Newspaper Page Text
()l/l31L III.
O
yes ani> no.
I : ]j(l not love him. Long ago
In ,Wi of Yes I gave him No.
I (lid not love him ; but to-day
I r< ad his marriage notice, l’ray
Wby was I sad, when never yet
linn my heart known the least regret
Over that whimpered No ? and why
Hewdiug the notice, did I sigh ?
(inalyst can gness the cause—
4 woman’s reason laughs at laws.
Sure, I am glad to know the wound
I gave is healed ; that he has found
I/jye's blessedness and peace ; and yet
A woman can never forget
r l he man who once had loved her ; and
And to-day I seem to see him stand
With every glance a mute caress,
Still pleading for the longed-for Yes.
His early love for me is dead—
Another lives in that love’s stead ;
And if he loves her, well as men
Should Jlove their chosen one, why, then
He must be glad that long/ago.
Instead ot Yes I gave him No.
lVrhaps this is the reason why
I read the notice with a sigh.
WE MEET AND \VK PART.
I)Y HELEN A. RAINS.
We meet and we part ; smiles and tear-drops
together
Are stmugely commingled to chocker our
way,
|a.i sunshine and shadow, in changeable
Weather,
Will follow each other like children at play.
meet; and the heart, in its first gush of
gladness,
11 1’nlivm the cheek and illumines the eye ;
I lie part; and the face wears expressions of
sadness,
II Which deepen in tears as we whisper “gootl
bye.”
We meet, anil wo part; but it is not forever!
I ho changes are working continu'ly here,
There heightens a laud where they “meet ne’er
to sever,"
How blessed to gain an inheritance there.
MISCELLANY.
fc:
The Beauty of Neatness.
I A woman may be handsome, or ve
maikubly active in various ways ; but
it she is not personally neat, she can
not hope to win admiration. Fine
clothes will not conceal the slattern.—
A young woman with her hair always
in disorder, and her clothes hanging
about her as if suspended from a prop,
baUays repulsive. Slattern is writ
k>l upon her person from the crown
j >’ head to the soles of her feel, and
t she wins a husband, he turns out, in
probability, either to be an idle
J or a drunken ruffian. The briug
‘ n o u p of daughters to be able to work,
talk and act like holiest, sensible young
"union, is the special task of all motli
ers, and in the industrial ranks there
b im p08ed also the prime obligations of
leami "g to res[)ect household work for
Ks usvu sa he, and the coinfort ot hap*
i iiit'ss ft will bring in the future.—
^ “ ’ Ilse done W0l l>y ’k sofliebody, is drudgery and ; but had it must
he better
well than ill d one.
There is i one man in the United
States who don’t want office, J. L.
Jones, of Nevada. In reply to fre
i ! ( !| t solicitations to become a candi
' Ul ^ ie publishes the following card :
b is is to give notice that I positi
iy ve«
ami emphatically decline to have
‘‘•■Jthing to do wliatever with oftice
uing—verbally phica!3y or by writing, tele
fc‘ a or telephonically, person
“ > or by proxy, straightforwardly or
1 jll %, ingeniously or disengenious
terrestrially or subterraneously,
•^mediately the or remotely, in the flesh
‘ spirit, waking or dreaming,
‘3 any agency or instrumentality,
or supernatural/
*y the death of his sister Yi )e-Pres
'dent Y heeler is left entirely alone in
the "'orld, without family, his wife
bavii died at Washington in 1875^
and no children having been born to
^ Q) a,1( J without kin, sojita
f CjUs except a
iijr| \vl J ^ / n » a ’clergyman of Pittsburg,
3C0Vere d his relationship dur
^ th e presidential campaign of 1876.
aud ^ 10 l t j s that is white and black
M all over ? A newspaper.
4
Trapped by an Heiress.
A cosier place than the big sitting
room at Hillcrest would have been
hard to find, if one had traveled from
Land's End to John O’Groat’s ; and
this eventful evening, wheu the desti¬
nies of two worthy people were about
taking definite form—two people who
had never seen each other, and who
had heard of each other so often that
both were curiously eager to meet—
on this important evening ihe sitting,
room at Hillcrest had never looked
pleasanter or cosier,
A huge fire of logs glowed like
molton carbuncle in the open fire¬
place : on the table in the centre of
the floor, whose cover matched the
glowing crimson of the carpet, was a
silver stand that held a dozen snowy
wax tapers, whose beaming light con.
trasted exquisitely with the ruddy
glow of the fire.
