Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME YI.
CONSTANCY.
BT MBS. ANNIE 8.
"Yon will not forget me, Katie
When I am gone away;
Yon’ll not forget me, darling Katie,
Whatever you may say?”
Hi uot forget thee, Johnnie,
When thou’rt off to the wars!
And when thou dost return again.
Covered with wounds and scars,
4.111 gtill be trie to thee, Johnnie,
go proud to be the bride
Of a brave and fearless soldier,
Who's braved the Iwttle’s tide!”
And then I left my daring.
With a brave and fearless heart;
I trusted as I loved her,
Though hard it was to part.
I thought ol her by night, by day,
But never thought ot gmfle,
And wheu the dreadful battle came
I thought with pleased smile,
Oh! if I should be wounded,
She’ll love me all the more;
She wud so when we parted.
She said so o’er and o’er.
Ah! soou a shell came screaming
And tore one arm away;
But worse than that befell me,
I lost an eye that day.
I laid upon the battle-field,
And listened to the strife;
I thought not of my own ills,
Dear Kate would be my wife.
And she would soothe the pain away,
And be so proud of me,
'Twas thus my foolish thoughts ran on
Through all that battle day.
They bore me to the hospital.
I cared not for the pain,
My only thought was, haste the day
Wbeu I’ll be well again.
A comrade wrote to Katie,
And oh! her brief reply,
I thought ’twould surely kill me,
Aud yet I could not die.
'Twas, I ‘John," she wrote, “you're wouuded,
I’m Hoiry it is so;
Deep in my heart I pity yon.
And so dees husband, too.
“‘I grieved so wheu you left me,
I thought that I should die.
And so, for sake of company,
I married Joseph Nye.
“But there is Maggie Wimple,
Who lives across the way,
Shea one-eyed and she’s simple,
Aud will marry, I dare say. 44
Since theu I've thought that constancy
Had better change her name,
For it her name is “Woman,”
I do not like the same.
For woman will be constant,
Wherever you may go;
Bhe surely will be coustant
Till sht finds another beau 1
MISCELLANY.
ON LAKE IAMONIA.
BY DAMON KKftR.
rpon the fragrant summer air rises
the happy laughter of sweet voices,
And the tnurruur of snatches of con
vers.ition. lamonia, the beautiful,
stretches Jfar away, dotted here and
there with umbrageous islands. The
water ripples and curls, mirroring the
fair m on, the planet of love, aud myr
iad of twinkling stars.
The lovely chalice of the “water
■queen/’ with its two feet of emerald
green leaves, hold a disputed sway
over the silver bosom of the lake with
the nappy young people who have
gathered on its shore to have an al
fresco party.
“Moonlight, music, love and flow
era” reign supreme. The moon, as if
in remembrance of Endymion, sends
down her silver splendor to throw o ver
the scene. Music from the guitars and
and lutes float out upon the night air
and Icve-strickeu swains “passion
their voices* to the object of their
adoration. Sumptuous magnolia flow,
era bloom above their heads, snowy
w-ater lilies float near them. lamonia,
the loveliest of all the Florida lakes,
beholds a fete such as has
not been held on its grassy shores for
many years Stately matrons move
over the green swar l, thinking of “the
days wlven they went gypsying/’—
Pretty girls sit with their chosen cav
aliers under the trees hoary with
moss.
One, the queen rose xf the r-oset>ud
garden of girls, has just taken up a
guitar and sings in a gay sweet vo : eo,
"Fly my sjfiff among the rofce* She
is loudly applauded and encored, but
she declines singing again. There is
one who does not join iu with the rest.
Mr. Trevilyn is too eager tr see Miss
Hfje Eastman tumes.
j Barclay alone to urge her to sing foi
I others All night he has bided his
time. He has made himself generally
useful to the elder ladies, and a gener
al beau for the younger ones. Mr.
