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VOLUME VI.
I WLI> NOT DYE INWINTUR
Ct TIT? OBTHOB OF ‘THOBTS ON A FAIDED BOK A. ’
I wml not dye in wintur,
When wliiskie punchiz flo,
When pooty gals air skatin’
O’er fc-alJs ef ice aud snow?
When saasidge meet is phryin’,
And hifckory nutH is thick,
Owe, who wttd think of dyeing
Ox even giltiu’ sick?
I wnd not dye in spring time,
k miss the turn up greens,
& pooty song of leetlo irawgs,
>* )*ky lark’s airly screams.
When birds begin their wobblering
& tuturs begin to sprout,
When tuikies go a gobblerißg -
I wud not then peg out.
I wud not dye in summer,
& leave the gat den sass,
The rosted lam and buttermilk,
The cool place on the grass.
I wud not dye in summer,
When everything’s so hot,
A leave the wliiskie julips,
Owe no, I'd rather not,
t wud not dye in ortmn,
With peachiz tit for eatin’;
When the wavy korn is gettin’ ripe
& kandydates is treatin’;
For these and other reasons,
I’de not dye in the phaul,
it sence I’ve thort it over,
I wud not dye at aw).
MISCELLANY.
ItiL-'SriFLjZL.
V SOUTHERN ROMANCE.
BY A. T. t.
Oli, most beautiful south ! Land
of the orange blossoms and magnolias,
hand of the sweet smelling savors of
die flower and chivalry of our country.
Through which of thy bergs and vil
lages can I wander without recalling
Sente grand old romance, interwoven
with the dull, every-day of life?
It was one of the most beautiful lit
tle bergs scattered along the banks of
K , and looking from a distance
like little bits of happiness in among
the shadows, in which] the particular
story I am about to relate occurred.—
Hut had there been no romance what"
ever connected with the place, it was
a spot which nature had touched with
such dainty fingers, that every lover of
the beautiful would fain have lingered
iie ir, situated as it was on the banks
a stream so noted for its pictur
squonrss. Here the old mill with its
great wheel dipping into the vvabr
with such a refreshing plash, plash,
seeming in its business to put at deli*
ance anything approaching to idle
ness. A little further on the fall, seeth
ing and bubbling in its giant strength,
sending- up now and then little whirl
pools of white mist, which, symbolical
(, l life, made a great stir for a while
and then died into nothingness. Just
Up the road to 4he left, the village
proper, with its broad, old-fashioned
streets, and dear, roomy old house
■'vhicli I love to think of even *ow, so
tall and imposing as they were, with
their outside blinds, and white window
curtains, provokingly drawn just ad
mitting the outside to see enough of
the interior to desire a more privileged
v kw. At the end of the longest,
broadest, most aristocratic of these
streets, stood a house which was the
pride of the village being larger and
more elegant than any of its neigh,
hors, This was Judge Eustace's ; in
Hitt had been in the possession of the
Kustace famdy for yeai s, and had been
handed down from generation to gen
eration, and preserved in-toto , each
possessor in turn rather glorying in its
ancient magnificence. Standing some
what back from the street upon a
shght elevation, the green lawn slop
ing gently from all sides, it was par.
ttally hidden from view by’the tall pop
lars and clambering vines, which were
the luxuriant growth of many years,
and were planted by hands long since
crumbled to dust. Within there seem
cd to be something of unusual interest
going on, and the passer-by might
have soon found, if he had stepped to
inquire, that it wa?~ even so. Myra,
the only daughter, of the old judge,
and the village belle, was expected to
return, fresh from her Alma Mater,
where she had taken high honors.—
She had been motherless from infancy,
and as she had been raised by a doting
lather, and an equally doting nurse,
she had grown into a beautiful and in
telligent, though spoiled and perverse
girl ; still she bad naturally a warm
heart and winning manner, which had
made her a favorite in K—.
When she first reached home Myca
was like a caged bird which upon gain
ing its freedom, knows not how to use
it; she ran from one room to another,
now up stairs, now down into her fas
thorns study to give him a hurried em
brace, and then be off again. And her
f&ther was infinitely happy in seeing
her happiness. But this exuberance of
spirits gradually wore away, and My**
ra settled back into the old time life
again. Of course she had a host of
admirers, for where docs youth and
beauty come that admiration does not
follow in her train? But Myra had a
happy home, and being a little selfish,
very much spoiled and rather hard to
please, she thought she would be in
no huiry to leave it. So &lie had al
lowed two years to pass since her re
turn from school, coquetting with this
one, smiling on that, and dropping
looks of encouragement here- and there
only to give the young “lords of crea
tion’’ a decided no when the affair came
to the point,where the heart “lay bleed
ing at her feet." But the ti me had ar
rived when our fair heroine was to
make a fair decision.
