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VOLUME VII.
e .(> £
[OBIOIHAL.]
“LITTLE DARLING.”
BONG AND 3HORU3.
If yrtls and Music by Maurice Harley .
Will you love me, little darling —
Will you always think of me ?
Will you keep rae iu remembrance
While I’m o’er the deep blue sea?
When the evening shadows deepen,
While the stars look o’er the lea—
While the evening breeze is sighing,
Little darling, think of me.
When the evening breeze is sighing,
the stars look o’er the lea,
]• p dji. m thy sweet remembrance,
yttle darling, think of me.
Will you love me, little darling, fled ?
When the summer days have
When the woods are sere and lonely,
And the withered leaves lie dead ;
Will you always love me truly,
Come wlmt will or come what may ?
Answer yes, my londly loved one—
Little darling, think of me.
( auii*s •When the evening breeze,” etc.
Angels guard thee, little darling,
When you slumber sweet and still,
Ai d around thy head like sunshine
Fold tlieir snowy wings at will.
And when sunset slowly lingers
Jioaud thy pathway pure and free,
Ever keep me iu thy memory—
Little darling, think of me.
VoVPMUEB 2, 1H79.
TUB
PRIZE AT OUR ARCHERY CLUB.
ItY MUS. A. M. HUMPHRY.
TV live o'clock train thundered into
the station Lindville. A young lady,
with that indescribable air that is
pronounced high-bred, stopped out
upon the platform, and looked anx¬
iously around.
‘Miss May, is it not ?
The speaker was a handsome man of
three and twenty, who had hurried
up, and now gracefully lifted his
hat,
‘Yes/ she re pi ed. ‘I am Cecil
May. And you—surely you are ‘my
tottsin—uncle Ben's son?'
'I am Lawrence Lind, uncle Ben’s
oi, at your service/ was the answer,
'in a smile. ‘You have not quite
rgotten your old playmate, I
soc.
quite/ she answered, with a
shy glance, for she had expected to
meet a rather awkward over-grown
bov, forgetting the years that had
passed ; and lo ! here was one of the
most stylish-looking men she had ever
teen anywhere.
I will take your hand-hag if you
will allow me/ he said, ‘and the check
for your/runk. H*>re, John/ address
ing the servant, ‘have these attended
to. And now, this way, if you
please.’
He led the way to a phaeton, where
a groom, m unexceptional costume,
stood at the heads of the horses.
I»y the bye, you're just in time,’
• u ’ Ka 'd, as they bowled along the
■ 11100 Hi road, ‘for the great event of
the season. We have an archcry
'l ib here, you must know ; and next
month, the ladies are to shoot for a
prize. W e e xpect you to take part,
hi fact to win the prize.'
l 0h ! but/ cried Cecil, ‘I never
drev a bow in my life.'
‘Thut‘8 nothing. You can soon
11 ”• Hll stake my life on il^’ he
with a look of undisguised admi-
1 ‘t 01 h ‘that you’ll beat them all, if
Ku will only try.
crimsoned under the gaze,
cover her embarrassment
>• is the dear old farm-house,
.
11 [11 And your mother, Doro
• aunt
My herself, at the gate.'
, a ^*0' bow many happy hours
e ^ R P e,| t at the farm-house»
,..
1 bs low ceilings, cozy rooms ana
'l ( poicbes, it seemed she
membered as re¬
it, the very ideal of com,
rt and happiness. Its thought
So owners
^even . for after the coming of the
rai road, and the foundation of Liod
b, built on their lands, and 1 making
• ’• Lmd the richest i man in the coun
h. they had clung to it still. At the
ba °k of the house old-fash
was an
Il(, l garden, and behind that
an ap
P e orchard. In the front was large
a
an ^ J are beds Y at ‘d, with clumps of lilacs,
of marigolds and lady-slip
grecnest grass in the
and at the gate, here, aunt
was waiting for her guest
evening Cecil felt as if she was
once more. Uncle Ben and
Dorothy devoured every word
0 ntteied, while James and ‘little
t jbong ^| ,t Wa8 about he ^°P^ r entranced. ‘Lit
'Jn an ar ed orphan, the
l * <!! a deceased clergyman
a bitherto ;
she had reigned queen
Pwamuunt, b" at Lindville farm. But
/S s put her hand in Cecil's and
‘T 11(j b ‘I love ’oo/ aud from that
foment was ruled iu everything by
this “cw guest.
