Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME VII.
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V Farmer’s Five Daughters.
BY CAKK1E CAHKANDRA.
Five daughters—four of them engaged—
Good Heaven! I shall go mad!
For such a surfeiting of love
No parent ever bod.
The very atmosphere is charged
With it; no matter where
I ffci about the house I trip
Upon some whispering pair.
At evening, when I take my pipe
And seek a quiet nook
To read a daily journal or
Home new and tempting book,
I ope, perhaps, the parlor door,
When a familiar sound,
Quite unmistakably, suggests
It is forbidden ground.
Hu, then, more cautiously turu
To our reception room,
Hut, !o! again upon my ear,
From its romantic gloom,
Comes softly, yet with emphasis,
That warning, when I start
And leave, as Lady Macbeth wished
Her guests would all depart.
My next resort is then the porch,
Where roses trail and bloom;
Ila! is it the echo that betrays
The joys of yonder room?
Ah, no! a startled “cluinge of base*’
Reveals the presence there
Of t’upid’a votaries, and alas!
There’s still another pair,
“Rut sure,” I think, “rny library
WiU be a safe retreat,”
So there at once, with quickened step,
I take my quickened feet.
Vain hope! that warning sound agaiu
Breaks on my listening ear.
Thunk Heaven! iny youngest hath not yet
Attained her thirteenth year.
Hark! there she is, and bless my heart
That popinjay, young Lunn,
Is at her side. I do believe
That she, too, has begun.
Oh, re! who love to sit and dreim
Of future married joys,
Pray Heaven, with i arnest fervor, that
Your girls may all be boys.
MISCELLANY.
Ail Old 31 aid’s Romance.
BY JENNY WHEN.
The announcement of my father’s
: nteiided s coiul marriage had proved
t groat shock to me ; but the fact that
I was engaged myself, and soon about
leave the homestead, softened it, so
that I could almost rejoice with him
in his'new happiness—the more
so that spite of all prejudices, I soon
grew to dearly love .the sweet win¬
some young wife (her years scarce out¬
numbered mine) who seemed to have
brought back his lost youth—loved
her so well that when, one short year
after their wedding, the idolized hus¬
band and father was brought home
cold and dead, hawing (been seized with
apoplexy iu his office, I forgot my ow«
grief in rny effort to comfort her.
My wedding-eay had been fixed for
the month following the terrible ca¬
lamity. Everything for weeks past had
been bustle and preparation, for Roy
Rollins, my betrothed, intended mak¬
ing his future in a new country, and
I had loved him too well to let him go
alone.
1 thought so little of myself that,
springing from my bed one bright
spring .rooming, and glancing at the
•calender hanging in my room, I start¬
ed to see if it was the date appointed
for rny marriage—a date by me never
loin forgotten a day when, instead
ol festive mirth, reigned bitter sorrow;
mstead of the bride s joy, thernothei s
nguish ; instead ot life s cup of bliss,
the diegs of death ; ami at its ciose,
" iUl tlj " * ,m 8inking l ° ltS rCSt 1 heM
’
■presetdd to my heart the little stranger,
my wee sister, who looked at me with
my dead father’s eyes, and who, poor,
! >ttlc helpless thing, was mine now—
mine only—since the young mother
had had time but for one fleeting glance
of love, one whispered prayer.
•‘Do for my child, Beatrice—for his
sake and for mine!’ She is yours ; I
give her to you.. Remember, we sac
I'ifice all things, nor call it sacrifice*
for our own V
1 his was all ; there was a short sigh
*»nd the soul sped upward. My father
h id gained his wife ; but I—oh, how
changed was everything for me !
Heart and hands were so bnsy it: the
days that followed that I scarcely
tzc l it, until, when baby was some two
.nt.ger I'lunthg deter old, his Roy going told me he could no
; that ho must
fpities
have the ceremony performed quietly
at homeland be married without fur
tlier delay.
What was to be done with the baby ?
It was this thought which flashed like
lightning through my brain. She was
a delicate child, who required constant
care. Already, Roy was complaining
of the drain upon my time and health*
The long, fatiguing journey, the hard
ships to which we would probably be
exposed, would prove fatal. The phy
sicians had said she only could live if
guarded us the rarest hothouse plant,
and here by my side my lover sat, un.
conscious of the chaos which reigned
in my thoughts.
How strength was given me to un¬
fold rny resolve I know not, nor how
and when that resolve took place; but
at last I rna !e Roy understand that he
must go without me—that I must stay
at home and wait.
lie pleaded, he prayed, alternate,
ly in love and anger, but I stood
firm.
