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VOL. XVIII.
Ever and Every where,
day not of me when I am in my grave
I only wounded where I should forbear:
*Twas that I drank from sorrow’s bitter wave
Ever, and everywhere.
Say not of me, calm voiced, when I am gone
That I have marred your life that else was
fair,
t walked with sunshine from my own with
drawn
Ever, and everywhere.
Say not of me, as colder hearts will say
When I am dead, that life has proved a
snare.
Because misfortune followed on my way
Ever, and everywhere.
When I am gone, then kindly speak of me.
Say that my heart was frenzied with de_
spair;
I loved thee from my soul, if bitterly,
Ever, and everywhere.
—From the Polish. j
THE SON OF A KING.
Sometimes she was positively han<l- :
some, and sometimes very plain—can
you understand it? I never could. j
X had known Miss .Minty Kuburts 1
from my childhood. She wrote poetry
and cultivated pinks. Ah! that was
a lovely garden of liers, just opposite
the barracks, and where could be seen
glimpses of the blue river. Ilow often
have I sat on the rose-einbovyered porch
and listened to the bind, headed by
their handsome and accomplished
leader, John Brigson. To look at him
alone was a pleasure. Tall, straight,
swarthy, with Hashing black eyes,
straight eyebrows, and red, sensitive
lips under the thin mustache, and a
hand as taper and delicate in shape as
that of aay lady, lie was always the
cynosure of every eye.
Miss Minty had a great many Indian
relics. She was ten years my senior,
and seemed old to me. ' The captain
was in the regular army and a martinet
still, though retired from active ser
vice.
□Miss Kobarts was generally 'called
plain by the people of W allburg. They
did not see her when her eye Hashed
as she spoke of her life on the frontier,
nor tiie lovely rows of ivory-white
teeth when she smiled over some
pleasant recollection. She always
dressed in blue—bine wraps, blue
blue ot a darker shade
r Al r JbMtr>‘~*- **' ••!*•• vat splendiT
•Xtrsewoman.
The old captain was very quiet,
. though military in all his ways and
1 thoughts, and forever poring over old
1 musty books. In one hand he carried
'a cane, and his left arm was propped
by a crutch. Everybody honored him
because be bad done his country good
service, and the old man liked to tight
his battles over again with whoever
eould be found to listen.
Once when J was there old Josinh
Pegford, who prided himself on being
one of tiie “ melUhy,” made a rasii
speech.
"Them red Injuns ir the despisa
blest things in all creation!” he said,
his narrow brows contracted into
countless wrinkles. "I sit'd think
your father’d despise ’em.”
"My father never despised the In
dians,” said Miss Bobarts, kindling in
a Hash, Iter elieeks as red as roses; “he
is too just for that. People hate them
without reason. I’ve lived among
them and I ought to know. My father
had Indian friends as noble as any
white man could he.”
“Law sakeslyou du take up for’em
don't ye?” said Josiah, looking at her
admiringly. “Wall, now, tlu-y do say
Hrigson, over hur, the leader of the
band, ’s got Injun blood in him. I
s’poso that’s what makes him such a
favorite of the ladies.”
I happened to be looking at the cap
tain’s daughter, and saw a slow red
Hush creep all over her face and up to
the very roots of her fair hair.
“I have not the acquaintance of the
Band leader,” she said, in a high, grand
voice, turning away.
•‘Course not; cap’ln’s daughter
couldn’t associate with sich,” said the
olu man, in his grave fashion. “ But
Idu declare for his singing in church
kinder sends the cold shivers over me,
and they du sav some operatic chap
has offered him—well a sort of little
fortin if he will go with him and sing
In opprey.”
Again J was looking at Miss Bole
arts, and I saw her turn as pale as
death.
“Of course we can't expect to keep
him here, for he’s a man of uncommon
parts. Kind o’ queer why he ever
come here, too, in a small garrison
town like this.”
