Newspaper Page Text
VOLU3IK VII.
Turning Over the New Leaf.
rbr yu logins I torn a loaf,
All C’Pf wtt with Rootl resolve*;
Each to fulfill will be in chief
M\ dm while earth its round revolves.
How many a leaf I’ve turned before,
Auvl tried to make the record true;
}'u'b rear a wreck on Time’s dull shore
Proved much I dared but little knew.
Ab, bright resolve! How high you bear
The future’s hopeful standard on;
How brave you start; how bright you wear;
flow soon are hope and courage gone!
Von paint to deeds of sacrifice,
You shun the path of Careless ease;
L utils and wooden shoes? Is this
The tine a human soul to please.
AVI..t wonder, then, if men do fall,
Where good is ever all austere (
While vice is fair and pleasant all,
A i,i| turns the loal to lead the year?
k>t still once more 1 turn the leaf
And hi can to walk tUe better way;
Htru:".;l ou with old unbelief,
And strive to r. ach the per ect clay.
iVhv should the road that leads to heaven
15c af one roach of sterile sand?
iVliy not, just here and there be given
A rose to deck the weary land?
jut why repine? Others have trod,
Vitb sorer feet and In avier sins,
Their painful pathway toward their God—
My pilgrimage anew begins.
'iiilnre ami failure, hitherto,
flits time inscribed npoi my leaves;
Ve wiunlered many a harvest through,
And never yet have gathered sheaves.
Tet once again the leaf I turn,
Hope against hope for oue success;
)ne merit mark at least to earn,
One sunbeam in the wilderness.
MISCELLANY.
WHOM GOO HATH JOINED,
‘Nellie, my darling, I love you V
’llnsli, for God's s dec, Inish ! George
i-Mr. Edwards—this must cud now
ti I forever/
‘Nellie, you cannot mean it. You an*
jnrturiiig me cruelly ; tell me that—in
ime—l may speak to you again. Say
hat you will be my wile/
Ihe titan is a buriv, honest-faoed
'h'v ol foiir nml thirty ; tin* woman
I thin, graceful creature that an Ital
painter might have given h s Ma
|oima. 1 lie Turn is kneeling at her feet
fnd has her hands clasped in his. His
luge frame quivers with e vehement,
-ove is a passion, an 1 it has burst in
i’ bis heart and swept till other feelings
I" iy. lie lias loved this Woman si
fatly and seeieily for months.
10-nig it some mighty impulse has
>i f, ni‘d his lip-, and his confession is
[i nned forth in a torrent of frenzied
k‘>ids. I his is no love-sick lad woo**
"£ a coy maiden with so't syllibles
|nd childish compliments. This is a
prong man bent and swayed with love,
I s the huge oak is bent and swayed
|- th 1 tempest. This is a descendant
r bio old heroes who wooed with rough
r rce dash of steel, who wound
[ ,u 1 ar,UB •*bout their mistresses, and
unshed their tender limbs in the mad
r' uz y of hungering worship. The
r 1 "o man kneels to this weak woman
pt'l [nays to her as to something di
puu As she struggles with him and
1° tear herself away from his
l Mp h ' B fiogcis tighten round her
Irtsts and crush them till she shrieks
|ith pain.
I Mr. Edwards, you hurt me. Pray
It Hu go be calm and I will tell you
111/ J
I Hie man's grasp is relaxed, and the
g ttened woman falls weeping into a
Z* 11, e orge Edwaidssprings to his
ee ( l anc * bends over her.
‘Mrs. Auckland—Nellie,' he says,
° rs,ve Ilie * lam mad with love for
'• tn\ darling. I have worshiped
‘om the diy we met. To-night 1
L V * Sp ° kt ' n f,,r wyaeir. My passion
L e r Umed m * v breast and burns its
V j “'! n S h * M I have been rude an 1
L / ’ lf 1 l,ave wooed you like a brute,
f m °l'rom this moment you
| J h*e in your hands. Be mine,
I m: ‘ ke ea > t. heaven to me-refuse
L ,1 MU " ,ne > a,, and hell has lost its ter-
I 'Hush P
fc UCI ' m '
L e ,r'"' MWch “- t ,oe " turn(, l
■tl\l.r Jrn l ,,m,bUtnoWßhe lo ” k8 t
L'di/i'T und placeß ber
i darli,°! lU, “ l,e *O,
■L say yon l ove me >
I ,c ““wcr come, like heavenly mu.
