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DEVILTRIES.
—Latest name lor bachelor—-A sir sin
gle.
—Lorn parties—Old maids and wid
ows.
—The latest tooth-piek 'likewise but*
tons your kids and cuts your nails.
—Mr. Ham proposes to start a weekly
pape in Milledgeville, Ga. It should
come out every Fry-day.
—What’s the dilleience between agirl
and a nightcap? One is born to wed,
and the other is worn in bed.
—The difference between going in and
going out of office frequently is this—
they are sworn in, but go out swearing.
—The lowa man who invented grass*
hopper soup has concocted a beautiful
sauce of cockroaches and keroscue oil.
—The New Orleans Picayune thinks
that “ if some of the strikers would strike
the earth with hoes, they might gain
bread.”
—A man in Chambersburgh, 111., has
been sued for destroying property by
spitting tobacco juice on the lioor of a
church.
—“ I would not live always,
I ask not stay
So he ate a green peach
And was carried away.”
—Ah !if women were only like banan
as ! The older this fuitgets to be the
nicer it looks, and even when ready for
the garbage-box children cry for it.
—Lawyers’ fees have come down in the
west. They used to want the who of an
estate for selling it, but now they allow
the widow euougb to cover funeral ex
penses.
—A traveling circus exhibits a horse
that has no hair, mane or tail. But it is
not true that au opposition concern in
tends to exhibit some hair, mane and tail
that has no horse.
—“ What I object to,” said a Texas
horse thief as he was about to be drawn
up, “is you hanging me here in the sun
when there’s punty of shade close by.
However, go ahead.”
—Ah ‘hie.-, up his
.-cl..e'-uh census, under the
column “ where born,” described one ot
his children ns born “ in lac parlor,” and
the other “i , -drs.”
— Mrs V.-.u t -i says sue wants to
worry Satan about ten years more, ami
:■( u si.o’;- ready to let up. Fl:eTl be
aiVi-.i.: i i f rapidity wi ll which ue’il
get on his (vir* again.
—A man went to a theatre in Chicago
the other night. He doesn’t remember
what the name of the play was on The
bills, but all that lie eould hear was
“ Fans? ten cents; fans? ten cents.”
—“ My brains are afire!” exclaimed
au excited lady to her husband. “ Well,
iny dear,” said the unfeeling man, taking
a revolver from a drawer, “just hold still
u moment, and 1 will blow them out?”
—lt is very, very sad when au absent
minded young man is asked at a church
festival what he’ll have and answers,
“ Beer.” But it’s just as bad when he
tries to suck up his ice cream with a
straw.
—A young mother explaining chris
tening to her 6-year-old boy, told him
when he was christened he “would be
one of God’s little lambs." “And will I
have hind legs and horns? ’ eagerly ask
ed the boy.
—A lady who had refused to give
after hearing a charity sermon, had her
pocket picked as she was leaving the
church. On making the discovery, she
said : “ God could not find the way into
my pocket, but is seems the devil did.”
—At a weekly meeting a straight laced
man and most exemplary deacon submit
ted a re. ort in writing on the destitute
wid ws who stood iu need ot assistance
from the congregation. “ Are you sure,
deacon," asked Knot ier sober brother,
“ that you have embraced all the wid
ows?”
—There is a question of veracity be
tween a Times reporter and a rioter.
The reporter says he shot the rioter dead,
and the latter stoutly denies the story,
and says he can prove the negative. It
is manifest that the rioter lies, aud we
congratulate the reporter on his prowess
and pluck.”
—Edith’s mother was sick, and the
little one felt, as she expressed it, “ very
mournful.” At night she prayed, “O,
Lord, please to make my dear mamma
well again. She must have eaten some
thing that didn’t ingest. Don't let her
be siek any more, for its no fun to her,
nor to me either.”
