Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME VII.
MM /;<3 X
1 '^
to-day and
by j. b. bmith.
To-day, the soft resplendence
Of morning’s rosy light
Has tilled the world with gladness
Each heart with pure delight,
Oh, consummate, exlmustlesw,
The source of human joy !
Our earth an Eden seemelh
With nothing to unuoy.
To-morrow, deepest shadows
Have covered like,a thrall ;
The silent king of darkness
Is reigning over all.
To-day, fair fortune smileth ;
The wealth of health is ours ;
Our tireless feet are treedieg
In paths o’erstrewn with llowers;
Kind friends, with smiling faces,
Spank words of comfort sweet,
Until our hearts are thrilling
With happiness replete.
To-morrow friends have vanished,
And all is wrapped in gloom ;
Aweary, taint, desponding,
Wc near the silent tomb.
To-day, a father liveth,
A mother's voice 1 hear ;
A brother nml a sister
Fill home with love and cheer.
No thoughts of sorrow darken
The brow >vjlh ruffled care ;
No dopds obscure the future -
All, all is bright aud fair.
To morrow all is sileut,
Each iairy vision’s fled ;
Loved ones so well remembered
tre sleeping with the dead.
MISCELLANY.
Uncle Maurice’s Money,
11V STEPHEN BRENT.
■‘Well, what is to be done ?' ques¬
tioned Abby.
‘I do not know,' answered Juliette,
despairingly.
'I will tell you what to do/ I said.
The girls looked at me inquiringly. I
sat on top of the stove—it was cold, of
course—because there were but two
rickety chairs in the room. I COA
tiuued :
‘Have you got any money, Abby ?'
Acs, a dime.’
I huu buy a pan of charcoal aud we
will let our poor little souls float out
into eternity on tho smoke.
’boi/t lie a goose, Clifford/ said Ju¬
liet, impatiently, while Abby half
groaned.
Il only uncle Jeffexys would send
us some money. It is so hard to have
to starve.’
‘Never mind, Abby/ I said, cheer'
hlly, ‘il the rats haven't eat it, there
ii a cheese crust in the cupboard.*
Ahfiy looked up.
‘Is that really all. Clifford V
To the best of my knowledge, yes/
uncomfortable lump rising in my
•h’Ortt It was hard that we three gills
should almost sufler for bread, when
our only living relative was an old
bachelor uncle worth a million. But
uncle Maurice had cast off our family,
just because poor mama had married
a poor man. I was 19 and the young
tst ui the three girls
\.dreary silence fell between us af
ter Abby’a last question about the
’ state of the larder. Juliet it
s
Iut head on the table, Abby
? tlreaiil y 0llt at the window aud
I-I _ was getting desperate when I
ltUAl ,,yiio ” coming up Stairs. Clio
Was Ml8 Jenkins, our landlady’s hired
8ei Mint, aud would always know when
came up stairs oy the clank of her
”^ 8,10 ° 8 '
^ 10 °l ,en ed our garret door and an
•A gentlemanjto see you’tns/ and
0 o /ii)g out. I saw tall figure, and
hand a ° ’ a
,le SOIUe > brown-bearded face beyond
b and I was so astonished I forgot
? ^ ll P °ff the stove, until the gen
* >nin came in and announced
U ^‘ Uhaloner, Attorney-at-Law.'*
rj,j 11 1 remembered, but
it was loo
e , and though my cheeks burned
a ‘ 8!iaai c I kept
my seat.
r * Thai oner sat down, gave the
Arable little room and three shabby
s a comprehensive glance, then
Kui<l
‘Y 11 1,1,1 F rank Royal's
H'suid Abby.
. on you are Vury fortunate.
Hfjie Eastman urme
uncle, Mr. Jefforys has left you
fortune.
Juliett turned white, hut said noth'
iiig, while low, under her breath I
heard Abl-y whisper, ‘1 hank God.’—
Now 1 was disposed to doubt the
statement. Uncle Maurice might be
dead, but it seemed impossible that he
j could have left us his property. The
! man must bo mistaken, or only j;st'
ing.
‘Are you sure you are telling us the
truth ?' I asked anxiously.
Mr. Chaloner laughed.
‘Yes, I am quite sure, and to con**
vince you I will send Mr. Gambling
around with the will.'
‘O, no, it is not necessary.'
I cried quickly, the fact dawning up¬
on my bewildered mind, that I had
been very rude. Mr. Chaloner rose to
depart.
