Newspaper Page Text
mgm*- v*0t~ vm> • * »if* lniyirwrtBpj ■ '-;>
! rSfefc*. ' ta ^?'
APPEAL.
BY SAWTELL & JONES.
CUTHBERT, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 24. 1870.
&i)c €utl)bcrt 'Appeal.
Terms of Subscription:
Ose Yeak $i «h» | six Mounts fl
invariably in advance.
25
, Rat3s of Advartising:
One square, (tea lines or I****.) $1 (Hi for the
first sn«l 7 5 c nts fo-*ach su’.sequeutiuseriion
f C4»ntrnct ft Iv^rtisiiii ns follows :
Space.
Monthsji
6 Monti"
4 Column
% Cotmn;i
One Column..
$25 W
40 0
50 MO
$15 (Hi
75 0i
9 ) 0.i
12 Months
$ 75 0.)
1 )0 00
l.V* O ')
pB Obituaries. ®l 00 pur squotv.
Into Misrlat
Dancing fc'tft *nd Imey fi?i
Never still tho whole d-ij through ;
For the little bra hi Jrorn «l“ C \unl mil
Brings them «r<*rk lo rto
Bacing^jj|"»j!i pt-rlo*;
n..:npT^,>n !^r wiail ;„]^,„ r ■ *
jfan<l laeikmg vase* —
Into ini*
fief everywhere.
Te
Picks t!iee. ilkef , 9nd th „ j.j| y ^
Bn;.tk^j le w i m i„ w> j-Unn tlie *loor, .
Tbrow^jjjj, f rorn tlieir brackets,
'tiers pl.iythings on the floor ;
ig little eoaU ami troupers,
umpliug up his curly hair—
■ij, restless little finger*,
Into mischief everywhere.
illing ink upon the carj^t,
Dashing pictures from the wall,
Breaking mirrors, singing, shouting,
In tlie attic and the ball.
Tracking rami across the entries,
Turning over desk and chair,
Cutting up the morning p iper—
Into mischief everywhere.
But no look of hate nor malice
Durki ns o’er these laughing eyre ;
Not a thought of barm nor aiuuiug
In Ilia little bosom lies :
For bis soul is pure ami guilders,
Whate’er barm his lingers da ;
Though tlie l.t.le ft el ure straying
Into mischief ull day through.
A Lover's QuarreL
•And I nay it isn’t ’
‘Fanny !’—a pause ul’tei the word, as
if the tt|H*iiker tried t*» g**t rid t.f u In.Tip
ill liis llirout—‘you’re playing the find;
you've no more notion Ikmv I I ve\nu,
than y**u nave of the height youVe
standing at aliovo the «•». 1 tell ymi
l\\ rather see you ivin^ do«vu there,
vashed up by the* tide, Ilian kumv that
J*«»U want to go back to the beaeh of
your own wi»l, and be l-»«*k"d at by that
Jiilti-itud piaster and feihow W u cuj*-
tain.'
And yet, while the fierce w«»rd-« pass
the young tUct-rinenV lips, he lakt « a
tinii grasp of his c< mpuni mi's arm, lest
**ntu' Mtiiih’i* m«»ve(M« iil should dra w her
lieu ter the gioiiy nlgv.
The miii had liegun tl« fM-t wheii those
two, John Fry ami Fanny ileiwixiil,
began t«» «pi irrel, ami now he has j ist
sunk into the purple bed of clouds i is
cii up fr«Mi» (he sea lo receive hi n —
There lias l»een a scene ol in:i_nificc iii
and last eh *nging c-»loi ; criin*«m t and
purple, and gold—u.ov t*y turiw, now
alii at once—liavc held tlieir places on
Urnd'-r gr-und, «*!’ chrysolite green,
fast lading into grey ; though ii> final
hue lingers among the lock |-0"ls hi |,»w
the cliffs and itiiughd with nwy ul u i s
that r fleet themselves l.txn scail.-icd
cloUtl.iiics.-. The lagged perp ndieulur
cliff rie«*s some four hundred feel ubow
the sen, ami alMiut a third way down i,.-
steep t>ide runs the path «*r ledge n
wfmh the lovers stand, Tlsy care
liothiiig for the sunset, m»r f»*r the « x-
quisite scene b low them. On tin*
light the tiny village nestling L ij, e
gorge of h gh hiHs—«.u one sid*
wooded t*» the lit.se, an the oilier a pir-
cipice of rock rich in brown and pur
ple shadows—every liei^e ami there in
its depths revealing
g'lmp
of tin
f
whin* foaming r.ver, that comes strug
gling and tumbling over In ge gm\
sioties to the sea J white lurriici still on
the right stretches a range of lofiy cliffs,
the hues «>f whici meek the |K»wer o
words to render, as sm ct ssluily as they
etude the painter's resources to depict
— crimsi n pin pie, violet of richest Buies
everywhere relieved by tufts of bright
golden blossoms, and IVe>h green of
' idyfern that fringes the jaded edges.
John and Fanny have disputed before
ithis evening, but only lor a few senten
ces; and then a kiss lr*»ui him, or a tear
ill her sweet eyes, has brought the mut
ter to a standstill. But this qua r«*l
wears a more serious aspect. J t hu
looks absolutely threatening, lie is a
strong, well built young fellow, with a
true South of England face—a face that
is saturate ! with sunshine, that pn none
in mind, all at once, ol r»|ie August corn
fields; and t-ikeu in conjunct ion \uth
his rich curly hair and l>« ard, of Octo
ber nuts and squirrels.* But the deep
black eyes that match so well with tins
golden-in own, have none of tlieir umiuI
eX|Mvs*ion; they are fill of angry
gleams, and through his parted lips you
tan see his teeth set hard.
Fanny looks up, and meets this stern,
compel ing glance; meets it. too—as
you may tell by the quiver of her rosy
mouth—just when a loving name or a
caress might have prevailed over the
pervert spirit that was Using.
It is a puzzle that she has been able
(living so near the sea) to keep her skin
mo white and delicate looking. Her
bu*r nearly matches her lover’s,°but her
eyes are not no deep in color; there is
a tinge of blue Iilzc in hers, that shines
out w’itfi almost a golden glitter, us John
takes hold ol In r mm. She thinks he
means to make her prisoner.
‘bet me go, wil you ? Fm not your
wife yet John; and i dun’t know that
I ever will be.'
He draws his hand away.
‘Come, noun*, Fanny; youYo talking
ponseuse now. 1 wu» a minute ago,
maybe. Why should you and me quar
rel about a thing that can’t happen if
you would only let yoursell bo guided
V
Thu girl’s eyes filled with sudden, an
gry fetus.
