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SOCIETY ON THE STREET. The New York Society Man, and Woman of the Same lik. A society man, says a New York paper, now wears trousers that are very loose, and he apparently puts them under the mattress every night, for they are creased np and down the leg as though freshly ironed. They are cut very straight and have large but indistinct cheeks and squares. About a year ago he wore them tight and didn’t have any checks or squares. Other men began to wear that sort, and now this peculiar animal wears them big. His coat is very tight at the waist and without an ounce of padding anywhere, and his hat is neither bell-crowned nor rim-curved. The last hat he wore had an inch of mourning band around it, whether he had a reason for it or not. A great many persons are wearing them now, and so he has taken it off, and now his beaver is unbroaen except by a norrow ribbon. These are small points, but they stamp the fop. “How do you distinguish the society girl ?” was asked. “By her ease of manner. The care lessness with which she smiles on ac knowledging a bow, and the way she holds her shoulders back an<J her head in the air. Another thing, she never wears a bang, and, whether her forehead is high or low, combs her hair straight back. She cannot compare with many on Fifth avenue for mere facial beauty, but she is a hummer, nevertheless. Not only lias this fashion changed a bit, but a new custom has come in among down town New Yorkers, I mean those who live below Thirty-fourth street, which every one has not found out about It is that on upper Madison avenue, from about Thirtieth street for about a mile or so north, there may be seen a collec tion of the most beautiful girls in New York. Whether they come from Sunday school or whether they venture out for their constitutional after-dinner, it is certainly a fact that this particular sec tion has become the stamping ground oi beautiful women and girls on Sunday afternoons about four o’clock. I stum bled upon it entirely by accident. 1 hadn’t been out on Sunday afternoon for six months until two weeks ago. It is my custom, yon know, to walk before dinner, and to spend the rest of the day after dining, until nightfall with the Sunday papers, a pipe, a lounge, a dressing gown, and a pair of slippers. But a iriend of mine came over to see me from Brooklyn, Sunday afternoon two weeks ago, and as he bored me to death in my room and prevented ma from reading my papers, I put on my coat and we went out for a walk. We went up Madison avenue, and there wo met the beautiful girls strolling up and down with the tranquil grace of swans upon a lake. I don’t often indulge in similes of this sort, but the girh deserve it in this case, and my friend, who iia 1 been talking about beautiful women until 1 became weary, grew as dumb as ••.ii oyster.” Apple Butter. An exchange gives the following; Cider made from sweet apples will make a better article; but if it cannot be ob tained, common cider can be used. Take the cider as it runs from the press, be fore any fermentation has taken place, and boil it down in a tin or copper boiler (never use iron) until it has evap orated fully one-half; while it is boiling all the scuiii that rises must be carefully removed, and as soon as it is thick enough add a quantity of good, tart apples, pared and cut into quarters, taking out all the cores. Fill the boiler half full of the quarters. Keep up a slow but steady fire, and be very careful to stir the apples every few moments to prevent them from sticking to the bot tom and sides of the kettle. When the apples have boiled about fifteen minutes and have settled down a little, add more, • until the boiler is quite full enough; now cook to a pulp, stirring it almost continually. When it is finished, showing no whole piece, but all one mass of pulp, turn it into jars or firkins, and let it cool; cover it and store it in a cool place. It can be seasoned with spices while cooking or afterward; ground cinnamon and cloves are the best s ilted as a flavoring. One and a half of apples, after they are pared and quartered, are enough for one bar rel of cider before it is boiled down. The Financial Outlook. The Commercial Bulletin estimates that during the month of January up ward of 860.000,000 will be paid out by the government and by corporations as interest on debt and bonds and divi ' dends on stock. This sum will seek reinvestment, and it must be admitted that wall street prices, when compared with former years, offer tempting “bar gains. ” In truth, however, much of what is there on sale is so tainted as to warn off would-be investors. This large sum will probably go to swell the already large amount of idle capital which is awaiting opportunities for prof it The banks are holding nearly $125,- 0)0,000 in cash, as against $87,000,000 a year ago, and their reserve above the legal requirement, which was then about $7,000,000, is now nearly six times as great— $41,000,000. This speaks, eloquently of idle funds.