®be iwt ♦
Those June days that followed,
went like a dream. I he mornings
were spent in practising at archery, or
in walking in the ‘woods back of the
bouse, or in reading some new book ;
and Lawrence was always Cecil’s
companion on these occasions* The
whole family soon became interested
in Cecil's proficiency in archery, and
long before the day of meeting ar
rived, predicted that she W'ould win
the prize. She had prepared a very
pretty dress for the occasion, with a
cavalier hat aud feathers, and when
she descended to the parlor attired
in it, little Lot danced around her in a
frency of admiration.
‘Oh, ’oo booliful Cecil/ she cried.
Lawrence's eyes spoke as eloquently
and when he and his cousin drove off j
aunt Dorothy looked at her husband
and said :
‘They make a handsome pair, don't
they ! and oughtn’t we to be glad it's
all coming out as we wished ?'
Everybody at the archery grounds,
pronounced Cecil the loveliest girl
thele ; everybody except Kate Kilde,
the village hello, who was naturally
jealous, especially as she had long
marked Lawrence for her own.
‘For my part,' she said, addressing
Miss Slim, and old-maid gossip, ‘1
can‘t see what there is so wonderful
about her.’
‘Nor 1/ retorted Miss Slim, who
was a toady as well as a gossip , she
looks as cold as an icicle/
‘I suppose Mr. Lmd will hardly
look at his old friends to-day/ said
Kale with a contemptuous toss of her
head.
‘We‘ll see abcut that/ rejoined Miss
Slim, 'especially if they win.'
‘Well, I shall win,' said Kate.
‘You mean you‘11 win Mr. Lind,’
said Miss Slim, with a knowing laugh;
‘he is the real prize, my dear/
But Kate made no answer. She
only turned away, with a self-satisfied
smile.
The company comprised all the
best people in the neighborhood.
Among the girls there were many that
were exceedingly pretty, though there
was no one really to compare with Ce
eii, or even Kate. There was the
usual amount of chatting, laughing
and even flirting preparatory to the
great event of the day, for there were
plenty of young men present, And
among these young men, there was
none so popular as Frank Wilde,Kate's
brother.
At first sight, he fell in love with
Cecil. lie was enraptured, therefore,
to hear his sister whisper :
‘See here, Frank,I want you to help
me ; devote yourself to Miss May, for
I have ray own game to play/
‘You could not have asked me to
do anything I like better. Introduce
me'
From that moment he attached him
self to Cecil, and when the time ar
rived for the archery, was still at her
side. It soon became plain that the
contest for the prize really lay between
Kate and Cecil. There was ger.eial
applause when it was found that there
was a tie between these two ; noth¬
ing so exciting had ever been seen at
any of these meetings. Cecil, under
ordinary circumstances, would have
been sure to win. But Frank's devo¬
tion to her fiad irritated Lawrence ;
and in retaliation had joined Miss
■Wilde, and had even stood by her
while she shot. Lawrence had been
so used to monopolizing Cecil, that he
could not brook that she should accept
even ordinary courtesies. He was, in
short, a little spoiled, aud a good deal
jealous.
All this, unjust as it was, had its ef¬
fect on Cecil. She grew silent and re¬
served to Mr. Wilde, in fact almost
rude. But he was not one to be le¬
buffed. llis civilities only became
more marked. ‘Faint heart never
won fair lady,’ be said to himself.—
‘And besides, if she gets piqued at
Lind, perhaps I’ll be able to make my
. niiins ,
Meantimc ’ Lawrence was angrier
t h a „ ever. Girls are all alike he
thought, ‘fickle, inconstant, devoured
by vanity, ready for every new face/
And he devoted himself, in revenge,
to Miss Wilde, with increasing assid
uity.
No wonder, that, when the time
came to shoot off the tie, Cecil was
quite nervous, She was to shoot first;
she turned a half-imploring look on
Lawrence, If he had answered it,
and joined her, all would have been
well. But he did not even see her.
Kate took good care, indeed, that lie
should not. She had redoubled all
her attentions ; she bad practiced all
the little arts in which she was an
EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 13, 1S79.
adept; the moment passed, and it
was too late. Cecil's first shot was
a triumphant one ; the arrow 7 hit the
bull’s-eye There was a round of ap
plause. As she fitted her second ar
row 7 to the string, she looked around
for Lawrence again ; but though he
saw her this time, he made no re
spose. She shot and missed.
