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VOLUME VI.
FATHER RYAN.
There was never a voice to utter
The grief and the pain of the land,
Till his mnsic awoke responsive
To the tender touch of his Land.
She bowed in her desolate silence,
And mourned by the graves of her dead;
And she longed for the consolation
liiat comes when the tears are shed.
Till his strains, as they fell, awakened
In the soul that bent o’er the sod,
New laith in the gracious designings;
In the hidden purpose of God.
lie and learned as he knelt at his altars
To trust in Omnipotent Love,
And his song had an inspiration
Which echoed the music above.
He took all our idle complainiugs
And 10l in their stead in one mouth
His song, as a low supplication.
Welled up 'rom the heart of the South.
His strains, full of pathos and glory,
And heard of a listening world,
Entwined as a wfeath of immortelles
The flag that we wearily furled.
There is never a grave so humble
In all of the desolate land
But his verse has inscribed upon it
An epitaph stately and grand.
**•*♦**%
"Once more—by the tbe dying,
In the homes of the pestilent West—
ilis song, like a low miserere,
Goes i\p from few pitying breast!
A wail for tiae woe of the people.
A plea that God’s mercy would spare,
And we take up its lowly burden,
Aud change all our murmurs to prayer.
-And the South is stricken and anguished,
But never a heart can forget
The solace his music has brought us—
Aud its echo liugeretli j-et!
—Richmond Standard.
MISCELLANY.
WEALTH vs, LOVE.
‘Flowers that are watered by tears
truths that are t >r men ted by falsehood,
hopes th it are sickened by unfulfill
ment, and trusts that endure and re
ceive no crown—these make up the
mingled joy and sadtae-gs oifour lives.'
So exclaimed my frie*id, Frank Mc-
Kee, as I entered hisioftice, one ever*
ng, to glean same needful information
from Blacfcstooc, of whom Frank was
disciple.
‘Why. Frank, what is the matter?'
‘Matterenough; everything I love
hates me, everything I desire escapes
me; in a word every undertaking proves
/utile. One may well become dis
heartened, not to say misanthropic,
under such circumstances. ’
‘Why, boy, are you imbecile ? or
what has transpred that f find you a>
blue as indigo and declaiming as som-
Iwe as Milton? Come, speak out; no
keeping anything back from yout old
churn. Besides, I opine it will ease
your mind to confide in someone, and
1 dare say you have known me long
enough to believe your confidence will
not be misplaced/
‘Roy, I little thought to rehearse my
sorrow to other ears, but somehow
your plain, matter-of-fact ways always
did thwart my original intention, and
in this, as in everything else during
the past, you slid I be my confidant.
My first and chief disappointment is,
I have been refused by Bessie Mearle,
the sunlight of my life; following that,
my every laudable undertaking has
met with disastrous defeat At first I
thought I could bear it, but day by
day my burden grows heavier, aqdthe
yyords you heard upon entering were
simply au overflowing of pent up sor
row that oould be kept down no lon
ger/
.‘Refused by Bessie Mearle, Frank!
Where and when?'
'At her own home, and less than a
Ynontli ago/
‘Why, I saw you conversing with
her at Ada Rogers, party only last
night/
‘Yea, Roy; and that is why I am so
gloomy to-day I still entertained hopes
of her reversing lict decision, and that
wap*the beacon light that cheered me
onto work for a better future; but,
alas! now that is gone, and all is dark
as midnight. lam without a ray of
hope. She l told me she never expected
tofi nd one whom she could love more,
but site did gjcpect to find one she
pould endure, and with whom si e
could see more of life’s enjoyments
J,han T could furnish her; and were she
Ip consult her heart she would be com-.
Pjv dGHihium (.Limes,
polled to confess that there was no one
on whom she could 1 >ok so favorably;
but when she thought of her happiness
she was selfish enough to forget love
aud look only to pleasure, which, in a
worldly view, she would be bankrupt
of with me, for I was penniless. With
me and wealth she could be supreme
ly happy, but with me and without
Wealth she could be as miserable. To
someone possessing wealth she would
resign herself, arid trust to heaven for
the rest. Roy, this is the glorious po
sition I occupy. Can you wonder the
world docs not seem a bed of pansies
to me?'
‘No, Frank; but I do wonder that
after hearing the mercenary language
you have just repeated from the lips
ofß-ssie herself, you can still be a
worshipper at her shrine/
‘Roy Murstone, have you been a
disciple of literature for so ion,', and
yet forgotten Shakspeare’s immortal
words?