— New York Hearld, * Abolished. In the American Psychological Jour nal Dr. Fletcher, of the Indiana Insane Hospital, gives some account of the great amelioration of the condition of the patients since the system of kind treatment and non-restraint was adopted by Dr. Hester in 1865. So successful hAve been these methods that since July, 1883, there have been abolished from the wards of the hospital “269 re straint chairs. 120 cribs, 101 camisoles, 107 restraint straps, 55 pairs of restraint gloves, 56 wristlets and 2 leather col lars. One cannot help wondering what sort of instruments of torture were those abolished during the asylum's reforma tory period between 1865 and 1883, ftljc CPnjcttc. VOL. XII. SUMMERVILLE, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY EVENING, FEBRUARY 18, 1885. NO. 5. THOU AND I. Strange, strange for thee and me, Sadly afar! Thou safe beyond, above, I ’neath the star; Thou where flowers deathless spring, I where they fade; '1 liou in God’s paradise, 1 ’mid time’s shad Thou where each gale breathes balm, I tempest-tossed; Thou where true joy is found I where ’tis lost; Thou counting ages thine, I not the morrow; Thou learning more of bliss, I more of sorrow. Thou in eternal peace, I ’mid earth’s strife, Thou where care hath no name, I where ’tis life; Thou without need of hope, I where 'tis vain; Thou with wings dropping light, I with time’s chain. Strange, strange for thee and me, Loved, loving ever! Thou by Life's deathless fount, I near Death’s river; Thou winning Wisdom’s love, I strength to trust; Thou 'mid the seraphim, I in the dust. Phcebb Oart ELLINGTON’S WILL. BY I. S. ARTHUR. Lily Ellington’s bright face looked very attractive as she presided over the steaming coffee-urn; at least so thought her father as he watched the slender fingers adding just the right quantity of sugar to his cup. As he received it from her hand he said: "I have something to ask my little girl this morning." Lily gave her father a shy, swift glance of inquiry, but something in hit face kept her silent. “I saw George Herbert this morning os I was going into the post office and he walked back with me. Can you guess what he asked me ?” The old man looked at the girl keenly but saw that she was really as indiffer ent as her careless “No, papa,” sug gested. “I also had a talk with Charley Story last evening, and strange to say he wants to beg away the same treasure which Herbert also covets.” Lily flushed even to the waves of fair hair which curled back from her tem ples, and a tremor about her lips be trayed her secret to the kind, old eyes watching her face. He smothered a sigh as he continued: "So my little girl can guess my secret 1 Child, it never struck me that you were anything but a school girl before, and now you are asked in marriage. So you want to leave your old father ?” Lily sprang from her seat and threw her arms about her father’s neck. “No, indeed, I could not leave you. It would be so lonely in this big house with no one to love you and care for you; but,” and the sweet voice dropped to a whisper, “Charles would be like a son to you; and we could all live to gether.” “Well, my darling, it is the way of the world and I must not be selfish. So my little girl loves him. ’’ He patted her cheek caressingly. “I am a little disap pointed that it is not George. He is such a noble fellow.” “Oh, papa, he is not to be compared to Charles, who is so handsome and re fined 1" “Well, Lily, you are the one most in terested, and I have no doubt Charles is all that is good and desirable. So lam to say ‘yes,’ am I ?” Lily hid her head upon her father’s oreast for an answer. He stroked her hair tenderly, thinking regretfully that “papa's” place in her heart was no lon ger the first one. The fair little maiden had been the sunlight of his home since the death of his wife a few years pre vious. Somehow the idea of young Story as a son-in-law was not as pleasant to him as the thought of Herbert —the frank, manly youth whom he had known from boyhood—had been. But Lily had chosen and he gave his sanction to the match. In a few mouths they were married, and, by invitation, set up their household altar under his roof-tree. Lily was a loving, obedient child to her father, and she transferred the same allegiance to her husband. She had one of those transparent natures which take their coloring from the strongest will. If her husband had required the sacrifice of her right hand she would have given it. Mr. Ellington yielded her up unreservedly, and lived his own youth over again in the happiness of this, his only child. One day he sur prised his son-in-law by saying: “Charles, I am thinking of making you a gift of my property. How would you like to own everything, and have your old father for a guest the rest of his life?” The young man looked surprised as Mr. Ellington said this, but he an swered, pleasantly: *‘l see you are in a jesting mood this morning, father.” “I was never more in earnest