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FI RAT UR
(liitnan ytoylC
'• k bri* trraiß, fcY to wm my-
Lo<>Cl&C to batto-bal tto boy coaM sot *lm.
H* oturM hi* loot la * (hallow brd by,
"napb ct h* Urmm, with (harp BMokJag
y.
•. “Cu>M. hnat habUo-h. auooo o boU,
4umpin,o bmp oat.
If yoa iabtb no donbt
YosV go tome with a oougb,
Aad tho ladiae will raoE—
** **• worat thing la for loea to take cold.* 1
that taunted. Jumped In, notblnr deuut-d;
' reU aald ft; nympli to the buy;
° l * o ' oar head and oera, boy, away with your
feara—
The wilder the plunge, oli, the brighter the Joy!
T °" “* lM a. awoet Cupid, le luck,
WUbyonr dear ilttU Wing a, too—l'm aura yoo’ra
duck—
But, wild duck, don't dabble,”
The nymph Mid to him,
" Onoe heed end ear*,
'with your fours,
for lore never %ink* when determined to ewlm:
**OJJ LOVE Of HIM.
*%” Cried Haddie Winstanley, pit
•otnly, “Ia burden to my husband ?
•Ob, Sarelia I Sarella! for pity’s sake
don’t say that 1”
It was the day following the family
hegira—that most dismal, doleful and
intolerable of days, when the furniture
was piled up in the echoing and uncar
peted rooms, the pictures turned blankly
with their faces to the walls, the yawn
ing chimney-pieces destitute of crack
ling flames, while the dreary spring rain
ibeat against the windows with a monrn
ful and monotonous sound.
At the back of the little farm house
the gnarled apple trees were striving to
break out into bud and blossom, and a
few faint-colored spring flowers lifted
their golden heads above the grass and
dead leaves, while at the front the rest
less billows of the Atlantic, tortured by
the moaning wind, flung their fringes
of foam high up on the shores, flights of
sea-birds eddlied overhead, and the low
hangtng reach of leaden clouds shut out
the misty shimmer of the horizon.
Haddie had wandered abont the house
all day wrappped in a shawl, looking
about as forlorn os the daffodils and jon
quils outside, in the vain endeavor to
find soma habitable nook or comer where
she coi/ld pore over her book.
Bha felt herself ill-used in the extrem
es* 'degree, this sunny-haired, rose-lipped
h’zman fairy, in that all was not made
rimooth and easy to her little feet.
She had married Carlos Winstanley
three months ago, supposing that she was
■sntering into a human Eden through
the golden circlet of the wedding ring
and the bowery arches of the orange blos
soms ; and here, lo and behold 1 he had
failed ; the pretty little house in Park
Terrace had been sold, with its antique
furniture, its bric-a-brac and rose-lined
curtains, and here and there they were
banished for the rest of their lives to the
dismal, one-storied farm-house, the sole
relic of Carlos Winstanley’s scattered
fortune!
“ It isn’t, (ike a city house,” said the
yonng 3,an, cheerily; “ but I’ve always
had a of loving for a farm life, and
we oan be just as happy here as it it
vjere a palace—oan’t we, Haddie ? ”
And Haddie, with a half-frightened
glance at the restless waves of the At
lantic and the groups of cedars writhing
in the blast, clung to his shoulder and
whispered:
“ Yes. But,” she added with quiver
ing lip, “it will be very lonely, won’t
it?”
“ Sarella is coming to stay with us and
help get settled,” said Winstanley.
“ Why, what could such a butterfly as
you do with all this confusion ? ”
Haddie said nothing. She could
hardly tell her husband how much she
feared and disliked his stern maiden
rister, who stood np so straight, and
wore her iron-gray nair twisted up into
a tight knot at the back of her head, in
an inexorable fashion, which made Hail
die feel as if her gold frizzes and braids
were vanity and vexation of spirit, in
deed ; and had a way of looking over
and beyond her, as if she (Haddie) were
of no account whatever.
But Sarella was needed, and she came,
just as she would have oome to nurse a
wounded soldier, or keep watch over a
household of measles, or scarlet fever,
or undertake any other difficult or thank
less task.
And, upon this rainy day, Sarella went
backward and forward, and looked with
a sort of contemptuous pity at the poor
little wife, wrapped in her fleecy white
*hawl, with a rose in her hair and a
t>ook in her hand.