2!k Eastman p mt§.
nio caught between the wild crashes of
Vengeful thunder.
‘I love you, but— ’
He will not stop to heat* another
word ; lie catches her frail form in It is
huge arms and presses her to bis breast.
His eyes are aflame, and h s breath
stings her cheeks. His burning kiss s
art* rained down upon her pallid face
So fiercely that a red rash m irks their
fall.
‘Thank God for that, Nell. If you
had sent me away I should have killed
rajßelf/
The woman smuggles to free herself
and speak, but he clutches her still and
continues :
‘I should have died, my lass, I fell
you. I never loved before in all my
I fcv I e< Uld almost pray God to let
me down now, havii gyou in my arms,
lest I aw dee to life to find it all some
mocking dream.
At last Nellie* An *kl n 1 Ins strug
gled from her lover’s grasp. The room
whirls round with her, and she falls
into a chair.
Alarmed at her deadly pallor and
tier closed eyes, lie trembles like a
child, and becomes suddenly helpless,
lie runs to LI e bell in his tenor to ring
lor assistance. She* bounds rapidly to
ward him in an instant, and stays his
hand.
‘No/she cries, in little gasps, ‘let
no on'* enter. Sit down, lam better
now. You must hsteu to me. You have
forced a confession from me—-it is true
1 love y.o , but you must go away
and uevt r see me anv more J lam a
married woman.
‘Nel'ie, you lie V
I lie word was brutal ; to understand
it you must see t..is madman wiih his
s oil in !.is face as h reels back from
the blow.
‘Spare me, George ! It is true. I
have passed for y< ars as a widow
You force the truth from me, shameful
and hi mb ing as it is. My husband
is alive. Your love for me is wrong
and mine for you a deadly sin. For
God's s ike go!*
The ma i is sobered and culm now ;
he gradually begins to realize the
meaning of his words. Sitting the
picture of mute agitation, he listens to
the story which tii * woman he loves
falters out —each word falling like a
death blow on his heart. It i> a simple
tale, and comm >n enough. This is, in
aft w words,the listery ot Nellie Aueks
land s past, which, with weeping eyes
and htf iving bosom, sin; tells to the
man whose love has been surpns and.
Five years ago, an innocent, c mlid
ing girl, she was wooe 1 by a scoun
drel and induced to run away from her
borne and r. airy him. Tin* man was
a good-'ooking, smooth-tongued swin
• I'or, and he married the orphan girl
partly because it was his whim, and
paitly to obtain her little fortune of
seven hundred pounds, which her un
cle had hitherto taken cue of for her.
The mariiage av is legal enough, t' e
girl was ot age, and the money came
into In r husband’s hands. A week
after her marriage, the poor child dis
covered that she had linke 1 herself lor
life with a criminal. John Auckland
was simply a swindler and connected
with one of the worst gangs in all the
country. Terrified at a discovery she
made the unhappy creature fled one
night from her husband's lodgings,
taking with her the few things she had
on, and returned toiler uncle's house.
Tiie uncle, heart-broken at tile tnisfor
tune of a niece he dearly loved, took
her l ack and advised her to write at
once to her husband, warning him that
if ho claimed her or i ndeavored to force
her to refill to him, that moment she
Would communicate to the authorities
the step she had made. It was a hold
step, but it answered its purpose.—
George Auckland wiot* tier word that
lie had got her monev. which was all
In* wante 1, and she might go to the
devil. A few days afterwards tne
whole g uig were arrested, and such
crimes proved against Auckland that
he was sentenced to penal servitude
for life.