Pierrepout—" Haw, Adam, I see that
the new webellion is quite ewnshed—the
wiots, yo know.” Badeau—“ Yes, so I
see, myself.” Pierrepont—“ Well, now,
what pwuzxles me is, how the d-deuee
they did :* vithoui Gwant. Do you
kijuw, Adam, t mink Gwant must have
txi'degwapked them what to do ?”
—A little fellow was partaking largely
of the good thine* of this life at the din
ner-taole, immediately oh his return
from Sabbath-school. His brother, after
evmg him lor some time, said : “ Charlie,
if you were to eat much more, and it
should kill you, you would weigh so much
that die angels could not carry you to
heaven.” Little six-year-old hesitated
for a moment, and then, looking up, re
plied: “Well, if they couldn’t do it
alone, God would send Samson down to
help them.”
®t)t • #oletl)cvi)c Cfdio.
BY T. L. GANTT.
THE LOST CHILD.
Just now I missed from hall and stair
A joyful treble that had grown,
As dear to me as that gravestone
That tells the world my older care.
And little footsteps on the floor
Were stayed. 1 laid aside my pen,
Forgot my theme and listened —then
Stole softly to the library door.
No sight! no sound ?—a moment’s freak
Of fancy thrilled my pulses through :
“ If—no” aud yet, that fancy drew
A father’s blood from and cheek.
And then—l found him ! There he lay,
Surprised by sleep caught in the act,
The rosy Vandal who had sacked
His little town, and thought it play.
The shattered vase the broken jar;
A match still smouldering on the floor ;
The inkstand’s purple pool of gore ;
The chessmen scattered near and far.
Strewn leaves of albums lightly pressed.
This wicked “ Baby of the Woods;”
Lu fact, of half the household goods
This sou and heir was seized—possessed.
Yet all in vain, for sleep had caught
The hand that reached the feet that stayed
And fallen in that ambuscade
The victor was himself o’ewrought.
What though torn leaves and tattered book
Still testified his disgrace 1
1 stooped aud kissed his inky face.
With its demure and calm outlook.
Then back I stole, and half-beguiled
My guilt, in trust that when iny sleep
Should come, there might be One who’dkeep
An equal mercy for His'child.
MAKE THE OLD FOLKS HAPPY,
As we fill up the fleeting moments,
As we pass through the busy day,
As we sow in upturned furrows,
Or reap for the harvest gay,
As we follow life’s varied fannies,
Rejoicing in our youth,
Do you make the old folks happy?
Do we heed their wants forsooth ?
Precious mother how she loved us!
And, ah ! how she loves us still,
As she sits serenely smiling,
in her cap with its snowy l’rill.
And yet oltimes we forget her,
When younger hearts enthrall—
Let us make dear mother happy
Till she hears the angel’s call.
And poor father, bent and broken.
Like a reed in the driving wind—
Let us steady his wavering footsteps,
And bear with his childish mind.
He was once our pride aud solace,
In his strong days long ago—
Let us make dear father happy
While lie’s spared to us below.
Let us make the old folks happy
Lest we too when growing old
Should look in vain to our children
For comforts we withhold.
While the lights are flickering feebly
In its dim; uncertain glow,
Let us make the old folks happy
With love’s sweet overflow.
TWO LU ILi: PAIRS Ol ROOTS.
Two little pairs of boots to-night,
Before the tire arc drying ;
Two little pairs of tired feet
In a trundle bed are lying ;
Two tracks they left upon the floor
Make me feel much like sighing.
Those little boots with copper toesl
They run the livelong day ;
Aud oftentimes 1 almost wish
That they were miles away,
So tired 1 am to hear so oft
Their heavy tramps as play.
They walk about the new ploughed ground,
Where mud in plenty lies ;
They roll it up in marbles round
And bake it into pies ;
And then at night upon the floor
Iu every shape it dries.
To-day I was disposed to scold;
But when I see at night
Those little boots before the tire,
With copper toes so bright,
I think how sad my heart would be
To put them out of sight.
For in the trunk up-stairs I’ve laid
Two socks of white and blue;
If called to put those boots away,
O (jod ! what should I do?
