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IBo3rci Sz Barnes
No. § Brick Row , Thomson, Ga.
(Former Dry Good* stand of D. F. Irving.)
To incut the demands of our enlarged business, we have removed to
the above named stand, and are now receiving in largo quantities our
Stock of Fall and Winter Gr cds, conals-tiDg of
Clothing, Dry Goods
Hats, Boots and Shoes,
Notions, etc., etc.
Also, a select stock of
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Meal, Corn, Flour,
Molasses, Sugar, Coflee,
And all other goods tn tho Grocery Line. We also carry a full line of
HARDWARE and CROCKERY
which we invite you to inspect. A call will satisfy you that we oau
sell you goods cheaper than thoy can be bought elsewhere.
BOYD& BARNES.
NEW STORE! NEW GOODS!
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est ZMIaAn St., 'l’homson^a.
DEAT KRS IN
S3by Cqoos * lAhess Gqqos\ IT.nrs v
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U a *icy Kaii|ily Gii'oceries and
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Hardware, Glassware Wooden
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3 x A full Stock of CANNED GOODS.
If you ara in nfpii of Retiring in our line it will bo to xoar interest to call and
get our prices before purchasing.
EEMEMBEE
Our Stock of Goods is Fresh and Our Prices are
the Very Lowest.
OUR MOTTO: ITPOLITR AND COURTEOUS ATTENTION TOALL
CALLERS, WHETHER PURCHASERS OR NOT. '
•I. r l\ Wriglit Sl Non.
THOMAS. N. JuEWIS
No. 4 Brick RoW, Thomson, Qa,
ftRY GOODS, DRESS GOODS, NOTIONS,
BOOTS and SHOES and HATS.
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—CONSISTING OF
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ALSO
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New Family Grocery
IIOLZKNDDKF <& K>OX
Railroad Street, * Thomson, Qa
W ILL KEEP CONSTANTLY IN STOCK CHOICE AND SELECT LINES OF
Bacon, Floor, Meal, Salt, Sugar, Coffee, Canned
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A FULL LINE OF CONFECTIONERIES, and ALL KINDS OF
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irriEßcniß,
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AUGUSTA, GEORGIA
tB give Personal and Undivided AtteUto* to ** Weighing and NEt
Gotten. Catb.AclwwtfWv**** *
€I)C ilU*Pitftic HedUtj Journal.
VOL. XVII l.
THOMSON, GA., FRIDiV, MARCH S!l, 1890
E. R. SCHNEIDER,
—W&OLIBALI AID RETAIL DKALIB Ilf
Wines, Cigars, Brandies, Tobacco, Mineral Waters,
WHISKIES, GINS, PORTER, ALE, &C.
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AGENTS FOR
fern Clipfs Pusartin, Drtaa Wine tap?. Msm-BbS
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SCHOOL BOOKS I
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lemorLbt be I leg * 1 “ , “ nk, ‘ lwl K < ’ ra . ,l ? I>0”k8, pocket Ivoks aud
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tT. MARK WALTER,
MARBLE WORKS
BROAD BTRSST. SEAS LOWEP MARKET,
AUGUSTA, GEORGIA,
Monument;, Tombstone* and Marble Work generally always on hand and
nade to order. All work tor the country carefully boxed, and delivered at
railroad popot in Augaata, fro# of charge. Specimens of the work can hr
at til# manufactory.
Sharp Trading.
A gentleman, seeing two sharpers, and
wishing to know who mdo the best bar
gain, asked one:
“ llow much did jou sell the horse for,
Bam?”
“ Five dollars, sir.”
“Oh, Bum, bow could you do that?”
“Oh, the horse is lame, sir.”
The gentleman then said to the other
sharper:
“How could you buy that horse, Jim?
It is lame.”
“ Never you mind; it is only the bad
shociog that makes it lai pc.”
The gentleman then called Sam again:
“Sam, the horse is not lamc,ouly badly
shod.”
“ No, sir; I only had it badly shod to
deceive the buyer.”
