Newspaper Page Text
Running a Lecomotiv#.
“Lots of chaps think it would be fuv
to run an engine,” said the driver, as ha
stuck his head, a flaming torch and i
long-necked oil-can in under his ma
chine, “but if the most of ’em would try
it, they wouldn’t like it quite so well.
’Taint everybody can run a locomotive,
either, though I suppose it’s like run.
ning a daily newspaper, which I’ve heard
tell everybody thinks he can do. . Now
a nervous man has no business in a cab;
no more has a careless one, or a stupid
cuss. To run an engine a man must feel
his responsibility and keep his head
level. I don’t believe half the people
know what it is to run an engine. Now
there’s the machine; that’s the first thing
and it has to be in good order and stay
so. A locomotive has to stand wear and
tear and weather that would knock a
stationery engine into smithereens. And
no matter what emergency arises—freez
ing of pipes or starting of flues,a loosen
ing of packing or beating of journals—
we’ve got to know just what to do, and
doit right quick, too; then, when we’re
running there’s the time cards and pret
ty often a new one; and the train or
ders—they are life and death and repu
tation to us, an' to read ’em correct and
live up to this gives us no end of anx
iety. Bet I’ve read a train order over a
dozen times in an hour—l am always so
afraid of making a mistake or forget
ting. You know the consequences of
even a little mistake, sometimes. Then
there’s the signals to watch, the conduc
tor’s gong overhead, steam to keep up,
time to make, whistle-posts and cross,
ing to look out for, bad spots in the road
to be careful on, and along with all this
there’s the track ahead of yc which your
eyes musn’t leave formore’n five seconds.
There’s the brakes, too—one is always
worrying about them. I don’t s’pose
everybody knows, either, that we have
to be mighty careful when we come to
the top of a grade. You see in going
up she labors hard, and so soon as she
begins to descend she makes a rush, and
there’s the danger of breaking your
train when the rear cars are still drag
ging on the up grade. This danger ii
especially great on freights, but no good
engineer fails to shut off some of his
steam when his engine reaches a summit
It isn't every fool can run a locomotive.
I tell you.’’
General Grant's Reticence,
He was never a secretive man until the
positions of responsibility in which he
was placed compelled him to be chary of
giving expression to his opinions. II?
then learned the force of the. philoso
pher’s maxim that the unspoken word in
a sword in the scabbard, while the
spoken word is a sword in the hands o’
one’s enemy.
In the field there were constant vis
itors in camp ready to circulate any in
timations of the commander's move
ments, at the risk of having such val
uable information reach the enemy; in
the White House, every encouraging ex
pression to an applicant for favors was
apt to be tortured into a promise, and
the President naturally became guarded
in his intercourse with general visitors.
When questioned beyond the bounds of
propriety, his lips closed like a vice, and
the obtruding party was left to supply
all the subsequent conversation. Thesi
circumstances proclaimed him a man
who studied to be uncommunicative,
and gave him a reputation for reserve
which could not fairly be attributed U
him. He was called the “American
Sphynx" and “Ulysses the Silent,” ano
he was popularly supposed to movt
about with sealed lips.
When accompanying him through New
England the summer after the close ol
the war, it was soon seen that the stor
ies of his reticence had preceded him.
The trip was the first of those grand ova
tions with which he was always greeted
by the people through whose communi
ties he traveled. The train stopped for
a few minutes at a small town in Maine,
and the people, as usual, took the op
portunity of extending a greeting and
delivering their words of welcome. As
the general stood in the doorway of the
rear car, a tall, gaunt looking woman
elbowed her way through the crowd till
she got near the platform. Here she
stopped, and put on a pair of spectacles
with glasses in them that looked about
as big as the lenses in large telescopes,
and taking a good look at the general,
said, gasping for breath as she spoke,
“Web, I’ve come down hyere a-runnin’
right on the clean jump, nigh on to tew
mile, just to git a look at the man that
lets the women do all the talkin’.”—
General Horace Porter, in Harper').