“ Dear me, Harriet!” she had cried
out, wheD at last her slender thread of
patience was quite exhausted; “ why
don’t you do something ?”
“ What shall I do?” said Haddie, pit
eously.
“ I’m sure there’s enough to be done,”
said the rigid elder sister. “ Can’t you
turn and sew that piece of carpet to fit
the hall?”
“I never did such a thing in my life,
said Haddie, eying the heap of carpet
ing as if it had been a wild beast ready
to spring at her. ‘ “ I don’t think I
eould sew anything so big and heavy.”
“ There’s all the china to he washed
and sorted on the shelves,” suggested
Sarella grimly.
“I should be sure to break it,” fal
tered Haddie.
“ The curtains are all ready to be
tacked up to the weet-room windows,"
1 said Sarella, looking arourd lot a tack
hammer.
" Oh, I couldn’t do that,” said Had
die, more frightened than ever. “I
should be sure to turn giddy on top of
that step-ladder." . _
Sarella looked disdainfully at heT
beautiful little sister-in-law.
■•I wonder what you are good for,”
said she, sharply.
ELLIJAY HPI COURIER.
w. JT. COMBS)
•S)tor nl raMtahat )
Haddie hong her head, flashed scar
let, and said nothing.
“For all I can see,” severely went cu
Sarella, “my big brother might as well
have married a big wax doll. It was all
very well so long as he was a merchant
in receipt of a big income. But no.-
goodness me, what sort of a farmer's
wife do yon suppose yon will make ? ”
“ I don’t know,” confessed Haddie,
feeling herself arraigned before a sort of
consolidated inquisition.
“Do yon know anything abont but
ter and cheese ?” demanded Sarella, re
lentlessly.
“No!”
“ Did yon ever make np a batch of
bread ? or pies ? or cake ?” sternly pur
sued this iron-hearted catechist.
“ No,” whispered Haddie.
“ Can yon cut and fit your own Ken
sington stitch?”
“ I oan make the Kensington stitch
in antique laoe, if that’s what you
mean.”
“ Antique laoe 1 Kensington stitch !”
echoed Sarella, in withering scorn.
“Can yon make your husband’s shirts?”
"He buys them ready-made,” fal
tered Haddie. “At least he always
did.”
“ Humph I” said Sarella, “ I sup
pose, now, you couldn't clean house, or
wash np the curtains, or make a lot of
currant jelly, to save your life ?”
“ No,” said Haddie, with a trembling
voice, “ I’m afraid I couldn’t.”
“ Yon are nothing more nor less than
a burden to your husband,” said Sarella,
with the air of a Judge pronouncing
sentence of doom. “ You’re no more
fit to be married than yonder white
kitten. And I pity Carlos from the
very bottom of my heart, that I do I"
And, thus speaking, Sarella picked np
the whitewash brush and stalked away,
while poor little Haddie wailed out the
beseeching words with which our story
commences.
“ Oh, Sarella, dear Sarella I ” she
pleaded, “ I’ll try to do my best.”
“ Your best 1 ” repeated Sarella. “And
what does that amount to? You’re a
100-pound weight around his neck—a
blight upon his future—that’s what you
are 1 ”
And she whisked into the kitchen,
while Haddie ran up stairs to the garret
La have' a good cry.
Haddie was very sad and pensive torn
day or two. Carlos looked at her piti
fully, afraid to ask if she wero discon
tented in her new home, for he knew
well that he had none other to offer her.
Sarella sniffed at her selfish inefficiency,
and the very scrubbing woman put on
airs, while Betsey Baker, a neighbor,
who came into help with the “settling,”
caught the popular tune, and said,
loftily:
“Please, Mrs. Winstanley, stand out
of the way while we’re a-stretching
this carpet, and don’t hender us ef ye
can’t help us I ”
At the end of the third day of domes
tic saturnalia, when Carlos Winstanley
came home, Haddie was nowhere to be
found, and on her cushion was pinned
the following note:
Deax Carlos , - Don’t be vexed, but I have
gone away to stay with Aunt Dorcas Dutton un
til the Beach farm is settled. I don't seem to
bo of much use to anybody, and perhaps Sarella
will get along better without me. Affection
ately your wife, H. W.
