Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME VII.
0^
WA
i < JPUTIFG ON THE
Mr HSfMi ALICE BBOVmZ.
With a dolefa! lamenting,
Th« keen, wintry bln*t
Swfept down bom the bills
And went starring past
The low, rambling tann-bou.se,
Thut year after year
B ul mel'owed with time
And grown sober and sere.
At the warm, cheerful fireside
fcdhny-haittitl
Was knitting away
At a wonderful rate.
Home gay little trifle,
The size of u»y thumbs—
(A—sock—l suspect,
For that baby of Tom’s!)
1 sat by the heitrlb, *
With my hat on my knees—
My feet in the way,
Ami tny heart ill at ease,
With the dreadful new c*othes,
Ami Hie crest-fallen air,
’flint fellows in love
Sometimes happen to wear.
While, saucy rnd piquant,
With plenty hi say,
My bonuy Kate knitted
And chatted a’wWy,
Till, inspired by her wit—
lty her mood altogether—
I vautured some novel
Itemark on the weather.
The old-fashioned clock
On the stair tinkled nine,
The blithe shadows danced
la the merry fire-shine,
Ami nc.rer, aud nearer,
As aiiautes weut on,
IV ehivirs at the hearth-side
Together were' drawn—
Till they met with a bump!
Kate blushed scarlet. “Good laaads!”
Then the gav yarn got tangled,
And so did our hands!
<tnd somehow our lips— J
Bo, no matter; that’s Kate,
lidj' I risk hltJe wife,
t lotting in at the gate!
MISCELLANY.
JEALOUSY r •
—oat,—
that charming wjjl>o\y:.
BY H K. &.
She was a beautiful, attractive wo*
r ’nen, black-eyed and crimson cheeked,
a splendid Lust anfl arms which
she did not mind showing. J vrae a
Uie pale creature, neither ugly cr
P re, ty; but I did not envy Iter. Let
all the men on earth admire her.; one
ovtj jf j wag p a j r j n ^j g C j ea i
\ wed nothing for the rest.
^ad<je girls wen jealous at times.
Hurt and Barbara Brown dr
dared that there was no such thing as
uln g a &V attention from any cite
v cie sue was; and -centainly she tried
tK ' st Ao fascinate every man, sin-
1 married, who came near her.—
' 'd Bray was her name, and I
'Jauerstood that young as she was, she
'* 48 a divorced
womon.
may be that she had been very
iL-iised by her husband, and was
k mjurod party altogether but
; a
’should bear a great deal, and
> rvery other means rather than sev-
1 ^ h0ly tle lhat bi ldH ber hus
bn ' U) a -
' and there is always a
lad' about a dirorce. Some of the
03 at Mrs. Eorton's hotel slirugged
^ ' ]^ l0,! '^
er8 > a °d wondered what
lj ke * ^ been thinking of to
Mr 8 ’ Bra J in. The gentleman,
, vv
tifu! eP ’ fuU " ht * n ber defence. Beau
»t j|’ fond of fliitation and apt
tC1 "V S ^ C W ° n ber *° ^°'
likin wa ^ * n r
h ' * m y part I did not respect
CT her Ia
“ not see anything to
tt% r * l,ut I admired her. Unlike
*b| Wo,,ltiI S 1 always found myself
P ee the charm
a pergo that men see in
U ^tractive woman.
*«n Were I man, I could not do as
Jo—. a ^ er these flirts
f^Qse of Uue-.iearted at the ex*
tbern IaUtheir80U,s womeu, who love
VCa K* P ' 13011 Vent - her When good
in to room with
* lli r e ^ 8 leavin Hr. Carmen
8perin an!r S ftn0thin ' ff
* r l,eu hltlo Effie ^ in Mr8. Bray's
fcK j I tmljle<i Kay crimson
w, th anger becaugu
^autv'o or rg0t httT hile
w he turned the
W m Us ‘ C an d looked down into
ey^ s . °^ i Cn hliotig-ht
those thatTh to myself
*n<l P °° r lrlurn phs after
08e mer * who g^vo thetu
#
Em Eagtman @imjeg.
to her Were but silly creatures. She
liked none of them, She mocked
them, and had little nickuames for
each.
