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TEE HUM JOmi
HAMILTON, GEORGIA
ENGLISH KISSES.
IMlniuUli to i lit- Mwoolkm* of Inillniu
Oaonlollon.
The women of England (nay Polvdore
Virgil), in the Parisian, not only salute
their relations with a kiss, but all per
sons promiscuously; and, this ceremony
they repeat, gently touching them with
the lips, not only with grace, but without
the least immodesty. Such, however, as
are of the blood-royal do not kiss their
inferiors, but offer the back of the hand,
as men do by way of saluting each other.
Erasmus writes in raptures to one of his
friends on this subject. “Did you but
know, my Faustus,” says he, “the
pleasures which England affords, you
would fly here on winged feet, and, if
your gout would not allow you, you
would wish yourself a Dfodalus. To men
tion to you one among many things, here
are nymphs of the loveliest looks, good
liumored, easy of access, and whom you
would prefer even to your favorite muses.
Hero also prevails a custom never enough
to bo commended, that wherever yon
come everyone receives you with a kiss,
and when you take your leave everyone
gives you a kiss; when you return, kisses
again meet you. If anyone loaves you
they leave you with a kiss; if you meet
anyone the first salutation is a kiss; in
abort, wherever you go kisses everywhere
about; which, my Faustus, did you once
taste how very sweet and how very
fragrant they are, you would not, like
Solon, wish for ten years’ exile in Eng
land, but would desire thero to spend the
whole of your life.” Antonio Perez,
Secretary to the Embassay from Philip
11. of B]min, writes thus to the Earl of
Essex: “I have this day, according to
the custom of your country, kissed, at an
entertainment, seven females, all of them
accomplished in mind and beautiful in
person." Dr. Pierius Winsemius, his
toriographer to their Mightinesses the
States of Friezland, in his Chronijck van
Friralandt, printed in 1G62, informs us
that the pleasant custom was utterly un
practiced and unknown in England (just
as it is this day in Now Zealand, where
sweethearts only know how to touch
noses when they wish to Vie kind) until
the fair Princess Ronix, the daughter of
King Ilengist of Friezland, “pressed the
beaker with her lipkins" (little lips) and
saluted the amorous Vortigern with a
husjen (little kiss.)
A Base Impostor,
A farmer from tho vicinity of Hemp
stead appeared in front of the Stock Ex
change and entered into conversation
with a citizen who was waiting in the
door by asking:
“ The convention in thero breaks up
at fi o’clock, don’t it?”
“ Yes, thut’s the hour,” was the reply,
“ Do you know Jay Gould when you
hoe him ? ”
“Oh, yes.”
“Is lie in there ? ”
“ I presume so.”
“ Well, I w ish you’d point him out to
me when lie comes out.’
The citizen promised to do this, and
within a few minutes he kept his word.
The farmer took a square look at the
railroad and telegraph prince, and then
turned and asked:
“ Are you dead Hure ? ”
“Oh yck.”
“ Can’t lie no mistake ? ”
“No.”
“Well, it’s about as I suspected. A
few days ago a great big slouch of a fel
low halted at my gate and began meas
uring my ground with a tape-line, and
squinting around in the most mysterious
manner. 1 went out to see what was up,
and, after beating around for awhile, he
said he was Jay Gould, but l didn’t
know what he looked like.”
“ It must have been a fraud ? ”
“1 am sure of that now. 1 pumped
arouml to find wind he was tip to, and
he finally said he wanted my place for
an orphan asylum. He was going to
build one as big as a palace and take
care of all the orphans in the country.”
“And of course you treated him
well?”
“ Didn’t I! Why, for three days lie
lived on the fat of the land and slept in
flit' parlor bedroom. He was going to
give mo $25,000 for my land, and the
way wo killed chickens and turned out
sweet cake for him made the old woman
sick. He finally jumped the house and
took my Sunday suit and fiddle worth
“ l don’t believe Gould would steal a
fiddle.”
“That’s what I thought, and so I
came over to have a look at him. It
wasn’t Gould ut all, but some base im
postor.”
“And you are so much out."
“Well, it looks that way; but the
experience is worth something. It
may not be a week before someone else
will come along with a ten-foot pole in
his hand and a theological seminary in
his eye, and claim to l>e Itnssell Sage,
mnl the way 1 will knock him down, and
stop on him, and walk over him, and
drive him into the silo will pay me a
profit of 50 per cent, on the investment. ”
Wall Street Aries.