Shetland Pony and Percheron.
It is a difficult matter to believe that
those magnifleient specimens of equine
power, the Percheron and Clydesdaii
draught horses, should be derived frorr
the same original stock as the Shet
land pony. These little, hardy, obsti
nate, good-natured pets have been un
dergoing, during a number of years, a
proves- of physical degeneration, which
has reduced them to an average statuit ■
f forty to forty e’ght inches, and often
much less. They, like the oaks and
firs of the island upon which they have
been reared, have become stunted it
their growth by the peculiar condition!
of their environment; while the othu
branches of the family have been inter
bred, and selected and improved, witn
a view of producing the magnificent
thoroughbreds which we now so often
see in the business parts of our cities,
and which are so often the pride of our |
State and county fairs. and horse i
shows. In point of strength the pony
] rob,ably stands ahead of the Percheron i
in proportion to its size, and won- '
de fnl stories are told in their nativ«
Isle of their wonderful endurance and
power.
There are 12,000 stamn collectors
among children of the New Yoik public
•chools, and many dealers in stamps.
(Bajette.
VOL. XII. SUMMERVILLE, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY EVENING, OCTOBER 14, 1885. NO. 39.
EMMONS McKEE & CO.,
87 BROAD STREET, ROME.
Are Acknowledged Headquarters in North Georgia For
CLOTHING, FURNISHING GOODS, HATS AND MEN S FINE SHOES.
i E have made extensive preparations for a rousing business during the coming season, and wo have taken every precaution to fortify ourselves against disap- I
v V poinlment. Our new stock is all thatcould be desired in style, quality and price, and, if extra inducements are a consideration, our store will be the most >
j attractive place in this country for those who want the best for the least money. . J
FALL TRADE IS XVII A.T WE WANT!
And no stone has been left Unturned, no opportunity has been Neglected, no pains and
expense has been Spared to Secure
Tl|e SttActive stodk of
REMEMBER: Wo sell only goods worn by the MALE SEX-Clothing, Furnishing Goods, Hats, and Men’s Fine Shoes—we can fit you out from head to feet, and hope every reader of this paper will
give us a call. We are always glad to show goods, and think our attractive display cannot fail to please you.
EMMONS McKEE St CO., Men’s and Boys’ Outfitters,
87 BROAD STREET, HOME, GA.
THE SCARECROW.
In yonder Held he stands erect,
No matter what the weather,
And keeps a watch so circumspect
On foes of every feather,
So faithful is he to the trust
Committed to his keeping
That all t ho birds suspect he must
Dispense with any sleeping.
Sometimes his hat tips down so low
It seems a cause for censure,
For then some old, courageous crow
Believe s it safe to venture;
But catching sight of either arm
Outstretched in solemn warning,
The crow decides to leave this farm
Until another morning.
Although his dress is incomplete,
It really does not matter;
Perchance the truest heart may beat
Beneath a patch or tatter.
And it is wrong to base our love
On wealth and name and station,
For he who may will rise above
11 i- daily occupation.
We should not look with eyes of scorn,
And find in him no beauty
AV ho stands and guardsour field* of corn,
And doe.7 the whole world duty.
But honor him for native worth,
For rustic independence,
And send a hearty greeting forth
For him and his descendants.
—Marthu C. Cook, in Young People.
A QUAINT PROPOSAL.
The lilac bush beneath the south win
i low of Willow Brook Farm’s wainscot- ;
, led parlor nodded gracefully as a tiny
l zephyr swept gayly by, wafting far and
I near its Incense of new mown hay. In
i its wake fluttered a purple and golden
: butterfly, to poise a moment upon the
; window’s ledge, then to soar boldly for
ward until it lit upon a curious old vase
i beside an organ, whose yellowed keys
l g.earned softly in the half darkened
i room. The butterfly and the vase mir
rored themselves in the poli hed oak j
floor, and if the range had been right i
thi v could have repeatci the picture in
| the shining surface of each article of ,
j furniture.