] Trevilyn is handsome, with dark brown
hair, broVrn eyes and wriite skin. A
Georgian, and a graduate of Georgia's
famous college at A—and a first honor
man. Well educated and handsome
he is the cynosure of all girlish eves.
He sees and hears only Belle Barclay,
and impatient to have tier to himself,
to have her all his for a little while, he
leans over to her and says in a low
voice :
‘Have you forgotten that we are to
go up to the ‘basin, Miss Idle ? Rob
inson aud others have gone/
M ss Barclay rises and bows her ex
cuses to her friends, while Mr. Tie
vilyn picks up the guitar, offers his
arm, and escorts her to the wait ng
boat and impatient boatman. He looks
down into the fair, perfect face, with
its wondrous brown eyes, scarlet lips,
a face in which roses and lilies rival
each other, and a mad longing seizes
him to possess tin’s girl. He notes
with a lover's par.ial eves tin* tall, ex
quisitely molded form, her white dress
festooned with gray moss; and looks
enviously at the tube roses nestling at
her white throat. The boat pushes
from the shore, and the boatman oe
gins to sing after the manner of Mark
Twain's gondolier Belle idly draws
her shapely fingers through the pelu
cid water , catching at the sleepy lily
buds that n and in the moonshine.
Ms it not lovely?’ she asks in half a
whisper, as if afraid to break the mag
ic of the scene by the music of her
own voice. ‘ls not that
The loveliest moon that ever silver’d o’er
A shell for Neptune’s goblet ?’
Her companion does not reply ; he
is gazing into those 'twilighteyes'that
are lifted with all the fevorofa sabaist
at “vesper” to the beauty-crest of sum
mer weather, and smiling Diana. He
is contented with silence ; with her
“silence was music from the holy
spheres.’' She does not expect an an
swer, for she leans back upon the
crimson shawl and lets her dreamy
eyes drink in the exquisite scene.
This ebon Charon, who rows them
so deftly over the lake in the wake of
the river ripples of the preceding boats,
hushes his song and sits looking at
his passengeis. Shack knows well
that Mr. Trevilyn loves Miss Belle ;
he has interpreted Jong ago those would
be careless questions about her; but
Miss Belle does not care for him ? Is
she not as kind and gracious to Mr.
May bury or Mr. Coleman as she is to
Mr. Trevilyn ? He shakes his sable
head and mentally pronounces Jdiss
Belle a coquett. Shack is eager to
distance those other boats, to keeu up
his reputation as the best oarsman on
the lake, beta remembrance of a silver
dollar in the depths of his pockets,
and a promise that he would keep
some distance behind, stills his ambL
tion.
Belle grew restless under the steady
gaze of those brown eyes, forgets the
beauty of Lake lamonia the exquisit •
pearl-white blossoms that are her fel
low voyagers for an instant as the
waves rush before the prow and move
them from their accustomed places
It is uncomfortable to sit and be stared
at if you are a beau ,y and a belle, so
she takes up the guitar and sings a
gay little chanson of m xmlight and
flowers; it is hardly suited to the per
fect beauty and quietness of the scene,
but she does not care so the spell of
those eyes are broken.
“The spell is broken, the charm is flown."
For Shack proves recreant to his trust,
and they glide along side of one of the
other boats.
‘Loiterers !' cries Miss Leslie, why
have yon not caught up before? Was
it not a premeditated art, Belle '
‘Of course not, Mary. How far is
it to the basin ? Can we not have a
race there V Belle a-ks, in au eagt r
voice.
'Yes, do !' shouted many voices,
and amid the shouts from the other
boats, Shack shoots ahead and floats
out into the waters known as “ the ba
sin.”