Beside the table, in a big, cushioned
chair, wi^h his feet thrust toward the
genial warmth on the hearth, his gay
dressing-gown sitting comfortably on
his portly form, his gold-rimmed glass*
es on his nose, sat the owner and mas¬
ter of Hillcrest, Mr. Abiah Cressing¬
ton, righ, good-natured, and fond
his own way. Opposite him was the
mistress of the place—little, shrew
faced, merry Aunt Cornelia, his sister,
who, since her widowhood, had come
to Hillcrest to make her bachelor
brother's home as pleasant as sho
could.
That she bad succeeded was very
evident by the way now in which he
looked up from a letter he had been
reading—the confidential, kindly way
in which he did it.
‘Walter writes a curious letter in
response to my invitation to come and
spend a few weeks at Hillcrest as soon
as he gets over his fatigue from his
fatigue from his ocean voyage honte> ^
after his five years' tour abroad. I' 1
read it to you/
He leaned neaa the softly-glowing
light, and began the short concise re¬
ply that Walter Austin had written
from Ids chamber in the Temple :
,You are very kind, indeed, Uncle
Abiah, to ask mo down to Hillcrest
for as long as I wish to stay, and I
cau assure you that I have beeu so
long a wanderer that the idea of a
home is very pleasant to me. But
when I take into consideration the pe¬
culiar importance you propose attach¬
ing to my visit, I am unwilling to ac¬
cept the invitation. To me, the idea
of having my fancies and inclinations
put into harness, and to feel that I
am on continual duty to win my way
into the good graces ot my second
cousin, Mabel, whom you are good
enough to wish me to marry—*
Mrs. Cornelia interrupted sharply—
‘Abiah, you never went and told
our grand-nephew that you had in
view his marriage with Mabel ?'
Her tone was energetic, almost rep
rehensive.
‘WliAnot? I certainly did. I told
him in my letter that it was a chance
for him he'd never get again, and that
he needi/t feel under such terrible ob¬
ligations to take a fancy to Phil’s lit¬
tle Mabel, but to come down and be
cousinly, and if anything should hap¬
pen, it'd be right all around.
Mrs. Cornelia knitted vigorously,
her lavender cap-ribbons quivering in
the mellow taper glow.
‘All I have to say is, you're—a fool
Abiah ! Walter is right, A young
man doesn’t like to have his fancies
under rein and whip, and the very fact
that we want him to marry will make
him indisposed to do it. You’ve made
a great mistake in the beginning.'
Mr. Cressington looked aghast at
his sister's determined face.
‘Why, I really didn’t suppose—'
‘Of course you didn’t. It’s only
your natural stupidity, you dear old
fellow! Men ar all alike. Don't I
know them like a book ? And you’ve
ruined your hopes for Mabel and Wal¬
ter at the very outset.’
Mr. Cressington started discomfited
i y,
‘I am sure I meant it all right
enough, Cornelia. I certainly wanted
Walter to know what a little darling
our Mabel is, and what a nice little
wife she would make for any man/
‘Very commendable, indeed ; only if
yon had consulted me on the letter you
sent, I should have advised you to say
nothing about Mabel, or her charms,
or her expectations. I should have
simply asked him to come and see us,
and have left the rest to Mabel's blue
eyes. You see, Abiah ?’
Ilis lips compressed slowly.
EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, JUNE 10, 1870.
‘I think I see. And my hopes in
that direction are all ruined.'
The silver needles clicked rapidly,
and the snow-white yarn came reeling
merrily off the ball under her arm.
‘Not at all. Leave that to me, and
I'll see what can be done. Trust a wo
man's wit to get even a bluudering
old fellow like yourself out of a
scrape/
She smiled and nodded, and looked
altogether so mischievous, that Mr
Cressington became quite excited over
her little mystery.
‘Do explain, Cornelia.'
And when she explained he leaned
back in his chair, with an expression
of positive awe and admiration on his
face.
‘What a woman you are, Cornelia !
I declare, it beats anything I ever
heard in the whole course of my life !’
After dark, a glorious winter day
with here and there a star twinkling in
the pale gray sky, and the lights and
fires in the Hillcrest sitting-room mak¬
ing an eloquent welcome to Walter
Austin, as he stood in the midst of the
home circle, tall, gentlemanly, hand¬
some and self-possessed.