‘Didst thou but know the inly touch to love,
ihou wouldst as soon go kindle tire with snow
As seek to quench tbe tire of love by words.’ "
‘Frank, I know the great bard’s lan
guog ami I seek not to quench the
fire of love by words, but by reason.
I)o you think happiness oould ever be
your portion with a woman who meas
ured her love for you by the tith s
you held? No, Frank; God forbid
that you should ever resign your heart
to the keeping of one so narrow mind-,
ed/
‘Well. Rov, for your sake as well as
niy own, I propose to try and forget
her, but it is an end I fear I shall nev
er attain. But that the trial may be
more effectual, I shall leave the coun
try in order that I may not have the
torture, of fleeing her with another and
by wrapping myself up in work my
mind may be so engrossed that for a
time at least J may have her name
and memory effaced. I have already
engaged to correspond for a number
of periodicals, and with the hopes one
day of commanding a position that Bis
sic Mearle shall envy, I trust for peace;
but whether I shall succeed time on v
will show/
'Spoken like a man, Frank! Go,
and Roy Murstone’s prayer will follow
you; and, if' I am not mistaken, t e
Gat of j istice will watch over aud
protect you. And muk my predict
ti nts —the day will yet come when
Miss Mearle vv.ll regret that she cast,
love aside for pleasure's sake. Frank,
remember it was Diogenes who said,
when asked tine most prudent course
to puritse to be revenged on au/nemy,
‘become a good man/ ’'
‘Roy, you have given me new life;
come to-moriow morning, and I will
give your hand a friendly grasp of
parting - , and carry with me across the
ocean your manly words that have im
bued me with new hopes. Until then,
good-night, R"y.’
‘Good night, Frank, and all honor to
your resolutions.’
While the conversation between
Frank and Roy was going on, another,
equally as interesting, was being car
ried on between Bessie Mearle and
Ala Rogers, to which we must now
turn our attention. Bessie had spent
the night after the party at Ada's home
and Ada. awakened at early dawn,
found Bessie in teais.
‘Bessie, darling, what hag happen
ed?'
Alas, Ada, each day has its night,
and each weal its woe, and mine has
come nt last. Ada, last night I dis
carded Frank McKee, although I love
him devotedly, because he was not so
pecuniarily situated as I could wish
my husband to be; and this morning
I awoke with a horrible nightmare. I
dreamed that Frank McKee had leit
the country, and that many years had
elapsed. I was a reigning belle in so
ciety, still single, and that during id}
this time my heart had never found a
companion, when suddenly, at a party,
I met Frank again. I called him aside,
and laid bare my heart, but lit haugh
tily turned upon me and exclaimed,
‘This from you, Miss Mearle?' Here
I awoke, but, Ada, the spell is not
broken, and the expression of his coun
tenance will haunt me forever. Oh,
Ada, I must see him at once ! I love
him, and though he possesses not a
shilling in the world, mv mad caprice
for wealth and postion shall be buried
and over its bier I shad inscribe a
name that shall dispel regret. The
name is Frank McKee.’
‘Dear Bessie, I am surprised at what
you have just told me, but l honor yon
for your resolution. But come, let us
get ready for breakfast, and you shall
dispatch a note to Frank that will
bring sunlight back tq his heart, and
drive the clouds from your own. Wipe
away your tears, dear, and all will
soon be well.’
Thus thinking, the two girls merrily
finished their morning rei)ast, soon
after which the following note was
dispatched:
‘Darling Frank:—l am almost wild
with grief, caused by my harsh treat
ment of you last night. Mv selfish
and heartless language I recall. Now
that I think it over, 1 only wonder that
it did not blister my tongue or sear
my Conscience. Come at once, that I
may assure you 1 am ever and only
you' - l iving Bessie Mearle/
Calmly seating herself at the piano,
Bessie waited Frank McKee’s coming.
But, alasl the poor girl little thought
that unhappy Frank was on board a
V *ss*d bound for Liverpool. Tiie note
written by Bessie was returned. On
the unopened envelope were penciled
w irds which to Bessie Mearle were
pointed with fire. ‘Mr. McKee sailed
for Europe to-day; address unknown/
Poor Bessie read the words over and
over again, then, with a wild cry, fell
fainting to the floor Long weary
weeks she lay delirious, perpetually
call ng for Frank. But, abas! no Frank
was there to soothe her sorrow. Slow
ly but surely she at last recovered, but
those who saw her turned away in
sorrow, saying, ‘Deranged/
Except M ss Rogers, no one knew
tbe cause of her illness, from which
she did not recover for two years. At
the end of that time, \da called one
morning and was much gratified to
perceive signs of returning reason to
Bessie's dark ned intellect. She ex
pressed a desire for something to read,
and Ada brought her some sketches
which she thought -she would be pleas
ed with.