“How people do hate the poor In
dians!" said Miss Kobarts, with spark
ling eyes, after her visitor hail gone.
•• You have lived among them, have
you not?” I asked, determined, with
the auilacity of a girl of eighteen, to
get at her story—if story she had any
to tell.
“ I was born in Imlian Territory.”
she made reply, “ and my nurse was
an Indian woman.”
“ How strange!” I said.
“Oh, dear Miss Bobarts, please tell
tne something?” I asked.
She looked up with wide-opened
ryes. I thought she seemed startled.
“What do you mean? Tell you
something about what—who?” she
said.
“ Oh, about yourself,” 1 said, trem- i
bling at my own boldness. “ Haven’t
you had some little romantic episode :
in your life among the Indians ? I j
have always felt a secret sympathy for j
them, and you have been among them
so much.”
, “ 1 never like to tell of myself,” she
said, turning her attention to some
pretty ■ fancy-work she had in hand,
•• for sometimes you must tell things
that look like boasting, and one don’t
like to be conspicuous, even to one’s
self; but then again**—and she smiled
a little sadly—“ I sometimes think I
Should be happier if I could talk over
the old times, even if there were some
heartache in them.”
She placed her work aside, and rose
ils she said:
“ I have something I wish to show
you first.”
She went to an old-fashioned cabinet,
and from one of its nooks drew a small
package, which slio unwrapped, hand
ing me a picture framed simply in four
strips of Indian berk.
" Why, yours, of course—and it is
very good—only the dress is—so
much—”
“ Younger,” she said, smiling.
“ Yes, I was only sixteen when that
was taken- twelve years ago.”
“But your face has not grown a
minuteolder,” I said, bluntly.
“You think so, perhaps, out 1 know
better. 1 am no beauty, and flatter
myself I know just how I look, and,
certainly, my face is not as fair, my
eyes as blue, or my cheeks as red us
they were then. Still, plain as I .was,
1 was always a favorite with ‘the
Indians. Morn than one brave, more
than one chief, lias offered my father
horses and tVampum and land In ex
change for me, even when 1 was
scarcely more than a child—and when
1 grew older I was never allowed to go
anywhere unattended. The picture
you hold in your hand was painted by
an Indian.”
How strange I” I said, with a secret
admiration of the delicate work.
” Why strange?” she said. “There
is a great deal of talent, even genius,
among them, if it could only be culti
vated. They are much like other peo
ple ; poverty and ignorance keep them
down.”
Then she plunged into the story:
“When! was a child there w;u a
I rumor rife tbftt s<pin> Indians of Msf.
•:^vM ,; r.dj|i*rtt)red one df the 'agent*
| under peculiarly aggravated cireum
: stances. Nobody could prove it for a
• certainty, though it was probably true.
! < )ne night several white men belong
| ing to the post surprised a small camp
! of that tribe, and not only tortured,
i but murdered them, with their chief.
i J ust t ten some soldiers rode up,
I beaded by my father. The murderers
then had the chief's son, a lad of only
ten years, under torture. My father
not only expostulated, but arrested the
ringleaders—there were five of them
—and, speaking kindly to the boy, who
had thrown himself upon the old
chiefs body, he did everything that
could be done under the cir
cumstances, and sent him
Ito his tribe under guard. Meantime,
i the men who had practiced such need
i less cruelty were tried and punished,
I but eventually set at liberty. One year
I from that day not one of those guilty
I men was living, save a sutler who had
taken almost superhuman precautions
to keep out of harm's way. One by one
they had been singled out, sonic at
their hearthstones, some on their routes
of business—one after the other as they
took precedence by age—till only
Gregory, the storekeeper, was left.