I ‘Will you have a check made out
this morning, Miss Royal ?' turning to
Ahby.
Yes, sir.'
‘For what amount? 4
‘Filty thousand dollars,' answered
my eldest sister coolly.
The check was made out. Mr. Chal¬
oner left, and then we three girls fell
into each other's arms and wept for
joy. For several daYS I almost re>
fused, to believe in our good fortune,
thinking it must be softening of the
braid. But I was convinced when we
moved into an upstown palace and
dressed in silks and laces every day.
Mrs. Imison, a Well-bre 1 aristocrat old
lady, and was our chaperone, compan¬
ion and grandmother by adoption.—
Our friends were as countless as the
sands on the sea^shore, and they chei"'
ished a pure, disinterested affection for
us, so they said. Of course uncle
Maurice’s money had nothing to do
with it. The thought was too base
for such noble minds as theirs
Abby and Juliet were both angels
minus the wings. But I was truly of
the ‘earth earthy.' While they de¬
lightfully fell in love and became en¬
gaged, I flirted and enjoyed my new
life with a zest that was/ighly amus¬
ing to Hugh Chaloner,
‘How splendid !’ I cried when I
viewed the ease and comfort around
me. ‘No more back garrets, old dress¬
es and scanty meals, and to think that
this will last lorever and ever,' and 1
gave no thought to death, or old age,
but filled my cup of pleasure to the
brim.
Mr. Chaloner was our/awyer and
friend, and if my face ever flushed or
my heart-throbs grew quicker at the
sound of his voice or the touch of his
hand, uo one knew it. One evening^
nearly a year after that, morning in
the garret, Mr. Chaloner asked me to
be his wife. I waved my fan with a
“Grand Duchess" air and said :
‘No, Mr. Chaloner, I do not wish to
marry at present, and syhen I do it is
my duty to—to—to—’
‘Make a grrand match !‘
‘Yes-’
‘A Duke for instant,' suggested my
lovor coldly.
‘Yes, I think that would do.'
Hugh didn't tear his hair or threat¬
en to commit suicide because I refused
him. He even had the impertinence
to laugh, and Poking down at me
j said :
‘You absurd child ! I doubt if you
will ever see a duke. I shall wait pa¬
tient ly.of course, we wdl marry some
day. IjMiavo felt it ever since I saw
you siting on the stove that morning.
‘Now, 1 had no goodjcxcuse for act
ing?a9 I did. It was simply contra'
riety. llugh Chaloner was a noble
mail jf a&l in my heart of hearts, f knew
j i.im, i„, t Abby aud Juliet calm
| y { * 0 nrented themselves, longed to see
j mc sa f^ y landed on the shores of mat.
rbm , ny? hence I determined not to
1 freedom
raaiT y^.luit to enjoy my as
j onf * pleased.
\y e ^ere going to have a double
wedding. Abby lifftf Juliet were to
b.e miriled on tlm same day, and my
f a j r Msters were deeply, truly happy.
One evening, just a week before the
we tiding* Mr. Grambling called, look'
ing very grave. ladies,' he said
‘J bring bad news,
abruptly, 'and it concerns your un_
cle/
I felt a cold oh ill creep up my spine.’
‘Well/ said Abby.
‘Mr. Jeffery s left a ’ater will ; it has
just been found to-day and he left Iris
property to an orphan asylum. Then
there. was a long silence, and I ques
tinned tlje reality of all earthly things.
Three white, shocked faces confronted
the < -
‘It cannot be true/ I ermd out at
last ‘Uncle Maurice surely was uot so
’ '
w iyked.
EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, APRIL 1S79.
But it was true, and we were as
as when we lived in Mrs. Jenkins
attic.
Aoby and Juliet accepted this
verse of fortune very calmly, but
wept and relused to be comforted,
took pleasure in hating uncle
rice.
With a magnanimity worthy
praise, Mr. Chaloner again came
ward and proposed, but pride made
reject him this time.
‘No,’ I said proudly, ‘I wouldn’t
marry you when I was rich, don't ask
me now.'
Then I went up stairs and eried
til my nose was nearly the size of a
cup.
My sisters naturally thought I would
make my home with them, but I hud
not the remotest idea of such a thing
We had a warm discussion on the
ject one night, and I came off the vie'
tor.
‘I am ?oing dovvh to Pickensville to
teach school and wear out all rny
finery.
So after the wedding I departed for
Pickensville. This highly
village was composed of two dozen
houses, five stores, and a set of
most respectably stupid people I
saw.
