Newspaper Page Text
S. M. BLACKBURN, Publisher.
YOL. VIII.
LITERARY DEPARTMENT.
MISS ANNA C. M. BLACKBURN. ...Editor.
For the Madison Home Journal.
TO MISS M .
‘Why do I love thee ?’ Ask the flower
Why it loves the morning dew;
Ask the wild bird why its pinions
Love the bright, the upper blue.
I love you!
'Why do I leve thee ?’ Ask the waves
Why they love to lave the shore
And leap to kiss tiie pebbled strand,
But to return and kiss once more.
I love you!
•Why do I love thee?’ Ask the brook,
Meandering through the verdant vale,
Why it kisses every flower
That with perfume fills the gale.
I love you!
'Why do I love thee ?’ Ask the stranger
Exiled from his native shore.
When his thoughts return te childhood,
Why he loves his home the more.
I love you!
"Why do I love thee?’ Ask the star3
Why they love to shed on earth
Rays of beauty, rays ol splendor,
Dimmed not from their early birth.
I love you!
INDIRECTION.
[Mr. Editor: We clip you a poem
from a current number of the Atlantic,
of Col. Richard Reolf, an acknowledged
genius, and a lieutenant once of the no
torious John Brown. He was supposed,
though falsely, to have been related to
Lord Byron. The poem is beautiful and
splendid in metaphysics and tiatiscen
dental thought. We think that it will
please many of your readers, and wish
that you would republish it. —John T.
l’ou.]
Fair are the flowers and the children,
but their subtle suggestion is fairer:
Rare is the roseburst of* dawn, but the
secret that clasps it is rarer;
Sweet the exultance of song, but the
strain that precedes it is sweeter;
And never was poem yet writ, but the
meaning out-mastered the metre.
Never a daisy that grows, but a mystery
guideth the growing;
Never a river that flows, but a majesty
sceptres the flowing;
Never a Sliakspeare that soared, but a
strongerthan lie did enfold him;
Nor ever a prophet foretells, but a migh
tier seer hath foretold him.
Back of the canvass that throbs, the
painter is hinted and hidden;
Into the statue that breathes, the soul of
the sculptor is bidden;
Under the joy that is felt, lie the infinite
issues of feeling;
Crowing the glory revealed is the glory
that crowns the revealing.
Great arc the symbols of being, but that
which is symboled is greater;
Vast the create and beheld, but vaster
the inward creator;
Back ol the sounds broods the silence,
back of the gift stands the giving.
Back of the hand that receives, thrill the
sensitive nerves of receiving.
Space is as nothing to spirit, the deed is
outdone by the doing;
Tiie heart of the wooer is warm, but war
mer the heart of the wooing;
And up from the pits where these shiver,
and up from the heights where those
shine,
Twin voices and shadows swim starward,
and the essence of life is divine.
For the Madisou Home Junius!.
POETRY.
BY FINLEY JOHNSON.
This is an age of progress, and
it has been Baid that in its pro
gress, towards perfection, poetry
has been crashed out of existence;
and by the many elegies that have
been chanted over it, one would
naturally infer that such was the
case. But poetry is not dead;
its spirit is still abroad, and its
wings are still brooding over all
that is holy and beautiful, and
the very elegies which have been
chanted over it, proves its exist
ences.
The bird that sings, even a
plaintive lay, in the dim old woods,
is yet a living poet. Even our
tears of sorrow, which fall like
rain from our eyes, breathe music,
and we weep poetry. Every tear
that glistens like brilliant gems
upon the trembling eye-lashes, is
in itself a poem, even as the “one
melodious tear,” which fell on the
grave of Lycidas, was a potm of
Milton. No, gentle reader, poe
try is not deud; believe not the
slander ; it can never die, neither
can it sleep. It is abroad in the
night watches, it comes to us in
the spirit land, and hovers above
us on the golden wings of dreams.
