Newspaper Page Text
VOL. XII.
ELLIJAY COURIER,
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY
—*T—
COLEMAN * KIRBY.
19* Office in the Court House
7g^weralTdirectory.
Superior Court meets 3d Monday in
May and 2nd Monday in October.
county officers.
J. C. Allen,.Ordinary. .
T. W. Craigo, Clerk Superior Court.
M. L. Cox, Sheriff.
J. R. Kinciad. Tax Collector.
Locke Langley, Tax Receiver.
Jas. M. West, Sun%yor.
G. W. Rice, Coroner.
Court of Ordinary meets Ist Monday
in each month.
TOWN COUNCIL.
.. E. W. Coleman, Tutendant.
L. B. Greer, 1
J.ROofcr. Commissioners.
T. J, Long, J
M. T. Dooly, Marshall.
RELIGIOUS SERVICES.
Methodist Episcopal Church South—
Every 4th Sunday and Saturday before,
G. W. Grier.
Baptist Church—Every 2nd Saturday
and Sunday, by Rev. E; B. Shope.
Methodist Episcopal Church—Every
Ist Saturday and Sunday, by Rev. T. G.
Chase.
FRATERNAL RECORD.
Oak‘Bo wery Lodge, No. 81, F. A. M.,
meets Ist Friday in each month.
L. B. Greer, W. M.
T. H. Tabor, S. W.
J. W. Hipp, J. W.
R. Z. Roberts, Treasurer. •-' ■*
J). Garrcn.S ecretary.
W. 8. Coleman, S. D.
W. C. Allen, J. D.
S. Garren, Tyler.
r. thickens,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
ELLIJAY, GEORGIA.
Will practice.in nil the conrts of Gil
mer and adjoining counties. Estates
and interest in land a specialty. Prompt
attention given to all collections.
■■ , ■ 10-21 85
DR. J. B. JOHNSON,
Physician and Surgeon
ELLIJAY, GEORGIA.
Tenders his professional services to the
people-of Gilmer anti , stirrottnding, coup
ties-and asks the support of his .friends as
heretofore. All calls promptly filled.
E. W. COLEMAN,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
ELLIJAY, GA.
• • Will practice in Blua Ridge Circnit, County
Court Justice Court of Cilnier County. Legal
bnsineu solicited. “ProDptnesa" is our motto.
DR. J. S. TANKERSLEY,
Physician and Snrgeon,
TeiicV vs his professional to the citi
EUijay, and surrounding caun
*ies. AH calls promptly attend -d to. Office
opatair's over tlietan -pf Cobb A Son.
<tIFE WALDO THORNTON, D.D.B.
Dentist,
CAI.IiOCIf, GA.
Will visit Ellijay and Morgan ton at
both the Spring and Fall term of the
Superior Court—and oftener by special
contract, when sufficient work is guar
anteed to justify me in Baking the visit.
Address as above. TmavUl-li
Young men
Who wish a Xhobodoh preparation for
Business, will find Superior advantagesal
MOOBE’S BUSINESS UNIVEESITY
ATLAN XA, GA. ’
The largest and best Practical Business School
in the Sooth. WStadtnis canpnter at any
time. 1 for eir-ulv.a.. .- ;
WHITE PATH SPRINGS!
—THE—
Favorite and Popular Reeort of
NORTH GEORGIA!
Is situated' 6 miles north of ’Ellijay on
the Marietta & North Georgia Railroad.
Accommodations complete, facilities for
ease- and comfort -unexcelled, and the
magnificent Mineial Spring* is its chief
attraction. For other particulars on
board, etc., address, , .
. t Mrs. W. E. Robrutsom,
Ellijay, Go.
CENTRAL HOTEL!
Ellijay, Georgia.
• - . ; ■ .* *
In. the special popular reeort for commercisl
men and tourists of all land, and is the general
house for prompt attention, elegant rooms and
are second to none, in this place. Beasonaßle
rates. ‘ _
Mrs. It Y. TMm will edre her personal at
tentton to guest* in the dining hah. 1-R
Moimtam View Hotel!
IULIJAY.GA.
'■us.Hetsl is bow fitted up in mm)
lent order, and is open for the reception
of gueeta, under competent management.
Breiy poerible effort wUI Ije mad# M
make tfcaMountsiii VW the aeat pop*
Unr Hotel in BUtyay. AooMtmndetionvii
ermrf&fmWm* firet-oiees. Livery, w*t
and feed rtshUrdn, hop section with hotel.
Ouwta tnaaferetKo find from all trains
free of eherge. * • fitly
THE ELLIJAY COURIER
the;shadow on our lives.
Is the deuce and leafy woodland.
From each lofty tree-top down.
Flecked with dashes of the sunlight,
Falls the shadow cool and brown.
But how different is the Shadow
Which our soul of light deprive*
Different far the many shadows
Never lilted from our lives.
When our life Is young and buoyant.
When our hopes are high and strong,
Then beware the thoughtless errors
That are something less than wrong;
For, though each may be a trifle.
Asa shadow it survives;
And we never throng endeavor
Lift that shadow from our Uries.