Bessie read them with interest, and
suddenly turned to Ada and exclaimed,
‘Ada, have you ever noticed the queer
pseudonym the writer of these beauti
ful contributions assumes?'
‘I think so. ‘BI nde,’ is it not?’
'Yes; I wonder if the nom -de plume
was not suggested to the writer’s nund
by ihe poss ssion of a blonde, blue
eyed sweetheart.’
‘More than likely, Bessie,' replied
Ada.
Thus conversing, the two girls pass
ed & pleasant day together
That night on reaching borne, Adt
Rogers found a note from Roy Mur
stone, requesting the pleasure of her
company to an entertainment to be
given on the following evening. She
was much surprised at receiving this
note, for she had not seen Roy for two
years, as lie was a newspaper corres
pondent, and had been absent in that
capacity; but she once replied accept
ing the invitation.
Roy called the following evening
and escorted Ada to the entertainment,
and, on the way home, the conversa
tion turned on literary topics; and Ada,
knowing Roy to be familiar with most
of the writers of the day, she suddenly
bethought herself to ask tiim if he
knew who "Blonde" wag.
‘Ada, I do; but if I disclose to you
his true nm ', you must keep the dis
c very to yourself, tor the reading pub
lic is puzzled over the same question/
'Roy, I assure you, being anxious
t> know his identity, your trust shall
not be misplaced/
“Well, 'Blende’ is none other than
our old friend Frank McKee, who left
this country suddenly about two years
back, for reasons which you will par
don me if I withhold —’
‘Frank McKee! No, no, Roy, not
Frank McKee! for if your words be
true, surely Heaven has willed this
meeting of ours to-night. R>y Mur
stone, I earniot keep my promise, and
I demand, in the name of justice, to be
released from it.'
Roy was astonished at her interest
in “Blonde's" identity. Mutual expla
nations followed. Ada re-hearsing Bt s
sie'sgiief and illness at Frank's depar
ture, and Roy telling of Frank’s sor
row and resolve to drown it by hard
work and absence from familiar scenes.
Reader, my story is ended. It is
useless to say that the next mail con
tained two letters for Frank McKee;
one from R >y Mnrst >ne, explaining all
the circumstances of Miss Mearle's ill
ness, and the othei from Bessie herseif,
saying—
‘Come; I atn quite familiar with
'Blonde,’ though Frank and I have
long been strangers.’
Frank McKee and Bess'e Mearle are
now man and wife. They have a little
girl with hair an 1 eyes lik ; B ssie's,
whom they call Blonde McKee.
Dear reader, stop and think, in vour
eager tight for wealth, that if it be ac-
EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 12, 1878.
qin red by energy it will be a blessing;
but never, for the love of Heaven, let
it sw iv judgment in choosing the
companion who is to float down the
billowy tide of time by your side.—
Waverley Magazine.
Eaten Alive.
The natives of the Marqueasas In
lands sacrifice to the Gods, and the
following is a description of the revolt
ing ceremony :
‘One morning after breakfast I went
onshore. 1 met Hawkins, who looked
sad. I asked him, “what news of the
war party ?’’ He replied, “Captain, I
advise you to go on board your ship
and stay there to-day/
I asked him, ‘Why ?' He then told
me that the war party had been too
successful ; that they had killed all
but one of the inhabitants of the other
village.
I a>ked him, ‘What have they done
with that one ?*
He shook his head and replied :
They are bringing him here.
I said :
‘What will they do with him !
He pointed to the beautiful banyan
tree, that shaded the terrible place of
sacrifice.
My heart turned sick as 1 looked to
where he pointed. He then advised
me to return to my ship for the day,
but I said, ‘No, I will stay on shore
and try to save this man. The pilot
shook bis head, and told me that 1
could do nothing; and again advised
me to go on board. How often have
1 wished since that I had t ik -n his ad.
vice, lor 1 would have been spared the
cruel scene ; but I thought I could do
s me good, so l remained.