' I’m-riot quarrelling; I only sav you
don’t put any trust in me. W by’ (she
tosses her head scornfully,) vveii if i
choose to go home by the beach, and
Mr. Bussell and Captain StamlLh are
there, and they say a c*vil word to me
what am i the worse for it I'*l like to
knovv-? 1 suppose you’d like me to wear
a thaak next, with just two boles,to
out of. Every thing that is pretty is
looked at. you know it is. an I why not
gil ls as Well ns anything else ? I say
again yours isn’t what I call havin’
tmsl in in**—that It LnV
Tin.* golden light is quenched in the
tears, that fairly run over. Fanny’s
eyes now are almost as dark a* her lov
er’s, and tenderness seems to he swim
ming in them. If John could only have
held out against them for two minutes,
he might have made his own terms with
the pretty, wayward, spoiled ojrl ; but
h sensible lover Would l»e a phcuoiic mm
worthy of exhibition, and John was not
a pliciiotii' iio.i.
The next mi nut’ he bad Fanny in his
at ins, .-quin ig ln r to Ins heart, kis ing
off her tears, and calling himself a
‘Tough j alous hsil 1 for huwng brought
thriu there.
•No. John, Vou’re not a fool, hut you
urej ah mis,y* mi know you arc; and it you
go on like this when we’re married,
y«»u*n break my heart. 3i£n,* cornea out
of th*»se putting coral lips.
‘Ill never be j-al«-as unless you give
me cause, Fanny,' he says, his honest
f..ce growing grave again. ‘But, you see
men and some!* have ddf-relit natures
You can fly in a |*assion and get out of
it, all in no lime, and he as sweet and
smiling us if nothing had happened ;
hut that is not thv way with us—any
how, it's not with such a sulky chap as
me. Once i’m put up I got out of bounds,
and as t«* seeing you laughing and talk
ing with that young f«m>1 of a Captain —
uliy, if I was to catch v*.mi at it, I don’t
kiiuw wh-.l 1 mightn't, he tempted t*»—’
•Vou're threatening now, J..lin,* Fan
ny i«mts, and draws herscli away u
little.
There is nn uneasy look on her lov
er’s face, lie InVcs Fanny with ai! his
heart and strength. Hi* has known her
Irom th«* time they went cralshiinting
t »g» t • r • m ng the rocks with the rot
of the village children ; and yet, though
Ins heait is last bound to h *r that h»*
ix* .Id a- Ver tear it away, he has m* Mire
trust in the winfu 1 , bewitching girl.—
U’Jjcn be tiiinks of ihe future—Fanny
as his w:fe and the ii.istrestt of his home
— an undi fined, shifting 1« ar is apt to
come hi-tuecn ohu ami his certainty ol
happiness, a leaf near akin t<» that he
has felt among the treacherous quick*
sands further eastward lie has been
seeking anchorage.
lie answers, almost solemnly :—'Am
I threatening darling ? Ttieu I don t
mean it. 1 mean warning not threat
eiiiug. You sec, I haven’t got so many
words to fit my meaning to, us such a
clever little lass as you, Fanny. All 1
mean is, I want to put it dear to you
that when you’re, imiyoo meaning n •
harm, only a little t. azmg in play, von
ate pi •ying with lea’iugs a man can’t
keep ui.dcf ; it s as if Hie d**vil was lei
loose in me, 1 know. You don’t think
men mm tier one another of set purpo-.-,
do you, Fanny, when they’re them
selves ?
Fanny turns white, and retreats still
fm tiler houi the Cliffs edge; then sla
gives « #.«;<• lMn i-<l f..ugfl. r *
*1 illusl say, JoJiji got stiangc
not .on s of pleasant t .Ik ; first you scold
me till 1 c.y, an<i then pm s ( .cak uhtun
tnuider. Ni-»w 1 must go liomc, and ij
y**u cun’l trust me to go by the In-acii,
i*d take »he l«M»g w»*y ovtr ilte cliffs —
Are \«»u sati.'fictl iiuw, r"i.r Y
^at.sfi/d ! John is radiant at such uu*
cX|*ected swc»*t sitlmiissloti, lor the road
«*u all.-.id owr Hit* cliffs is just tw.Minles
r* Uud «»r Fanny and when liwry Imgan
to quaild she ti .*1 said hotiiiiig Slit-Uhl
i ml wee In l* l«» go home unless she uciil
i*V Ine c.i, ttlicr**, as Jotm kne».\.
Captain >lamiish uihI Ins lin-ud are p *
coig Up and *l‘»v\ii in 11out ol the little
t'.*y. ‘You little duck !* I:e says, and
John otters up a good deal atonement
• ii w.Md ami act, winch Fancy irccives
with many smiles and biusfiu*, and ai
last lie lets her go.
•Why not g;i by the lane?’ he asks.
Fat.ny m»*ss. T was just thinking
so,* she says, and she b-oks back ovei
her sh'Mihh r, and Mnihru like an augd.
John thinks.
But the smile fades our of her face mure
quickly than the rose color from tlmse
long, rKlondike c'oud lines. By the
time she roaches tin* end ol the rock-
path. her i.uehead is dinted with a
town
The path ends its shelf-like course
along the cliff, and slopes down to the
left in a steep descent to the road lead
ing to the beach ; on the light it mounts
as Steeply to the upper part of the Vil
lage. A lane wim high lodges, fiim
ged with plumy hunt, «»f latlyfern, ami
near the ground, rare, mor«* minute
kills nestle l.ke green tas.-els in the
chinks <*1 h mse pi let I masses «*l st«*iie hid
den by long satin strqis id* hart's tongue.
Fanny stands frow ning still where tlie
three ways meet, bhe is thinking about
John.
T don't believe bethinks half enough
about me—lie wouldn’t dare be so mas
terful t*' he d.d !’ Anil then (lor a g<**l
ill It ul loll repented of seldom gets a
second hearing, J Fanny tells hoi self bh«
is an Idiot. 4 A nice slave 1 shall be
when i’m married, it Fin never to look
ai any one or to speak to any otic but
linn What’s the use «>t g**od Itn.ks it
they’re all to be hidden out 4»t sight i
ami she hardens herself in this one'idea,
of herowu beauty and the amount ul
avluitrulioii due lo it.
She stands still, looking’ wistfully
down the steep lane to the beach. A
sound *d voices comes up t*» her, a
a booty laugh, and then some words
which bring a blush U» her cheeks—a
blush of pleasure; her lips part, au.i
her head is thrown back sauviiy as two
geutiemen coiue in sight sauntering up
the path.
