Newspaper Page Text
volume til
ft f) I'# TE'¥,
Written for the Eastman 1 imes.
XO A DEW-DROP.
BY MATJEICB HARLEY.
At ning’s stilly hour you hie
from your secret home in the azure sky ;
? the mossy dell and the roses’ bower,
Merest 1 flight falls on the sleeping flower.
p j] e fj ie eyes of all are in slumber sealed,
loo SJ >riiikle your pearls o’er the grassy field ;
And over the laden harvest plain,
th diamonds deck the yellow grain.
:: the fairy light of the moon yon sport,
, n( j (he jasmine tiroath of the breezes court;
| when the beuus of the morning fall,
> u rest in the snade of the ivied wall.
you play on the grass by the river s brink,
And pe«pon the spot where tlio sunbeams drink!
Ymi trip o’er the mead, and glance in the dell,
Aud hide in the violet’s secret cell.
Till the orb of day in his chariot rides
Through llw orient gates, o’er the ocean tides,
Wlien like silver sheen, an his golden ray,
You hie to your ethur abodes away.
JliY 22d, 1879.
MISCELLANY.
FOR THE FAIR SEX.
The Cliarm of True Marriage.
Our advanced theories of divorce
sin] free love making the matrimonial
merely a partnership to be
ssolvod at pleasure, whatever else
vj be said in their favor, strike a
iadly blow at an element in it which
HH8 meant perhaps to be supreme
tWe all others. What is the sweet
t>tcharm of all true marriage, what
:>■ greatest advantage, what ttie most
I prate happiness, take life through
which it brings to the human heart?
I ISoUkiksh and splendor of its early
1 re; !i .'lie richer development which
itifesto the character; not even
tie children who are gathered around
tsdmiie. No but the intimacy and
^liability ot its c< mpanionship; the
i t that it gives those who enter in it
fad)in the other and through all
•’■"Ms and changes,a near and blessed
8tand-l>y. Marriage in some of its
aspects is doubtless the source of an
*ense amount of unhappiness crime
justice, blight and down dragging
le °l the most perplexing institution
‘delyliaw to deal with; only the blin
Wsentimentalist will deny that. On
Mother hand however, and that is
mere sentiment, but sober fact, ot
Mhe evidence of God’s goodness to
^baud in this lower world, all the
f r ° that He cares for us, not only
T ' :!l the wisdom of a Creator but with
' interest a Father, there is none
1 leequal to his sending human be-
3 into the arena of life, no to fight
‘'battles, win its victories and endure
’ vl 'rrows alone, but giving them, as
• %° fourth out of their child-hood's
■ !< \ \ relation in which each two of
are hound together with the
c s€st of all ties, live together under
same roof, have their labors, their
j'aay, their interests their parental
1 'ns all in common, and are mov
stund by ( > a ch other hand to
4 ■ * an(1 heart to heart, in every sor
L m fortune, trial and stormy day
-at earth bring. It is ideal, is
an
l0 t a lira }'$ realized in full, which is
evert now, amid all that is said
\\\ in.u riago miseries, more widely
uH l )s ^ ian a '‘y other happiness.—
% Afternoon.
‘^ n ^wended Proposition#
“'.cared in Bodie, that city of
V, wealth and wickedness. A
>vas 'a trial in the Justice's court
a'g a recess one of the interest
part >os approached a juror and
t *.b hooss, if that suit goes agin
, 4 high onto $2,000 loser in mins
‘i'city. Now, I'll give you an
$500 tc hang that jury.’
n Corruptible scion of Amejican
. v reflected a momen and replis
P d bp a cussed onsartin job for
“ a
to tuk. in a rope and strangle that
Y §’ I an d I'm afraid afore I got
~" niout dance a jig under it
butif its all the same to you,
i 'Ut wade in tliar with aix
* a
M ‘ an> W ’P6 the crowd. That
1 out
niove to my hand than hang
~ job could be done quicker,
dim factory, produce the con
sr, e . ^ ll tf) w whc °fk. 1 I alius makes an
VW ( Sev ,) " Pits a chance.
’ Seutinel.
r> BG ^ A H M W II J *
I
( r
“MORNING-GLORY.”
An Old-Fashioned Love Story in
Prose.
by “a counpry parson."
