Alps. Good-day,
sir.”
He passed down the hall thirty feet,
and then returned and protested:
“ Say, don’t think ill of me, but I am
still mixed up—dreadfully mixed. Will
you answer me one more question ?”
“Yes.”
“ Was it Nero who commanded the
sun to stand still ?”
“No; it was Joshua.”
“ I had an idea that it was Joshua,
bnt I didn’t dare put up money on it.
Nero was always fiddling around, you
know, and I had a dim idea that he
might have taken a wliaok at the sun.
Very much obliged to you, sir.”
This time he went half-way down
stairs and returned on tip-toe. The
agent looked np and saw him in the
door, and sharply queried :
“Well?”
“ Mixed again I” pleaded the stranger.
“ Say, I want to ask you just one more
question.”
“Yes.”
“ Did yon ever lend a man a dollar to
help him on his way to Columbus to see
his dying wile ?”
“ Never 1 Yon are thinking of old
Diogenes. He used to shell ont to every
dead-beat who came along.”
“ Mixed again, by thunder I” mut
tered the man; and as he passed down
stairs he took great pains to set his feet
down on each step like a man who had
bet on three of a kind and found a flush
taking his money. —Detroit Free Pratt.
TO KEEP SHADED PEACES QBEEIT.
Especially in the front yards of dwell
ings, both in town and country, which
are much shaded, we often see the
ground completely bare, not a living
thing being perceptible. Sometimes
there are many nearly-nnde, straggling
limbs lying upon the ground or very
near it, which are unsightly and every
way worthless, that ought to be out
away. This would give room for the
growing there of some plant or vine
that would be adapted to it, and which
wonld not only cover the naked spot and
make it a *• living green,” but would be
adding very much to the general appear
ance of the premises. The best vine
for this is undoubtedly the periwinkle.
It will grow almost anywhere in the
shade, if the proper attention is given
to it, and not otherwise. It is a beauti
tiful vine and will densely cover the
ground, producing nearly the whole sea
son a pretty blue flower. Weeds, how
ever. are its deeilr newts. •
' OX IT A JOKH.
A tailor not far from Pet boost lone
got hold of a red-hot idt-e. He heated
up his goose to tire b list ring point and
placed it on a bench at ijAdoor with the
sign reading, “Only a atrpence.” In a
few minutes along eaue an ancient
looking Tmclita, with ta ey* out for
bargains, and, as he saw the goose and
read the sign, he made no his mind that
ho had struck it rich. He naturally
reached ont to heft his bargain, and
•that was where he gave himself away.
The tailor almost fell down with his
merriment, but it did not-last over sixty
seconds. At the end of*4t time the
victim entered the a
sort of gymnastic pert mance which
did not end until the tailor was a sadly
mashed man and his shof in the greatest
confusion. The two were fighting in
front when an officer oeme along and
nabbed both, and both were brought
before his Honor togethir. The tailor
appeared with a black qja and a finger
tied up in ared rag, and the Israelite had
a scratched nose and was minus two
front teeth.
“Well?” queried the court, as the
pair stood gazing at him.
“Vhell, I shall ehpeak first,” replied
the tailor. “I like to ‘have a shoke
'sometimes, und so I put dot goose oudt
dere. Id vhas all in ftps, and I am
werry sorry."
“ I oouldn’t see what the fun cum in,”
said the other. “ Dis yen han’ am all
burned to a blister, an’ I (Won’t be.able
to use it for two weeks.” *
“Did you put that awt goose out
there for a joke f” queried the court.
“Yaw—it vas only a shoke.”
“ And were you jolting wheu you en
tered the shop and madei things hum ?”
he asked of the other.
“ No, boss, I wasn’t. I am an old
man and not muoh gibejt to laffin’ an*
cuttin’ up. When I let go of dat goose
I made up my mind to mash dat tailor
flatter dan a billyard ball. It was my
first font for char forty y’rs, but I
got de bulge on him in’was usin’ him
up when de offioer stepped in. No, •
boss, I wasn’t jokin’ ’bout dat time.”
“ Were you very tickletif’ he queried
of the tailor.
“Vhell, I was tickled itil he pitch
into me." t'
“You wees the only one who had any
fun ont of it TANARUS”
“Vhell, I s’pose so.”