Words, in careless moments uttered,
And by usTorgotteu soon.
Grow with those whose hearts are wounded
As the freshets swell in June;
More than burthens they may crash us,
They may gall us more than gyve
Strive we e’er so much we never
Lift the shadows on our lives.
Some neglect of bounden dut’
But a trifle at a time,
Merely discord in the music,
Merely error in the rhyme—
Worse than whips some day may lash us,
Or may wound us worse than knives,
And our deep remorse shall never
Lift that shadow from our lives.
Come there ever so much sunlight
On our latter manhood’s days;
Though the glory of our fortunes
In its utmost brilliance blase;
Though the world around us wonde
Asea h lofty purpose thrives,
Sadness fills us that we never
Lift the shadow from our lives.
When, oflr life’s day nearly ended,
Comes the setting of its sun,
Though the crimson, gild and purple
Of a sunset sky be won;
Though we close the day in honor,
Heroes even to our wives,
Yet, this glow expiring never
Lifts the shadow from our lives.
When our sunset fades to twilight,
And the final hour is here;
When the world around is passing,
And the world to come is near;
Then our memories throng around us
As the flesh with spirit strives,
And we never, never, never
Lift their shadows from our lives.
—Thomas Dunn English , in Independent.
A FOKTTOATE MISTAKE
The train toGilcad Fails was late upon
that particular Monday afternoon, and
as a natural consequence thereof, the
stage-coach to Gilead Gorge was an hour
behind time.
“Once you Ipse five minutes, and
there'll be plenty o’ set-backs to make it
ten,” as Reubeu Dolly, the stage-driver,
ironcally remarked, as he piled up the
trunks on the baggage-wagon that was
to go on ijrst. “This ere’s for Fullers
Farm,” said he, “and all the rest for
•the View Hotel. Now lack out, you!”
to the boy in charge, “and don’t go to
tippin' the bags and bandboxes down
the side of the mountain.”
“Guess I’ve driv’on these ’ere roads
afore,” said Simon Saqkett, the long
legged young Jehu,
. “Yes, but there's some people as don't
never learn wisdom by experience,” said
Reuben, as he rolled up the leather cur
tains of the stage-coach, and fastened
them with a rusty buckle.
And when the baggage-wagon reached,
the Gorge, the trunks and boxes were
all shaken into such an undistinguish
able confusion that .‘•imon'dld not know
one from another. '
“Thera’s two Mrs. John Joneses,"said
he. “Jne on ’em* to go to’the hotel,
and ’tother to Fuller’s Karin. Now.which
is which? That’s what-Id like •to
know.” ’ ...
Hariy Fuller, who was waiting at the
cross-roads, with 1 wagon,
speedily settled the question.
“Why, this big trunk goes to the ho
tel, of course,” said he. “Jur Mrs.. John
Jones is a dressmaker,' 'coming here for
two weeks’ jest. . .’Taint likely she’d
travel with i a, trunk .as big as Noah’s
Ark, is it? .Keel in the little one,'
quick?”
So that when Mrs. John Jones herself
reaehed the cross-roads, she vefy natur
ally entered the sanie equipage that con
tained her trunk. - -
j , She was a little woman,- with cheeks
Which still retained a youthful freshness;
yellow, rippling hair and timid.blue eyes;
and she was dressed in inexpensive
black, covered all over with a linen
•duater.
Harry Fuller glanced at her With a
sidewise regard as-he-whipped up his fat,
and medititive -horse.. , ...
“I don’t qujte know how you’ll like
it,” said he, “but our folks have changed. 1
your room.”
“Changed my room?” said the-boarder,
glancing in juiringiy at him.
"You sec, After we settled you were to
have the front bed-reom,” he explained,.
“my mother got a letter from Mr: Lef
tom Mrs.. Lefton used to work in the j
factory here years ugo; but she married a
city lawyer, and now there isn’t any
thing quite good enough for her- And
■they wanted my mother to give them
three Communicating" rooms; and 'so
mother thought: you wouldn ! t mind the
little room, over the kitchen." City
boarders mostly . spend all their tame out
doors, you know.: and it isn’t so very hot
after the supper fire has gone out.”
•Mrs. John Jones was silent, j
“I told mother she oughtn't to do it,”
Mid the young farmer ; “but Mrs. Lef-!
ton. would hare that room. And mother |
thought she could explain it all to you i
when you came. And the room will be '
fifty cents a week less.”
“Gii!” sold Mrs. John Jones.
“Fuller’s farm was a long, low, strag
gling building, shaded by ancient elms.
. and possessing* peaked roof and chim
ney-stack -which' would have -delighted
the soul of an artist
Old Mrs. Fuller bustled to receive her
guests. The tea hour was already past,
hut there. war a howl of milk and a heap
ing saucer <|f red raspberries on the table,
and the little <arthen-ware teapot still
simmered on the beck of the stove in a
hospitable way.
“1 Lev to be Un-tful ceremonious with
the Leftortt” aid Mrs. Fuller; “but I
can and i 'most as A pleas# with you, Mrs.
I .loaes!"'