Soon we heard the Kanaka* yelling ;
we hastened down to the beach, and
there were the war canoes rounding
the point, at the south side of the 'bay
Tiie Kanakas had all assembl'd to
welcome Ihe war party. As soon as
the cones reached the beach, a tall,
fierce savage bounded on the shore
with a yell.
Hawkins, the pilot, stood behind me.
He grasped my arm, and said, Captain
for God‘s*ake come away. Dontstay
here.
I asked him, Why ?
He said, 'My God ! don't you see it
is a little girl ?' and as I looked at the
sava :c who hud sprang ashore, 1 saw
that he held in his arms a bright little
girl of but a few summers.
I said :
‘ls that the prisoner V And he
said, 30s. I told him they surely would
not kill that little girl. he re
plied, if it was a baby one week old
these devils would sacrifice it.
The Kanakas now all sprang on
shore. As goon as the L >ng Chief got
on shore I ran to him and asked him
what are you going to do with the
little girl, and he replied, the Prophets
will sacrifice her to the Gods. I Leg
ged him to give me the little girl, and
he replied, Captain, you are my
hut I can‘t do this tor you.
Then the man who had the little girl
handed her to one of the old hags who
professed to he prophetess, and she
t"Ok the child and started for the place
of sacrifice, all the natives singing a
war song.
There was a small stream to cross.
When she reached this she pressed the
child to her breast, and grabbing its
tender little cheek, which had never
received anything hut a caress, in her
teeth, stie hit out a mouthful and ate
it. Not knowing the danger I ran, I
sprang forward to take the child from
her fiendish grasp, but the Long Chief
seeing my intention, spring up >n me
and hurled me back, as i! I had been
a child in ids powerful grasp. ‘Captain
you must not do that If you should
attempt to take the child from the
prophetess my people would kill you.
and I could not save you,’ Said he
1 he pilot took hold of me and ed
of me to come away, for I could do no
good. 1 appealed to the chief as my
father, (fur lie had adopted n e for some
kindness I done him before) 1 beseech,
edhiin to give m° the child. I
ed to pay him for her. I offered him
anew whale boat, and powder and
lead and a musket, and did everything
I cou’d to tempt him, but all in vain.—
He told me lie could not s ive the child
if he had the po'er. It was one of
the customs of his people and he could
not break the n and retain his power
and that his own people would ki 1 him
if he tried to interfere with the
etc-s.
A t* r sh ■ had crossed the stream she
passed the child to another oi l h g,
and W ien she took her she bit off the
oth* r cheek of the screaming child.—
Carrying her a short distance, she
passed her to the third one, who hit
out a piece of her breast, and she in
turn passed her to another, who bit
out another piece and ate it. The
child was followed by women and
children singing and dancing.
One woman had a little child jin her
arm, but a little smaller than the one
that was being eaten alive. She had
a piece of bread fruit in her hand,
which she was eating. When the poor
little stranger, in her fright and^fear
ful agony, reached forth her little hand
as if to ask for a piece of the bread, I
could stand no more. I begged and
tried to buy. I bad threatened that I
would bring my crew on shore and at
tack the chief and his people and spare
none, as he had spared none, but he
only smiled at me, for he knew that I
could do nothing, as in fact he could
do nothing to save the child. Sick at
heart, I turned back an l left the poor
little sufferer to her fate. When I
reached the accursed sacrifice ground,
for then at that time 1 could not enter
(although I did so afterwards) as I
learned the next day, tin y offered her
up to their heathenish god.
The Sort of a Girl to Get.
The true girl Ins to bo sought fur.
She does not parade herself as show
goods. She is not ftshionable Gen
erally, she is not rich. But. oh! what
a heart she has when you find her! so
large and pure and womanly. When
you see it you wonder if those showy
things outside were women. If you
gain her love, your two thousand are
millions She'll not ask you for a car
riage or a first-class liou-e; she'll wear
simple dresses, and turn them when
necessary, with no vu’gar magnificat
to frown upon her econ 01113'. She'd
keep everything neat and nice in your
sky parlor, and give you such a wel
come when you come home that you'll
think 3’our parlor higher than ever.'
Site'll entertain true friends on a dollar,
and astonish you with the new thought
how little true happiness depends on
money. She'll make you love home
(if you don’t y >u're a brute), and teach
you how tu pity, whilo you sc >rn a
poor fa.-hiona he society that thinks
itself rich, and vainly tries to think
itself hippy.