She was as cold in heart as she was
warm in manher. Her impassioned
glances were those of an actress, noth¬
ing more.
She gave those glanoes to my Harry
as well to others, buh 1 had no fe;«r
of their effect. Of course he knew sho
was handsome and that she sang well,
so did t.
We lmd met at Mrs. Harlon's. I
Was an orphan^ and taught music for
my bread. lie was a young clerk in a
large wholesale house. At our first
meeting we had liked each other, and
he was the only lover I ever had. We
had been engaged three three months,
and were to be married at Christmas.
We were wrapt up in each other, and
I believe concerned ourselves very lit'
tie about Mrs. Bray. I did not. It
pleased me better to think of betlc r
wotaen. There were others whose
minds were continually running on her,
however. Jealous Effie Fay could nev.
er quite forget her. Over and over
ugain she sat in my room with tears
pouring down her cheeks &ttd talked of
her.
‘She's a deceitful, bold, forward
cruel creature,' she declared, ‘She
kuow^ Charlie is engaged to me—she
knows it I I see it in her eyes. And
she works so hord to get him to her¬
self. I shall break with him yet, and I
love him so. No one will ever love him
so much.
Then she Wdiild cry again and be¬
gin the old story of Mrs. Bray's con¬
duct, of her looks, her contrivances}
her becks and wreathed smiles. I fel 1
sorry for the child—she was but s x
teen—and sorry for Charlie too, who
was acting as most foolish boys do un.
dersuch circumstances. But on3morn*
ing she began another strain.
‘Mis. Bray is at work with our Har¬
ry now, and she’ll twist him around
her finger soon,’ she said, ‘and as she
does my Cnarlie, It’s witchcraft those
women have—an unholy power ol some
kind. You'll see, Ethel ; you'll suft<*r
as 1 4o soon.
And then she spoke of words and
looks and actions which had quite es¬
caped me, but wimik, spoken of, made
me strangely uncomfortable. I hid
utter faith in Harry, I>ui I had utter
faith it*Harry but I didruat like to hear
•such things.
As fthr d*sys went on, I noticed one
(»r twoifhifflgs that were, suspicious.—
1 saw that she contrived to meet my
lover in the halls and on the stairs ; to
sit near him at dinner:; to^go out up
on the balcony when he did. Charlie
Beach was allowed to slip back into
his old ph*ce ; in Effie's heart, and my
Harry was Mrs. Bray's object.
Effie had been sharper than I ; but
Harry was too strong an his love for
me to yidld, I Holt sure..
It was about the time that Harry's
business compelled him to go back to
town. He left Mrs. Norton's, only
coni ng oown to see me occasionally,
and we began to wrfae to each oilier,
1 f trave the little notes he wrote tnc
carefully liiddsn away even now.
They are very precious to me. As
I read them over they bring th me hours
back again, and I am a young and
lovel>’ girl once more.
I never loved Harry more tenderly
‘than when I sat down to my desk one
morning to tell him of a little festivity
which I had been invited to attend,and
to ask his escort. I shall never forget
that day. After I had posted the let¬
ter I sat in my room and finished mak¬
ing the pretty drees I intended to wear
—thinking all the while that it was
Harry's favorite coloi, and that he
would be sure to like it,
Effie, happy in her recovered lover,
sat with me and read aloud front a lit¬
tle book of verses Charlie had given
her. They were not elegant verses,
nor was she a vpry good reader, but
there was love in them and in be f ht 41 ^
and that sufficed.
We are so unaccountably happy
sometimes, as we are unaccountably
sad at others, It fs as though unseen
spirits, good and bad hovered about
us and whispered to us. I was glori¬
ously content that day. Outside the
sun was bright and the air soft.