I mourn that there are not, to-night,
Three pairs iust;ad of two.
CONSTANCY.
It was the Carnival season in Paris;
and Col. Eugene Merville, au attache of
the great Napolean’s staff, who had won
his way to distinction with his own sabre,
found himself at the masked ball iu the
French opera house. Better adapted in
his tastes to the field than the boudoir,
he dirts but little with the gay figures
that cover the floor and joins but seldom
in the waltz. Bui at last., while stand
ing thoughtfully and regarding the as
sembled throng with a vacant eye, his
attention was suddenly aroused by the
appearance of a person in a white satin
domino, the universal elegance of whose
figure, manner and bearing convinced
all. that her face and mind must be equal
to her person in grace and lovlineas.
Though iu so mixed an assembly, still
there was a dignity and reserve in the
manuer of the white domino that rather
repulsed the idea of a familiar address,
and it was some time before the young
soldier found courage to speak to her.
Some alarm being given, there was a
violent rush of the throng towards the
door ; where, unless assisted, the lady
would have materially suffered. Eugene
Merville offers his arm, and with his
broad shoulders and 6tout frame wards
off the danger. It was a delightful mo
ment; the lady spoke the purest French,
was wity, fanciful and captivating.
“ Ah ! lady, pray raise that mask, and
LEXINGTON, GEORGIA, FRIDAY MORNING, AUGUST 24, 1877.
reveal to me the charms of feature that
must accompany so sweet a voice and so
graceful a form as you possess ?”
“ You would perhaps be disappoint
ed.”
“ No, I am sure not.”
“ Are you so very confident?”
“Yes. I feel that you are beautiful—
it cauuot be otherwise.”
“ Don’t be too sure of that,” said the
domino. “ Have you never heard of the
veiled prophet ofKhorassan—how, when
he disclosed his countenance, its hideous
aspect killed his beloved one. How do
you know that I shall not turn out a
veiled prophet Khorrassan ?”
“ Ah, lady, your every word convinces
me to the contrary,” replied the enrap
tured soldier, whose heart had begun to
feel a3 it never felt before; he was in
love.
She eludes his efforts at discovery,
but permits him to hand her to her car
riage, which drives off in the darkness,
and though he throws himself upon his
fleetest horse, he is unable to overtake
her.
The young French Colonel becomes
moody, he has lost his heart, and knows
not what to do. He wanders hither and
thither, shuns his former places of
amusement, avoid# his military compan
ions, and, in short, is miserable as a lover
can be thus disappointed. One night
just after he had left the hotel on foot, a
figure, muffled up to the very ears, stop
ped him.
“ Well, monsieur, what would you with
me ?” asked the soldier.
“You would know the name of the
white domino?” was the reply.
“ I would, indeed ?” replied the officer
hastily. “ How cau it be done?”
“ Follow me.”
“To the end of the world if it will
bring me to her.”
“ But you must be blindfolded.”
“ Very well.”
“Step into this vehicle.”
“ I am at your command.”
Aud rattled the youthful soldier
and his strange companion. “This may
be a trick,” reasoned Eugene Merville,
“ but I have no fear of personal violence.
I am armed with this trusty sabre, aud
cau take care of myself.” But there was
no cause for fear since he soon lound the
vehicle stop, and he was led, blind-fold
ed, into the house. When the bandage
was removed from his eyes, he found
himself iu a richly-furnished boudoir,
and before him stood the white domino
just as he met her at the masked ball.
To fail upon his knees and tell her how
much he had thought of her since their
separation that his thoughts had never
left her, that he loved devotedly, was as
natural as to breathe, and he did so gal
lantly and sincerely.
“itihall I believe al! you say?”
“ Lady, let me prove it by any test you
may put upon me.”
“ Know, then, that the feelings you
avow are mutual. Nay, unloose your
arm from my waist. I have something
more to say.”
“Talk on forever, lady! Your voice
is music to my heait and ears.”