Now do not, I pray .yon, say any
more, ‘I can't aff nd to marry.' Go,
find the true woman, and you can.
Throw away that cigar, burn up that
switch can: 1 , be sensible yours* If, and
seek your wife in a sensible way'.
Parental Sympathy.
Parents express too little sympathy
for their children; the effect of this is
lamentable.
'‘How your children love you! I
would give the world to have my chil
dren so devoted to me!" said a mother
to one who did not regard the time
given to children as so much capital
wasted. Parents err fatally when they
grudge the time necessary for their
children’s amusement and instruction;
for no investment biings so sure aiid
so rich returns.
lne child's love is holy; and if the
parent dot s not fix that love himself
he deserves to lose it, and in after-life
to bewail his poverty of heart. The
child's heart is lull of love, and it must
gush out toward s mebudy or some
thing—if the parent is worthy of it,
and possesses it, lie is blessed, and the
child is safe. When the child loves
worthy persons, and receives their
sympathy, lie is less liable to be influ
enced by the undeserving; for in his
soul are models of excellence, with
which he compares others.
Any parent can descend from his
chilling d'gnity, and freely answer the
child’s questions, lalking familiarly
and tenderly with him; and when the
little one u ishes help, the parent should
come out of his abstraction and cheer
fully help him. Then his mind will
return to his speculations elastic, and
it will act with force, All parents can
find a few minutes occasionally, during
the *lay, to read little stories to the
child-eu, :<nd to illustrate the respec
tive tendencies of good and bad feel
ings, They ouu talk about flowers,
birds, trees, about angels and God.
ihey can show interest in their
determining t‘-e character of them.
What is a surer way than this of bind
ing the etc Id to the heart of 'lie parent?
When you have made a hi nd of a
child, you may congratulate yourself
that y ur have a friend for life.
There is only one thing stronger than
a woman’s will, and that is a woman's
“won’t A
Religion We Want.
W e want a religion that softens the
step, tunes the voice to melody, fills
the eye with sunshine, and cheeks the
impatient exclamat on and harsh re
buke. A religion that is polite, defer
ential to superiors, cuiteous to infe
riors and considerate to friends; a re
ligion that goes into the family, keeps
the husband from being cross when
dinner is late, and the wife from fret
ting when the husband tracks the
newly-washed floor with his muddy
boots, and makes hi.n mindful of the
scraper and the doormat; keeps the
mother patient when the baby is cross
and amuses the children as well as in
structs them, cares for the servants
besides paying them promptly, pro
jects the honey mot n in'o the harvest
mooiq and makes the happy home like
the Eastern fig tree, bearing in its
beauty at once the beauty of its ten
der blossom and the glory of the ripen
ed fruit. We want a religion that
shall interpose between the ruts and
the guil es a?,d the rooks of the high
ways of life and the sensitive souls
that are traveling over them. In short,
a religion that will stimulate people
to pay their just debts between man
and and less preaching about
one thing and then practicing another.
This is the kind of religion that honest
well-meaning people want and not so
much of the hypocrite.
Best Protection Against Rusting.
For farm implements of all kinds,
having metal surfaces exposed, foi
knives and forks, and other household
apparatus, indeed for all meta's likely
to be injured by oxidation or O usting/
we know of no simpler, more effective
•'Pplieation than that furnished to the
American Agriculturist by the late
Prof. Olmstead, author or Ohnstead’s
Natural Philosophy, etc. lie used it
on air-pumps, telescopes and various
other apparatus. Take any quantity
of good laid, and to every hall pound
01 s>, add of common res n (“rosin")
an amount about half the size of an
egg, or less—a little moe or less is of
s. consequence. Melt them slowly
t. ct.ii pi, s ns they cool Apply
this with • cloth or otheiwise, just
enough to give a thin coating to the
surface to be protected. It can be
wiped off nearly clean from the sur
faces win re it is undesirable, as in the
case of knives and forks. A fresh coat
ing may be needed when the first is
washed oft' by the friction of beating
storms or otherwise. This simple re
ceipt will be worth many dollars in the
long run to any one. There w\as talk
of patenting it at one time, but Prof.
Olmsfead gave it to us to be public
good.—[American Agriculturist for
December.
How to Make Yourself Unhappy.