The geranium that stood in my win.
dow vas full of crimson blossoms. My
bird sang sweetly. Effie, with
canary her face, basked in the
Light pretty smiles on ber
firelight, and between veree.
talked of dear Charlie.
I bad finished the dress, and had sat
down into the street, when I
looking coming toward, us
saw the postman him a »■>,
and Effie, who had seen
down airs lo bring my note to me,
8t
EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 1S79.
for we both knew it was ttiy answer
ha carried in his nand. She ran down
gaily humming & tune. She returned
with a very serious face. A note was
in her hand, with my name upon it in
Harry's writing, but the expression
frightened me so that I caught ray
breath.
‘What is it, Effie ?* I asked.
‘Ethel,’ she said sadly, ‘I must tell
you, though you will bate me. The
postman who brought the note brought
one for Mrs. Bray/
I was so relieved that I burst into a
fit of laughter.
‘Why should that trouble me ?' I
asked
‘Don't you see your Harry must have
written both?’ she asked.
‘No/ said I ; ‘I do not. I am not
jealous of Harry.
Then I broke the s. al and these w£re
the words I read ;
‘Madam : I have another engagement,
and am obliged to decline yours.
II. Heathcote/
1 put the cohl billet down With a
strange chill at my heart What had
I done to deserve this ? What did it
mean ? What should I d< > ? A note
like this from a betrothed lover, from
whom 1 had parted with the tenderest
caresses 1
Effie saw that I was in trouble, and
forebore to question me, but she glid¬
ed out of the room and did not return
for an hour. When she Came back her
face was wet with tears.
‘You cannot tell what it is ? she
asked.
‘I must have offended him uneon
seiousJy. I cannot say nothing mote.
When the dinner bell rang I went
down stairs as usual. Passing the
parlor door I saw Mrs. Bray. £he was
reading a note aloud.
*1 declare, I never was so surprised,
she said # ‘I thought he was in love
with that little girl. Ah ! there she
comes.
She hurried away as she spok«^ in
assumed tciror. The next moment I
saw Effie speak to her and a wliife pa¬
per passed into he*‘ hand. Whatever
it was, she knew end would tell me.
Sue did. That evening she brought a
letter into my room—a letter that Mrs.
Bray had exhibited to all the house—
love-lo*ter from Harry Heathcote, teu
derer and more passionate than any
he had ever written to me, and wi h
his undoubted signature at its foot! —
It was no forgery, I even knew the pa¬
per, a costly and rare kind with his
own monogram upon it. It began
“Darling" and ended “Your own Har¬
ry." I did not scream, 1 did not swoon;
I faced the terrible truth as best I
could.
She had won li : m from me*, but I
was in no way to blame ; I was true ;
I was sinned against, not sinning,
and the blow should not ciush me.
I did not even allow myself to play
the mourner. Contempt for my lover
had taken the place of love.
Hs should know I did not grieve for
him; and I asked good <dd Mr Hollo
ran to be mv escort and went to the
party next evening with a smile on my
fttce, though my heart ‘ached sorely,
and life seemed a cold and cruel thing
to me.
They told me I was gay that night ;
I chatted, I ate and drank, I danced
whenever I was asked to do so, All
the while the words of thaf, )etper Hq.iv
ry had written to INfrq, Bray were in
my ears.
When old Mr. Hollupan took me
home he told me J had wearied myself
out and was beginning to feel it. But
I was strong yet.
Tomorrow I had wotk to do that
would demand all my strength^ to take
the matter into my own hands,to write
an adieu lo Harry, send him back the
gifts and lettprq in my possession, and
ask m»ne of him. As I went up stairs
old Mrs. Norton looked out of her
room
*Your beau was here to-night/ she
said ‘I expept he was cut up to find
you out, but Mrs. Bray took pharge of
him.'
I tried to laugh. All my life I felt
I must now laugh when I had rather
cry. 1 musi hide my heart. *No one
could ever call me a disappointed wo¬
man. No one should ever speak of me
as one who had been jilted.