‘By Jove ! this is lm-ky.’
Captain Siniidish takes hi-* cigar out
4>f his nn-utli, mid says, *Gimk1 evening.
Ue is a tall, fair^outii, with p ile hair
and ey**?«; Here is a washed out look
about him. Air. Russell had a more
manly aspect ; he is shoit and thick set,
something <d the bull tetrier breed.
Fanny is in such a flutter of vanity
and delight, that she hardly knows
what is said to her, or what she an
swer*. She has quite forgot tell her in
ten it .at of going straignt home, uud
stands iisieuiug and laughing while the
Captuiu ta.ks.
John stands listening bm—just where
Funny k-lt lii.n — listening, and yet u*»l
heal ing tin* querutoijs scieaiti of the sea
gulls at.the fuol of the cliff, "dripping
tlieir blaek-lipped wings in the cream*
Jlig curl of the waves, and then rising
with sudden flight with laiming, out
spread feathers, «*r sink ng slow
ly 'e tl»e air lesists their pinions.
But John is not frow ning. He smiles
at h msi4f. He thinks that he has
urong*d Fanny by ii*s half f.»ru»cil
fears. ‘Hear little creature! how g«n>d
and docile she hq after all! A girl's
worth notiiing if sin* hasn’t a spiiit of
her own. All ! at Bidford there’ll b«
none of those f-linns coining down to
plague honest men !’
John Fiy came hack yesterday from
Bedimd ; he has mi uncle Ihei e. a lish-
t-rniaii, who has offered him a half share
of liic« bout and HU business lor a very
til-derate ciMn|K*lisatiou.
•do;,n !-John Fry, Isay! Hollo—
where ure you ?’
A coast guard, in blue flannel and a
shiny hat comes running along the
rocky edg**, as easily as if it were six
feet w ide.
He steps short when he sees John
sets his legs wide apart, and both hpmlrp
go down into the bottoms of his pock
ets.
‘Weil, Davie V
‘lj4H>k alive!'says D.ivie, with a red
face, and jerking his thumb 4»ver his
shoulder. 4 Yer wauled behnv ; the Bill
ford bout is off the rocks, and there is
one awaiting y u/
J ohu pulls off his wideawake, doubles
it up, ami then flattens it out with his
strong brown hand; finally, this pn>*
feeding having failed to solve his |*er
plexity, moves ou to where Davie's
thumb is |H>iutiug.
‘Tncre’ll Ihj a bit of gale to-night
aWe tlie boat readies Mineliead,’ say
Dwie; and tlien lie stands still and
,ights liis pipe, while Jt»hu Fry hurries
down to tin; beach.
Unless hu had scrambled down tlie
face uf tlie crag—a 'jold feat for ev»*n
im» fearless a climber — he must follow
the path Fanny had taken, hut he is m»t
thiukiiig about Fanny as lie hurries along.
His uncle at Bideford was uu old man;
he had already had oiu* seizure, and this
might he another. John hud few fr*ends
•»r relations, but tho-e ho hud he loved
with the inlens ty of a deep, strong na
’ure, and hi« heart was fu I i*f anxious
tear for l.is uncle; he had left him S4i
we I slid hearty, and so full of warm
sympathy with his nephews happiness.
So that when John, in his head race,
comes MtJdcidy U|s>n tin* group—or
rather ill • pair, f*»r Mr. Russ li had
moved off to a discreet distance—tin*
young fi-h'Tuian is so bcwildeivd, that
for an instant he stands :n silent wonder.
For nu instant only. It is quite d irk
in the n irro-.v lane between those high
fern i r» w ned lu*dg**s. B-dbre one can
note the changes that have come into
the two facias. S4» near to each <»ther—
for Captain Standish’s wldskrrs touch
Fanny s cheek as he whispers—John’s
hand is oil the Captain’s shoulder, and
Hie Captain stumbles backwuids into
tin* lusige.
‘Keep your distance, will yu ?’ J«*hn
says ‘that young woman is m*t free to
listen i«> your f.»*.|erv !'
He has graspetl Fanny's ann w hile
speaks, and m*w ho h rries her
with him hack by the way he came.
Vehement action tins calmed ilown
tlie leui}*est iif In-r singer. As lie strides
along, he is forcing himself to decide
what lie shall say t«* Fanny.
lie has a dun r«* iieit»hran**e of the
point where he Jolt Davie, and he stop-
si ort of that. 'I’he light has faded so
completely that ho call only just see
Fanny’s f.n c plainly.
She is veiy wh«te, and trembling.—
She rem -iuln-rs what John sain jusi n*»w
about murder, and an sell i- usually par*
amount in lu*r thoughts, her terror is
that lie hi -ans to fl ng her over or. ti»e
snarpp-iiiitevl rocks hch>w—te r»»r so
great, so paralyzing, that sho cannot
even shriek lor IiHji. E»’eii if sMe coiihl.
her Voice Wtiu’d be |»owerless against
the w ailing, screaming Sea gi l*s, and tlie
roar *»f the waves as the wiud lashes
them into fn.-tmiug heights. „
But «f.*iiit has n • mind to harm her.
Sj-ite ut all, he loves her still, hut he
has learned ut last to put trust in his
own misgivings, it stead o* Fanny Hey
wood,
‘Funny,’ ho says, in a ehokeii voice.
‘I hrimgiit y- u here to tell you what
must be said between us two.’
lie stops and tries to clear his voice,
hut it remains hoarse in spite of him.—
Fanny takes a little eomfo.t and looks
up, lut his stein, set face brings bark
ali her fear; she clasps her hands
over her eyes, and **ries out with terror
Tito strong, awful calm that had come
to John nftor his first outburst, gives
way at the cry, and his auger breaks
through like a ground swell, betokening
how deep it lies bidden away.
‘Be quiet !' he says, savagely, and
then tlie shat p p in at his heart nerves
him, as pain will nerve t** self-mastery.
‘Fanny, when I asked you if yon
could love me well enough to be my
wile I thought of you as a man thinks
of a Ip-e woman. I thought I wasn’t
worthy of your l**ve. even though I gave
you my heart un*l son! in exchange.—
i gave ’em you. Fanny; you have b*eii
first and foremost in every thoqgRt I’ve,
had s lice then I’m not making a mer
it uf so doing—l don't know as I can
lake them back God knows h »w I
love yu mi still, but I'll n*»t take a wife
who’s not content with the love I've got
to give her, who’ll not keep herself for
me al**ne. I’ll not put myself in the
danger of tnarr in ,-an1k*iv l can’t trust ’
She had kept her eyes hidden, and
ho had not seen the sh -me an-l the Sor
row that had fi Iwl th^in, but bis hist
wonts had stting her into stiddet: fire,
‘Nobuily ask- you n*,’ (her v«*ice has
thif tuuntii.g ring in it he is least able to
bear.) *I’«n not iik«*!y t«» ask any uimi to
marry me, Mr. Fry—least of all one
whom I’ve in ide a great mist.iKe l»y ev
er iiavuig anything to t^o with. 1 ul
ways fell I’d throw myself away, and
now I’m sure of it l'ui tit f-»r some*
thing better than a fisherman’s wife, I
can tell you—a r-»ug brute that has h -
mattiierH for his betters. Let tin* go.'
