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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”