After that, the game was Kate’s,
With a triumphant glance around, she
stepped forth and sent both arrow 7 s in
to the bull’s-eye. Lawrence, himself,
in a neat speech, delivered the prize,
which was a golden arrow. It is true,
he had been selected a week before,
for this task ; but it seemed cruel to
Cecil, nevertheless.
Meantime, he was angrier than ever
with her, for he had seen Frank con¬
doling with her on her failure.
It was all an accident/ he heard
him say. ‘You really shoot better
than Kate, and ought to have won.
‘The puppy !' w r as Lawrence's irate
comment.
He was quite in the mood, the fore,
to accept a laughing challenge, from
Kate, to go with her along the stream
towards the old bridge, aud hunt for
wild flowers in the woods As they
disappeared up the leafy avenue, Ce¬
cil felt, for the first time in her life, a
pang of jealousy. She could not deny
that Kate was beautiful. She could
not conceal the fact that to-day, Laws
rence seemed absorbed in her.
‘When there was nobody to com
pare me with, as was the case out at
the farm/ she said, ‘he admired, or
seemed to admire me, but now—'
She broke off, for Miss Slim, at that
moment, came up.
‘Quite lover-like, isn’t it ? said Miss
Slim, with a simper, pointing to Law¬
rence and Kate ; ‘I shouldn't wonder
if it was a match. You wouldn’t ob¬
ject would you Mr. Wilde ?’
‘Not 1/ he answered, ‘for anybody
that is connected with Miss May,'
with a deferential bow to our heroine,
‘would be an honor to our family.'
It was a miserable afternoon for
Cecil and a miserable night. She
dreamed she was in the garden,
weaving a wreath of flowers for Dot ;
but her fingers got entangled hope¬
lessly ; a pair of wicked, black eyes,
the eyes of Kate Wilde, peered at her
triumphantly from behind the tress.
As for Lawrence, he was even more
unhappy. lie could not sleep. Now
that the subtle witchery of Kate
Wilde's presence was gone, he began
to think that he had been perhaps too
hasty. He recalled over and over
again the events of the day. If Cecil
had acted as if indifferent, he said, it
was because he had neglected her.
she had permitted Frank's attentions,
it was, originally, from well bred ci
vih'ty, and afterwards in consequence
of having been deserted.
‘What a fool I have been/ he
said.
Influenced b}’ these feelings, he rose
rose early next day, and gathered a
bouquet, wrote a note to Cecil; for,
unfortunately he had a business en¬
gagement made several days before,
compelling him to goto the country
town. He entrusted bolh tho note
and bouquet to Dot, who was always
up before anybody else, to be given
to Cecil when the latter come down to
breakfast. How Dot laded in this and
what misery was the consequence, we
shall see by and by.
Cecil woke with heavy eyes and
aching heart. She said to herself
tiiat there was nothing in this world
worth living for now ; everybody and
everything was deceitful and disap
pointing. She thought she would try
and play with Dot. Dot, at least, was
innocent ; Dot, at least, was sincere,
But Dot, she found, had already gone
to school. Lawrence was not at
breakfast, and she heard then, for the
first time, that he had taken the train
lor the country town.
The morning hours wore on weari
ly. The afternoon came and went the
samc wa - v ’ When evening approach
ed > she waited a »^ously for
rence *
‘He will soon be here/ she said,
‘ an d all may be right. I fear I did
him injustice yesterday. But eight
o'clock came, nine, and then ten ; yet
uo Lawrence. At last Cecil retired
to her room, but it was not to sleep.
Finally, after the distant village lights
bad been extinguished, she heard the
rapid thud of horses hoofs, and saw
Lawrence, as she watched behind the
curtain, enter the house from the
ble yard. He had been detained longer
than he had expected, had missed
train and hiring a horse, had galloped
norae through the night.
Cecil heard this in her room, from
little Dot, the next morning early,
and came down, fresh and sweet, and
shy, anxious to forgive and be for
given, and sure that all would come
right.
Lawrence was sitting on the front
porch smoking a cigar, He looked
around, but to her surprise, quite in
differently, pulled his mustache, wish
ed her ‘good morning/ and then re¬
sumed his cigar, coolly watching
Hie smoke curl upwards,
Cecil paused, but only for an inst.,
A r liat did it mean ? Her pride was up
a| i arms. Yv hat had she done to de
serve this treatment ? There was but
one explanation. lie was infatuated
with Kate. He wished to iusult
her.
Nodding carelessly, therefore, she
passed on.