The slightest thing we do sends a
thrill vibrating along the endless chain of
cause and effect to the utmost limit of
time, through the whole grand machine
of future existence. Man dies, but not
one of his act* ever dies. Each is per
petuated aud prolonged forever by inter
minable results, affecting some being in
•very a a* to come.
Aftrb the stage manager had exhaust
ed his patience and fifteen minutes’ time
in endeavoring to teach a couple of
supes to repeat a few lines, he broke out
with: “It is of no use; you fellows are
like the Siamese twins—you can never
xet a part. ”
XIGVK or FOOT. WEATIIEK.
BT lilt. KNIIU.
The hollow wind* begin to blow;
The clouds look blsck, the gliua Ir low;
The Root fallß down, tho K]<uielH Bleep,
And Rpidorn from their oobwabi peep.
I.BMt night the Him went pule to bed;
The moon In lialoa bid her htsaal.
The boding tthopherd heaven a algh,
For, tee, a rainbow (pane the eky.
The walla are damp, the ditched ainell;
Cloned Ir the pink-eyed pimpernel.
Hark ! how the c lialm and tabiea crack.*
Old Hetty’s Jolnte are on the rack—
Her oorns with ahooting paiua torment her,
And to her bed untimely eent her.
lud quack the(lucks; the eea-fowl cry;
The distant billa are looking nigh.
How reMtlcHß are the aborting awine!
Tho busy flies disturb the kine.
Low o’er the grand the dwallow wing*;
The cricket, too, how aharp he aingal
X'uaa on the hearth, with velvet pawn,
Site wiping o’er her whlakered Jawa.
The Hiuoke from chimney* rlßht aacenda,
Then, Hpreading, hack to earth It beuda.
The wind, unatewdy, veera around,
Or nettling In the aouth la found.
Through tho clear atream the flahea rlee.
And nimbly catch the Incautloua fllea.
The glowworms numerous, clear and bright,
Illumed the dewy hill lust night.
At duak the squalid toad waa seen,
l.iko quadruped, atalk o’er the green.
The whirling wind the dust obeys,
And In the rapid eddy plays.
The frog hua ehanged ilia yellow reat
And In a ruaaet coat la dressed.
The ky Is green, the air Is still,
The mellow blackbird’s voice is shrill.
The dog, so altered in his taste,
Quits mutton-bones on grass to feast,
liehold the rooks—how odd their flight 1—
They imitate the gliding kite,
And seem precipitate to fall,
Aa If tliey felt the piercing ball.
The tender colts on back do lie,
Nor heed tho traveler passing by.
In fiery red the snn doth rlae,
Then witdea through clouds to mount the skies.
’Twill aure.ly rain, we aee’t with sorrow—
No working in the field* to-morrow.
•The line, “Hark! how the chairs and tab>a
erak,” Is Incorrect, aa the cracking—that la, contrac
tion— Indicates fair weather, from the dlmlnntion of
moisture SteimueU.
The Right Man After All.
Viola had found a lover ; or at least,
John Ellsworth aspired to that dis
tinction.
Two years ago, the paternal Ellsworth
had given Jolm on his twenty-third
birthday a deed of a small, good farm
near his own. John set about making a
homo for himself, with one of his half
dozen sisters to manage it, and went at
his farming in earnest. And the younger
female portion thought him rather a de
sirable object to maneuver for.
Perhaps that was one reason why
Viola had been so gracious to him. It
was something to secure, without an ef
fort, attentions that all the other girls
schemed for. But John Ellsworth did
not realize her ideal. Under her calm
exterior, she dreaded romances of the
most vivid rose-pink.
One June night, driving over to see
his lady, John found her with au unu
sual flush on her fair young face. She
redo with him—accepting his invitation
in a matter-of-course way that was dread
fully discouraging.
It came out, after a little while, that
Mrs. Mornington, a great-aunt, had sent
for her photograph a mouth ago, not
having seen her since she was a child.
Two days ago had come an invitation to
spend a couple of months with her (the
great-aunt) in New York, and she was
going to-morrow.
