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TEARS AFTER. ~
I know the yearn have rolled across thy grars
Till ft ha* grown a plot .• ! I*\ el cni'S
AH ttuiomcr does Its green luxuriance wave
In silken shluuncr on thy breast, alas!
And all the winter it is lost to sUrht.
Beneath a windlng-shoet of chilly white.
1 know the precious name I loved so much
Is heard no more flu* haunts of men umotur;
The tree thou pluntcdst has outgrown thy
touch.
And sings to nllon ears its murmuring song;
The lattice-rose forgets thy tendance sVvoet,
The air thy laughter, ami the sod thy feet.
Through tho doer wood where grew thy vio
lets
Lies the worn track of travel, toil and trade:
And steam's imprisoned demon fumes and
fret*.
With shrieks that scare the wild bird from
the shade.
Mills vex the laxy stream, and on Its shore
The timid harebell swings its chimes no more.
But yet—even yet—if I, grown changed and
old,
Should lift my eyes at opening of the door,
Aud see again thy fatr head’s waving gold.
And meet thy dear eyes' teuder smile onco
more.
These years of parting like a breath would
seem.
And 1 should say: “I knew It was a dream!”
Majazine .
WAIII.M*.
One day, near the end of last Sep
tember it was the first bright day wo
had had for a week or more—l strolled
dowu the main street of the seaport
town whore I was spending my vaca
tion, intending to go out on the salt
marshes hack of the town. This main
street, although little more than a mile
Jong, has as eventful a career in it* brief
as the road in the Pilgrim’s
Progress Chart we used to see, hung in
the sitting-room of our grandfather's
houses. Starting from the railroad, it
brut passes the colony of fish-houses and
their rows of frames covered with dry
ing cod: then it.plunges into the hurry
and bustle of the town, running tho
gauntlet between the two rival grocer
ies uhicli stand insultingly face to face;
aud passing the store iti whose windows
are exhibited two lamp chimneys, a jar
of candy and a box of pepper, while
overhead hangs tho sign: m ll. Hoarse,
Commission-Merchant.” Then it comes
to the head of the wharves, where are
congregated the men from the mackerel
fleet in the harbor, talking in various
languages, or executing slow dances to
the ttitle of “Home, Sweet Home,”
from jewsharps ami aceordcons; and
then it conics out in the old village,
with the white church and the trim
houses and the flower-gardens full of
peonies aud pansies and hollyhocks and
larkspurs in their season, and hemmed
in by white picket-fences, each with its
green roll along the top.
I walked along here, catching a
glimpse through every cross street of
the harbor, until 1 came out to where
the houses were more scattered. Then
the road goes up a little hill, and from
the top you have an unbroken view of
A& harbor on one side, and on the other
tOsalt marshes. Just beyond this hill
top and standing apart by itself, was
an old house which I had never noticed
much before, but which now attracted
my attention, and I stopped. It stood
back fifty feet from the road,
and was built in the common country
fashion, with one storv and a pitch roof
slanting toward the road. Tin* blinds
were all closed, and their green had
faded to a light blue. The white paint
of the house was much of it washed off,
and what was left was peeling and curl
ing up. Through the crack between
‘the boards of the front door-step was
growing a row of vigorous pigweed,
and tin* front yard was a sea of Bounc
ing-Bets. There had been a grape-ar
bor at one side of the yard, but it had
gone to ruin, and the vine was trailing
among the weeds. Von could tell where
the flower-beds had boon by the greater
luxuriance of growth, and along either
border of the path, from the gate to the
doorway, could bo seen the twinkle,
here and there through the weeds, of
seashells.
The house was surely unoccupied.
But there was a certain air about
it which suggested something more
than this. It looked as if it were wait
ing for someone perhaps very far off
now--to come and clear away the
weeds, and fill the flower-beds with
color, and throw open the doors and
windows and let in the sunshine.
As I was wondering what the story of
the house might, be. a white-haired man,
who had evidently been a sailor, came
trudging down the road.
“Who lived here?” he said.in answer
to my question: “Why, this isoldf'ap’n
Pc leg's house. You cant have been
here long if you haven't heard of old
-C’ap'n Peleg. Would you like to look
inside? Well, I’ll just go along here to
toy house nd get the key.”
He came back a moment later, and
pushed open the gate, which moved
slowly on its rusty hinges. We made
our way through the tall weeds to the
door, and here, too, the lock and hinges
were rusty: but at last the door opened,
and we went into a little entry, and
from there into the parlor. A1 though
the room was dark—lor the blinds were,
closed and the curtains down— yet the
light from the doorway showed that it
had a cheerful, liome-like look. There
was a red carpet on the floor, ami on
the walls were hanging some bright
pictures of schooners under full sail.
Here by the window stood a big rock
ing-chair, with a soft red cushion in it,
and there was another pulled up before
the fire-place, and on the andirons were
piled brushwood and sticks —all ready
for the match.
“ It s fifteen years since that fire was
built,” said tin* old man, throwing
open the blinds, and then seating him
self in one of the chairs and rocking
softly •* Yes, sir, eighteen hundred and
sixty-three. How time does fly."