in my life. I am tired of worldly cares, and wish to make my preparations for the world to which lam so fast tending. Ii you are willing to take the burden upon you, I will take steps for the transfer.” “Burden 1” said the young man, warmly. “I do not look upon wealth in that light If you do, I will cheerfully relieve you of it, and Lily and I will do our best to make your home with us happy.” “All right, Charles ; it shall be done,” said Ellington. That same day he went to his young friend, Herbert, who was a lawyer, and asked him to make his will, with a pres ent transfer of all his property to his son-in-law. George Herbert listened quietly to the explanation of his wishes. When he concluded, he said: “I will draw up the papers as you wish; but you will take my advice? Do not have the deed recorded for at least one year. Try how the thing works. It may not prove as pleasant as yon think. Leave a loop-hole of escape.” “Your advice is good, George, and I will take it to please you, if for no other reason. But you know what a true little woman Lily is.” “Yes, indeed,” answered Herbert. “She is the best little girl in the world.” He did not add that Lily was but a re flection of Charles, and that sons-in-law are not daughters. The papers were drawn up, signed and sealed in due time, and Mr. Elling ton gave them to his son to put away. The Ellington house was very pleasant and roomy. It was one of the owner’s hobbies not to have one room singled jtn io oe se» apart ror visitors ana never made any other use of. He wanted to have every room nicely furnished and inviting. He had a passion for flowers, and go where you would through the house during the many years of his ex perience as a householder, stands of plants would give yon a silent welcome from the windows. For a time, after the transfer was made, all continued pleasant, and the new arrangement worked well. One day, about six months after the change, Mr. Ellington was reading the dailv paper in the east room. It was about five o’clock in the afternoon, and the free dom from sunlight made it seem a coo] and inviting retreat. Young Story had come to tea earlier than usual, and was sitting beside Ldy on the. vine-shaded veranda. He broke the silence which lasted some minutes by saying : “ Lily, what say you to having the east room refurnished and shut up, uu less when we have company. “Why, Charlie, papa never would have a room shut up. He says it makes it seem so stiff and formal. We’ll have the furniture changed, if you are tired of it, and we’ll enjoy it ourselves.” “ You must remember Lily, that I am the head of the house now; and I wish to have a parlor. Another thing you can please me in. Ask your father to choose some other place to read his paper. Lily looked at her husband in sur prise ; but there was no mistaking his meaning. She saw he meant what he said, and she had learned that she must yield the point in any difference of opinion, or she would feel a barrier of icy coldness between Charles and herself for days after. That was his mode of punishment, and her tender little heart could not bear it. So the text morning she went to her father, ami threaded her fingers through his white hair. Suddenly she bent and kissed him, and said, hesitatingly: “ Papa, Charles wants to have the east room refitted and set apart for company. Are you willing ?” Mr. Ellington looked into her troubled blue eyes a moment, then said : “Doyou want it done, Lily?” “ Not for myself, father ; but if it will please Charles ” “Enough said, dear. The old man must read his paper somewhere else.’’ The kind eyes resting on her face de tected theshade of sadness upon it and he said: “Never mind me, little girl, if Char les wishes it, it’s all right.” So the change was made. The next week Mr. Ellington was caught in a sudden shower. In hurry ing to escape from a thorough drenching he left his foot prints on the clean veranda. When Charles came in he looked decidedly cross. He said sharply. “ Lily, who was out last ?” “I think it was father.” “ Will you tell him to wipe his feet when he comes in ? He must think our house is a pig-sty.” " My son,” answered a qniet voice, “ I should be more careful. You will not need to complain again.” The young man did not vouchsafe to answer, though he would not have spoken • sharply had he noticed Mr. Ellington’s presence it the room. He preferred that Lily should be the go-between. He strode off sulkily. • Lily’s sweet face began to wear a trou bled look. She worshiped her husband, and would fulfil his slightest wish, though it tortured her; but her heart was loyal to her father, and she felt a keen heart pain to see her Charlie so in creasingly disagreeable to him. Mr. Ellington made no sign. He was calm and courteous, and seemed to take all in good part, even to have the coarse est portions of the food placed on a plate, and having it pushed to him with an air as though the task of helping him was irksome. One morning at the breakfast-table Charles said to