She pu>hes him, and at the same mo
ment Davie lounges up.
hick t**il the Li'-Mteiiaul of the signal
h • fancies he has heard.
bile hi*
r along
‘Did you hear a sign J V he says.—
I'm thinking it came from beyond Bed
fdeu's M-Mitir. Come oil and tell the
Lieutenant. Why, man, where Is: ye
going off in the dark alone, 'ull help
noaUe; wait and gii me u help \vi’ the
lilelnjat.’
Joint only shook off tho s grasp his
friend had laid on his coat, and bcrr.ed
off into the darkness.
‘Well, i’lu blowi'd!' says Davie,
‘there’ll be t-ummut more tliuu common
amiss wi, a steady ciiap like tiiat *un
aford he'd run a mucker al -ng the ciiff-
edge io the dark.’
mmm
pin in.
That night n*» on<» but the children
went to lied in the little fishing village.
At nlfUt eight o’c!*n;U D ivie had
spread the alarm of a ship i»ff the HeiL
lien’s Mouth, and the (lunger was too
well known not to rouse u stirring sym-
jMtliy in nil who heard the tidings.—
Lieutenant Roberts ami his men had
soon put off in the lifeboat, and more
than one of the fishing tm.ilH hail f.»I!i»\v-
eil; though the sea was now so wild
that some i»f the older men shook their
heads and muttered that “It were a
idean temptin' «#f Providence.’ Even in
the upper village stray rumors o| the
eXciteinmit bol«*vv kept folk waking ’
Fanny Hey wood lived along wi.h her
father. Ho had been a village school
master, but was 8ti|K-rannu tied now,
and a most childish ; his ch:ef ideas be-*/
ing'the correctness and spotless con
lion of his clothing, and the beauty and
irresistible charms ot l.is daughter Fan
ny. He saw no use whatever in sitting
up burning candles just because a ship
had been si> stupid as to get on the
rocks, ami he told his daughter she
would do wisely if she went to bed too.
Fanny gave him a caiclos answer;
hut when lie had luiriy gone up stairs
she placed herself at the window and
looked out, in hopes ol hearing news
from some passer by.
The girl’s heart was ve:y heavy t«s
n:giit. Ohe had not said one worii lo
her father. She had joked, and laughed
and ti ieJ to bear herselt bravely ; but
the pent-up sorrow grew in its struggle
to find Vent—in the deep lone stiliuess it
made her heart heavy as lead.
The night was very dark. Fanny
put her head out of the lattice as she
heard a far off sound, and the wind
swilling round tlie house in a wild gust
blew her hair into her eyes. The sound
came nearer, heavy and lumbering, not
like a mere foolntcp.
‘Who’s there ?’ sue calls, as it comes
nearer; there i* a strong sudden h« rmr
in In i, though she could not have found
name f»r it.
‘Its me —Davie. I be in u barrow
from tin.* rocks down yonder.’
He » fallen and smashed his ankle,’
says a deep voice, which Fanny recog
nises as that 4»f tin* second in command
f the coast guard station ; *1 had to
come buck, s«» I’ve brought him along.’
*Is the ship sale ?* says Fanny.
•W ell, yes,’ (the mail qieukx sulkily ;)
‘she cited out liefore she was hurt.—
There s one ol the Umts stove in that
came in after the life-boat ’
Fanny’s heart gave a sudden bound.
Is any one hurt Ue*ides Davie?’ she
miys f hi a faint, seared voice
•Well, yes; and I innsl go on. Mis?,
ow. I’m conic in t«» fetch the d'»ch»r out
to Joe Forter and an-'liter poo fellow—’
Is John Fry down hclpiug with you ?’
she s ivs.
Davie strikes in ; the grasping tone of
Fanny’s words mused him.
rb*. i».mint, in my iftind,' he ’Bays.—
‘John Fry left inn all in a hurry to go to
the r**ck"*. and there is no one seen or
heard <mi hi.u since. John’s not the la t
10 stall’ hv wi’ hi*, hands in his p<» kets
while lolk- is Waiiting help'
Bclorc his words ere spoken Fanny
is out ol the c*»tinge oo**r fiiir can s* e
the two figtjtes in the vague, ind stiuct
light—a light seems fra unlit in ih-ell
with doubt and lear. With all her
haste, that strange mechanical quality
we call *l»abil' makes Funny lake dow n
a shawl, which hangs in the passage
ami wrap it ar«*nud her sttouhiers, as
she runs .nt«» the road. iShe puts <ml
her hand till it b'uches the coastguard’s
at m.
- *.vlr Evans, tell any one yon see to
semi help to tlie foot <»f the chfl’s : amt
tell Lieiil.nant R-merls I’m gone Iheie
to lo«»k iur J-hu F»y.'
•Gone alone—God help her!' But as
he speaks there is nothing but the vague,
KMitatlocl glimmer round Evans and
bis charge. Fanny has sped on fur out
of sight, down the sleep fei u.banked lane
lighier than it had liemi in the u}*per
vdl *ge, fur the sea is belbie her.
She guesses that tlie fishe' iuen are ncjt
gone to hed, and she knocks loudly at
the first dc»or the comes lo.
An old man opens it, very old and
feeble, with a Jace lioneycomed with
irriiikled He i.as a luntciu tu his hand,
and he holds it up to examine his visitor.
‘Let me have it, Father Pugsley,’
say^tke girl, taking the lantern wtth u
grasp lie is powerless to resist. *li
y.ore’s a man or b *y in the house with
you, Solid them after me lo the foot of
Rugged J ueb.'