The gentleman spoke to Jim again;
“ Say. the shoe was badly put on to de
ceive you.”
“ You nevermind, sir; I paid him with
a counterfeit bill.—[Yankee Blade.
The Aged Poet Laureate.
Alfred Tennyson smokes a big clay
pipe, and never use* the saiae pipe hut
once. He dislikes notoriety aud is said to
have burned all his letters, so that his
future biographer will have n hard time
of it writir.g his life. He says he does
not propose after he is dead to be “rip
ped up like a pig.” To strangers he is
surly and even rude, but with congenial
spirits the native sunshine of his nature
shine" out. He does not believe in poetic
inspiration, but believes that all good
poetry is the result of hand, patient and
persistent work. He lias been known to
spend a whole day over a single verse.
Neither the blame nor the praise of the
public affects him, but he does his work
in his own way regardless of the critics.
There ere thousands of level-headed
poetry lovers who b.lievethat when he
dies the great-,t poet of the world will
pas away. -[Yankee Blade,
THE EASW HOkX),
By the road of “By-ar.d-B^*
Stretching on forer 4’
Oue who travels ootm &t last
To tha house of ‘* N #• f
Very tall, and vary hi - ,
Iron barred secunJV
Thostt who enter And tiemsolvo*
Guarded very surely |
“By-awd-By” ’s an ?nsv roar!;
Through soft fields .-.nd inosses,
No high hills, no snip!y soil.
Anywhere it cro&* 5
If hard places aou‘-> swefm, *
Round them winding,
Very slowly leading ,
Smoothest trirWffi i uh< g\
looking on ahea*lfc>m See*
But a eofi- mist ftb v ,ng,
While on crakes' is~> fcbe scene
Ever fair is gf >* Lg.
But t here comes An rad, some day,
Where oue see* forever,
Bark and grlntfthe ii m gates
Of the house of *'N ver 1”
L
THE LOST LETTER
BY ANNA PiKttrdji I BIVITEII.
“Jimmy!” cnllctiljd rank Hepburn, the
handsome young bookkeeper for Wade
Brothers.
Jimmy tho office i y for the same
firm, as is usual ii -<i h cases, did not
hear. It is a singular fact, not yet ex
plained, that deafness is more prevalent
among oliice-boys tin n moag any other
olaas of wage-earners. ,
“Jimmy!” , '
Frank Hepburn ralltd more sharply
this time, and 3 v-ny relinquished
his favorite occuan ion of draw
ing cats with ik ink on the
firm's notehcads, and’ ■ owly approached
Mr. Hepburn’s stool.
“Take this letter re jbe postoffice, and
drop it iuto the box ihi'arkud ‘City,’and
ho quick, please.” '.
Jimmy took the letter, placed it care
fully botwuon his teei fwaile he put on
his bat and coat; Be then surveyed the
snve.ope closely, anti raked:
“ What s that mark , the corner for,
Mr Hepnurut" I." '
“C ear out, yon nuua! I” laughed the
young man, slightly Coloring. “It’s a
secret-society sign. Now go!"
As the boy passed j from (ho office,
Weaver, the cashii , looked up and
yawned: “Well, it's irty lunch time,”
snd a minute later he was hurrying after
tho leisurely Jimmy; - r .t
“I'm going past the ijsostoffice, Jim,”
he remarked, -a that youth;
“give mi: Hepi-pr(:‘i :*tyr and I’ll drop
*rn for y<KJr” }•
Jimmy, glad of ml. opportunity to en
gage in au interesting game of itiarblun
lie saw being played round the corner,
willingly gave up the letter, and Weaver
passed down the street.
“Ah, that’s the way the wind blows,
Is it?” lie thought, glancing at tho nd
dress. “ 'Miss Bertha Willey, 210
Madison avenue.’ 1 thought that that
engagement was eutirely broken oft.
This dosen't look like it, but I tneau to
know for certain.”
