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VOLUME VII.
Hi* m IBj X.
A KING MY MOTHER WORE.
Tbe earth has many treasures rare,
In gems and golden ore ;
51 y heart has one, more precious far -
The ring *ny mother wore.
1 saw it first, when I, a child,
Was playing by her side;
,She told me then ’twas father’s gift
When she becarnw his bride.
I saw it oft in sorrow’s hours,
Which marked the utter years,
When shining on the soft white hand
That wiped away in v tears.
And, oh ! I saw it once again,
When on her dyir g bed,
She lifted up her hand in prayer
And laid it ou my head.
beside that bud, where fell my tears,
•The ring to me was given ;
/he placed it on my hand and said,
“We’ll meet again in heaven !”
I kissed the cheek we oft had pressed,
From which the rose had fled :
And, bowed with grief, stood motherless,
Alone, beside the dea,d.
Among the blest, in realms above,
Where sorrows are unknown,
Oh may I meet my ipother dear,
No more to weep aloue.
Herdyiug words,of kive and faitfl
I’ll cherish evermore
Within the h* art which holds so dear
The ring my mother wore.
-Tz!
MISCELLANY.
/SLOW, HUT SURE,
JiY E. B. W.
dlow on earth, Simpson,’ said I the
other day to a rural friend of mine
iwlioin I was visiting — *!)oiv ©n earth
did a baokwarl, diffident fellow like
you, over man ige to say, ‘Will you V
to a witty, saucy, self-p -Fed woman
like your wife ?‘
1 really was curious to know. S nip
son was such a slow, solute person,
and his wife was such a little firefly,
that there always seemed to me some
tiling funnily incongruous in their Ull
ion.
Simpson made his usual deliberate
pause before answering. ‘Well, I
reckon'—my friend is a Iloosier—‘1
reckon it w is queer I ever asked her,
mi l the way it happened w^g queerer
still/
NYe had carried our chairs out into
tin* front yard, in order to smoke in
greater comfort ; and I now tilted
m ne back against a tree, knowing
that the story that was brewing in my
friend’s mind would not be over in a
hurry. I condense it for the benefit of
those readers who may not liave as
ranch leisure and patience as I i a 1 :
You see,' he began, slowly clearing
his throat and crossing his legs, f \ Was
always rather soft-like about Susie,
l oin the time I used to sit by her in
school ami work tier sums. She
liadu'i a particle of head for figures,
*'h 1 I had, so we suited pretty well as
lor -g ^’ ^ool lasted ; and Susie,
though sheiaughed at me moie than
any of the girls, liked me a I ttle, too ;
f"»'it isn’t in human nature not to like
,ke P' vson that works your sums. I
know, because that was about all the
w:| y 1 bad ot making friends, when 1
was a boy, and I made a good many.
But when our school days were over
fuost of them forgot, but Susie never
did. She was the prettiest and most
popular girl in the country, and had
Bod e»d of beaux, but she /way* had,
bless her! as bright a smile for
H “en as any of „ them. ,° _ J knew _ I
Wasn't as brisk and livelv as the best
'
f *
0 01 t tlicni, i ami when I
saw that
a; 'Az%:z< i », , *•
" »
11 ‘ v e died v , for , her . I
any minute ; but
couldn't tell her so. Seemed like I
"as slower and dumber witli her than
anybody e'sc*
E>r this reason I didn't often cull
°" ltM ask ker company to parties
a,1 d the like ; but when I did she was
jdwayg " a " ha so PPJ kind f°r and month pleasant-like afterwards. that
a
Well, there was a party one night
• V( I l fi ,, e Co rn's ; and, and, as it
' ,lMI 1 h»r, and Su-ie would only h
ave
t () be bored with going and
h'g, me coin-
1 asked her to go with me, and
sh* K -dJ Certainly/ ;d stmled if it
a as
"as the greatest treat in the world.