“ One day I heard a great line and
cry. My father bad sent me to one of
tin- lieutenant’s quarters on Mime sim
ple errand. I was a well grown girl of
twelve, and tall for my age. Looking
up, I saw a cloud of dust in the dis
tance. and heard pistol shots in quick
succession. I ran back to my father’s
quarters, but before I reached them 1
saw an Indian lad covered with blood
and Hying before a small army of pur
; suers. His strength was evidently fail
i ing, for he ran unsteadily, and in
1 another moment had Hod into the quar
ters where we lived, ily first impulse
1 was to shield him, and I tried first to
| lead, then to drug, him into the house,
i but the effort was unavailing. He was
too weak to move and his pursuers
j were upon him, apparently thirsting for
' his blood, and crying out, ‘Shoot the
| Indian devil!’
“Finally—it was all T could do—l
: stood my ground ami covered the boy
as well as 1 was able. They dared not
fire for fear of wounding me, and
presently my father came out, dispersed
j the crowd, and had the boy carried in
doors, where the surgeon attended to
; his wounds.”
•• Did lie die ?" I asked, as she paused,
j looking into vacancy.
“ Xo, lie lived; though the only man
who had been spared, as yet, of all who
! belonged to teat murderous band,
j thirsti and for bis blood. .Singularly
[ enough, however, the very next day he
I was thrown from his horse and killed.”
“Is it possible,”. 1 said, “that this
boy had avenged with his single hand
the murder of his people?”
- “Xo; but he had tracked them out,
and followed them—so he confessed to
my father—and delivered them over to
justice. To my father he was most
grateful, for he remembered how he
had saved his life, and an Indian U aa
WASHINGTON, GA., FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 23, 1883.
grateful for favors us ne is revcngeruL
for injuries. For a long time after Ui%
capture he was an invalid; but as he
liegged of my father to keep him, he
lived with us six years and became*;
quite civilized. It was only when iii,
the saddle he reminded one of a savage.
He subdued every horse lie mounted, no
matter how unmanageable with
others.”
"And wliat did he look like?” I ven- j
tured to ask.
" Avery handsome young man, with j
flashing black eyes and a lithe slender >
figure. I have never seen u hand
somer man.”
“ All, Miss Minty! I know how it
ended, or ought to have,” I said.
“ You couFln’t dream how it ended,'.’
she said, simply.
“And lie became a painter?”
No, 1 don’t think he did, though
lie had much talent. An old sergeant
took a great fancy to,him, and t.mght
him to read and write, particularly ti>
phiv the piccolo. The painting came
quite naturally. J have some sketches
tlu you sliul see some time,* I never
have shown them to anybody but niy
lather.” >*-,
“That’s not the end,” I said, em
boldened liv her kindnesq. ‘
“ No, that’s not the end.”
“Andyptt! lc must, have felt that
you w ere the preserver of his life.'’
Yes, of course he did. I saved his
life,” she reputed, simply.
“And then—but that’s a shocking
thought-—lie wanted to dedicate flint
life to you.”
“Why a shocking' thought?” said
.Miss Bobarts, mildly, but her eyes al
most Hashed. “I tell* you lie was
noble in every respect,' and as delicate
as the most reljncd gentleman. When
my father, forbade him even to speak
to me, he obeyed hlift; but from that
hour he rarely spoke to any one—-
till—”
“Oh, Miss Minty! did he die?” 1
asked, antieipatinglier speech.
“Yes—to me—he did," she said,
slowly, looking like one just come out
from dreamland. “ That was years
ago."
"And have you never seen him.
since?”
“ Don’t question me, child,” she said,
with gentle decision; neither did 1
havefurUu-.r tun fry, fdPat that
lime came }n.
'Law#l htnu'cli w ardens 'wertr elec
trified,’ itlViv weeks after, at the news
that tteey were going to lose their
tenor, and the band its leader. 1 hail
never taken much interest in John
Brigson, simply because he was aquiet
man who rarely lifted his handsome
eyes, except when spoken to, and who
seemed never to cure for anybody but
himself, never going into society, un
less in a professional capacity. Every
body wiio looked at him admired him,
and his wonderful singing voice
brought crowds to our little church,
for the way he sang was something
marvelous. Now we were - going to
lose him—for rumor said he was offered
a small fortune yearly—he suddenly
gained in importance.
