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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