An the 'Squire's was only halt
u,lu a a
r °ui Susie's au l there was
£I)C Last ♦ ' 'x
man mm
a nice, dry pith through the woods,
we walked. It was about the middle
of October, and the path we took was
heaped with dry leaves that made a
pleasant rustle under our feet. A wa
tery moon and a slim turnout of start
gave just light enough to make the
tree trunks on either side of the path
look like anything else but what they
were.
‘The only remark I remember to
hare made on the way to the 'SquireD
was that it was going to rain before
morning, and that I hoped it would.
I little thought how much reason I
had to hope.
I don’t recollect much about the
party, except that 1 sat most of the
time in a particular corner, and
watched Susie as much as I dared.
‘W hen the party had by.oken up, and
we were starting home, I noticed that
the sky was thickly clouded and the
night dark. The ’Squire, who was
sitting on the front porch smoking a
large pipe, called after us: ‘Better
stay ail night, Benjv, it’s goin’ to
rain.’ But we thought not. When
we got into the woods, however, we
began to find out that it was dark and
no mistake. The farther we went, the
deeper became the darkness. I knew
tlie path we Rad to follow, every crook
arid curve in it But the carpet
dead leaves bothered me. 1 had to
stop two or three times, and grope
.•bout on either side, to make sure that
l was on «he right tpack;; and the last
true I found I was not in it, and,
wfiat was worse, couldn't find it.
‘I k>'pt ftp the search as ’png as pos¬
sible, drea.qHqg to tell Susie of the
stupid blunder I hal committed. But
the tryth had to come out at last ; and,
as if to make matters really serious, it
began to rain—a dull, pattering fall,
that would probably last till daylight,
and Susie exposed to it. She tried to
make a joke of it at first ; but, as the
rain caipe more and more steadily, she
became frightened and nervous. I
(omul her the best shelter I could at
the roots of a great tree, but l)ie rain
reached her even there. She h >4
nothing round her but a light shawl
for the evening had b-en unusually
warm for the season—and I knew she
would soon be thoroughly chilled ; so,
being very tough myself, and used to
all sorts of exposure, I just foot off
my cat and begged tier to wrap it
round her shoulders, but she would
hear to nothing of the sort, and bade
me quite brusquely to put on my eoat.
But the rain increased, and the night
grew damper and colder. I resolved
to take matters into my own hands.
Without saying a word, I just wrap¬
ped the coat around her shoulders my
sell, and, for fear she wouldn’t take it j
I said, by way of apology, you see,
‘I'd give my life for you any minute,
Susie, and it don t stand to icason I
shouldn't give you my coat.'
‘She kept as mute as a mouse while
I was fixing the c<>at ; but, when I was
done, she took my hand in both of
hers, and, says she, D<> you t.iink so
very much of me, Ben?' and, says I,
More than I pan tell, or you can
think, 1 leekon/
‘And, says she, ‘Why did you never
tell me so befoie ?
Well, says 1, you know I m rath
er slow of speech; and, besides, I
reckoned you wouldn't care to hear
the Jike from me/
‘Site didn’t say nothing after that
for a good long spell, till I began to be
afraid she was off tided ; then says
she, ‘You may sit down here
me, if you like, Ben.‘
‘I did so, and then, after another
good long spell, says she, stroking my
hand with one of hers, ‘You're the
best and kindest uvan in the wot Id,
r. ; , 1 T ‘ lktf y ° U ^ , .. °
*My shirt-sleeves . . , , by this time
were
^ en ° ngh , , *° wnnff * lU,d ,he chlU
crusts that every now and then swept
down from ,, the tree-tops , , were enough ,
" .«■*» * N '7 foundlanJ ** 8 " i - =
but I never felt warmer or more com
fortable in my life than when Susie
said tliat. I never felt my slowness
of speech more in my life, though it
seemed as if 1 conldi/t think of any
word that meant enough. So I had
to Slt and listen to Susie without being
able to say a word myself, but she
didn't appear to mind it a bit.