“ And G it waiting for the owner?' 1 T
asked.
“Well," said the old man, whose
name, by the way. 1 found to be Nehe
niiah, or Ne'nuah, ns he called it —
Capri Ne miah Blossom “set down,
and 1 11 begin the story and tell it right
through, and then you can answer your
own question as well as I can.
“You see this house is quite old now.
Cap'n Peleg’s father lived here, and
then Cap’n Peleg. and it’s good new for
three or four generat o more. That'll
what the old man said when he built it.
He was a young man then, but he said:
‘l’m building this house for my grand
son as well a.- myself.' So he picked
out this spot, just sheltered by the hill,
and yet so t you can look down across
the harbor and see the vessels goingin
and out, and he brought all the lumber
from down South somewhere—Southern
pine—in his vessel, and had the best
work put in. And sure enough, when
he died Peleg brought his wife here,
and counted on leaving it the same to
bis boy. Now, if I only had a daguer
reotype of Cap'n Peleg. that I raw
once, to show you, and one of his boy,
you might guess the whole story, all by
yourselr. The old Cap'n had black
eyes and heavy eyebrows, aud a heavy
jaw, and close-set mouth, and Hi—that
was the boy s name—he gave promise
to take after 14s father.
“ But they got on together first-rate.
Cap'fi PelegVwjfe died while Hi was
ouU h boy, and $0 Cap'n Peleg; and Hi
{ltd to amko Uiuuk of each other, ami
€j)c (layette.
VOL. X
they were always together, and Cap'n
Poleg was forever making a willow
whissle, or rigging a rabbit-trap, or do
ing something else for Hi. He'd mar
ried late, and was getting along in
years, and so he give up going to sea
and staid at home and took to fanning
a little, so's to look after his boy: and
almost any day you could see them go
ing across the flats for clams, or setting
off on a day s fishing cruise in their
boat, or carting up a load of seaweed
for the garden, and wherever you se©
Hi you was pretty sure to see Cap’ll
IVleir. too. Ili was a nice-looking boy,
full of life and fun. and a great favor*
ite all over the village. Twas a pity
things couldn't have staid so right
along. But when Hi got a little older
there began to be trouble.
“ lb* wanted first to go to sea, but tho
old man >ail No, and he meant it. So
after a while Hi gave in. He had to.
There was no peace to in* had with
Cap’n Peleg unless you\! do just as lie
said. But the trouble was that Hi was
much the same way, and they’d dfe
agree on one thing and then on anoth
er, though it always ended by Hi’s giv
ing in.
“But at last It. came to a point where
he couldn’t give in. They had a great
dispute, audit hung on week in and
week out. and thev didn't ir<> ’round
together so much as usual. 1 hey never
told any one what it was, but this I
know, that there was one family in the
village, Cap'n Cyrenus Baxter's family,
and that Cap’n Peleg hail always had a
grudge against them no matter about
the reason now, but he distrusted them
all, root aud branch. Now Cap'n Cy
renus had a family of nice smart girls,
and as things would turn out, Hi had to
take to going there to call evenings,
ami'twas about the time the old man
found out which way the wind lav that
lie began to make trouble. But he'd
got hi-' hands more'n full that time.
And the more the\ disagreed, the more
Hi seemed to look like him, with his
black eyes and eyebrows and set mouth.
And he knew only too well that his
father never would yield on that point.
‘Twas no u*a* thinking of such a thing.
And I guess for several days they hard
ly spoke to each other,
“Well, things couldn't last so long,
and one morning when Cap'n Peleg got
up. Hi was nowhere to be found, r’irst.
the Cap’n thought he’d gone oil* to be
married, and lie was terribly angry,
Cap'n Peleg was, and said h< and never
speak to his boy again. But after a
while he met a man from the wharves
that told him he’d seen Hi.
“ ‘Whereabouts?’ says the Cap'n.
“* Setting sail with Cap'n Norris on
the Leading Breeze, 1 says la*.
“‘Cap’n Norris?’ says the old man:
‘why, he's going off whalin’, on a three
years'cruise. Why, I know Hi too well
to believe he'd go off that way, without
saving a word to his father. 1
“‘But he has,' says the man, ‘1 was
down on the wharf when the wind
sprung up, towards morning, and they
was getting ready to start, and 1 se Hi
come along through the fog and go
aboard. I guess he'd talked with the
Cap'n before, for he went right to work.
They got up their sails and weighed an
chor, and he came onto the "barf to
east off. So he just shook hands with
two or three of u,s that was -landing
there, and said ‘♦Good-by’ 1 sort of
quiet, and then jumped aboard, and off
thev went, and 1 guess you can see the
vessel now f you go up on the hill.’
“So up on the hill Cap’n Peleg went.
And he thought be saw the Leading
Breeze, but it was foggy, and he wasn't
sure. He often said afterwards that he
did wish the fog could have lifted, for a
few minutes, just then
- can’t toil what pn>sed in the old
man's mind those three years, lie
seemed the most unhappy man I ever
saw, but 1 don't believe in all that time
he ever once changed his mind. He got
a letter from Hi from some foreign port
where they’d put in, just say ing he was
well, and thev was having good luck.