Among her lovers there were two
more ardent than the others, and who
seemed determined to bring matters to
a crisis. One, Dare Temple, was a
Young man of noble birth, and far bet
ter, of nob'e nature ; tall, slender and
graceful, with a face which might have
been called plain had it not have been
fur his beautiful brown eve and manly,
intellectual forehead; he bad loved
Myra Eustace ever since together they
played when children, and he had been
her champion. Then as they grew op,
it was always Bare who was ready
ever to protect tier, first to wait upon
her ; climbing to the tops of the high*,
est tree to [carve her initials with his
own. And now it was Dare who had
made open confession of that love and
was awaiting with suspense the final
answer.
The other, was a Frenchman,
whom no one knew a tight concerning,
s ive that he was handsome (unless in
deed Yme might except the mouth,
which had a look of cruelty and lack
of character about it) and seemed to
have no end of means .
In fact he talked so much of his
beautiful villain La Idle France, and
in what a sad and sudden way he had
been compelled to leave it account of
difficulties which he always t >ok care
not to mention, that the fairer portion
of the inhabitants of K— had begun
by pitying the unfortunate Professor,
and had ended by making a perfect li
on of him.
******
It was the day of a large party,
such as only the old southerners know
how to give. A lovely day in the
fall of the year, when Myra, her heart
beating tumultuously, went out to her
favorite seat on the lawn in the shade
of a largo poplar, to think. Yes, she
had a problem to solve that autumn
morning viz : Ah, reader, how many
of us have attempted the solution of
the same example, and at last been
compelled to acknowledge that wo
were but poor mathematicians.
But to return to My r ra ; she had al
ways thought (at least when she had
allowed herself to think ot it at all)
that she loved Dare ; and that he loved
her with all the passion of a true man's
nature, she had little reason to doubt.
But Dave was poor, and if she married
him she must sink into such a com
monplace woman as those she saw
around her, forgetting that in the per
formance ot life's duties, no matter
how insignificant, there rises up a
sweet incense to the throne of the Fa
ther, which helps to blossom into
beautiful womanhood the most humble
life. And . this she could never do ;
she might have been content to do so
once, but now, when every prospect
with which such a brilliant future
arose before her ; for had no not prom
ised her everything if she would only
go with him to his beautiful home in
France. At this thought the infatua
ted girl leaned back and commenced
building fairy castles, in which, I re
gret to say, Dare Temple and his sus
pense was entirely' forgotten ; and she
saw only a fair woman receiving such
homage as she had read of, but never
thought would come to herself.
My ra’s day dream was interrupted
by a call from the house, but the re
sult of them was a short, cold note
penned to Dare, bidding him never to
come into her presence again, until
summoned by herself. And a warm,
impassioned billet, which quickly
brought her lover to her side.
The two letters were received in a
manner characteristic of the different
men ; Dare’s with a low moan and a
whispered “forgive her, she knows not
what she does,'' and M. de Joyeaux's,
with a smile of satisfaction, which re
vealed more clearly the cruel look, and
a muttered “I'll secure my gam? yet.’*
0, Myra, why can you not see him
now? 'f would help you very much in
your problem.
The next day the gossips were fur
nished with a dainty morsel iu the dis
appearance of Dare Temple ; and in
the engagement of their village beau
ty to ‘‘the catch'’ of the place. But
like all nine days' wonders, it soon
ceased to be a cause for wonderment
at all,
At first Judge Eustace violently op
posed his daughter’s choice. It had
been one of his pet schemes that his
little girl should wed the son of his
dear and well-tried friend, Henry Tem
ple, of Temple Hall. But if he had
any suspicion as why Dare left, he wise
-1- kept them to himself: and thinking
it better not to carry tilings too far,
lest he should thwart bis own purpose,
he at last acquiesced.