his wife: “Lily, I hear that it is not healthy to have so many plants in a room. I want you to have this trash removed. Flow ers are no good any way, except to shut out the light.” Lily’s eyes filled with tears, but will a strong effort she kept them back. She loved her flowers as though they had been children. It was an inherited taste, and had grown with her growth. Mr. Ellington was a silent witness of her emotion. He knew that her wifely self abnegation was so complete that her flowers would be banished if Charles wished it; but he said nothing. That evening the old man was seated in front of the blazing grate-flre, appar ently seeing visions in the crumbling masses of coal. Charles came in and said, insolently: “Can’t you give the rest of us some of the heat ?” “Certainly, my son, I did not think I was keeping it from you;” and he moved to one side and continued his medita tions. After a time he said: “Charles, will you get those papers for me ? I think of making a little alteration in them.” The young man went for them with alacrity. Perhaps the old gentleman had more property than he thought.’ The idea was pleasant to him. Mr. Ellington broke the seal and read the document carefully through. Then; 1 he cast it into the blazing grate. It flashed up into a fierce blaze for a few moments, then smoldered into ashes. Charles started forward with an excla mation of anger. Mr. Ellington rose from his seat, and the old man and the youth faced each other. In the presence of Mr. Ellington’s quiet dignity,Charles’s anger soon died out. “Son-in-law, I have learned a lesson in my old age. I find the part of enter tainer is more fitting for me than to ba dependent I have discovered that fail ing powers of body must have money to supplement them, to call forth the re spect due to a silvered head. Let by gones be bygones. I hope you and Lily will be my true children again from this lime. All that my house and purse can offer is welcome to you as my guests.” He seated himself and resumed his meditations. Charles had the good sense to see that it was useless to storm, so he accepted the situation quietly. From this time all was harmony. Poor little Lily bloomed out again into her former brightness, for the demon of ava rice which had held her husband’s good qualities in abeyance was crushed by her father's timely interference. After a time a baby boy was added to the household. The sturdy little rogue was named for his grandfather, and grew into his ardent admirer, and love became the ruling spirit within their household. How to Make Potato Rolls. Wash six potatoes of medium size, or sweet potatoes enough to make an equal quantity; boil them in their jackets un til they are quite tender; peel them, put them into a sieve, add to them a heap ing tablespoonful of butter, the yolks of three raw eggs, and a level teaspoonful of salt, and rub them through the sieve With a potato masher; dissolve a small cake of fresh compressed yeast in a little milk, mix it with a pint of milk, and then mix that with the mashed potato, and sufficient flour to make a dough stiff enough to knead; cover the dough with a folded towel, and set in a warm place until it has risen twice its height; then mold it in the form of small rolls; place them an inch apart on a buttered baking-pan, cover them with a folded towel, put the pair in a warm place until the rolls have swollen to double their size; then brush them over with melted butter, and bake them in a quick oven for twenty minutes, or until ihe rolls are done. In raising the dough or the rolls, they must not be put where the heat is too great to bear the nand, or they will not be light. The process will occupy about an hour and a half in ordinary pleasant weather; if the cold is extreme, the time of raising the rolls will be lengthened. Winter Life in the Northwest. It is droll to see the transformation in the street scenes after the cold weather sets in, says a St, Paul letter. Every body who has much to do out of doors wears a fur great-coat coming down to his heels. Buffalo skin is the common material, but almost every animal capa ble of furnishing a furry cuticle is brought into requisition. One must be an expert in furs to recognize them all. There are bear-skin coats, wolf-skin coats, fox-skin coats, lynx-skin coats, seal-skin coats, otter-skin ooats and even dog-skin coats. The furry procession that moves downtown of a cold morning is a curious sight to a stranger from a less rigid clime. He might well imagine that a menagerie had broken loose and that the animals had adopted the biped style of locomotion. The illusion is increased by the huge fur caps and enormous fur mittens worn. Mad About It.