Weaver hail long been Hepburn’s
most persistent rival. The lady in the
case was a prize well worth any man’s
earnest efforts to win, aud when Trunk
Hepburn’s engagement to her was an
nounced, noue of her admirers felt lm!f
the chagrin that seized Weaver. He
had felt almost certain of winning
her himself at one tiros, and in the ex
pectation of handling her snug fortune
had incurred certain debts which, ac
cording to the rude fashion of ccbts,
were now “staring him in the face.”
Great, then, had been his satisfaction
whon a report readied him of tho broken
engagement, and he immediately called
on Miss Willey. Bho received him
cordially,ami in tho two succeeding weeks
he frequently repeated the call.
“I will strike while the iron is hot,”
he said to himself, and on this very evo
ning had determined to know his fate,
when tho sight of Hepburn’s letter upset
his plans.
“I will know what is in it,” he thought
desperately. “I can open it—it's very
carelessly sealed. Hepburn can't ccmo
between us again, if I can help It 1”
Ho hurried home, and holding the
envelope over a steaming kettlo in his
mother’s kitchen, soon had its coveted
contents in his hand. It ran thus:
‘‘Bertha, Dear: I was wrong, and you
were rigut. Can t come and be forgiven:' I
have a fine business offer from a house in St.
Baui; If Xdo not get a avoraols reply from
you to-morrow, I snail accept it, and go im
m&oately. Life without you is unendurable
bore. Frank.”
“You will get no answer to-morrow,”
Weaver muttered; “andonce safe in the
West, my coast is clear. What an idiot,
to intrust ail his happiness to a letter!
But then, he's so terribly proud; he
thought it would hurt his dignity less to
write a note than seek an interview.”
Via, Weaver was right; Frank was
proud, aigl so was Bertha. A trivial;
lovers' quarrel had come between them,
and Bertha, feeling snro Frank must sec
io time ho was wrong, did not try to
right herself. Bile would gladly meet
him half-way in any effort at reconcilia
tion, but farther than that her womanly
self-respect would not let her go. Mean
time her evenings were lonely, and when
Mr. Weaver called, he found her very
ready to bo entertained.
On the day after Weaver obtained this
lottcr, he watched Hepburn narrowly,
and saw be waa restless and nervous, and !
by night that he was pale aud weak. The !
next day he did not appear at the office, j
aud word came that be was sick.
“Packing up for St. Paul,” Weaver
sneered to himself, “it’s just nn ex
cuse. ”
But Frank Hepburn’s was no assumed ,
illness. “A bad ease of braiu-fovor," the !
doctor said, as he gazed with more than
professional interest on tho young man j
lying before him. His brown eyes were !
wide open, and restlessly flying xrom one '
face to another, as if in search of one that
uever came, whi'w his parched tongue
constantly formed the word “Bertha,”
gently and pleadingly spoken as long as
his strength pertnitted him to utter it.
Then, as he became weaker, only a half- :
articulate murmur greeted the ears of the
anxious watchers who bent above him.
“Who is Bertha?” tho physician at last
asked the weeping, gray haired mothi#
who had come from a distant city to caro
for her only son. “Wo-must find her.
I have done all I can for his body, but
only her coming can relieve his mind.”
And, ho added, sofdy, “sho must tome
soon.”
“If I only knew,” the mother an
swered, “how I would fly to her I It is
breaking ray heart to face those eager,
longing eyes; but I do not know.
Among my boj’s papers are several notes
signed ‘Bertha,’ but no other name is
given, and all nro dated ‘Home.’ Oh,
doctor, it is hard to know a woman holds
my beautiful boy’s life in her bauds, and
I cannot even plead with her for it!”
And with a passionate gesture she turned
away,
At the office, tilings went on as usual.
Weaver noticed Frank's desk remained
vacant, but said to liimsolf, when the
clerks spoke of his illness:
“Men don’t die of broken hearts, and j
he will recover, cured of his fancy.”
Tie could not, however, bring himself
*o destroy the stolen letter, but when
alone, constantly took it from bis pocket
and glanced at it.
