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Protection for the Hat: os
It is exceedingly disagreeatil' ‘o iavo
tho hands rough, swollen an so. s
peeially if ono wishes to write or sow;
jet I never could wear gloves success
fully about my house-work, as ny
house-keopers da Even when doing
cold, rough work in which mittens or
gloves seem indispensablt 1 often lind
myself casting them impatiently aside
as I murmur to myself lh time-worn
proverb about a cat in gloves. They
seem clumsy and in ill" way ' either
can I spare my lianas by use of the
“dish mop” so lauded -ly 'an .-.onal
pen. it may possibly be owing to the
force of long-continued vbit ihat I
can not wash my disaes satisfactorily
with other than a linen ot o;l . - ft,
easily wrung and easily-kept eh lish
cloth.
There are a few tasks in whio.. I tmd
mittens or glofes a veritable necessity,
and one of these is the blaekir >f
stoves. Not only is the blacking itself
difficult to remove, but It actually seems
to poison ti c lesh. Old. oast-oil g’oves
will not answer, as they are always
more or less out at the nnger-onds, as
well as short in the w Glo os or
mittens about as good is any for this
purpose may be made of coarse, thick
• otion cloih: or canton tl.innel may be
used, but this Joes not wash so easily.
They should be made to fit the hands
comfortably, with long w lists, to come
well up over the sleeves. Thus pre
pared. with a big apron front top to toe,
a thick turban over you hair, a brush
fo r , i..ting on the (Jacking andanother
long-handled one for polishing, the
blacking of stoves is not the most dis
agreeable work in the world Still, it
is better to turn it ever to the nton of
your household if you can They will
do it in half the time, and, the proba
bilities are, with more satisfactory re
sults.
Another thing for which mittens or
gloves ar is the hanging out
of clothes An "old or frosty weather.
They will ave much aching of fingers,
if not, i deed, some corns and sore
. aroats also. A pair should be kept ex
clusively for this purpose, for if allowed
to !>e used in other ways they are sure
when wanted to be so -.oiled as to spot
and blacken the elotl.es. If you can
knit or crochet, gloves or mittens of lino
white yarn are very desirable, though a
pair made either of tine canton or real
flannel will answer every purpose. The
seams should be stitched on the ma
chine; then pressed open, and ••cat
stitched” down by hand.
But most important of all are gloves
or mittens for handling wood and keep
ing winter fires, and especially when
stoves arc used for burning chunks or
big wood, which often has to go in at
the top. If the hands are atalldelieato
or sensitive they will, unless protected,
be continually rough and sore, not only
from contact with the rtfllgh wood, but
also from the action of the undue heat
upon the fiesli. Mittens of yarn, oranv
woolen material, scorch too easily and
are nyt suitable. Mittens of stout can
ton flannel will answer, though a pair
of small-sized men’s gloves of some soft,
stout leather, with deepgauntlet wrists,
are. best. The expense is not great, and
they will more than pay for themselves
in one season, if you have main lives to
build, in the greater comfortableness
and smoothness of your hands. -Cor.
Countru (Ipntleman.
Tiger Halls.
, We see by an Eastern paper that a
Massachusetts town has had what they
call a ‘•'tiger Ball.” That must be a
good dejri such a ball as they used to have
up in Aft central part of the State at a
place celled Rhode's Comers. They
used to Asvo “Tiger Balls” there years
ago, and the tiger that was let loose
there was enough to make a man’s hair
stand. The boys would go out from the
towns in the vicinity in droves, and as
they wore good clothes, ami smoked
cigars, while the boys around the Cor
ners attended the ball dressed in over
hauls and a woolen shirt and only ono
suspender, the girls would get mashed
or. i tis town boys, and that would make
the boys at the Corners mad and then
the tiger business would commence.
Some of the boys who have attended the
tiger balls can remember distinctly just
how the tiger was let loose. When one
of the boys from town would be cooing
around the country girl someone would
paste him in the ear with a frozen tur
nip and knock him down, and then the
whole gang of country tigers would pre
tend to be aoxicus to pick him up and
they would roll him around on the dirty
floor until he looked like a discouraged
dish-rag. and couldn't mash the homeli
est girl in the crowd, and then the coun
try tigers would let him up. and every
thing would be lovely again. If any
one of the boys from town who went
out to one of those tiger balls was par
ticularly attentive to the girls the tigen
would make him regret it or die in the
attempt. And when the town boys got
ready to go home they were generall .
the worst demoralized set that ever at
tended a ball, and the country tigers
would laugh it off and ask them to come
again, ami the country boys won <1 be as ■
fresh as daisies, and they would wink
at each other and say that those fellows
from town could come out t here and
have all the fun they w. nted, but when
it comes to mashing up a lot of country
gir's they would get left. If they un
just beginr ing to nave “tiger halls” in
the East they are away behind the t mes
as they have been in vogue in the West
for years. A tiger ba lin one of those
Western towns would make the hair on
an Eastern man’s head stand up so ho
couldn't keep his hat on.—/Vi:*' - Sim.
Of the eighteen insect eating birds
thirteen stay with u- all the year round,
while may of the migratory species
come and go as their food is plenty or
scarce. Tlie migratory birds are always
hungry in spring, busy catching insects
for their voting in -ummer and getting
thin in flesh while feeding their young:
they are good feeders in the autumn.