“It’s no use denying,” tho young
fellow said, his voico growing lmsky,
“that I’m sony for this. I don’t know
what will come to you from this. You
are not contented hero ; you never will
bo until you have had au experience
beyond it—perhaps not then. lam not
wise enough to tell you now, I sup
pose ; but I love you, Viola. Mind, I
do not ask you now for any return. I
shall wait for what the future may put
in your heart tc say.”
“Indeed, I do care for you,
John; and you can’t blame me for
wanting to go. Aunt needs me, you
see; and no one does here, particularly.
And I’ve never seen anything of so
ciety."
“I know, dear—”
“And I shall not forget you,” inter
rupting him. “I shall always think of
you ’’ —giving him her hand.
“For two whole months,” a little
sadly. “ Good-by, then.” kissing tho
hand he held. And then Viola found
herself alone, and then went to finish
her packing.
Viola’s next two months wore delight
ful. She was always prettily dressed,
and Frank Thorpe passed his valuable
time beside her.
John Ellsworth called on her the
night after her return.
“ You look well and happy,” he said,
scanning her face.
“ I am,” she said ; and she told him all
about her delightful visit.
“And are you going to settle with
US now ?”
“Oh, no! I stay here only a few
| days. My aunt is coming for me as she
1 returns from a visit she is paying.”
“Poor fellow! Viola said, as ne
went down the moonlit road. And then
Frank Thorpe’s dreamily sad gray eyes
i came up before her, and she forgot John
\ Ellsworth’s shady brown ones.
Mrs. Mornington came and took the
j young lady away, and Frank Thorpe
I was once again hanging around her—a
, most desirable matrimonial prize.
The Christmas holidays came and
went. Frank Thorpe lounged in on
i Christmas day, and was paler and more
listless than ever.
Mrs. Mornington gave her first bit of
advice to her young charge that night.
“Frank Thorpe is not a man to trifle
with, my dear. I think he is in love
with you. You could hardly do better.”
“Dobetter?” raising her broad lids
for a full, steady look. “ I hadn’t
thought there was to be any calculation.
No, Frank does not care for mo, aunt.”
“If he is in love with you. so much
the better. But come; Mrs. Grove’s
ball must be attended.”
Viola went to that ball, and froze
I Frank Thorpe, who. unconscious of of
-1 tense, languidly assumed his usual sta
tion near her.
Among Mrs. Grove’s guests that night
was a rather good-looking man, who
certainly was no longer young. Having
j lost one wife, he was now looking for an
other. When he was presented to Viola
she was barely civil. Mr. Nicolson
seemod to like it.
Frank Thorpe had ceased being
frozen. To tell the truth, Viola made
tho advances. There was a shade more
of languor in his manner, and his sad
gray eyes had an added shadow ; but he
sought no explanation from her.
One frosty, sparkling morning Viola
had been out for a walk. On the way
she met Frank Thorpe, aa she was very
apt to do. He accompanied her home
nud entered the house with her. Then
Viola, feeling bright herself, began lect
uring him on his purposeless life.
“ If I were a man—’’emphatically.
“ Thank heaven you are not I How
ever, go on.”
“ You put me out, Mr. Thorpe ; why
don’t you do something ? ”
“Do something? Don’t I? lam
your devoted attendant three-fourths of
my waking life."
“Yes, and get yourself and me talked
about by everybody. Not that 1 care,
certainly,” hurriedly to recover her
blunder. “I shall choose my friends
where I please,” making matters worse,
of course.
“ You see,” he said, leaning forward
and laying liis hand confidentially on
her arm, “ 1 cannot bear to see a clear
hearted, honest girl lowering herself to
the ways of these artificial, brainless
girls, who have been bred up all their
lives in tho business of catching a hus
band. l'ou don’t need any paltry ambi
tion. Wait until you find a man worth
falling in love with, and then marry him.
Wait forever, if you don’t find him.”
Viola sat motionless with astonish
ment. if any dumb thing had found
voice she would not have been more
amazed. And she felt so fully called to
administer advice. While she sat, his
hand still on her arm, and his eyes still
on her face, the door opened, and John
Ellsworth was ushered in. Viola swept
toward him with eager, outstretched
hands.
Frank Thorpe, being disturbed by this
new-comer, who was called John, and re
ceived with such an outbreak of enthusi
asm, gathered himself up and lounged
nwav.
John Ellsworth was in town for a fort
night. Viola always accepted his invi
tations, and when the time came for
their fulfillment there was some unavoid
able obstacle in the way.