‘Heartless flirt !' muttered Law¬
rence, watching her go. ‘Does not
even thank me for the bouquet. Been
flirting with that idiot, Wilde, I've
no doubt'
Meantime, Cecil, burning with in¬
dignation, pretended to amuse her¬
self with the flowers.
That day, and the following passed;
her cousin was always cruelly polite,
but that was all.
The next afternoon but one, how¬
ever, Lawrence was sitting in his
room, when Dot knocked timidly at
the door.
‘Come in and tell me what you
have been doing, he said.
And taking her on his knee, he
smoothed her long and silken
curls,
‘Well/ said Dot, ‘I helped aunty
feed my chicks, went to school, and
did lots of things, But just now I'se
come e from Cecil's room. And what
do you think? Cecil was crying, and
kissed tne and said she was going
home. And sped/ continued the
child thoughtfully, ‘Ise been a very
naughty girl, for tother day, when
you gave me tho note and poses to
give to Cecil, do you know I
give them to her at all V
‘What! Not give them to her ?‘
cried Lawrence, eagerly. ‘How
that ?
‘I was going to,* answered little Dot,
‘when I thought of Mr. Wilde, poor
fellow, and said to myself, ‘I don‘t sup¬
pose he ever gets any letters, and Law¬
rence won‘t care if I give him this
and besides, I thought you could tell
Cecil just as well what you wanted,
eveu if she didn't get the letter. So
when started for f
I school, I took
letter,' aud was walking along think¬
ing awfui hard about something
other—my lessons, I guess—and be¬
fore I knowed it, 1 had lost it. But
the posies I didn't lose, and
Mr. Wilde, I gave them to him, and
he put them in his button-hole.
Lawrence sat like one stupefied.—
Suddenly, as he looked out of the
window he saw Cecil, in her walking
dress, pass out in the direction
the orchard, as if goingto the woods
beyond. She looked tired, and pale,
and worn. It was only the work of
an stant to carry Dot down stairs, and
place her in aunt Dorothy's charge,
and hnrry after Cecil, whom lie over
took just as she had entered the wood.
She looked around, coldly and haugh¬
tily ; but with the traces of tears in
her eyes; and this gave him courage to
proC eed, in spite of the coldness and
haughtiness.
He recounted, hurriedly, how he
had given Dot the note, asking for a
meeting early the following morning,
at the stile, which they even now were
approaching, and begging cared she would
wear the bud if she for him in
the least. He told her how he had
been delayed at the country town ;
had lost the train ; had galloped home
so as to be in time for the meeting in
the morning; how he had gone to the
stile and waited, and waited iu vain •
how then lie remembered encounter
i ng Frank, in’his on his way to the train and
button-hole a bouquet
whioh he woa ] d have thought bis own
bnt for the impossibilit y of it; how - be
had come b »ck to breakfast at last,
angry with Cecil, because now satis
fied she had given his bouquet to a
rival ; how he had spoken to her with
half-concealed contempt as she came
down stairs ; and how—‘ g
‘Well, in short/he said,‘how I have
made a desperate fool of myself, and
can only throw myself on your mercy,
aud beg you to forgive me, dearest/
She did forgive him, with happy
tears, for, as she told herself, his jeal
ousy and anger bad come from excess
of love for her.
Thus Cecil, after all won the Prize
at Our Archery Club.
Sentiment and Sense.
Nothing is so good us it seems be¬
forehand.
The eyes of other folks are the eyes
that rum us.
There is no killing the suspicion that
deceit has once begotten. *
Books are embalmed minds. Fame
is a flower upon a dead man's heart.
Happiness aud unhappiness are qual¬
ities of the mind, not of place or po¬
sition.
A propensity to hope and joy is real
riches ; one to fear and sorrow, real
poverty.
True wit is like a diamond ; it may
sparkle but never shines ; is worn but
never wears.
It is with our judgments as our
watches ; none are just alike, yet
each believes his own.
In matters of conscience first
thoughts are best ; iu matters of pru¬
dence last thoughts are best.
The yoke a man creates lor himself
wrong doing will breed hate in the
in the kindliest nature.
Perfect love has a breath of poetry
which can exalt the relations of the
least instructed human beings.
If oue marches abreast with obsti¬
nate men, who will rush on guns and
spikes, he must share the consequen¬
ces.
lie who does not look out of him¬
self knows not the world. He who
does uot look into himself kuows not
men.
A head properly constituted can ac¬
commodate itself to whatever pillows
the vicissitudes of fortune may place
under it.