Old Mr, Cressington was in his rich*
est humor as he led forward two
young girls.
‘Come, don't be shy, now, Walter,
this is your cousin, Mabel Cressing¬
ton, and tliis is her good friend and iu
seperable companion, Irene Vance,
come to help entertain you. My
nephew, Mr. Walter Austin, girls.
And this is Aunt Cornelia—you re¬
member well enough, hey?’
And so the presentation was merrily
gotten over, and Walter found him*,
self at home in the most pleasant
family lie had ever known.
They were remarkably pretty girls,
with deep blue eyes—although Miss
Vance’s were decidedly the deeper
blue and more bewitching—and love¬
ly ; yellow-gold hair. Walter found
himself admiring the style of Miss
Vance s coiffure before he had known
her an hour ; and when he went up to
his room that night he felt as if be¬
tween the two, roguish Mable and
sweet little Irene, he would never
dune out heart-whole.
‘For Mabel is a good little darling,’
thought lie, ‘and I will take Great
uncle Abiah's advice and love
with her, and thereby secure a gene¬
rous share of the Cressington estates.
Egad ! that’s a happy thought!'
But the handsome young gentle¬
man went to sleep and dreamed, in¬
stead of Mabel’s laughing eyes, of
Irene's gentle, tender ones ; and awoke
somewhere in the middle of the night,
unable to get asleep again for thinking
of her.
Aud the after days were not much
better. Despite the golden value of
Mabel, there was something about
Irene Vance that made this headstrong
fellow yery foolishly indifferent to the
advice he bad sworn to follow.
‘Because, by Jove ! a fellow would
have to be made out of granite to re¬
sist the sweet, shy ways of such a lit¬
tle darling as Irene! And I’ll marry
her if she'll have mo, and the money
and property may go to the—dogs.
I’ve a head and a pair of hands, and
bine-eyed Irene shall not suffer !’
It was not an hour later that he
met her in the hall, carrying great
boughs of holly, with which to fes¬
toon, down the walnut staircase.
‘Give me your burden, Irene,’ said
he. ‘Why did you not tell me you
were going to gather it, and let me go
with you ? It is altogether too heavy
a burden for your arms to bear.’
lie managed to get the lovely sprays
from her arms, but it required an im¬
mense amount of tardy effort on his
part, and sky, sweet blushing on hers.
‘Answer me, Irene. Why didn't
you let me go with you ? Wouldn't
you have liked it/
lie demanded tier answer in the
most captivating, lordly waj, and sho
dropped her eyes in great confusion.
‘Y-e-s.‘
‘Then why were you so cruel to
me ?‘
‘I am not cruel to auybod. Indeed
I must go now.'
Walter placed hitnself squarely iu
the w*ay, and was looking down at
her rosetinted face.
‘No, you can't go yet, Irene, you
are cruel, or you would never deprive
one of the opportunity to enjoy the
blessedness ot your society.' His
voice lowered tenderly, and he drop¬
ped his head nearer her golden curls.
ou know I think it cruel in you to
be so distant, and shy, and reserved
with me—don't you Irene ?'
She shrank away, her lovely form
drooping like a lily, her cheeks hang
ing out their signals of distress and
confusion,
‘Oh, please don't talk so to me. In
deed I must go ! Mabel is waiting
for the holly, and she—they won’t like
it if—'
But she was a prisoner iu his tight
clasp.
‘If what ? If they find you and me
talking so confidentially together ?'
‘No! I mean if I don’t take the
holly at once.'
Walter put his arm arouod her
waist bsfore she knew what he was
doing.
‘Irene, look up, ,^You shall not go
until you let me see in your eyes if you
love me as well as I love you ! Irene,
my dear little girl, I do love you very
dearly !'
She was silent for one second, and
he saw the quiver of her red lips.
Then she raised her head slowly,
shyly.
‘You love me? Oh, Walter, what
will they all say ? Don’t you know it
is Mabel you should say that to? I
am nobody, and? Mabel is an heiress/
Walter had both arms around her
by this time, and was looking ardent¬
ly in her glowing face.
‘I know Mabel is an heiress, and a
nice little girl, and I also know you
are a darling—my darling—and the
only girl I ever asked to be my wife,
or ever shall ask ! Say yes, pet!'
His tones were low and tender, but
triumphant.
‘And you can deliberately give up
so much for only just me ?’