“ There 1 ” said Sarella to Betsey
Baker. “ Didn’t I tell you so ? She’s
so lazy she can’t bear to see other folks
work! And I don’t know whatever Car
los was thinking of when he married her
instead of Rosanna Martin, who took
the first prize for bread and cake at the
county fair, and has got a chest full of
linen and bedquilts at home.”
But she did not express herself thus
plainly to Carlos, when he asked her,
wistfully, if she knew why Haddie had
gone away.
“ I think she’s sick of farms and farm
work," said Sarella, puruing up her lips.
“I think, Carlos, she’s like the little
portulaccas in the garden outside, that
only blossom when the sun shines.”
And Carlos was more wretched than
ever, fancying that he had darkened his
young wife’s life, and dragged her down
into poverty with him.
“She will come back to me when she
chooses,” he said, sadly. “ I shall not
go alter her."
And he grew paler, collier and more
silent as he went about the duties of the
farm; and Sarella, to use her own ex
pression, “ flew around as lively as a
cricket,” aud put things into the neatest
of order.
“We’re better off without Harriet
than with her, it’s my opinion,” said
she to herself. “A china doll of a worn,
an, only fit to be waited on and made
much of. Ido think Carlos was crazy
when he married her.”
At the month’s end, however, Haddie
came back, and fluttered down the lilac
shaded garden walk to meet her hus
band, like a bird, as he returned from
his day’s work.
“ Oh, Carlos ! Carlos ! ” she cried; “I
am so glad to be here again ! ”
“Little one,” he asked, almost re
proachfully, “why did you leave me?"
ELLIJAY, GA., THURSDAY, OCTOBER 27, 18S1.
“ I have been at school,” said Haddie,
radiantly. “ I have been learning—my
profession. Oh ! Carlos, yon can never
tell how awkward and helpless I felt
here, in my own ht Jse, Li*->-’->£ that I
was os Ignorant as a chil l of all the
things I needed most to comprehend.
I love you—oh, so dearly—and I felt so
unworthy of you--so unable to help yon
in jour sore need as a wife should help
her husband. Sarella despised my ig
norance—the very servants looked down
on me as a helpless doll; and they were
right. But they Bliall never do so any
more, for I’ve learned to be a house
keeper at last—Aunt Dorcas has taught
me everything. I can make butter iike
gold, and cheese that even Sarella will
not criticise. I shall prepare you some
strawberry shortcake to-morrow, and my
bread and biscuits are as light and as
white J3 swandown ; and I’ve made you
a shirt, Carlos, all by myself, and Anut
Dorcas says I needn’t be ashamed of it;
and I can wash and iron, and clear
starch as well as ever old Chloe did
when I was a girl at home.”
“ Haddie I Haddie !” he cried. “ Why
did you do this ? ”
“For love of you,” she answered,
simply; “to be to yon what a wife
should be to her husband. You needn’t
think I am going to settle down into
a common drud 3, Carlos. I like
Shakspe&re and "ve Kensington stitch
as well as eva ; But a farmer’s wife
should not be blind and helpless at the
head of her own household, and I am
thankful that I have learned to do all
these things.”
“ Yon are an angel, Haddie 1 ” he said,
earnestly.
“lam only your true, loving little
wife,” she answered, hiding her face on
his breast.
Sarella needed to stay at the Beach
farm no longer; Betsey Baker was dis
missed, and Haddie took her place at
the helm, and of all happy, edit out,
stirring farmers’ wives Mrs. Winstanley
bore away the palm.
“ I never supposed tliere was so much
in her,” said Sarella. “Carlos couldn’t
have made a better choice if he had
tried for a year.”
“It does beat all.” say} Betsey Baker.
RESTING FLACKS OF THE DEAD.