Words are messengers of good or
evil—spiritual forces—angels of bless¬
ing or cursing. Unuttered we control
them ; uttered they control vs.
The blessing of a house is goodness.
The honor of a house is hospitality —
The ornament of a house is cleanliness.
The happiness of a house is content¬
ment.
If all men were to bring their mis¬
fortunes together in one place, most
would be glad to take their own home
again, rather than take a portion of
the common stock.
--O--
Advice to Young Men.
And then, remember, my son, you
have to work. Whether you handle
a pick or a pen, a wheelbarrow or a
set of books, digging ditches or edit¬
ing a paper, ringing an auction bell or
writing funny things—you must work.
If you will look around you, son, you
will see that the men who are the
most able to live the rest of their days
without work are the men who work
tho hardest. Don't be afraid of kills
ingyourself with overwork, son. It
is beyond your power to do that. Men
do not work so hard as that on the
sunny side of thirty. They die some¬
times, but it is because they quit work
at 6 p m and don't get home utill 2
a m: It‘s the interval that kills, my
son. The work gives you an appetite
for your meals, it lends solidity to
your slumber, it gives you a perfect
and grateful appreciation of a holiday.
There are young men who do not
woik, my sun ; young men who make
a living by sucking the end of a cane;
whose entire mental development is
insufficient to tell them which side of
a postage stamp to lick, jrnung men
who can tie a necktie in eleven differ¬
ent knots and never lay a wrinkle iu
it ; who can spend more money in a
day than you can earn in a month
son, and who will go to the sheriff to
buy a postal card, and apply at the
office of the street commissioner for a
marriage license. But the world is
uot proud of them, son. It does not
; kuow tkeir na:nes > even ; it simply
s P ea k s °f them as old so-and-so's boys,
Kobody likes them, nobody hates
them 5 the S r eat busy world doesn't
k °ow they are there, and at the day
of the resurrection, if they do uot ap
V™ at the sound of the trumpet
and certainly will not unless
B0tne H°dy tel-s them what its for and
what to do—I dont think Gabriel will
111,88 them or notice their absence,
and they will not be sent for or waited
[ 01 or disturbed. well without Things them. will go on
J u ^t as So find
out what yon want Lo be and to do,
son, and take off your coat aud make
a dust in the world.
There is a lawyer down East so ex¬
cessively honest that lie put all his
flower pots out over night, so deter
mined is he that everythingjshall have
its dew.
Wliere a Tramp was of Use.
The following 'authenticated story,
which comes from Orleans county, N.
Y., is tco good to be lost :
A tramp came to a farmhouse just
at nightfall, and asked if he might
stay all night. Tie farmer declined
to accommodate him, but he begged
so hard, that consent was finally gran¬
ted, and his trampship was taken in¬
to the barn, where there was no hay,
and bed arranged of some robes, etc
Some time during the night a two
horse wagon backed up to the barn
and began loading up a load of wheat
which the farmer had prepared for
market the day previous. The thieves
transferred the wheat from the farm¬
er's wagon to their own, except one
sack, which was so heavy they could
not lift it, and which was a sack of
phosphate, but in their hurry they did
not notice this, and supposed it to be
wheat. One remarked to the other
that it was so heavy they would be
obliged to leave it, when the tramp,
who overheard, exclaimed ‘‘Hold ou
a minute boys, and I will come aud
help yon. This unexpected and un¬
called for assistance frightened the
thieves, and they “skeedaddled/' leav¬
ing team, wagon, wheat and the whole
rig, which the farmer still holds in his
possession, and for which no claimant
has yet put in an appearance.
-
“Kind o’ Second Class,”
Two boys, each employed in a dif¬
ferent office at Griswold street, were
yesterday licking a lot ot one-ceut
stamps on a pile of circulars at the
postoflice when one of them
asked :
“Has your boss got back fioin his
summer trip yet ?'
K Yes ; has you'rn ?'*
“Yes. lias anybody been around
to the office to welcome tho boss
home V'
“No ; he's been home three days
and hasn't had a caller."
“Well, I guess lie's kind o' second
class," continued the other, as he
whacked on a stamp. ‘‘Over twenty
folks were waiting in the office when
my boss got home, and they said if he
didn't straighten up them accounts
they'd make him trouble right along.
He hadn’t hardly landed at the depot
before most everybody knew he was
home."—X.
You have seen those chaps whoso
Handkerchiefs are always full of scents?