The mild dissipation the Pickens'
villians indulged in, when compared
to that I had just given up was like
blue skimmed milk to rich, red wine.
My life was a drearv sameness from
week to week. If 1 had kept a diary
it would have been as barren of
as Mark Twain’s on shipboard. Here
would have been an entry ;
‘Eat my breakfast, went to school,
and whipped all the children because
tiiey would not obey me. Dismissed
at 5 o’elock and went home and put on
one of my prettiest dresses, and spent
the remainder of the day in the
ful occupation of tormenting Josephus
Janes the village lawyer.'
Abby and Juliet wrote regularly
eaeh week, and as regularly begged
me to give up my foolish pride a.id
come back to them, but I stubbornly
refused.
One morning when I started fo my
daily torture—teaching t.he youth of
Pickensville was a torture to me—I
felt so blue, and spiritless, I longed to
lie down by the wayside, and never
rise any more.®
All through the day I inwardly
moaned over my lot, looking back re¬
gretfully to that year of pleasure, that
lay like a rift of warm light across the
grayness of my life.
At recess, when with several dis¬
tinctive yells my unruly scholars de*.
parted lor their play-ground, I put my
head down the desk to have a good
cry.
The first tears had just splashed
Town when the door opened and Hugh
Chaloner entered. My heait throbbed
fast with joy, but I dried my eyes and
tried to appear as cool and calm as a
May morning ; but I didn't succeed
far.
‘You have been crying, Cliff’,' were
among the first words he said to me
when he apuroached.
‘I have not 1’ I cried rather indig>
nantly.
,WiTl, there are tears on your face,
anyhow.
‘O—I—that—is—’
‘You are not good at telling stories,’
he interrupted with a laugh. Then
he looked cunningly at me and con'
tinned :
‘You are pale and thin, Clifford.'
‘It is only the cool wind that makes
me look pale. I have splendid health
and a nice time.
‘Indeed i‘
‘Yes, Mr. Janes is so kind and agree
able.
Mr, Chaloner laughed.
‘I am glad you are so happy, Miss
Royal, but you must congratuhite me
now.’
‘V\ hat on ?‘ I asked feeling my heart
sinking.
‘Silverton Bank lias broke.'
Oli, Mr. Chaloner ! Aud you have
lost all your property. I am so soi'
ry.'
‘I am not if this last gives me what
I want/ and then he suddenly, pas¬
sionately cried :
‘Clifford ! Clifford, my love ! don't
let pride stand between us any longer.
Come and bo my wife.’
^ ell, ax you aie pooi as lam, I
will/ I said slowly, and then he drew
me to him, and kissoil me, to the hor
rur of old Mrs. fetors, wl,o happened
, CO, g in just then.
S “ W V7 # "‘ a,ried a " d We "‘ °" *
modest little tup to the seaside. One
evening, as our little boat drilled idly
‘ over the smooth, shimmering waters
of the bay, my husband propos-d a
to Europe.
‘But what w ill we go on V I
in a bew ildered way.
‘On luHd and sea,' was the
ing reply,
‘But where is the money to
from ?’
Hugh laughed.
‘This is a secret.’
'Hugh,'I said, a faint
of the truth dawning upon mr,
have been deceiving me.
‘I have not.‘
‘You said your property was all
gone.'
‘No. I said the bank was broke,
I didn't say my money was in it
smiling Tuen he bent over me
tenderly said :
‘My dariing, I loved you so truly
could not 1 et foolish pride part
besides all is fair in love and.war is it
not ?‘ And looking into the
face dear to me than any other, I
fessed that it was.
So we sailed out on the broad ocean
of life witli Faith, Hope aud
for our guardian angels, and love
shed light on our pathway.
New Version of Marco Bozzaris.