It is awake when the twinkling
stars of heaven one by one from
their chambers creep, and are
hung as “lamps of light” upon
the walls of the azure heavens ;
when the gentle zephyrs rustle
the leaves of the grim dark trees
—when the sleepless mother
thinks upon Iter absent son—when
the sail ir s bride listens to the
tempos;'* roar, and when Nature
|p|if
and Nature’s God are holding
sweet communion in the secret
chambers of the hidden rocks.
Poetry—true, noble, God-like
poetry, can never die. That which
is an attribute of an immortal
spirit must in itself partake *of its
immortality. God is poetry, and
every true, believer i3 a' poet.
God and poetry are one—above
ourselves, and immortal. The
things of earth may pass away,
but the lofty aspirations of a true
poetic soul, never. The world
lias yet to learn the distinction
between poetry and rhyme. To
be a poet, and to write verse, are
two very different things. We
cannot confine poetry to metre,
for rhyme but adds to verse a
certain harmony. A stanzas is
only a musical box, competent to
play a certain number of tones.
Rhymes are but bells, whose peals
are confined to their number.
However musical the poetry of
rhyme, real poetry appears plain
metre, and disregarding all meas
ure, she often steps in the fields
of verse, while buds and blossoms
spring up beneath her feet.
The true poet is unselfish ; he
does not put the sun in his pock
et for his own use, but rather
gives its radiance to all. And the
poet lover, though many miles
away, is still with his mistress—
though seas may roll between
them she is ever present to him.
The moon, of whose beauty he
sings, shines on her home. The
river, upon whose banks he re
poses, flows for her. The gentle
zephyrs upon their light wings,
bear unto him her sight and
moans, and nature has no charms,
imagination no fancies, but with
which she i3 connected.
Then say not that poetry is
dead, for it is immortal, and
though for a time its brilliancy
may be dimmed by the hosts of
insects who flitter in its glare, yet
soon shall they b 9 “among the
things that wore,” and poetry,
true, noble, God-like poetry, shine
in refulgent glory, and unfading
splendor.
Awake then, ye poets of the
Sunny South; ye have slumbered
too long ; the snails of the fanati
cal North have out-stripped ye in
the race, but not by any inate
power of their own, but through
your own supineness. There are
pure diamonds buried now, but
the chisel of time shall show their
beauty to perfection; and that pe
riod is not far distant when South
ern talent shall stand forth know
ing no equal, fearing no superior,
and bearing aloft the motto ‘Ex
celsior,’ shall startle the world
with the splendor of its achieve
ments. God bless fhe South.
For the Madisou Home Journal.
HONESTY IS THE BEST
POLICY. *
Nothing is more essential to the
business man, for success in his
mercantile, or business pursuits,
than the establishment upon a
substantial basis, his business po
sition and his character for hon
esty and fair dealings. This posi
tion once attained in the commu
nity in which he lives, success is
always sure to follow his business
operations. Without it he be
comes like the consumptive pa
tient, always ailing, and subject to
the atmospheric changes of the
hour. In the morning he lives—
is known—in the evening, dead—
forgotten. He is only referred to
as a warning to others. Avoid his
mistakes and steer clear of his er
rors. While the honest merchant
prospers from day to day. becomes
loved and respected by the com
munity in which he moves, success
crowns his labors, and when the
hour of earthly departure comes,
he dies regretted, and his memory
ever remains green, as a monu
ment of worth, of honesty ; and
the throe elements of success,
‘The old Proverb,’ that Honesty
is the best policy,’ is verified over
and over again throughout the
world, and no man who lias adop
ted the priucinle from the love of
it, has ever repented of or for his
choice. While thousands upon
thousands have too late seen the
mistake of neglecting its admoni
tion, and thereby pursued the
shadow for the substance. Hon
esty is the best policy, and the
more thoroughly it is brought in
to every minute transactions of
life, the greater the success, both
in worldly as well as spiritual
gains. That boy who is honest,
honesty to himself, honest in his
impulses, honest, I may say, in
the principles of his inmost soul,
will ever be regarded as a youth
of high praise, and moral worth,
and have credit and respect of all
in the community in which he
lives. The young man *uu in Liu
youthhood foltnt and builds up
for himself a character, and it sus
tains and follow* him to the grave.