Her wondrous eyes met his bravely
now, and thrilled him with the love
light in them.
‘Only just you, my own darling!
Why, you are more than all the world
to me. Come, we will go and tell Un¬
cle Abiah at once. Just one kiss first
—you must 1'
And he had more than one or two,
before lie Ie1 her, blushing, with tears
trembling on her lashes, like diamonds
on a golden thread, to ncle Abiah,
who sat in his library with M"S. Cor¬
nelia, industriously looking over a re
ceipt book. They looked up in sur
prise as Walter marched in, Irene on
his arm, a picture of confusion.
‘If you please, Uncle Abiah, I want
your blessing and cordial consent to
receive this little girl for your niece. I
love her, and she loves me.’
Uncle Abiah looked shrewdly over
his glasses at Mrs. Cornelia.
‘Well, sister, what shall we say to
this youth’s demand ?’
A broad smile of perfect delight
was on her mei ry face.
‘Say ? Why, tell them yes, and wel¬
come ; and let them know their Aunt
Cornelia isn't a fool if their Uncle
Abiah is/
Walter looked on astonished, and
felt Irene’s hand tremble on his arm.
‘What is it, dear
She smiled through her tears as she
looked into his enquiring eyes.
‘Oh, Walter, I am afraid you will be
angry, I am Mabel after all, and—
and—‘
‘And you have made love to your
cousin, the heiress, in spite of your¬
self my boy. So Hillcrest is a fore¬
gone fate, after all, eh ?‘
‘Don‘t scold, please Walter !‘ Mabel
pleaded, in a low voice, with her blue
eyes looking into his
‘As it I cauld scold you, ray love!
Since I have you, what need I care ?‘
And Mrs. Cornelia turned over the
leaves of the receipt-book until she
came to ‘wedding cake,' and avers
that she made the match herself.
TUe Dangerous Girl.
The talking girl is rarely ‘danger¬
ous/ The real ‘dangerous girl’ is she
who seems by some fine fitness to
walk into the empty room m a man’s
heart which has never been opened to
another woman, and to take up abode
there. She may not be pretty, she
need not be clever ; she may be both
of these things in a remarkable degree,
and a ball-room belle besides, and a
chef d’awvre of milliner's art into the
bargain. But she has the gift over
and beyond all those which renders
all others subordinate. She has a way
of listening, which makes the most re¬
served man man eloquent, and her lit¬
tle speeches, never audacious and rare
ly brilliant, have yet something tena¬
cious about them, and chng to liis
memory wheu he sits over his fire by
night or goes about his daily work.
Then her face, her distant and vivid
personality pursues him ; it is the girl
herself, not her bangles nor her floun¬
ces that he remembers,
Idleness.
Hard work for those who are not
used to it, and dull work for thos who
are. Idleness is a moral leprosy
which soon eats way into our heart
and corrodes our happiness, while it
undermines our health. Nothing is
so hard tc do as to do nothing. The
hypochondriacal Countess, who ‘envies
every cinderwench she sees," is much
more to be pitied thau the toiling
daudge who “sighs for luxury aud
ease/
Idleness is costly without being a
luxury. Montaigne always wound up
the year's accouut of bis expense with
the following entry* ‘Item—for my
abominable habit of idleness—a thou¬
sand livres.'
Idlers may deserve our compassion
but few things are more misplaced
than the contempt lavished upon them
as useless members of society. Some¬
times such scorn is only masked envy.
Where it is real, it is wrong. All rich
idlers may be termed the representa¬
tives of former industry and talent;
they must either have achieved inde¬
pendence by their own exertions or
those of their ancestors, for almost
all wealth can be traced back to
labor or geniii3 or meiit of some
sort. And why do the revilers of the
idle labor and toil with such perse¬
verance? That they may imitate those
whom they abuse, by acquiring an
independence and becoming them¬
selves idle. The sight of luxurious
ease is the best stimulus to exertion.
To suppose that the pleasure of over¬
taking is greater than that of pursuing
the game, may bo a mistake, but it is
beneficial one, and keeps society from
stagnating. Rich idk-rs are the ad¬
vancers of civilization, the best encour
agers of industry, the surest patrons
of literature and the arts. Nor is there
anything invidious in their good for¬
tune, for every one may aspire to rival
or surpass if, which is not the case
with hereditary distincticns.