'Well, the first thing I knew' it h id
stopped raining, and the moon wa>
peeping dowi through a drift in the
clouds. I found the path in no time ;
and Susie made me put on my
again.
‘When we got home to Susie?*,
father was just turning out to look
us, and met us at B e yard gate.
‘Soaked but smiling,‘ says
EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY. MAY 15, 1ST9.
‘What on earth lias happened to make
you look so pleasant, when you arc
both as wet as a couple of drowned
kittens?* He had a lantern, you see*
and Hashed it right in our faces. We
didn‘t tell him anythisg then, but he
found out in about a month after when
I came to a*k for Susie.‘
Just at this moment we were inter**
rnpted by a pretty, scolding voice from
the house, exclaiming, ‘Why, Bon, you
will catch your death of cold, sitting
out them without your coat when the
dew is falling/
Simpson hail been over an hour tell¬
ing his story. Our pipes had gone out
and the sun had gone down, but there
was still light e lough to mark the
p'acid expression of delight that came
over his face at the mere sound of his
wife‘s voice ; and I thought I saw
plainer than ever before how it hap
pened that the lively little Susie had
married my slow friend, and had dune
wisely in so doing.
Advice to a Choir Singer.
BY JOSH BILLINGS,
Dear Miss : This is an important
epock into your life. The fjrst thing
to make a good quire singer is to gig¬
gle a little.
Put up your hair in cjrl p tpers eve
ry Friday nit** soze to have it in good
shape Sunday morning. Ifyour daddy
is rich, you can buy some store hair.
If he is very rich buy some more, and
build it high up onto your head; then
git a high-priced bonnet that runs up
very high at the high part of it, and
get the milliner to plant some high
grown artifishels onto the highest part
of it. This will help you sing high, as
sophranois the highest part.
When the tune is giv out, don't pay
attention to it, and then giggle. Gig¬
gle a good eel.
Whisper to the girl next to yon that
Em Jones, which s ts on the 2d seet
f ro m the front on the Iqft hand side,
has her bunmt of the same color exact
had last year, and th n put your
bqok tp your face and giggle,
0bject to evei y tune unless there is
a Su ) ow \ u f 0 it for the sophrano. Coff
lin d | iain a g n0 d eel before y*u begin
to sing.
When you sing a s*»low shake the
artifishels off your bum.it, and when
you come to a high tone brace yourself
back a little, twist your head to one
sid 1 , and open your mouth the widest
on that side, shut the eyes ou the same
side just a triphle, and thee put in for
dear life,
When the preapher gits under way
with his preacin >, write a note on the
blank leaf into the fourth piirt of your
note-boyk. That’s what tip* blank leaf
was made for Giv sum body t<> pass
tUe nole to 8Umbo j y e lse, and you
watch 'em when they read it, and then
g'ggle.
If anybody talks or faffs in the co.i
grega8hun and the preacher takes no,
t is of it, that's a good chants for you
to giggle, and The\neacl.er you ought to giggle a
great eeK darsen’t say
anything to you, bekaos you are in the
quire, and he can’t run the meeting
bouse at both eild8 withont the quire
y OU bad a b()W bt .f 0 re you went into
^he quire, give him the mitten—you
ought to have somebody better now.
Don't forget to giggle.
Praise And Flattery.
Praise,like gold and diamonds, owes
its value only to its scarcity. When
it becomes vulgar it, is very cheap . if a
person is rare in his praise, and very
discreet in the use of it we value his
opinion ten thousand times more than
of the man or woman who is a con¬
stant flatterer.