The English sparrow he feared would
vet prove a great pest when it becomes
more abundant. In Australia where it
was introduced a few years ago there i
-a bounty of twelve cents per head
paid by the Government. Dr. Sturtevant
had found it destroying pear buds, and
others charged it with disbudding tlic
the elms in the cities. The I nlance <if
testimony seems much against this bird.
NtW J-Jm/laiul Fonior.
— A constant source of unhappiness
to Louis Blanc, the French statesman
and agitator, who died the other day.
was his dwarfish size. The w ife of an
English church dignitary once almost
drove him into a state of suicidal fren -y
by asking him. when he was detained
in her country house by a storm, whether
he would mind sleeping in a child s
bed. Another day. at Brighton, he was
rendered supremely wretched because
he was taken at the'Pavilion for General
Tom Thumb. An old lady said to him:
“You darling I I must really kiss you ”
He took his short statute from the ( or
sican side of the house at once.
'
—A hew Jersey man has patented a
stove that explodes at ten o’clock at
night. ffe has lour daughters.—A’. Y.
Dispatch.
<Mjc 3uinntmiUlf ©ayette.
VOL. X.
THE FALLOW FIELD.
Thofuin comes up ami the sun goon down:
The night mist shroudeth tho Bleeping town;
Hut if It bo dark or If It t>o day.
If the tempest beat or tho breezes play.
Still here on this upland ttlopc l He,
Looking up to the changeful sky.
Naught am I but a fallow Held;
Never a orop my acres yield.
Over the wall at niy right hand
Stately and green tho corn blades stand,
And 1 hear at my loft the Hying foot
Of the winds that rustlo tho bending wheat.
Often while yet the morn 1s rod
1 list for our muster's eager tread.
He smiles at the young corn’s towering height,
He knows the wheat Is a goodly Bight,
Hut he glances not at the fallow Held
Whose idle acres no wealth may yield.
Sometimes the shout of the harvesters
The sleeping pulse of my being stirs,
Ami as one in a dream I seem to f *el
The sweep ami tho rush of the swinging steel,
Or I catch the sound oi the gay r t rain
As they heap their waiio with the golden
grain.
Vet. O my neighbors, be not too proud.
Th< unh on every tongue your praise is loud.
Our mother Nature G kind to me.
Ami 1 am beloved by bird and bee,
And never a child that passes by
Hut turns upon me a grat -fut eye.
Over my bead tho sklos are blue:
I have my shine of the ruin and dew;
1 bask like you in the (minor sun
When tho long bright days pass, ono by one.
And calm as yours is my sweet repose.
Wrapped In the warmth of the winter snows.
For little our loving mother cares
Which the corn or the daisy ben is
Which is rich with the riponlog wheat,
Which with tho viol* t breath s sweet,
Whi h Is red with the clover bloom,
Or which for the wild sweet-fern 111:1 kes room.
T*s less under the summer sky
Year after year men say I lie.
Little they know what strength of min ‘
I give to the trailing bla i l> n y vine;
Little they know how th ■ w Id gr ip • grows.
Or how my life-blood flushes th • rose
Little th y think of th ■ cups I till
For the in ages creep ng und r the hill;
Little they tf ink of the feast I spr a I
For the wild wee creatures t lint must bo led;
B'iutrn 1 and 1 uttertlv, bird and bee,
And the creeping things that no ej <• may see.
Lord of tho harvest, Thou dost know
How the summers ami winters go
Never a ship sails east <*r west
Laden with treasures at mv behest.
Yet my being th ills t > tho \ o:e • 1 (Jod
When I give my gold to tho gol ion-rod
—Julia C. 11. Dorr . in Jlamer a .hajtii.iiv\
WHY (jriMBY SWORE OFF.
Jack Quimby awoke with a bad lion 1-
ache. This was 110 new sensation to
Mr. Quimby. It was <>l<l as the eternal
hills, for.lack was a bibulous soul, ami
his head was not proportionate to his
inclination for strong waters. He loved
drink, not for its own sake, but for the
mad merriment the bowl provoked, tho
song, the jest, and tin* anecdote, the
maudlin fraternal embrace, and the
pledges of everlasting friendship, lie
occupied a responsible position in tt
Front street o lice- f>r desnite his deep
and insatiable thirst, Quimby was an
excellent man of business.
“I look,” said Mr. < nimby, as ho rue
fully surveyed his crimson countenance
in a hand glass. “1 look like a biled owl.
Or the last run of shad. Or the. break
ing up of a hard winser. litis won’t
do; I’ll have to swear oIT, or tho cold
and silent grave will soon claim this
manly form for its own,” and Jack's
eyes sullused with tears, for the film s
of the last round o' night-caps were by
no means dissipated.
“There never was a better Christian
ruined by drink than the undersigned.”
he continued. • 11 I then, as his eyes lit
on a bottle on the bureau. In; said, with
a deep sigh of giatilud*: “Thank
Heaven, there is a snider to brace up
on.”
Mr. Quimby’s toilet was slow and
pa nful this morning He looked at the
cold water with a shudder, but Jimtlly
worked h mself up to the washing point.
He was a loiiir time in getting his collar
buttoned, he dared not shave, though
he usually performed that office every
day, and he marked with a groan that a
new pimple had taken its place on his
fo ehead.
“Clearly,” said Quimby, “I must
swear oil. There arc only live days le t.
of December. Then the new year and
piety,” and much consoled by the self
promised reform, lie left his room to
make a feeble apology for a bieakfast.