So everything was in preparation for
the great event, which was to take
place during the holidays Myra was
so busy during these days that she had
little time for reflection ; nor did she
care for it. She seemed like one in a
dream who feared to turn lest she
should be rudely wakened ; and if she
gave a thought to the wanderer, she
had but to look at the handsome dia.
mond which glistened upon her snow} r
hand, to recall her to the present. Ev
erything was nearly ready when Myra
began to notice how strangely her
father acted ; at.firstehc attributed it
to his sorrow at parting from hor,
but he grew so very moody and spent
so many long hours alone in his study
pouring over certain leather-bound vol
umes, that had she not been so much
occupied with self she must have seen
there was something more than ordin
ary troubling her father.
One evening about a week before
the long talked-of event was to come
off, Myra, whoso trousseau was now
all prepared, had just arrayed herself
in the creamy satin and lace, which
was to be her bridal dress Iler maid
having put on the finishing touches;
stopped and throwing up both hands
said with a grin, (which gave her the
appearce of having more than her share
of ivories) ‘Lah, honey, you looks p* e
a angel, ebry inch on yer!'> It was
indeed a lovely picpp re which Myra
caught from her mirror ; and
she thought as she looked at all her
beautiful surroundings, ‘Was any girl
ever so happy as I am?" But little
she knew how fleeting the happiness of
this world ; she built her house upon
the sand, and when the storm carne
and beat upon it, it fell. She crossed
the room, passed down the stairs, and
was about to enter the library, when
the white, scared face of her father
startled her, and springing forward,
regardless of her robes, she threw both
arms around his neck and caressing
him in that soft, winning way of hers,
said, ‘Oh father dear, what is it?—
Something has been troubling you for
some time ; is it iny leaving ? Are
you ill ? Father, dear father, do speak
to me.’
For a long while Judge Eustac*e did
not speak; then, as if half to himself
he said :
*oh, that I could have saved you
this blow, or at least Have averted it,
but it was impossible.'
Then, as if nerving himself to a
painful duty, he continued :
‘Myra, prepare yourself for the worst
—ice are ruined !
‘But, papa, must we give up eve
rything ? my home, my dear, dear old
home V
‘Yes, my dear girl, we'will soon
be homeless, and still worse, penni
less.'
With these words the old gentle
man buried his face in his hands, aud
lor some moments all was still save
the wind which whistled around the
chimney, and the purr of the old eat
which basked lazily in front of the
tire.
The couple were startled from their
stillness by a sharp ring of the door
bell.
‘Tis he, father,’ said Myra, spring
ing up, and for a moment forgetting
her trouble in her new found happi
ness.
‘Yes,' said her father, kissing her,
‘go, dear, and be happy while you
can.’
Myra recrossed the hall, and feeling
confident that it was her lover, opened
the door, thinking to give him a little
surprise. But she wasj disappointed
EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 17, IS7S.
for it was only a small boy bearing a
note for Miss Eustace Recognizing
the dear, familiar hand, she eagerly
broke the seal and read, and when she
had finished, uttered a low moan and
sank into a white heap upon the
floor.
LITTLE ETHEL.
How long Myra lay there she never
knew. When she awoke it was in her
own room, and when she endeavored
to raise her head from the pillow, she
found it impossible; so she gave a deep
sigh which called to her bedside a lit
tle creature, whom to Myra’s scattered
senses seemed an angel ; and
if not an angel‘s, it was the face of a
being almost ethereal and pure.
But I shall have to ask the reader to
go back with mo a little.
The following morning after Judge
Eustace had told his daughter of his
loss, it became public If there was
much surprise expressed among the
inhabitants of K, that so “solid" a
man as all supposed the Judge to be,
should fail, it was almost lost sight of,
when the whole truth became known.
The greater surprise si completely
swallowed up the less.
Monsieur Joyeaux, who was a keen,
far-sighted Frenchman, had beGrt com
pelled to flee bis native country on ac
count of a forgery, which had been
traced to him. But escaping to this
country, he had so far eluded his pur
suers, when one morning he received a
letter telling him that detectives were
shadowing him, but that if he would re
store in full the amount he had taken,
he should not be prosecuted. Meeting
Myra, he Was charmed by her beauty
and youth, and more especially with
her father’s well filled coffers ; so
he thought lie had his game secure,
when he was apprised of the Judge's
failure. Finding all was lost, he penn
ed a hasty note to the wretched girl,
and left for parts unknown.
Boor Myra ; the shock to her nerv
ous system, in addition to her wound
ed pride was so great that it was many
weeks before she arose from her sick
bed.