"j map op bust line-its wluotvanom^tso its vast concerns."
ELLIJAY. GA.. THURSDAY, MARCH 31. 188?.
And aa Mrs. Jones tipped her cup of
tea, and crumbled delicious home-made
bread into her bowl of milk, the could
hear, an animated conversation going on
in the kitchen beyond, between the old
lady and her son.
“It’s all nonsense, Henry l’’ said Mrs.
Fuller, who, being a little deaf, did not
always consider now loud she spoke.
“What! you to give up your room, and
go out to the barn-chamber? Hoity
toity! Ain't the kitchen bed-room good
enough for a dressmaker?”
“Hush, mother! She is a real lady, I
tell you,” responded Harry.
• “Fiddlesticks!” ssid Mrs. Fuller.
“And I am sure the kitchen bed-foom
wouldn’t suit her,” pursued Harry.
“Mother, it is too small and too warm.
And if.you will fix up mine for her, I
would just as soon sleep in the barn
these aril try nights."
“Oh, pshaw!” said Mrs. Fuller.
“Dressmaker hadn’t ought to give
themselves airs. And Mrs. Lefton was
dreadful annoyed, when she heard I was
going to take a working-woman in to
board. .She wouldn’t ha’ come if she’d
ha’ knowed it, she said.”
■ “Then I should advise her to stay
away,” observed Harry Fuller, with
some emphasis. “But you will make
this arrangement, ' mother, won’t you?
To please me!”
And he took up the empty milking
pail and went out.
Mrs. John Jones smiled to herself.
“So I have a champiou already?” she
thought.
Harry Fuller’s vacated room, albeit it
was in the high peak of the roof, was a
great Improvement on the hot little hole
oVer the kitchen which had been in
tended for “theboarder.” It was large
and airy, and commanded a fine view of
the Sound, and there was a snug little
corner closet for. her dresses, and a big,
old-fashioned, claw-legged ‘bureau for
her laces and collars.
“I don’t think I could have been more
pleasantly accommodated at the’ Yiew
Hotel,” thought she.
Mrs. Lefton, a fat, purple-faced
woman _in a rainbow-tinted grenadine
gown, and diamond rings up to the
knuckles of her pudgy hands, turned up
her nose immensely at the new boarder.
“It’s very unfortunate that woman
coming here just now,” she said.
' ‘Lefton is so particular About the folks
that I associate with. But perhaps since
it can’t be helped she enn show me how
to alter over Marietta's black tissue dress
that the French madam spoiled. I’d be
willing to pay her half price for helping
me.”
Mrs. Jones, however, gently declined
Mrs. Lefton’s patronizing offer.
“I am here for rest and recreation, not
for work, ” she said. “I have a Parisian
pattern which I will willingly lend yon;
but for the rest I must beg to be ex
cused.”
“Btuck-up thing!” said Mrs. Lefton.
“She can go walking,with the children,
Mrs. Fiiller, and mint for maiden-liair
ferns with yourJHaro’ k*lf Jhe day. hut
she caiTt go to work to earn a stray
penny. I’ve no patience with such up
starts that are above their business.”
“She seems very ladylike,” said old
Mrs. Fuller.
“It’s because she copies the airs and
traces of fine folks that come in to be
tted at her Missus’ place,” said -Mrs.
Lefton, violently fanning herself.
Even while this vehement colloquy
was going on at the house, Olivia Jones
was sitting on a fallen log in the black
berry pasture,' with Harry Fuller leaning
with folded arms against a thorn-apple
.tree close behind her.
“But I really meant it, Mrs. Jones,”
said he, earnestly.
“That'sall nonsense,” said the widow,
naif-smiling. “How can you mean it,
when you have only known me for ten
days?”
‘ I A week or a month can make no dif
ference to me,” persisted he. “I love
you, Mrt. Jones. 'I can’t bear to see you
ground" "down and 'insiilted by women
like jthat . Mriu. Lefton. I’m only a far
mer, I know, but I’ve a half-share in this
place, with all its surrounding land, and
the sawmill on Gilead River; and if
voii’H trust yourself to me, you shall
never know what want or trouble is.
Mrs.,Jones—Olivia —won’t you give me
a word of hope?”
“Would' you marry—a mere dressma
ker?”'
“I would marry you, Olivia, in a sec
ond, if you would only sav the word.”
. “But, Harry—”
He took her hand in his.- r
“It's all right,now, Olivia,’’-said he,
with sparkling "eyes. “If you did not
care for me you woiikl not have called
me Harry in that tone.”
And that was the way in which they
became engaged.
• Mrs. Fuller was electrified - when-she
■ heard of it.
“You, Henry,” she cried, “that might
hev married Amanda Plumb, or even
Mrs. I.efton’s darter. Marietta, to take
up with a dressmakin’ women, who—”
Just then-their caole a tap at the door.
A little, wrinkled-faced person stood
there, in a crumpled hat aud widow’s
veil,-with a capacious trunk, wheeled on
a wheelbarrow by a boy behind her. .
“Mrs. Fuller?” said this personage,
whose general appearance reminded one
of a badly-rolled parce'.