A few hours later ami Mr. Quimby was
himself again. It had taken much arti
ficial aid to bring his restoration about,
but Mr. Quimby played the good
Samaritan to him->elf with the most lib
eral cheerfulness. “A hair of the dog, ’
was one of his most cherished nia ims.
The trouble was that ho began with the
hair, and usually concluded with the
whole hide.
“If,” he often remarked to his con
fidants, “1 could keep cold sober for
twenty-four hours together, 1 do not
think I wo Id lind much trouble in
swearing off.” And then he’d recite
“The Vagabonds” with tears stream
ing down Ills checks, and dwell with in
linite pathos on the lines:
4 You should have soon these classic feat
ures—
You n* ed not sr-off, sir. I was not then
Such a burning libel upon God’s creatures—
I was ono of your handsome men."
Despite his notations he was hand
some, and the burning libel part of the
poem, so far as he was concerned, was
purely imaginary. * * *
Iwo young and pretty girls sat in a
handsome mansion on < a ifornia street.
It was not Nob Hill, but near enough
to breathe the aristocratic atmosphere
of that locality. One, a blonde, was
making a mouchoir case for a New
Year’s present. And on the lid her
fair lingers were embroidering the
initials J. Q.
“I cannot imagine how you endure
that fellow, Alee,” said the other.
“He never comes near me without re
minding me of a spice factory. Why,
he must exist on < loves, and cinnamon,
and that sort of tiling lam sure he
drinks. I have heard him talk so
sti angely, and one night he began u
song, and burst out crying in the mid
dle of it. Hob had to take him into
the hall. He could hardly walk, lob
sa dit was his emotions, but I am lire
it was whisky, or some horrid drink.”
“Nonsense,” said Alice Benton.
Jack is so finely str nx that the least
thing affects him. Jack is a dear fel
low, is Jack. So good-hc >rtcd and
clever. They adore him at the club.”
“Perhaps so,’ rejoined her friend:
“I ut it must take a fortune to keep
him in ( loves. By-by. I must get
down town to match that lace.” And
with one of those natty little love-you
for-your-mother kisses that girls ex
change, Bessie Morris skipped away.
Alice put soother stitch in the curl of
the J, and examined it critically. Then
she sighed, put her work aside, and fell
into a tit of dejected musing. “Jack
SUMMERVILLE, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY EVENING, FEBRUARY 28. 1883.
does drink horribly.” she said; “1 wish
1 was not so fond of him.” Then, re
pentantly, her woman’s loyalty assert
ing itself: “That is, l mean 1 wish I
could euro him. Yet he Ims so often
promised me to swear oil’, as ho calls it:
nut 1 fear swear off and swear on are
all the same to poor Jack. lam run
ning a tearful risk, they tell me, in
marrying him. lint what can I do? 1
can not give him up. 1 would not if 1
Could. And 1 oan not reform him.”
And Alice, in true feminine fashion, be
gan to cry.
“Tears, idle tears, 1 know not what
ye moan,” tried a merry voico in her
car, and a tall, manly young fellow
caught away her hands, anti laughed
heartily at her look of distress. “Ilow
now, coz,” lit: saitl soothingly, “what
has gone wrong? Are there to be no
calls this year:’ Does the stern papa
legislate that the basket shall he hung
on the outer wall, anti no beau allowe I
to taste our cake and wine? Out with it.
Tell me all, and by yonder drowsy po
liceman on the corner, 1 swear to right
our wrongs.”
“Oh,( barley,” said his cousin, “itis
alt about Jack. You know his irregular
habits -that’s what you men call it. i
believe. 1 must make him stop drinking.
Charley, dear, you are a man; do give
me some advice.”
( barley grew grave in a moment.
“You are right, Alice,” ho saitl. “Wo
must put our heads together to save
Jack Quinibv. Ami if for your sake
alone, dear girl, ! shall sit awake all
night thinking how it can be done.
Give mo twelve hours to concoct some
scheme that shall bring Jack out of the
mire, and make his fro mont •swear-oils’
of some permanent value. Now, don't
fret any more, finish that pretty thing
and send it to him. I must away to
seek counsel. farewell, and joy be
w:h you.” And he rushed away in
time to spring on a dummy at the risk
of death or mutilation.
••If it can ho done, Charloy will do
it,” said Alice, oheerfmly. “O Jack,
Jack, if you could hut understand how
much trouble you are giving us.”
Jack Quimby -aw the old year cut
and tho new year in according to the
usual fashion of such ceremonies. And
ho awoke with tho same old head, only
intensified by deeper and more varied
potations. While ho was deliberating
whether it was worth while gelt ng up
at all or not. a knock came at his door,
immediately followed by n couple of
young fellows, faultlessly dressed in tho
regulation visiting costume.
• l Miio, conic, Jack! You're a nice
fellow for a calling chum. Over forty
v sits to make to day, and you not up
yet,” and they dragged the i nforlunatu
roysterer from his bed and watched his
hurried efforts at dressing with uproar
ious mirth.
“Deuce take you both,” said Jack;
“ didn’t you bring an eye-opener to help
a follow out?” The eye-opener w •
I reduced,in tho shape of a ] oeket-lla
and under its cheering influence ••
Quimby was soon ready for ttic road.