‘Hod grant it may not be many
years,’ 1 said, ‘ere you can comeback
with this wonderful fortune made.—
Ethel will be a big girl then (so I had
named her) and she and I will both be
waiting for you.’
So I spoke, as bravely as I could ;
though when the time came, when my
own bursting sobs mingled with
agony, and the heart upon which I
leaned 1 could feel was throbbing so
slowly and so heavily beneath my head;
when hot, burning ki-gt s fell like lain
upon my lips and cheeks ; when I
stretched out my arms for one more
embrace, to find only emptiness ; called
aloud, and only the echo of rny own
voice returned to me. Then my bra¬
very forsook me ; then on my knees I
wrestled with my anguish ; then I
cried aloud 1 hut the cup was too bitter
I could not, could not drink it.
A child’s wailing cry aroused me.—
Was it heaven-sent? A child’s needs
demanded my attention. The little one
laughed in my face. I stooped and
kissed it, and the first drop of cumfurt
stole into my heart.
Baby Ethel ! How I grew* to love
her, as the weary, weary months which
followed lengthened into years, until
•nyijahy was no longer baby, except
to me.
My care had been rewarded. The
delicacy which characterized her infan¬
cy no one would have suspected in the
after years; and as one by one the
bud unfolded its perfect leaves, as it
burst into bloom, I could well be proud
of the one flower in rny otherwise bar.
ren garden.
I had been but twenty when my
lover folded me for the last time to his
heart, and Ethel now wanted but four
years of my age then. Sixteen long
years since I had bidden Roy good
by! Hfs letters had never failed me.
Disappointment had been his lot ; re¬
turn seemed impossible.
Ah, bad I known how long would
have been the waiting, could I have
seen him go? I was but thirty-six,
but I looked fully ton years older.—
Threads of gray were creeping in my
hair ; weeping and wakeful nights had
stolen the brilliancy from my eyes, the
flush from my cheek ; sorrow had laid
its mark upon me—until, one bright,
blessed morning my youth came back
agaiu.
A letter from Roy lay at my break¬
fast plate. It lay untouched until I
could feast on it alone ; and what a
feast was every word, since it tol l me
at last, success had crowned his ef
forts! He was'eomiug home—would,
in tact, be with me within a fortnight
from the date of its receipt.
j had never told my child> my little
8 j s t er w ho seemed more child than
s ister, of rny relationship with Roy.—
Something kept me silent now. A
strange, new diffidence crept upon me
as the days went by, I grew to study
bl S m Y face in the glass—a habit new
to me—to wonder if I were not sadly
changcd . b ut no word escaped my
"
, ips> j wou |j u qi Ethel all, after he
, came> There mU stbe longer waiting
j IIe liad wr itten me, ‘‘We must be mar
j r j ed once.’’
1 was sitting alone in my little oar
lor, the gas unlighted, on the evening
of the tenth day after receiving his
letter when there came a ’sudden pull
of the bell which thrilled me into mo¬
tionless expectancy. Then I heard a
deep, manly voice, inquiring my name
—a quick, firm tread, my heart had
not learned lo forget. The door open¬
ed— Roy had come home.
A faint scream betrayed me. In an¬
other moment 1 was clasped in his arms
_the sixteen long years buried in the
past. Wo took no note of time ; hours
flew on wings. As yet I had scarcely
EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSO AT, FEBRUARY 6,
seen his face. The servant had light*
ed the gas but ditifly, and we sat un¬
heeding, living over our lost youth.--
Then came a sudden disturbance in the
hall, a peal of sweet, silvery laughter,
a cry of “sister Beatrice, where are
you V*
In another moment, Ethel burst in
upon us. I had but time to whisper,
“She knows nothing, do not let her
suspect/ ere she had turned on the
gas full upon us, and stood flushed
with happiness and laughter, where its
brightest beams fell upon her. Never
had I seen my darling more beautiful
as, discovering a stranger for the
first time she stood half-timid, halL
amazed. •
‘This is an old friend, Ethel, of mine
and your father’s. You will bid him
welcome will you not?’
‘It is not—it cannot be—baby Eth¬
el !’ Roy answered. ‘Now, Beatrice,
IjCan estimate the lapse of years.’
‘IIow young and pretty you look to¬
night, sister Beatrice/ Ethel said an
hour later, as I entered her room, with
Roy’s good-night kiss still warm upon
rny lips ; ‘and how handsome your new
old friend is !’