Then Lent came and there was a sud
den cessation of gayety. John was
called away by his father’s illness, and
Viols felt the inevitable reaction.
It was alike everywhere. In the nar
row circle out of which she had come
there were jealousies and heart-burnings,
and petty scheming—no better and ne
worse than she had come to know in the
past weeks, though possibly less dis
guised by smooth, conventional polish of
manner. Wait till she met a man she
loved ! She might wait until she was
gray and blind. There had never ap
peared one to whom she could give a
second thought, unless it was—well, per
haps, John Ellsworth, if tho life that
would follo%awith him were not too nar
row to breathe in ; or Frank Thorpe, if
lie were not too lazy to speak. And
then, by contrast, there came a vision of
Mr. Nicolson and all his wealth.
If she had shown the first symptoms
of her moods to Mr. Nicolson he would
have desisted from his attentions at once.
Here was youth and beauty in a statu
esque state of perfection. That was
wliat he wanted—the statuesqueness,
and everybody considered it a settled
affair.
I think Viola began to consider it her
self. She had just one letter from John
Ellsworth after his return, and he said :
“ I lovo you, Viola, and am waiting for
you. ”
She did not even answer the letter.
But she was cross, even with Mrs. Morn
ington, for two days after it.
Then she was seized with a fit of
homesickness, and, had her friend not
been taken very suddenly ill, nothing
would have kept her there. Mr. Nic
olson came more frequently than ever;
in his way, very kinn and considerate.
One uiglit in early spring Frank
Thorpe came and took Viola out for a
drive.
“ You are looking tired. We may not
have another such night for a month,”
Frank said.
In the half hour they did not speak
hall a dozen sentences, and yet when lie
set her down at her own door, and held
her hand for a minute as he said “ Fare
well,” Viola felt that they were nearer
each other than ever before.
Viola waa ore morning summoned to
the drawing-room to meet Mr. Nicolson.
In tho occupation of the past w'eeks she
luul had very little opportunity to think
about him or his purposes. No
girl ever went to meet the final question
with less determination as to her answer.
She knew his errand tlie moment she
entered the room. Not that lie was con
fused or hesitating, or in any way dis
concerted.
“My dear young lady,” he said, “I
want your permission to ask you a per
sonal question.”
“ l'ou have it, sir,” she said.
And tlieu, in a speech which was more
like a set oration than anything else
Viola had ever heard, ho offered lier his
hand and fortune.
She went up-stairs to Mrs. Moming
ton, saying:
"And I’vo done it! And I am so
surprised! ”
“At what?"
“ I refused Mr. Nicolson.”
“ Perhaps you will be sorry that you
have said no. ”
“Perhaps. I shall never be sur
prised at anything again.”
A servant announced Frank Thorpe.
“ Aunt, shall I—” and paused. Even
in hex reckless, over-excited mood she
could not complete her sentence.
“ Sssall you be kinder to him than
you have been to Mr. Nieolson? ”
“ Don’t ask me.”
So Viola went down to see her visitor,
who was at the full tide of his languid,
tired indifference.
“How very entertaining you are to
day. Your conversational powers are
something to be wondered at,” Viola
said at last, impatiently.
“Entertaining?” opening his eyes
with mild wonder. “ I supposed that
your share of the interview. However,
if you like, I’ll begin. You are not
looking as well as usual this morning.”
“ Thank you. What a very promis
ing beginning.”
“But you have infinitely the advan
tage of Mr. Nicolson, whom l met just
now. He seemed laboring under the
impression that there had been an earth
quake. ”
“ And so thero has been. Thore; talk
about something else. You needn’t be
entertaining any more. ”
“Miss Bawdon,” the servant an
nounced, and that put an end to it all.
Viola reasoned herself into the con
viction that she was in love witn Frank
Thorpe, and, if not actually in that con
dition, she might easily find herself
there.
The crisis was not far off. Coming in
irom an errand, that night, she found
all the dimly-lighted house empty, and
went on from room to room till, in the
library, she opened the door on Frank
Thorpe.
“Since you were not nt home, I came
to find for myself a volume Mrs. Morn
ington had promised me,” he explained.
But he closed the door as he gave her a
chair, as if the tete-a-tete were a part of
his plan.