“ Then you’ll have to foot the bill. I
shall let him go and fine yon 40 shil
lings.”
" Do ish pooty high.”
“ Yes; but it was a rich joke, you
know.”
“ Maybe she vhas, but I guess I let
dot goose cool off now. Here is 40
shillings, und now I shall go home. I
bid yon goot day.”— London paper.
WHITE TLAINLT.
The rejection of the manuscript of an
unfamiliar author is perhaps oftener on
account of illegible handwriting than of
lack of merit. There is no greater tor
ture for an editor than to have to de
cipher a bad manuscript and the sense,
especially of a poem, is frequently en
tirely lost in the tangled mass of
wretched penmanship. Sir Francis
Jeffrey knew so well the difficulty of
forming a correct judgment of an artiole
by a reading in manuscript, that, when
he sent in his first article after he had
retired from the Edinburgh Bexriew, he
had an understanding with Napier, his
successor, that it should not be read till
it appeared in the proof. A few years
ago the editor of the Saturday Review
was accustomed to have every artiole
which appeared as if it might be worthy
acceptance put into type before deciding
upon it, for, as Charles Lamb says, there
is no such raw and unsatisfactory read
ing as an artiole in manuscript. The
time practice is followed by the editor
•f Harper’s Magazine, it is said. Even
authors of wide experience, like Thomas
Moore and Maoauley, were seldom able
to form a judgment of their own works
until they had seen how they looked in
print.— Boston Herald.
investors nr bnqeaxd and
AMERICA.
Americans have earned a reputation
for the number if not tor the caliber of
their inventions. Perhaps their suocess
is as mnoh due to the prevailing disposi
tion to believe in an alleged disoovery
and to give it a trial In England an
inventor who proclaims his invention is
looked upon like a ducking hen who has
laid her egg. Doubtless there are occa
sions when he is over noisy and un
conscionable. Inventors have had
more grievances and have apprised the
world of them more than any other class
of men. Here they are regarded as
bores; in America they are entertaining,
and everybody listens to them. That is
oartly why America often a better field
for the propagation of disoovery. But
Mr. Chamberlain trod justly, as we
believe, on one of our favorite forms of
npiti/inal self-depredation when he de
nied that the Americans surpassed bs in
in the more solid and striking of the in
ventions which the world’s registry of
fice records. —London Times.
It costs more to avenge wrongs than
§0 tiilQL
BEX BUTLER'S DOO.
“There is more romanoe about my l
business than you think. I oould tell j
you a story about Ben Butler’s dog |
Tiger that would open your eye*. Per
haps you won’t believe it, but it’s so, i
every word of it I told you a while ago
that I thought £SO was a big reward for
finding a dog. It cost $26,000 to look
for Ben Butler’s dog, and yet Tiger has
never been found. The case waa
this way; Home five or six years
ago Butlor had a very fine Siberian
bloodhound that he prized very highly,
and wliioh had been given to him by a
Boston friend. One day the dog was
missing, and Mr. Butler was very angry.
He advertised extensively for Tiger, but
for many days ho oonld hear nothing
from his favorite. At length the dog
was brought home by a young man, and j
Mr. Butlor willingly paid him $5 as a
reward. Soon afterward Tiger was again
missing, and the same agony was suf
fered by Mr. Butler. Again the same
young man returned the dog, and Mr.
Butler again shelled out aV. But this
time he tied up the dog, and ordered the
man to keep an extra watch upon his
kennel. In three weeks that dog was
again missing, and no searoh that oould
be made turned him np. Mr. Butler
had the young man who had twioe found
him hunted np by the police, and ac
cused him of having stolen Tiger. The
charge couldn’t be proven, however,
and then detectives were pat to work on
the esse. They soon reported that the
dog had left the city. Mr. Butler, vis
iting the Treasury Department, had %
talk with Mr. Whitney, who put several
members of the secret service on the
track of that dog. First they got a clew
of Tiger away up in New York State.
Then they heard from him in Portland,
Me., and again in Indianapolis, Ind.
They visited many cities, and the people
thought they were looking for counter
feiters and bogus plates. They were in
reality after Butler’s dog. But after a
search of nearly a year they gave up the
chase, and Tiger has never to this day
been heard from.” —Famous Dog Catch
er, in Washington Republican.