‘Y r es, she spoke truly—how truly,
only the pain which crept into my heart
in t,lC da }’ s following taught me.
Tbe Years which had wrought in me
such c hange, had but told for the bet¬
ter with Roy. At forty he was a man
calculated to win any woman’s heart;
and I—even Ethel, knowing nothing,
called me, laughingly, an old maid.
Since the first night, Roy had not
neen the same. He urged our imme¬
diate marriage with greater fervor,
but—what was t he but ? Did not his
words imply an almost feverish eager¬
ness, at variance with his natural
calm ?
He had been home two months,
when, one morning, I ran softly down
stairs to speak a moment with Ethel,
whom I thought alone.
Half-way, I stood transfixed. The
door of the library was open, and I
could see within the door. She whom
I Sought stood, in her girlish grace and
beauty, looking up into the face of the
man beside her, her eyes all uncon¬
sciously telling the story of her heart,
his devouring her loveliness, hungry
with the desire to tell her of it, full of
the suffering enforced silence had
brought, but every feature radiant with
the expression that years agone had
dwelt there only for me.
It was a betrayal, not to each other,
oi ly to me—to me. I turned and crept
—oh, so slowly, so heavily !—the
stairs 1 ke an old woman now, until
an old woman now, until my chamber
was reached.
‘Remember we sacrifice all things
nor call it sacrifice, for our own.’
These words rang in my ears, were
written in fire before my eyes. Was
not the dead satisfied ? Had I not
done jpny part ? I could not—could
not give him up ; and yet he had ceased
to love me.
He would never swerve from his
word —he would struggle nobly to hide
from me the change—he would not let
me make the sacrifice, did I call it
s,,cb 5 l, ut fhe cruel tru’h stsred me in
tbe face.
His heart had gone from me. I let
a week gG by a week which had add¬
ed ten years to my age—before I spoke;
then quietly, in a voice without even
a tremor, I told Roy I wished fie would
release me, that I believed 1 was a
confirmed old maid, and--well we
bad both grown older, and it would
scarcely break either hea r t.
How could he know mine had snap¬
ped when it looked upon that picture a
week gone by?
He studied me narrowly, keenly ;
then a sudden light gloame 1 in his eye
of some great happiness ; but he only
stooped and kissed me on the forehead,
as A e ^ said .
A month'Ifter-be'bad waited, that
I might think it a sudden growth—
Ethel came into my room one night,
her face inspired with new and sudden
beauty, iu the Heeling gl mpse caught
before she hid it on my knee.
‘lister/ she whispered, ‘he loves;me
—think of it—loves poor little me and
1 am to be his wife.’
No need to utter the name ; I knew
it, but I kissed my darling and blessed
her. Was it fancy that an angel from
above kissed and blessed me! She
uever knew she wore the jewel once
mine I asked Roy that it might be
so.
Her woman’s heart might have
taught her what his misled, and I would
not have one cloud dim her happiness.
It is aunt Beatrice now, with the lit¬
tle ones—hers and Roy’s—the old maid
aunt, whose hair is silvering fast.—
iYho would dream that she ever held
in her heart a grave, or in her life a
romance. He ouly knows who gave
her strength to bear and suffer.
Capital and. Industry.
Capital is useless, that is, will yield
no revenue, unless it be united with
labor. A farm will yield nothing, un¬
less it be tilled, and the grain
ed ; raw cotton and a manufactory
will produce nothing, unless there be
workmen to labor in it. Hence, eve
ry man wl.o holds capital is desirous
uniting it with industry, that he may
share, with the laborers, the profits
the resulting products. On the contra*
ry he who has industry, is desirous
uniting it with capital, because, unless
he can so unite it, it will field nothing
in return. A roan can earn nothing by
spending Ids whole time in heating the
air. Hence, when the number of la¬
borers is great—that is, where labor is
abundant, and the amount of
small, there will be a competition
laborers for work, and the price of la¬
bor will fall; that is, the laborer will
receive a less compensation for his
work. On the contrary, when the
number of laborers is small, and the
amount of capital is great, there will
be competition among capitalists for
labor ; that i s, the price of labor will
rise, and the laborer will receive a
greater compensation for his work.—
thus, we see, the greater the amount
of capital, in proportion to the number
of laborers the greater will be the
rate of v r ages, and of course the
stronger the stimulus to industry.