They may write of Como of Leman,
of Seneca, but lamonia, the beautifnl,
presents to the eye, a it lies mapped
in the silvery sheen of the moon, a
sceue of perfect, exquisite beauty and
peace. Nobly the hills rise on every
side and encompass it. By daylight
the hundred feet of water is emerald
green •; not a leaf, twig, or flower is
in its wind-rippled bosom. An island
of two or three acres rises from the
centre of ‘the basin' covered with a
dense growth of stately magnolias,
now in full bloom, aged oak .lives from
the branches of which suspends grey
moss fully tiree yards in length, float
ing like gray curtains in the flower
scented air
To-night fairies have touched the
so°ne. The water in ‘the basin' is sil
ver waves ripple over its bosom; the
island is a huge pearl in a silver set
ting. The glossy green leaves of the
magnolia reflect back the rays, now
and then a snowy blossom, full of fra
grance peeps out, The tops of oaks
and cedars are silver and their gray
burdens are changed into curtains of
tangled silver threads.
Cupid gives way to Momus, and the
air is made merry with the shouts as
they spin around the basin. It is rath
er dangerous fun, to for this Eden,
like all others, has its serpent in the
shape of wide-mouth saurians, watch
mg in the shadows, with curious eves
all this revelry about their usually
quiet homes.
Ed Maybury does not relish Joe
Trevelyn's monopoly of Miss Belle,
atid after two or three races around
the gem of an island. (Shack always
came out ahead) he gives notice that
it is half past eleven o'clock. They
all start simultaneously for Drake's
Landing. At a signal from the gen
tleman in his b at, Snack drops behind
and quietly glides through the channel
until they reach where the pond lilies
grow. Mr. Trevilyn reaches forward,
nearly upsets the boat, but seizes the
lily bud he wants.
‘l'll exchange with you, Miss Belle,'
he says, holding up the dripping flow
er, by its pink stem, and pointing to
the tuberoses at her Miroat, that
breathe out their heavy perfume on the
night air.
'Will you? how kind of you!
laughs Belle, mockingly, undoing the
brooch that holds the coveted flowers.
’Mine are half withered, you see, while
yours are as fresh as only a pond lily
can be. Thanks! as he drops the
flowers into his eager, outstretched
hand, receiving the lily in return.
'I am the gainer,' he says, in a tone
of rapture, even to possess so small a
thing that was once hers. ‘I shall keep
it always,'in low tone. She carefully
wipes the wet stem, holds it up against
the dark puffs ot hair and asks :
‘llow does it look ?’
Such a glow comes to his dark eyes
as hi' leans forward and says with
thrilling emphasis :
“Fairer than Phebe’s sapphired-regioned star,
Or vesper, amorous glow worm of the sky ;
Fairer than these though temple thou host none
Nor altar heaped with flowers ;
Nor choir to m ike delicious moan
Upon the midnight hours ;
No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet
From chain-swung censor teeming.”
Belle shrinks from the passion she
has evoked and trails her hand through
the water absently. Shack says to
himself:
‘Ciar for it, be f s saying a rhyme to
her. Must be mighty ’ligious young
man. I alius dus notice dese Georgi ms
is .nighty religious fellows/
Belle interrupts Shack’s communing
with :
'Hurry, Shack, they'll land before
we do. Ah! as they glide swiftly
through the water-weeds at the motion
of S lack's our, ‘we’ll reach the goal
first.'
Mr. Trevilyn's handsome face shows
disappointment. He has expected and
hoped that Belle will give some token
of regard for him, but she does not,
and he sits and caresses the flowers
she has worn, now and then raising
them to his lips. She sits upright,
laughing, and clapping her white hands
softly as they distance fitst one boat
and then another, pay no heed to the
man she knows is watching her every
movement with jealous caro and pas
sionate love. Site successfully con
ceals from Mr. Trevilyn the charm his
low spoken words have over her, only
now and then turning her bright,
happy face as he addressed her in a
low voice.
A dozen eager hands are ready to
assist Miss Bello from the boat; but
she gives the preference to Ed May
bury, and springs out, leaving Mr.
Trevilyn to comfort himself with her
guitar.
He will see her to-morrow, he
tells himself, and learn his fate. As he
thinks of what he hopes her answer
will be his face flushes and his eyes
glow, and such a passionate longing
comes over him to tell it to her now.