And by and by Jie got another. And
when two years had gone by. and there
was some reasonable hone of their coin
ing home—if the whalers have good
luck they often make a shorter trip than
they expected he began to get nervous
and irritable, ami )<• spent a good deal
of time on tin* bill just above the
house here. And very early, mornings,
before In* got there, J used to see some
one else there, too. My house is the
only one where you o u see folks up
there where they look off, and \ never
told anyone about her being there. Jl
was easy watching then, because there
was no reason to be anxious if they
didn’t come. But when the third year
went by, and then the months began to
creep along, and creep along, one after
another, it was trying times. By and
by i! was four y ears. The old man’s
hair was fast getting white then, and he
had to take a cane when he went up on
the hill, but he kept Ins spirits, and he
was dreadful hard to get along with.
Aunt Nabby kept house for him then,
and she said be couldn’t sit still'a min
ute, or think or talk about anything but
Hi and the Leading Breeze.
“Then it got to be four years and a
half, and then five years. Most of the
crew on the whaler had been from other
parts, f-o there weren't many others on
the lookout, and what there was lost
all heart—all but two; and they never
met.
“ But the old man was failing fast.
One day, after he came do\oi from the
hill, he took to his bed. and ne sent in
for me and got me to keep a lookout
for him. and he said that if he should
bear Leading Breeze was coming
into the harbor, he knew he could get
right up and go down to the wharves to
meet his boy. But it didn’t come, and
he got weaker and weaker.
“ One evening he sent for me to come
in. And when I got there, he couldn’t
seem to make up his mind to tell me
what he wanted. But at last I guessed
what it was, and I went to Cap’n Cvre
nus’ and told Abby what I thought the
old man wanted. She was a real sensi
ble. nice girl, and she put on her things
and come" right down. And she and
the old man had a long talk. I don’t
know what he said, but when she came
out, I saw she'd been crying, but she
tried to smile, and told me she was
coming down the next morning, and
she guessed p'raps she'd better stay
awhile and look after him, and try to
Okw him uo
SUMMERVILLE, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY EVENING, JUNE 13. 1883,
“t iook nor nome, aim wncu i came
back Cap'll lYleg seemed a good deal
softened down, and he told me he was
feeling considerable better, and said he
had more confidence in seeing Hi soon
than he'd felt for a long time, and 110
meant to have Hi's clothes brought down
from his room the next morning, and
laid out in tho sun, to be ready for him.
But he said lu'd tell me then, while ho
was feeling like it, that, if lit* shouldn’t
live to set' Hi, 1m wanted the house to
stand just so, with the lire all ready to
light, and the chair drawn up in front,
ami his room up-stairs all waiting, and
evervthing just so, so't when Hi corin'
he didn't say if lie come, but when ho
come lie'll tili<l it all waitin'; for him,
and know Hint his father bail loft it so
for a sort of ‘welcome home.’ ‘And
come to think,' he says, ‘l'll just write
It down now.’ So he w rote it down just
how lie wanted it left, and signed it.
And - Aunt Nabby laid down her knit
tine and eanio in. and 1 got my wife In,
and we signed it for witnesses.
“ Then lie lay hack satisfied, and that
night he died."
t ail'll No'nitali. who, for the last few
moments, had been sitting motionless,
began to rock again.
1 waited for him to goon with tho
story, hut < Inst, as he did not sjteak,
1 said: "That was a long lime ago.
How did it all eotne out in the end':"’
‘‘That is the end," he said; “that’s
the whole story, and here the house
stands and waits, and waits: and will
wait, too. Cap’ll I’eleg's hoy never
entile hnek. nor am of the erew. And
this old house is waiting for someone
that will eome. Never will conic. The
old Cap’ll left so't she can eome and
live here if she wants,” he added.
“But she's no need for that. And some
day the house'll belong to her. That's
all. Quite different from these stork's
you read, isn't it?”
We rose and went out again, and
passed among the tall weeds and
through the croaking gate. As wo
passed there a moment we saw the
harbor spread out below ns peaeeful in
the (juiet glow of the setting suu. In
some such bright harbor, perhaps, old
Cap’n l’eleg had long since met Ins hoy.
Cap'n Ne'miali shut the gate with a
sharp click.
“Il'sgetting ratlierehilly,” he said,as
he turned toward his own cottage.
“ Hood-night.’’ Stewart Chaplin, in
A. y. Examiner.
Hater ns a lh tnk.
Many persons drink ordinarily as little
water as possible, and none at all at meal
times, because they suppose that water
dilutes the gastric ‘juice. Experiments,
however, show that dilution does not di
minish the power of tlio gastric, juice,
and further, that water alone, as well as
solid,food, awakens its secretion. A pa
per read by Dr. Webster, of Boston, at
a meeting of a learned medical society,
took the ground that, water, used moder
ately at meals, is beneficial, and that a
large class of persons drink too little.