That character which i framed
Nation may Too Governed ana yet Too Free.
and built up in youth, must, I say
be of the right stamp, or else it
will never be crowned with suc
cess. That boy who is wild and
rattling in bis disposition, cares
nothing for a reputation; he
knows not the value of it; he
passes a gentleman in the street
with a face of deception, and acts
as though he was a lad of high
moral worth. That boy who has
the reputation above mentioned,
is not honest in his inmost soul.
He does not stop to think, that
fentleman knows me, knows that
have no reputation, and has no
more respect for me, than the
poor gambling vagabond. That
boy may perhaps possess wealth,
and great riches, but with all of it
if he has no reputation, he is re
spected no more than the poor
street loafer and gambler. But
not so with the honest youth; if
h 8 has money he appropriates it
to a good use, and will always
keep what he has fairly labored
and toiled for—will be true to his
fellow associates, and will do that
which is right, and to him will be
no hardship. That is what I call
true honor and honesty. Let ev
ery body know that you are hon
est, and be honorable for honor's
sake, truthful and honest for the
love of it. Who does not love
transparent characters; anywhere,
everywhere, in boys or girls, in
young or old. A Youth.
JUDGE AUGUSTUS REESE
IN THE CONVENTION
SKETCH BOOK.
Madison, Ga. Nov. 5,1878.
Editors Madison Home Journal:
Please grant me the use of
enough of your valuable space to
enable me to note and correct one
erroneous statement in the other
wise unexceptionable sketch of
Judge Bugustus Reese, as pub
lished in the “Georgia Convention
Sketches, 1877.” I here quote
from the sketch so much of it as
is necessary to my purpose :
“Asa Judge he was ever urbane,
upright, strong and fearless. In
that position, as in all others, he
stooped not to consult the prejudi
ces and passions of the people,
preferring to know what was right
and pursue it; nor, on the other
hand, did ho cringe and fawn at
the foot-stool of power. This lat
ter characteristic was decidedly
exemplified in his refusal to obey
the orders of Gen. Pope, which
would virtually eliminated, as he
thought, the white element from
the jury box. And rather than
do this, and especially at the dic
ta tiou of a military satrap, he re
signed his office, to the great re
gret of his people who, neverthe
less admired his manly course. *
Judge Reese won his title of
Judge by appointment of Govern
or Jenkins in 1866. He was ap
pointed to fill an unexpired term
in the Ocmulgee Circuit, and in
1867 was elected by the people
without opposition, and continued
in office until the latter part of
that year, when he resigned for
the reason explained. The cor
respondence occurring at that
time between Gen. Pope and him
self was conducted with manly
dignity and ability on his part,
and forcibly illustrated the nigh
and unbending character of the
man.”
It will be seen that in this ex
tract it is twice stated that Judge
Reese resigned his office. Ho
did not resign. Let ns now refer
to the reccord of the correspon
dence between the General and
the Judge as published in the
Home Journal of the 31st of
August, this year, to see whether
or not the facts sustain my nega
tive. We find that the Judge in
his first letter, dated September 9
1867, informs the General that he
caunoi obtain his consent to be
made instrumental in carrying out
“General Orders Nos. 53 and 55,”
which made the competency of
jurors to depend upon the politics
of the person surmoned, and gives
his reasons why he cannot con
sent to conform to the orders. At
the close of this letter is the fol
lowing paragraph : “If you should
feol it to be your duty to prohibit
me from the further exercise of
Judicial powers, notice of that
fact at your earliest convenience
is desirable.”