'Ti»e wonderful power <»f instinct lias
t"id her Inal if any harm has come lo
Jonu, her conduct had caused it. iSiic
sees tnm hurrying along the ci.ff-palh,
wnoli she left hliu with thoM* taunting
v\oids on her . lips. t*he knows eveiy
inch oi the path, and Jonn's loving, pro
tect mg care Inis taUgfit her too well ils
danger. At the tool ol ibis massive pile
uljjiay rocks, which the village is culled
'h^ftl Juck/ the path seems m end
suuuciiiy—so ub* upl is Hie angle It
niakeo ioand the j jgged mass. Faulty
OiiilUdcrs wiicu a:»c taluks ol IhejuLLing-
oat crags be low, u«id fiow imicil cafe
and caution it would require, in the dark
u.-sa, to loliow the abiUpl turns of the
»iipj*eiy, a ue Veil path. Tins is scarcely
a Uio.tgUL. J?lie hurries ou so Iasi that
viauuia ol what id ay have hefalleu her
lover seem t.j lure her on l«> leach tliem
as Lucy move lu bodily »ti ipe belt ire tier.
At uihi licr lime Funny would have
neon IrigUleueU ut* tne hmeiy darkness;
now stie heeds iiottiing but me l"Ugmg
tu tiud tier lover before any utie else can
ieach him.
6he is near the point, wheu a sudden
gust ol wind blows out her light — not
lor long, blit* has seen, us she earned
It, Ihui old Fug>iey lias h ft matches in
side the iaiiU-iii. Bat that luomeiit ol
Utter duikncNS, ull alone on lliat giddy
height, with Ine iitoa.Jiig, gulping sound
ol llic hushing wave* nuiow, btiakes
FaUny lr«*ui head lo Io*4l.
\\ hat if **lte cauuol find him? What
11 lie has iaiicti to me bottom oi Uie chff,
a no Ine hung.y waves, cbomg back,
have carried linn along with tliem for—
a»« tind her and sfoes forward not so fist
but more stemiifv.
T» 4**e's a heart, after all. in her vain
little ImkIj—:» heart t mt almost, for the
first time iu her life, is speaking to her
* ore *1 arvitln-r than of herself-—and the
fogging to help and comfort J«ihn for
his nwn sake is overiu.isteriug any self
ish dread.
Site stops and IioMa her lantern high
fda^va her head. Just before her, black
in the Vague fight. Ragged Jack stands
"Ut ::s if to stop her way. A sudden
chill at her heart and site lower* her fan-
Iren to the path’s eilge. Fanny could
never rememlHT why she did this—it
was a strong impelling instinct. She
f-*4»k>, and then shrinks hack, sek and
white, against the lockv-wall beside her.
fl Jiihn siiil lives, he is lying below
where she stands. The path is broken
away, amt there are sigQs that larr*.*
i Ou‘f ro.-k h^ve been freshly I«nveiled
edge and hulled down to the
sea.
As the reafity forces itself upon Fan
ny, that she must descend that fearful
precipice alone iu the darkness, face In
face with the moaning, wailing which
echoes, heavily and hopelessly, every
thought of terror—Fanny’s courage
flies in one long shuddering sigh, and
she shrinks on her knees sobbing.
The attitude, or a power beyond her,
brings prayer to her lips : ‘Oh. my fath
er save him—help nte !’ The words
seemed to nerve her—perhaps they re
mind her that she is not so helpless—
She lies down on her face, and drags
herself to the edge. ‘John,—John Fry!
—John, ifarliiii*! do you hear me ?’
The wind is (ufling fast, and her
voice sounds clear through the night
air.
No answer comes; the silence seems
more awfully true in their foreboding.
Desperately, she rais-s herself, and
semis her voice out in one loud pierc.ng
cry.
Then she strains her er.r to listen.
Far off—seemingly as far as the bay
«»n the ollu r side of Ragged Ja;*k — an
answer coines, but iu a sound of many
voices ; and then neater, almost close,
so it Seems by contra a feeble whistle
All her fears are gone; she only
chides at her own delay. Still holding
the lantern in one hand, she feels her
wav cautious'Y, loot by finit, down the
cl.ff, till she finds at last a standing
place. Hie knows where she is now ;
the crag juts out here into a huge jag
ged rock, with a hush or two on it, uud
then goes sheer down to the s«*a.
Again atom beside her, the whistle
sound*
She 4
then s!u
light fa I
omlei than before,
alls, but no answer
holds the lautern
Is below her.
coines; and
so that its
Cl**se to her—so close that her next
downward fisMslep would hive been set
on bis face—J.»i.n Fry is ly-ng with shut
eyes. He has been caught, seemingly,
between the busln-s growing oil the edge,
for only his head and « best are visible.
Faulty ku-els down : she touches his
fa«-e Jfiii-ilv with ber hand,, and then
draw?it hack, shuddering.
‘John ?—John, darling! Open your
eyes ! "peak to me !’
He lies there as still a* the gray lock)
almoNt as cold. Hie forgets the '(anger
of tailing ; she twines her arms round
him; site inuiinurs to him, and presses
w arm ki-ses on his face.
‘Oh, John, my dulling !^my darling !
l.i*ok at me j inL once; let me hear you
say once you forgive my wickedness 1
She might as well ciy to the r- ck it
sell; and yet as she presses her li r s on
his. it seems as if some warmth lingered
in them.
Suddenly she raised her head, and
cries out loud for help. A Strange
sound has r«-a-h»d her. Hie listens
breathlessly. Yes, lh**y are coining.—
Over head she hears voices, and from
the sea, the strong legular pull i>f oars.
John Fry was taken home alive, but
then.* came weeks of anxioan Watching
Indore he was able to w alk, once tnor**
beside Fanny ilevwooJ, to the scene of
his fearful fall—and then he waited
with crutches,
Fanny smiles bright in her lover’s
face H»e is trying to cheer the sadness
that, spite of this efforts, cLuds the
strong man’s eyes at limes, for it is very
hard for John Fry to realize that he is
cripp ed for life; but under the girl's
smiles, is a t nder, subdued look nt-w to
her face It may be that bitter teat8
she has shed, during her long, patient
nur.-ing, have It* t their trace—tears not
only of sorrow for her lover's sufferings,
but «*f coniriti.Mi far the part she had ac*
ted toward him.
‘Fanny! (John had stood in silence
f-»r some minutes beside tlie broken
pathway] ‘1 don’t think you and ] will
quin el again—will we, darling ?'
He l« oks at her smiling, with his deep,
loving eyes, and she tries lo answer
brightly; but the recollection of that
foolish quarrel and its ending masters
her, an-l tears conic instead of words
‘Hush J’ he whispeis softly; ‘you’ll
8, oil y«*ur sweet eyes, my dar.ing, and
they’re n»v ey*-s now —at least they will
ty afry.Tjiursday.’
Fanny hides hci eyes on his shoulder.