Of what value to us is the opinion'of
one who , the * most
pronounces com
’"P la ^ U-mg of f life ,. r ‘splendid' , , and ,
‘grand?’ To such a one a thing of geu
"
• of , •
uine merit is no more importance .
r A grand scene is no more attractive
than a common garden, for both are,
to the ordinary mind splendid and
grand. A beautiful land-scape by
Duncanson or Noble makes no deeper
impression upon the mind than the
daub of a school-girl amateur. Such
persons have no discretion —th? sense
of criticism in them is dead—they are
mere stupid flatters! And the truthful
proud man scorns to ask their ad vie,
however susceptible he may be to the
blandishments of pruis*-. No. If y»u
would have your opinion upon anv
subject nspected you must not open
your lips to command and
unless you aie very sure the subject
your commendation deserves the favor
you bestow.— Chicago Ledger.
Howto Pay Compliment.s
To pay a compliment is to tell
truth, and to tell it as though
meant it. And the only way to
that is to moan it. If a girl is
or accomplished ; if site plays
or rngs well, or dances well, or
well ; if, in a word, she pleases,
in the name of common
shouldn't she be told of it ?
olurt it out before everybody.
will only serve to make her feel un
comfortable and make you appear ri
dieulous. Say it quietly when
tunity offers, but say it strongly.
vey the idea distinctly and fully,
that there may be no mistake
it. But don't sav it ‘officially/
mality is about the coldest
known. More than one maiden
been made happy—say for half an
hour—by a man'* taking the trouble
to say a pleasant tiling aoout a t >il<*t
that he liked, and many ot fashiot/s
follies liave been given up by girls
when they notice a discreet
concerning them on the part of their
gentlemen friends. A bewitching lit¬
tle black-eyed beauty once said to a
gentleman ‘I like to have you say
sweet things to me, it seems to come
so easy and natural/ In general
terms, it may be said that is is always
better to say an agreeable thing than
a disagreeable on*-, better for all par¬
ties. The gallant who, when a young
lady stepped on his foot while dancing
and asked pardon, said, ‘Don't men
lion it; a dainty little foot like that
wo ilffn't hurt a daisy,' not only told
(he truth, but doubtless felt move com¬
fortable than the boor who, when ids
foot was stepped on, roared out,
’That‘s right ; climb all over me with
your groat hooofs /—Boston Trans¬
script.
A Cheerful Wile.
Better than gold to a man is a cheer¬
ful wife. But he must do his part to¬
ward making her cheerful. It is easy
for a man to marry a happy
woman. But the bride expectant, when
thought how happy she would be,
contemplated the picture of a
husband coming home cross as a bear,
and going to bed without speaking to
; she had never thought of the long
when he wouldn't cmne at
all ; or his bringing some one home to
without warning or preparation;
his awful profanity over so trifling a
as the gas bill. She had no
in fact, that there could be any
but happiness in married life,and
had determined ‘.o be happy and
distribute her happiness to those
her. It is not often her fault
doesn’t succeed. Men. as a rule,
ppt exert themselves to secure their
happiness. They know that it
requires a constant and a great effort
secure property and be secure in its
in the midst of constant commer*
changes. The cheerfulness, the
hopeful character which every
woman displays at the beginning of
is not so easily lost as a iors
; it requires but a small share of
attention, and yet so often does not
that little sharp. Therefore a word
in this connection is in order ; bo
ware of a man who doesn't know
about cheerfulness to under¬
stand its value in daily fife. Such a
man would inprove the first opportu¬
nity to giind the cheerfulness out
his home, to frighten a sunbeam into
a shadow, a d then wonder what is
the matter. Such is no better than no
;lt :id » a,i< ^ 'vfion you want a
husband, go find somebody else, smic
w *‘° "’l l g ve you at least some
chance to be happy far into the life be¬
yond the hoiiev-mocn.
Children's Time Table.
Sixty seconds make a minute,
How much good eau I do in it ?
Sixty minutes make an hour,
All the good that's in my power.
Twenty hours and four a day,
Tone for sleep and work and play ;
Days three hundred and sixty-five,
Makes a year for me to strive
Il'ght good things each day to do,
Tiiat I wise may grow and true.