■ “Yes,” said-the farmer's wife. . “But
I don’t know who you are!”
“Mrs. John Jones,” explained .the
stranger—‘..‘the lady as engaged, your sec
ond floor front. In 'the dress-making
business. There’s been some mistake,
and my trunk was renf *<m to the View
Hotel,-and' some other person was sent
here. I was unexpectedly detained by
old Mrs. Mopson’s funeral orders, and
I’ve just discovered the blunder.”
Mtß. Fuller stared until her spectacle
glasses assumed the proportions of two
moons.
“If you’re the dressmaker that drove
the bargain with me by letter,” said she,
“then who if this Mrs. Jones.”
The yeliow-tressed widow smilingly
spoke u*p.
“Cnly a usurper, Mrs. Fuller,’’ snid
she. “I had engaged a -uit of rooms at
the' View Hotel, but circumstances
drifted me here instead: and I don't re
gret it, on the whole.”
She put her hand inside Harry's arm
u the spoke. > *
“My star*f” cried the astounded Mrs.
Lefton, “then you are the rich Mrs.
John Jones, who was coming to the
hotel—the lady that owns half the West
India Island* "
"Not quite o bad is that," said Mrs.
Jones, smiling. “Hut I cannot call my.
aelf poor, especially tinea I have been
fortunate enough to win an honeat man's
love."
And when old Mrs. Fuller related thia
story, as she often did, she always
capped the climax by saying, com
placently :
“So our Harry was a fortune hunter
after all, only he didn’t know it.”—
Saturday Night. T '■
Jnckson and the Old Postmaster.
One of the most delightful' of racon
teurs tells this interesting story concern
ing Andrew Jackson; A General in the
Revolutionary war, who was well known
to Jackson, was Postmaster of a promi
nent New York town, lie had been an
Adams man, and Silas \Vright, oue of
the ablest representatives that State ever,
had, and Martin t*an Buren, who was
then Jackson's Secretary of State, formed
a coalition to have tlm veteran warrior
removed soon after .lacksou had taken
the oath of office. ‘,Thc senrred hero do
termined to go to see Jnckson and plead
his own cause against ttye powerful poli
ticians who had &termir.ed to punish
him for -his. dvd|acy of Adams. He
called upon Jackson at the White House.
The President engaged in familiar con
versation with hint, when, to his amaze
ment, the old soldier said:
“Gen. Jackson, I have rouie here tc
talk to you about my<>tfico: the politi
cians w ant to take It away' from uje and
I have nothing else to live upon.”
The President wo reply till the
aged Postmaster tjpgau to take oil his
coat, in the most manner, when
GW Hickory broke out with the inquiry;
“What in HeayecV, name are you
going to dot”
“Well, air, I am going to show you
my wounds, whjchM*reocived lightiug
for my country against the English.”
.“Put it on at one#,- sir!” was the reply.
“I am surprised thKt a man of your age
should make such An exhibition of him
self,” and the eyes of the Iron President
were suffused with tears as without an
other word he badehis ancient foe good
evening. The nejrt • day Wright called
upon the. President and made out hiu
case against tho General and urged his
removal upon the strongest grounds.
He had hardly finished ihe last sentence
when Jack-on sprang; to his feet. Hung
his pipp into tlA’lfire, and exclaimed
with great vehemeabe:
“Itake tho consent jtecs, sir. I take the
consequences. ByEternal! I will
not remove the old njmi. 1 cannot re
move him. Why,- Mr. Wright, do you
know that he oariiSk mere than a p .mud
of British lead in his body?”
That w.'.s the la-.h-ofit. He who was
stronger than courts, rourtier-, or Cabi
nets pronounced hishlat, and the happy
old Postmaster next day took the stage
and returned home rejoicing. Washing
ton Mter.
Queer Funeral! of nu Epicurean.
A funeral of an extraordinary charac
ter took place the Other day in York
shire, when .1; S. 'Broderick, a well
known follower ofEpieurii-*, of Hawes,
-in North- YorksWlw,' rivas buried. The
interment took placo in the deceased
gentleman's own land, at Spring l-'nd,on
the top of -n hill. Mr. Broderick, who
bjlieved in the transmigration of souls,
had directed that no minister of religion
should attend his burial, aud that no re
ligious ceremony of aiiy kind should be
performed overhia remains The uaeral,
therefore, was almost of a unique de
scription. The procession hud to pass
over t-tagefall, one of the spurs of the
Pennine range, and as the rojjd was
blocked, in places over twelve feet deep
with show drifts the mourner* had a
most difficult ta*k. The immediate place
of sepulchre was \ery ' rocky. It had
been chosen by the deceased gentleman,
and blasting operations had to be car
ried on during the whole of Sunday and
Monday to complete the grave, which is
nearly twenty feet below the surface.
Handy Interest Rules.
'1 he a swer in each case being in
cents, separate the two right-hand tig
ures of the answer to express in dollars
and cents
Four percent.—Multiply the principal
by the number of days to run, separate
right-handi.figure from the product, and
'divide by nine.