One day, while doing so, Mr. Wade
suddenly entered thi room. Hastily slip
ping it under a pilo of bills, Weaver
looked up. y
“Mr. Weaver,”his employer said, “let
me come to your desk. T want to glance
over Frank's- papers. I am afraid the
poor boy himself xvill never do that again.
Sad, isn't it?” And Mr. Ward's kindly
voice grew husky.
“Is it so bad as that, sir?” Weaver
murmured, wlnlo a deadly faintness
seized him.
“So bad as that, I fear," Mr. Wade-an
swered, mechanically taking up a pile of
pupera and running over them. Suddenly
he exclaimed:
•‘Wuut’s this?—a letter written by
Frank himself, and never sont?”
The pity that a moment ago had filled
| Weaver suddenly vanished, and a fierce
! desire to cscapo detection had taken its
place.
“Why, yes,” ho said; “I remember
- Frank intended to invite Miss Willey.to
; tho opera for Thursday, but changed hie
j mind, and I suppose did not send tho
! letter. However, lam goimt down to
| inquire after him at noon, and if you
will give me tho letter, I’ll loave it with
his mother.”
-- T ‘ Yes, yes," assented Mr. Wade,
“that's a good idea.”
- 'But ho still belli it in his hand, while
Weaver could hardly retain his desire to
snatch it away.
1 “If I got the cursed thing in ray own
“lend once;” he thought, “it will neq, >- be
| seen again."
Just then Jimmy entered. Catching
| sight of the letter in Mr. Wilde's hand,
i he exclaimed:
“Why, Mr. Weaver, you didn’t mail
i that letter that day!”
Weaver turned pale.
1 “You don’t know what you’re talking
i about,” lie said, as Mr. Wade glanced up
inquiringly.
j “Yes, I do,” Jimmy persisted; “that's
the letter Mr. Hepburn gave ine to mail
| the day before he got sick. Do you re
i member his saying that little cross was n
secret Rociety sign?"
“Why didn't you mail it, Jimmy?”
Mr. Wade interrupted, sternly.
“Why, sir, on my way to the office,
Mr. Weaver took it from me, and said
he’d mail it himself.”
Jimmy hud taken tho letter from Mr.
Wade’s baud, and turning it over, ex
claimed :
“It’sopened now!”
There was no need to question W r earcr;
the look of bitter hatred ho turned on
Jimmy told his guilt more eloquently
than any words.
“Mr. Weaver, I am sorry for this,”
Mr. Wado said, simply, and left the
room.
His heart was very tender toward the
poor boy he hail seen that morning toss
ing restlessly from side to side, aud still
trying to murmur “Bertha.”
“The name ia the same," ho com
mented. “i'll take her the note and ex
plain its delay. There may be a con
. action betwcon this and his brain-fever.
God grant there is.”
Hurriedly calling a cab, lie drove to
tho address on the onvclope, nnd was
soon greeted by a young Indy who re
sponded to his inquiry for “Miss Bertha
Willey.”
Hhe was a very beautiful girl, but
there was none of the gay brightness one
w'-uld look for in a creature so young.
Sho had an air ot weariness like that
which comes from long nights ol sleep
lessness, and there was a suspicion of
tears in her voice as sha greeted her vis
itor.
“Is this your letter?" he asked,abrupt
ly-
Sho looked at him rather haughtily an
instant, then her whole air changed to
one of intense eagerness as she caught
sight of tho address. “Yes,” 6hu
breathed, and in a moment had taken
tho note and devoured its contents.
“Where did you get it?” she asked,
looking up, the pretty color that tiuged
her cheeks us she read dying out,nnd her
little nir of hauteur rexurning, though
her eyes still danced, and there was a
glad ring in her sweet voice.
Ignoring her question, Mr. Wade said,
sharply
“Do you know its writer is dying?"
“Dying! Frank—oh, my darling!”
There was no need to ask if this was
the Bertha. Only one woman can utter
a man’s name in that tone. The light
and the color died out of her face in an
instant, and a hard, strained look came
in their place, more pitiful than any
tears. She put her hand ou her heart n
moment, and then said, simply:
“Take me to him, please.”