\Ve shall not follow him to the various
houses he favored with hisprore: .cc. 11c
was consc’cntious about drinking the
health of h stair hostesses, individually
and collectively, and it was quite late
in the evening before the (.nimby car
riage. halted before Judge Benton’s
door. Alice htul beenanxioi sly expect
ing him all day. but when a gusli of
cloves preceded his entrance her heart
sank within her. Jack felt the impor
tance of a so or appeal ance, and his
bow was cold, almost stern, and full of
flic most preternatural gravity.
• I wish you, Miss lienton, the com
pliments of the season.” ho said, in
slow and deliberate accents. There
was not a solitary "r” in this sentence,
for Mr. Quimby knew from past, exper
ience the danger surrounding that cos so
nant at this stage of the proceedings.
“Judge,l am delighted to see you look
ing so well," an I this time the bow w: s
directed to a stiff, high-hacked chair,
an heir-loom in tho Benton family.
“Sit down. Jack, and don’t he silly,”
whispered Alice, n’ter greeting lis
friends. “Oh. you wicked boy! wil t's
the matter with your eyes.’ And your
necktie has slipped up under your car.
Ilow your gloves are stained with clar
et!”
“ Vintage of’42, Miss Benton,” said
Mr. Quimby, with a pronoun -ed hic
cough. “■And lie (jita'led off the cold,
black wine’—hut excuse mo. am I mis
taken in supposing that you asked me
for a song?”
“Now, dobs (jiiiet, Jack, and Gon t
sing,” and she pushed an casy-chair to
ward her demoralized vising', whosank
into it with a deep gro in, and declared
in a sepulchral voice tiiat il her father,
the Judge, would step tics way, he
should 1 ke to make his will, as he Jolt
the chill of the tomb stealing over him,
and dwelt in the shadow of the dark
angel’s wings. lialf an hour later Mr.
Qii mb was slippere dto bis can* age.
and Alice registered a solemn vow that
unless her con in’s plan was conclusive
ly and permanent v elective, she would
never be Mrs. t. nimby, if she had to
live and die an old nia.d.
< n the evening of Mr. Qninihy’s calls,
half a dozen young fellows sat together
in ilie private rooms o’ a well-known
re tamant. Alice Benton s cousin was
chairman. , ,
■Bo s,” lie said, “wo must all of
us make i. raid upon Quimby to-mor
row. You, Jack, will he the deeply-in
sulted husband, and you. Torn, tin- hon
est capitalist whose money Quimby lias
borrowed and squandered. Dick, I
want you to play the undertaker fiorn
whom’ the coffin was engap.d. and Bill,
you can appear as tie- man assaulted by
Quimby -the angry man. who lias de
termined to apnea! to the laws of li s
country for redress in the shape of heavy
damages-. The office group will no \ re
hearse.”
The conspirators agre-d, and ( barley
Elmore gave them their parts, and in
sisted on a full-dress rehearsal bo!ore
the close of the session. The boys were
all of them keenly alive to tho situ
ation, and, besides their ambition to
carry out the.joke, felt that it was really
a serious matter, as tending to lead to
Jack (.nimby’s permanent swear ot)'.
“Jt is his lasl chance,” said Elmore.
“I tell you, bovs, if we don’t cure him
this time saltpeter won’t save him. and
we shall never daneg at Alice Benton’s
w Adding. so far as cade Quimby is con
cerned.” And the all swore they
<voul(l do their level I'.est.
It was a bold t lan. but among Mr.
Quimby’s many failings they knew that
forgetfulness was ono of the most
prominent, and that ho seldom remem
bered in the morning the occurrences
that look place over night, * *
When Jack Quimby awoke on the
second day of the year he had a vague
idea that ho was on tho tlirchold o.
spontaneous combustion. "Never,” lie
groaned, "were my coppers so In
fernally hot before. If Ido not join
some Temperance legion ere tho day is
over, lam a lost man.” Despite tlioso
reflections Mr. Quimby dressed him
self, and after a good round of still
cocktails, walked to his ollico and fell
into the regular business groove.
“Great Scott, Quimby!" said ono of
the clerks, “what a head you've got on
you. Well, you must have boon going
the pace, yesterday. I say, old man,
you ought to get to bed just ns soon as
you possibly can." But Quimby
scowled at the junior, and went on add
ing up figures as if ho felt as fresh as tho
morning, and oven tried a popular air
iu a subdued whistle, to prove to tho
crowd that the preceding day had been
one of undisturbed virtue.
“Quimby,” said the senior partner of
the Arm, “I want that invoice made out
by lon o’clock.”
“All right, sir; am at work on it
now."
“Somebody for von. Mr. Qtiimbv,"
cried the messenger boy, bursting into
the private office.
“.-how him in,” said Quimby. A tall,
gaunt individual followed the hoy. and
fixing a stony glance on Jack, took a
vacant chair.
“Of course you know who 1 am, Mr.
Quimby?”
“I’m blessed if 1 do,” replied Jack,
after a close scrutiny; “never saw you
before in my life that 1 oan remember.”
"My name,” said tho visitor, “is
Eutropius Brown, and 1 have brought
you the coffin you ordered last evening.
If you show me to tho deceased. Mr.
Quimby, 1 will arrange every thing with
out further delay. I believe you re
marked the corpse had already been
two days on ice.”
Quimby looked at his visitor, and
then darted to the window. Sure
enough, there stood a black wagon out
side tiie door.
“My dear sir,” ho said, “there is no
body dead in this house. This is a busi
ness house, and yon are quite mis
taken about the address. I never or
dered a collin from you. I’ve got no
one to bury, and and it strikes me,"
added Jack, growing desperate, “that
you are altogether in error—in fact,
tlmt you are not quite right in youi
wind.”