The Poet’s comer in Westminster Ab
bey is indebted for its renown to the great
names of the mighty dead who lie with
in its gloomy walls. Chaucer was buried
in 1400 in the cloisters of the Abbey,
without the building, but removed to
the south aisle in 1556. Herbert Spen
cer lies near him. Beaumont, Drayton,
Cowley, Denham, Dryden, Gay, Rowe,
Ben Jonson, Sheridan, Congreve, Charles
Dickens, Campbell, David Garrick, all
lie within Westminster Abbey. Izaak
Walton’s grave is in Silkstede’s Chapel,
near the city of Winchester. Shelley’s
body was cremated, but his heart, which
would not take the flame, is now pre
served in spirits of wine. Shakspeare
was buried in the chancel of the church
at Stratford. Dean Swift is buried in
the churchyard of St. Patrick’s, Dublin;
Milton in St. Giles’, Cripplegate; Chap
man and Shirley at St. Giles’, in the
Fields; Fletcher and Philip Massinger
in the churchyard of St. Savior's, South
wark; Thomas Otway’s burial place is
not known; Samuel Butler in the
churchyard of St. Paul’s, Covent Gar
den; Marlowe in St. Paul’s, Deptford;
Pope in the church at Twickenham; Ed
ward Waller in Beaconfield churchyard;
Thomas Gray in the churchyard of
Stoke-Pogis, where he conceived his
“ Elegy;” William Cowper in the church
at Dereham; Oliver Goldsmith in the
churchyard of the Temple Chinch;
William Falconer was drowned at sea;
Lerd Byron in the chancel of the church
at Huoknall, near Newstead Abbey,
Sir Walter Scott in Dryburgh Abbey;
Robert Burns in St. Michael’s church
yard, Dumfries; Samuel Coleridge in
the church at Highgate; Southey in
Crosthwaite Church, near Keswick;
Chatterton in the churchyard belonging
to the pariah of St. Andrews, Holbum;
Dr. Watts and John Bunyan in the vi
cinity of the celebrated chapel called the
Tabernacle of Good Old Whitfield;
Thomas Hood, Douglas Jerrotd and
| William Thackeray are buried in Kensal
[ Green Cemetery; Wordsworth in the
pleasant hills of Westmoreland; Thomas
| Carlyle in the churchyard of Ecclesfech
an, Scotland; George Washington at
I Mount Yernon; Audubon in Calvary
Cemetery, N am York; Nathaniel Haw
thorn under a group of pines on the
brow of a hill in Sleepy Hollow Ceme
tery, Concord, Mass.; William Cullen
Bryant ir. Greenwood Cemetery, New
York; Washington Irving at Sunnyside,
on the banks of the Hudson, and Edgar
Allan Poe in a cemetery in Baltimore.
Tbt to keep your sympathies fresh
and your interest in little things active.
Remember that yon were young once,
and tolerate the crudities of youth. Do
more than tolerate ; try to understand,
and do not be impatient if young eyes
cannot see things just as yon see them.
Gray hairs and wrinkles you cannot es
cape, but you need not grow old unless
you choose. And, so long as your age
is nn the outside, you will win confidence
from the young, and find your life nil
the brighter from contact with theirs.
rum me war a per nr a fa Rat- nomx.
People who live near the great thor
oughfares, where they hate access to
two or three dailies and a half dozen
weeklies, do not fully appreciate the
value of a newspaper. They come, in
deed, to look upon them as necessities,
and they would as cheerfully do without
their morning meal as their morning
mail. But ono must be fur off in the
country, remote from “the maddening
crowd,” to realize the full luxury of a
newspaper. The farmer who receives
but one paper a week does not glance
over its columns hurriedly, with an air
of impatience, as does youot aTcbint or
lawyer. Hie begins with the beginning
and reads to the close, not i-ezmitting a
news item or an advertisement to escape
his eye. Then it has to by thumbed by
every member of the frShly, each one
looking for things in which he or she is
most interested. The grown-up daugh
ter looks for tiie marriage iotiees, and is
delighted if the editor! lias treated
them to a love story. Tn son who is
just about to engage informing, with
an enthusiasm that will jharry him far
in advance of his father, reads all the
crop reports and has a keen eye for hints
about Improved modes of culture. The
younger members of the family oome in
for the amusing anecdotes and scraps of
tun. All look forward to the day that
shall bring the paper with the liveliest
interest, and if by some unlucky chance
it fails to come it is a bittft disappoint
ment. One can hardly estimate the
amount of information which a paper that
is not only read but Btudied oan carry into
a family. They have, Week by week,
spread before their vision a pan
orama of the busy world, ms fluctuations
and its vast concorns. I! is the poor
man’s library, and fumiihes as much
mental food ps he has time to consume
and digest. No one who has observed
how much those who ore Tar away from
the places where men most congregate
value their weekly pane.’ con fail to
join in invoking a blessing on the in
ventor of this moans of intellectual en
joyment.— Cedar Rapid* Republican.