No, he must wait. He cannot content
himself with other girls now, neither
does he care to run the gauntlet of h s
friend's remarks. He tears a lea: from
a blank book aud writes :
“I will call to-morrow, Miss Belle,
before I leave for Thomasville. I
hopeto find you at home and alone.
J.J T.
EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 7, 1878.
He underscores '‘alone" deeply, that
will tell her that it is something of im
portance to him. He gives the note to
Shack and a second dollar goes to keep
company with the first, bids him give
it to Miss Belle. Then Mr Trevilyn
walks along the lake side, turns ofl
and sits down by a tree to look out on
the lake and dream of his beautiful
love.
Two young ladies, iutent upon the
baskets that have been stowed away
after the feast, pass near him. One
sa} T s, with a mouthful of chicken salad :
'Belle is an arrant flirt, is she not ? ■
Engaged to hall a dozen of these fel
lows, and going to marry a man as
fat as Falstaff and as rich as Croesus/
‘I have often heard her say that she
was going to marry for money, 4 re
turned the other.
The girls go past him unaware of
his proximity disappear among the
trees. He sits as one who had received
a blow. The lovely scene is lovely no
longer; the glad voices are harsh and
discordant; there is*a gay song floating
out from among the trees —it seems his
funeral dirge. He mutters:
‘Marry for money ! All those sweet
smiles were the wiles of a finished co
quette ! A Loivlie to lead men to de
struction. And I, oh God—how I loved
her!’
He gets up and goes away, not
knowing or caring whither.
Morning dawns upon this sinful,
beautiful world of ours. Belle has
read the little note, has smiled to think
of last night’s revelry. It is not dis
pleasing in the least to have a man that
you admire, respect and like at your
feet. She wonders what he will say and
what will her answer will be. She is
undecided as to that. Fate is kind to
her she thinks when her sister goes
off to spend the day. She pins the
lily bud, no longer a bud but a full
bloom flower, in her hair and waits.
Waits all day, alone, for the coming of
Mr. Trevilyn At last Mrs. Maybury,
with whom he is staying, comes over.
Her first words are :
‘Oh, Belle, Mr. Trevilyn has gone
home. He left before daylight. You
naughty girl to serve the poor fellow
so ! We all know into whose keeping
he has given his heart.'
Summer deepens into autumn and
autumn into winter. Spring comes
with its floral treasures.
Lmiouia's placid bosom is the scene
of merry-making once again. Magno
lia blossoms distil their perfume to the
breeze that rustles their leaves. White
and yellow lilies dot the shining
surface of the lake ; snowy cranes fly
about or stand on one foot iu solemn
grandeur in shallow water.
Apart from the rest stands Belle
Barclay, watching the sun as it slowly
sinks to the western horizorn. This
line from Ossian occurs tojher :
‘Often, like the evening sun, comes
the memory of former times over my
soul/
She is a proud giri, too proud to
think longingly aft- r and sigh ‘what
might have been/ She stands looking
out on the water, and the boats, smil
ing to think ot ital! when she is called
to go with a party just forming, up to
the basin. As she steps into the boat
s line one cries, in hearty welcome :
Why, Joe, old fellow, I am delight
ed to see you. Quite an unexpected
pleasure. We are going up to the
basin—won't you go.
She does not tremble or turn pale,
she turns around and sees Mr. Trevilyn
shaking hands with a dozen or two
friends. He is nothing to her, she says,
trailing her hand through the water.—
Just then someone says:
Mamie, Belle Fountain never mar
ried her Croesus after all. You know
I told you last year that she was to
marry an old )
Belle hears no more, the boat rushes
out into the water, propelled by Shack
—but Mr. Trevilyn bears it all with
eager ears.
j He understands too, and turns to
his friend for assistance,
i ‘EI I must go up the basin ; can't
you get me a boat V he says with ea
gerness.