“Would you marry me, knowing no
more of me than you now do?”
“ Yes, if you were to go to the altar
masked!” he replied.
“ Then I will test you.”
“ How lady ?”
“ For one year be faithful to the love
you have professed, and I wiil be yours
—as true as heaven thall spare inv life.”
“ Oh, cruel suspense 1”
“ You demur ?”
“ Nay, lady, I shall fulfill your in
junctions as I promised.”
“ If at the expiration of a year you do
not hear from me, then the contractshall
be null and void. Take this half ring,”
she continued, “and when I supply the
brokeu portion I will be yours.”
He kissed the little emblem, swore
again and again to he f&itnful, and press
ing her hand to his lips bade her adieu.
He was conducted away as
ly as he had been brought thither; nor
could he by any possible means discover
where he had been, his companion reject
ing all bribes, and even refusing to an
swer the simplest questions.
Months roll on. Colonel Merville is
true to bis vow, and happy in the antic
ipations of love. Suddeuly he vas order
ed on an embassy to Vienna, the gayest
of all the European capitalists, about
the time that Napoleon was planning to
marry the Archduchess Maria Loutea.
The young colonel is handsome, manly,
and already distinguished in arms, and
becomest at once a great favorite at court,
every effort being made by the women to
captivate him—but in vain ; he is con
stant and true to his vow.
But his heart is not made of stone; the
very fact that he bad entertained such
tender feelings for the white domino had
doubtless made him more susceptible
than before.
At last he met the young Baroness
Caroline Von Waldroff, and in spite of
his vows she captivates him, and he se
cretely curses the engagement he had so
blindly made at Paris. She seems to
wonder at what she believes to be bis
devotion —and the distance he maintains!
The truth was, that his sense of honor
was so great that, thoughee felt he loved
the young baroness, and even she return
ed his affection, still he had given his
word and that was saered.
The satin domino is no longer the
ideal ofhis heart but assumes the moat
repulsive form in his imagination, and
becomes in place of his good ungel, his
evil genius f
Well time rolls on ; he h to return in
a few days—it is once more the carnival
season ; and in Vienna, too, that gay
city. He joins in the festivities of the
masked ball, and wonder tills his braiu,
when about the middle of the evening,
the white domino steals before him in
the same white satin dress he had seen
her wear a year before at the French
Opera House in Paris. Was it not a
fancy ?
“ I come Colonel Eugene Merville, to
hold you to your promise,” she said, lay
ing her hand lightly upon his arm.
“Is this a realty, or a dream ?” asked
the amazed soldier.
“ Come, follow me, and you shall see
that it is a realty,” contined the mask,
pleasantly.
“ I will.”
“ Have you been faithful to your
promise?” asked the domino as they
retired into the saloon.
“ Most truly in act; but, alas, I fear
not in heart!”
“ Indeed !”
“It is true, lady, that I have seen and
loved another; though my vow to you
has kept me from saying so to her,”
“ And who is that you love
“ I will be frank with you, and will
keep my secret?”
“ Most religiously.”
“It is the Baroness Von Waldroff,” he
said with a sigh.
“ And you really love her?”
“ Alas! only too dearly,” said the sol
dier sadly.
“ Nevertheless, I must hold you to
your promise. Here is the other half of
the ring; can you produce its mate?”
“ Here it is,” said Eugene Merville.
“Then I, too, keep my promise?” said
the domino, raising her mask, and show
ing to his astonished view the face of
the Baroness Von Waldroff!
She had seen and loved him for his
manly spirit and character, and having
found by inquiry that he was worthy of
her love, she had managed this delicate
intrigue, and had tested him, and now
gave him her wealth, title and every
thing.
They were married with great pomp,
and accompanied the archduchess to
Paris. Napoleon, to crown the happi
ness of his favorite, made him at once a
general of division.
Some of life Connecticut “ Bint-Law^.’'
“No food or lodging shall be afforded
to a Quaker, Adamite, or other heretic.