I generally contrived to meet Miss
Bobarts on my way to church, so on a
particular Sunday I said to her:
‘*i ’suppose you have heard the
news?”
“ What news?” she asked, eyeing me
keenly.
“ We are to lose the leader of the
hand. When shall we get such another
tenor?”
“Never,” she said, quietly.
“What! Brigson going away? I
never heard it,” said the captain, com
ing to a stop. “ That won’t do, daugh
ter,” turning to her.
“I suppose Mr. Brigson has a per
fect right to go where he pleases,”
said Miss ltoharts, as the old captain
stumped on.
“ Well, well,” muttered the old man,
“ I ought to die.”
“Father!” eriul Miss Bobarts, ap
} pealingly, and her lip quivered as she
speke.
That day it happened that I gave up
my seat to a stranger, and took another
where I faced Miss Bobarts. J remem
ber exactly how she was dressed—old
gold ribbons tied under her chin, a
navy blue dress, light gloves and a
fan that she had painted herself. (She
always looked pretty to me, with her
hat on. J watched her through the
service, and particularly when Mr.
Brigson sang. It seemed to me that
she was growing pale, as if some
strange gray shadow was settling
down upon her face, and just as the
tenor sang, in his womlrouslv clear
tones, “ O Lord, have mercy upon us
—have mercy upon us!" what I alrno-t
unconsciously dreaded came to pass,
Miss Kobarts sank hack against her
father’s shoulder. She had fainted.
, Of i-ourse there was confusion, stir
and wonder. I found myself at the
door as they carried her out, and I
could hear the solemn tones of the
rector arid the choir singing again.
They brought her down the steps and
carried her into the rectory, where,
after a long time, she came out of her
swoon.
“ What do you suppose made me
faint?” were her first words when she
came to consciousness. ”1 never
fainted before in all my life.”
The old captain was standing before
her, his grim features working as he
looked down upon her. It was evi-
•and mt that he was very rraeh frlght
jtened, for liis only child was his idol,
f “ Never mind, father, it’s all right.”
She said, rising feebly and throwing her
airms about bis neck,
j, “No, it ain’t,” lie muttered, half
savagely; “it’s all wrong.”
| The next day 1 called and learned
|he captain was sick.
H,” Be took to his bed last night,” said
■tiie stout maid, as she stood at the
floor, "and he'll never git up.”
j “ Tell her to come in," said a voice,
and there was Miss Bobarts in the
Spilt, 8s pale as ashes. •
[s ;i “ lie is asleep now,” she half whis
pered, leading me into the parlor,
4li ere the old captain lay in a reclining
chair, which was the only bed he ever
(feed. A screen stood in front of him,
dml Miss Bobarts and 1 sat by the win
dow, talking.
r | ll ß "’as the fright, on Sunday,” she
*hl, looking sadly out. “1 never knew
him tube ill before. Oh, what shall I
do if—” Her white lips trembled,
then she sprung to her l'cet, for tin
old man called her.
}" Daughter, it is all right,” lie said,
in a soft, slow voice.
jF ”Oh, father !” she half sobbed.
? r cs—yes, it has been a false,
wicked pride. I had neatly sacrificed
ypu—but now—”
Father! lam not sorry. I am
sarong,” sho said, kneeling by the side
of his eluiir.
,yf“ 1 know—l know,” ho muttered,
“ Tint I see things in a different light.
I might have made you happier; it was
a foolish prejudice. Nay, don’t cry; a
dfing nmn must have his way. Send
fir him—send for him!” ho added,
more emphatically.
Miss Bobarts turned to me.
“ Will you go to the barracks for
up ?” she asked—“only to the green
dour. Take this card.” Sho wrote a
single sentence.