The General replies in a letter
dated September, 1867, wherein
be affects to review the reasons
given by the Judge why he can
not consent to the carrying out of
the orders and concludes with
this paragraph:—Whilst I do not
for the present, prohibit you from
the further exercise of judicial
power, I do require you to observe
the above orders, and will not
overlook any failure on your part
L> carry them fully into execu
tion "
The Judge'* rejoinder i* dated
Sep tom bur 10, 1807, consist* of a
MADISON, GA., SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 9, 1878.
brief bnt courteous consideration
of the views advanced by the Gen
eral, and closes as follows: “I
can't see that I have any alterna
tive in the promises other than to
proceed with the discharge of my
official duties as heretofore until
you shall feel it to be your duty
to have given me a prohibitory
notice.”
The General, now seeing that
the Judge could not be induced to
forego his determination, replies
the very next day : “As our views
of your duty to observe and com
ply with orders issued by me a9
District Commander are irrecon
cilable, and as I consider it my
duty to enforce my own opinion
on the subject, and as I am un
willing in the case of a gentleman
of your character and standing to
to so unpleasant an act as
your removal from office, I suggest
that, to avoid unpleasantness, whir h
lam sure neither of us seek, you re
sign yoar office. (Emphasis mine.)
If you should conclude not to do
so, be pleased to inform me, and
to consider this lettor a positive
prohibition against the further ex
ercise of your office, unless you
conform to my orderc concerning
juries in this State. I regret very
much that this disagreement
should deprive the State of Geor
gia of the service of so competent
and worthy a Judge.”
The final letter of the correspon
dence, written by the Judge, Sep
tember 20, 1867, contains this lan
guage : “I cannot, as you have
been heretofore advised, consist
ently with my views of duty, be
made instrumental in carrying out
Orders Nos. 53 and 55, nor can I
bring my mind to the conclusion
that I ought to resign. Your let
ter, therefore, is accepted by me
as a ‘positive prohibition against
the further exercise of my office,’
and will be acquiesced in by me
as such.”
On the same day, the 20th,
Judge Reeso promulgated this no
tice “to the people of the the Oc
mulgee Judicial District“ Fe
llow citizens : Elected by you to
the Judgeship of this Circuit,
without opposition, it is due to
you that you should understand
why it is that I do not, from this
day, exercise the functions of the
office. I refer you to the append
ed correspondence. Augustus
Reese.”
This correspondence, together
with the notice to the people of
circuit, appeared in full text in the
Chronicle dk Sentinel of the 24th of
September, 1867, and was repub
lished in theHoMEJoURNALas above
indicated, on the 3ist of Aug. this
year.
By this record it is established
that Judge Reese did not resign his
office, but was positively prohibited
by the “military satrap” from the
further exorcise of its duties. With
his convictions of duty, in the
premises, he could not have resign
ed. To have done so, would have
been irreconoiliable with the prin
ciples upon which he based his
refusal to carry out Pope’s orders.
The word resign, ex vi termini,
means to yield, to give up, and
supposes a voluntary movant. But
Judge Reese yielded nothing. He
persisted and triumphed in the
position he had assumed, and
therein consisted his ti no glory.
In the extract from the sketch
above quoted allusion is made, it
is true, to the Judge’s “refusal to
obey the orders of General Pope
and some may urge that, although
the word resign is used in the
sketch, yet, when the whole con
text is considered together, its lit
eral meaning is so modified as to
convey a correct idea, after all, of
the transaction. If this construc
tion should prevail, then I would
be obnoxious to a charge of hy
percriticism. But this construction
cannot prevail without doing vio
lence to another and equally car
dinal construction —that the. ordina
ry signification shall be applied to all
words.