TREADIXQ WATER,-
The Indians on the Missouri river,
when they/have occasion to traverse
that impetuous stream, invariably tread
water just as the dog treads it. The
natives of Joanna, an island on the coast
of Madagascar, young persons of both
■exes, walk the water, carrying fruit and
vegetables to ships becalmed, or it may
be lying-to, in the offing miles away.
Some Croomen whose canoe upse tbe
fore my eyes in the seaway on the coast
of Africa walked the water, to the safe
keeping of their lives, with the utmost
facility; and I witnessed negro ohildren
on other occasions doing so at a very
tender age. At Madras, watching their
opportunity, messengers, with letters se
cured in an oilskin cap, plunged into
the boiling surf, and made their way
treading the water to the vest els out
side, through a sea in which an ordinary
European boat will not live. At the
Gape of Good Hope men used to pro
ceed to the vessels in the offing through
the mountain billows, treading the water
as they went with the utmost security ;
and yet here on our own shores, and
amid smooth waters, men, women and
children perish like flies annually, when
a little properly-directed effort—treading
the water as I have said—would haply
suffice to resoue them every one.—
Nature.
HE MAD MIB OBEDEXTIALB.
It happened in San Antonio, and only
a short time ago. A seedy-looking
“cuss,” with a hungry look about him,
walked in<jp the offioe of the Sunset
route and asked to‘see Col. Andrews,
the Vice President o! the road, on im
portant business of a private character.
“I want a free pass to get out into
the country to pick cotton,” said the di
lapidated man after the door was looked
on the inside.
“Yon are a newspaper man, I sup
pose,” responded Col. Andrews.
No, I ain’t, but I might as well be.
I need fresh clothes, can’t make a living
in the blasted town, and haven’t had a
square meal in a month.”
“Well, if yon ain’t careful you will
be a journalist, sure enough,” remarked
CoL Andrews, as he opened a.drawer
and took ont a blank pass to fill up.—
Galveston News.
A wretch standing at the foot of the
gallery stairs in an English theater,
filled with 4,000 people, cried ont:
“Let’s turn out the gas.” No sooner
said done. The ruffian also threw
a wooden bar across the stairs so that
the people, when the gae went out. were
seized with a uanin, tumbled over it, In
juring nearly twenty, one of whom died,
and several had to be taken to the hos
pital What kind of an interior inch a
being possesses could not be decided ex
actly, were he even dissected alive.
“Wnse,” asked the teacher, “was
the greatest obstacle Washington en
countered in crossing the Delaware?’’
And the smart bad boy thought ior a
minute, and then made answer, “ The
teU-M.”
SEBSSSZZKS YOU Vl.-N0.33.
HOW TO CATCH A POLAR
BEAR.
“ I do so pity those men on the Rodg
ers,’* remarked Mrs. Max, passing the
Major the honey, which he always in
sisted upon having with his rioe oaken
"Tea, indeed,” replied the Major,
who was a trifle eynioal that morning,
having burned his mouth with coffee.
“ Tee, indeed, my dear, the life of an
Arctio explorer must be hard. They are
so isolated from the world. Just imag
i ine, if you can, the horror of living for
j three years out of the dust and wind
: and fog and rain of our glorious cli
j mate; of not meeting all that time the
| man at your club who thinks the of toner
! a story is told the better it is ; of being
without the consolation afforded you by
the busted stock operator, who knows
you are glad of on opportunity to lend
him S2O; of being where millinery and
Japanese decoration stores do not daily
intrap ono’s wile; of being—”
“ Why, Major, how you do talk I I
was only thinking of the horrid things
the Rodgers’ orew will have to do to get
their bear steaks.”
“How’s that?” asked the Major, in
stautly interested over the subject of
steaks, whioh he holds of much greater
importance than the Irish land troubles.
“What I know about it,” resumed
Mrs. Max, “ I read in a fashion paper,
and it ought to be true.”