The result is, if too little water is drank
—especially if the person eats heartily—
the perspiration and the kidney secretion
are diminished. Not only they, but the
waste of the system, which can be re
moved only in a state of solution, is not
eliminated with sufficient regularity and
fulness, and the system becomes gradu
ally clogged liy it. The accumulation is
slight from day to day, but in time un
pleasant symptoms are developed. These
symptoms are of an indefinite character
discomfort, even pain, sometimes in
one place and sometimes in another, con
stipation, and unhealthy line of the skin.
“Patients,” said Dr. Webster, “who
drank no more than a pint of water a
(lav have told mo that, they were lmt
thirsty. They were surprised when told
to drink more. Those who have fol
lowed this suggestion in the course of a
week have developed thirst, and drank
as many as three pints of Mater a day.”
We may add that water taken into the
stomach is at once rapidly übsorbe I by
tlio blood vessels. A bowl of well-sea
soned broth, as a first course, is specially
helpful to the above class of patients. A
large quantity of ice water is harmful to
anv one. _
Whisperings for ltadielors.
None but the married man has a home
in his old age; none has friends then but
he; none but he lives and freshen* in his
gree.n old age, amid the affections of wife
and children
There are no tears shed for tho old
bachelor; there is no one in whose eyes
he can see himself reflected, aud from
whose tips hit cun receive the unfailing
assurances of care and love. No, the
old bachelor may be tolerated for bis
money; he may eat and drink and revel
as such do; and he may sicken aud die
in a hotel or garret with plenty of at
tendants about him, like so many
cormorants waiting for their prey; but
where are tin moistened eye, and gentle
hand, and loving lips that ought to re
ceive his last f:L’’ti - si! ‘ He will never
know what if is to be loved, and to live
and die amid a loving circle. Ha will
go from this vorld, ignorant of the dii
liglits of th .i domestic fireside, and on
the records of humanity his life is noted
—a blank. _ ___
Skin Grafting.
The process of skin grafting promisi s
to receive a fresh impetus from the
labors of AT. Anger, a French surgeon.
The main feature of his discoveries is
that pieces of skin taken from amputa
ted limbs may bo used to obtain cicatri
zation on the bodies of other subjects.
Hitherto portions of skin were taken
from one part of a patient's body and
applied to another part. ft. is stated
that in one case the surgeon cut pieces
of skin from the surface of an ampu
tated finger, and applied them to the
ulcerated leg of another person. In
three days the bandages were removed,
and the grafted parts were found inti
mately united to the surface and evi
dently vascularized. It seems essen
tial to the success of the process that
the graft be made immediately after
amputation. Tito name given to this
operation is “heteroplasty.”
In the countiug-room of a Galveston
Irishman the following notice is stuck up
in a conspicuous place : “Persons hav
ing no business in this office will get.
through with it as soon as possible and
leave.”
j*.
llow a Woman Identified.
A few days agon man called at a ltottso
on Fort street cast and asked for a bite
to oat. He was refused, aud shortly
after ho left a cloak was missing from the
hall-tree. Tho police wnro notified, aud
the other day when they arrested a man
on suspicion, they sent for tho woman to
eome down to the City Hall and identify
him. When she was asked if she was
certain that she could identify the man
who had called, she somewhat indignant
ly replied: “Identify him! Why, I could
pick him out among ten thousand!”
She was then confronted with the
prisoner. She gave him a good looking
over and called out:
“Oh! you can't fool me! You’ve had
your hair dved from black to red since
you asked for eold pancakes, but I’d
know you if I saw you in Texas!”
The captain here observed that ho
never heard of black hair 1 icing dyed
red, and after a brief examination he as
serted that the prisoner's hair had not
been dyed at all.
“Well, 1 may possibly be mistaken
about his hair,” said the woman, “but
I’ll swear to that overcoat. 1 took a
good look at it as ho went off the stops,
and 1 know it's the coat and the man. I
particularly noticed that tho third but
ton from the top was missing.”
The captain informed her that it was
an overcoat he had borrowed within the
hour and asked the prisoner to slip on.
The woman wouldn't give in for some
time, but finally said:
“Well, 1 might have been mistaken,
but I looked square into his eyes, and I
know this is the man.”
“What color did you say his eyes
were!”
“Blue, sir, light blue.”
“But this man's eyes are black—coal
black!”
So they were. Tho woman was dumb
with asionishment for a time, but finally
rallied and said:
“Didn’t this man wear a slouch hat
when arrested?”
“No, ma'am—ho wore a cap. ”
“Anddon't you think he is the man?”
“1 don't, think anything about it, as I
never saw him until an hour ago.”
“Is it positively necessary that I
identify him as the man V”
“No, ma'am. ”
“Then I guess I won’t. Tho fact is,
I was a little flurried that morning, and
I don’t think 1 got a fair sight of the
fellow Besides that, 1 think the cloak
was stolen tho day before I missed it, by
an old woman who was selling notions.’’
Detroit Free Press.
A Remarkable Calculation.
A curious illustration has been afforded
by the New York Journal of Commerce.
It takes up an utterance of the Kov.
Adriondaek Murray, who said in a re
cent lecture:
“Now the population of the earth is
1,000,1)00,000, and a generation dies
every thirty years. In every thirty years,
then, l.OOti,tilll),000 human beings go out
of tlio world and 1,000,000,000 eome in.