“ We might as well begin with a clean
record,” he said, with a great deal of
hard earnestness in his voice. “You are
not my first love, Viola. Not quite two
years ago she jilted me. I was in an aw-
Jul spoony condition —there’s no denying
it—and for a few weeks thought it
would be the death of mo. One morn
ing my letters and trinkets came back
to me.' There was not a word of ex
planation, and I did not chooso to ask
any.”
“ And the young lady’s name?”
“Emily Prescott.”
“ Emily Prescott? Why. that is the
young lady I met this afternoon. Just
home from abroad—in Paris mourning.
Her father and mother both died some
where in France in the spring, and she
came home with the Mertons.”
“Viola,” staring at her with eager
eyes, “ I can’t believe it,” dropping into
a chair. “My poor darling—”
“It seems to me, Frank, that the lit
tle arrangement we entered into ten
minutes ago might as well be quietly
annulled. Your ‘poor darling’ is at
present with the Mertons. Hadn’t you
better go up there at once and rear
range the programme ? ”
“ I don’t know. Viola, you will think
me a scoundrel, but I believe I love her
yet.”
“Of course you do. Who doubts it ?
There, don’t say a woman can’t be gen
erous.”
After that nothing could keep her in
New York, and three days after reaching
home, driviug her old-fashioned pony
chaise over the green country road, she
came upon John Ellsworth walking, and
lie accepted lier invitation to ride.
“It is good to be here again. I was
thoroughly homesick. ”
“ When are you to be married? ”
“Never ! ” with a burst of vehemence;
“unless you—oh, John!” with a hys
terical sob.
At home a telegram awaited her. Mrs.
Mornington was dead.
Mrs. Mornington died poor. She had
spent all her money. So Viola was not
an heiress after all.
The Shopping Bills of Wives.
American shopkeepers and American
shoppers alike should be interested in
the case of tho large silk-goods firm of
Dobenliam & Feebody in England
against Mr. Mellon for the recovery of
the cost of dresses furnished to his wife
whom he had forbidden to incur bills.
The case went from court to court up to
the House of Lords, where it was finally
decided by that august tribunal in favor
of Mr. Mellon. The Lords expressly
ruled that “ Where a husband makes
his wife an allowance, and expressly for
bids lier to run up accounts in liis name,
lie cannot be held liable for any goods
she may obtain by drawing upon his
credit; and, indeed, that, unless the
seller can show that special authority
has been conferred by the husband on
the wife, the seller cannot recover judg
ment.” In this ease it was admitted
that the goods charged for were of a
kind suitable to Mrs. Mellon’s rank and
condition of life, but the presumption
usually created by such an admission in
favor of the seller was held to be over
ruled by an absolute conjugal prohibi
tion even where the seller was not ap
prised of the prohibition. It was inti
mated during the argument that shop
keepers, before giving a wife credit,
might readily protect themselves by
making inquiries of the husband, and
the court held that due care and caution
could not be considered to have been
exercised where this was not done.
Corn-Meal Fritters. —Two cups oj
white meal, three cups of sweet milk,
one-half cup of flour, four eggs, beaten
separately, a tablespoonful of melted
butter, a teaspoonful of salt, two tea
spoonfuls of bakiug powder. Beat the
yelk, to them add the milk, butter, salt
and meal, beat hard, add next the whip
ped whites, and last the flour and bak
ing bowder. Drop at once iuto boiling
laid. Eat with a lard liquid sauce. The
batter should be just thick enough to
drop readily from the spoon. Make the
fritters of small sizes.
“ Gentlemen of the jury,” said an Irish
barrister, "it will be for you to say
whether this defendant shall be allowed
to come iuto court with unblushing foot
steps, with the cloak of hypocrisy in his
mouth, and draw three bullocks' out of
my client's pocket with impunity.”
USEFUL HINTS.
A vert warm bed-quilt may be im
provised by pinning newspapers between
two sheets.
Those who ought to know say that
E mil try thrives upon cooked food, and
ke their com boiled.
Do not keep rubber shoes or sandala
on the feet longer than necessary. They
should never be worn in the house.
For soft corns dip a piece of linen
cloth in turpentine and wrap it around
the toe on which the com is situated
night and morning. The relief will be
immediate, and, after a few days, the
corn will disappear.