I wrapped myself in my dressing
gown and s it before my fire. I could
not sleep. J could not lie down. The
clock struck, one, two, and still I
watched the dying embers. Ten min¬
utes more went by, when suddenly a
irightful snriek rang through the house
—another and another. I rushed to
the door Other people were in the
entry. The shriek came from Mrs.
room, and ere we could open it, it was
flung wide open, and she rushed to¬
wards us with her clothing all ablaze,
a horrible moving column of fire. I
don’t know what I thought. I don’t
know what I did. I cannot remember
anything more, until I had her down
upon the floor, and a blanket I had
snatched from a pile on a table in the
entry wrapped about ber. I beard my¬
self crying j
‘Lie still aud you will save your
face.’
I saw the flames choked out and the
light bluck tinder floating about me,
and knew that I had at least saved her
from being burned to death. Soon I
knew 1 had saved her life.
It was night again when some one
came to my dqor and told! that Mrs.
Bray wished to see me- Of course I
went. I found her in bed, wrapped iu
bandages, and she could not stir, but
looked at me earnestly
'Send them out of them room/ she
said. ‘I want to speak to you alone.’
And when the nurse had closed the
door behind herself and Mrs. Nortor
she looked at me again in the same
strange way.
'You saved ray life,’ she said, ‘Yes;
and I remember w hat you said. 'Lie
still, and you will save y our face.—
Most women would have liked me to
spoil my face, had I used them so.—
And you! dent know the world either
Go to that desk ; there is a letter there
—it is yours. I wmnled to make you
jealous, and. I wrote to your beau to
ask his escort somewhere.
‘Two notes came at the same time
to the house. I knew very well that
thetf e Was a mistake made—that mine
hud been put b.*o your envelope, and
yours into mine. I vcratched your
name out of that one y<>u have there,
and showed it about to make you jeal¬
ous.
Tie's true as steel to you. I love
you for saving my face, and I tell you
that. Now try to forgive me.’
I was too happy to do anything else.
I knew that what she said was true.—
And when she asked me I stooped and
gave her a kiss.
It was our last interview but one.
When Mrs. Bray recovered she left
Mrs. Norton^ and Harry Heathcote
never knew anything about those two
miserable days until I had been bis
wife ti*o long to have any seciets from
him.
Years afterwards, 1 met Mrs. Bray
once more. I first I did not know her.
In the qmiet lady with a touch of sad¬
ness on her face, who bent over the
cot of a sick girl in a hospital, I
to recognize the coarse blown beauty
of former drys. I found s }j e was now
a loving wife and mo^ er> He ,. l)ature
was deepened an^ chastened,
She said gratefully : ‘1 thank God
and jou for the change. You saved
my life. The nearness to death, the
impression y r our tioble unselfishness
made upon me, worked on my heart
aud finally c^iaeged the whole tenor of
my thoughts and life. Then I met a
S 00( \ man avIio loved me honestly and
i married him, and raj’ little babe came
to show me what sweeter and purer
aims and meanings life may have.
Rules gf Conduct.
Never enter a room noisily; never
fsil to close the door after you, and
never slam it.
Never forg£t that if you are faithful
over a f^w things, you may be ruler
over many.
Never exhibit too great, familiarity
with a new acbuaintance; you l ay give
offense.
Never will a gentleman allude to
conquests which he may h^ v ® made
with Jqdies.
Never be guilty of the contemptible
meanness of opening % private letter
addressed to another.
Never fail to offep the p^sjest ant)
best seaf in the roojp to an Invalid, an
elderly person or a lady,
Neyer neglect to perform the com¬
mission which your friend iutrusted to
you. You must not forget.
Never send your guest who is ac¬
customed to a warm room off to a cold
damp, spare bed to sleep.
Never enter a room filled with peo¬
ple without a slight bow to the gene¬
ral company when first entering.