Mr. May bury secures the desired
boat for ijis friend, gets into his own
with his fair crew, and they follow in
the wake of the others. Mr. Trevilyn
lands soon after Belle does, walks up
to her and tenders his hand. She
places her's in it ; she does not wish
him to think that ahe cared in the least
about his broken engagement. He
then begs that she will permit him to
row her around the basin.
!
When they are out on the deep
sea-green water, lie takes up his oars
: and says:
‘I mu-1 apologize for breaking my
engagement with you last summer. I
was ’
‘lt is unnecessary, Mr. Trevilyn,'she
says, with trenchant emphasis, raising
her beautiful eyes to his ;
A cloud passover his handsome face
but it instantly dispels as he watches
her. He tells her of it all.
Mr. Trevilyn pours foith his tale of
love eloquently and rapidly, and ex
cites Belle's keenest sympathy, as he
vividly paints his year's s rrow. At
last she yields, for
“Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on
all the chords with might;
Smote the chord of Self, that trembling, pass
ed in music out of sight.’
lamonia, rig tly named 'the beauti
ful' by the reil man, we must bid you
adieu. With one last lo k at your
sunny sloping banks, majestic, moss
dropped trees, one last look upon the
flower-dotted, tranquil bosom "and ern
eiakl islands we
“Turn away, aud know not where,
Dazzled and drunk with beauty. ”
A Dead Failure.
A small newsboy who is every morn
ing to be found on t>e steps of the
People's Savings Bank was yesterday
morningobserved by a polieeman to
remove his stockings and shoes at an
early hour and hide them under the
steps. The lad then took great pains
to exhibit his bare feet to all passers,
and was often noticed standing on one
leg, as if the cold pavement was very
painful Man after man passed with
out a word ol sympathy, and the sales
of papers did not increase by one. By
and by along came a man with a red
nose and a good-natured look, and the
boy held out a paper and said:
‘Have a paper—my feet are almost,
frozen/
'Eh? Barefooted? 4 queried the man
as he halted and looked down.
‘Yes, and my feet are freezing/
‘Are, eh? See here, bub, I‘ll put
you up to snuff. Let 'em freeze, and
then take a lay off in the hospital f>r
all winter. Nice fries—chicken soup
—nothing to do, and your feet'll thaw
out early in the spring and shed every
stone biuise. Fact, bub—tried it for
seven winters myself.'
The boy looked after him in a doubt
ful way, and then made for his shoes
on a skip, muttering:
‘Mebbe he lies and mebbe lie don't,
but I‘m busted up as clean as the chap
who held his watermelons over winter
for a rise. Ouch! whar's them stock
uns and cowhides? 4 — Det. Free Press.
Too Much School.
The following idea*, from the Puila
delphia Press are correct:
‘When the doors of the school-house
close in the afternoon upon the school
children, they should literally close
out from them all that pertains to school
until the opening next morning. A
teacher should be a teacher, not sim
ply a hearer of recitations. Lessons
should be learned and taught at school
—never at home. The teacher has no
right to impose upon parents the most
annoying part of the work. She has
no right to take from the child a sin
gle moment of the few hours it has out
of school.'
To which the Cincinnati Star wisely
adds:
‘The hours of an active school day
are not over long, it is true, but they
are as many and as long as the aver
age mind of a child should be kept at
the tension of learning. The lessons
of school should be learned as well as
recited in school, and the home hours
should really be home hours, unbur
dened with school Childhood
needs its lecreation, its sleep, its rest
quite as much as it needs its arithmes
tic, grammar and geography/
The Printer’s Dollars.
The pi inter’sdollars; where are they?
A dollar here, a dollar there; scattered
over numerous small towns all over
the country, miles and miles apart.—
How are they to be gathered together?