Five per cent.—Multiply the number
of days and divide by seventy-two.
Six per cent. —Multiply the number of
days, separate right-hand figure, and di
vide by six.
Fight per cent.—Multiply by number
•of days and divide by forty-five
Nine per cent.—Multiply by number
of days, separate right-hand figure, and
divide by foui. - .
Ten per cent.—Multiply by number of
days and divide by.thjrty-five.
Twelve per cent.'—Midtiply by numbet
of days, separate right-hand figure, and
divide by three.
Shaving With a Finn ice Stone.
“Ever hear of a man shaving himself
with a pumice stone?” asked an Ogden'
avenue barber yest rday. “There is a
carpeuter*over here on .;ane street who
has not toadied hia skm with a razor for
-six months, yet his 1 face is always as
smooth as a woman's. Three times a
week lie sits down upon the bench in his
shop, and with a piece of pumice stone
held lightly between his index finger and
thumb, he will slowly rasp the stubble
oil his chin and chops, lie says that he
can slfavt himself in in half
the time it would require him with a ra
zor. Talk about there being any money
in a barber shop! It’s all bosh. It won’t
be long before men will be shaving
themselves with spoi t a and cutting
their hair with "an egg beater.”
„ Origin of the Fig Tull.
The wearing of the queue was imposed
upon the Chinese by their Tartar con
querors. about the yeor 1052 A. I). Be
tore that time the hair was allowed to
grow long and thick, and was fastened
in a knot at the top of the head. Much
as they hated the queue, the Chinese
dread fta loss, for th: shrewd Tartan
made the cutting off of it the punish
ment for the most disgraceful crimes,
uid its - absence, like the cropped ears
during the middle ages in Europe, was
the mark of a rogue.
Ben: Ferley Poore thinks General
< - runt was never happier in his life than
when, cheered by bis young wife, he
farmed sixty acres, labored in the fields,
chopped wood at “llardeerabbie,”
hauled it to Kt Louis end sold it for
|t a cord.
BUDGET, OF FUN.
HUMOROUS SKETCHES FROM
- - VARIOUS SOURCES.,
He Could Sing—A Fortunate Acci
dent—Terms Cash —A Mighty
Griocl >:ail— Here’s the
, Soup, Etc., Etc.
“Now. Mr. Nibson, yon must sing for
us,” said Miss Feathertop, “and I am
sure you- will sing something to oblige
us.”
“Of course I will—always willing to
oblige. Just ask the company to pass
out quietly, please.”
“Pass out quietly! What do you mean-'
by that?”
“It is better so. Miss Feathertop, as it
prevents them from stamped ing t and
breaking the furniture when I begin to
sing.”
A Fortunate Accident.
The sound of breaking gloss was heard
through the dining-room.
“What is -it, Joseph! Have you
broken another goblet?”
“Yes, but I was real fortunate this
time: it only broke in two pieces. ”
“You call that being ‘fortunate,’ do
you?”
“Yes; madame can’t imagine what a
bother it is to pick them up when a glass
breaks into a thousand pieces.”—-TV*?
Bits.
Terms Cash.
“No use I” called the Greenfield farmer
to the youpg man who was tramping
across his farm with a gun on his shoul
der.
9 “Hey! Speak to me?”
“Yes, I said it was no use coming
around here any more. The old cat is
dead.”
“I didn't waut your cat.”
“Oh, then you know a cat from a rab
bit? ’Scuse my mistake, but I took you
fur one o’ them Detroit fellers. You can
go ahead, but every time you shoot at
one of my calves fur a b’ar it will cost
you $5, and you’ll see a sign of ‘No
. Trust’ nailed on the barn.”— Detroit Free
Press.
A Mighty Good Sail.
Old Captain- Starbuck, of Nantucket,
a philosophical old sea dog, never per
mitted ill-luck to dampen his faith or his.
' good spirits. Returning home from a
three years’ whaling voyage, with an
empty hold, he was boarded by the pilot,
an old acquaintance, who asked :
“Waal, Cap’n Starbuck, how many
bar'ls? Had a good voyage?”
“Not ’/actly,” responded the Captain;
“I haiut got a bar’l of ile aboard, but
I’ll tell ye, I've had a mighty good sail.”
— Ben: Perteg Poore.
“Here’s the Soup!”
"nmire. MioEsfu raivaihoYeai,
ing in “Lucia di Lammormoor” in Mar
seilles. The cantatrice had ordered a
restaurant keeper to send her a basin of
hot soup at U o’clock. The hour came,
and with it a girl carrying the star’s re
freshments. The girl made at once for
the stage, and arrived at the wings as
madam was singing in the finale to
the first act. The next moment lia
venswood and Lucia were astonished'
by a soup-tureen being set down on the
faiossy bank in front of the fountain, the
cover lifted, and the intruder addressing
them, as she plunged a spoon in the
aoup, with: “Begging your pardon, sir,
lor interrupting you and the lady, but
here’s the soup. ”
A Scot's Device.