I wish you might have seen her on
that morning long ago. I don’t be¬
lieve Van Dyck himself ever put on
canvas a more winsome court beauty
io all his life than Morning-Glory
The sturdy Vermont hills were all
about her, and the river aud the val¬
ley were not far away. The day had
hardly, begun, but the men were car¬
rying in the brimming pails of milk
arid the cows were sauntering down
the lane with that delightful air of
reverie which a cow knows so well
how to assume. White-Face and Star
ry-Eye and Ruby and a dozen others
leisurely wnisking their tails at the
early fly, stopping a moment to snatch
an inviting bunch of grass, crunching
the appetizing morsel as they went
on.
The September morning was as
fresh and fair as the young girl walk¬
ing down the beaten path of the lane.
1 he sunlight only made the gold of her
hair more dazzling; not “frizzed'' or
“banged,' but in a single coil, like a
Greek statute, it rested like a crown
above the brown eyes; the carriage
was free and graceful, the step elastic;
the whole movement would have in¬
dicated perfect health if you had not
seen the face. Sixteen summers like
the present had drilted past her in her
mountain home. No, not like the
present, for Morning-Glory had sud¬
denly come into her birthright—she
was a woman. A child last night,
enjoying with a child’s zest her coun
try life; to-day, with a woman's hopes
and a woman's fears. How subtle
the change and how quick it comes!
Woe be to him who rudely stirs the
sleeping waters. She lifted the bars
to their place as in a dreaui, the fine
contour of her shapely figure well ex¬
pressed in the act, and leaned upon
them with bowed head a moment, and
then watched the fog lazily climbing
the valley.
'A penny for your thoughts, Morn¬
ing-Glory/ came from an adjoining
lot, and a young man cleared the wall
at a bound as she started at his voice,
and joined her in the walk home. A
summer-morning idyl, you say, of no
interest to those who have g<>t beyond
such nonsense. But soft, dear sir! I
saw a gray head furtively wipe away
a tear the other day, Chambers' Mis*
cell any in his hand, and only a love
story which touched his heart. The
young man was spending his vacation
at her father's farm. He had just
graduated at college, and would en
ter the seminary in the fall. Mean¬
while he held his own with the other
hired men in the long day's work.
‘He'd wilt/ they said. ‘These college
lamed chaps can't stand much.' But
they were glad to cry quarter as he,
with a quiet smile, struck out with
what lie styled the Grecian curve, in
the meadow, the first day of mowing.
‘If the gods mowed like that they
must have been uncommon tough,'
said one of the men, as he started at
Ransom Sayle3 bowl away through
the tall grass. That settled the men;
they respected muscle, and Sayles had
not dipped his oar in the river without
toughening the arm that handled it
They soon learned to respect the man
Deacon John Raymond had morning
‘prayers/ even in the busiest season,
and when on the second morning after
his arrival, Sayles was invited to lead
the devotion, Sam, one of the hired
men, said ‘he prayed like Jehosopbat.’
Sam’s Bible knowledge was limited >
and he doubtless got the names a lit
tie mixed, but he told the men, when
they were grinding the scythes in the
shed,‘that he talked as if he was ac¬
quainted with the Almighty, and it
was powerfully well done.'
That was three months before. Ran
som Sayles had done his day's work.
Sometimes walking in the gloaming
with Carrie Raymond—Miss Carrie,
he hud called her at first, with stately
courtesy, but now he had christened
her ‘Morning-Glory'—they had talk
ed of books, authors, art, morals—a
thousand tilings that hover in the air
before the eyes of youth-but never
of love. Morning-Glory wanted noth
ingofit. She was satisfied with tier
present, and Ransom. AVell.it was
the old story. He knew now what the
grand passion was that stirred the old
Greeks. This mountain flower, with
the dew on its crimson petals, that had
never felt the scc.rch.ng sun, twining
about the old homestead, how he had
EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 1S79.
watched it, wishing he might put out
his hand and take it. But Sayles bad
iron in his blood. He was penniless,
with an aged mother looking to him
for care. And she was only a child—
this girl—in years. Ho had tiis future
yet to make, and she^ womanly is she
was, might not bear the strain of wait¬
ing; and then, too, frank as she was
in all their talks, he could never pene
trate beyond a certain maidenly re¬
serve. She would never give herself
to any man unasked; he doubted what
an answer would bo, for this country
girl, in her sweet simplicity, was
worthy of the best love the world con¬
tained.