An exchange gives the following
recipe for making yourself unhappy;
and if those who do not believe it will
give it a fair trial, we believe it would
be found to answer the purpose admir
ably:
In the first place,if you want to make
yourself miserable, be selrish. Think
all the time of yourself and your things
Don't care about anything else.—
Have no feeling for any one but your
self. Never think of enjoying the sat
isfaction of see'ng others happy} but
rather if you see a smiling face, be
jealous lest another should enjoy what
yon have not. Envy every one who
is better off in any respect than your**
self; think unkindly toward them, and
speak lightly of them, lie constantly
afraid lest someone should encioaeh
upon your rights; be watchful against
it, and if any one comes near your
things, snap him like a mad dog.
Contend eat nestly for everything
that is your own, though it mav not
be worth a pin —for rights are just as
much concerned as if it umre a pound
of gold. Never yield a point. Be very!
sensitive, and t ike everything that is
said to you in playfulness in the m st |
serious manner. Be jealous of y ur 1
friends, lest they should not think
enough of you; and if at any time they
should seem to neglect you, put the
worst construction upon their co duct
you can.
Notices from different p ditical pa
pers : ‘‘Our talented candidate f>r
Congress held an immense throng
spell-bound for over two hours/ Ihe i
other paper said : *‘Lit;le N., the silly
little opposition candidate for C n
gress, exhibited ins ignorance and ears
lust evening to a handful ot nobodies,
mpstjy boys#
The reason why they run sleeping
ears is because there is so many “sleep
ers" along the track.
“Put your foot right into the syrup,
Melissa.'’ said Augustus Henry, as ho
boost her to the saddle.
Adam’s first suit of clothes must
have been winter style, for he did not
have them until after the fall.
Y\ hat is the difference between~a
belle and a burglar ? The belle car
ries lalse locks and the uurgl ir false
keys
Young lady (at the post office) * If I
don*t get a letter by this mail, I want
to know what he was doing Sunday,
that's all.
“Genevieve'—You ask whether a
true gentleman can eat with his knife.
W e think he can ; the chances, how-
are that he won't.
A Kentucky orator and office seeker
exclaimed : ‘I w<sh to lie a friend to the
friendless, a father to the fatherless,
and a widow to the widowless.'
Is there a scientific man in the coun
try who can tell us after a stocking
gets hole in it, what becomes of the
material that once took the place of
the aperture ?
*
It will com,’ said a candidate for
Mayor of St. Louis the other day
while nuking a stump speech, ‘just as
sure as it was that Romeo founded
Rome,’
“Jennie'’ wants to know how she
“can tell hotel clerks' when she meets
them. Tell them with your mouth,
of course, ifyou have anything to say
to them.
A red headed girl in Indiana stop
ped a railroad train the other day by
crossing some distance in front. The
engineer thought it was a signal of
danger.
If you were to offer ten thousand
dollars for a sewing machine that did
not take the first premium at the Par
is expos tion, we don’t suppose you
could get one.
One reason why more people did not
get into the ark is that Noah neglected
to advert se in the newspapers. There
is a great moral lesson contained in
this fact.
It is getting so now-a-days that a
man hardly dares to start to read a
snmll a item in a newspaper for fear
of running his nose into some kind of a
patent cough syrup.
The English Shakers sing and kick
each other as they sing. Over here it
is usually the people who have no part
in singing that feel most like doing tho
kicking.
It is said the gas business is very
profitable, and yet one would scarce--
ly think so, since every politician i.
the country is engaged in it. The com
petition it* frightful.
When a min's chin whiskeis turn
giay before the hair on his head does
it shows which part of him has done
the most work, observes a philosophi
cal exchange.
If aM the good tilings we intended
to do to-morrow were to be doue to
day, the scandal mongers wuuld have
to go out business and the millennium
w ould be pretty near at hand.
Every now andthen some chap writes,
to a newspaper for a recipe to keep
h -.il from falling out. If meu would
go home from the lodge before mid
night, w r ith their legs sober, their hair
wouldn't come out so rapidly.
• ——.
“There would be m >re saloons in
this town,’ said a native, as the train
slowed north, through Montgomery,,
hf it wasn't for one thing. ‘And what
‘8 that?’ asked the tourist. ‘Ain't an
m >re houses,' replied 'he native ; and
the tourist opened his note book an<\
remained absorbed in thought.
—
A gentleman in New Orleans waa,
agreeably surprised to find a plump
turkey served up for his and
inquired of bis servant how it was ah
ta'neu. ‘Why $i- f ’ replied
‘dat turkey lias been roosting op our
fence three nights. So this morning J
seize him for de rout of de fenoc/
NO. 50.