“ s not your name John Quimby?”
“It is; I'm Quimby; but, groat heav
ens, I have no use for an undertaker.”
Then why,” said Brown, in an cx
o ted voice, “why did you come last
nigh! to my establishment and ring tho
night hell? Why’ lid you tell me to
bring along, the first tiling in tho mo n
ing. the nobbiest casket in t lie simp?
Do von think this is fair treatment for
a decent undertaker, Mr. Quimby? Do
you think ”
"For tho Lord’s sake, bo quiet,”
gasped Jack. ‘'Here are five dollars
for a New Year’s present. Say no more
about it. l ake your casket back, and I
will call on you this afternoon and
square up the balance. Don’t you see
that 1 was not myself when 1 spoke to
you about that interment? Now, go
away like a good fellow,” and Jack
pushed Mr. Brown out, and sat, down
again to liis invoices with a heavy
heart,
“ How full I must havo been,” ho
muttered. "To order a coffin; why.
that’s tho worst, I ever did. I wish I
could remember something about what
happened after 1 loft Benton’s But 1
can’t; ’tis no use; I’m a wretched
swine, and not, long for this world.
I’m”—
“Gentleman wants to see Mr. xQuim
by,” shrieked the messenger.
“Don't disturb yourself, Mr. Qitim
by,” cried a short, stout man, with a
bull neck. “Jus: ten-thirty. Come to
give you your ,esson as per contract,”
and swinging a sack from iiis hack, he
tools out a set, of boxing-gloves, and
smiled complacently at the astonished
Qu ini by.
• ‘What the dickens are you doing
here?" ejaculated that individual, as
soon as he recovered his breath.
“Yotir boxing-lesson, Mr. Quimby.
Contract drawn up, sir, last night.
Signed in the presence of Mr. Elmoro.
Hours from ton to twelve every day. at
this office. See for yourself.” And
the pugilist handed Jack a paper on
which his own signature appeared, w th
Elmore and several others as witnesses,
to an agreement between Sam Slogem
of the first part, and John Quimby, of
the second part, wherein it was agreed
that said Slogem should instruct said
Quimby in tho manly art of self-de
fense, between tho hours of ten and
twelve at, his Front street office, at $2.60
a lesson.
“ Here’s live dollars,” said Quimby;
“take it for your trouble, Mr. Slogem,
and come about tho latter end of ric t
week.” And as the pugilist put his
gloves away and walked off -Jack clasped
Ids hands about his head and fell into a
train of serious thought.
“I’ve been off,” he said, “but never
so off as 1 was yesterday. A coffin and
boxing lessons where tho douce could
1 have been, anyhow?”
“ Let, me in; I m st see him! Curse
him! I’ll kill him, the cowardly scoun
drel! He insulted my wife! 1 say let
me in; I’ll have his lie!" The voice
and the scuffle were outside Mr. Quim
by’s door.
“Impossible, sir, impossible. Mr.
Quimby is a gentleman, and never,
knowingly, insulted any one.
This was quite enough for Jack. Ho
felt a cold chill all over, and, seizing his
cane and hat, shot down a side entrance.
“ Where are you going, Mr. Quim
by: 1 ” asked a porter.
“To the dickens!” shouted Jack.
“The whole world is coming hero with
coffins, and boxing-gloves, and insulted
wives.. I’m crazy —plum crazy. Out
of my way, or I’ll kill you.” And the
wretched man darted into the street,
sorang into a hack, and fell hack on
the seat in a condition of complete ex
haust on. * * *
On the third day of January Miss Al
ice Benton was informed that Mr. John
Quimby craved audience of her.
(‘Why, (lack, how pale you are, and
how miserable t'ou look,” she ex
claimed, as Mr. Quimby made her a
very humble bow, and cast on her a
glance full of the most imploring peni
tence.
"Alice,” he said, “do you remember
New Year’s day?”
“ Of course 1 do.”
“ I called on you, Alice.”
“Certainly you did, Jack; and sanga
song, too. Don't, you remember?”
•• Komember: yes, quite well—at least,
I think 1 do. But after that, Alice, aft
er that”
“Come, Jack, don’t look so horror
stricken. What occurred after that?”
•• Heaven alone knows. I only know
about half, and there must bo aluuulred
precincts yet to hear from. I went to
an undertaker and ordered a coffin; l
invited a bruiser 1 1 call a! my office
during business hours and spar with me;
1 insulted Somebody's wife I borrowed
money from overy one in town, and
there were thirty-two creditors waiting
to see me in the hall yesterday; 1 have
seven pairs of hoots making for me in
various | arts of the town; I have bought
land, ships, co-partnerships, grain,
clothes, guns- in fact, Alice, 1 lind that,
begging your pardon. Satan has got
such a mortgage on me that ho took
possession of this poor carcass on New
Year’s night, and 1 have come to swear
off. once and forever.”
“On what will you swear, Jack?
Now, mind you, this is a serious matter.
You never acknowlodg and before that
such necessity existed. Shall 1 get the
Bilile' 1 ”
“ I’ll swear on your lips, sweetheart.”
said Mr. Quimby, gallantly, and right
lustily did he ta' o the oath. “It’s high
time, darling,” lie continued, "when a
man mistakes an nil lerta or shop for a
saloon -it’s high time to turn over a
new leaf.”