Never fail to answer an invitation,
either personally or by letter, within
a week after the invitation is received.
Never accept favors or hospitalities
without rendering an echangc of civil¬
ities when opportunity offers.
One of the saddest and most vexa¬
tious that conies to a girl when sl)0
marries is thac she has to discharge
her mother and depend upou a hired
girl.
Yacob’s Losing Deal.
‘Yaw voh ! Yaw voh ! Dot man he
swindle me, Snudge ! S’help me Moses,
He swindle me ! { said the excited de¬
scendant of Isaac to Judge Morgan
yesterday.
‘How did he do Mr. Wolfinski?
asked the court.
‘I vill tell all aboud de pizness.,—
Shudge, see dot feller, Mausuiann # of
Tenth avenue, come de audra day to
mein .store on Chatham street, and he
said tome, Yacob fix me dot {suit of
does foa ochtsene tollare, und, sacht
Ich, Mansmann, dot is verih more as
otchsene tollare, but du heist mein
freund, so take it along mit you. Yell,
Shudge, dot feller he try on dem does
U1 *d dey vas a leetle too loose in the
P aiJ ts back and goat sleeves ; so, sacht
Mansmann, 1 fix de r u For |rou und
I bring Jem bei your house on Teuth
Avenue. I do dis und I go bei Maiii’
madn's sein house, y< sday alioud mit
dot suit of does, und he try deni on
und dey fit shnst like a glove, I tell
you he vas glead. I bet you l Uud
sacht er bei mir, Yacob, you‘re a pully
poy, I bet you ! Take ein glaso bier.
Den 1 say ‘l’izness first and bier next.
Dsn he pay for dot suit of does. Den
we trink dree, four eoeple glasses bier>
yaw ! Und Mansmann sacht, 'Ybu got
bleuty dime, Yacob! Let us play pin
agle. Veil, ve do this ! De limit was
ein <3 oil a re a game. I can play pin
ugle pooty veil, I bet you 1 Never
have I seen oft mein li e onny man
he beat me a square game. So l vas
not fraid for Mansmann. But Shudge,
be dont play a square flame. I bet ten
foliate he dont May square. He beat
me more af ochtsene dimes and vin
back all doe money vat he gif me for
dot suit of does. Vat shall I do now ?
lie got dot suit of clothes und he got
■dot money for it too. Och 1 Der
swindler !‘ hissed the irate Hebrew to
the innocent looking Mansmann, who
stood at the bar in the guise of a pris¬
oner.
‘Well, Mr. Wolfinski, didn't Mr.
Mansman pa}' yoo $18 for the clothes
before you begun to pia} ? asked the
Judge.
'Yaw ! dot 1st vare ! Dot ist so!—
Butt he vin it all back, aud I got noth*
ing; no does, tro money !
•Didn't YOU play to keer_ what y(m
won ? asked the colli*
‘Dot‘s so! B -.at I don't vin
dings! somc
uat‘s it. You lost. Now I think
you had better fio home or you will
lose your Thanksgiving goyse. Next
case.
'Yacob stood like one in a dream
for a minute. But when he realized
that Mansmann was actually leaving
the Jefferson Market court a free man
possessed of a suit of clottics which
had cost him nothing, he exclaimed
bitterly :
Well, help me gracious, I dont ©an
tink I vas avake. Him got me goods!
Dot's so 1 Und him got mein guelt!
Dot's so! Yacobj dot's besser you
goin home aud ask your vife if you
vasn‘t a jackass mit long cars!
---• •
The Power of the Hand.