Such men often have no sense in their
heads, and very few cents in their
pockets.
There is a touching beauty in the
pale wild rose that grows by the dusty
wayside, half-choned with thistle¬
down ; but it is ail lost upon the mm
who breaks both his suspender-but¬
tons when he stoops to pluck it.
-
A man may go fishing and catch a
handsome string of fish, and lose them
out of the back of the wagon coming
home, er have them grabbed by the
dog at the house where he left his
team,-,but he j;an never tell the story
and have it believed.
A New Jersey boy on the ship St.
Mary, in writing homo says : ‘‘There
are three things a boy wants as soon
as he gets to sea—first, to get home ;
second, a good square meal, and third,
to get his fingers on the fellow who
wrote “Jack Harkaway/*
A young lady who ought to know,
accounts for the disposition of the av¬
erage young man to put his aim
around a girl’s waist by the supposi¬
tion that he is looking for that rib
that was taken from him so long ago.
Old gentleman : “I shall report you,
young man. Why didn't you stop the
car before ? Here I have been ruu
ning after your car more than a block.'
Conductor : ‘ All right, guv'nor, I‘u>
sorry, but I ain't like a pertater, eyes
all over/
Conkling is ahead of the paragraph
ers in one respect. His name won't
rhyme with anything in the English
language.—Cincinnati Saturday Night.
Won’t eh ?
There was an upright man named
Conkling the
Who ran from gun of a cot-ton
king! flew,
Up his heels
And he vanished from view,
No more to bis wile could he ou cling,
Important if true : A wife.
50.46.
WIT AJVD HUMOR ..
Y'ever hear glas-sware ?
Parts unknown : On a bald head.
The blind should go to the Holy
Land, where even the Dead Sea.
What is marriage ? One womaa tbtt
more aud one man the less,
After man came woman and after
woman the d—1. Aud he is alter her
yet.
Which is the most contemptuous
bird ? The owl ; he hoots at every*
thing.
There are a great many people who
will never go to heaven unless they can
go at excursion rates.
■ ■ -• •♦»-
Tne Albany Journal has discovered
a man whose head is as thick as the
leaves of Valambrosia.
The force of habit made a Scranton
barber ask while shaving a corpse,
“Does tiie razor hurt ?
Which two letters of the alphabet
are like the most cruel of the Roman
emperors ? N and P. Why N & P ?
Because they are near O. ,
It was an Ohio man who discovered
that no newspaper proprietor ever died
from swallowing a twcnty-dollar gold
piece.
When yesterday I asked you # love,
One little word to say #
Your brother interrupted us,
So please say yes-ter-day.
A little girl after profound reflec¬
tion sitting in her little chair by 7 tho
fiie, asked : “How does a step-mother
walk ?'
Josh Billings thinks it’s the small
things of life that worry and fret us.—
We can dodge an elephant, but we
cannot a fly or mosquito.
Mr. Spurgeon will not conic to this
country after all. Yet if he did come,
we suppose he would come “after all’'
he could get.
First lady—‘‘Why do they call those
balls foul ?" Second lady—‘‘Don't
know, unless the pesky things are con¬
tinually flying over the fence/
She was plump and beautiful, and
he was wildly fond of her. She bated
him, but woman-like, she tried to
catch him. And yet what was he ?
A flea.
Next to being engaged herself, noth¬
ing so delights tho heart of a damsel
as to be the first person told of anoth¬
er's engagement.
The bashful young lady who fainted
when the butcher spoke of a leg of
mutton, has recovered sufficiently to
stuff herself with a breast cf veal.
The buttoning of dresses in the back
is going out of fashion. If your un¬
married aunt still affects the style,
you may tell her it is behiud the age—
if you dare.
Mrs. House, of New York, who has
deserted three husbands, just married
a fourth. The happy couple are board¬
ing. Tne husband is afraid he can't
keep house.
The son of a coffee and spice dealer
was asked at school where coffee came
from, and the reply was, ‘‘Father said
I musn't tell, and he’ll lick me if I
do.'
After trying in vain to start a balky
mare the driver touched its flank with
alighted cigar, saying, ‘Tvo tried all
means to start her, now I’ll try to back
her.
A young lady up in Berkshire coun*
ty Mass., was stung on the lip by a
bee the other day. We congratulate
that bee ou kuowing just where the
honey was. J
It has been discovered by a close ob¬
server that hen-pecked husbands are
invariable men with hairless lips. It
takes a mustache to awe a female.