—The son of the man who wanted to send his boots by tele graph has turned up in Tacoma, W. T. He got mad and fired two shots at the telegraph operator because he saw his dispatch lying on the table after being told that it had been sent. GEN. HARNEY AND HEIRS. SKETCH OF THE FAMILY-WHY THE CHILDREN ARE DISSATISFIED. Illa Children Brin* Suit Aminat him ob Account ot hla Recent Marriage. A suit has been brought in St. Louis by the children of Gen. William S. Harney against the General and his wife, ths .ate Mrs. St. Cyr, asking that a receiver be appointed for the property of the family. While it has caused a great deal of gossip, it is no great sur prise. In the suit John M. Harney, the Vicomte De Thury and his wife, born Annie B. Harney; the Oomte De None and his wife, born Eliza Harney, join in asking that a receiver be ap pointed to take charge of the property mortgaged by the Harney family to the Connecticut Mutual Life Insurance Company to secure a loan of $380,000. It was agreed when the mortgage was made that the property pledged should be placed in the hands of an agent, who would apply its revenue to the interest and to a sinking fund on the principal of the debt. About one-half of the money was paid to the children and one half to Gen. Harney. Since his marriage, it is alleged, he has withdrawn this property from the agents’ hands and diverted the income to other purposes, throwing the burden of the mortgage upon the children. There is now due on this mortgaged property $340,000, with interest amount ing to $5,151.90, and taxes amounting to SIB,OOO. The Connecticut Mutual has threatened to foreclose the mortgage, and a receiver is prayed for. The making of the Connecticut Mutual a party to the suit simply means that that corporation holds the deed of trust on the property. The proceeding is entirely a family quarrel, with about $1,200,000 worth of property involved and an annual income of SIOO,OOO. The bringing of this suit throws into court a portion of the vast Mullanphy estate. Old John Mullanphy came to the village of St. Louis in 1804, bringing with him his wife, whom he had mar ried in Baltimore, and some $30,000 in hard cash which he had accumulated. He at once began business as a money lender on real estate security, and in a very short time he had loans placed on some of the very best property in St. Louis. When he came to make his will in 1830 he was, with one exception, the richest man in St. Louis. His estate was worth about $2,000,000, a great es tate in those days. His will divided his property into four parts. One-quarter went to Jane Chambers and her issue; one-quarter to Bryan Mullanphy, the ec centric philanthropist who afterward founded the Mullanphy emigrant funds; and one-eighth each to Catherine Graham, Ann Biddle, Mary Mullanphy, and Eliza Mullanphy, his daughters. Mary Mullanphy, whose interest in the estate amounted to something over $200,000, was married to Major W. S. Harney, of the United States Army, in St. Louis, on October 1, 1833. Her property has increased so that it is now worth over $1,200,000. It is altogether landed property. The old General is now 84 years old. He was a gallant and popular member of the society of old St. Louis fifty years ago, and carried off one of the richest matrimonial prizes which the old town offered. His life since has been one of elegant ease, diversified by enough war fare to m ike the change pleasant. He was one of the most noted Indian fight ers in the army, and his services on the frontier and in the Mexican war are part of the history of the republic. He has been an old man for some time past, and his constant attendant has been Mrs. Lizzie St. Cyr, a lady whose former hus band was one of the most widely known men in St. Louis county. The two were married very unexpectedly at the cathedral on Nov. 12, after filing a mar riage settlement, in which the General conveyed to Mrs. St. Cyr one-half of his own property, worth about SIOO,- 000, and one-half of the income from the property in which be held a life es tate, an arrangement which would give Mrs. Harney about $50,000 a year dur ing the life of the General. ——- ■ An Unenviable Position. Count Tolstoi governs the police of the Russian capital, and it is said that every time he moves out of his house the ex pense attending his walk—the payment, that is to say, of extra spies, constables, etc. —amounts to no less than 300 rubles. Nor can he be much more at ease when ■at home. A correspondent states that “he is daily inundated with anonymous letters from all parts of the capital and even of the provinces, announcing some times that a mine has been laid under his office, and sometimes that he has been condemned to death, and that the sentence will be executed the first time he crosses the threshold.” On the Texas Plains. —Those whe tend the great cattle herds on the Texas plains seldom have anything else than salt meat to eat. They cannot afford t< kill a beef just to get a sirloin, and it that climate the balance of the animal will not keep long. It is now proposed to stock with German carp the trenchei which they dig to catch rain water foi themselves and their herds, and thus they may have fresh fish as food while living on the great interior plains, THE WAT TO MAKE WHISKY. Differences Between the Real Stuff* and the Mixture that Kills at Long Range. , A correspondent wishes to know the ' process of making whisky. The grain, ' corn, or rye, so? instance, is ground be tween a pair of ordinary millstones. 