Mr. WilfridS. Blunt, ike well-known
Orientalist, has just completed- a census
from the best' obtaina'd r .authorities
of Mohammedanism. to him,
the creed numbers 175,000,nJ0 believers,
divided into four sects, “up which the
Suiwwi ore 145,0ttd,6G,'/f There wore
93,250 pilgrims at Mecca lust year. But
the most singular feature of Blunt’s
record is the spread of Islamism in the
heart of Africa. In the Dark Continent
the faith is alive and at work, and is
proselyting as fiercely as in the days of
the Caliphs of Bagdad. Each year adds
thousands of converts to the faith of the
Prophet, and the result will shortly be
tho erection of another Mohammedan
Caliphate in Soudan, which is now
largely Islamite. The work which this
creed has done in the civilization of the
world will never he appreciated, and
now again in Africa, as centuries ago in
Europe, tho Crescent is shining brightly
upon a benighted people. Our debt to
the Arabs in Spain and to tho Ottomans
in Southeastern Europe will never bo
paid. Their philosophers laid the
foundation of almost every science we
have ; their commanders taught us strat
egy and modern war. It would be
strange if Islam took anew lease of life
in the oldest part of the oarth and
sprouted freslily among its peoples. It
is a system which is indigenous to the
tropics, as characteristic as the fauna or
the flora of the Torrid zone ; and young
Afrioa, under the green standard of the
Prophet, may yet take her place among
the nations.
FINANCIAL PANIC#.
In May, 1837, the Now York banka
suspended, and the crash, which had
threatened for some time, came to the
country. This disastrous event was fol
lowed by other failures, many business
establishments were forced to close, and
even States became bankrupt. Farm
products fell greatly in prioe, credit waa
a by-word, and the finances of the Gov
ernment were in such shape that the
President of the United States could not
always gfet his salary when it was due.
This was about the time when the na
tional debt amounted to only a nominal
sum. The panic of 1857 was opened by
the failure of the Ohio Life Insurance
and Trust Company. Many hanks in
all the States were obliged to suspend,
and certain kinds of paper were abroad,
which proved to be worthless. The
panic of 1873 was inaugurated in Sep
tember by the failure of Jay Cooke k
Cos., of Philadelphia. The'effects of
this last financial hurricane are too well
known to need recital here. Various
causes have been attributed to these
financial crises, almost all writers agree
ing, however, that reckless speculation,
growing extravagance, and the careless
ness with which debts were contracted
were among the leading ones.
The Denver an i Ilio Grande Comp my
contemplate limiting 3,000 miles of rail
road in Utih within the next five years.
They will give employment to at least
"15,000 pei.pU-, snd Salt Lake will lie
•their headquarters
OUR JUVENILES.
An • Old Roy'' Advice.
*x>y, you're soon to be a ma ;
Get ready for a tnau'a work now.
And learn to do tlio beet you can.
When sweat is brought to arm Ml brow.
Don’t be afraid, mj boy, to work ;
You’ve got to if you mean to wia!
He ie a ooward who will shirk ;
M Roll up your sleeves, and then • go In V '•
Don’t wait for chances; look abont!
There's always something you do.
He who will manfully strike out
Finds labor, plenty of it, too!
But he who fo!ds his hands and waits
For “something to turn np’’ will find
The toller passes Fortune’s gates,
While hs, alas, is lett behind!
13e honest
Don’t grind the Door man tor hlsoent.
In helping others, you grow strong,
And kind deeds done ars only lent;
And this remember: if you ’re wise.
To your own business be confined.
He is a fool, and fails, who tries
His fellow-men’s affairs to mind.
Don’t be discouraged and get blue
If things don’t go to suit you quite;
Work on ! Perhaps it rests with you
To set the wrong that worries right.
Don’t lean on others! Be a man I
Stand on a footing of your own I
Be independent, if you can,
And cultivate a sound backbone!
Bo brave and steadfast, kind and true,
With faith In (Vwi and fellow-man.
And win from them a faith in you,
By and l;:g jmt Hit best you can l
—L'bcn K. liexford.