“ Ii any person turns Quaker he shall
be banished, and not suffered to return
but upon pain of death.
“ No Priest shall abide in the Domin
ion : he shall be banished, and suffer
death on his return. Priests may be
siezed by any one without a warrent.
“No one shall read Common-Prayer,
keep Christmas or Saints-days, make
minced pies, dance, play cards, or play
on auy instrument of music except the
Drum, Trumpet and Jewsharp.
“ No one shall run on the Sabbath day,
or walk in his garden or elsewhere ex
cept reverently to and from meeting.
“No one shall travel, cook victuals,
make beds, sweep house, cut hair or
shave ou the Sabbath day.
“ No woman shall kiss her child on the
Sabbath or lasting days.
“ No mau shall court a maid in person
or by letter without first obtaining con
sent of her parents: 5/. penalty for the
first offence ; 10? for the second ; and, for
the third, imprisonment during the pleas
ure of the court.
A Touch of Xnturc,
A miner whom we call Hughes, fell
down a winze in one of the Comstock
mines several years ago and was killed.
His companions gathered up his remains,
and, putting them in an express wagon
started for his home. Another miner, a
fine, good hearted fellow was sent on
ahead to bear the sad news to the bereav
ed family. All the way along he was
discussing with himself as to how he
should tell the terrible story so as not to
crush the unfortunate household ; out he
reached the bouse before having settled
definately upon his plan. Meeting Mrs.
Hughes at the door he accosted her in the
usual manner of an acquintance, and then
said:
“ Where’s George to-day,Mrs. Hughes?”
“ He’s at work in the mine, as usual,
thank you, sir,” replied the woman.
“ How is he feeling to day ?” was the
next question. The news bearer was be
coming desperate. He was a brave man
who would have not feared a craving drift
or a delayed blast, whose heart was so
tender that he did not know how to tell a
woman of her husband’s death,
With some show of surprise Mrs.
Hughes answered the last question.
“ About as well as he generally does, I
believe.”
The man was desperate, and not know
ing what to say, he blurted out: “ I'll
bet you tea dollars he’s dead, and here
comes the body in a wagon."
He swallowed a big lump in his throat
and wiped a piece of porphyry out ofhis
left eye with his shirt sleeve. Afterward
in talking over the matter with bis com
rades he said it was the greatest trial he
had ever experienced, and that hereafter
when a man was killed they might call on
somebody else to tell the news.
A BOY WHO STUCK TO FAKUIXU.
When ahoy, from teu to fourteen years
of age, I was taught to milk and do oth
er “ chores” night and morning, before
and after school hours. My father was a
farmer as well as a politician. He pas
tured his cattle upon the meadows after
mowing, and in the late autumn and
raid-winter, when the ground was bare
all the heaps or balls of debris on the
meadows and pastures were broken and
distributed by using a maul. Saturday
was vacation from school, and I worked
at beating and scattering the debris on
the pasture lands, being paid by my fa
ther ten cents a day for eight hours.
I accumulated $2, for which my father
sold me a heifer calf, and bargained to
keep it for me by my working haif a day
each week. This I did, and at the end
of one year I exchanged my heifer with
my pa for two male calves. Almost every
day after these calves were two weeks
old I occupied my spare time in teaching
them to work in the yoke—a small one,
with two bows, which a friend made for
me. At two months old they would
“ gee” or “ haw” as well as old oxen.
They were then turned to pasture until
September. When my father was mow
ing the grass ou his salt meadows, situa
ted on the borders of Long Island Sound,
these calves were taken aud used to lead
the heavier cattle team over the meadows.
Again, they were used iu mid-winter to
lead the team in breaking in his two -year
olds. As these calves or young
steers grew up, I taught the near ox to
let me ride him,.while the off ox would
come along in his place, and so I often
drove my father’s stock from his pasture
to the barnyard. So much for my early
“ choring” and team work.