A young girl was the sole occupant of I
the loom, with the exception, of couise, '
: of the butterfly, who had winged his
way to a small oval mirror and was busily
making his toilet, as his companion, I
humming a merry tune, dusted carefully :
a squatty teapot, whose fat little spout I
and comic tout ensemble at once inspired I
a longing for tea brewed in such novel
: quarters. At that moment a voice, call- |
ing “Marth ' ’■! i Ly I" echoed through I
(the hr.u-e, followed by. “Run—quick
1 old Thu’s in the corn field, and my hands
are all over dough
Hastily replacing the ancient heirloom
on a spindle-legged tale. the young ;
girl darted from the room, while the j
butterfly, start ed at its toilet, spread its i
brilliant wings and i. - ited sv. iftly out •
into the sunshine again. Snatching a
snowy sun bonnet from its peg in the
hall. Martha flew do i> the garden pal h
across to an adjacent meadow. In her
hurry she failed to notice a gentleman I
slowly advancing n her direction, until
two masculine hands stayed her progress. ;
Withan exclamation of surprise, .Mar
tha raised-her pretty blue eyes and met a ■
pair of decidedly good-looking brown I
ones, gazing with evident appreciation
at the dimpled, blushing face, from off
which the sun-bonnet had slipped, dis
posing a crop of reddish golden rings
lying close to the finely shaped little head.
“i beg your pardon,” murmured Mar
tha he blushes and dimples waxing
deeper, “but I didn’t see you, I was in i
such a hnrry.”
•'Don't mention it. Wouldn’t have
missed the —the pleasure for anything.
I—l like to be run into,” averred the
gentleman with considerable emphasis.
t-uch a rippling laugh as bubbled over
the lii.s of Mariha at this speech, which
she hastiiy apologized for with:
“I didn’t mean to, leally; but what
you said sounded so odd.”
“You couldn’t do it again, could you?
I assure you I never appreciated being a 1
—odd until to-day. I— ”
“Oh. the cow!” exclaimed Martha,
suddenly recollecting her errand. “I i
forgot all about him.’’and away she sped,
the gentleman hurrying after, repeating: I
“Cow! Him! Let me help you. I—l >
really am very clever with cows. In fact 1
I would like to make them a study.” 1
However, when the field was reached >
no cow was to be seen, and remarking t
that doubtless some of the hands had 1
ousted old Tim, Martha turned her steps <
toward the house, thinking the gentle
man would proceed on his way. To her |
astonishment, however, he kept along by ;
her side, observing: i
• Are you acquainted at Willow Brook >
farm ?” i
"Why, yes: it’s my home. I was ,
oom there,’’ answered Martha, sur .
prised ly.
“Happy farm! I mean—a —itmustbe ]
a iovely place. You see, the fact is-®- ]
that is, I have a note for Mrs. Duncan, of <
Willow Brook Farm.” 1
“My mother!” ejaculated Martha I
opening wide her blue eyes. Whereupon
the gentleman scanned with newly
awakened interest a square envelope he
had extracted from bis breast pocket, as
he added:
“I am an old—l should say my mother
is an old friend of Mrs. Duncan’s,” mak
ing a rough calculation of the length of
time it might take, all things favorable,
to place him on equally as good a footing
with the [daughter, while Martha’s
thoughts ran very much in this wise.
“Would be nice looking if he wasn’t
so sallow. Wonder if mother will ask
him to make us a visit. I never heard
her speak of an old friend that had a
son.”
By this time they were proceeding up
the path that led to the farm’s pretty
rose garlanded porch, and having ushered
the gentleman into the parlor we have
already been introduced to, with a de
mure little courtesy and the words “I
will send mother,” Martha left him.
In a few moments a comely, rosy
cheeked woman came hurrying into the
parlor with:
“Good afternoon, sir, Martha tells me
you have a letter for me from an old
friend.”
“Yes, from my mother,” and the
gentleman held toward her the letter.