‘Oi., mother, send fjr the doctor /
‘Why, my son ?‘
‘Cause that man in th*' parlor is go
to <de—sa id he would, ii sister
e d d marry him—and Jane
‘ *»hjw<>ullu t.‘
Poet* of old did Argus pnz •
Because he had a hundred < y»s ;
But sure more praise to him s dui
W ho looks a hundied ways’.wiili two.
The “Ladies* Man***
% llis air a'" 1 S“ ;t > the “Ur.-fash
ionablestyle of his clothing, the killing
Cllrl nf mustache, the Took-and
cspression>f Iris simpering face,
of small lait, and snudiy
otllCT »«'■» ‘" d tokena of » P lwtl ' orj
of .unity, a. d laain, you may distiii*
S uish at a glance the individual who
P' nmes himself off upon being a ‘ladies*
man/ His belief iu his own irresisti
bility is written all over him. And, to
say the truth, your ladies* men have
some ground for their self-conceit. It
,s indubitable that girls do sometimes
fl111 in love ' or wllat th '* s "M >0Se tu
l>» love, with fellows who look as .1
they had walked out of the tailor's
Tishion-plates-creatuivs that by the
aid of various artists who contribute
to ,he <make U P' of huraan popinjays
have been converted into superb sam
pi* s of what art can effect in the way
of giving men an unmanly appearance.
The woman who marries one of these
flutters is to be pitied; for, if she has
any glimmerings ot oommon sense,
and a heart under her bodice, she will
discover that her dainty has no more
of a man's spirit in him than an auto¬
matic figure on a Savoyard's hand
organ. But a woman worth a true
man’s love is never caught by any such
•» specimen of ondmental hollow-ware.
A sensible woman is, in fact, a terror
to ‘.’adies* men,* for they are aware that
her penetrating eye looks through
them, and sounds the deblhs of their
emptiness. She knows the man, indeed
from the trumpery counterfeit, and
has no touch of the mackerel propen¬
sity to jump at a fl isliy bait in her
wholesome composition. The lady's
n an should be permitted to live and die
a. bachelor. His vocation is to dangle
after the sex, to talk soft nonsense^
to carry shawls and fans, to astonish
boarding-school miss s and to kindle
love flames as evenescent ami harmless
as the fizz of a squib. If however he
must needs become a Benedict, l*-t bin.
be yoked with some vain and silly flirt
liis natural counterpart. So shall the
law oi fitness not be outraged.
Telephone For Boys.
Take two empty oyster cans and a
stout, smooth string. Let a small hole
be made in the bottom of each can,
through which the string, say fifty or
a hundred feet in length, is passed and
secured. r lh -n let the experimenters
set up their talking telegraph by
choosing their stations as far apart as
the tightly-stretched string will per¬
mit, and while <-ne of the operators
holds liisjear to one of the cans, and
his companion his mouth to the other
end of the line, they wdl find that a
conversation cap be carried on so that
low tones and even a whisper will be
distinctly’ perceptible. What usually
most astonishes those who make this
experiment for the first time is, that
the sound of the voice does not seem
to come from the person at the end of
the string but to issue from the can
itself, which is held to the ear of the
listener. This at fir^t appears to be
a deception, but it it is really not so.
The ear tells the exact truth. The
voice tliat is heard really comes from
the can that is held to the ear of the
hearer. The voice of the speaker
c immuiiieates sound-producing \nbra
tions to the walls of the can with which
his voice, is in immediate contact.
These vibrations are communicate! to
the string, but so changed that they
do not affect tin' ear. A person may
stand by the string while the sound
is passing, and yet hear nothing. At
the other end of the string however,
these hidden vibrations reproduce
themselves as sounds.
The Egyptians and Jews were
among the first people who followed
farming. The Greeks and Romans
made many improvements in the cul¬
tivation of ths soil, The German and
Engl sh slill farther improved the art.