It may bo going too far to say that
man may judge the character of his
fellow-man by the menner in which
he shakes hands. But there is cer¬
tainly a significance in those busy
members of the body which ‘ho whe
runs may read/ The creator of Uriah
Heep has taught ua not to trust the
owners of limp, moist hands which
close cordially to nothing save their
own possessions, Says a commentator
on this subject : ‘It is the toueh of a
hand at a meeting which warms or
chills m3’ heapt, aud makes me know
to a certainly how much or bow little
|[ sha 1 ! like the person before roe. If
the fingers close aaout my own with
a short, quick^ convulsive grasp, I
know that he pill snap, snarl and
finally quairel, and the Ie38 I haye to
do with the owner Qf these wily digits
the better oft I shall be. If a nervous,
cold hand glides into my own^ and
seems disposed to lie there, without
life I know at once that my happiness
would be as nothing in that awful
palm. But if the hand grasps yqurs
and holds it firmly in strong, warm
fingers, you are safe in cultivating the
friendship of the owner. These human
bauds. These human |iands! From
the beginning of )jfe they play an im¬
portant part.
----
The Washington Post says there is
not a lawyer in either branch of the
Connecticut Legislature.
There is said to be 12,000 Presbyte
rians and Episcopalians in Qeorgja.
What Saved Him.
A young wife in Michigan had just
got settled in her new home. All
seemed fair and prornisintr, for she did
not know her husband was a drunkard.
But one night he came home at a very
late Lour and much the worse for li¬
quor. When he staggered into the
house, the wife who was greatly shock
ed, told him he was sick, and to lie
down at once, and in a moment or two
he was comfortably on a sofa in a
drunken sleep. His face was reddish
purple^ his breathing was heavy, and
altogether he was a pitiable-looking
object.
The doctor was sent for post-haste,
and mustard applied to his feet and
hands When the doctor came and
felt bis pulse aud examined him and
found that he was only drunk, he said:
‘He will be all right in the moro
ing.’
But the wife insisted that he was
very sick, and that severe remedies
must be used.
‘You most shave bis head and apply
blisters/ she uiged, ‘or I will send for
some one who will.'
The husband’s head was according-*
ly shaved closely and blisters applied.
The patient lay all night in a drunk¬
en sleep, and, notwithstanding the
blisters wire eating into his flesh, it
was not till near morning that he be>
gan to beat about, disturbed by pain.
About daylight he woke up to a
most uncomfortable consciousness of
blistered agonies.
‘VVhat does this mean?'he said, put¬
ting his hands to his bandaged bead.
'Lie still—you mustn't stir,' said the
wife; ‘you have been very sick.’
‘I’m not sick/
‘Oh, yes, you are; you have the
brain fever. We have worked with
you all night/
‘I should think you had/ groaned
the poor victim. ‘What’s the matter
with my feet?’
‘They are U&Stcred/
‘Well, I'm better now; take oft* the
blisters—-do/ he plodded, piteous!';.
lie was in a most unooe/rortable
state—hu* ' .ad covered
lJC vqli sores, and
* l * s *Teet and hands* still worse.
‘Deal/ he said, groaning, ‘if I should
over get sick in this way again, don’t
be alarmed and send for a doctor, and,
above all, don’t blister me again/
‘Oh, indeed I will; all that saved
you were the blisters, and if you have
another such spell I should be more
frightened than ever, for the tendency,
I am sure, is to apoplexy, and from
the next attack you will be likely to
dio unless there are the severest meas¬
ures used/
Ho made no further defense. SuG
fice it to say lie never bad another at¬
tack.
Peculiar People.
The man with neck whiskers.
Schoolgirl who doesn't chew gum.
He who picks his teeth with a fork.
The man who does not like to hear
himself talk.
Barkeeper who draws the froth at
the bo-tiom.
Womtsn who can walk gracefully
with small heels.
Young lady with pretty teeth who
doesn't like laughing.
A man who considered a bar bill a
debt of honor.
The man who can smile and smile,
and not be a villain.
The man who takes out a paper of
fine-ent m a crowd.
Young lady with a mole on her arm
who likes short sleeves.
The man who never drinks anything
stronger than buttermilk.
A young man of 20 who does not
know more than a man of 40.
Young married man who doesn’t
cringe when lie wheels out his first
baby.
An editor that is not capable of run¬
ning his paper better than other peo¬
ple fhftt try to.