Having read it through, interrupted
with exclamations such as “Bless me!
Who’d have thought it 1” Mrs. Dun
can. her pleasant face deepening into a
smile ejaculated:
“So you arc little Paul Dorsey. My!
how time flies. When I. last saw you,
you were only a little shaver. It must
be nigh onto fifteen years ago. And to
r think of Lucindy's remembering me all
: these years and sending her son to see
■ me. Not that I have forgotten her—not
i a bit- Only with cne thing and another
one hasn’t time to think much of old
days. You sec your ma and I went to
the same academy, and we thought a
sight of each other; only somehow after
both of us married we sort of drifted
apart. Your ma she married a wealthy
city man, while I got wedded to a well
to do farmer, and to gradually we each
| went our own way. Not to forget each
i other though, as you see, and now, my
1 dear, excuse the liberty, but it comes
• natural like, being your Lucindy's son,
; I’ll send one of the men down to the vil
j lage after your trunk, and you’ll just
1 stop along with us and be as Welcome as
my own son, if 1 had one, and Marthy
and I will do our best to make you com
: sortable,” and motherly Mrs. Duncan
i laid her hand with an approving pat upon
| Paul Dor-ey - slightly stooping should
ers, while he, coloring somewhat, en
| deavored to thank her for her warm hos
l pitality, but was ent short with:
“Bless you, it's no put out. we have
lots of room, and it wil be a real iileasurc
to me to see Lucindy’s son making him
self to home in my house."
And thus it was that Paul Dorsey be
' came a guest at Willow Brook Farm.
That evening after her visitor had re
' tired Mrs. Duncan observing to her
■ daugther:
“Poor young man, he hasn't a bit of
appetite. 1 don t wonder Lucirdy is
fretted about him She writes that he
is always that taken up with books, that
she can hardly ever coax h m to go
about a bit with young folks and enjoy
himself. I’ve been thinking Marthy, if
you was just to kind of make believe
you need his help now and again about
the garden and such, it would do him a
sight of good, and he’d never suspect it
was for the sake of his health,” mid Mrs.
Duncan laughed, a low, pleasel laugh,
at the thought of the deception, while
Martha exclaimed:
“Why, mother! you are getting to be
a regular conspirator. But lam afraid
it won’t work, he’s so—so odd.”
Paul Dorsey had been told to make
himself perfectly at home; so the morn
ing after his arrival he withdrew from
the breakfast table to his own room, and
forthwith commenced to unpack his
books preparatory to a good day’s study.
Everything was at last arranged to his
satisfaction, but somehow his thoughts
were strangely wandering this day, al
though not a sound disturbed the cool
quietness of bis surroundings. A pair i
of blue eyes seemed to glance mockingly I
from the musty page he fain would mas- I
ter, and be caught himself repeating I
aloud the old-fashioned name of:
“Marthy,” which took unto itself the ■
sweetest of sounds by reason of its con- I
nection with so pretty an owner. Sud •
denly, with a thud, the book fell from I
his hand, as, exclaiming: “By Jove!;,
that’s her voice,” Paul Dorsey, with one I
stride, was at the window making sad
havoc of the dainty dimity curtains with ,
clumsy hands. ,
Martha, accompanied by a tall stalwart i
fellow, was passing down the garden
path, her infectious laughter floating
merrily upon the balmy air as she
chatted away to the young man at her
side, who appeared to be enjoying the
subject under discussion as much as her
self. As they disappeared from view
Paul, with rather a blank look, resumed
his seat and sought to apply himself to :
his interrupted task, but not with the
old ardor did he work, and for the first
time that he could remember, he lis-1
tened anxiously for the bell to summon
him to luncheon.