J followed her directions. The
leader himself came to the door in his
uniform. lie looked imposingly hand
some, and as lie read the card, lie lifted
his cap and turned hastily away.
> Say, if you please, that 1 will lie
there immediately,” he said, and I re
turned with my message.
“ Don't go,” said Miss Bobarts, ImliW
ing my hand; “ papa hasn’t spoktjfe
s-m Don’t leave me alone.” JH
i-Ilitl noUtiu’fe her
fivTWiMitcsii step 'sounded on tiff
gravel Walk. As the man entered tiie
old captain came out of his lethargy,
“John, my son!” lie said.
The man came forward and bent
above him.
“ Have I not obeyed you ?” he asked.
“I said I would never speak to her
without your permission.”
“ But you have taken good care to
follow us up pretty well,” said the old
man, with a feeble laugh.
“ 1 acknowledge it, sir; you put no
other restraint upon me but that one
of speaking.”
“ Y'ou have been true to her for
twelve years, John; you will be true
to her lor life?”
“I will!” Anil the words had all
the solemnity of an oath.
“Take her, then, with an old man’s
blessing. You are a good boy, John—
a good boy,” and liis voice grew
drowsy.
Then I saw Miss Bobarts’face kindle
Into positive beauty. In that exalted
moment she looked to me like an angel,
so much of the good, true heart slumo
in her eyes.
The man—the band-leader, was the
hero of her story—the son of the
butchered chief. He had loved her all
this time patiently, silently, speaking
to her spirit only with his ringing,
wondorlul notes. From outpost tc
outpost, from city to city, from station
to station, ho bud followed, content
only to breathe the. same atmosphere,
to worship at a distance—to wait.
“It seemed to me,” Miss Bobarts
; told me afterward, “that at last liis
patience was worn out, aim I felt
that Sunday that I was listening
to him for the last time. But the
: story of the operatic star was a ruse—
j lie never emit.-mplated leaving while
my lather lived.”
The wedding was a nine-days’
wonder. The blue blood of the army
was shocked until tiie band-leader was
offered a commission, through the in
! tluence of irlends, which at first lie
j refused, but eventually accepted.
Somebody said that somebody cl’se bad
i said they heard him say that ttio son
• of a king was good enough for anybody.
, i should not wonder.
| The old captain did not die. No one
; at tiie marriage feast was happier than
I he; and John Brigson worships liis
I wife. — Mrs. M. A. Mention.
Horned Men.
The last alleged discovery is that
| there arc horned men in Africa. A
Captain J. S. H*y recently read a
, paper before the British association,
! in which he stated that lie had seen
; them and exhibited sketches of them.
He thought they belonged to the class
of malformations of which there was
a noted example in the case of the
“ porcupine man,” who had horny
plaits on various parts of Ids body. It
was remarkable that the horns were
peculiar to the male sex. Most anthro
pologists think that the gallant cap
tain is either joking or romancing.
SCIENTIFIC AJiDINDUSTRIAL.
Live animals intended for slaughter
will hereafter be sold by weight in
England. Heretofore it has been the
custom to estimate their weight by the
eye or by measurement.
They now have goats in England
that give three or four quarts of milk
per day. Some specimens have re
cently sold for SSO per bead. The in
terest in goat raising is increasing, and
the milk is in good demand at high
prices.
<*n 1872 a deposit of ochre equal !
quality to the French product was dis
covered on the Appomatox river, at
Bermuda, Va. From this deposit are
now taken one thousand tons a year,
or about one-third the line oqlires used
in the United States.
A French scientist, explaining why
fish eaten in Holland are superior to
those eaten in France, says that the
Dutch fishermen kill their fish as soon
as taken from the water by making a
slight longitudinal incision under tlio
tail with a very sharp instrument.
The French fishermen, on the contrary,
allow their fish to die slowly, and this
slow dentil softens the tissues and ren
ders theiii more liable to undergo
change.