It deserves, however, to be remarked
that the principle is liable to some im.
portant modifications. Thus, it is prac¬
tically true, only in so far as men con¬
tinue to he operated upon by the hope
of reward. When this ceases to oper
ate, and wages are so low as to render
the utmost amount of labor necessary
to avoid starvation, men will work
nore assiduously, the lowe. the wages;
that is, the nearer they are to actual
starvation. But to this, there is also a
limit. Human beings cannot long en¬
dure great toil, under the depressing
influences of despair. Many very soon
die, and thus a diminished population
again raises the price of labor. An¬
other common result of such a condi¬
tion of laborers, is domestic insurrec¬
tion. Men who have long stood on
the border of starvation, become des¬
perate. They know, that by no change
could their condition be made worse ;
hence they unite under any agitator
who promises them bread ; the whole
fabric of society is prostrated and civ.
il war and anarchy succeed.
In a newly settled country of great
fertility wages are high, because a
vast amount of land is open to estiva¬
tion, and apropiietor can afford to give
a high price for labor. Still, industry
is not active in proportion to the rate
of wages, because, the desires which
can be gratified in a new country are
few, and a man can procure all that is
attainable with a less amount of labor
than he is able to exert. Hence the
reason why men labor so intensely in
prosperous seasons, iu large cities. The
remuneration at such times is high,
and the desires which wealth can grat¬
ify are innumerable.
Stop the Leaks.
Wherever they may be found, and
on every farm they are numerous if
not watchfully guarded against. Is
the corn yet in the field? If so, it is a
leak of magnitude. Squirrels, rats,
peri taps two-legged vermin, are peg¬
ging away at it, and the waste is all
the more important because it is con¬
tinuous. A rat and burglar proof corn
crib is (he only s‘cure and efficient
store-house.
Are your tools nicely cleaned and
laid away under cover, or are they ly¬
ing loosely around, covered with mud
and rust? This is a leak which should
be stopped forthwith, for not only dol¬
lars and cents are involved, but bodily
strength also. Get everything under
cover, well cleaned and ready for fu¬
ture use. Too little importance is fre¬
quently attached to this item of farm
economy.
Y our stock provided with comfort
able shelter from cold winds? If not,
stop this enormous leak without loss
°* .* tlm< \" i • S " comfortablc c . , i
^ P osslble * A few days’ exposure
during the severe weather of the win
t<or will leak away more than all the
gains you have made for a year.
Have you settled with your merchant
for your advances for the last year, or
arc you adding to your obligations?
If so, you should make all possible
haste and any required sacrifice to stop
the leak. Your ship will surely foun¬
der, leaving you helpless and desti¬
tute, unless you attend to this impor¬
tant matter without a moment’s delajn
How to Ventilate Rooms.
I If a man were deliberately to
liimse’f for some six or eight
daily in a stuffy room, with close
and windows—the doorsnot being
to change the air during the period
incarceration—and were then to
P lai '> of l*eadachc and debility,
w “« ld be justly told that his own
! of inlellijrent foresight was the
of bis suffering. Nevertheless, this
\ night what a of K reat their masa lives, " with f P''"h le thought do ovc '
tio
I tbeir imprudence. There are few
1 ,ooras iu " hlch '* P> n ' rectl Y **'«
P a8s «‘® ni S ht witl,onl 80raelhin S
tllan or,1i " ar - v Potions “> a
inflow of fresh air. Every
| apartment should, of course, have a
P lac0 wilb an °P en ch « nnc r* 3m,
| i cold weather it is well it the grate
tains a small fire, at least enough
create an upcast current and carry
the vitiated air of the room. In
such cases,however, when a fire is
it is necessary to see that the air
into the room comes from the
of the house. By an easy mistake it
possible to place the occupant of
bedroom with a fire, in a closed
in a direct current of foul air
from all parts of the
Summer and winter, with or
the use of fires, it is well to have a
ingress of pure air. This should be
ventilator’s chief concern. Foul
will find an exit it pure air is admitted
in sufficient quantity, but it is not cer
tain pure air will be drawn in if
air is drawn away. So far as
ing rooms are concerned, it is wise
let in air from the outside. The aim
must be to accomplish the object
out causing a great fall of
ora draft. Tee windows may be
down an inch or two at the top
advantage, and a fold of muslin
form a “ventilator” to take off the
ing of draft. This, with an open
place, will generally suffice, and pro¬
duce no unpleasant consequences even
when the weather is cold. It is,
ever, essential that the air should
pure. Little is likely to be gained
letting in a fog or even a town inist.
The Mysterious Sixth Sense.