“It certainly ought to be, Mrs. Max,
if only on aooount of itft old age. ”
“ Well, the artiole said,” continued
Mrs. Max, pretending to ignore the
Major's slur on her favorite reading,
“ that Arctic explorers, when they want
to kill a polar bear, plant a big knife in
the ioe with the blade sticking up. They
daub the blade with blood, and the bear
oomea along and licks it and cuts bis
tongue. It is so oold that he doesn’t
feel the out, but, tasting his own blood,
he continues to lick the knife until his
tongue is all frayed, and ho bleeds to
death. Isn’t it dreadful ? ”
“ Qu. A your fears, my dear,” said the
Major, 'hen his wife had finished.
“ That is the way they killed the bear
when the story was first published, but
in the last twenty years an improvement
has been made whioh I will tell you
about, if you will kindly give me juet a
drop more coffee, with oold milk this
time. The way the thing is done is as
follows: When Oapt Berry, of the
Rodgers, wants s polar bear for dinner,
he gives a Midshipman a copper bed
spring and a chunk of salt pork. The
Midshipman compresses the spring per
fectly flat, wraps tho pork around it
tight, and holds it so until it freezes
solid. Then the frozen pork, stuffed
with the bed-spring, is thrown out to
the nearest iceberg, where it is prompt
ly swallowed by a polar liear. When
the heat of the bear's stomaoh thaws out
the pork, it releases the spring, whioh
flies out, and the bear dies from a pain
in his side. ”
“Major," said Mrs. Max, with much
warmth, “ I don’t beliove that story is
true.”
“No, my dear, and you won’t until,
in a few years, you see it in some fash
ion paper, and then you will swear by
it.”— San Francisco Chronicle
TALI, LYING.
Four Kentucky printers met one day
over a free lunch, and one began boast
ing about having gained a prize at a
type-setting competition. He modestly
put the figure at 2,000 ems per hour.
“Wal, that’s a mighty poor show, i
reckon,” said No. 2, contemptuously.
"I could stick type together quicker
than that with my eyes shut—about
5,000 ems is what I can do.” No. 3 :
“ Five thousand ems an hour 1 Wal, I
guess, where I last slung type there was
a man who gobbled up copy so fast that
he kept a small boy going all day run
ning back'ards and for’ards for fresh
supplies. You’ve seen a buggy wheel
spin round with a fast-trotting cob in
front of it, when the spokes looked like
streaks of cold lightning? Wal, when
that man was setting type, he moved so
fast that you oould never tell what he
was like. He was a oloud of mist In
one day that man set up— ’’ No. 4, who
had not hitherto spoken, here struck in :
“ You really don’t know what that man
was like ?” “ No; we worked alongside
eaoh other five months, and during that
time I never once got a good look at his
face, and then I had to send in my
checks, for the wind caused by his rapid
movements gave me such dreadful rheu
matics that I was never well for two
days together.” “You’re quite sure
you would not know that man again ?”
continued No. 4, calmly fixing his eye
upon the narrator. “ No, I’ve just told
you.” “Wal, I know what you’ve been
telling us is a fact, for I’m that man I”
A umi 4-year-old girl wanted to go
to Bunday-sehool, so her mother taught
her the verse of scripture, ** The Lord
is my shepherd, I shall not want,” and
let her go. This is the way she repeated
her text: “ The Lord is my shepherd,
but I don’t want nothing.”
Wht is the hoase of a tidy wife like a
motion to adjourn ? You give it up ?
£•cause it m ttmn is
PLMABA&TRIBM,
Pbmuom at “ rare old chiaa” SM
often stuck-cup people.
Bucmmsiin rarely good paesne,
and yet they are always forging.— Bo+
too Vowrirr.
Tn male idiot wow arranges his hair
his forehead. —Harrisburg Telegraph.
“ Mamma, what are twins made fori'*
asked e tittle girl the other day. Heg
preaocioua elder brother replied: “Bo
that cannibals may eat philopenas.”
Wire* Rabelais was on hi* death-bed,
a consultation of physicians was called.
“ Dear gentlemen,” said the wit to the
doctors, raising his languid head, “let
me die a natural death.”
“ War, air,” said a client to his law
yer, “ you are writing my bill an very
rough peper.” “ Never mind.” wee the
lawyer’s reply, “ it will have to be filed
before it comes into court.”
“ Mamma,” said a 5-year old, the other
day, “ 1 wish you wouldn’t leave me to
take care of baby again. He wee so bad
I had to eat all the sponge cake and two
jars of raspberry jam to amuse him.”