Lip Salves. —One gill sweet oil, one
ounce white wax, tliree-quarters of an
ounce spermaceti. Dissolve Ihem over
the fire and stir till cool. Another—
Oil of sweet almonds, eight ounces
white wax, three ounces; spermaceti,
three ounces ; rhodium, fifty drops, and
white sugar candy form an excellent lip
salve.
Ants. —Red ants may be banished
from a pantry or store-room by strewing
the shelves with a small quantity of
cloves, either whole or ground. We
use the former, as not being so likely to
fet into the food placed upon the shelves.
he cloves should be renewed occasion
ally, as after a time they lose their
strength and efficacy.
Mosquitoes, says somebody, love beef
blood better than they do any that flows
in the veins of human kind. Just put a
couple of generous pieces on plates near
your bed at night, and you will sleep
untroubled by these pests. In the
morning you will find them full and
stupid with the beef blood, and the
meat sucked as d-y as a cork.
Stains. —Remove ink-stains from car
pets with milk, and afterward wash
with fine soap, a clean brush, and warm
water. For grease spots use powdered
magnesia, fuller’s earth, or buckwheat.
Sprinkle on the spot, and let lie until
all the grease is absorbed; renew the
earth, magnesia or buckwheat until all
the grease is removed. Time and pa
tience will in this way remove the worst
of grease spots.
To Detect Genuine Coffee. —Those
foolish persons who buy ground
coffee may find out whether
what they buy is genuine cof
fee or not by the following method:
Take a wine glass or a tumbler full oi
water, and gently drop a pinch of the
ground coffee on the surface of the
water, without stirring or agitating;
genuine coffee will float for some time,
whilst chicory, or and other sweet root,
will soon sink ; and chicory or caramel
will cause a yellowish or brown color
to diffuse rapidly through the water,
while pure coffee will give no visible
tint, under such circumstances, for a
considerable length of time.
Starch Polish. —The old receipt of
stirring the starch with a bit of w T ax
candle is not nearly so good,in the opin
ion of an experienced laundress, as a
much cheaper plan. She uses mutton
suet instead of wax ; it makes the starch
firmer. Before roasting or boiling your
joint of mutton, cut off whatever suet
you want from it. “ Render ”itin a tin
cup and set it aside in a jar; it will
keep six months or longer. The fat
about the kidney in a hind quarter is
the firmest and best. When you want
thick starch for collars and shirt bosoms,
take four table-spoonfuls of starch to one
quart of water, and a piece of the clear
suet about tho size of a walnut. This
makes a good quart of starch.
Testing a Mare’s Speed.
“Stranger,” said a stage-driver, “this
was liow I found out her speed: I was
driving alongside the railroad track just
as a big load of hotel furniture started.
The freight car wouldn't hold it all, but
they managed to squeeze everything in
except a long bar mirror, which they
tied to the side of the car. The mare saw
her reflection in the glass, and thought
it was another horse spurting for the
lead. You couldn’t have held her back
with a steam w indless. She just laid her
ears back and snorted aloug like a
twenty-inch shell. The passengers all
began to get excited. They rushed out on
the platforms and began to make bets.
The conductor stood up on a seat and
began to sell pools. The engineer
pulled the throttle-valve wide open and
tore aloug at the rate of ninety-five
miles an hour. Soon the mare was
abreast with the cow-catcher. At San
Bruno we had half a mile the lead. Near
the Six-mile House the train was so
much ahead of time that it fell through
an open draw and everlastingly smashed
up—seventy-two killed and one hundred
and ninety-nine wounded. It was preti|
rough on the passengers, but then we
distanced the train, bet yer life. About
a month after, I sold that mare to her
present owner for sixty thousand dol
lars. ” — California Paper.
No New Jokes.
There is absolutely nothing new in
jokes. They never die. The jokes that
are familar to us are those which our
ancestor’s enjoyed. They are found in
the most ancient literature that remains,
and in hieroglyphics of the ruined monu
ments of dead empires. Their unchanged
existence through these ages does not al
low that these, like the earth and man,
may have been created by a process of
development: they must have been
created absolutely. At some stage of
the work of creation the jokes were
launched into being, and they hare con
tinued to revolve by their own gravity,
the same as the planets. None of them
can be annihilated any more than matter,
nor can another be added. No person who
attempts originality can get recognized
as a wit, but any man can, who hi
talent for memorizing the old stock
jokes and funny stories, and for working
them over on all occasions.