The days slipped into weeks, and still
Paul Dorsey remained a guest at Willow
Brook Farm, and it became no unusual
sight to see him obediently following
Martha's directions concerning the up
j rooting of certain weeds, or the fasten
j ing of some vine more securely about its
support. An honest, bronze tinge had
replaced Paul's once sallow complexion,
and the books—well, they had become
secondary, a more potent charm having
outrivaled them. Mrs. Duncan con
gratulates herself upon her happy fore
| thought that was working such a change
in her friend’s son, and Martha admitted
with a slight blush, that Mr. Dorsey
was getting to be almost as handsome as
her cousin Joe- her beau ideal of manly
beauty heretofore.
The sun burned scorching hot upon
the broad gravel path just outside of
the farm’s pretty parlor, but within that
quaint room a restful coolness held sway.
Lounging idly in the depths of a willow
chair, was Paul, while Martha, seated al
the old organ, drew from its aged keys a
low, plaintive melody. As the last note
died softly away, whirling round upon
her seat, Martha exclaimed:
“Do you know, Mr. Dorsey, von
have been wasting the whole morning? I
don’t believe you have looked at a book
for two days”—this last, it must bo
owned, with a slight air of triumph as
she continued, penitently: “1 am afraid
1 have been to blame, but to morrow 1
will leave you free to spend the whole
day with your books, for Cousin Joe has
promised to drive tn< over to Dapleston
to do some shopping.”
“Hang cousin Joe’’
“Mr. Dorsey!” from Martha’s aston
ished lips.
“I beg pardon, I really—l hope you
will have a delightful time, Mis: Dun
can. I assure you 1 shall a enjoy it im
mensely being left to my books and
confound it! Excuse me I—”
And before Martha could reply, Paul i
Dorsey had left the room.
“llow queer it is,” soliloquized Mar i
tha, as Paul’s departing footsteps echoed :
through the hall. “I don’t see why he
should dislike Joe so; Joe isalwayssuch I
a favorite with every one. 1 hope I haven’t
offended him. lam sure 1 didn’t mean 1
to.” And with rather a puzzled look •
upon the fair young face, Martha closed ;
the organ.
That evening as Martha stood down by
the meadow gate caressing oil Doxey,
the mare, her quick ears caught the
sound of a familiar trend advancing to
ri aid her. ami a moment after a voice
exclaimed;
“1 am an idiot, Miss Martha, but I -1
hope you will forgive me. I couldn't
bear the idea of his monopolizing you;
all day. I know you could never think '
of an old bookworm like myself—still I
—1 have been very happy, and 1 forget
sometimes that—that there is such adif- i
ference between us."
Martha’s had been growing
rosier and rosier, while a strange, wild
joy surged through her veins, as she an
swered, her tones trembling slightly. |
“Since lean remember (bnsin Joe and |
I have been playmates, and since father ;
died he has been so good and kind to
mother, helping her about the farm and
in every way, that he has become like a I
son to her, and as dear as a brother to ;
me. Pear Joe! I don’t know what we j
should have don ■ without, him.” She
paused, the tears gathering in her pretty
eyes. Paul drew nearer, then hesitated, I
as Martha continued:
“Joe is engaged to my dearest friend, !
and they are to be married in just six
weeks.”
“1 am awfullv glad—l mean I wish
I them joy, and all that sort of thing,”
and Paul Dorsey advanced still nearer
the little figure into wh >se eyes a sweet
shyness had stolen.
“Martha, do you think there is a
ghost of a chance for me? As it’s my -
first attempt at anything of the kind, |
perhaps you will sum it up leniently, and I
make my sentence as easy as you can,” I
then gathering courage from .Martha's
half averted face, and the extreme pink
ness of the one visible car, he laid bis
hand care-singiy upon hers, adding:
“Martha, do you think you can forgive
me fur—for loving you?”
“Why should I forgive you for what I .
have done myself?" came the low answer,
followed naively by, “But I did not
know it until to-day, when I thought I i
had offended you.”
“And and you don’t mind my being i
odd—or anything?” stammered Paul, in
his excessive joy.