And Charley Elmore was Quimby’s
tiest man at tno wedding: but from that
day to this Jack never suspected that
lie was the victim of a reformatory con
spiracy. Argonaut.
Human Sacrifices in Greece.
The tourist, among the temples would
find that, o'on where human sacrifices
wore disused, tlioy had oeco boon
customary, and ceremonies existed by
way ot commutation. This is precisely
what wo find in Vedie religion, in which
the empty form of sacrificing a man was
gone through, and the origin of tho
world was traced to fragments of a god
sacrificed by gods. In Sparta was an
altar of Artemis (Irtliia and a wooden
image of great rudeness and antiquity,
so rude, indeed, that Pattsanius, though
a ( ustomeil to Greek fetish-stones,
tho gilt it must bo of barbaric origin.
The story was that certain people of
different ton us, when sacrificing at the
altar, were seiz and with frenzy and slow
each other. The oracle commanded that
th ' altar should he sprinkled with
human blood. Men were there
fore chosen by lot to ho sacri
ficed, till Lycurgus commuted tho
offering, and sprinkled tho altar with
tic blood of bovs who were Hogged
before tho goddess. The priestess
holds the statue of the goddess during
tiie bogging, and if any of the boys are
but, lightly scourged the imago becomes
too heavy for her to bear. Those rites
arc on a par with tho initiatory cere
monies of Hottentots, Mandans and
Australian natives. They lasted till tho
time of I’ausanias, and perhaps we may
some day lind the rude figure of the
goddess, which was held upright by a
shrub into which it was thrust. At I'a
tr.c was a temple of Artemis, called
“the Implacable,” and to her it had
been customary to sacrifice yearly a
youth and maiden of transcendent
beauty. In Paasaiiias’s time the human
sacrifice was commuted He himself
behold the strange spectacle of living
boasts and birds Doing driven into tho
(ire to Ai temis, and lie ha I seen hears
refuse to face tiie fire and rush back
among the ministrants. But there was no
record that any one had ever been hurt
by the wild beasts on these sacred occa
s ons. The bear was a beast closely
connected with Artemis, and there is
even reason to suppose that the goddess
had herself been a she-bearin the morn
ing of lime. There is a go and deal of
mystic speculation about the idea of
motherhood as symbolized in the sho
bear in Bachofen’s Her liner in den H
liyioncn tics Atterlhumn. But, as in all
savage religions, beasts were tho lirsl
gods of which we lind a trace, and as
t hey slowly develop in ant hropomorphic
beings, it seems simpler to regard the
bears of Artemis as survivals of a period
of barbarous (bought. Among the
Thespians, Zeus at one time demanded
that human sacrifices should be offered
to a “dragon.” This legend, like tho
sacrifice of Andromeda, probably refers
to some such custom as that which of
fers human victims to sacred sharks on
the African coast.— Saturday Review.
An Intelligent Wolf or n Lie.
A strange story is related by some
persons who reside near Lomoore. It
is vouched for by several parties of
known veracity. It relates to the fore
sight and invention manifested by a
large wolf that infests that district. The
parties in question had been missing
poultry for some time. The decimation
had proceeded to that extent it- aroused
to activity the defensive faculty of tho
poultry owners. While ono of them, a
Mr. Stark Hill, was looking about for
some traces of the depredator he came
across a duck that had been raised by
W. R. Massineyer. Its head was all
that was visible. Tho body had been
buried with ihe wings spread out, and
the ground had been tramped down.
Tiie duck was still alive although it had
been missing for three days. It is ovi
('ent that the wolf had taken this plan
to sup; ly its future wants, and had
managed to keep tho fowl alive so that
it would not, spoil before lie should want
it. Thus, it is evi 'ent that animals
think and reason and manifest some of
the faculties usually supposed to be the
exclusive prerogative of the animal
man.— 'future (Cal.) Times.
—Elizabeth Cady Stanton thinks
girls should play billiards. There s a
good deal of “kissing” in billiards,
but that’s no reason for excluding tho
girls.
—Ex-Chief-Justice Bharswood, of
Pennsylvania, recently retired from the
State Supremo Bench, after thirty-seven
years’ service, feels vigorous enough
yet to open a law office for private prac
tice.
NO. (L
Victoria.
From Port Townsend it. is a throe
hour’s run, across the Straits of Do
Euca, to Victoria on Vancouver’s Isl
and; and here, ut one’s lirst stop, ho
realizes that lio is on British soil. It is
strange that two pooples speaking tho
same language, holding In the mam tho
same or similar beliefs, can have in their
daily living so utterly dissimilar atmos
pheres as do tho Amoricansand the En
glish. This sharp contrast can nowhere
be more vividly seen than in going from
Washington Territory to Vancouver’s
Island. Victoria is a town which would
well repay a oareful study. Even In tho
most cursory glances at it, ono sees
s\ nip toms oi reticent life, a tlavor ol
nn story and leisure, backgrounds oi
traditionary dignity and hereditary
squalor, such as ono might go up and
down the whole Pacific const, from San
Diego to Portland, and not find. V\ lien
Victoria is, us it is sure to become,
sooner or later, a wide-known summer
ing place, no doubt its by-ways and
highways, its by-gono ways and days,
will prove mines of treasure to
the imagination of some dreaming
story-: oiler. The business par of tho
town, ifone may be pardoned su It a mis
nomer in speaking of its -loepy streets,
is rubbishy and littered. The I uilding*
are shabby, unadorned, with noprete iso
of design or harm >n; . They re . ind
one of tiie inferior por t ns < f seco and
class commercial ton us in England, and
tho men and women in the shops, on
doorsteps and in alley-ways look as iI
they might have just come from Hulk
But once outside this part of the town,
all is changed: delightful, picturesque
lanes; grea meadow spaces lull ol
oaks; knot's of moss bowlders; old
trees swat,lied in ivy; outages buried
in roses and h lio -suckle; ojniforlablo
I ouses, with lawns and hedges, sun-dial
and quaint weather-vines; castle like
houses of Dune, with lodges and h gli
walls and drive ways; an I, to complete
the picture, sauntering down tho lanes,
or driving at st itely paces along the ef
fect roads nonchalant men and loisure’y
women, whose n nchalance and leisure
could not ho outdone or outstarod in
llyde Park.