But I apprehend that the auth
or of the sketch himself will ack
nowledge and appreciate the cor
rection of the error. Whoever ho
may bo, he is evidently an admir
er of Judge Reese, and would do
nothing, either by omission or
commission, to detract from the
high admiration and esteem so
nuiversally and so justly enter
tained for that incorruptible pa
triot. A perusal of the sketch or
even so much of it as 1 have
quoted, reveals the fact that its
author wields an eloquent pen
and is altogether capable and ca
pable and worthy of paying a
just tribute to the character of
the grand Roman whose unflinch
ing devotion to principle, in the
dark days of military rule, saved
Georgia from that desolation
which must needs haue resulted
from having negroes serve a* ju
rors kt our Court* of justice.
U. W. 15.
BABY BURGLARS.
Juvenile Depravity of New York
[From the N. Y. Sun.]
Two little fellows, who could
have been carried in the arms of
of the officer who led them, went
tottling down the aisle of the
court-room, in Paterson, on Sat
urday, to answer to a charge of
burglarly.
‘Burglary! what do U medn?These
babies?’ And the judge had to lean
clean over the railing to see the
tiny prisoners. They stood look
ing up at him with their great
eyes, the only clean feature about
their faces, while their hair was
matted and snarled, and baby-col
ored. Rags covered their ‘ little
logs, somehow or other hitched up
around the waists, and through the
gaps of their cotton shirts the
white skin that proved their race
was seen. Their hands were black
as the earth, and no wonder, for
they were so little that it didn’t
take much soil to cover them, and
their faces were smeared and
grimy.
It was a clear case against the
babies, and they admitted that
they had gone to the chicken-coop
at two o’clock in the monring with
some other fellows.” and robbed
the roost. They could have deni
ed it had they been old enough to
have tried a defense, because they
were caught in the act.
‘Bat I can’t imprison such chil
dren as these,” said the judge.
‘Where’s their father? Where do
they live?
He was told that they lived al
most anywhere, and that their fa
ther and mother were too poor,
and perhaps too careless, to watch
over him ;so they had spent the
time since they climbed out of the
cradle, two or three years ago, up
on the streets of Paterson.
‘What’s your name?’ the judge
asked the older.
‘l’m Willie Asiam,and me broth
er’s Eddy*’
‘And how old are you?
‘Me brother’s five and I’m six I
guess.’
Then an offiicer and a gentleman
who were in the court told the
judge that the urchins had been
begging their food for months and
sleeping wherever night found
them.
‘They ought to be taken care of,
but jail is no place for them.’
‘Oh they’ve been to jail before,
your honor.’
‘Those babies been te jail!’
‘Yes, twice.’
Here the father came in-a wea
ry-eyed, over-worked laboring
man. He said that he was away
from horn* so much that he
couldn’t look after his children,
and he passed lightly over the rea
son why the mother did not care
for them. He agreed with the
judge that the boys would have
better care in the State Reform
school, and so they were ordered
by the court to be taken there.
A brawny negro unlockod the
doors of the cell in which they are
confined, awaiting their transfer
to the Reform school, their little
faces peering through the bars of
the cell door as he did so, and
they came running through the
corridor to the office yesterday af
ternoon as Warden Bnckley called
them.
‘Stand up there,’ said the war
den kindly, and the little fellows
ranged themselves side by side.
The older thrust his hands
in the pockets of anew pair
of trousers which the warden
had given them, and the younger
stared with all the simplicity of an
infant at the writer. Willie, the
6-year old boy, has a round pleas
ant face, with great blue eyes and
red lips, but his skin is white, and
he looks aB though he knew what
it much. Eddy’s features are
pinched, and his lips thin, and
with all his innocent look he can
be very cunnning. So tiickly is the
little fellow, that the warden found
it absolutely neccessary to lock
him in a cell apart from his broth
er.
A little present was sufficiant
to gain the bov’s confidence, and
in answer to questions they told
their little history.
‘ We’so here cause we hooked
chickens, aint we, Eddy? But we
wouldn’t have hooked them if it
hadn’t been for another fell.’