Then for the first time the full me til
ing ol her awful pos tion burst upon
the unhappy girl. Young, beautitul
and amiable, she was the wedded wile
of a convicted felon, from whom death
alone would divorce her. And the
law had mercifully taken him in hand
on account of his sins, and condemned
him to a life of healthy labor and a
frugal diet, which would probably
lengthen his days iu the laud which
the goveimnent sets uparts for evil
doers.
A week a wife—widowed and yet
no widow—Nellie Auckland, in the
piidc and flower of her gentle youtn,
was condemned to feelings (ji
hei Imart, to crush out the dictates of
nature, and to look forward to a lonely
life, ti"blessed by any thought of a
husband’s love ora ch'ld/s tender affec
tion and companionship. For the wo
men whose husha ids are for dastardly
crimes or man violence buried alive in
jails or lunatic asylums the law allow
no relief. They may pine on in their
loneliness for years, the great wealth
o f love in woman’s nature w asted, the
honest uff-ct on of the s-xes hence
forward to them only a deadly sin.
The man or w >mau who is unfaithful
and cruel one**, the suffering spouse
can put away and choose again ; the
man or woman who is a convict or
respited murderer ora hapless lunatic,
can reflect in the loneliness of his oi
lier ce l that-, though they may never
see the world again, the spouse they
left is, by the hideous mockery of the
law, their sole and absolute property
still—property they can never see or
touch or enjoy, but still (heirs and
theirs alone.
***** *
Nellie Auckland’s story is told.—
Every Word h<s carried its bitter i.-
press o! truth io t> racked hcari of
George Edwards. He has poured out
the hot lava of his love in stream of
burning words, and the ground around
is scorched and seared, but there lies
no green valley beyond Such love as
hi> is the love of a lifetime. It lias
eaten into and perm at el his whole
being. Men who haven mrished and
fe l such a love as this omnot crush
it and tiid it depart—never. They in*
their l ive and iheir love is them It
is their iif*, their health, their being.
Nellie Auckland has confessed that
she loves this inm in return. It is
true, Love is a passi m. It comes un
bidden. Love has come to George
Edwards and Nellie Auckland, But it
must remain a barren flam#*. As hun
ger comes to the penniless beggar, as
thirst comes to the deseit-b niguted
traveler, so has love conn* to them.—
Preach to them, cant to them. Say to
this strong, vigorous gi *nt, say to t!is
sensitive, tender, gentle woma ■ tbat
they must crush It out because it is sin
ful. Passion will pass away, Inst will
languish, but Love can never die. It
is tin* pass on of tin* gods which the
gods have given to men. It is a hu
man whirlwind which only II; who
rides the storms can stay
George Edwards go s li 3 wav a
broken-hearted man, consumed with
a love whose accomplis uneut is out
rage on the woman he loves. Nellie
Auckland lives on the old monotonous
way, managing her uncle’s house,
smiling before the world, and weeping
in the silence of her cnamber over the
cruel fate that fills her heart with ten
der love for the man whose kiss is
shame. And out in a far away place
a convict toils on an I eats his daily
bread with the gusto of strong healthy
never giving a thought to the woman
who was his wife for a week, and
whose life is now a hell because of
him.
So the years pass on. and once again
the lovers meet. Ten years has made
changes in them both. The man of
flirty-four and the woman of thirty-six
have suffered, and suffering ages more
than time. They* meet at a neighbor's
house, shake h ands and look into each
other's eyes. Tln ireyes arc barren of
hope, but the i Id love lives.
“G >d bless you, Nellie,’’ whispers
the strong man as they part, and bis
voice is broken by a sob, and the old
pain is heavy at the woman’s heart,
and the darkness ahead looms blacker
still. And he whom God hath joined
with her, and which no man will put
asunder, h iminm a warder's skull in
with a bru:k # and lo.ses his la,*t chance
of a pardon.
Over the 1 ng agony of the lives that
run their divided course through the
flowerless and arid banks of despair,
why need I dwell? Let me hasten to
the end. In God’s meioy to one of
them it has come at las;.