At midnight in his guarded tent
Turk, Mr. Marco Bozzaris, was dream¬
ing of the hour "when Greece should
bend her knee in suppliance, apologize,
eat humble pie and so forth and so
and tremble at his power. In dreams
or, as we might sav, in ids mind—
through camp and court he bore
trophies of a conqueror. Also in
mind lie boie the monarch,s
ring—which cost four dollars and
hail’—and pressed that monarch’s —
throne—a king ! and thought
a bigger man than the Akood of
However, un hour passed
Turk a work; he woke to hear hs
tries shriek, ‘To arms t they come!
the Greek 1 the Greek 1“ This
not all Greek to Mr- Bozzaris.
knew full well what it meant, and,
springing out of bed, told the
to light into them while he got
his clothes. Tuen there .was flame
and smoke aud shout and groan
sabre-stroke and death-shots
thick and fast, like lightning from
mountain cloud, and the [awfulent
roarfgenerally that was ever heard
side of a country school. They fought
like brave men, long and well, and
were about to mop up the ground
with the Moslem slain, when they
heard, with voice as trumpet loud
Bozzaris cheer his band from behind
the cook-stove in his tent: ‘Strike, til/
the last aimed foe expires ! Strike, for
your altars and your tires ! Strike for
the green graves of your sires, and I‘11
be with you the moment I can get on
these blamed boots !‘
Expensive Politeness.
It is a critical mom'-nt in life and
clothing of a man when he gets down
on his knees to look under the sofa
a ball of zephyr that a lady friend has
dropped. It is possible that he] may
be able to accomplish this and
his perpendicular with nothing
serious than a very red face and a gen¬
eral sense of having done something
for which he should be sent form the
room. But in nine cases out of ten he
never fully recovers the good opinion
of himsttlf that he possessed before
undertook the recovery of the^
It is always just beyond his reach >
and, in a moment of weakness, he
drops on his stomach and commeii'
ces to work himself under the sofa by
a series of acrobatic feats that would
have won him an encore on the stage.
He is so intent upon the recovery
the ball that he quite forgets his
pearance until he is reminded by a
supprised titter from one of the ladies.
Then he realizes the situation
and commences to back out.
course, his coat is worked up over his
head, and as he feels a cold streak
creep up his back, he pronounces a
benediction to the man who invented
an open-back shi .-t. He is also painful¬
ly conscious that about two inches of
red flanneDdrawers are visible between
the tops of his boots and the bottom
of his trowsers. This has the effect of
producing more internal profanity and
still more violent struggles to back
out, during which one suspender
breakg and his collar button comes out.
When he finally delivers himself and
stands up in the middle of the room
you wou ld not recognize in that red'
f £U;ec i ) wild-eyed man standing there,
holding his clothes together with one
hand and trying to smooth down his
hair ‘ Vi ’ h 11,6 othcr > tho smilin -
teel ladie's man who stooped down to
pick up that ball ot zephyr a moment
before.
A War Incident.
Th “ 0nuncil Gro » ; < Kan ) Re l>" b!i '
can tells this story *
‘Grubby' was a middle-aged, easy¬
going fellow, who felt a sort of martial
pride in pointing to the address on his
letters which read as follows :
“Godfrey Hardy, Company K.,
Thirty-first New Jersey Vol. Infantry,
^i»d Brigade, Tirst Division, first
Army Corps, Army of the Potomac.’
It was on a bot lay in the month of
June, 1863—the day before the coni'
mencement of the northward move¬
ment which culminated at Gettysburg
that ’Grubby,' with many others of
bis regiment , was sent to do picket
duty at a point on the Rappahannock,
some two miles below Fredsricksburg.
About two o'clok a. m. he was duly
pasted closely to the edge of the abrupt
bank of the stream On the opposite
shore, and perhaps one hundred feet
distant, were the enemy's pickets pac¬
ing to and fro. There was no picket
shooting being done at that time, and
although the opposing lilies were only
separated by the narrow river, they
placed their beats in full view of each
other without fear. After Grubby had
held his position some twenty minutes
he approached the sentinel on his right
and asked for a chew of tobacco, but
the party accosted mwr used the
weed, and was unable t“ supply Ins
wants. The sentinel on his left was
next interviewed with the same suc¬
cess. The case now began to look
desperate ; a n hour and a half yet be¬
fore relief would come, and no tobac'
co. He slung his gun over his shoulder
and walked to and fro in a mechanical
way, the very imageol despair. But
presently he halted, faced quickly
the opposite shore, and called out in a
subdued tone to the Confederate sen¬
try :
‘Say, you feller over there, have you
any tobacker ?'
‘Yes,' came the quick response.
'Will you give me a chaw if I come
over 1
‘Yes, was the reply.
In a a minute Grubby inverted his
gun, thrust the bayonet in the ground
pulled off his clothes, and was in the
water swimming for the other shore.
He got his tobacco and returned to
bis -post just in time to escape detec¬
tion by an officer who rode along just
then for the purpose of inspecting] the
picket line.
The writer of this was on picket du¬
ty at the time and place, and can
vouch for the correctness of the story*
Kind Enquiries.