The printer will have to get up an
address to those widely scattered dol
lars like the following:
‘Dollars, halves, quarters, dimes and
all manner of fractions into which ye
arc divided, collect yourselves and
come home. Ye are wanted! Col
lect yourselves, for valuable as ye are
in the aggregate, single ye will not
pay the cost of a g.thering. Come
in here in single file, ihut the print* r
may form you info a battalion, and
send you forth again to battle for him
and vind cate his credit.'
It ader, are you sure you haven’t a
couple ot the priuUu’s (follavc sticking
about your ‘old clothe.-?'
The Diminutive Statesman.
The following 1 anecdote of Ilun. A.
H. Stephens is an amusing illustration
.( the *u- rises which olten await peo-*
pie who reckon intellect by personal
size.
The statesman has had to bear the
consequences through his whole life of
a slight form and boyish look, but these
deficiences have had mostly only an
amusing and sometimes an agreeable
effect. In the earlier part of his
reer; a great commercial convention of
many States was hold at Charleston,
S. C., and Mr. Stephens having been
asked to make the great speech of the
occasion consented to do so. His fame
had already extended beyond the coun
trj’ in which he lived, and expectation
was greatly excited at his anival.
To avoid the crowds at the hotels lie
had asked two merchants who were
of the party, to engagejiim rooms at
the hotel where they were to stop, and
in due time he arrived with them. The
lady who kept the house, in great ex
citement, was engaged in looking out
for her guest, was of as much conse*-
quence as a President, but she was not
in the least aware that he had come.
In the meantime the tired statesman
had thrown himself on a lounge for the
purpose of resposc, and his two friends
stood near him. The lady bustled in,
and seeing, as she supposed, a country
lad, who had come to see sights and
l\ea r Stephens, actually occupying the
best place and his slices also on the
sofa, she said with great kindness but
some firmness:
‘My son, you should let the gentle**
men have the best place, but put your
het on the floor, for we are trying to
keep tilings nice for the great Mr.
Stephens/
When one of the laughing merchants
pointed to the smiling boy, with his
wonderful eves and said, ‘ This is the
Hon. Alexander H. Stephens, madam,*
and ho arose and gave her his hand
the expression of her countenance was
a subject for Hogarth.
He Greased the Buggy. .
The man who obeyed directions to
“trim the orchard/' by first cutting
down all the. trees, lias found a kindred
spirit as thorough as himself. The
Valh jo (Cal.) Chronicle, says;
J. W Farmer hired an old sailor to
work around his place the other day.
The man is a willing soul, but his
knowledge of farm matters is fearfully
limited. Tuis morning Mr. Farmer
told him to go out and grease the
buggy. The man went, and when Mr.
Farmer n>t long after stepped to get
into the vehicle to come to town, he
drew liis hands back in wonder to tied
them greased. Examination showed
that the whole buggy, from top to bot
tom, running-gear, body, shafts, and
all were covered with a slick coating
of grease; everything was greased ex
cept the axles. The man had also
greased a carriage in the same careful
and thorough manner, even t> its
whole top, and stood by admiring his
handiwork with all the satisfaction of
a person who thinks he has done a
job exceedingly well.
Mr. Farmer got into the carriage
and sadly drove to town. When lie
got here it was probably one of the
most horrible looking sights in the
shape of a vehicle ever seen. The road
was, of course, dusty, and the dust had
gatheied to somewhere near the depth
of an inch on every square inch of its
surface. The carnage looked as if it
had been built dusty and then driven
across the plains and on a trip through
the Yo-emite, and had tipped over
uumberless times on the route. It is
now at Henderson’s being cleaned. We
have not learned whether the man's
wages have been raised or not.
A German forest kbeper, eighty-two
years old, not wishing to carry to the
grave with him an important secret
has published in the Leipsic Journal a
receipt he has used tor fifty years, and
which he says, has saved several men,
and a great number of animals, from a
horrible death hydiophobia. The
bite must be bathed as soon as possi
ble with warm vinegar and watei, and
when t 'is has dried, a few drops of
muriatic acid poured upon the wound
will destroy the poison of the saliva,
and relieve the p itient from all pr* sent
or future and vnger.