“You are not a bit odd,” was the in- 1
diguant reply; “I wouldn’t have you any
different,” and Martha touched shyly the !
coat-sleeve in close proximity to her ;
waist, whereupon she immediately dis- j
appeared from view, and from some- :
where in the region of Paul’s waistcoat I
pocket a muffled little voice might have j
been heard ejaculating:
“Oh, Paul! suppose somebody is look
ing?”
“J hope they are,” was the audacious
reply, succeeded by a second disappw.
ante on Murtha’s part.
A week or so later a stylishly-dressed, ;
middle aged Indy was sitting teto-a tote
with Mrs. Duncan, who was observing:
“Dear me, l.ttcindy. you’ve no call to
thank me. I had nothing to do with it.
Not. but what I am real pleased that your
son and my daughter should come to
gether ; but I had no more thought of it
than yourself.”
A slight smile stirred the lips of Mrs.
Dorsey as she remarked:
“You are just the same as ever, Mary.
Well, if Martha only turns out half as
good a woman as yourself, I am satisfied
that Paul has won a treasure.”
“And he’ll never forget, mother, that
he owes that treasure to yon, for if you
hud not sent him to seek out your old
friend he’d have remained a bachelor to
the end of his days,” interrupted a mas
culine voice, while a girlish treble ex
claimed, “(th, Paul!” the rest ot the sen
tence being forever lost by Paul daringly
sealing his betrothed’s lips with his own.
A Story About Ferdinand Ward.
George P. Lathrop tells in the St. Louis
Poet- lUxiniteh the following story about
Ward, the notorious New York financier,
now an inmate of Ludlow street jail in
that city:
A wealthy resident of some prosperous
New England city culled on Ward one
day with a note of introduction from a
mutual friend. In the course of conver
sation he remarked that he had some
money to invest, and asked Ward if he
couldn’t tell him of some chance to put
it. where it would bring a good margin
of profit.
Ward said that he didn’t know of any
thing just then. He himself had more
money than he knew what to do with,
and beside, he was too busy with some
big scheme of his own to co into any
outside speculation. Os course, this only
whetted the New England man’s appe
tite for investment, and in the course of
half an hour he induced the famous fiiian-
I eier to accept h s check for s.’>B,ooo, to
: be used in one of the “blind pools” of
> which Grant & Ward made a specialty.
, Three or four months later the
New England man appeared again.
By that time Ward had entirely for
gotten him and his cheek and it was with
great difficulty that ho could recall his
i name and the amount of his investment.
; “1 believe there's something due you?”
he said, after a brief converation. Tak
i ing down a large ledger he made some
brief calculations, and then observed
with a pleasant smile: “The amount
credited to you on our books is $102,-
704.” Then to the bookkeeper: “Mr.
Jones, will you kindly draw a check to
Mr. Perkins’ order for $102,754?”
W rd calmly turned to his work again,
while bis visitor sat gasping for breath.
In the anguage of the day the visitor
I was “paralyzed.” It was some time be
fore he could control himself sufficiently
to ask if there wasn’t any chance tor him
to reinvest his money and double it
again; but Ward didn’t seem anxious,
! and nt last the stranger took his depar
ture,got his check certified at the Marine
bank, and returned to his native town.
, Three days after he walked into Ward’s
office in company with four of the
! wealthiest of his townsmen. He had his
ccrtilied check—the same one Ward had
given him in his pocket, and his friends
j were .supplied w ith checks of their own.
■ They succeeded in inducing the finan
cier to accept about $350,000 for in
( vestment in another “blind pool.” That
' was exactly one week before the failure
> of <lrant <fc Waid.
A Man Drawn About by Two Sheep.