“(Jet your hat,” Sir. Wade answered, j
But she only looked at him again and
whispered: “Take me to him.”
Without a word more, he led her to
the still waiting cab.
On reaching the bouse, Mr. Wade left
iier iv, the hall and hurried up-staiis. A !
lew swift words explained to the doctor
below, nnd he hastened down.
NO. 11.
“You must be Very quiet,” he said,
gently, enough tho Charge seemed un
necessary in greeting tho almost Btom
figure that awaited him. “Sleep musi
come within an hour, or death or hope
less insanity will result; but go to him,
look and speak quietly and naturally,
and if it is you he is dying for (a shud
der rau through the girl) we may sav<
him yet."
Tlie girl rose and wcul to the glass,
“Look and speak 'naturally." Even in
tiiat hour of anguish she wondered
if the face there was liers. He
would not know those pinched
cheeks, those staring eyes and bloodless
lips. She stood a moment biting her
lips, rubbed her cheeks aud then smiled
at the glass. That wonderful thing, a
woman’s love, had triumphed over nature,
and with a smiling face she could meyt
Death himself, if smiles would help her
in her desperate endeavor to rescue her
beloved from his grasp.
The doctor led Iho way to the sick
room, opened the door and stood aside
as she entered. Bertha swayed for an
instant, as she caught sight of the pitiful,
wasted form extended before her; but
again Love triumphed, and swiftly ad
vancing to his bedside, she bent above
the wistful eyes and said, clearly and
softly:
“Love, did you eall mo?”
For a moment the face looking into
hers retained the eager, searching look
it lmd worn for days; then it died away,
anil one of perfect content tilled it
place. ,
“Bertha!” the pinched lips tried tc
sav.
“Yes, Bertha," sho cooed, softly lay
ing her cool lips on his; “and now, dar
ling, shut your eyes. I will put my
i cheek against yours, and we will rest.’
Like a tired child, he obeyed her,
I nestling his head on the cool, soft arm
| sho slipped under it, while the peachy
| cheek that lay ou his seemed to possess
.an almost magic power.
“He is saved!" the doctor murmured
! to the lmppy, bewildered mother; nnd so
i it proved, for Frank Hepburn awoke—
very weak, indeed, but rational, “ready
to drink a gallon of beef-tea, and be mar
ried that very afternoon,” ho whispered,
faintly.
When Mr. Wade returned to the office,
lie found Weaver had drawn his ply and
left.
“Ho knew I wouldn't keep him an
hour,” Mr. W.'.dt).. said, while relating
tho circumstance for the hundredth time,
at the Hepburn-Willey wedding, two
mouths later. “What kind of a heart
must it bo that would try to separate
suen a couple as that 1”
Anti he glanced with almost fatherly
pride at the handsome pair who were
standing under a Moral arch, receiving
the coiigratuivitions their friend., were
showering upon them.
“Bless my heart!" he added, softly;
“surely tho imgels themselves must smile
on such wonderful' love us theirs.”—
Popular Monthly.
The Sobering Machine.
There is some tatk here, says a Doyles
; town (Penn.) correspondent of the New
i York Timet, about reviving the “sober
I ing machine.” Frfty years ago it was i
; familiar piece of mechanism. Simple it
I construction, durable in use, it served it!
j purpose well and effectively. In thus,
j days a drunken man was a rare sight. A
i few citizens of this place remember il
well. “Jack” Reynolds was one of the
men who manned the machine, and he re
collects when it did yeoman service. Bui
the persons who fell victims to it are too
modest to recall its purifying effects.
it was devised because it was necessary,
ami it consisted of the running gear ol
an ordinary wagon with the hind wheels
taken oil and a box fastened to the axle.