It is related of a successful Glasgow
merchant that, sight-seeing in Paris
once, he lost his way. For a consider
able time he wandered about trying "to
find his way back. It got late, lie could
speak no French, and bis Glasgow-Eng
lish only brought a smile and a shake of
the head.
"O for a body wi‘ a guid Scolch
tongue in their head,” he sighed.
Then came a “happy thought.” By
signs he bought the basket, measure,
and berries of a trim Frcach woman,
and, shouldering the stock in-trade, went
along the streets yelling:
“Fine grossetts, a bawbee the pint;
tine grossetts, a bawbee the-pint.”
The crowd laughed at the mad BritoD,
but the familiar cry soon brought some
Scotsmen on the scene, and the merchant
was able to retire from business, and
smoke his pipe in< the 1 bosom of his
family, thankful that'hc had -found leal
Scotsmen in his hour of need.
1.. Not. That John.
He was having his fortune told.
“I see,” said the medium, contracting
ter eyebrows and turning her toes in, “I
see the name of John!”
“Yes,” said the sitter, indicating that
be had beard the nanie before.
“The name seems, to have given you a
groat deal of trouble.
•“It has."
“This John is an intimate friend.
“That's so,” he said, wonderingly.
‘‘And often leads you to do things you
ire sorry fer.” ,
“True: every word. ”
“.His influence over you is bad
‘‘Right again.”
* “But.you will soon have a serious
quarrel, when you will become' es
tranged.”
“I’m glad of that. Now spell out his
whole name.”
The “meejum” opened one eye and
studied the face of her-sitter. Then she
wrote some cabalistic words aud banded
it to him in exchange for her fee.
‘ ‘Do not read it until you are at home, ”
she said solemnly. “It is your friend’s
wholes name.”
Whan he reached home he lit the gas
and gravely examined the pnper. There
be read in picket-fence characters, the
name of his “friend :”
“Demi-John!” —Detroit Free Frees.
Pleasant fer the Critic.
You know the man who always wants
your opinion of him or something he's
done, the candid truth, and then quar
rels with -you for giving it to him. He
has various methods, but this is one of
the neatest I’ve ever heard for a long
time for a judicious hint. A celebrated
artist in New York bad just finished a
picture. Artists don't Ilka so be adver
viard. It Is for love of art they paint,
and they are hurt if their name gets into
the newspaper* favorably. That, how
ever is a univerattl falling The picture
had been on show in his studio-in-a pri
vate way, and the painter called upon
the art critic of a big New York daily,
an old friend of his. He found him very
glad to see him, of course.
“I want you to come and take a look
at my new picture,” ssid he. “It’s just
finished.”
... “I’ll be delighted, certainly.”.
“I’ve only one thing to ask. We’ve
been'-close "friends for years,-and,-of
course, that may influences you. But I ’
don’t want it to. I want you to lay
aside all recollection of our friendship;
look upon me simply as a painter,-who
has painted a -picture. I want you to
come to my studio, and givo me a cool
blooded criticism of the work. I’ve just
licked one fellow who said he didn’t like
it.” —San b'anHeo Chronicle.
-, Making a Horse Laugh.
“Bet you a dollar 1 can make that
horse laugh,” said a man with a white
hat as he patted a demure-lookiUg beast
on the flank. s' -s'
“Does the horse know you?” asked a
sad-eyed man, to whom the challenge
was addressed.
’ “Never saw him before in my life.”
“Is he the same as any other horse?” i
“Just the same, so far as I can see.”
“Well, I’ll have to go you a dollar for
luck.”
The man with the white hat passed his
hand over the nostrils of the beast, and
then stepped back upon the sidewalk.
A moment later the eves of the horse be
! gan to roll, and then his upper lip shriv
! eled up so high that seven teeth sprang
into view;
“See him laugh?” yelled the man with
the white hat nig he danced a Lancashire
step oir the flagging. Tears leaped to
thu eyes of the horse and his respira
tions came heavy and fast as he lifted
liis head into the airland uttered a hoarse
guffaw.
“Give me the money; I win the bet,”
exclaimed the man with the white bat,
amid a series of wheezes and snorts from
the laughing beast. The sad-eyed man
gave’up his dollar and passed on. Just
as the animal was about to drop down
from exhaustion the man with the white
j bat pulled a blue bottle fly from his vic
tim’s nostri's.
“That makes $4 I have won to-day,”
he said, giving the horse a congratula
tory slap. “It’s rather tough on the
critters, but a fellow must live,-you
know. Y’ou can use a flyfor'ono’experi
nient only, but when you haye.a,bottle
full, as I have here in my pocket,' you
do not mind the loss.” —Chicago Herald.
WORDS OF WISDOM.
No task is well performed by a reluct-,
ant hand.
Next to the ligheatheart, the heaviest
is apt to the most playfu).
There are no greater prudes than
those woihen who have some secret to
hide. ' ,
Tilp-Rood hate evil, but got evil peo
ple; the evil abhor both good and good
people.
In great cities wo learn to look the
world in the face. We shAke hands
with stern realities.