There was much sympathy felt for
the afflicted family, and many were the
offers of assistance. But the Judge
proudly rejected them ail ; indeed, he
would have left it immediately had it
not been for Myra's illn^~ s the 01/!o 1/! 1
homestead, —which bad to be sold, was
bought in by a man from a distance,
a young physician, who, not caring
to settle there, had written to the
Judge, offering to let them remain
until his daughter should fully re
cover.
’Tis a trite saying, and for that rea
son apt to boa true one, “That it nev
er rains but it pours and so certain
ly thought Judge Eustace when in the
midst of his other troubles he received
a letter telling him of the death of his
only brother, in a distant part of the
country, and that he had begged with
his dying lips that his brother would
take charge of his child, who at his
would be a homeless orphan.—
At any other time the old gentleman
would have responded gladly; but now
it seemed too much, and he was temp
ted to refuse the girl a home. But
upon reflection, his better nature
triumphed and he concluded to write
for his neice, and quietly await events.
In after years when lie thought of this
day, how glad he was that he had done
so.
To return to My’ra. As before re
lated, her call brought to her bedside a
person with a face so sweet that for a
moment she thought she must be
dreaming, and that one of God's an
gels had appeared to her dreams. So
she faintly asked :
’Where am I ? Who are you ?’
‘lnyour own comfortable bed, and I
am your cousin, ’ replied a voice so
sweet and low that Myra again opened
her eyes and looked at her. As Myra
attempted to speak, she playfully put
one finger on her mouth and said :
‘No, no, dear, not now; be a little
patient, aud it will all come in good
time. I have strict orders to keep you
quiet.'
Then after shaking up her pillows
and giving her some medicine, she
turned to Myra and sain :
‘You have been sick a long while,
dear, but the Great Physician has seen
fit to restore your life. Shall I thank
Him for you si nee you cannot for your
self ?'
Then kneeling at the bedside, with
Myra's hand in bet's, she poured firth
a prayer so beautiful, so eloquent, and
yet po simple and heartfelt, that it
caused Dr. Cunningham to stop up >n
the threshold and bow bis head, feel
ing that he was in the presence of a
higher power. Then with that innate
delicacy which marks the true gentle
man, he gently closed the door in such
manner that the girls might know of
his presence just as Ethel had closed
her prayer and risen from her knees.
For a moment he stood outside to
wipe away a tear whjoh this touching
scene had brought to his then rap
ping on the door he entered, saying in
his cheery- way, ‘Hood morning, little
nurse, how is my patient? Oh, much
better I see' (advancing to the bed.)
‘The crisis past, though all danger is
not } r et over. She will get well if care
fully attended, and that she certainly
will be, if I may judge from the past,
lie said looking at Ethel and smiling*
Then leaving some remedies and direct
tions, he was gone.
While it was true the crisis had been
past, yet the shock to Myra's system
had been so severe that her recovery
had been very slow ; but she was
now well enough to sit up a short time
every day. During this time she had
become pretty well acquainted with
Ethel, and they often used to have long
and delightful conversations together.
One of Myra's favorite occupations
at this time was to sit and watch the
busy little figure as it moved about the
room. I have alwaj's spoken of her
as little, although she was near Myra’s
own age ; but having received a fall in
her childish days she injured her spine
and hip in such a way that she had been
a cripple ever since, and Tittle Ethel'
she would be till her death.
When Myra was able to leave her
room, she came forth a noble Christian
Woman, ready to do ‘what her hands
found to do. c
A-bout this time Judge Eustace re
ceived word that the physician whohad
bought the homestead wished to take
up his residence there, so lie was com
pelled to seek another home.
Things are scarcely ever so bad as
they first appear; aud after everything
had been settled it was found that there
was still enough left from the wreck of
the Judge's fortune to support them
comfortably.
So the Judge had selected a pretty
little cottage near the fall, and there in
day or two they were all to remove.—
A few evenings before they were to
leave, Myra and Ethel were seated on I
a lustic ®eat in the lawp } enjoying the
heaiiUes of the place which was soon
to be their home no longer, when suE
denly Myra looked up and said:
‘Ethel, has papa ever told you who
bought our home ? 1 have thought oK
tea I would ask him but lie seems to
feel so keenly the loss of it, that I say
as litt• o as possible before him.
‘No, 1 don't know certainly,’ said
Dthel. °Jis a physician by the name
of Temple, or something like it, I
think.’