At every turn is a now view of the
sea. or a stub en glhiq so of some half
hidden inlet or hay. These bursts and
surprises of beautiful bits of water are
the greatest iliann of the pin u. Driv
ing westward from the town one Ims
tho superb Royal Boats harbor on the
left for miles: then, turning to the
right, through woods that meet o cr
liead, past fields full of tossing fringes
of brakes an I thi kets of spira a twenty
feet high, he comes suddenly on
another exquisite land-locked, iinsns
pecte I harbor—the Es |Uimanll harbor,
with its own ljttle hamlet. Skirting
around this, and bearing back toward
the town again, b a road farther in
land, ho finds tlmt to reach the town he
must cross inlet after inlet. Woo 'e 1,
dark, silent, amber-colore I, they are a
very t ara lise for lovers of rowing; oi
for lovers of wooing, either, we
tlio (glit, as wo came again and again
on a tiny cralt, in whieli two at with
idle oars At other times, as wo wore
crossing some picturesque stone bridge,
a pleasure barge, with gay Hags living,
and young men and maidens singing,
would shoot out from under it, and dis
appear around a leafy corner. From
every higher ground we could see the
majestic wall of the Olympic range
rising in tho south. The day will come
when some painter will win famo for
himself by painting this range as seen
from Victoria: a solid wall ot turquoise
blue, with its sky-lino fretted and tur
retted in silver snow, rising abrupt and
perpendicular out, of a (lark green and
purple sea. Ido not know any mount
ain range so beautiful or so grandly sot.
Often its base is wrapped in white mists,
wnieh look as if they wore crystallized
in ripples and ridges, like a field of ice
lloes. Rising out of these, the b ite
wall and snowy summits seem lifted in
to the skies; to have no connection with
ca tli except by tho ice-lloc belt.—Al
ain'ie Monthly.
A Comedy of Errors.
A ludicrous incident recently’ took
place in Liverpool. There are two
brothers who parted many years ago
when boys, one of them going to Amor
im to seek his fortune and the other
remaining in Liverpool to make it.
They have both been eminently success
ful iu this respect, and not long ago the
brother in America determined to visit
tiie brother in England. The timo of
the visit was settled by correspondence,
and the American set sail. The English
man is a notorious wag, and arranged
that an acquaintance should meet the
American as ii s brothe ' and conduct
him to the hotel. The An er can. who
was also a great wag, on tho trip de
cided to play exactly tho sarno joke on
his brother, asking an acquaintance
whom he had met on the ship to per
sonate him for a few hours. The ac
quaintance entered into the spirit of
tin: joke, anil when the vessel arrived
at Liverpool was found by the person
atorof the English brother and driven
lo the hotel. The real American broth
er followed more leisurely, chuckling
over his joke. In the meanwhile the
English brother had also gone to tho
hotel, bursting with merriment over his
joke. It. happened that tho two real
brothers mot in the lobby of tho hotel,
and, though they had been parted so
many years, they knew each other. At
first, with blank amazement, they
greeted each other; and then, as they
explained their mutual jokes, laughed
long and heartily. But the climax was
yet to be reached. An explanation in
regard to the gentlemen who had per
sonated them, and who were now, as
tliov imagined, playing a huge joke on
each other, showed that they also were
brothers who had been separated from
boyhood, but who did not know each
other when they met. The first pair of
brothers hurried up to their parlor, and
after the situation had been explained
all around, tho comedy of errors was
pleasantly ended by an old-fashioned
English din nor. ■ London 'Truth.
—Tiie liasi. t willow will grow well
around the mill-ponds and along tho
margins of the water-courses. It is an
article which h always salable, and
should be made to take the place of the
unsightly briars and bushes that often
prove so troublesome in such places. —
Exchange,
WIT ANI> WISDOM.
—lf you are willing to work liks the
ant, and to persevere like the •pideri
your success In life is certain. iV. Y.
Herald.
—Every flowor about the house certi
fies to tho refinement of somobody.
Every vino, climbing and blossoming,
tolls of lovo and joy.
—Many a professional thief may
claim, with truth, that lie has been well
brought up—that is to say, brought up
for trial. Tho bringing up was all right,
but had ho bcon right lie would never
have been brought up.
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Fon
dorson, when she read of tho disaster
of tho City of Brussels; “and I was
going to iniy a now carpet in tho
spring, and I suppose this will make
them awfully high.”— Jloston l’ost.
—Littlo Willie, having hunted In all
tho corners for his shoes, at last gave
them up, and climbing on a chair, be
took himsolf to a dictionary. “Papa
always looks in it to lind tilings, and
I’m looking in it, to find my shoes.”