After I was thirteen my father gave me
a piece of ground each year, that I eould
plant and work on shares, and if I want
ed help I had to give two days of my
time to the hired man’s one day. I grew
just what my fancy and reading dictated,
and from the proceeds I dressed as well
as any of the boys of the present time.
I always had some time to play, and
time to read, and now look back with
love and pleasant thoughts to the old
farm, and the farm band who taught me
to use tools, to hold the plow, aud to
bring the point and heel of my scythe so
as to leave the swath clean and true.
Once, when driving the ox team to the
plow, I failed in keeping them in a
straight line at the end of the tarrow, but
I danced for it when the plowman took
the whip from my hands and laid it heav
ily over my buck and legs. I always
afterwards drove the team out straight,
and I have tried to drive it straight uow
over seventy years.
The remembrance of my own boy
hood has always induced me to favor all
items of encouragement at home on the
farm, and I believe if it were more gen-*
orally practiced we should have more
good farmers and less broken-down
merchants, or loafing, hanging-on, time
serving clerks, ready lor anything except
honorable labor and usefulness, belong
ing to the highest order of creation. —
Country Gentleman.
Hits NEWSPAPER CONTRIBUTION.
He was a friend of mine, and used fre
quently to drop in and give me advice as
to how I ought to run my paper.
He was a minister, and consequently
thought I should devote a little more to
the cause of religion, and not so much to
politics.
He said it could be made a power for
good in the Western land, in which we
had cast our fortunes.
He was a lover of the original, too, and
said he disliked to see reprint, and
thought I should write more —take time
in fact, to fiil the paper up with good,
new stuff. That seemed such an easy
thing to him that one day I ventured to
say:
“ Brother, you had a glorious meeting
at the school-house last night, I hear—
suppoaeyou write it up for me
He didn’t seem to act as though he
wanted to.
I urged.
He flushed a little, and stood around
awkwardlike. He had never been hon
ored with an invitation to write for the
press before,
I still urged.
Then he took off his gloves. And his
bat. And his overcoat. Then I gave
him a seat at the table, with paper and
pencil.
He sat down to editorial work.
He had always been talking about how
it should be done and now he was at it.
He started in.
I went about ley work, and having
written a column or two for the week’s
paper, left him still writing, while I
went out to solicit some advertisements.
I was gone an hour or two, and when
I came back he was still at it.
He was sweating awfully.
The fable and floor were white with
copy-paper, and the pencil in his hand
was much diminished in length.
I went to dmcer.
When I returned he was at it still.
There was more paper scattered around,
the pencil was shorter and he was wetter.
It was Summer.
The hours dragged along into the mid
dle of the afternoon-
Great cords stood out on the preacher’s
heated brow.
Hi3 eyes were bent on the dazzling
white paper before him, and his fingers
VOL. Ill —NO. 46.
moved nervously, and the pencil was a
stub.
I begaa to grow frightened. I knew I
hud only a small weekly paper, and
that its fourteen columns of space (one
side was a patent inward) would not hold
the conteuts of the Bible, and a supple
ment message from heaven besides.
At last the man looked up, and, tim
idly advancing with a piece of paper in
one band, suddenly turned and went back
to change a word.
Then he came on again, and, like one
who had passed through a vision, held
out the paper and feebly asked ;
“ Will that do?”
I looked.
There were just seven lines of it, ad
vertising measure!
He was a large man—weighing over
300 pounds then, but when I met him
three weeks later, he weighed less than
125.
He had been sick.
The seven-line-nine'.hour oflbis was
too much for him
But it was all lost. He never advised
an editor again.
Neither did he ever compose for a pa
per again.
It was hard work for him to write, and
he saw he was not cut out for an editor.
- -Chicago Evening Herald.
LOLA MOXTEZ’S HAIR.
How * Western Flayer Got a Strand
of It for His Fiddle Row,
From the Virginia (Nev.) Enterprise.