Sobriety was the watchword of the hulf
dozen men who ran it. Whenever a
drunken man or woinuu was seen on the
street the machine was brought out. The
victim was placed on the broad of his
hack in the box. Then the cominnnd
| was given and the occupant was run out
of town. It was seldom that a man got
the second dose of the “sobering mu-
I chine.” The tramps soon got to dread
the ride of a mile or so, and they never
, returned after the first experience. The
wife beater fared the same, and its in
fluence had a salutary effect on this class
of people. The old inhabitants say that
the “sobering machine” of nearly n half
century ago was much more effective than
tho threats and violence of the White
Caps of the present day.
King of the Gypsies.
A modest brick house, standings little
way back from the street, in a suburb of
the city of Dayton, Ohio, is tho property
oud for a pare of the year the home of a
gypsy of wide repute, the heir apparent
to a throne in Little Egypt; and here,
and hereabouts, is tho rendezvous of a
uumerous band or tribe. This settle
ment is widely known as tho homo of
some of the richest and most influential
families of gypsydom, among them the
Stanleys, of which the present head,
Levi, is called the King. This Levi
Stanley is a short, thick-set of some
thing over seventy years; he is still
strong aud active, with a ruddy cheek
and bright eye. Much of his time is
passed with the traveling parties, while
his eldest son, Levi, Jr., a stalwart,
handsome man of fifty, assumes much of
tho active direction of affairs, looking
after property, etc.
Lying scattered about to the north of
Dayton are many fine farms owned by
the a. At present most of the farms are
in the hands of tenants, for however near
the gypsy may be to toe primeval man,
lie bus not yet developed a strong liking
for the labor of the primeval occupation.
Tho traveling aud camping parties aro
tho most interesting and picturesque
features of the gypsy life. Those usual
ly consist of a siuglo family, the term
family meaning the wholo blood connec
tion. It may comprise one or a dozen
wagons and from three to lour to nearly
half a hundred people. They make long
or short journeys, as directed by tne
King, stopping at each place as long as
the state of the horse and palmistry trade
warraots.— CMmoo JJernM.
Met Of FIE MIE.KLY J OHNAI
Rates tf Advertising;
One inch, one in*ertioii f 1 09
Etkob riubuequen (6
On§ inch, exu month 3 60
Ou* inch, three m nths A <*6
Oue inch, nix momln 7 00
Onotnoh, twelve mouth* lo i)0
One qu*n er column, one month 0 00
One quarter column, twelve months 83 00
Cne nlf column, oar month 10 00
One half column, tvrvive months -6) 0
One column, oueinou h 15 00
Oue oolumu, twelve months 100 00
Local notion 200. per line each insertion.
THE AVERAGE MAH’.
Hi* face had the gritn look of granite,
As wrinkled and browned with the son
As the coat ou his niuToW shoulters—
Ami hls showed tins yi >rk he had
done
For his wife and the babe on her oosom;'-
Yat he smiled through biff pallor aud tan
Inpatient, sad wvr, as if sayius;
“I’m only the average man.”' ,
'*l can’t be a hero or poet,
Nora General, decked with a crown;
f’ru only a badly-paid servant
For them set above me. I’m down.
An’ its no use complaining,
HI get along best way I can—
But one </ theee days ’ll come roomin'
An’ hope f’r the average man.”
As I looked on this wistful-eyed toiler
A lire flashed in my brain.
And I cried from my heart’s coepofit cantor
Above the wild roar of the train:
“I have seen the hero of battles,
I have looked on the hand for the plan-*
The mightiest force of the world is
The arm of the average man f
“Ho wages all battles and wins theme.
He builds all towers that soar
From the heart and the heat of the city;
His hand sets the ship from tho shore.
YV ithout him the General is helpless,
Tho earth but a place for a plan,
He moves all, and builds all and feeds all,
This sad-smiling, average man!”
Then I lifted my hand in a promise.
With teeth hard-set and my breath
Held close in my throat, as I uttered
In a vow that s mil outlive deatn:
“I swear that the builder no longer
To mo shall be mss than the plan;
Henceforth I give honor and glory—
Being just to the average man!”
—Hamlin Garland , in Exchange.
HUMOR OF TIIE BAY.
Making lots of money—The minis.
Everything goes—Except the Sunday
night caller.