At the name Myra started but com
manding her feelings (for she did not
wish Ethel lo know all of the past)
said :
‘Some rich old gentleman who is
attracted here by the beauty of our
little village, probably/
‘Can it be Dare,’ she thought ‘com**
ing back to K— V And at this thought
her heart gave a glad bound, but al**
most immediately she remembered how
rudely he bal been dismissed, and
thought, ‘Cjuld I ever see him again ?
No, no ; lie would scorn me. Can I,
oh, can ever forget the bitter past V
At the thought, Buell a tumult of
feeling rolled over her that she leaned
forward with her head upon her hand.
Thus she sat for a long time, wheu a
gentle arm was put around her, and
Ethel said:
‘Myra, it is growing late, aud we
must go within doors/
It was late that night when Myra
fell asleep.
******
'Tis two years since the events re
lated above. Judge Eustace and his
family h ive been living in Rose Cot
tage long enough to call it home, and
the old homestead has been occupied
for some time by its new owner ; who
who was no other than Dare Temple,
returned to ,his native
leaving he had, by perseverance,
economy and the influence of a friend
of father's, been enabled to carry into
effect his ardent desire to study medi
cine. Into this he plunged with such
a zest that after a time he succeeded
in working up a practice which gave
him wealth and reuown. Hearing
of Judge Eustace’s failure, and that
the place was to pass into the hands
of strangers he concluded to purchase
it. Great was the delight of the vil
lagers when it was noised about who
was to have the old homestead ; some
were disappointed that there was no
body to open its hospitable doors.- But
when they jestingly spoke to him of it,
he shook his head in such a grave, sor
rowful way that they knew the subs
ject was a forbidden one, and said no
more about.
After Dare, or Dr. Temple, as we
must now call him, had been in K—
for some time, one of the dreadful fe
vers so common in the south broke
out and raged with great fury. The
panic-stricken people knew not which
way to turn. Those who could afford
to do so went further north; but there
were a great many who could not,
and among them there was great suf
fering. From the first Myra had de
termined lo stay and do what she
could, notwithstanding the protestas
tions of her father. So she aud Ethel
became ministering angels to the sick
aud dying. Singularly enough both
escaped the disease until towards the
latter stage of it when Ethel’s strength
seemed to entirely give out. At first
at her earnest request they summoned
no physician. But as her symptoms
grew rapidly worse, Myra, whose very
life was wrapped up in this “wee bit
o* a thing,’’ could stand it no longer.
So a messenger was dispatched bid
ding Dr. Temple, with whom they had
b dli been so intimately associated
during the scourge which was passing
over them, agaiD to come into Myra's
presence.
Upon his arrival Dr. Temple found
Ethel very ill; she had been attacked
With the disease in its most violent
form and in her weakened condition
there seemed little hope of her recov
ery. For days and nights they watch
ed together, Myra and Dare, for in
the days gone by he had learned to
love the little sufferer almost as much
as Myra.
At last the change came. It was
about dusk when Myra was watching
alone. Suddenly the door opened and
Dr. Temple stood before her; for a
moment he looked at her long and
earnestly; then passing to the bedside
and looking at the sleeper, he said:
‘Myra, (how strangely sweet the
old name; she felt it thrill through
her even then,) this night will decide
all.' For some time both sat silently
listening to the clock’s tick-tack, that
representative of time which vve all
find so necessary, and yet in every
tick it warns man he is nearing eter
nity.
Presently the beautiful blue eyes
opened, the lips parted in a smile when
she saw the watchers, and she was
about to speak. This time it was My
ra's turn to list the warning finger.
But the young girl only smiled and
said:
‘No, no, dear, I have but a little
while to stay; for oh, soon I shall be
up there! But I have had such a beau
tiful dream; I thought that I was in
heaven, and it was lovely there; so
many little children singing praises;
older ones playing on all kinds of
stringed inetruments;still others around
throne, and all so happy. Then the
music, I cannot tell you concerning it
but did you onee hear it, the music of
this earth would never satisfy you
again. Then 1 looked at myself with
n.y poor, crooked body and wondered
what there could be for me in that
place el perfect light—when lo! my
angel mother appeared and bending
low, raised me in her arms, to the Sa
vior's feet, when he leaned down and
took me to his bosom, and I was no
longer the crooked little Ethel, but a,
glorified being—made like unto him
self. Could you—oh!—would you—
keep me from such perfect
re-s-t?”
With these words the dear spirit
winged its way back to its Creator,
and all was still.