Naturansts will lie interested in
learning that a doe having horns, so
prominent and well developed as to
gifre it all the appearance of a buck at
u distance, lias just been killed in a
wood > near Aachen, or Atx-ja-Cha
pefle, in Rhenish 1 Prussia. Jtiljr well
known that old does show inOTmtnts
of horns, but scarcely, if oveffif* such
a size as to emulate those "tjaffipMe.
In this instance tiie longijg of 4m
horns was nineteen eunUHHMii
length.
M. Pasteur, of France, say&jthut tfco
grass grown over tiie gi'iyfoMfiiJroaMe
that died of splenic
infection to cattle feeding ffijnin it. Ap
points to tiie agency Of earOlF woflip
in carrying the go ins of; <i
te-rin from buried liviw
animals. Having mtjriftu
into a pit wliU-jyiad .oikttujhMtho e|r J
e,i -ses . 1 1 eat tie Ib;,V •
forms by Inoculation, lie also fehbwou
that the worms, by casting out over
tlic surface earth containing the bac
teria germs, gave the disease to all
cattle that grazed over it.
Aaron Burr ns n Cross-Examiner.
A writer thus describes tiie conclu
sion of a case in which Burr, the
slayer of Alexander Hamilton, was
one of the lawyers. 'J’lie evening
session opened, and Burr resumed his
cross-examination of the witness. It
was a test of the profound skill and
subtlety of the lawyer, the self-pos
session, courage and tact of tiie wit
ness standing on tiie very brink of a
horrible gulf firmly and intrepidly re
sisting the efforts of the terrible man
to topple him over. At last, alter
dexterously leading the witness to an
appropriate point, Burr suddenly
seized a lain]) in each hand, and hold
ing them in such a manner tliut their
light fell instantaneously upon tiie face
of tiie witness, he exclaimed, in a
startling voice, like the voice of the
avenger of blood: “Gentlemen of the
jury, behold the murderer!”
Wilh a wild, eonvulsivestart, a face
of ashy pallor, eyes starting from
their sockets, lips apart, his whole at
titude evincing terror, the mqn sprang
from ids chair. For a moment lie
stood motionless, struggling to recover
his self-possession, But it was only a
momentary struggle, shaking every
nerve witli paralyzing fear. Conscious
that tim eyes of all in the court-room
were fixed upon him, reading the hid
den deeds of his life lie 16ft the wit
ness stand and walked shrinkingly to
tiie door of the court-room. But he
was prevented from making liis es
cape by tiie sheriff. The effect can he
better imagined than described. It
struck tiie spectators witli silent awe,
changing flic whole aspect of tiie trial
in an instant, overthrowing tiie apoth
esis of tiie attorney-general, which he
‘ was convinced would send the prisoner
to the gallows, saving an innocent
man from the deathfiil hands of ahold
and skillful perjurer. The false wit
ness was arrested, two indictments
were found against him, one for mur
der, another for perjury. He was ac
quitted for murder, but subsequently
convicted for perjury, and sentenced
to a long term of iinprisonmeht.
A vessel sailing for Bio Janeiro, in
stead of going directly south, usually
steers east hall-wav across the Atlantic
before attempting to go directly on her
voyagx Then she strikis the trade
winds and takes a southeasterly direc
tion. The sailor loses sight of the
great dipper soon after crossing the
equator. Then tlio southern cross is
visible early in the evening, and tiie
scorpion is directly overhead.
The product of tea in Japan now
reaches upward of 90,000,000 of
pounds annually, the production hav
ing largely increased within the last
tix years.
NO. 8.
Signs of Prosperity.
Where spades grow bright,
And idle swords grow doll;
Where jail* are empty,
And where hams are foil;
Where field paths are
With frequent feet unworn,
Law court yards weedy,
Silent and forlorn;
Where doctors foot it,
And where farm srs ride;
Wiiere age abounds,
And youth is multiplied;
Where poisonous drinks
Are chased from everyplace;
Where opium’s curse
No longer leaves a trace—
Wiiere these signs are
They clearly indicate
A happy people,
And a well-ruled State.