And so he went back to big work
and made no sign. If the vision of a
goldendiaired girl, with beseeching
brown eyes,mixed itself up with Greek
exegesis and Hebrew iciorns, lie dog¬
gedly applied himself to the work in
hand and tried to forget. But ‘Morn*
ing-Glory' had had the chrism laid
upon her lips, which must become in
woman’s lives heavenly manna or ap
pies of Sodom. From no fault of Haus
som Sayles, remember, for lie tiad ob^
served the strictest honor; he had not
allowed himself a word, or touch, or
look, that might mean love, and she
thanked him in her heart tor it in the
years that followed; but she knew now
lie had her heart unasked, and he
henceforth should be the precious se¬
cret of her life. Many a woman has
lived and died unwedded, the perfume
of her life the only evidence of a h’d
den sacrifice. Morning-Glory’ round¬
ed into womanhood, the bloom grew
brighter; culture added to simplicity,
self-possession to grace; her character
shaping itself into womanliness as she
thought what he would admire and
honor; expecting nothing,hoping noth¬
ing, but having one summer among
her choicest memories.
Three years had passed. Sayles had
graduated ; declining larger fields, he
had accepted the charge of a small
country church. Thu mother who had
cheered him on saw him a minister
the gospel, aud thou the Lord called
her home.
But Ransom was in debt for Ids ed¬
ucation, and his sturdy independence
would not allow him any luxury of
life unt.il that obligation pvas met. If
he grew weary at times, he only inter¬
ested himself more nearly in his peo¬
ple ; but sometimes a September morn¬
ing on a hillside farm would rise up in
memory before him, and a fair face
with a strange witchery in the brown
eyes would cause almost a sob to break
from his lips.
But all sacrifices have an end. Ran¬
som Sayles would not be hampered by
a debt. He had waited until the child
had blossomed into the woman. The
last payment on his debt had been
made,his vacation had come; he would
try his fate, for be was not over-con¬
fident of his power of inspiring love in
the heart of any woman.
The farm house was in sight as dusk
came on at the close of an August
day. ‘Sam’ was carrying the la-t pail
of milk as Sayles came up. ‘Ah, Mr.
Sayles,' said Sam, ‘I am right glad to
see you.’ 'How is Deacon Raymond?'
asked Ransom; he had almost said
‘Morning-Glory/ for it seemed but a
day since he went away. ‘The dea
con is well/ said Sam, hesitatingly
looking askance at Sayles; ‘but Miss
Carrie met with an accident. Old
Tom’—and Sam grumbled out some
thing almost profane—‘ran away.’
Ransom Sayles turned and entered the
house; nothing was changed; the fam
ily were at tea, but Morning-Glory
was in a great arm chair in the front
room, before you reach the kitchen at
the end of the long hall. Ransom
shuddered as lie stood on the threshold,
he knew not why, for he was not a
superstitious man, then opened the
door; she was facing the west and ev_
idently thought it some of the family,
The setting sun lighted up the room
and fell upon her hair. There flashed
tljrou ^ h his niind the figure of the
crown which Revelation speaks of,
and theu lje stood b N her side; she
turned her head, the eyes softened by
sorae tender memory; her face flush
ed in a moment, and she put out her
som.' hand. What 1^ was about thinking me?' of you, asked, Ran
he as
» ll,e y bad m( 't the day before.
‘M hy, don t you know you said once,'
and she laughed softly, that you would
be true to your conviction of duty, ■
even though it cost the sacrifice of a
lifetime?' She had never called him
Ransom before, and they bad not met
for three years, lie had become much
more ot a man, and she, as she half re-;
clined there, into what a ripe, beautN
ful woman she had developed! lie
had done well to wait, and what a ten¬
der, trusting air she had. ‘But what
about the accident?' he asked anxious¬
ly. She grew a little sober, said the
doctor would be in again to-morrow,
and changed the subject.
That evening was one to be remenis
bered long after. lie told his love,
and she, with shy reserve, revealed
her heart; but there were strange
pauses on her part all the evening
through, and when he bid her good¬
night he thought, as lie kissed her,
there were tears on her face.
The morning brought the family
physician while Ransom was out on
tie hill refreshing his memory with
familiar scenes. When he returned
the doctor had gone. ‘What did he
say?' 'Shall I tell you V she replied
to his question, as she turned Her face
away. ‘The accident was severer than
you know; there is no hope; it is only
a question ot time.’ ‘But you are so
fresh and blDoming/ he gasped. ‘I
was in perfect health when it occurred.
It is internal, but there is no help/
Perhaps this old-fashioned tale might
end here, as what we call poetiejus
tice is violated in the sequel, but real
life takes littie account of poetic jus¬
tice in her reckoning.