Cousin Kate was a sweet, wide awake
beauty of about seventeen, and she
took it into her head to go down on
Long Island to see some realations of
hers who had the misfortune to live
there. Among Those relations there
chanced to be a young swain, who had
seen Kate on a previous occassion,and
seeing, fell deeply in love with her.
He called at the house on the evening
ot her arrival, and she met him on the
piazza, where she was enjoying the
evening air in Cumpany with two or
three of her friends. The poor fellow
was so bashful that he could not find
his tongue for some time. At length
he stammered out: ‘ How's your moth¬
er?** , Quite well, thank you.* Anoth¬
er silence on the part of Josh, during
which Kate and her friends did the
best they could to relieve the monotony
Alter waiting about fifteen minutes for
him to commence to make himself
agreeable, he again broke the spell
by: ‘ How,s your father?' which was
answered much in tfie same manner as
the first one, ar.d then followed anoth
er silence like the other. ‘How's your
father aud mother?* again nut in the
bashful lover. Quite well, both of
them. This was followed by a change
of glances and a suppressed smile —
This lasted some ten minutes more, du->
ring which Josh was fidgeting in his
seat, stroking his Sunday hat. But at
length another question came : ‘How's
your pareuts!, This produced an explo¬
sion that made the woods ring.
Find out your child's specialty/ is
ur g ont advice of a phrenologist A
^ ostou man * a N 8: “We have tried
this and find it not so easy. Some**
times rock candy seems to be the fa'
vorite, and then again there is a mark'
ed tendency t» taffy.'
-
Sol o dm str. ss (jest begin,,in - a nice
improving I. ason upon min. r .is to the
i ,,: ‘it»rs)—Now, wh.u a e the ptinvipal
things we get out of the earth -
Youil.ful acgl i aged four (cot fi h n ly)
‘Worms.
Childhood, Youth and Manhood.
It is a man's destiny still to be
long ng after someth ng, and thus the
gratification of one set of wishes but
prepares the unsatisfied soul for the
conception of another.
The child of a year old wants little
but food and sleep; and no sooner is
he supplied with a sufficient allowance
of either ot these very excellent
things, than he begins whimpering or
yelling, it may be for the other.
At three, the young urchin be¬
comes enamored of sugar plumbs, ap¬
ple pies and confectionery.
At six, his imagination runs on
kit^-s, marbles and tops, and an abun¬
dance of playtime.
At ten, the b, y wants to leave
school, and have nothing to ilo but go
bird-nesting.
At fifteen, he wants aboard, and a
watch, and a pair of boots.
At twenty he wishes to cut a fig¬
ure and ride horses ; sometimes his
thirst for display breaks out in dandy*
ism, and sometimes in poetry ; he
wants sadly to lie in love, and/akes it
for granted that all the ladies are dy**
ing for him.
The young man of twenty-five
wants a wife ; and at thirty he longs
to be single again.
From thirty to forty he wants ta be
rich, and thinks more of making mon¬
ey than spending it. About this time,
also, he dabbles in polities, aud.wants
office.
At fifty, he wants’excellent dinners,
and considers a nap in the afternoon
indispensable.
The respectable old gentleman of
sixty wants to retire from business
with a snug independence of three or
four hundred [thousand, to marry his
daughters, set up his sons, and live/n
the country ; and then, for the rest
life, he wants fo be young again.
In Danger.
If there ever was a mild and calm
teacher, it was Christ ; aud yet, when
one asked Him, “Are there few that
be saved ?’ He said, ‘Strive to enter
in at the strait gate ; for many, I say
unto you, will seek to enter in, and
shall not be able.’ The gate was
built for entering, it was designed ex'
presslv for that purpose, and God de¬
sires that men shall enter, and has
made arrangements for all to enter ;
and yc?t, He saw reasons that led Him
to say, calmly and affectionately, but
plainly, ‘Strive—agonize—to enter ii ;
(or many will seek to enter, and shall
not be able.’
1 know not how you feel, but one
word from the lips of Christ is more
potent with me than all the reasonings
of philosophy- I believe in Him.
And, seeing that there was danger,
He was at least honest when He de¬
clared that the circumstances in which
men lived were such that we should
agonize —that is to say, put forth
every effort—to enter eternal hfe.
When Chiist speaks thus, I know that
there is mischief in the air ; 1 know
that there is danger which may well
arrest the attention and call out the
utmost skill and exertion of man. I
know that some have a feeling of se¬
curity ; but it is unwise, it is fatal. No
man is in so much danger as he that
thinks there is no danger .—New York
Observer.