Slowly and insiduously a fell com**
plaint lias shattered thee institution of
the once bonuie Nellie Auckland. In
her five and fortieth year she died ot a
disease to which the doctors gave a
Latin name 1 hey may call it what
they like, but it was a worn-out heart.
In her last moments there came a gray
headed, haggard man to her bed-siJe,
and he took tx r thin, wasted hand in
his. The angels’ songs wore in his
ears, the dim eyes op ned wide as
though gazing on the gates ajar, and
in that supreme moment the e came,
as it were on the threshold oi Heav
en, the long cherished earthly thought
once more. The dying woman laised
her head and murmured, “Kiss me,
Gtorge/ and iu sweet pressure of
EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, JANUARY 16, 1579.
her lover’s lips her la-t brea*h passed.
The cold chill air of a November
afternoon wraps the Gity of the Silent
in a thin haze The service of the
burial of the dead is just over the
round of an open grave, a, M the little
crowd moves slowly and sadly away.
But behind it there lingers a gray
haired, burly man. IPs eyes are red
with tears, and he bends and takes one
long, agonized look at the coffin newly
lowered into the damp, deep pit. “God
bless you and keep you ever, my dear,
dead love,’ no murmurs, “till we meet
again/’ The last gleam of a Novem
ber sun falls on tin* coffin-lid as he
turns to go, and lie sees on the plate
the name of the felon whose wife for
one week this woman was Even in
the grave lie claims her.
Opposed to Razors.
The Gleveland physician who main
tans that shaving is a crime against
health and good looks has been ran
sacking bis Bible for texts. He finds
in Levit cus the i junction • “Neither
shall thou mar the corners of thy
beard.” He infers that the children of
Israel, while in bondage to the Egyp
tians, mutated many of their heathen*
ish customs, and the shaving of the
beard w*s one of them. Hence, the
great Lawgiver condemned it most
emph atira’ly, and a careful study of
h stoiy shows that the Hebrews gon
er .illy riiscirded the use of the razor,
an i ibe pr mitivo Christians generally
in hating their example wore their
he rds long Tuitudi.iii, an eminent
Christian writ v and father in t ! e
church says : ‘'T e pra- t ic<- of shav
ing the beard is a lie against our lace
and an impious ittempt to improve
the works of the creator.' The doctor
wish s to know if David’s men, who
were shaved only half shaved, by the
order of Hanum, looked any better?
Not in their own eyes, nor in the eyes
ol King David mu* in the eyes of all
the Jews an ! G utiles of their time,
lor one reads that., “the men were
greatly a-hani“(i, and the King said
tarry at Jerich > until your beards be
grown, and then return/' The doctor's
argu nents is based upon natural his
tory as well as icripture. The lion
has flowing beard which distinguishes
him from the weaker compa-.ion ; and
likewise in man the beard matks most
and stin- tly the chief peculiarity of the
countenances <u two sexes. When a
man shaves off his heard his face ap
proximates that of a woman more
nearly than nature designed. Accord'
ingly In; argues that if men wish to
preserve their ascendency as the lords
of the creation they must put away
their razois.
How a Lecturer was Introduced.
An Evansville (Ind.) paper has this
story of Eli Perkins, the lecturer and
writer: Eli has a habit of getting some
one to introduce him. Down in Ken
tucky a stranger was solicited to do
this service. The stranger rose at the
proper tints, and said:
‘Ladies and gentlemen: —At the re
quest of prominent citizens, I have
consented to introduce the lectuier of
the evening.' Here Eli rose, but the
gentleman sir ved him back into his
chair, and continued: ‘This reminds me
of an experience I one.- had at a coun
try dance in Indiana. I was a Stran
ger to nearly all present, as I am here.