Said a parent to his little son, who
had committed some net of indiscretion:
“Do you know that I am going to whip
you?” “Tee,” said the boy, “I sup
pose you are, because you are bigger
than I am I”
Tiinncs who wear bangs may profit by
a perusal of this:
Ohthb*ng! Tho terrible bang! •
How over the forehead they dangle and hang;
Or, plastered with paata, with motasaes add greater
How the curly cues stick like a door-mat’s incroaae J
y God made the forehead a temple of thought.
The devil made banga to set it at naught
The following letter was received by
an undertaker from an afflicted widower:
“Bur-my waif is ded and wonts toba
berried to-morrow at Wonor klock. U
nose wairo to dig the hole—by the siad
of two other waifs—let it be deep.”
“Tins isn’t a menagorie,” sharply ob
served an irascible deacon to a man who
was frying to force a passage through
t crowd at a church doorway. “ No, I
presume not,” returned the stranger, “car
they wouldn't leave any of the auimala
to block up the entrance.”
An exchange says: “Of the 600 young
ladies attending the Elmira Female Col
lege no two can agree as to what they
would do in case they saw a bear. Now,
this is a libel ou the young ladies, for,
were he well dressed and respectable, at
least three-fourths of them would wait
with curious impatience to see if he pro
posed to hug them.”
William Peters, of Arkansas, sat
himself down on the steps of a oountry
church and said there should be no
preaching there that Sunday. After
William had received a bullet in the leg
he vacated, and the services were begun.
The text waa : “ Why do the heathen
rage?"
Shu, (ban the bar (tha tavern bar),
That bar to rUing hop#;
M n k—v tram aU that eoUe,
Dm only bar of Map.
-rti but * trp front bar Brat named
Ditto tha prlaonar’a bar;
It la the eand bar in lifa’e atraam
Where many wrecked are.
Itle the bar wbero you’ll be shaved,
Clean M the barber’s ebave.
Of money, honor, health and pence—
Oh, bah 1 be no bar elave.
vAufon Transcript.
-- at
THE PEOPLE WHO DKIWT.
There are in every largo city a class of
drifting people, to whom a definite and
permanent abiding plaoe would be in
tho nature of a prison ; people who
would bo embarrassed by being tabu
lated with that announcement of
respectability, an engraved door-plate,
or by being ombalmed in tho city di
rectory.
They nre tho rolling stones of society
who gather up considerable social moss
in their course and live the life of versa
tility, of color, of light, and if it is not
the life of phenomenal depth it may, and
any rate, serve to balanoe the classical
recluses who live secure but stationary,
and inflict philosophical critiques on the
public.
It is mostly the feminine portion of
the good Bohemians who thus Blip in
and out of successive “ environments.”
A man will vegetate for ever in the same
suit, of apartments, if he has onoo been
pleased with them, purely from inertia,
which is why the landlady of the period
qpite prefers the superior race—“ Single
gentlemen preferred,” always. Now,
after a woman ha3 gone on doing the
same thing long enough she begins to
look about her to do something else.
Change is tho very breath of her exist
ence. Routine is to her intolerable. It
is not that she in the least expeoto to
improve matters, but she prefers va
ried to monotonous misery. And lit
tle infelicities in time aggregate them
selves to the verge of the unendurable.
Nor is there much scienoe in a settle
ment of these itinerant people. They
do not take root anywhere, and are
ready to slip out and arrange their
books and bric-a-brac in some other
apartment any day. The drifting
throngs of people who thus migrate
about the oity are a curious study in
modem ife.
In Philadelphia two ladies met on the
street, and one said to the other: “Why,
you look very happy this morning;
what’s happened ? ” “ Oh, I’ve just
been up having my fortune told,” was
the reply, “ and the woman says I’m to
marry twice more, have diamonds and a
camel’s-hair shawl, and that I can go to
the opera six nights in a week if I want
to." “Dear met I don’t wonder that
you’re happy. But you won’t say any
thing to your husband?” “Oh, of
course not. Poor man, he’s good to me,
and it might hurt his feelings to know
that I am going to marry twice more.
I think I’ll tell him that Tm likely to
dla ink”