A man that can preserve perfect
urbanity in a party of ladb-g when his
sqspender button has just parted.
-^ g - ■■ , .
<f l want to find out who is master
of this house," said the man with a
book under his arm to the vinegaa
looking woman with a pointed nose and
small top-knot, who opened the door
for him. ‘Well, stranger, she said with
her arms a-kimbo, “you just walk into
the back yard and ask a little spindle
shanked deacon you'll find there fixing
np the grape arbor, and lie'll tell you
if I doa’t boss this rancho be don't
know who does. Now, what do you
wan$ with me?’
NO. 7,
WIT & humor
21 * tm
--.A
U hat kind of an ant is supposed to
work the hardest? The serv ant, of
course.
Tho Whitehall Times wants to know
what Kind of wood a sunbeam is made
of. Oh, almost any kind of light wood.
Darwin believes that birds have re¬
ligious distintions. Hens probably l>e*»
long to the laity.
In fair weather, whon umbrellas can
can be borrowed, every man should to
lay up one for a rainy day.
lhe strongest propensity in a wo'
man s nature, says a careful student
of the sex, is to want to know what is
going on, and the next is to boss the
job.
•
If politicians had the same amount
of ambit on to be honest as the aver¬
age small boy has to become a curve
pitcher, the country would be safe.
Throw physic to the dogs, ile none
of it. And it was castor away. We
don't see how the man who made those
puns cod liver day after.
A stripling of 18 in Salem, Mass.,
saw a pretty girl every Sunday for a
month at choir practice,and then eloped
They met by chants, as it werc.
A sewing machine agent was very
ill. Being told that he must prepare
to pay the debt of nature, wanted to
know if it could not be paid on tho
monthly instalment plan,
Moses may have made mistakes, but
it looks mean in Ingorsoll to rake them
up now > when Moses hag no chance to
correct them,
Next to a cream jug, the favorite re¬
sort of a fly is a bed room where the
clothes are not long enough to cover
both ends of the sleeper simultaneous
ly.
--4*>
She was boss of a charity committee
and naturally took a calico quilt and a
second-hand sauce-pan to a family that
had not tasted food for three days.
‘John hag five oranges; James gives
him eleven, and he gives Peter seven
how many has he left?' Before this
problem the class recoiled. ‘Please,
sir,' said a young lad, 'we always does
our sums in apples/
—— m --
When the barber’s keen, cold razor
is being wafted around one's throat.,
and the germ of a sneeze
ing up his nose, he cares naught for
the fate of na ions, and the greenback
idea, nor anything else, only to get tho
barber as far away as possible
Paris paper: ‘Aren’t you ashamed
of yourself, Julia? You've scarcely
been here a week and here you are
stealing from me aJseady/ ‘I'm very
sorry, ma'am. I beg you to believe :
that I'd have deferred it if I could, but.
it was absolutely impossible/
When Shakspeare's immortal works
come to us properly revised for mod¬
ern readers, the passage ‘Let no such
man be trusted/ will be extended with.
‘Unless he puts up gilt-edged collater¬
als.' There will be hart! business sense
in the expression then.
A greenhorn, who officiated as the
parish clerk in a comity town, lately
undetook to give out a hymn, in which
the word ‘doxology' occurred, but as
he couldn’t exactly get the hang of
the hard word, lie suggested to the
congregation the propriety of singing
‘four verses for a eoekdologer/
We learn from a contemporary that
'John Burroughs has been writing on
the cow, in Scribner’s for November/
There is no law to prevent John from
writing on a cow, but it does seem aa
if he could do better work if he should
dismount and do his writing like the
rest ol us, on a desk.
A gentleman in a black coat calls to
him his friend, and says: ‘Come with
me while I change ray black cravat
for a white one for the ball. You will
see how it will change me/ The change
is made. The friend examines his
friend with attention: 'That's so. Be¬
fore one would have sent you on an
errand; now one would say, ‘Waiter^
some coffee. * 1