—lnquisitiveness rebuked: Mistress
(to applicant for cook’s position):
•• Wby did you leave your Inst place?’*
Applicant: “You’re very inquisitive,
inarm. I didn’t ax you what for yer
last cook left you?” — Chicago Tribune.
—Madamo Labouchero, just boforo
sailing for Europe, lost a trunk contain
ing fourteen bonnets, four silk sacques
and other property. Fortunately her
other twenty-live bonnets were in an
other trunk, so she was not compelled
to go homo baroheaded. — Norristown
Herald.
—A littlo girl recently went to visit
her grandfather in tho country. She is
fond of milk, but (irmly refused to drink
any while there, without giving any rea
son. When she returned siio was asked:
“You had nice milk there to,drink,
didn’t you?” “I guess 1 didn’t drink
any of that milk,” she indignantly re
plied. "l)o you know where grandpa
got it? 1 saw him squeeze it out of an
old cow!”—A’. Y. Times.
—lt was just before tho curtain had
gone up for the third act when Smith,
who had been out to “see a man,”
noticed Brown seated a few rows in
front of him. “Do you see that fellow
over there?” ho said to his w.fe. She
nodded assent. “Well,” ho continued.
•• I hate that fellow like a cat hates hot
soup, and if I ever get a chance I'll
•paralyze’ him.” Then his wife asked:
“ Are you going out to see another man
after this act,?” Smith hie. oughingly
allowed that he was. “Well, I tell you
what to do, dear; when you come back
you go over to Mr. Brown and breathe
on him; that will ‘ paralyze ’ him.
Social Condition of Colonial .Maryland.
At first tho economic circumstances
of Maryland were precisely the same as
those which determined tho character of
Bociety in the Southern colonies. To
bacco played as important a part as in
Virginia. Tho land was pan elled out
in vast estates, and all the people be
came planters. N egvo slaves were ac
cordingly introduced in-great numbers,
but they never canto, as thev did in \ ir
ginia, to outnumber the while people.
At the beginning of the Revolution tho
population of the colony was about 200,-
00b, of whom less than 100,000 were
negroes. As in Virginia, the slaves had
no legal rights, but wore in general
mildly treated. Convicted feh rts and
kidnapped pauper children were
brought from the mother country to
Maryland, and bound to service for
a term of years; and they made
tho beginnings of a pariah class of
“mean whites,” exactly as they did in
the Southern colonies. For a long time
tho exclusive cultivation of tobacco pre
vented the growth of towns, and the
life of tho people was ns isolated as in
Virginia. The roads were few and bad,
and travel, whether for business or for
pleasure, was mostly con lined to tho
rivers. Crime was more fro pient than
in any of the Northern colonies. Edu
cation was at a low ebb, for, although
public schools were established in 1728,
they were conducted entirely in the in
terests of the Church of England, ami
being thus deprived of popular sympa
thy and support they made but little
headway. There was no university and
no literary activity, and there wore but
few private libraries, and no newspapers
unlit 1745.
So far there seems to have been but
littlo to distinguish tho state of society
in Maryland from that in Virginia. Hut
before the Revolution, under tho inliu
o nee, perhaps, of tho example of Penn
sylvania, a remarkable change bad set
in. A succession of bad tobacco crops,
duo to tlie exhaustion of the soil which
Is wont to attend the overcultivnlion of
that staple, led many of 1 he great plant
e s to turn their attention to tho raising
of wheat. This was tho beginning of
very important changes in Iho social
structure of the colony- I lie wheat crop
! soon became so cons durable that wheat
I and Hour began to be exported in great
quantities; and through this ex
port trado the town of Ealtimore,
which had been founded in 172.*,
grew so fast that by the time of tho
j Revolution it had become tho fourth
! city in the whole country, with a popu
lation of nearly 20,000. Ami having
once got such a start, Haltunore not <>tilv
served as the great seaport oi -Mary
land, but was enabled to compote with
Philadelphia as an outlet for the foreign
trade of Pennsylvania. The growth of
Annapolis was also stimulated by these
circumstances; and this rapid develop
ment, of town life, with tho introduction
of a wealthy and powerful class of mer
chants, went far toward assimilating
Maryland with the Middle and Northern
colonies, and diminishing its points of
contact with the society of the South.—
! John in Haryer'n Magazine.
l’rovcrbs for These Days.
I?eware of false prophots and patent
toothache drops.
hook not upon the horse race and
monkey with the pool seller, for it is not
wise to bet unless you can win.
Try not to guy the stranger who
sojoiirneth in thy land and seemoth
meek and sad; for of such are three-card
monte men made.
A wise woman will not light the lire
with kerosene, but will invite the servant
girl to whom she owes three months’
wages to do the same.
It a man smites thee on the right
cheek, turn also to him thy lott. cheek,
and peradventure thou canst with great
ease plant a kick that will cause him to
become discouraged and repent of his
folly.
The young man who dr.nketli too
copiously of Pre-water and trioth to “run
a town,” will surely come to grief,
when in the fullness of time he hath
everlastingly hammered the stubborn
limestone.
Experience is a high-grade school
course thorough, tutiou free—but in
cidental expenses enormous.
The foolisii man sayetli to himself:
“ I blow in tie' muzzle of this empty
gun.” and the wise coroner will say in
his report: “Aceidenlally blowed to
the hereafter. — Detroit Free Dress,