I met another young Ilia >, equally a
stranger He wanted a paitner, so
did I. I agreed to introduce him to a
lady it he would do the earn*; service
fl*t me, and oini and out my part of the
program in*. 1 knew his name hut I
did not know the name of a young la
•*y b‘ the house, so I determined to
overcome that difficulty by strategy
I walked him up in front ot a young
lady and sail: Allow me to introduce
you to Mr. Montgomery. Tne young
lady bowed to bin, th**n turned her
eyes on me and said: I’ll just allo-v
von to get someone to introduce you
first It tin* lecturer doesn’t prove to
be all you expect, I don’t want you to
blame me, for he is as great a stranger
to me as I am t . y u, and I don't want
you to throw me out the window, as
that crowd in Indiana did, for intro
ducing a man without being introduc
ed myself. Ladies ana gentlem n,
allow me to introduce Eli Perkins.’
Eli rose amid laughter and applause
and began his lecture.
A recent French paragraphist says
that if y -n desire to render the flame
of your lamp more brilliant, without
increasing the consumption, whether
yon burn oil, fluid, or any ot the pro
ducts of petroleum, soak your wicks
iu vinegar and dry before using.
“The Wust Boy."
All the old women f>r blocks up and
down Sixth street called him ‘the wust
bov/ and Jim did much to win the ti
tle and keep it. He fought everything
ad everybody, harassed cats and
abused dogs, and various attempts
have been made during the last year
to get him settl ’d in the reform school.
The ‘wust bov' has made anew de
parture, ami though it may not be
lasting, as it is for the better, it will
probably furnish opportunity for some
other boy to step in ami claim the un
enviable title.
‘The wust boy’ cared nothing for
the sight of crape on tin* knob, and a
funeral procession was as good as a
parade to him. Surprise was there
fore manifest on every contenance when
he softly knocked at the door the other
day and sai 1:
‘I haiu't got no good clothes to go
to the funeral, but I'd like to see the
old lady's face again afore she's cov
ered up in tin* gn und.’
A motherly old 1 idy in his neigh
borhood had passed away. So far as
th * public knew he hated her, as he
seemed to hate all the rest, but the
public didn't knolf Jim Ltd con
descended to explain lie would have
s iid:
‘Well, yor see, one night when that
big Tom Skip laid fur me and had me
as good ;>s mashed this ’ere woman
rushed out and pulled him oft’ and
slammed him ngin tie; fence till his el
bows echoed. I lien agin she let me
play with the children, and axed me
in to dinner, and tnore'u once she : s
to >k up fur me and said the neighbors
didn’t give me a fair show.’
They let him in to see her dead face,
halfexpecting t* see some ghastly trick
on Ins part, and never dreaming that
he would lean ove.v and kiss the cold 1
cheek, and that tears would come to
his eyes.
‘Where's the children?’ he asked as
he turned from the coffin.
’Upstairs, poor things/
‘lt's going to be tough on ’em, isn't
it?*
'Yes; they will see hard times, poor
darlings ‘
‘There's a leetle bit of a feller ’mongst
’em what's named Pete,'continued tin*
gust boy; 'what'll cost a week to pay
His wav?’
The women smiled at the idea, but
seeing how earnest Jim was, one of
the women relied:
‘Oh, about fifty cents, I guess/
The boy w nt out without a word,
and in the course of half an hour an
other lad handed in a piece of wrap
ping paper in which was inclosed a
silver quarter. On the paper was
scrawled the words (the work of three
or four boys):
‘I hoap she’s gon to hevvins, an' I’ll
taik cair of little peter at fifty sents a
week. Heat's the fust’stalrnent.
Gim.'
The next day he sent iu the balance,
an 1 last week the 'instalment' was
promptly forthcoming. Jim has a
bootblack’s kit and has gon<* to work,
and the old women who called him the
‘wust, boy,’ now look after him and
exclaim;
'Well, now; but who'd a thought
that boy nad a s <ul in him!'
A leligious exchange well says to
young men :
“Have you confidence in yourself?