‘Don't ask me to pt ianise, darling,’ she
whiNpers. “While you've been so ill
I’ve learned m<»re about mysell than I
ever thought to know I wonder how
you find anything to luve in a girl wh^
can pn*. no trust in lie*self !'
There’s no need to tel! John’s answer.
A Chinese Dinner
Professor Pumpclly, who traveled
five thous’uid miles through the Ulterior
of China, on official business, gives the
following account of a Chinese dinner :
“The next day we received invitations
to dine with the magistrate of the city.
As we traversed tlie Court of the Yu
mun, at tlie ap|»o nted time, our eais
were greeted with a sound of suppress
ed chattering, and we could see lhat*al
the chinks of the surrounding windows
were occupied bv the holies of the
household. Our host led us into a
n»nm where the table was spread. In
acc »rd<*uie with Chinese etiquette, he
.*4>eot some time in j»er.-Miacting each of
the guests to take the head of the ta
ble, a distinction which each one was
Ujiind by the laws of politeness to d—
dine The host, then standing in that
place hinpclf, iiisr-to-l nj*on each and
all feir.ingydtArn before him, which, ol
course, whs persistently declined, us it
would have Oceii a breach of politenes.-*
for a guest t« Like Lis seat first. Thi
dinner began with a cup of hot rice
wine. The table was loaded with dish
es, which wore placed one upon ano.’h*
er in tiers, forming a [ yrainid of Chi-
nefle delicacies. There were soups made
f bird’s nests, of the haliotis, and of
shark’s fins ; there was beetle di-liter;
there were stews and pates ; there were
roots of the water lily; but it would
take too long to enumerate ull the dish
es spread before us, of each of which
one was exjected to taste. Great as is
the variety of articles of food in the
Chinese cuisine, some things which in
ther countries are considered most es
sential are missed by the traveler, and
ol these none more than butter, bread,
and milk. There is a kind of bread
which is cooked by 8'cuiti, and there
arc floor cake* fried in oil; they are
poor substitutes. A little milk is sold,
and women’s milk is peddled round tin
cities mostly for the use of invalids.—
F«»reigners ate shy of patronizing tin
Chinese milkmen. There is an old sto
ry on the coast, that, at a dinner given
by a foreigner, the host took a servant
to ta>k for serving no milk lor the coffee.
*• ‘Boy, go catchee milk,’ said the gen
tleman. The servant, disappearing,
soon returned with the answer, ‘No
have got.’
“ ‘ W hat for no have got ?*
“ ‘That sow have got loo muchce
piecoe chilo; that woman have die,’ re
plied the boy. By this the servant in
formed the gentleman and his guest
that they had been saved Irom drinking
the milk of either a sow or a wornau on
ly by the death «»f the latter, and by
the birth of a litter to the former.’ 9
What a Man Know's—What a man
can write out clearly, correctly and
brn-fly, without book or reference of
any kind, that he undoubtedly knows,
whatever else he may l»« ignorant of.—
For knowledge that fulls short of that —
knowledge that is vague, hazy, indis-
tinvt. uu^L-itain—I,for one profess no
respect at all.
1 believe there never was a time or
country where the influences ot care'ul
training were in that respect in*»re need
ed. Men live in haste, write in haste —
I was going to say, think in haste, 4»nlv
that the word thinking is hardly appli
cable t-* that large mini her who, fur the
most part, purchase their daily allow
a nee ot thought ready made. You tind
ten limes more people mow than ever
before who can string words together
with facility, and with a general idea of
their meaning, uud ari» ready with a
theory *•! some kind about most mat
ters. All that is very well as fur as it
goes, but it is one tiling to be able to
do this and quite an -ther to knew how
to use wo.ds as they should be used, or
really to have thought out the subject
which you discuss.—Lord Stanley*
rar The Tarboro’ North Carolinian
is re*|M»nMble f*»r the following:
Tb**re is a inan living in the moun
tains of North Carolina, not more than
forty miles from Greenville, S C», who
has readied the extraordinary age of
143 years. At the time of Braddock's
defeat lie was twenty years old, and had
a wife and three children. A gentle
man at Greenville informs us that this
man, who has c.Mite down to us from a
former generation, has always been in
moderate circumstances, lived upon «
plain, coarse, Vegetable diet; that he
liud never drank any liquid bet pure
spring water, and bids fair to live many
yeais longer. He enjoys jierfect health,
possesses all of manhood’* attributes,
and wants to marry, lie has survived
seven wives, and having lost the last
one about sixty years ago, he now nat
urally begins to feel quite lonely.
Her fingers grow unnerved and tremb
ling—sue caitU'M ie**hgtit tier lantern.—
Lvou it ebc fin-la U’.iii ue wi.l not be uhve
He may be un utui taring ms. i able- inuaa
oi br k» u bones uud wouuds—too
dieaul'nt to think «»1.
I Line at last, and w ith it the girl’
courage rekindles. She treiuoffs *tdl
but she draws her shawl Ipore cioaelj
to
Tue Wrong B(k>t—Tl.i« is the latest
sto.V Iroin Paris : M. Blanc, a million
aire, who «*ame within an ace of being
e acted Deputy, was returning from
Burgundy by a night train. A lady,
young and pretty, occupied the sane
ciMiiparinTeiit, Now, M. Blanc, who,
in spile of his naturally small teet, tries
to make them smaller slid, was suffer-
inffterribly from tight boots. All at
(Mice he iiuiiued that the lady was
asleep, and he could ju»t as well take off
hts Iloots, which he *J»d. Suddenly the
*>t«tion lights begin to appear iu sight.
One hoot is quickly put mi. but the oili
er, alas ! does not go on so easily. He
puilt* and pushes; ti ally the foot g.njs
in, but is lentbiy ptnclnal.
Once at the station, M Blanc hides
huu*elf hi a cah, and tliiuks his troub
les at an end. When ho reaches tlie
house, imagine h.n surprise at finding
his right fool in a lady’s boot. The la
dy had been in a similar situation with
huuacit. Madaru** Blanc refuses to be
lieve i word of his story; she cries,
goes into hysu rice, a d finally returns
to her lather, refusing to hold any com
munication with her unfoituiiulc* hus
band. But think «*t the reception ac
corded to the lady of the train w hen
her
Effect or Novel Reaping.—Girls
learn from such bonks to think coarsely
and bobliy about lovers and marrying;
their early modesty m effaced by the
craving f-»r adrnii ati«»n ; their warm af
fection* are silenced by the desire for
selfish triumph; they lose the fresh and
honest feelings ol yoiitq while they are
yet scare*ly developed; they pass with
sad rapidity from tueir early visions of
Tancred and Oriando to noti. ms of good
connections, establishments, excellent
matches, etc.; and yet they tliiuk, and
tlieir mammas think, that they arc only
advancing in ‘ prudence’ and knowledge
of the world—that bad, contaminating
knowledge of the world, which I some
times imagine most have been the very
apple that Eve plucked from the forbid
den tree. Alas! when once tasted, the
garden of life is an innocent and iiappy
Paradice no more.