Our grand business is not to see what
Hesdimly-at a distance, but to do what’
lies clearly At hand. ,
There is nothing so sweet us a duty,
and all the best pleasures in life come iq
the wake of duties done. , . i
When death, the great reconciler has
come., it is never our tenderness that we
repent of but our severity.
i If life like the olive, is a bitter fruit,
theu grasp both with the pres i, and they
will afford the sweetest oil.
' One of the finest qualities in a human
being is . that nice sente .of delicacy
which renders-jt impossible for.himev.er
to be an intruder or a Jiore.
Does any man wound thee? Not only
forgive, but'Workioto thy thought in-'
lelligenco of the, kind- .of-pain, that
tbou maye-t never inflict it on another,
spirit. a': '- ' 1 •
All higher education isbsscn'tiaily'self
education..r Teachers do not make-the'
scholar. The impulse comes chiefly from
within, and tjfe student becomes the.
scholar whea he- ceases to .confine him
self to prescribed tasks or previous
limits, and spontaneously readies out
beyond.- • ' . '
Whistling and
If a boy is allowed - to - whistle it .will
turn his attention in a great degree from
the desire to become * possessor Of a
drum, and if paternal firmness. be added
lie can be kept satisfied without one un
t l he gets to be Sixteen years old, when
Jie will strike the cornet period. .
Shakespeare was well acquainted with
the art. He makes Othello say concern
ing Desdemona:. “H I- do but pfove her
false, I’ll whistle her qff andjqt her down
the wind a prey to fortune, e’en though
lier very cries were iny - dead heart
strings.’-’ t •.*; , !
Negroes are the best.whistlers in. the
world. Frequently one hqars a‘ colored
improvisatote whistling-' the quaintest
and sweetest melodies, and.with the col
ored males in general whistling c mes as
'natural ua'grun ting does to a'hog.
- Men whistle,when:they are happy, and
they whistle when.they.are sad: ,When
you see a carpenter, or house painter
pushing the plain Or slapping oir tlie pAiiit
and whistling., a . lively aitqat the same
time, put him down ns n man who .pays
his debts, -is cheerful af homS, and ileVer
whips hi& children.'’; ; : •
When a man is sad he. whistles. in a
'doleful tone. Nine times out of ten ha
won’t choose a doleful air, -but he will
whistle a lively tune, a negro minstrel
end song. And he will draw the melody
in and out between his lips in a way to
draw tears from all listeners. Hometimes
a man accomplishes the same results
whea he is cheerful and trying to whittle
real good.
Girls, in general, whistle in a sort of
jerky, disconnected, jim jam way, and
groan mildlv between the notes. They’d
better let whistling alone. — l‘hihulrlyltia
Meme.
Result of a Collision.
Oat of our school-teacher* was en
deavoring to explain to a small boy in
her class the meaning of the word “col
lision.” She said:
“Supi>OHe two lioyt running on the
street should come together real b*rd.
Whut would there bet”
“A fight.” responded the little fellow
loudly and with netonUhißg promptness,
and ths teacher gave it up. —lhinjor
f'wnmereiut.
on OOLUK Piri —mm. fa i *wmmn
LIGHTS OUT.
The sentry challenged at the open gate,
Who passed him by, because the boors was
laff - ' i
“Halt! Who goes -there?”
“All’s well."” . ,
“A friend, old chap!” a friend’s farewell,
And I had passed the gsit*. ’■
And then the long, last notes were shed,
.The echoing calfls last dead;
“And sounded sadly, as X stood without.
Those last -sad notes of all: Lights Out!
Light* Out!
Farewell, companions! We have side by side
Watched history’s lengthened .shadows past
us glide, r ‘
And worn the scarlet; laughed at, paid,
And buried comrades lowly laitf, ‘
And let the long-year*.gUe;f.
And toil and hardship have wsknown,
Andi followed where h&f gbAS.”
- But all the echoes answering foundatof* *
Have bidden you to sleep: laigh ts- Out!. . s
And never more forme sjiallrad fire flash
From brightrevolvers—Oh,the crumbling asb
Of life is hope's fruition.' Fall "
Tho withered friendships; and .wy all
Are sleeping! East away
The fabrics of our lives decay., .
■ The robes of night about ihe lay,
And the air whispered, fis I stood without.
Those last sad notes of ail; Light*put'
Lights Out!
• '■ —Roger Rocock, in the XVt'ck.
PITH ANIKPIMN-T,
- ■■ - .
A chest protector-—Ther ‘baggagorinas-
ter. ... *
Mrs. Grundy tells the New Y’oik Moil
and Kxprets that fliey'do bot-rcSU tfiem
dudes any more— I siqip - 1y..,“y0pi% ; sockty
Darwins.’.’ ~, ~ \ '
Not every oqu is happy'Who donees,
says the proverb. The man whti lies.just
stepped-qn a tack kno.ws : well. I
— Button. Courier.
All flesh i* grass, the young man sfghed;
The maid repiUXUaistruo, ' "
As all must know who’ve sat beside
A chap as greeti' rts-youi.
• . Courier.