1 he beginning of faith is action, and
he Oil ly be! ieves who struggles; riot
he who merely thinks a question over
A la iy wlio weighs 100 p nmls here
wou: l weigh 2,700 pounds if on the
urfaoe of the sun.
Turkeys arc getting ripe.^
A water-spout—a temperance leo
ture.
The ‘skeleton of the hearth,’ is the
latest name given to the rum bottle.
When gamblers fail to agree, they
pour Iloyle on the troubled waters.
A Burlington woman calls her hus
band ‘Darkest Hour/ because he comes
just before day.
A fellow in Chicago, who bit of half
of a man's nose, was bound over to
keep the piece.
It has never been ascertained how
much old ocean measured ’round her
grav and melancholy waste.
He saw a negro Rinoking a mocr
schaum. ‘Thunder!’ lie exclaimed,
‘why, the pipe’s coloring him/
In former times the man ate tho
cream (if the cat didn’t anticipate him)
but now they cremate the man.
One of the vilest deceptions of the
day is the small fried oyster, which is
made to appear largo by means of a
huge Indian meal epidermis.
‘Love h blind ’ and that is the rca**
son why it can get along with one
small hand lamp, turned down as low
as it will go, as well as under a blazing
chandelier of fifty burners.
An editor i:i describing the doings
of a mad dog, says: ‘He bit the cow
in the tail, which has since died/ This
is very unfortunate for the tail, but
wc naturally fee! some interest to know
what became of the cow.
A Boston editor’s little cherub said
her ‘Now 1 lay me’ the other night,
adding a prayer for her father, mother,
brothers and sisters, and wound up
with the words, ‘and, O God, bless me
and make me the boss little girl.’j
‘lt seems to ine,‘ said a customer to
a barber, e that in these hard times you
ought to lower your prices for shav
ing/ ‘Can‘t do it,* replied the barber.
‘Now-a-days everybody wears such a
long face that we have a great deal
more surface to shave over. 1
Irate passenger to cabman, who gets
ofi his box and opens the carriage door:
‘I told you I lived at the top of the
hill, not at the bottom.’ Cabby: * Whist,
your honor; I’ll merely slam the door,
and the baste’il think you’;e out, and
go up the hill like the divil.’
A gentleman being threatened with
an infectious fever, said to his little
son, who in affectionate mood wished
to embrace him, ‘You mustn't hug me;
you'll catch the fever.' Willie, stand
ing back, looked in amazement on his
papa, who, by the way, is a pattern of
propriety, and quickly asked, ‘Why*
papa, who did you hug? 1
A New Jersey physician, heavily
loaded with town lots, for which he
had only paid in part, hastily prescribe
ed a bax of pills for a patient and al
lowed his mind to wander back to his
real estate. The patient asked how
the pills were to bo taken. The doc
tor replied, 'One third down, the ba 1 -
ance in six and twelve with,
interest/
‘ls the doctor in?' asked an anxiou*
looking young man. ‘No, sir/ replied
the person addressed, 'but you can
leave your order on the slate. Is it a
very urgent case?'' ‘Well, yes/ tho
young man said, ‘rather urgent, I
think. Just as I s'arted away from
home my youngest brother was tailing
out of a second-story window.’
It is given out that ladies will wear
vests precisely like the gentlemen this,
winter. 'Alien a married man goe3 to
bed he will have to put a chalk mark
on Lis vest, or next morning be may
slip on his wife’s and not discover his
mistake until he inserts his thumb and
forefinger in the light hand pocket for
a pinch of fine-cut and fin is nothing
but a piece of chewing-gum and thd
stub of a short black lead-pencil. Then
lie will suddenly remember that there
was a rwll ot one dollar greenbacks in
the left-hand po k t of bis vest—that
is, if he is an editor, he will—and
ne wil rush back home in Ilarug
time.
NO. 45.