Threat and Counter Turk -*t.—Elder
sister (to her biotlier of about six Rum
mer:*) : ‘Oh! you wicked, bad boy !
Put down th-at pipe directly, sir, or I’ll
box your ears for yon.* Junior brother
(who has been smoking) : ‘Box my ears
it you dare. I’ll go and t(* pa
you let cousin Jack kiss you* (price be
hind the (h»or yesterday/ N. B.—A
truce was agreed upon
Tlie entire alphabet is found in
the>e tour lines. They firm a pleasant
stanza for u child to learn :
God givt-s the grazing r»x his meat,
He quickly bears the sheep’s cry ;
But muu, w'io ta-te hi- fi;u*st wheat,
Should joy to tifl bis praises high.
®jgr A person was asked why he did
not take a newsj»a|*er. 4 Because,' said
he, 4 my father, wlien he died, left me n
good many tiewspapcTsJ" and I haven’t
read *u**m tbr«mgh yet/ Healterwards
How Smith Asked the Old Man-
Pmilh hiid just asked Mr. Thomp-
son’s daughter if she wmild give him a
lift ont of bm-herlordoni, and she had
said, ‘ves.’ It therefore became ahsn>
Intely necessary to get the old gentle
man’s permission, so, as Smith said, the
arrangements might be made to hop
the conjugal twig.
Smith said he’d rather pop the inter
rogatory to all of old Thotn|>son’s
daughters and his sisters, and his lady
cousins, and liis aunt Hannah, in the
country, and the whole of his female
rehrinns than ask old Thompson. But
it had to be done, and so he sat down
and studied out a speech which he was
fo disgorge to old Thompson the very
first time lie got a shy at him. So
Smith dropped in on him one r unday
evening, when all the family had mean
dered around to -meeting, and found
him doing a smn in bJ;r measured
‘How are you, Smith ?’ said old
Thompson, ns the former walked in,
white as a piece of chalk, and trembling
as if he had swallowed a condensed
earthquake. Smith was alraid to an
swer because lie wusn’t sure about that
speech. He km-w he had to keep his
grip on it while be hud it there or it
would slip from him quicker than an
oiled eel through au auger hole. So he
blurred out:
‘Air. Thompson—Sir : Perhaps it
may not have been unknown to you
that, during an extended period of some
five years, I have been busily engaged
io the prosecution of a commercial en
terprise.’
•Is that so, and keepin’ it a secret all
this time, while I thought you were
tendin’ store f Well, [iy George, you’re
one of them now ain’t you ?’
Smith had liegun to think it all over
again to get the run of it.
‘Air. Thompson : Sir, perhaps it may
not be unknown to you thut, for the ex
tended period of five years, I have been
busily engaged in the prosecution of a
commercial enterprise, with a determi
nation to secure a sufficient mainte
nance.’
‘Sit down, Smith, and help yourself
to beer. Don t stand tliere holding
your hut like a blind beggar, with par
alysis. I have never seen y ou behave
so queer in all my born days.’
Smith had lieen knocked out again,
and so he had to wander back again
and make a fresh start.
•Air. Thompson, Sir : It may not be
unknown to you that, during un extend
ed period of five years, I have been en
gaged in tho prosecution of u commer
cial enterprise, with the determination
to procure a sufficient maintenance—’
A which ance ?' asked old Thumps
son. But Smith held on to tho l ist
word as if it were liis only chance, and
went on :
'In the hope that some day I miaht
enter wed'o. k, and bestow my earthly
possessions upon one whom 1 cull my
own. I have been a lonely man. sir,
and have left j^it it is.not good for «
man to be alone : therefore I would—’
‘Neither is it, Smith : I'm glud you
dropoed in. How’s the old man?’
‘Air. Thompson, sir,’ said Smith, in
despairing conclusion, raising his voice
to n yell, ‘It may not be unknown t>
von thut during an extended period of
a loney man 1 have been engaged to
enter wedlock and bestow all my enter
prise on one whom I conld determine
to lie good for certain possession—no, I
mean—that is—that—Mr. Thompson,
sir : it may not be unknown— 1
‘And then again, it may. Look here,
Smith, you’d lietter lay down and take
something warm; you ain’t well.’
Smith, sweating like a four-year old
colt, went in again.
‘M . Thompson, eir : It may not be
finely to yon to prosecute me whom
y ai a Iriend ior a commercial mainte
nance, but— lut—eh—dang it—Mr.
Thomp-on, sir : It—’
'Oh, Smith, you talk like a fool. 1
never saw a more first class idiot in the
course of my w hole life, Wbat’s the
matter with you anyhow ?’
‘Air. Thompson, sir:’ said Smith, in
an agony of bewilderment, ‘It may
not lie known that you prosecuted a
lonely man who is not good for a com
mercin'. period of wedlock for seine five-
years, but—’
‘See here Air. Smith, you are drunk,
and if you can’t behave yourself you’d
better leave; if you don't I'll chuck you
out or I’m a Dutchman.’
‘Air. Thompson, sir,’ said Smith,
frantic with despair, ‘it may not be un
known to you that my earthly posses-
sions are engaged to enter wedlock five
years with a sufficiently lone'y man,
who is not good for a commercial main
lenance—’
The deuce he isn't. No you jist git
up and git, or J’JI knock what little
brains out of you, you've got left.
With that, old Thompson took Smith
and shot him into the street as if he’d
run him ugainst a locomotive going out
at the rate of lorty miles an h< nr. Be
fore old Thompson had time to shut the
front door. Smith collected his legs snid
one thing and another that were lying
around on the pavement arranged him
self in a vertical position and yelled out:
‘Air. Thompson, sir: It may not be
unknown to you that’—which made the
old man so wretched mad that he went
out and set a bull terrier on bmith be
fore lie had a chanee lo lift a brogan,
and there was a scientific dog fight,
with odds in favor of a dog, for he had
an uwlul hold for such a small animal.
' Smith afterward married the girl
and lived happily abont two months.—
At the e- d of that time he told a confi
dential fiien^^^^be would willingly
take more tronmWBSt undergo a mdl-
•iou more dog bites to get rid of her.
VOL. IV—NO. 15.