Ransom Sayles had studied belles
lettres and divinity in preparation for
his work of saving men; but as he
waited in those autumn days, knowing
that only the remembrance of the days
that were dead would soon be his, he
learned obedience by the tilings which
he suffered. He saw the rich, rare lite
fade away, an argosy of priceless
wealth sail into the mist; saw how
rich it was freighted for years of work,
and that it was his very own, and then
roust needs say farewell ! There was
no weak sentiment about these two
souls as they stood at the parting of a
final voyage for one. I have done
my work ill in sketching this man, if
you think he gave up or only half lived
after this. So fast he grew in these
few weeks that when ‘Morning-Glory'
was laid under the daisies he comfort
ed the people an I read the simple S»T
vice. The stricken parents found in
him a son of consolation. And he
went forth to rare achievements in
helpfulness to men, inspired by h : s
love for the Morning-Glory which
bloomed on high.
A Beautiful Picture.
The man who stands upon bis own
soil, who feels that by the laws of the
land in which he lives —by the laws
of civilized nations—he is the rightful
and exclusive owner of the land which
he tills is by the constitution of our
nature under a wholesome influence
not easily Imbibed from any other
source. He feels—other things being
equal—more ’strongly that another,
the charactor of a man as lord of the
inanimate world. Of this great and
wonderful sphere winch fashioned by
the hand of God and upheld by his
power, is rolling through the heavens
a part is his—his from the central sky.
It is the space in which the generation
before moved in its round of duties,
and he feels himself connected by a
visible link with those who follow lnm
and to whom he is to transmit a home
Perhaps his farm has come down to
him from his lathers. They have gone
to their last home! But he can trace
there foodtsteps over the sc.nes of his
daily labors. The roof that shelters
him was raised by those to whom he
owes his being. Some interesting do¬
mestic tradition is connected with
every inclosure. The favorite fruit
tree was planted by his father's hand,
He sported in childhood beside the
brook which still winds through the
meadow, The path to the vilDge
schools of earlier days lies through the
field. He still hears from his window
the voice of the Sabbath boil which
called bis father to the house of God.
and n ar at hand is the spot where
his parents lay down to rest, and
where, when his time has come he
shall be laid by his children. These
are the feelings of the owners of the
soil. Word cannot paint them—gold
cannot buy them. They flow out ol
the deepest fountains of the heart;
they are the lifesprings of a fresh,
healthy and generous national charac
ter.
-----—
A Kansas fanner purchased a re
vulver for his wife and insisted on tar
get practice, so that she could defend
the house in case of his absence. After
the ballot lmd been dag out of his leg
and the cow buried, he said he gues~
a*. sed that she’d better shoot with an J
i
Going Courting.
One of the chief compensations of
woman's life is found in the fact that
she doesn’t have to ‘go a courting.’
It must be eoufessed that in these days
the modern belle does her share of the
wooing, but she does not have to dress
up in a stifl collar and a pair of boots
a size too small for her, and walk up
to the cannon's mouth of her inamora¬
ta's family, a maiden aunt and perhaps
a dozen brothers aud sisters, and in¬
quire, in a trembling voice, ‘Is Miss
Arabella at home?'
Whenever a man goes courting
everybody seems to know all about it.
His demeanor tells the observant spec¬
tator the business he is intent upon.
He might as well placard himself,
‘I'm going a courting/ Everybody
is cognizant of it, and looks knowing¬
ly, and asks if the ‘Northern lights
were bright about one o'clock, and
how the market is for kerosene up at
Daddy Browns' and a score of other
questions out of place.
We know a young man who is
deeply, and we trust successfully en..
gaged in courting, and our warmest
sirapathies have been extended toward
him. When Sunday afternoon arrives
it is plain that something is about to
happen. He is fidgety and non-cotn
muniextive, aud cannot sit in one place
a half minute at a time. He is con¬
tinually interviewing his watch, and
comparing it with the old eight-day
coffin-shaped clock in the corner. He
looks in the glass frequently and draws
his forehead locks back and then for
ward, and combs them up and pats
them down, and is unsatisfied with the
effect throughout.
The smell of bay rum and bergamot
is painfully apparent. When ho shakes
his handkerchief musk is perceptible.
His boots shine like mirrors, and there
is a faint smell of cardamon seeds in
his breath when he yawns. He
smooths his budding moustache with
affectionate pats, and feels his invisi
, ble side-whiskers continually to make
1 sure they are there, a fact which is not
established to outside observers by a
j sense neekt of without |siglit. finding He tries just on the all thing his
; es
he wants.