1 The meal thus obtained is mixed in an iron tub with barley malt m the propor tion of 4 bushels of meal to 2of malt, 1 and 75 gallons of water at a temperature of 150 degrees Fahrenheit. After wash- ' ing, as it is called, for an hour and a ■ half 50 gallons more of water are added, 1 at a temperature of 190 degrees. Two hours later, the mixture having settled, two-thirds of the liquor, which is known as beer, is drawn off into shallow vats and 50 gallons of water are poured into the tub at a temperature of 190 degrees. In an hour and a half this is drawn off and 80 gallons of boiling water are poured in. In twenty minutes all the beer in the tub is drawn off, and as the last lot is very weak it may either be boiled down to the strength of the beer obtained before, or it must be used with a fresh lot of meal instead of water. The beer from the shallow vats is cooled down to. a temperature of 70 degrees, and then one gallon of yeast is added for each 100 gallons of beer. When the mixture has fermented it is ready for distillation, which is done by boiling it in a boiler and condensing the steam by running it into coolers, which in former days were long coils of copper | pipe running through tanks of cold water, from which arose the name of the worm of the still. The condensed steam is simply raw whisky. It pos sesses the most disagreeable taste, and will kill at forty rods range, but it is nevertheless diluted and sold in the cheap saloons. The acrid taste of raw whisky is due to the presence of certain greasy products of distillation and light alcohols mixed, which are known by the name of fusil oil. These products boil at 173 degrees, while the amylio alcohol, or the real stuff, requires a temperature of 270 de grees. By redistillation the fusil oil is separated. It may also be eliminated by running the raw whisky through granulated charcoal that has been pre viously heated. Whisky is therefore simply alcohol of a peculiar flavor due to the substances from which it was derived, and diluted, when honestly made, with about twenty-five per cent, of water and some of the products of distillation other than the pure amylic alcohol. — N. Y. Sun. The Story of Captain flowgate. A Washington correspondent of the New York World tells us the following incidents in the career of Capt. Howgate, the defaulting Signal Bureau Officer: The celebrated yacht of Howgate’s was built by Government money, from Gov ernment material and by Government workmen. So openly was all this done that all the preliminary work was fin ished in the yard of the Signal Office, Gen. Meyers, the former chief of the Signal Office, was really responsible for the whole thing, because he turned the entire bureau over to Howgate, and never gave the slightest attention to his accounts. Gon. Meyers whs a very honest but a thoroughly incompetent old mau. His wife had an enormous fortune, and a few years before the General’s death had purchased the very handsome house on I street, which was so long occu pied by the British legation. John Cham berlain bought the house for $200,000 • and tried to make a gambling establish ment of a high class. The attempt was a wretched failure. Mrs. Meyers bought the house from him under a forced sale. Gen. Meyers had settled down in his beautiful home expecting to devote the last years of his life to writ ing. When he was retired Howgate re signed, as he knew that this was the only way that he could escape the War Department. His frauds were not then discovered. When they were, Gen. Meyers broke down and in a very short time died. His death was directly caused by the terrible betrayal of his confidence. He saw that he was in volved in the whole scandal, and that virtually he was as much to blame as Howgate. Under the pressure of these hard facts he gave up. The genial Capt. Howgate was, however, made of sterner stuff. He got his stolen money togeth er in a bag, made his arrangements with the District officials, and by throw- 1 ing a few greenbacks around was per mitted to take his mistress on his arm and escape with the great bulk of his fortune, leaving his wife and daughter unprotected and to support themselves A Blooded Prince. Prince Henry of Battenburg, whom Princess Beatrice, the only single daughter of the Queen of England, is to marry, doesn’t know any more, than Gibson’s colt, and hasn’t enough money to buy himself a pair of wedding socks; but he has a pedigree reaching back to the days when his ancestors wore bear skin trousers and lived on wild blackber ries in the Black Forest—so the wedding will be quite the lum-tum thing. He can supply the ancestry, Beatrice will chip in the beauty, and the English tax payers will be asked only to furnish the happy couple with a few castles and enough money to support themselves.