Forty years ago Ihc church taught that
tho world was G,OOO years old. Him
doesn’t to-day pretend to guess within
100,000 years how old the world is. Very
well. What lias been the population of
the world since the race began? Who
can estimate the number? By wlmt
arithmetic shall you compute tho swarm
ing millions? Take the globe and flat
ten it into a vast plain, 24,000 by
twenty-four, and would it accommodate
but a fraction of the human beings that
have lived upon its Btial'aoe? Where in
the locality of tlui judgment to be, then?
(him it have a locality V”
To this the Journal replies: “Now
make the widest conceivable estimates.
Bnppo.se that the human race has ex
isted on this earth lOD.OOOyears, that the
population has never from the first day
been smaller than this estimate, for the
present time -namely, 1,1)00,000,000.
For the sake of cany calculation, instead
of the estimate of thirty years to a gen
eration, call it three generations to a
century. There will appear to have been
0,000 generations of 1,000,000,000 each,
who, being assembled, require standing
room. For a crowded meeting of men,
women, and children, it would be am
pie estimate to give each two square
feet of room. A square mile contains,
in round numbers, 25,000,000 square
feet, and 12,500,000 persons could stand
on it. Therefore, eighty square miles
would hold a generation, and 11,000 times
that space would hold the population of
100,000 years. Tlmt, is to say, 240,000
square miles would contain them, and,
gathered in a parallelogram, they would
stand in a space 000 miles long by 400
broad. They could easily be. accommo
dated in one or two of our States.
“Dead and buried, side by side, they
would require live times their standing
space, or l sav) 1,200,1KK) square miles,
and the United States litis ample wild
lands, as yet unwanted and unoccupied,
to give them a cemetery. If any one
wishes he may estimate how many thou
sand years of generations could find
graves in this country without crowding
each othei. Whoever will may imagine
the population assembled in a circle, o’
in a vast theater, with floor above Hoot,
each floor diminishing tho surface area
of the building. It will do people of
vivid imaginations good to reduce such
imaginations to tho facts of figures, and
any school girl can do it. ”
The Diamond Queen.
The most conspicuous feature in tho
evening scene (at Saratoga) was a lady
from Philadelphia, fair, and young, and
petite, a Mrs Moore, whose sleeveless
dress of rare point-lace is said to have
cost -$20,000; and in whose hair and
ears, and on whose shoulders, bosom,
neck, wrists and hands were displayed
diamonds that must have run up into
hundreds of thousands in value: in sol
itaire-:, crescents, horizontal bands and
graceful pendants, that flashed and
gleamed whenever there was the shad
ow of an excuse for them. Her hus
band, a gentlemanly, middle aged mau
in appearance, supported her on his
arm and a little in their rear, solemn
vi-aged and absorbed in intense watch
fulness of her, a private detective in
citizen’s (Ire's.-, wound his way in and
out amid the brilliant scone It was a
strange spectacle. People held their
breath and called her “the "Diamond
Uw;dib"-~AWanu Evening Journal,
The Art or Being n More.
“The other night at tho opera hall I
met one of our comediennes, who is gen
erally recognized as among the most
amiable in her profession, and especially
fond of gayety.
“‘Well, you have plenty of fun,’ I
observed.
“ ‘Oh, so, so ! the men, and especially
the young men, aro such bores.'
“In a single word the fair speaker had
unconsciously defined tlio constitutional
malady of this French people, which
passes for the wittiest nation in the
world, and is so in fact; lmt which occa
sionally expends a vast amount of wit for
the purpose of appearing to ho witless.
“ I may seem to be tittering a paradox,
a ludicrous contradiction, but the fact 1
speak of is simply the exaggerated result
of our instinctive horror of ull that is
oold, sad and serious.
“So great is our horror of ennui, that
we defy it, for the same rea m that sav
ages worship what they most fear. This
is why, in this insolent, skeptical, mock
ing, laughing France of ours it has be
come a profession to lie a bore.
“Not a vulgar profession, but an ox
celleut and iueom parable one, without
risk or peril, which opens all doors aud
is a safe conduct to all aspirations.
“ Nevertheless, it must not lie sup
posed that one can succeed the first time,
or in one day in becoming a perfect bore.
One is not born such under this sun of
ours. One can only become so, just ns
one becomes an orator, after long and
continued violence done to his own na
ture. Even with the true vocation atnl
especial natural aptitude, one must pa
tiently practioe for years.
“For it will not sutlioe to ho simply a
bore; one must also be serious, very se
rious.
“A certain apprentice in diplomacy
who wuh not greatly worried by his ex
cess of brain-power once asked M. do
Talleyrand for advice how to succeed in
bis career.
“ ‘ First of all,’ replied l’riuee Beuo
vent, ‘never laugh 1’
“ 'Thanks, Monseignenr- and then’—
“ ‘And secondly—never laugh !’
“ There is no use denying it, tho whole
secret lies in that. Fancy the influence
a man must have who never laughs 1”
la: Voltaire.
Humorous Writing.
Almost every one privately indulges in
the idea that he could become a cele
brated humorist writer if ho were only
to try.