—From the Chinese.
HUMOR OF THE DAY.
Bright days in store—When there it
a rush of customers.
Men Who get credit for their good
works—Watchmakers.
Seasick passengers are most inclined
to heave when tlio vessel heaves to.—
Lowell Courier.
Even an armless man can take s
hand in a game of foot-ball, —Jfeu
York Commercial.
The man who thinks himself smart
likes to make others smart. There is
certainly nothing selfish about him.—
Huston Transcript.
There sprang a leak in Noali’s ark,
And then tiie dog began to bark;
Noah took its nose to stop the hole,
Hence a dog’s nose is always cold.
—Humane Journal.
A recent scientific authority says an
aero of land contains six tons of
worms. Every fisherman who lias
dug for bait on a dry day knows
better.— Hartford Vest.
It is related as a singular fact that
fat men never commit crime. It
doesn't seem so singular when yon
reflect that it is difficult for a fat
limn to stoop to anything low. —Loibell
Citizen.
A pretended ghost made its rtppear
■ unot* in a Western town, the other
night, ami accidentally
bulldog. The result of the encounter
estal dished, beyond all doubt, that
there wus nothing superstitious about
tlio dog.
Nothing is better calculated to de
stroy a man’s equanimity than to have
a lady walk up to him while he is lin
gering near a fruit stand anil offer him
two cents for an apple, when in re
ality he is only waiting for a horse
car to come along.— Tuck.
The president of Tufts college was
recently made a happy father, and the
following morning at prayer in the
chapel he introduced this rather am
biguous sentence: “And we thank
thee, O Lord, for the succor thou hast
given us,” which caused a general
smile to creep over the faces of the
class.— Haeerhill Uazette.
The sad news comes from Van
Bulow, the great musician, that it has
been found necessary to place him
under treatment for incipient insanity.
We trust this paragraph may strike the
eye of the youth who owns the double
barreled accordion, and who seems to
think lie holds a mortgage on the air
in the vicinity of our humble domicile
— Statesman.
Explaining the tracks; Mistress ( who
has long suspected her servant of hav
ing a follower and thinks sho has
caught her at last)— “Mary, your mas
ter wishes to know the meaning of
those large footmarks; can you ex
plain?” Mary—“Oli, yes, mum! my
sister's been here, and she’s got the
gout so had she lias to wearing boots”
— l.ondon Judy.
“ Thomas, why have you not learned
your lesson r” asked an Austin teacher
of a pupil who was noted for liis im
pudence. “ Because 1 did not feel like
it.” The reply pleased the teacher im
mensely. It was rtolly refreshing to
hear anew excuse, so ho sad:
“ Tommy, I’ll give you a good mark lor
your truthtulni ss. Now, Billy,” turn
ing to the next b y, “what is the rea
son you did not k arn your lesson?”
“Because I didn’t feel like it,” replied
Billy, thinking he, too, would gi t a
good mark for Mi truthfulness; but,
instead, the teacher took out a strap,
and said: “Billy, I’ll have to piunish
your plagiarism. You stole that an
swer from Tommy.” —Texas iilfliiujs,
FEMALE FIOIJIIES.
Sometime*, by flattery, r.ho’a 1.
Sometimes she is 2, too;
She’s often ff-ling and, my son.
Sometimes she goes 4 you.
Sometimes Rlie is fi-acious quite;
Sometimes, ala*, she's G;
Sometimes She's 7 to our sight,
And doth our souls transfix.
Sometimes, by cannibals, sho’s 8,
Blie often is be-9;
Sometimes she is a 10 der mate
In the domestic line.
Sometimes sho just amounts to 0.
And cannot make a pie;
And then it is that we are taught
That female figures lie.
-11. C. Dodg*.