‘Dick. He tolled us that he
knowed how we could get chick
ens, and so we laid awake until
policeman went by ; then we went
and got eui.’
‘What were you going to do
with chickens?’
‘We’se going to roast era, wau’t
we, Eddy?
Eddy nodded hi* bead, squirrn
iod and grinned.
‘Tell me how you roast them?’
Then Willie looked up with a
growing expression of contempt
: and wonder.
! ’Didn’t you never roast no
chickens? You get’em, and then
pull their necks off, and make a
fire down in the lots and stick ’em
into it.’
‘That was what you were going
to do?’
‘Yes, if the man hadn’t caught
us.’
,Did you ever roast any before?’
( Yeth, thir,’ and the little five
year-old, ‘me’n Willie’n ’noder fel
lar.”
‘When you didn’t have chick
ens to roast, how did you get your
breakfast?’
‘We begged it. There was a wo
man down by the bridge who
giv’d us somethim’ every morn
ing, wasn’t there Eddy?’
‘Cept when we went down to
the bake-shop,’ added Eddy, quite
squirming.
The bakeman sometime giv’d us
two buns in the morning when we
went round there early.’
‘And two buns made you a good
breakfast?’
‘Only when Dick was with us.
Then he’d eat one and Eddy and
me’d eat the other one.’
‘You got your dinner and sup
per in the same manner?’
‘What?’ said Willie, as if he did
not comprehend the question, and
it was repeated in a simpler lang
uage:
‘Yes; somebody always give us
something to eat.’
‘And what did you do all day?’
‘Played down by the cars and
on the bridge, and went with the
circus.’
‘l’m going to be a circus man
when I gets big and be a drum
mer,” said Eddy, his eyes open
ing wide, and forgetting his em
barrassment for the first time.
‘They have drums at the Re
form school,’ said the warden,‘and
play baseball.’
Then Eddy and Willie looked
at each other and giggled, bat Ed
dy suddenly became embarrassed
again, and began to squirm.
‘Where did you and Eddie
sleep ?’
‘Under the stoop by the bake
shop. Me and Eddy and Dick
and some other fellers used to
crawl in there through a hole.—
Sometimes the policeman came
along and put his lantern in there
and pulled us out.’
‘Yeth,’ and Willie evidently re
garded this as a very silly ques
tion.
‘Why didn’t yon sleep at home?’
‘Cause the fellers asked us to
come out and have some fun in
the night.’
Here Eddy laughed slyly, and
Willie observing it, took it upon
himself to reprove his brother.
‘Whet are yer laughin’ at? You
used to get fellers to stay out and
sleep under the stoop.’
‘Have you ever been in here be
fore ?’
‘Yes sir,’ said Willie.
‘No, thir,’ said Eddy.
‘Tut, tut,’ said Warden Buck
ley, warningly.
‘Yes, thir,’ said Eddy, faintly.
‘What for ?’
‘Hookin’ apples down at Dun
ham’s,’ said Willie.
‘What were you in for the other
time ?’
‘Hookin a banana.’
‘Yes, they were brought here,’
said the warden, ‘bat I couldn’t
keep sach little chits.’
‘Do you want to go in the re
form school ?’
‘Dunno.’
‘Have you ever been to Sunday
school ?’
‘Didn’t have no clothes,’ said
Eddy.
The brawny negro led them to
their cells and closed the heavy
bars, and they stood with their
little white face at the bars until
the prison door was shut.
The boys had a sad home, and
so they went from it to the street.
Two or three rooms, perhaps a
crust of bread now and then, and
very little motherly love; this
has been home to them, and the
police say the boys seemed really
to love the little stoop by the Main
street bake shop, under which
they crawled every night. At the
reform school they will get what
they have never known, regular
meals, sweet beds and good care.
They are working political co
nundrums at London minstrel
shows. This goes well with the
audieuco, One of the corner men
usks : ‘How could you convert
Mr. Gladstone into a Conserva
tive?’ The reply is ‘Spin him round
until he becomes Dizzy!’