Learn A ecu racy for On* Thing,
Every boy and girl should determine
to be accurate. Iu studying lessons be
sure to get the exact meaning; in talk
ing state the truth of the thing; in
working do every tldng just right. I have
lately heard of two boys who worked in
the some store. T 1 icy were named Jolm and
James. Their duties were alike, and they
were required to be at the store at lialf
past 7 in the morning. John was always
there on the minute, or a few minutes
before the time ; James came the name
number of minutes after. When Jolm
arranged the goods in the windows they
were accurately marked and priced ;
James forgot to put the number on, or
priced them ineorreotiy.
These are only two of the things which
marked the distinction between the two
boys. But every day and week they
grew further apart— John doing his work
accurately, and therefore well; James
slighting all he conveniently could.
Soon John was promoted for carefulness
iu his duties. James was warned to al
ter his manner, and finally discharged,
xlfe accurate I>ot grew np to be a
wealthy, self-made man. Men liked to
deal with him ; they were sure of being
treated fairly. James tried several po
sitions, but lost them on account of his
inaccuracy in little details, and, though
he gets through the world somehow, he
has not the happiness and success whioh
with the same opportunities John
achieved.
There are many things that tend to
make a noble character. Placo aocuracy
high in the list.— School Journal.
The Dolls' Ficti le.
There was a picnic in Farmer Blake’s
attic. ,
Tho farmer and his wife hed gone to
the village, and left little Dick and
Fanny to take care of Baby Ben. So the
children thought they would have a
picnic.
It was Doll Dinks’ birthday.
Doll Dinks was a black baby, 6
months old, and he squeaked. .
He had a birthday twice a month.
Doll Midget had blue eyes and yellow
curls. She was invited to the pionic.
Dick got a great milk-pan and filled it
full of water. This was Boston bay.
The dolls were first to be taken out to
sail, and then they were to have lunch.
The lunch was a largo piece of spies
cake and two jam tarts.
Pudge, the fat kitten, was invited to
the picnio, too.
To begin with, they put her on a small
table, close to Boston bay, so that she
could look on.
There was not room in the boat for
three of them.
The lunch was laid by in an old wood
box.
As soon as the boat was ready Loll
Dinks and Doll Midget went on board.
The boat was one of Grundpa Blake’s
(Id slippers.
Then they set sail. Dick made the
wind blow with the bellows, and Fanny
puffed out her rosy cheeks with all her
might.
But the trouble was that Baby Ben
wanted to help with a fire-shovel. ~
So the children told him he had bet
ter be the fairy godmother. The fairy
godmother always hid in the itoofl-box,
and pepped out at just the right
moment.
Baby Ben thought he like if best to
blow the boat with the fire-shovel, hut
Fanny promised to give him a bite of
her share of the cake.
This consoled Ben, and they made a
plaice for him in the wood-box. There
he kept so very still that the children
thought he must have gone to sleep.
All at once a loud splash was heard.
A fearfnl storm arose in Boston bay, and
the boat was upset.
It was all that fat kitten Pudge, who
had tumbled from the table into the
milk-pan.
What un uproar I The (tolls had no
VOL. Vl.-N0.38.
life-preservers, but Dick and Fanny
dragged them from the waters.
As for Pudge, the ohildren saw the
eud of her tail going down stairs, with
a stream like a small Charles river
dripping off behind.
Doll Dinks, being hollow, eould
float, and he squeaked as loud as ever
when he was pulled out.
But, after all, poor Doll Midget was
drowned. Her nice, clean clothes were
soaked and her lovely hair all came out
of curl.
“Now," said Fanny, “we must take
Doll Midget to the kitchen fire and dry
her, or she never will be 9t to oome to
the pionio.” 4
“Oh. not’ - replied Dick. “tjhe’a
drowned. She’s dead as a—as s hair
pin. But I’ve heard Uncle John tell
that they roll drowned folks on a barrel
and then blow ’em up. That rusticakes
’em.”
(Uncle John said resuscitate, but this
was too bouncing a word for little Diok).
“ Rusticakos ’em ? ” said Fanny.
“ Yes, that’s what Uncle John called
it. Let’s rustioake Doll Midget that
way. Hold on till I get a barrel I’’
But all he conld find was a large spooL
Then after Doll Midget’s dress was taken
off she was rolled. Dick rolled her ao
hard that her sides split open.
Next he put the nose of the hallows
between her ribs, for he said that her
mouth was not big enough. Then he
blew jußt as hard as he could.