Later, the French have ma le many
valuable advances. In 1812 Sir Hum¬
phrey D-ivy delivered the first course
of agricultural lectures in the cjty of
London. But it was reserved to Lei*
big and his worthy followers, to ad
vance the science of agriculture to the
prominent position it now holds. B it
no nation has done m<»re for the im
pruvement of agiicnltinal implements
than America.
Mu may c.-me and men miy go,
the seasons m iv follow each -ther in
regular sure ssio <, dust may return lo
du.-l, the su I may continue to shine
UlJ °" t le JUSt and u,, J“ st * : * ut l!,e
world has yet to discover t - - man
who his eaten a plate of soup £ ul not
burned his
Waste of Time.
The word is full of useless people —
mere idlers who are of no practical use
in the world. Eating drinking and
sleeping constitute their chief employ¬
ment. With such provender made sure
they are quite satisfied. Habits of in—
dustry they have not ; and, moreover,
j t j g n0 part of their plan to do any.
thing that is of practical value. They
occasionally make a pretense of being
busv by devoting themselves io hunt¬ ‘
ing, fishing or card-playing. This is
what they call a good time. An mil
selfishness is the supreme law of
whole being. Woman, in her way
generally more delicate and less offen¬
sive, is sometimes amenable to the
same charge. There are some good
for-nothing women, as well as men—
too many of them lor the credit of the
sex, with lives practically as use¬
less as they are aimless. They can
manipulate the little punctilios of what
they regard as fashionable life. They
know how to spend money. No one
can beat them in using an opera-glass
or in laying plans for empty and prof¬
itless amusement. In the matter of
mere show they are finished experts.
And there their usefulness—if useful*
ness it may be called—-ends. They
are feminine idlers, taxing the world
for their subsistence, but returning
nothing to if. Estimate all such per¬
sons, of both sexes, at their true valu**
ation, we do them no injustice in say¬
ing that they are not really worth the
garments they wear or the bread that
it takes to feed them. Existence thus
conducted is a gross imposit on upon
humanity. By the death of such peo¬
ple the world loses nothing, since it has
fewer paupers to support.— Chicago
Ledger,
Shooting with the Long-bow.
It was on a long East India voyage
in a French ship that on a pleasant
evening some sailors were spinning
.yarns as a pastime. One of them had
been wrecked. The ship went down
under the crew, and sent them sudden¬
ly afloat. He said :
‘After swimming ten hours, I felt
myself about going down, when I saw
a cask rolling about iu the heavy sea.
I mounted it astride, an.I waited to
see what would turn up. At the end
of three days I saw a sail; it was a
French ship. I sang out, ‘ahoy ! ship
ahoy !’
‘Who are you?' the helmsman sang
out.
‘Where are you bound VI cried.
*T’o Calcutta.’
‘That's a pity. I am bound to B.ita
via, and I will wait !',
Another sailor prit la parole and
sajd :
‘I have a chusin who is a partner in
a great commercial house in tbe north
of France. He met at a tavern one
day a me chant from Provence, who
asked him, ‘are you doing much bus-'
i i ess V
‘An enormous bus ness/ he replied.
’But what—what do you call enor¬
mous ?’
‘Well, to give you an Idea of it, I
will tell you that in our correspond¬
ence our house uses two thousand
francs' worth of ink in a year/
•Ta ! what's that ?‘ said the other.—
‘Our house at Marseilles saves every
year four thousand traucs in ink just
by omitting the dots to the :'s.‘
Irish FntiBoes.
It is a good plan in digging Irish
potatoes for use, where the ground is
already ff rti e enough, to throw two
or three small ones back into each bed
covering them as you go. Early in
fall, say about the first of September,
plow or spade up the earth around them
and you will have a fall crop with
very little labor. Fhe early rose is
good for this purpose, but the Good
rich still better. Thus left in the soil
v r here it is dry sandy loam, they self. I
dom rot .—Southern Farmers Monthly. \
--- !