Then he lias spasms of brushing his
coat, that commences with violence
and lasts until one grows nervous for
fear the broad cloth will not be able
to stand the friction.
He declines soup that day for din
tier. lle says it is because he is not
hungry, but we know it is because
there are onions in it, and onions, as
every one knows, do not sweeten one s
breath to any great extent.
If spoken to suddenly, he starts and
blushes, and looks as guilty as if he
was stealing something, and directly,
if one does not speak to him, he goes
back to the delightful occupation ol
staring at nothing and waiting for ihe
hour hand to creep around to seven.
Curving Drunkenness.
Dr.d'Ungcr says: ‘I take a pound of
the fresh-quill red Peruvian barl, and
soak it in a pint of diluted alcohol.
Then I strain it and evaporate it down
to half a pint. I gave the drunken
man a teaspoonful every three hours,
and occasioidly moisten his together
between the doses the first and second
days. It acts like quinine. The pa¬
tient can tell if he is getting too much
The third day I generally reduce the
dose to half a teaspoonful, then down
fi ,tcon ^ ro ps» ten and five drops.
The medicine is continued from five to
I fifteen days; in extreme cases thirty
days. Seven is about the average.'
The bark is known among druggists
aS Cinchona Rubra - The <Ii«coverer
tlie rerae, b’ s*ys that ot the many
5uin( ^ reJ ca s^s treated by him he has
n 0t known an ent ’ re fail are. He con.
s ^ . ers {orm of drunkness that
r£ J 8u1ts fr° m an insatiable appetite a
dlsease > and treats it as such. When
tl ‘ c a PP etlt e !>as been wholly destroy
ed ho cousnlers that the patient is rad
lcal! ^ cured * He will not drink if he
h{ *s no desire, or if he has a strong
rP I mgnance to liquor .—San Francisco
BvUetm -
--*•—
A married gentleman every time he
met the father of his wife complained
of the ugly temper and disposition of
bis daughter. At last upon one o.
casiou the old gentleman
vvearv ot the grumbling of his son-in¬ '
law and exclaimed- ‘loa ” are right,
gbota an impertinent jade, and if I
here any more complaints of her I will
disiohei it her.' The husband made no
more complaints. j
Equality of Mail ami Woman.
There ’ as lately been a great deal of
talk respecting the equality of the man
and the woman, and even of the wo¬
man’s superiority over the man. The
reader is, perhaps, acquainted with
Tuussemal’s masterpiece. ‘The Pas¬
sional Physologh of Birds; or, the
Theory of the Ger-falcon,’ in which he
tries hard to establish the female’s per
eminenoe over the male, in every spec¬
ies of species, humanity included, not
withstanded its default of plumage.
But the equality of men and women
is a question which it is absured to dis
cuss, because it is insoluble. If the
Creator had made of rnau and woman
one single and identical being, accord¬
ing to Plato's dream, there would
exist between them a perfect equality*
and the world would be wearried out
of its life.
But the Creator made man aud wo¬
man two and not one; two in body and
two in mind; and, at the same time,
He ordained them to live together.
It is precisely the diversities of men
and woman which constitute the at¬
traction they have for each other, and
pleasure they experience in each other
society. Change a woman into a man
and you murder love; there remains
nothing but friendship, and you have
destroyed the romance of life.
The question, then consists in see¬
ing woman's special vocation in the
collaboration of the common household
and in elevating her in the directiou of
her destiny.
And by woman is not meant the
hard-working serf wiiose intellect is
merely in the way of formation, but
woman in her complete development
and in full possession of all her facul¬
ties. Now, to put the man and the
woman each in their place, it suffices
to perform the comparative antomy of
their mental powers. With man the
judicial faculties predominate; with
woman, the sensive. Man reasons,
woman feels; he generalizes, she ana¬
lyzes; he discovers, she observes.
Providence has created man and wo¬
man at the same time like and unlike,
like, for the maintenance, through the
agency of both, of the unity and, con¬
sequently the equality of the human
race; and unlike, for the accomplish¬
ment, by their differences of organiza¬
tion, of the different tasks required .by
the complications of society.
It is thus that among the male sex
itself, Providence has weighed out the
different portions of imagination and
intelligence with a different balance;
that she has inscribed upon the fore¬
head of one the stamp of ‘artist;’ aud
on that of another the title ol ‘savant.’