The first thing Fanny knew, a puff of
sawdust flew out of Doll Midget's ride
into her eyes.
She threw her apron over her head
and began to ery.
Dick kept shooting, “She’s rusti
cated I She’s rustieaked I ”
But poor Fanny only oried the harder.
So Dick proposed to wake up the fairy
godmother and eat the pionio.
At this Fanny dried her eyes. They
crept up softly to the wood-box. There
lay Baby Ben fast asleep, sure enough.
There are crumbs of spies cake and
jam tart on his frock, and a bit of jam
on the end •( his nose. The lunoh wee
all gone.
“ Oh, yon rogue I ” oried Fanny.
Ben opened his blue eyes and looked
so cunning that both the oliildren
laughed and forgave him at ones.
Then they agreed to put off the rest
of the pionio till the next day.— Youth'a
Companion.
V AM DIO MRS. DAFITTM.
The deaith of Mrs. Lafifte, the
daughter of the late Commodore Van
derbilt, in Paris, calls to mind some pe
culiarities of that truthful woman.
Her first husband was a favorite of
her father, and when he was stricken
with consumption old Vanderbilt felt
worse than his daughter about it. He
sent the pair down to Florida under the
care of a Mr. Lalitte, and Mrs. Barker
took a great fnney to the gentleman—a
fauey the siok husband was not slow in
discovering.
“Well, inadame,”ho said one morn
ing, “ where have you been this hour ?”
“ Walking with your successor,” an
swered the bold Indy.
And then and there she told him that
as his complaint was pronounced incur
able—and she disliked a lengthy widow
hood—she had selected Mr. Lalitte as
her second husband.
The sick man wrote post haste to pa
in-law, who was greatly incensed, bnt
before any actual steps could be taken
the widow ami her prospective husband
were bringing poor No. 1 home to bury
decently in the family lot. Then in a
very short time—a matter of weeks—
the lady became Mme. Lafitte, and
went off to live in Palis.
Old Vanderbilt stuck to his dislike ;
he left $500,000 to Madame, at her
death to revert to the children by the
first husband. Bo Monsieur Lafitte was
not pecuniarily benefited by his con
nection with the millionaire's family,—
New York letter.
HANQINO WITH BRILLIANTBXTCCBBW
William Scott was nung with more
eclat than any one else had ever been.
People who witnessed the exercises said
that they never knew • man to straight
en out a rope with more unstudied grace
and earnest zeal than William did.
He seemed to throw the whole vim
and concentrated energy et a lifetime
into this emphatic gesture.
As he hung there limp and exhausted
at the end of the rope, the Chairman of
the vigilance committee said, while he
took a cigar from William’s vest pocket
and lit it, that he had never known a
man to jump into the boeom of the great
uncertain with more ehie or more
sprightly grace and precision than
William had.
This should teach us the importance
of doing everything thoroughly and
well. Whatever we undertake, im to
do it bettor than any one else. It is
better to be hung and know that we
have brought out all there was in the
part, and to know that we expiated our
crimes in a way calculated to win the
respect of all, than even to run for Aider
man and get scooped. — Nyt't Boom
erang.
Thosj are mock gentlefolk who mask
their faults to others and to themselves;
the true know them peats*% and aa
kuowlege them.
rusAtjumaa,
duifec atofJd^’ltewtohy^
would stop anortng, for I wont to hear ft
thunder.”
It is cruelty to out your band upas
the waters if the bread is sour and
heavy. It might give the tehee the
dyepepeis.
Whkn the bold wwat
courting ha tersely introduced himself:
“Ann Saxon, I am Roderick Dha.” Ann
replied, “Dhntelll”
It isn’t beoause a woman ie exactly
afraid of a cow that she rune away and
screams. It is beoause gored drsssm
are not fashionable.
Whs a New Orleens man wonted Ua
picture in on heroic attitude, the artist
painted him in the aot of refusing to
drink.—Boston Transcript.
A young lady wrote some versee tar a
paper about her birthday and hendSt
them “ May 30th.” It almost made her
hair turn gray when it appeared in
print, “My 80th.”
“ You don’t know how it pains me to
punish yon,” said the teacher. “I
guess there’s the most pain at my end
of the stick,” replied the boy. “*T any
rate, I’d be willing to swap.”