For colic in muses the following is
one of the best remedies: Give half a
of spirits of camphor, in a pint
warm water (cold wifi do). If not
relieved in fifteen minutes, repeat the
A correspondent of an agricnl- i
tural paper said lie ‘had never known ;
it to fail in a practice of twenty years/
Ii re people—th ise who never laugh
at their own jokes. Men who who- 1:
a bu!>y cenago gracefully—People j
who w.J adiu t they nevi-r read i
S-.ake-oe *r.-. Men w,u ’ ca " P a< s a
,lice display ..l adies' hosiery without;
looking. G.» ft who wouldn’t risk being t
wrecked da the sea of matrimony |
rainer than paddle their own canoe.
XO. >0.
it&Thumgre
>*
1
A wild goose thinks cold weather is
dying time.
A retired fireman calls himself au
cx-purt.
Dried apples are used for desert at
a j| swe ll parties,
Song of the ready revolver —*A
charge to keep I have.*
No one ever found fault with a mu
sic box for putttitig on airs.
We are bull-dozir.g old England
with the beef of young Texas.
1 he heart knoweth its own bitter—
ness likewise the persimmon.
A pair of ears that go on a head of
civilization—pioneers and frontiers.
Statisticians affirm that counties
raising the most onions liave the few¬
est marriages.
A lady, describing an ill-natured
man, says he never smiles but be feels
ashamed of it.
‘We’ll let the subject drop/ as tho
° iave lo h^cts sald when the police*
chased them.
The grocer offered him a frozen ham,
hut lie said he'd rather not tike the
cold shoulder from any one.
A Bangor dog eats hard soap.
That's the story, but it's hard to decide
\\ liethei oi not the lye is all in the
soap.
Married men are apt to forget that
if it had-not been for their mothers in.
law they would not havo their wives.
A wag suggests that you can al¬
ways tell at what station a man gets
on in New Jersey by fhe c dor of the
mud on his boots.
A great many men are of the opin¬
ion that a certain quantity of wine is
good for a man. It is the uncertain
quantity tint hurts him.
Unappre-i itive.listener : ‘Music of
the future, is it? Ti en in the future
it would be more phasing if it were
for the future/
1 he upstart tint rose to a point of
‘ r a ^er sitting down upon the ag
£ K ‘ssive cn, t °1 a pin was assured by
ck dl Point was well ta
ken ’
.......... - ^ -*
Young lady to scientific Teuton :
‘But I thought you were also a phy¬
sician, Dr. Ku x Ischneitzer/ Ah, yaw !
I am a medicine, but I do not oper¬
Spilkins saw a well known leader of
ejected from his hotel the oth
night, whereupon he remaiked that
he had seldou seen a more stylish tura
A Chattanooga darkey, who was
one ol a jury which failed lo convict
for want of evidence, explained to his
brethren that the culprit was ‘released
s’picion.’
« m
What this country most needs at
present is a species of honey bee
which will work all winter and give us
spring honey. The idea of a bee loaf¬
ing away,six months of the twelve is
Already it is announced that the
^ icdL the Fruit crop for another sea«*
’ s 1 n,ncd . Shippers will probably
the bottom of their baskets rais
d another inch or so on the strength
it.
TV iili.ini sends a letter to thi> office
’ n o ,IS to explain what is a dep’css.
currency, William, an awfully vle
one, is tfie buttons iuimd in a
hurch-collectiou basket.
An Dish wa.t r at a Christmas gatli
at an up town hotel eomp'iment
a turkey in the hdiow-ug •nanm-r:
'Tajth it’s not six hours since tiiat tur
key was walking around his real es
tale widths hands in his pockets nev
dreamt..* what a pretty invit'.shun
le', 1 have b* jinc you gentlemen at