He takes up a magazine or newspa
per and reads a humorous article, and
says to himself : “If I only had time,
1 could do vastly better tlmn that.”
Now, friend, suppose you take the
time and try !
If you can produce a first-class hu
morous sketch, your fortune is made.
You need not plod on in counting-houses
or vegetate behind tho counters of dry
goods stores selling calico at a profit of
2 cents on a yard. You can just go on
with your first-class humor, and fix your
own valuation upon it, never fearing but
it will be puiil.
But the fact of it is, you are a little
mistaken. This humorist business is
much easier in theory than in practice.
Anybody can criticise and find fault
with our funny writers, but the question
is can that same “ anybody” do any bet
ter? If so, let him do it.
You think it a very easy and simple
thing to sit down with a pen in your fin
gers and a sheet of paper before you
and indite thoiifdits which shall con
vulse the world with laughter, and say
ings which shall bo repeated for scores
of years to come ?
Well, wo are all willing you should
try, anil when you achieve success we
will laugh tit your witty things, and sun
ourselves in the flash of your diamonds,
and not feel any envy. * * * We
are apt to look upon humorous writing
us a pastime, as requiring less thought
and intellectual power than the heavier
essays which crowd our reviews; but in
this wo are mistaken. Your true hu
morist must have wonderful imagina
tion, observation, a keen sense of the
ridiculous, a thorough understanding of
men, a generous power of language,
delicacy, sensibility, tenderness and a
strong love of humankind.—l'Ae Thorn
Fa pern.
Medical Adventure.
Medical adventure, which during tho
last century lias left few of the physical
penetralia of humanity unexplored, lias
just conquered tho last delicate obstacle
to the rehabilitation of the body. Op
erations involving the cutting of the
throat and the introduction of food by
artificial means were thought to be the
utmost venture that science would evet
successfully makeiu replacing the wasted,
wounded, or decaying forces of nature.
But a Vienna physician, Professor Bill
roth, has invaded tho stomach of a pa
tient, cut a cancer from the intricate
tissues, and the subject is-not only alive
but in better health than ever. Before
making the experiment tho doctor prac
ticed exhaustively on the stomach of
dogs, removing various parts, restoring
the covering, and succeeded in establish
ing the basis of his scientific principle of
resection. The human subject was a wo
man, aud the cancer enormous, leaving
some doubt in the operator's mind an to
the elasticity of the stomach to adjust
itself after tho cutting out of such a
mass. But no difficulty was experienced.
The woman began by drinking milk, aud
graduated to more substantial alimentary
nourishment. Tho operation involved
the opening of the stomach, tho cutting
of the masses of tissue-liko covering,
the removal of several pounds of caucer
ated accumulation, the reclosing of the
aperture, and the provision for artificial
distension of the now costing. Physi
cians the world over will be delighted if
not surprised by this wonderful perform
ance, removing as it does another from
the list of generally supposed fatal mal
adies.—-Philadelphia Times.
A distinguished looking man appeared
in a California town, and, falling in,
could not tell his wants in English!
Several Germans visited him, and ho
talked to them, asking one of them to
write his will, in which he described
himself as Count Carl von Schiller, and
gave to each of his benefactors from 10,-
000 to 15,000 ducats. Renewed attentions
were paid to him; but now lie is in
tail,
N0.21
A Singular Story.
Tho paragraph going the rounds of the
papers stating that the old pirate who
made Aaron Burr’s daughter Theodosia
“walk the plank" has died again, recalls
a story told some twonty-fivo years ago
by a venerable gentleman, now deceased,
who passed his youth in Southern Berk
shire. It was to the effect that in one of
tho earlier years tif the century a fine
looking, middle-aged woman, came to
ono of the towns near Stockhriilgo and
purchased a small .cottage. She ap
peared worn with distress of some kind,
and although seeming to have abundant
means, she neither sought nor accepted
any society, save tlmt of tlio poor aud
unfortunate, with whom she mingled as
a rule, only to relieve their distress.
There was ono exception, however, in an
unfortunate woman who hail been be
trayed in her youth. This outcast she
took to her home, where she washer
companion and finally her nurse, until
the benefactress died, leaving hoi poor
friend wlmt remained of her property.
This woman, in order to make good her
formal claim to the gilt liicli was not in a
bequest., stated in confidence to a magis
trate that the giver was no other than
Theodosia Burr Allsten, and that she had
revealed to her under strict injunction of
secrecy that her melancholy aud singu
lar seclusion was duo to the fact that she
had been compelled' to live for two or
three years with tlm pirate captain and
that when she was at last released, with
some money in her possession, she was
so overwhoimed with shame that she de
termined never to let the world in which
she once moved know of her existence,
but to spend the remainder of her life
in deeds of charity, She had selected
Stockbridge at first ns a place of resi
dence, from a family tradition of its se
clusion—her grandfather, Hev. Jonathan
Edwards, having bfen an early pastor
there —but she found intercourse be
tween that town and New York had bo
como altogether too frequent for Iter
purpose, ami she tt tired to a smaller
town. — Pittsfield (Massachusetts) Sun.