Fussy and particularly deaf of
ficer, inspecting stables : ‘Ah,
Smith, what on earth have you
been cleaning your harues* with?’
Smith :‘Nothing,sir.' Officer : ‘Ah,
then don’t do ii with that again ;
see how it rot* the leather.’
Remember Lot’* wife, and avoid
, letting anything turn year head.
Two Dollars a Year in Advancb
WIT _AND HUMOR.
*’A little non sense now and then,
is relished by the wises? men.”
Fall suits are cut on the buy us.
Getting left—Thej summer re
sorts.
‘Won at last*—The shoemaker’s
money.
Every country church has its
stare-way.
Picnics may now be packed
away in sawdust.
How to dispel mental gloom—
make light of your troubles.
Did you ever see a carte blanche
or a wag on wheels?
A kind of timber for which
there is no farther call—Summer
board.
As wall papers come down fa
prices they go up on the walls.
Would yon refer to the religion
of the printer’s devil as imp pie
ty?
Why is a woodpecker like a
tramp? Answer: Because he boree
for his grub?
When you cut give me a good
deal, said the hungry euchre play
er.
Don’t put off till to-morrow the
man yon can do to-day.
Has any one yet observed this
season that leaves fall before fall
eaves.
Russia finds nearly all her
dreams of absolute power in Eas
tern Europe Disraelized.
Everybody thinks himself a
moral half bushel to measure the
word’s frailties.
Billiards was originally played on
the ground. Nowadays it is run in
to the ground.
Gail Hamilton is the Vesuvius
of America. You never know when
there will be a fresh eruption.
Silver lynx is the coming fuT.
They will prove the missing lyni
in many a woman’s wardrobe.
I love men, said Queen Christine
of Sweden, not because they are
men, but because they are not wo
men.
Dean Stanley astonished some
Bostonans by telling them that he
had never explored Africa.
Counsel to witness: ‘You’re a
nice sort of a fellow, you are!*
Witness: ‘l’d say the same to you,
sir, on my oath.’
Joint-debate: The one held be
tween the heads of the honse on
whether this piece of stove-pipe
will fit that.
Queen Victoria asked the king
of Siam if he would like to be dec
orated and the old fellow said,
‘Yes, if you will take me just as Si
am.’
When an artist climbs over a
fence to get a nearer view of a
handsome bulldog, he must take
the chances of his sketching the
dog or the dog’s ketching him.
A burglar broke into a Now Jer
sey bouse, devoured a quantity of
mince meat and droped dead at
the gate. Nevertheless, pass that
pie.
Dere was only a leedle differ
ence between us,’ said a burly Teu
ton who had just horsewhipped
another. ‘I was oxhided and he
▼as cowhided—dot’s all.’
A justice of the peace in Arizo
na ruled ont the evidence of all
witnesses, chased both lawyers out
door, knocked the plaintiff over a
bench, and decided “no cause of
action.’
They pulled off the boots of a man
before they hurried him in Dead
wood the other day, Causing the
local paper to come oat in a severe
article denouncing ‘extravagance
at funerals.’
An old granger, who came into
town to purchase a piano for his
daughter, asked the ageut if he
hadn’t one with a ha. die in the
end, ‘so we can all give it a turn
once in a while.’
A clergyman who was recently
called up to hold services in the
State prison at bing-tting, prefac
ed his remarks to the prisoners by
saying that he was “glad to see *o
large a number present.’
An editor with nine unmarried
daughters was recently made just
ly indignant by the misconstruc
tion his contemporaries, put upon
his able leader on ‘The Demand
for Men.’
When Beniamino Franklin ar
rived in Philadelphia be calmly
walked up the btree* with a loaf
of bread under hi* arm. liut he
| couldn’t do it nowaday*. Nome*
I body would steal his bread before
he got a half a block awsj fron
I the river.
NO. 45.