It is the gr?nd stepping-stone to suc
cess. Don't cast yur burdens on oth
er peoples s’ oulders. The; have enough
of their own to carry. Do the hard
things yourself and not cal! on * th<*rs
to help you Never say “I can't" un
less you are a shod do wrong, an 1 then
say it in a voice of thunder, too, if
you like. When anything right and
necessary is to be done, the man wl o
shirks tbe responsibility with a weak
‘I can’t,’ is a coward. No matter
though may have marchel up the can
non's month, a"d have been the hero
of a hundred battles! lie who do s
not feel within himself the power to
conquer fate, is not a man in the true
sense o* the word—hi* is a puny apolo
gv for God's noblest work, aod nis
mother would have been better em
ployed in m iking shirts for a shilling:
than in rearing him Of course it is a
misfortune for him, since he can never
beany benefit to himself or anybody
else. Heaven help the woman who
marries him.
The New York Herald may have
meant something when it said : “No
blame should attach to medical students
who provide themselves with bodies
for dis-ection. They will more than
replace them wherf they begin to prac
tice.
• •
Tall Stories.
A fflefir! >f the “Drawer'’ was a so
journer ro during tlie past
summer, and of course visit< and the lakes
<f Killarney. lit* set cnit for I lie Gap
ol Dunlof, which is a wiki mountain
pass, intending 10 walk through it to
the upper lake # which Is the Usual mode
of approach to the tnttrisf, While
thus proceeding, the little hnt or cabin
occupied by a descendant of the far*
famed Kate Kearney, that dangerous
beauty of long ago, and situated at
the base of the mountain, was passed.
As our friend approached it # tin; guide
—a genuine specimen of that rncc
which springs green and vigorous from
the “first flowers of the earth and first
gem ot the sea"—began his legends
about the locality.
'Do ye see that mountain/ sdd he,
‘behind the cabin there?—l mane Kate
Kearney's descindunts' cabin. Welb
it's no less than two thousand five
hundred feet high, and it is well known
that whin Kale Kearney from the o*p
of it unloosed her h • ir. it touched de
base there fm nint y u/
‘ls it possible?’ said our friend.
* Indude, thin, it is, sir; I ut shine I
see that you're from America; and as
for stories, it's not worth while to he
teilmg thim to one of your people.
Didn't I come wid some uintlemin
from the States t* * this place a short
time ago, and such stories I never
heard in my life as they gave me. 1
w ndlier if they could he thrue? Ami
wondhering I have been ever -ince I
heard thim, what wondhe. ful places
and things ye must have there. I
wondher il the stories were thrue?*
again said the guide as if carried to
the depths of doubt and reflection.
‘What are the stories?’ said our
friend.
'Slime/ said the guide, ‘I couldn’t
l><* telling all the stories in a short ride
like this; hut one of thim has struck
my heart ands ml, and I'll niver for
get it—niver niver! I wondher if it
c m he thru o !*
‘Well, let us hear it,' said our friend,
‘and we will decide/
‘Well/ the guide, ‘afther I told
them some of ray tales, shure they be
gan to give me back the wondhers, and
one of thim—a very and ioent looking
man he was, and not given, I should
think, to lying—began to tell of the
splendid hotels yez have in America
and—l'M never torget it—told me that
there was one in New York cabled the
Fifth Avenue hotel, and that it was
three miles and a hal f long; not only
that, hut that the vvaithms rode
round on ponies sarving the guests! I
wondher if that was iht ue?' —Harpers
Magazine.
♦Just AVliat You Might Expect.
About two weeks ago as the over'-
land tram was passing Cheyenne, he
attention of the passengers was attrae.
ted hy the lamentations of a poor Irish
immigrant whoso forth had been rob
bed during the night and every penny
of his scanty savings stolen, and whose
family therefor** arrive beg_
gars in a strange land. The charita
ble passengers at once began a sub
scription which fin *lly amounted to
something ovet $250. When the mon
ey had been handed to the sufferer, a
pious, plans:uh* looking man dressed
in Mack and adorned w tli a white era
var # drew him aside at one of the
sleeping places und said:
‘My dear man, I am truly sorry for
yon. Your sad case touches me deep
!v. lam myself well provided with
this world’s goods, however, and so I
will give you $250 more. Here is a
SSOO go'd note. Give me the $250
you have and k*'ep the rest. May
heaven bless you!’