It is often claimed that besides
five well known senses of sight, taste,
smell, hearing and feeling, there
another unnamed and undefined,which
reveals to us the presence of persons
things whose proximity is not
known by any of the senses named.
IIow often we say ‘something tells
this or that, when we cannot
what that ‘something’ is.
During the war a sailing vessel,
loaded with miscellaneous supplies,
went ashore near Hilton Head. It
desirable to get her cargo out. as soon
as possible, and a party of
were detailed to go on board and
break her out. Toe officer in charge
was partieu'ar to inquire whether
was any liquor on board, but was re¬
assured on learning that what
there was was in a cask m the
hold, underneath the rest of the cargo,
and that his men would not come to it
for two days at least. Work began,
and in two hours the blue jackets, ev¬
ery man of them, were in a state
the most hopeless intoxication, had
hoisted over the side and taken back
whence they came. Investigation
showed that Jack’s unerring
had led him straight to the grog.
had literally sunk a well through
cargo until he struck the cask of
ky, knocked in its head, and
its contents by the dipperful. That
knocked him off his pins is not
prising, but how did lie know it
on the ship? or, knowing that, how did
he know where to begin his
operations? Something told him.
was it?
Taking Cold.
When a person begins to shiver,
blood is receding from the
congestion, to a greater or less extent,
has taken place, and the patient
already taken cold, to be followed by
fever, inflammation of the lungs, neu¬
ralgia, rheumatism, etc. All these
evils can be avoided, and the cold
pelled by walking, or in some
that will produce a prompt a ,id
ed reaction in the systen",. The
cise should be sufficient to
perspiration If you are so
chat you can get a glass of hot
to drink, it will materially aid the
spiration and in every way assist
ture in her efforts to remove the
This course followed your cold is at an
end, and whatever disease it would
timate is avoided; your sufferings are
prevented and your doctor’s bill saved.
Time is Money.
One flue morning, when Franklin
was busy preparing his newspaper for
j the press, a lounger stepped into the
, store antis pent an hour or more looking
over the books, etc., and finally taking
one in his hand asked the shop boy the
['lice,
‘One dollar/ was the answer.
‘One dollar/ said the lounger ; ‘can
yon take less than that ?’
; ‘ No > ln<lced ' onu d " llar ls the P ncc ;
Another hour had nearly passed
when the lounger said :
‘Is Mr. Franklin at home?’
‘Yes, sir, he is in the printing office/
‘I want to see him/ said the Ionn
ger.
The shop hoy immediately informed
Mr. Franklin that a gentleman was in
the store waiting to see him. Franklin
was soon behind the counter, when the
lounger addiessed him thus :
‘Mr. Franklin, what is the lowest
you can take for that book?’
‘One dollar and a quarter/ was the
ready answer.
'One dollar and a quarter! Why
your young man asked me ony a dol-
1 r.’
‘True,’ s iid Frnklin, ‘and I could
have better afforded to have taken that
(hen than to have been called out of
the office.’
The lounger seemed surprised, and
wishing to end the parley of his own
making, said :
‘Come, Mr. Franklin, fell me what is
the lowest you can take tor it V
‘A dollar and a half/
‘A dolla 1- and a half! Why you of¬
fered it yours If for a dollar and a
quarter.’
‘Yes,’ said Frankl’n, ‘and I had bet¬
ter have taken that price then than a
dollar a half now.’
Mystery of Perfume.
No one has yet been able to ana¬
lyze or demonstrate the essential ac¬
tion of perfume. Gas cun be weighed
but not perfume. The smallest known
creatures—the very monades of life—
can be caught by a microscope lens
and made to deliver up the secrets of
their organization, but winat it is that
emanates from the pouch of the musk
deer that fills a wide space for ye irs
with its penetrating odor—an odor that
an illimitable number of extraneous
substances can carry on| without dim¬
inishing its size and weight—and what
it is that the warm sumoner brings to
us from the flowers, no man has yet
been aide to determine. So fine, so
imponderable, it has eluded both our
delicate weights and measures and
our strongest senses. If we come to
the essence of each odor, we shou’d
have made an enormous stride forward
both in hygiene and chemistry, and
none would profit more than the med¬
ical profession If it could be as conclu¬
sively demonstrated that such an odor
proceeded from such and such a cause,
as we already know of sulphur, sul¬
phurate, hydrogen, ammonia and the
like.
A Prize, anti a Blank.