John Hull Pennville, who passed
through this city a day or two since from
Plumas county, Cal., on his way to Es
meralda couuty, in this State, has in his
possession a curious relic of that strange
and adventurous woman, Lola Montez.
Mr. Pennville is an accomplished violin
ist, and at the time when Lola was re
aiding in Grass Valley, California, was
in the habit of playing for her in order
that she might practice some new dauce
of her own invention.
The violinist had a stong passion for
making collections of human hair, par
ticularly the long tresses of women. He
had several times hinted to Lola his great
desire to possess a tress of her hair but
she refusad to take these bints, however
plainly made.
At this time Lola had in her posession
at her home in Grass Valley a young
bear that she was training for some pur
pose, she being at that lime but about
twenty-nine years of age and still full of
life and ambition.
One day when Pennville again hinted
about the tress, Lola said : “Mr. Penn
ville, if you will go into that back yard,
throw that bear to the ground and hold
him one minute by my watch, I will give
you a strand of my hair large enough
for the bow of your violin !”
“ Done !” cried Pennville, and heat
once proceeded to the yard for bis tussle
with the bear. Lola following him to
time him.
The bear was a grizzly not yet old
enougli to be very dangerous, and Penn
ville, proceeding as though at play with
the animal, with very little trouble or
risk succeeded in winning the much
coverted lock of hair.
The tress was promptly surrendered,
and Pennville long kept it among the
other specimens in his collection but
when he heard of Lola’s death, some
where in the State of New York, in 1860
orlSGl, he remembered her words at the
time he won the memento, “ I will give
you a strand large enough for the bow of
your violin,” and he then proceeded to
place the hair in the handsomest bow he
could procure, where it remains to this
day.
“ Will you play us something with the
bow, Mr. Pennville ?” said we, anxious
to be able to say we had beard even the
smallest thing played with so strange a
relic of a now almost forgotten woman
and trembling lest we should be refused
such gratification.
“ I seldom use this how in playing,”
said Mr. Pennville, “buton this occasion
I will give you a short piece that was a
favorite with Lola. In other words you
shall hear a bit of music that was loved
by Lola Montez played with her own
hair.”
To our surprise he then proceeded to
to play a most mournful, tearful bit of
something and, us he concluded he said;
“ That was not only a favorite piece with
Lola, but was also of her own composi
tion.
Pennville is now quite an old man, and
does not appear to be overburdened with
this world’s goods, but it would take
a large sum of money to purchase that
fiddle-bow.
Another Snake Story.
“ Is the snake editor in ?”
Amid the slings and arrows of out
rageous fortune he never forsakes his
post. Behold in me the snake editor.”
“ Well, I’ve killed a rattle —”
“ How long was it?”
“ Nine feet four.”
“ W-wbat! less than ten feet? This
paper is no receptacle for miserable fish
ing-worm stories,” and the exasperation
editor seized the visitor by tue throat
and shut off from his insides the breath
of Heaven.
“ Yaas,” gurgled the poor wretch,
“but it bad eighty-seven ra—”
“No back talk!” yelled the editor,
“ we want no rattlesnakes less than from
ten to twelve feet in length,” and the
snake killer was dashed to pieces cn the
flinty pavement below.
u hr (Onlrthorn? <Mti.
v
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BRIEF HISTORY F MEXICO.
The Galveston News gives the follow
ing summary of the revolutions, etc., ifi
Mexico since 182i:
1821. The independence of Mexico ia
declared.
1525. First congress assembled.
1829. Guerero being president, Bust'
amente, commanding the army, induces
bis soldiers to declare him president, and
compels Guerero to abdicate. Santa
Anna pi tys the same game on Bustamen
te, and is himself declared president by
the army. Three presidents govern
with little fighting, until
1836. State governments were abolish
ed by revolution and Santa Auna made
president. Same year Bustamente wait
recalled, Santa Anna’s defeat at Sail
Jacinto having deprived him of power.
1838. Mexico revolutioniied ; had art
unpleasantness with the French, who
blockaded Vera Cruz; Santa Anna
drives off the French.