We toil for leisure only to discover
when wo have succeeded in our object
that leisure is a great toil. IIow
quickly would the working class be
reconciled to what they term the curse
of compulsory occupation if they were
doomed, only for a short time, fo the
greater curse of compulsory idleness!
Quickly would they find that is much
better to wear out than to rust out.—
Chicago Ledger
Womanly Modesty.
Man lores the n^sterious. A cloud¬
less sky and the full blown rose leave
him unmoved ; but the violet which
bides its blushing beauties behind the
bush, and the moon when emerging
from behind a cloud, are to him sour¬
ces of inspiration and pleasure, Mod¬
esty is to merit what shade is to a fig¬
ure in painting—it gives boldness and
prominence. Nothing adds more to
female beauty than modesty. It sheds
around the countenance a halo of light
which is borrowed from virtue. Bota¬
nists have given the rosy hue which
tinges the cup of the white roses the
name of ‘maiden blush ' This pure
and delicate hue is the only paint
Christian virtue should use. It is the
richest ornament. A woman without
modesty is like a faded flower diffus¬
ing an unwholesome odor, which the
prudent gardener will throw from him.
Her destiny is melancholy, for it ter¬
minates iu shamo and repentance.
Beauty passes like the flowers of the
albe, which bloom and die in a few
hours ; but modesty give the female
charm which supply the place of tran¬
sitory freshness of youth.
A Gentleman.
Let a man, however plain in appear¬
ance, be a gentleman, and women will
smile upon bim. Save us from your
plaid-painted, bordered-vested, big
cravated, cologne-sprinkled, mustach
ed, bejeweled, braiuless exquisite !
Give us a well-informed, plainly-dress¬
ed self-possessed, intelligent mascu¬
line, perfectly at home noon all sub¬
jects, who cau argue without loss of
temper and dignity, and who never
forgets what is due to womuu.
Farm harnesses should often be
well washed in castile soap, and after
being nearly dried, treated to a libe¬
ral amount of the best neatsfoot oil,
well rubbed in. In order to per¬
form the work properly the harness
should be taken entirely apart.
Kentucky blue grass is being I irge
ly introduced into the desert lands of
Southeastern California, which are be¬
ing reclaimed by irrigation. ]
A Wife’s Love.
Woman’s love, like the rose
blossoming in the arid desert, spreads
its lay over the barren plain of the
human heart, and, while all around
is black and desolate, it rises strength¬
ened from the absence ot every other
charm. In no situation does the love
of a woman appear more beautiful
than that of a wife. Parents, breth¬
ren and friends have claims upon the
affections—but the love of a wife is of
a distinct and diflent nature A
daughter may yield her life to the
preservation of a parent ; a sister may
devote herself to a suffering brother ;
but the feeliugs which iuduce it aie
not those which lead a wife to follow
the husband of her choice through
every pain and peril that cau befall
him-—to watch him in danger, to
cheer him in adversity, and ever res
main unalterable at his side in the
depths of ignominy and shame. It is
a heroic devotion which a woman dis¬
plays in adherence to the fortunes of a
hapless husband. When we behold
her, in domestic scenes, a mere pass¬
ing creature of enjoyment, an intel¬
lectual toy, brightening the family
with her endearments and love, the
extreme joy which that presence and
those endearments are calculated to
impart, we can scarcely credit that the
fragile being who seems to hold her
existence by a thread is capable of
supporting the extreme of human suf¬
fering—nay, when the heart of man
sinks beneath the weight of agony,
that she would maintain pristine pow¬
ers of delight, and by her words of
comfort and patience lead the mur
rnurer to peace and resignation—
Chicago Ledger.
Why Gold Changes Color.
It is well known that the human
body contains humors and acids, simi¬
lar in action to, and having a like ten¬
dency towards, baser metals, aitric and
sulphuric acids have, namely, to tarn¬
ish or dissolve them, varying in quan¬
tity in different persons ; of this theo¬
ry we have abundant proof in the efs
fects which the wearing of jewelry
produces on different persons. Thou¬
sands wear continually without any ill
effect, the cheaper class of jewelry with
brass ear-wires, while if others wore
the same article for a few days they
would be troubled with sore ears ; or,
in other words, the acids contained in
the system would so act on the bass as
to produce ill-results. Instances have
occurred in which articles of jewelry
of any grade below eighteen carats
have been tarnished in a few days,
merely from the above-named cause.