The Indiscreet Reporter.
A Texas reporter, who w is detailed
to write up a cattle show aud a fash¬
ionable ball on the same day, looked
on the wine when it was red, and got
things mixed up in the following man¬
ner :
Miss A. B., beautiful young heifer
with red and w-’nite spots on her neck
and f •re-shoulder, was charmingly ar¬
rayed in green silk, trimmed with blue
velvet and ornamented with a new
cow bell.
Mr. B. C., a fashionable yearling,
half breed, looked very well in laveu*«
der colored pants, wore cockle burs in
his tail. No ornaments.
Mrs. D. E., a Texas-raised cow, fine
milker, very gentle, looked lovely in
amber colored silk, with laced trim'
rnings. Woie a new leather oil her
shapely neck.
Col. F. G., an imported auimal/hoi-'
oughbred, looked stunning in a low
necked vest.
Moral the sober rep< rter is harder to
find than Charlie Ross;
hen shill 1 call you in the morn¬
ing, sir?' asked a hole! waiter of an
Aberdenian one night. He replied,
haughtily, ‘I’ll ring the bell when I
Want to be called.’
NO. 15.
* >: W&|humor%
.
I fJmk
/ ■
-
' SMlX . - • ’ .
» A sweeping reform—Spring clean¬
ing.
This is the walking year; the no :t
will be leap-year.
To start a stubborn mule fit eastoro
to his feet.
Birds are not rioted for courage, but
many of them die game.
When a stag takes to water he
swims for deet life.
American hams that don't find a
market are sent to Europe and bring
a high price as Westfailure bams.
It is a figure of speech to say that a
man walks off on Ids ear, but he may
stand on his gums.
Many persons give to hitting the
nail on the head find on investigation
that the nail in question is the finger
nail.
A| young Philadelphian says he’d
rather walk right into the affections of
a certain young girl than to win the?
champion belt.
Can animals learn arithmetic? ]usks an
exchange. We believ they all multi¬
ply, and one is a good adder.
A profound writer says : ‘We are cre
ated especially for one another-, Then
why blame the cannibals in wanting to
get their share?
‘Always pay as you go,‘ said an old
tnan to his nephew. ‘But, uncle, sup¬
pose I haven't anything to pay with?“
’Then don't go.‘
‘Prisoner at the bar,' said tho
Judge,'is there anything you w ish to
say before the sentence is passed upon
you?’ The prisoner looked wistfully
towards the door, and remarked that
he would like to say, 'good evening/
if it would be agreeable to the company
—but they wouldn't let him.
Tn one of the Delroit schools the
other day a class in English history
were being questioned by the teacher
about Henry tho VIII, and she finally
asked :
‘Did Anne of Clevcs, Henry's
fourth wife, die a natural death V
There wan an awful si c icc fi r ha f
a minute, and one miss stammered
out :
“No, ma’am—she was divorcuT*!'
‘John/said Mrs. Smith, ‘what smell
is that ?'
‘Cloves.'
‘But that other smell ?'
‘Allspice. 1
‘But isn't there another ?’
‘Yes—apples.'
‘Just one more V
‘Cider, my dear.’
‘Well, John/ she said, ‘if you’d only
drink a little brandy now', you would
make a good mince pie.'
From the British fleet in Eastern wa>
ters : A young midshipman went out
to join Lis ship, commanded by a gal¬
lant officer, otherwise rather a don.
He was met on deck by the captain,
who said : ‘Well, youngster, so you've
come to join ns. I suppose it’s the
old story—tho fool of the family, eh ?
Haw, haw !' To which the middy re'
plied, in a squaky voice, ‘O, no, sir ;
it’s all changed since your day.' Exit
captain.
Rev Mr. had traveled fur to
preach to a congregation at a certain
town. After the sermon he waited
very patiently, evidently expecting
some of his brethren to invite him to
dinner. In this he was disappointed.
One after another departed, until the
house was almost as empty as the min¬
ister's stomach. Summoning resolution
lie walked up to an elderly gentleman
and gravely said :
‘Will you go home to dinner with mo
to-day, my brother ?'
‘Where do you live?’
‘About twenty mil s from here, sir.
‘No, said the man, coloring ; but
you must go with me.
‘Thank you —I will clicei fully.
After that time the minister was no
more troubled about his dinner.