1840. Federalist, led by Urrea, revo
lution.
1842. Junta of Nobles revolutiod
against Santa Anna and from the repub
lic.
1843. New constitution adopted;
Catholic religion and apostoric creed to
exclusion of all other religion.
1844. Revolution by Peredes. Santa
Anna deposed, and Herrera made presi
dent by congress.
1845. Santa Anna banished and Her*
rera elected president. Same year Pere
des revolts, and, ordering an election, ia
elected president.
1846. Santa Anua is recalled. Pere*
des deposed and Salos elected president
Salos sells out, and Santa Anna is made
provisional president. War with Unitpd
States is in progress.
1817. Americans victorious; Santa
Anna flies, and Penas is made president
pro tern.
1848. Peace made with the United
States.
1851. Arista elected president;
1851-2. General revolution,
1853. Arista resigns, and Santa Anms
made dictator.
1854. Revolution led by Alvarez f
Santa Anna abdicates.
1855. Correra made president, resign*
and Alvarez is dictator.
1856. Comoafort heads a movement
against the church, is president,
and sequesters, property of the clergy.
1857. Coinonfort is deposed.
1858. Zuloaga is made president, blit
is obliged to abdicate.
1859. Miramon make himself presi
dent, but is speedly deposed.
1859. Zuloago again made president.
1860. Revolution beaded by Mini
mum
1861. Juarez elected presiden and
declares himself dictator. The French
invasion and Juarez, Lerado, and Dia*
have kept tilings lively since 1861.
Almost a l'nJ>le.
One mid-summer’s day in the long
ago, a good old man named Abdul E:
Kerum, noted for his kind heart and gen
tle ways, bought a watermelon as he w-as
going home to dinner. It was the first
melon be had seen in twelve months,
and one couldn't blame him for licking
his gentle chops as,) in imagination, he
devoured the red-cored fruit. Ho
thumped on the melon and it thumped
Al. He pressed it with his knee, and
the dull “c-rack!” proved a ripeness
there. The grocer said it was O. K., the
boys around said they would bet it was.
and the good Abdul El Kerum handed
over the cash and bore the melon homo
in triumph. Laborers gazed on his bur
den and signed; servant girls leaning
over gates wished they worked in his
kitchen ; middle aged spinsters sadly re
membered bow they fooled themselves
when they refused his escort home from
spelling-schools.
“ Pepare your mouth for a delicious
feast, and after dinner we’ll walk down
and buy that camel’s hair shawl,” he
said to his wife as he entered the house.
It wasn’t much of a dinner. Thegoo<l
Abdul El Kerum didn,t believe in pie
and cake and lamp-chops, and perhaps
he couldn’t have had them if he had be
lieved with all his might,
“ Now, the next thing wilt be some
thing else,” remarked Abdul os he push
ed his plate aside and pulled the melou
towards him. “We can never be thank
ful enough that Nature has provided such
delicacies for the palates of men.”
The knife sank out of'sight below the
green rind and the melon feii apart. It
lacked about twenty-five days of maturi
ty, and the price, “Being it is you,” wa*
fifty cents.
“ Soid!” whispered the wife as she
buttered another year of corn.
“ That’s my reward for following your
suggestions*” he exclaimed, banging ope
of the halves against a door.
“ What suggestions ?’ r
“ Why, didn’t you say ibis morning'
that I’d better bring home a water
melon V 7
“ No, sir ! I didn’t kaow there was on*
in market I”
****** 11 !* he shouted.
****** j 11’> B h e gcreamed.
It is an awful thing to realize that
there are husbands in this world who
throw potatoes across the table, and that
there are wives who grab their husbands
by the hair and jam them into a corner
and bump their head against the wail.
“ Melons,” said the good Abdul Lt
Kerum, as he got aboard the street-ear,
“ melons are good enough in their way,
but I relish erab apples above all ris*,
Haveyoo seen asy ibhtjw?'