Shot-Making.
'lucre is a shot-tower in Baltimore,
and tho American describes tho process
of making shot. Ono of the “secrets”
of tho manufacture is the mixing of lead
with a certain proportion of a combina
tion of mineral substances called “tem
per.” Tho “temper ’is fused with lead,
and gives the molten metal that con
sistency which makes it drop. If it
wee® not for the “temper” the lead would
be moulded hv the sieve, and would form
little pencils Jiislend of round shot.
When “BB” shot for instance, are to he
made, the lend is p-wirod into a pan |>er
forated with holes ci responding to that
size. The littie peflev pour dowu inn
continuous shower, amt fall. In their
descent of two hundred foot they be
como perfect spheres, firm and dense,
and they aro tolerably cool when they
strike the water, although the swift con
cussion makes the tank foam and bubble
as if water were boiling furiously. The
shot must fall in the water, for if they
should strike any firm substance they
would bo flattened and knocked out of
sliapo. It is said that this method of
making shot spherical was the invention
of the wife of a poor European workman
in metals, who had spent months in try
ing to find how to do it without mould
ing. To get the little pellets perfectly
dry after they have been in the “well”
is the most difficult aud troublesome pro
cess of the whole manufacture.
An elevator with small buckets, very
much like those used in Hour mills, car
ries tlio shot up as fast as they roach tho
bottom of tlio “well” and deposits them
in a box sixty feet above the first floor.
The water drips from thelmekotsasthey
go up, and not much is poured into the
receiver above, although it is intended
to be a sort of dripping machine. From
this receiver the shot runs down a spout
into a drying pan, which greatly resem
bles a gigantic shoe, made of sheet .
The pan rests at an auglo which lr °n.
mils tho wet, shot to roll down t P er '
chamber below, and the pellets b°
perfectly dry as they pass over the eoome
sheet-iron. warm
Obtained What, He Wanted.
The Philadelphia Times contains an
account of a young man employed in a
largo iron manufacturing house in that
city, who became dissatisfied with the
wages ho was getting—(this alone gives
the story a fishy look) —and lie went to
1 1 in employers and told them frankly tlmt
ho would like more pay. Homo young
men, if they had wanted more pay,would
have died sooner than let it he known,
hut this young ditcK didn’t seem to care
for anything. So he told them ho must
have more currency, aud they said they
would raise him from $l5O a month to
$75. He was a shipping clerk, aud had
few equals ns an artist with a camel's
hair brush aud a pot of lamp-black. Ho
could not, t herefore, accept $75 a month,
and ho told them so. Then they hum
bled themselves before him aud asked
him what he would take to say nothing
more about it. The shipping clerk said
lie wanted a partnership interest, having
read of such tilings probably in u novel
As soon as the members of tlio firm could
recover from their astonishment, they
promptly kicked him out. All this oc
curred eight years ago, “ To-day,” says
tho Times , “lie is tlio leading member
of a firm which employs nearly three
thousand men and hoys, turns out fifty
thousand tons of iron a year, pays out
over a hundred dollars a month m wages
and salaries, and does a business of sl,-
000,000 a year.” And we suppose if any
ono of those three thousand men and
tun s should go into his office and ask for
a partnership interest in tho concern
they would get it, would they? Or would
he stand them on a spring-hoard and fire
them through the root?—Feck's Sun.
Destroying Hie Human Stomach.
The manufacture of cheap candies
from white earth, or terra alba, mixed
with a little sugar and glucose, is earned
on extensively in New York. A census
taker, who investigated the confectionery
business, reports that seventy-five per
cent, of some candies is composed of
these substances, and some candy,
notably “gum drops,” contains still lesjs
sugar. Wliat is called a fine brand of
Castile soap has been found to be com
posed chiefly of this white earth and
grease,— Boston Journal,
WIT AND HUMOR.
Sko transit—An ambulance wagon.
A tight fit — Delirium tremens.
Eveby man’s houso is his castle, but
every man can’t be King of Ashanteo.
One is a seal ring and the other is a
real sing. Eli ? Sure enough. What
was the conundrum ?
A young man described a taxidermist
to a bevy of young girls ns ono who sort
o' upholsters animals I Ho took tho
cake.
The difference between tho Fenian
leader and an advance agent is that one
is Head Center, while the other is sent
ahead.
Neveu address your conversation to a
person engaged in footing up a column
of figures. There’s nothing so deaf as
an adder.
An Irishman who was found guilty of
stealing a lot ot coffee was asked by the
magistrate w hat lie did with it. “ Made
tuv with it.,” was the 11 berniun’s reply.
Young lady, examining some bridal
veils—“Cau you really recommend ties
one?” Over-zealous shopman—“Oh,
yes, miss 1 It may be used several
times."
“I'm afraid tho bed is not long enough
for you,” said the landlord to a \ ,
loot guest. " Never mind,” he n-p t
“I’ll add two more feet to it \\l,
got in.”
“Winn you name the bones of tu
head?" said a teacher to one it a
class. “I’ve got 'em all in my h ..
teacher,” replied the pupil, "but l cue i
tve T-m auay.”