The poor Irishman did as requested,
with many blessings on the generous
stranger, who insisted that his gift
should not he made known. When
the passengers reached this side of the
bay the pious looking philanthropist
was nowhere to be found, he having
evident'y gotten off at Oakland for
reasons of his own.
The next morning the immigrant
repaired to a bank to get his note
changed. Tue teller picked up the
bill and began narrowly examining it.
‘ There—there is nothing wrong with
the billj is there?’ gasped the poor
fellow.
(Now the clever reader has seen all
along what was going t > happen. He
lias read lots of such incidents as this*
It is the old, old story. Well—we*!!
see about it.)
‘Nothing in the world is th' 1 matter
with it/ said the teller quietly, and
he hauded the man fifty tens,
A cure for sleeplessness is to* imttg--
ihat yon have to get up.
There are three sorts of pies—cross
barred, open-tapped and kivered.
By dodging down a back street
many a culprit has proved an alley by,.
A typographical error—an ignorant
youth trying to learn the art of prints
ing
‘Raising the wind/ is now denomU
nated more classically, ‘Exsuscitating
the financial JEolus'
It is a blessed privilege to be able to
get up and lick the inan who wroto
your obituary notice.
Gelling up paragraphs is like getting
up in the morning when you would
rather lie still than not.
I lie man who unexpectedly sat down
in s one warm glue, thinks there is
more than one way of getting badly
stuck.
We trust the undermost man in the
fight will not forget that the proverb
says the anvil lasts longer than the
hammer.
But then, if Edison's electric light
is generally introduced into our houses
what is Bridget going to light the
kitchen fire with?
'Will you settlo that old account of
yours tins morning?' said a saloonist*
sir; you are mistaken in the man;
I am not one of the old settlers.’
Bob Ingersoll is said to have made
$f)0,000 out of his lectures on hell.
Hell lias not ytt commenced on Boh,
hat will get in its work later.
A young lady, gazing on her por
trait just finished by a rising young
remarked, ‘I look like a canvas*
hack duck.’ He felt like eating her.
‘What does ‘Good Friday' mean?’
asked one schoolboy of another. 'You
had better go home and. .read your
'Robinson Crusoe/ was the withering
reply.
Josh Billings says that he has no
ohjeckshun to a man parting his hair
in the middle. I alwuz insist upon
biz finishing up the job by wearing a.
short gown and petticoat.
A girl who has been very observant,
of her parents' mode of exhibiting ohae
i y, when asked what generosity
replied: 'lt is giving to the poor all
the o l stuff you don't want yourself/
‘The subjective order of your thought
does n>t correspond with the objectivo
order of the phenomena/ This is the
latest way of telling a person that he
wanders from the straight path of
truth.
‘Do eagles give milk, mother?' asked
the boy. ‘No, my son; what made
you think so?’ 'Because I have heard
of the eagle’s scream. * The mother
reached tor her slipper, but the em%
bryo parugraphist had vanished.
Solitaire di tinonds are still in high
i °
j favor for engagement rings. That's
what makes an oi l married mm smile
|so often ands > pityingly as he gazes
at the young men who come to take
his seven daughters to the sooiabl■*.
Little Freddie was talking to hi*
grandma, who was something of a
skeptic. ‘Graudm do you belong to
the Presbyterian church?' 'No.' ‘To
the Baptist?' ‘No.' ‘To any church:'
‘No.' 'Well, grunlma, don’t you think
it’s about time to get in somewhere?'
At a political meeting, recently, the,
waxing eloquent, said: ‘What
shall we do iu this emergency! 4 ‘Tell
her to whoa, 4 shouted somebody in the
audienc-*. A great weight of whoa
rested upon a'l until the orator re
marked: ‘That man had better Emma
grate. 4
Andrew Jackson was accused of bad
spelling, but John Randolph defended
him by declaring that ‘a man must bo
a fool who could n >t spell wards more
ways than one.’ A when rebuked
for spelling needle, n-e said that
every good needle should have an eye
in it. ‘.Sow it should,’ responded
teach©-.
SO, 3.