But poet or engineer, each marches
side by side with the other; for each
without distinction renders service to
society. In fact, what general meas¬
ure could be invoked to set art over
science or science about manufacturing
industry?
What is true between men and men
is also true between men and women.
One assuredly diffors from the other in
the intellectual chemistry of the soul,
as mucli as in the geometrical curves
of the bod 3 T ; but this diversity of na¬
ture implies, for either of the parties
concerned nothing more than a diver¬
sity of functions. It is the principle
of the division of labor.
Let man, who has the tougher sin¬
ews. expose himself to wind and sun¬
shine. Let woman, whose frame is less
robust, keep house, and poeticise it by
her presence. Thus, with unity of
destiny and diversity of duties, we
have man aud woman in their myster¬
ious harmony.
An Irishman, being on trial for some
offense, pleaded ‘Not guilty,’ aim the
jury’ being in the box, the district at¬
torney proceeded to call Mr. Furk
irsou as a witness. With the most ut¬
most iunocence, Patrick turned bis
face to the judge and said:
'Do I understand your honor that
j Mr. Furkirsou is to be a witness
j again8t me again ,
The judge said dryly, 'ft seems so
<\y ell> then if^yer' yer' honor, I plade
guilty sure, honor plase; not
because I am guilty, for I’m as inno
cent as yer honor’s babe, but jtat on
account of savin' Mr. Furkirson's
sow!.'
Hie most intoxicating- watering
place in the United States is undoubt*
edly ciai Advertiser' Old Rye Beacb Illint Y Commer.
’-Philadelphia' How Marth's
Vineyard Bulletin -
Newport lias claims.
NO. 37,
WIT AND HUMOR .
The man w1k> chased a sailor said
he was making a tar-get.
Leading strings —Those of the first
fiddle.
Sweeping conclusion—The train of
a ladies'dress.
Married life ofton begins with rose
wood and mahogauv aud ends with
pine.
Blessed is the bee-holder, for it cells
its owu honey and saves the commis¬
sion.
The man who frequently makes the
remark that he is a gentleman is fear*
ful tnat people will not otherwise find
it out.
It is one of the curious things of the
woi id that a male hair—-dresser often
dyes an old maid.j
If you don't want to shuffle off this
mortal coil in a hurry, avoid playing
with a pack of mules.
When is a Chinese the most like a
vegetable? Why, wkeu a que cum¬
bers his head, of course.
It doesn't take a schoolboy long t-o
evince a love for a division, provided
another boy owns the apple.
A little girl after profound reflection
sitting in her little chair by the fire,
asked: “Mamma, how does a step¬
mother walk ?'
There are striking occasions when
you can easily imagine that a man
much bigger than you are is beneath
your notice.
We love to lie beneath the shade
and quaff the cooling lemonade, and
also feel the cheerful ants crawl slow¬
ly up your summer pauts.
The Yonkers Gazette has an article
entitled, “What do wo eat ? H That
depends. If you live in a boarding
house uo one can tell.
One of the gunners returning from
the marshes was asked if he had shot
anything*. He said—-*‘No, but 1 gave
the birds a good serenading/*
Tney were riding in the grove. She
said, “Of all the trees the elm is my
favorite ; what is yours V* Said he,
•T like yew the best/' No cards.
A Boston child remarked, after gaz¬
ing earnestly at a man who was bald,
but had heavy whiskers, *‘His was
put on upside down, wasn’t it?' %. A
The earth miking but three hun¬
dred and sixty-five revolutions a year,
the Ol City Derrick says that it is
away behind Mexico in that sort of
business.
W hy is a ton of coal like a popular
actor who delays appearing before an
impatient audience of 2,000 persons ?
Because it makes twenty hundred
weight.
A German poet says that a young
girl is a fishing-rod ; the eyes are the
hook, the smile the bait, the lover the
fish, and marriage the butter in which
he is fried.
“That's what I call tripping the
light fantastic tow," said the boy, as
his blonde-haired sister fell over the
rope he had stretched across the gar¬
den walk.
A Pulaski boy recently swallowed
a penknife. Although not quite out of
danger, fie finds some consolation in
hte fact that the knife belonged to an¬
other boy.
When a woman finds she cannot
afford a uew dress she economizes by
spending as much as it would have
cost in buyinu libbon to cover the old
one up with bows.
A barber is a groat one to razor row,
—Philadelphia Item. He's always in
a scrape.—Oswego Record. And
generally gets well lathered.—Water¬
loo Obseiver. Well, that's hia bone
f iult.