Some years ago when all the world
went mad upon lotteries, the cook of a
middle-aged gentleman drew from his
hands the savings of some years. Her
master, curious fto know the cause,
learned that she had repeatedly (treat n
ed that a certain number was a great
prize , and she had bought it. He called
her u fool, and never or. itted an occa¬
sion to tease her on the subject. One
day, however, the master saw in the
newspapers, or at his hook seller’s in
the country town, that the number was
actually the £20,000 prize. The cook
was called np ; a palaver ensued —had
known each other for many years—loth
to part. etc. In short he proposed and
was accepted, but insisted on the mar
riage being celebrated the next mom-.
ing. Married they were ; and as the
carriage took them from church, they
enjoyed the following dialogue
V\ ed, Mol!\o, two happy events iu
one da y* Y ou have married, I trust
y i
a good husband You have something
e ; but, first, let me ask lo’ttcry vou where
you have locked up your tick
v v
v
‘Dan’t ye say no more about it. I j
thought how it would be, and that I’d
never hear the end on’t, so I sold it to
the baker of our village for a guinea
profit. So you need never be angry
with me again for that.’
‘It Is all very well,’ said a
ed husband, when told to louk aRer
the children, ‘it is all very vvefl to tell
me to mind the youngster, but it would
suit me better if the youngsters would
mind me.’
NO.
/^Wihumor] fe
A s if t job—Sell ng soft soap.
Speaks for itselt The phonograph.
The worst kind of sipping-—Gossip.
ing.
The lap of luxury—a cat eating
cream.
A speaking likeness—\ our twin bro¬
ther.
How to remove weeds—marry the
widow.
A regular attendant of the club—a
policeman.
r l lie gait of horse does swing
a not
on binges.
IIow to acquire short hand — fool
around a buzz saw.
Always awake—the track made by
an ocean steamer.
August is a go >d month for setting
out boot-jacks among cats.
The only people who really enjoy
bad health are the doctors.
A volume that will bring tears to
your eyes—a volume of smoke.
What can pass before the sun with¬
out making a shadow? The wind.
In Spanish, liberty is libertad. Think
of raising libertad-poles.
Very proper slang of the bar-room
—Nominate your sun stroke.
Tin Cincinnati BreakfastTablethinks
trade is looking up because it is flat
on its back.
Should young ladies be good oars**
men because they know how to feath¬
er their sculls?
‘Nothing but leaves/ said Eve pleas¬
antly when Adam praised the taste
shown in her polonaise.
Why is an agriculturist like the le¬
ver which turns a vessel’s rudder?
Because he is a tiller.
An air-tight trunk is the latest nov¬
elty. The hey-hole is hung on a strap
and fastened to the handle.
An old hunter said: ‘I’ve known a
great many ioxes to grow gray, but I
never knew one to grow good.’
A music seller announces in his win¬
dow a sentimental song, ‘Ihou hast
loved and left me’ for ten cents.
To preserve a joke—Put it in an
almanac, or rent it out by the year to
circus clowns and negro minstrels.
----—--
A North-side woman having named
her girl baby Eliza, calls her husband
Beelzebub, because, she says, he is the
father of ’Lize.
Dr. Johnson, once speaking of a
quarrelsome fellow, said that if ho had
two ideas in his beau, they would fall
out with each other..
A young lady out West cull her fel¬
low, who is learning to waltz, Alexan¬
der, because he is longing for other
whirls to conquer.
A cynic, who never could get an in¬
vitation to go anywhere, says that so¬
ciety in made up of one-third money
and two-thirds brass.
Patsy McGoon observes that if men
who ride horseback are called (ha
goons, fell iws who drive drays are en¬
titled to be styled dray goons.
‘Why should we ceh bi a f e Washing¬
ton’s birthday more than mine?’asked
the the teacher. ‘Because he never
told a be!’ shouted a little boy.
--_ - --
‘Our enormous consumption of tim¬
ber’ is a theme which all young men
who chew toothpicks on hotel veran¬
dahs are requested to consider.
Have you ever observed how mad
:nakcs a maw witb a b0re lhlVjat
cause lie can’t swallow about two hun
dl ' etl and tim es over *V or five
.
mbll,tes *
A young gentleman was yesterday
accusing another of having a big mouth,
‘Yes/ said the other, ‘out the Lord
had to make yours small so as to givet
P le '‘ Q o f cheek.’
‘Abo brayed there?’asked a mem¬
of the lower house of Congress of
persons who were trying by inter¬
to silence him. It was an
retorte 1 a voice.