- -Baxley says: “ What msn cell sod
den is is Hod's ewn pert,” but it is hard
to convinoe a man of this when he stops
down s step that he didn’t know was
there and busts a pet corn. He thinks it
that other party’s part.
“ It’s a long way from this world to
the next,” said a dying man to a friend
who stood at his bedside. “ Oh, as war
mind, my dear fellow,” answered the
friend, consolingly, “you’ll have it ail
down hill.”
Hs loliarad at Iks fssUvsl,
A goblst In bis fid
A vUhy-wuhy Sold brlwawt
Tha marge bis bpltto ktassi.
Quoth ba, “ I wish tbst I osalAast
A pair of trousers mads
Tor rammer wear as IMa as Ms
Coniujnpttve Itamada
—OU CUp Derrick ' ' .-T ijl
“ Halloa I Bob, how aiuyouf"**
who had been in jail for deb) for scats
months past, answered: “Very wel,
thank you ; but I have been in trouble,
yon know ?” “ What trouble ailed you?”
“A trouble passed in duranoe.”
A young lady who was doing tha Alps
reported progress to her guardian: “ I
tried to climb the Matterhorn; didn’t
reach the top. It's absurdly high—
everything is high in this oouatry.
Please send me some money.” 0)(
I HATS tbs Tils, pestlf enras tr
That will not Ist ms Us
When I would tots mjr isnrnlsg asm i.
I egulrm about and try to slap • <
That fix,
But I
But slap my faos In vain illainfl
To kUI tbs wretch.
An alleged poet says that violets am
“heavenly gems on Nature's polonaise,"
and we presume on the same plan ft
may be said flat white tnrnipe am tea
buttons on Nature's negro-minstrel
duster.
‘T'vß five cents left,” said a lositw,
“so I’ll buy a paper with them.” “What
paper da you -buy?-” -said a friend, am
rious to learn the literary taste a t hh
acquaintance. “A paper of tobnem,*
replied the loafer.
Indians are like e greet many white
men in sometimes losing their oonrsge
after getting on the ground for a daeL
Blitiip Bob and Bquara Sam, yonng
braves of the Santee Sioux, were se
equally attractive in the eyes of Sol
Molly, their chief’s daughter, that she
would not choose between them. She
promised, however, to accept the sur
vivor of a duel, and it was agreed that
the fight should be a deadly one with
stone-headed war elubs. The meeting
was ceremonious in a high degree, and
it wss only after lengthy preliminarim
that the two warriors, mounted on
ponies, armed with the murderous elubs,
and hideous in war paint, faced each
other for the They cirelod
around for an hour, harmlessly whoop
ing and gesticulating ; then they came
together, whacked away wildly a while,
but injured nothing except the ponies;
and, finally, Sam accepted Bob% offer *f
five horses and a gun to relinquish hW
claim on Sal Molly.
"T
CUKK FOB TOVTHWVL INFIDBLIIT-
I had one just flogging. When I
was about 13 I went to a shoe make!
and begged bin* to take me aa an ap
prentice. He, being an honest man,
immediately braugtemn to Bowyer, who
got into a greaT rage, knocked me
down, and even pushed Crispin rudely
out of the room. Bowyer asked as#
why I had made myself such a fool To
wlich I answered that I had a great da
sire to be a shoemaker, and that I hated
the thought of being a clergyman.
“Why so?” said ha "Because, tu
tell you the truth, sir,” said I, “I am
an infidel.” For this, without a(era
ado, Bowyer flogged me, wisely, m I
think; soundly, as I fc*ow. Any whin
ing or sermonizing would have gratified
my vanity, and jij* in my
absurdity; as it was, I w*s laughed’ at,
and got,heartily ashamed frfmy icty.—
Samuel Coleridge.
A new idea in the way of sleeping
cars was exhibited in Rochester recently.
Stiff canvas stretchers take the place of
the ordinary berths, and so ©loverly are
these stowed away that one would think
himself in a drawing-room car unless
otherwise informed. Hie ether ap
pointments of the car are of the samo
high order as far as ease and beauty a/-
concernec. Each of the twelve section*
has two plate-glass windows, and ths
seats for use in. the day are very oamfon -
able.
Mrooncs says he don’t wonder his
sweetheart is afraid of lightning- -sheV
so awfully attractive.