True charity—Raising th * wind foi
eye lone sullercrs. —Co ur Ur- Journal.
You can sometimes get ti square meal,
but boarding-hosteak is mostlj
round.— Time-.
Suggested new reading of au old say*
iQg_A green winter nukes a fat doctor.
+—Buffalo E.eprm.i.
The railroad engineer may not have
much style aoout him, but wealth and
lashion follow in his train.
A young lady ha* bad a p*iir of hu
mittens made from the skin of a pet
cat, and she is purr-mined to weui
them.
“Aren’t you going to divide your jum
ble wifjh your little sister, WiUieT'.
*‘YruL. I gavtrbev the hole Jive nvtnutai
ago. ’ Afiin*cy'a Weekly.
She—“l think cigarette samking Ts
something vile. What do vo-.r 3*sulu
mostly in Chicago?" He—(of the Lake
City)— ‘ 4 Hams. ’ Time.
A contemporary asks: “Shall the
coming woman propose?” If she doesn’t
intend to she may ns well be noticed first
as last that she needn’t come. Time.
“Yes,” said the poet to tho boy, as ha
stepped into the elevator, “I am going
up. I want to feel for once in my life
that I’m arising pout.”— Neic YorkNtwa,
Age was never so painful a subject tn
any woman us it is to the boy who ia
trying to raise his first moustache, and
court a twenty-five-ycar-oUI girl. Tuno.
This we can say for .im who’ mum:
No one has ever hoard
Of any pjrson (leaf and dumb
Who doesn’t a.eep his wo -d.
—Chicago Herald.
There are two reasons why some peo
ple don’t mind their own business. One
is, that they haven’t any mind; tho
other, thrt they haven’t any br.jiness.—
Harvard lampoon ,
“What’s papu’s boy going to be when
he grows up?” I ‘Policeman.” “Aud
will’ll he do when he’s a great big po
liceman?” “Club tho stuilia* out f
pupa.” —New York Sun.
“See that man? Well, he emploj T s no
traveling ageuts, and yet his runners uro
all over the State.” “How ia that? 5 *
“He’s a sleigh manufacturer. I’ll have a
cigar!” —Lawrence American.
Little Angel (sent down to the parlor
to entertain a caller) —“Oh, yes, my sis
ter will be down m a minute. She is
getting over a crying spell because her
other beau didn’t come.”
His purse was low, bis honor scant:
H did ail orts of tbinz ha shouldn’t.
He was, in truth, a men llcaut,
And what is more, amend he wo Idn’t.
—Merchant Traveler.
The Rev. Dr. Primrose—“ Are you not
ashamed to be in a class with boys so
much smaller than yourself?” Little
Johnnie—“ Not much, I ain’t. I ca*> lick
every mother’s son of them.” —New York
Sun.
Tailor—“ You promised me faithfully
yesterday morning that you would call in
and settle for that suit hist night, if it
rained pitchforks.” Customer—“ Yes, I
know; but it didn’t rain pitchforks.”—
Time.
Au ordinary clothes-pin factory will
turn out two hundred and fifty clothes
pius a minute. And yet some people
thinks that tramps have a hard time. If
they don’t get clothes enough to keep
them warm they can burn the ciotav*-
plus.— Merchant Traveler.
Novel Cure for n Rat Bite.
Mrs. Inubu, who lives in Ivo prov
ince, was bitten by a rat twenty yours
ago, which nipped her toe one night
wnile sne lay usi.ee?. For sixteen ye *.ra
she felt the etfeets of this bite, and at
times the wound would swell and tester.
Last January she suilered acutely and net
limb swelled up to a great exteut. Ju*t
then she heard that for the bits of a rat
there was no bettor remedy than th?
flesh of a cat. She at once ordered one
of her servants to go into the vi.lnge and
catch the lirs: cat she came across. This
done, it was cooked and Mrs. laaba set
to work to eat it. Next morning she
was much better, and in two or three
days the swelling had gone down and
she was quite well again.— Otalca (Jap<in)
Ha ini chi Shimbnn.