When- you see a couple on'the street,
if the man carriee the bundles thoy are
engaged. If the woman carries the
• bundles they ara married, —New^JJoren
News. A . _ .V,
The “seif-.niailfe^’'Wan who boasts of
•’how mubh smarter'he.-hai been'.than
other mete, did .potxiuij*,Jlflißjnthg,<job.
He forgot to give hiqiself uiimuers. —Oil
City lilitxard. \ !
• When jiieO-iooksadauUstgii; PAtaq?.’ l
, , And from companions tfy, , .
In very may case* 'tw' 1 ' '• •
A las* tlidt makes them sigh
-j Mercha n t-Ir artier.
■ A" Sioux Indian - bears - thfi, namO' of
‘.'The -man- Jjtybq-rth-flO-
wi'ul-vyhß<reft-belflud.” It is belijyedhe
participated ‘in tlXc Strategic move'on
jYoahiugfcu 'jihi the, jrdX b'attlc'OL-iiuH
Run.— Norer'ido ih ■ .; '
.Commanding , Oflfeer-r-“Bring, ypur
company. Op.*’’ ‘Captaitf'fjust tOKbii back
into the army)—WALV-JAIt-#oaitd-tfilk
SoSkSBTW
since jrod'lnft’tUicurjiW?” "Beerf c<sm
mandmg a.rgkanlpdf3ww4ti a ,!’_'GpiaAa
World. r ,r v ,. a ....
“Wlrnt can be, the matter with-Arthur,
dear?' He ihdpcihfO? IW rliust be sick.”
“I don’t think, it js‘ nous'fcs that,
mamma. It's. bis", whiskers;” “His
whiskers'. WJiy thdjbby hasn’t got any.”
“That’is iust it, fuamma'.' Hewishesrhe
had itheiii. idqn’a, y.qu know.”.— .Tow*
Topicß. . . .; . I , ' , .•;
“My dear”’ said the husband to the
wile before the’glass, “I’m ashamed to
see. you ,-ptit red, stuff oijk youi
cheeks.” “Oh, don’t worry about tlgit,”
she replied sweetly. “It matches the
'color'on yourr-sose .admirably; and har
mony is.,what makes shc marriage rela
tion idea Critic..
* ; OlhKhs Ba'bii— “Well, now, just tqU
me wlrutcomfort you’ve gained, by get-'
,ting 'married.?", ypqqff How
doyou fasten your suspepders when the
buw6tls"?ome off, as they gonerally'do in
about a WCeiq?” “I use wire hooks usu
ally.” “Yys: and. whqre do get the
Wire?" ” “WeM, I gcnfeVally have a time
huntmg fora piece,"l must admit. I girt
.the last.off jny,whisk broom.” Yes, and
spbiltj.be brooni.” “Just so; but what.,
-better’off eire-y'ou?” “Mel Why, I’ve
-got a .wife,, and she always has about a
bushed v .of .hair" pins on hand.”-^- Omaha
• Wom:_ . . j
t A Conversion.
The,.-story, is jtold/ithat When General
Sherman entered Goldsboro-’, N. 0,, on
the wfiytto join Grant after his parch to
/the sesC,-he. Qhd;his staff stopped just hr
front’of the v rulonce of a man who was
a rabid Secession id. The cokupl iM
•b-ro tirat title) appeared on' the porch
:to greet thgm, jnd. an o Hcer asked what
his sftntiriiects were in regard to the
r w*ir.* “"Tam- a strong I'nioa man,” said
.the.colonel, with a.dry smile “Ah, in
deed, ” said, the onieer, rather sarcastic
ally; “and -how long bare yon been a
. titriwn man?” "‘fT have been a Tnion
man, .(Said the,-colonel, “ever-since I
saw you and your staff come into the
end of That street, about fifteen 'minutes
.ago,” • Thjjit. condor 'pleased General
Sherman, and he ordered a guard plaeedj
• around’Coldhei X.’s property, and dur
ing 4he*#tay of the icrmy not a thing was
moiested,.io or .around his premises, al
though many others suffered.’
• *'-* ' -J. '• * • ■ ~ f
City’s Oak J.nuijjs.
I.ate one night last week 1 met an old
: mah with a codhslcin hat on bis head
and a huge pipe in his mouth. He was
standing at the comer of Washington
and Halstead'streets, gazing intently at
. a gas-lamp. As ho lifted his wrinkled
old face toward me I recognized him.
He was the figure ticud. <1
“Sec that ’ar gas lamp?” he exclaimed.
“Well, I was just tninkiu' ’bout it.
There's more in the gsa lamp question
thau you have any ldoa of. ThCre'a
1 <I,OOO o’ them gas lamps in t hicago,
think of that. 10,000, an" •1,000 oil
la efts,. Cost money to-run 'em? I should
j say to—slM a year for every lamp an’
1 a year for evefy oil burner. That,
makes a heap o' money, don't It. Why,
sir, ail them lamps would light tho l’en n-.
sylvama Hail.uau from Chicago to New
1 ork ao's a man a walkin’ them at nJgnt
need naver bo In the dark. They would
place a tamp every fomtaon rod the hull
distance. What dyo think of Utetl”—
Chiet'jo ihraU.
~ NO 3.