True, these instances are not very fre¬
quent ; nevertheless, it is as well to
know them, and they are sufficient to
prove that it is not in every case the
fault of the goods not weanlig well —
as it is generally called—but the re**
suit of the particular constitution by
which they are worn.
Three romantic Kentucky girls have
hit upon a better method of securing
husbands than by advertising or
through ‘matrimonial agencies/ They
lived on the banks of the Ohio river,
some distsnee above Louisville, and it
occurred to them one fine day that it
would bs a good piece of fun for each
to write her full name and address on
a slip of paper, saying she would mar¬
ry the person who found it, and en¬
close the notice in a bottle and throw
it into the river. They carried their
project out and marked the wisdom of
the girls in the medium selected to
float their missive down the river.
They did not choose oyster cans or
cheese boxes, but bottles, feeling sure
the latter would be picked up and
opened, when ether small objects afloat
would be let alone. The sequel proves
they were right. One ot the girls has
married recently to the man who found
her bottle far down the river, the sec¬
ond is ongaged to birn who found hers
at Natchez, or Grand Gulf, an 1 the
third is in correspondence with the
finder of hers, who also lives a great
distance from the point where the
bottles were launched.
--- ^ ------- - ■
It is said that the croak of the raven
is equivalent to the B flat of a trum¬
pet, and that the growl of a dog cor¬
responds to the same note of a bas¬
soon, while the bark of a cur is exact¬
ly the B natural of a hautboy, and the
grunt of a hog reproduces G on the
ophicleide.
---—
When you are sitticg in your shirt¬
sleeves as the doctor comes into your
office on a raw, windy day, and leaves
the door open, you cannot resist the
thought that he is around sowing seed
for the future harvest.
NO. 25.
Wlf&THUMOR!
f i
1
Y\ hat is it the sad sea waves ?
The poll evil—election frauds.
Done with the pen—-a dead pig. J
The newest thing in socks—a baby..
Weather report—a clap of thunder.
Shirt-fronts is a thing to be studded.
Never look a gift apple in the worm
bole ;
Children are earthly idols that hold
us from the start.
What did Adam first plant in the
Gardou of Eden ? His foot.
Embrace every opportunity that of*
fere, but only one woman.
A weak mind sinks under prosperi¬
ty as well as adversity.
Statisticians affirm that countries
raising the most onions have the few*
est marriages.
The most treacherous inaemory In the
world belongs to the young man with
a new watch.
Japanese farms average about one
acre each in size, and it doesn’t take
forever to hunt up the cows in the pas¬
ture.
The college boat races have begun,
and we shall now see the result of the
winter's bard study.
More people should die on Saturday
than any .other day ; it is recognized
as the end of the week.
One of the earliest female archery
clubs we read about was when Ruth
was out in the field with her Boas and
harrows.
“Where is my boy to-night.? 1 ' is the
title of a touching new eong. We
don't know which is his favorite gate.
An Irishman said that if Queen Vic¬
toria did not die soon the Prince of
Wales would live Jong enough to see
his son made King.
An elephant was burned to death in
Detroit the other 4 ay wlnte •endeavor¬
ing to get bis trunk out a burning
building.
There is a railroad in Peru which
cost $32,0000,000, on which only one
train a week is run, and that some¬
times has but .one passenger.
Perpetual motion has at last been
accomplished. Indianapolis has a fe¬
male sexton, and now one belle tolls
the other.
Wordly friendship is like our shad¬
ow ; while we walk in the sunshine
it sticks to us, but the moment we en¬
ter the shade it deserts us.
A St. Louis man says Chicago girls
have ao advantage over all others in
berry-picking, as they can haDg a pail
on each ear and sling in the fruit with
both hands.
“When a man gets down," said an
eloquent Buffalo counsellor in sum¬
ming up a case, “to eat dinner in the
bosom of his family,"—“That is a cu*
rious proceeding for a full growo man,’*
remarked his opponent.
A man coming out of a newspaper
office with his nose spread all over his
face, replied to a policeman who in¬
terviewed him : ‘I didn't like an artis
cle that ’peai ed in the paper last week,
and I went in to see the man who writ
it, and lie was there/
The wheelbarrow is the most useful
and elegant appendage of a well-regu¬
lated back-yard. Any one coining in
contact with one on a very dark night
camiot lail to be strut k forcibly with
the .truth of this remark. He'll tum¬
ble to it at once.