— I Philadelphia Press. A FEW HUMOROUS HITS FOUND IN THE COLUMNS OF THB PRESS THROUGHOUT THE LAND. The Grocer’s Wooing—Evading a Difficulty A Grinding Monopoly—Not on the Free Soil—Dave wa» Elected* Etc.* Etc. THB GROCER’S WOOING. “My dear Miss Sally Ratus,” sighed the grocer on his knee, “I oanned-corn ceive no butter bride than you would beef for me.” “You are a silly man,” replied the maid, “as one mace see”— “If vermicilli man,” he cried. “I mus tard-mire thee. For, miss, the love you’re kindling-wood soon make me smart, oil-though it’s cinnamon to bean no good—oh ! do nutmeg me go.” Then with a coffee rose sand said, “before rice-starch you might give me this soap”—she sugar head and, blushing, dimmed the light. “Will I Lime afraid of kerosene, of caress seen,” said she, “who candies-cover what thyme mean is smart tea-nough for me.” “The raisin sardine deed to guess,” said he, “but I will try—you fear to have my sweet caress—seen by out cider’s eye.” “You’re right; you’ll make some honey comb, and I’ll lard-mit I’m caught— you candle light me with a home—now squeeze meal like you ought.”—H. 0. Dodge, in Norristown Herald. A WATERY COMPLIMENT. Fair Tragedienne—“ And so you liked my performance ?” Gallant Admirer—“Oh, it was the very acme of tragic art 1 But lam al most sorry I went; I caught such a fear ful cold.” “Cold I why, the room was warm.” “Yes; but the floor was so damp.” “Indeed I What could have caused that?” “The tears.” She gave him a free ticket for the season. A PHANTOM MEAL. Poor Tutor—“ Know you what I do when I hunger have ? Then draw I at home on my slate with chalk a white sausage. When I right severe hunger have, draw I two. Then drink I once from my mug of beer, eat a piece of J bread and rub from the sausage on the slate a piece away. Then drink I again, eat again a piece of bread and rub again from the slate a piece of sausage away till the last morsel away is. So picture I myself in I have the sausage really eaten. Behold yon, it is all only imag ination in the world.” HE KNEW THE VALUE OF TIME. Sam Tubs recently opened a barber shop in Dallas. He evidently had very little experience at the business, as he clipped various small pieces from the features of the first customer, who, how ever, paid him the usual quarter. "I want another quarter,” said Sam. “What for ?” “Do you think I’m going to waste half an hour’s valuable time sticking court plaster over your face and not get paid for it?”—Texas Siftings. HOW THE DIFFICULTY WAS EVADED. Mrs. Minks—“No, I won’t inVite that ituck-up Mis. De Rich to my party, the igly old thing. ” Mrs. Winks—“ But according to the rules of etiquette you must Mere per sonal dislike will not excuse you, as you will see when the circumstances are considered.” “Dear me I Is there no way out of it?” “None. The invitation must be sent, and you must have proof that you did your part toward sending it. Os course it might—mind, I say might—mis carry.” “Ohl how shall I ever be able to ‘.bank you for the suggestion ? I will address the invitation at once.” “Yes; but then what ?” “I’ll give it to my husband to mail, and next spring I’ll find it in his over coat and explain it to her.” — Phila. Call. NOT ON THE FREE SOIL. Two German citizens, having become involved in a fight, were arrested and taken before a negro justice of the peace. When the constable explained why the men had been arraigned, the i justice said : “I sees dat yer two gen’lemen is fur , riners. Now, I’ll fine yer $lO fur fight in’ an’ S2O fur s’lectin’ de Newnighted States fur yer battle groun’. Dis coun try, gen’lemen, has to perteck itself er gin de 'fringements o’ de furrin ele ment” “We no dot much money got,” said , one of the prisoners. “Dat ain’t my fault, gen’lemen o’ de furrin stamp. Yer ken jes’ go inter my new groun’ an’ work it out. See dat da do it, Mr. Constable. ” Arkansaw Traveller. , ,- TO GET EM. 1 “Oh, yes, capital supper I But I wasn’t very hungry, so I just told the waiter to bring me the mrangs, you know.” . ’ “Oh, Tommy 1 That’s not the way to pronounce M-e-r-i-n-g-u-e-s !” “No; but it is the way to get ’em !”—• Punch. * A UNANIMOUS OPINION. “You have a fine disposition,” she ob served, sarcastically. “Os course I have. Mrs.‘ Brown tc-d me to-day that she wished her husband only had my disposition.” “I wish to heaven he had.”— Graphic. HIS MALADY ACCOUNTED FOB. Pitimber’s Wife (sitting by his bed 0 clad in an embossed velvet gown and B with $125,000 worth of jewels scintillat o ing on her ears and fingers)—“ls he i dangerously ill, doctor ?” / Doctor—“No, indeed. He is the most ; comfortably off of all my patients.” i “But what makes his right arm and hand shake so?” “That’s only scrivener’s palsy.” ; “Palsy 1” she exclaimed, with a clasp _• of her jeweled hands; “what could have 1 so prostrated my dear Algernon ?” “He has been writing too much with out rest,” smiled the doctor. “He tells I me he has been steadily at work day and night, for four months past, making out his annual bills.”— Philadelphia, Call,