Story of a Diver — lo one of the Kn|
glish magazines is an article writfrn 1-
a diver, in which he narrates some thrillj
ing experiences. He thus describes hit
sensations while under water :
“ It’s a strange feeling you have down
there. You go walking over a vesselj
clambering up her tides, peering here
and there, and the feeling that you arel
alone makes yon nervous and uneasy.
“ Somelimes a vessel sinks down sol
fairly that she stands up on the botton
as trim and neat as if she rode upon tin
surface. Then you can go down intcl
the cabin, up the shrouds, walk all overf
her, just ub easy as a sailor could if she
were still dashing away before thu
breeze. Only it seems quiet, so tomb-
like ; there are no waves down there—I
only a swaying lack and forth of thel
waters, an4,a-see sawing of the ship.—I
You hear nffthmg from above. Thai
great fi-lies.wiil-co.-ng'-ifwftnniing about,!
rubbing their noses against your glass,!
and staring wi b a woudeif.il look into I
your eyes. The very stillness som^t mes I
gives life a chill. You hear just a moan
ing, wailing sound, like the last notes ot |
an organ, and you cannot help thiukiuu
of dead men floating over and around
you. 1 *
Children’s Etiquette.—Always say,
‘yes sir,’ ‘no sir,’ ‘yes, papa,’ ‘no, pap i’
‘thank you,' ‘no thank you,‘good ni^io,’
‘good morning.’ Use no slang terms.
Clean faces, clean clotheS, clean shoes,
and cicnn finger nails, indicate good
breeding. Never leave your clothes
about the room. Have a place for eve-
ryihing and everything in its place.
Rap bcfoie eiituiing a room, and n"V-
er leave it with your back to the compa
ny.
Always offer your seat to a lady or
old gentleman.
Never put your feet on cushions,
chnirs or tables.
Never overlook any one when reading
or writing nor read or talk aloud while
others are reading.
Never talk nor whisper at meetings
or public planes, and especially in a pri
vate naan where any one is singing or
ylaying tlio piano.
Be careful to injure no one’s feelings
by unkind remarks. Never tell tales,
make faces, call names, ridicule the ptme,
mimic the unfortunate, nor ba cru-,1 tj
insects, birds, or animals.
Reasons for Dkessins Plainly on
the Lord’s Day.—I. It would lessen
the burdens of many who now fin l it
hard to maintain their place in society, j
2. It would lessen the force of^ tbs j
temptations which often lead me:i to
barter honor aol honesty lor display.
3. If tliere «ai less strife in dress at
church, people in moderate ciri-umstan-
c s would be m ire inclined to attend.
4. Umvt-iaal moderation in dress at
church would improve the worsli-p by
the removal-if many wandering thoughts.
5. It would enable ull classes of pen
pic to attend church better in unfavura.
hte weather. *
G. it would lessen, on the part of the
rich, the t mptation to vanity.
7 It wou d lessen, on the part of the
poor, the temptation to be envious and
m tlie ous.
8. It would save va'liable time on
th.; Sabbath.
9 It would reli.-ve our means from a
serious pressure, and thus enable us to
no more for good enterprises.
Only.—Only a stray sunbeam ! Y--t
pi-reliance it lias cheered some wretch -d
alHi-le, gladdened some sicken heart, t r
its gold n ligut has found its way
through the leafy branches of some wi.d
wood, kist-eJ the moss covered bank
where the tiny violets grow, and shades
of beauty to adorn its lovely furm. On
ly a gentle breeze! But how many
aching brows hath it fanned, how many
hearts then cheered by its gentle touch?
Only a frown I But it left a sad dreary
ache ill that child’s heart, and the quiv
ering lip and tearful eyes told how keen
ly lie felt it. Only a smile! But ah !
it cheered the broken heart, engendered
a ray ut hope and cast a haio of light
around the unhappy patient ; made the
bed-ridden one forget his present agony
for a moment in the warmth of the sun
shine. Only a word of enconragemeut
—a single word I It gives to the droop
ing spirit new life, and the stc; s press
on to victory.
During a fine starlight evening
lately, a three-year old philosopher, after
a silent and apparently profound scruti
ny of the heavens, asked bis mother, ab
ruptly, where the stars came from--
Mamma replied : “ I don't know, Willie
— I don’t know where the st irs came
from.’ * vVull. you bet I dm The moon
laid ’em.’ This was a sU.ler f-r uia.n-
ma.
I mw Ran Huang Kate,
And the fact n we at- three saw ;
For I aow Rail, lie paw me,
End she saw I saw Rail.
AYouan’s Lov£—“A AFrenot* woman
willlstK her husband if lie is cflher wit
ty or chivalrous; a Gefiiiun wpinan, if
he i^cocstaut anil faithful; a Dii^ch wo
inuitPlUiu does not disturb her ease and
comfort too much ; a Parish woman, if
he wreaks vengeance on These who in
cur liis displeasure; an Italian woman,
if he is dreamy and poetical; a Danish
woman, if he thinks her native country
is the brightest and happiest on earth ;
a Knssian woman, if lie despises all
Westerners as miserable barbarians; aa
English woman, ii he succeeds iir in
gratiating himself with the %ourt and
tlie aristocracy; an Ameri. aa woman,
£3fi* A lady leaving home was thus
addressed by her litile boy: ‘.Momma,
will von remember and buy me a p nnv
whistle, and let it be a religious one, so
that I can use it on Sunday.’
tpn, ‘ I do not wish to say anythin •
against tlie individual in qu stion,’ said
a very polite gentleman, ‘ but would
merely renumk in the language of the
Ik
poet, that tol
fiction.’ ’
1 truth is straoger tbiiu.
jgp. A young lady in California broke-
her neclT w hile resisting the attempt ot
a young inan to kiss her. Young ladies
should be very careful not to resist such
attempts. It is extremely dangerous.
j@kA Cincinnati paper advertises for
‘ girls for cooking.’ A contemporary
ref-lies: ‘You would like them rawr,
when you get accustomed to them.’
Why cannot a deaf man be le
gally condemned for murder* Beoau e.
the law says no man can be condemned
without a hearing.
tar Leave you, my frierd,’ said a
tipsy4'eUow dinging to a lamp J ost on a I
dark nUk; ‘leave you in a con fition * |
not tottu^o care of^onrse’.f! (bic) novrr/
*®- ‘ Gently the dews are o’er me
stealing,’ as the man said when he ha I
five due bills presented to him at one-
time.
*a_ ‘ My dear wife,’ as the :nan said
when he looked at l!i« last milliner's
bill.
*gt, Josh Billings says that cod fish
are better than umbrtllaif to keep >oa
dry.
The Fifteenth Amend o--n>. it