** I u tube > 'ur arm, Mie* Id }• e.* o,
G*od i. ith 1 \ iieod t" o.ng t .
‘♦Gikhl ii.it'i, aid ol!’ Haiti ulie, ■* but, tiieo,
a iu lb u t tin r i g io
Im art on that. ' Km n e<t lie,
\\ tit i i>h that lie’ r denied her,
“ Good lu h i bulla '.idi*, ir.,
Ai.tl ilua ih bo. e oi uU.’’
We aro eons antly told that “tin
evening Wore on ’ —bat what tho i von
uig wore on sueli occasions wo are ikh
tut armed. Was it the close of a sum
mer's day ?
Why is a thief yonr only true phi
losopher? Because he regards evtry
thtng from an abstract point of view, is
opposed to all notions of protection,
aud is open to conviction.
This is a little coeducational scene :
Professor : “ Who will see Mr. B. before
next Monday?” Lady student, hesitat
ing anil blushing a littlo more : “ 1 shall
see him Sunday night, probably. ”
How Some Famous Authors Worked.
Tho fluent and graceful literature the
vorld admires was by no means as easy
to make as it iB to read. Pope is af
iirmed to have kept his manuscript a
year or two for study and alteration,
md even then his printer’s proofs Were
jo full of alterations that on one occa
sion, Dodsley, his publisher, thought it
better to have the whole recomposed
than to make the necessary corrections.
Goldsmith considered four lines a day
good work, aud was seven years in beat
ing out the pure gold of the “ Deserted
Village.” Hume wrote his " History of
England ” on usofu, hut he went quietly
on correcting every edition till liis death.
Robertson used to write out his sen
tences on small slips of paper; and,
after rounding them and polishing them
to hi satisfaction, he entered thorn in a
book, which, in its turn, underwent con
siderable revision.
Burke had all his principal works
printed two or three times at a private
jircss before submitting them to his pub
lisher. Akenside and Gray were inde
fatigable correctors, laboring every line;
and so was our prolix and morn imag
inative poet, Thomson. On comparing
tho first and latest editions of the
“ Seasons,” there will be found scarcely
a page, which does not hear- evidence of
his tusto and industry. Johnson thinks
the poems lost much of their raciness
under this severe regimen, but they
were much improved m fancy and deli
cacy.
Johnson and Gibbon were tin 1 least
laborious in arranging their copy for
the press. Gibbon sent the first and
only MS. of his stupendous work (tho
"Decline and Fall”) to his printer;
and Johnson’s high-sounding sentences
were written almost without aq effort.
Both, however, lived and movi and, as it
were, in the world of letters, thinking
or caring of little else—one in the heart
of busy London, which lie dearly loved,
and tlie other in his silent rctr. at at
Lausanne. Dryden wrote hurriedly, to
provide for the day. St. Fierro copied
his “Paul and Virginia” nine times.
Rousseau was a very coxcomb in these
matters; he wrote on fine gilt-edged
card-paper when lie could get it. Sheri
dan watched long and anxiously for
bright thoughts, as the MS. ot his
“School for Scandal,” in its van us
stages, proves. Burns composed in the
open air, the sunnier the better ; but he
labored hard, and with almo-t-unernng
taste and judgment, in correcting.
Lord Byron was a rapid composer,
but made abundant uso of the pruuing
knife. Sir Walter Scott evinced his
love of literary labor by undertaking
tho revision of the whole of the “Wav
erly Novels.” The works of Wordsworth,
Southey, Coleridge and Moore, and tho
occasional variations in their different
editions, mark their love of re
touching. Southey was unwearied
after his kind—a true author of
the old school. The bright thoughts of
Campbell, which sparkle like polished
lances, were manufactured with almost
equal care.
Cash Versus Credit.
Any retail dealer can buy closer with
cash than witli credit. The closer he
buys the greater are his profits. Money
put down on his collator gives him a
chance to discount his paper, meet his
notes and pay current expenses. Charges
on tho book mean cash next month, or
the month after, or next year. Cash asks
no favors except to be waited upon.
Credit must have a bookkeeper, a collec
tor and a lawyer. If a retail dealer iu
groceries asks the juice of starch, ho is
told that he can have it at bo much credit,
or so much for spot cash. If a consumer
asks the price of the retailer, it is one
jirice to Cash Down or Dead Beat.
The more one thinks this matter over
the more he realizes the force of the re
mark of a prominent Western financier,
who lately observed; “The man who
pays cash when lie can get credit is a
fool.” And so say we all. If Dead
Beat is to have the same price as Gish
Down, with an additional advantage of
sixty-six days’ time—which means ninety
in nineteen cases out of twenty—why do
any of us pay cash? Why not all take
credit? —Detroit Free Press.
Con. Moßplolkins, who holds a hi
rank in a Galveston military org
tion, was aroused a few nights a
the sound as of burglars in the lion-
He instantly seized a shot-gun,
cocking both barrels, called out,
Bungler tone's: “Halt! Who goes there? ’
“ Don’t be scared, papa; I won’t do nuf
fiu to vou, I want a dwink," piped an
Infantile voice, —Oalvetton fifews.