Great grief was felt in that house
hold at the blow which had fallen up
on them. Great grief was also felt
throughout the village when the death
of Ethel was known, and a larger fu
neral, perhaps, never wended its way
to the old Fall Cemetery, where on a
beautiful day in October they made
for the “little Ethel 5 ' a bod in the au
tumn leaves. A plain white stone,
bearing this inscription, marks the
spot:
LITTLE ETHEL.
She hath done what she could.
So went out the young life, but its
influence lived like a halo of light
around the lives of Myra and Dare for
many a year.
My reader, you have guessed the
rest? Yes, they were married very
quietly; but I'll venture two happier,
nobler hearts never beat beneath a
bridal altar. Both having taken a
deep draught of the bitter, could bet'
ter appreciate the sweet. Dire had
refitted and refurnished the old home
stead, and to this he drove his bride
on the morning of their wedding. They
were welcomed home by Julge Elis'
tace; who ruet them at the tresbold,
and gave them a father's bl* sdng lie
also lived to see another Ethel within
these doors, but this time a noisy,
mischievous little elf, who imposed
upon grandpa dreadfully. —Chicago
Ledger. x
wax figures do not. lie.
Made of awl work—shoes.
A taking person—A policeman.
Who can understand a cornstalk?
The chap with a glass sigh—The
toper.
m m
The tramp's favorite sweetening—
Loaf sugar.
A mule will behave himself eleven
year and six months just to have one
off-hand shot at a middle stud.
Boston school-house doors swing
both ways, and teachers have an aw
fnl advantage over a bad boy.
Thousands of boys would go dirty
all summer, if it were not wicked and
dangerous to bathe in the river.
The brewery of trouble dong not
produce beer. But the imbibing of
too much beer sometimes brews trouble
His name was Wrath, and when he
asked bis girl to marry him, she gave
him a soft answer, and a soft answer
turneth away Wrath.
If you are stung by a bee, use harts
horn; if bitten by a snake, get drunk.
A great many people say, Oh, hang a
bee sting! give us a snake bite.
!he grand and awful difference be
tween a tree and a bore is—hurrah,
now!—the tree leaves in spring, and
the bore—why, he never leaves.
'1 lie ‘Age of Man’ furnishes an inter
esting field for speculation, but by
caramon consent the age of woman is
a matter which is left entirely to faith.
Scientific men say that a person is
an inch taller in the morning than
in the evening. In spite of all this we
all know that men get fearfully high
in the evening sometimes.
Love impresses its tender image on
all its environments. Even the scat
tered peanut shells at the front gato
Monday morning arc silent witnesses
of ks ail-embracing sway.
An old lady from one of the rural
districts astonished a clerk in one of
the stores a few days ago, by inquir
ing if he had any yaller developements
sioh as they did up letters in.
He went to a neighbor’s house for a
cup of sour milk. ‘I haven't anything
but sweet nnlk,’ said the woman pet
tishly. 'l’ll wait till it sours/ said the
obliging youth, sinking into a chair.
Probably the mild-eyed goat is the
only animal ever invented that can
cat twenty-four hours a day, and then
get up an hour before day and devour
a flour barrel and seven old fruit cans
for a lunch.
Mrs. P. says she is much disinfected
with tier new residence caparisoned
with her old one, which was on the
road to a populous symetry, where she
was enlivened sometimes by seeing a
dozen funerals in a day.
A chap o! reckless language, speak
ing to us regarding the “crash," said
that the bankrupt law was a ‘sort of
crash towel for wiping out indebted
ness.’ He went out before active
measures could be taken.
—
A little four-year-old, a native and
resident of New Jersey, while watch
ing the lightning flashes from his nur
sery window a few evenings since,
during a storm, turned to his nurse
and remarked that ‘God was scratch
ing matches against the sky.’
‘Do you know,' remarked a rather
fast youth, the other day to a stutter
ing friend to whom he was slightly in
debted, ‘do-you kn w that I intend to
marry and settle down?' ‘I don't
know anything about it, 'was the reply;
'b-b-but I think you had better stay
single and settle up.'
Yesterday two grammarians were
wrangling, one contending that it was
only proper to say ‘my wages is high,’
while the other noisily insisted that
the correct thing was ‘my wages are
high.' I 1 inally they stopped a day
laborer, and submitted the question to
him, which do you say, ‘your wages is
high, or your wages are high?’ ‘0 to
the divil \vid yer nonsense,' he said
resuming his pick, ‘yer nayther ov ye
right; me wages is low, thundering
low.'
NO. 42;