Almost every one who has ridden out
towaid the Bois, saysa Paris le tertothe
New Orleans Picayune, has seen the old
man in the lit tle carriage drawn by sheep
pattering along in the Avenue de Bois
de Boulogne. These sheep are two as
fine fat bouthdowns as you ever saw, but
i the occupant is a cripple by the name of
De Keroy. He has been in turn a soldier,
! a traveler, a politician, a journalist, and
a man of letters. A nephew of the Abbe
i Lammenais, he was for a while private
secretary to Lamartine, also an intimate
friend of the marquis of Hereford, at
whose place in the Bois he frequently
met Louis Napoleon. During the war
he volunteered to carry important dis
patches out of Paris for the government
of the Deferne Nationale. He started
alone in a balloon, which was caught in
a hurucane, carried into Switzerland,
and came down in the midst of the Mer
de Glace ■■lacier, where his legs were so
badly frost bit ten that they both had to
be amputated. Beside his legs he lost
his fortune by the war, and it is his pov
erty that compels him to make use of a
sheep instead of a pony cart. Before
the sheep were presented to him by a
friend he used to go about in a little
wagon propelled b ■ a machine worked
by hand. Bauylas and Babette, as they
are called, now draw their master as
swiftly as a pony could. The “Solitaire
de Parly,” as M de Keroy calls himself,
and Victor Hugo were fast friends: the j
latter often waßiu : alongside the
“mutton coach.” t..’. i.g v. iia its occu- I
pant and caressing the sheep.
A kind word miv often outweigh in
real woith th; >e.dtn •.( the universe.
A POOR YOUNG MAN TO HIS GIRL.
A jewel rare are you, dear Anne,
But can you use a frying pan?
Or get a meal for a hungry man ?
Oh, I will wed you if you can,
Sweet Anne!
Your dainty fingers wield a fan, ,
But can they wash a pot or pan?
Sweep, bake and brew? Oh, if they can,
I am, in truth, the very man,
Sweet Anne?
You work in Kensington, fair Anne,
Play, sing and dance, but it you can
Well mend my socks, none other than
Myself can worship like this man,
Sweet Anne!
—Life.
HUMOR OF THE DAY.
A big diamond—The baseball field.—
Life.
“Stick to it,” as the fly-paper observed
to the fly. Graphic.
Lit tle Bess to gentleman caller: “You
ain’t black, are you, Mr. M—?” “Black,
child?—wdiy no, I should hope not.
What made you think I was?” “Oh,
nothin’,’cent pa said you was awful nig
gardly.”- - Liurlington Free Press.
Some one says “only one woman in a
thousand can whistle." Every once in
a while during the heated term, and
when the whole world looks dismal and
dreary,some bright ray of hope descends
to cheer the hearts of men.
General Washington went fishing a.
least once. And on that occasion he
caught a trout at least four inches long.
While down at the corner grocery in the
evening, after returning from his angling
tour, he was asked how much the trout
weighed, when he uttered those memor
able words, viz.: “I cannot tell a lie. It
weighed seventeen and a half pounds."
—Norristown Herald.
She’d a lovely little pug
With a very ugly mug;
And she nursed it, and she coddled it, and
kissed it;
She said it was so sweet
It was good enough to eat;
But, alas! one day it happened that she
missed it.
She hunted everywhere,
And she advertised, but ne’er
Did she more set eyes upon that canine
whiner;
But at lust she trae.'d its fate,
And found, cruel to relate,
He’d been eaten by a laundryman ot China.
Huston Gazette.
It is said of the Boston girl who got
lost up in the Catskills the other day
that she shouted in an intellectual lone
of voice: “I require assistance from some
honorable man of culture and refine
ment.” When the farmer who found
her was leading her back to the hotel
she asked him if h(; was a regular sub
scriber to the Atlantic Montk'y, and if
he had read “Natural Laws of the Spiri
tual world.” And win he said “No,"
she forgot to thank him for his assist
ance.—New Yarh Mail.
THE LOCUST'S FATE.
A low locust sat in a 11 gh locust, tree,
And he sang to his mat-. ‘ Zeez.ee, zeezee:
It's many a year since I’ve seen the bright
sun;
It’s many a year since I’ve had any fun;
And, my dear, It I don’t paint everything
red,
It will be zee zee—
Now you see, zee zee,
Because every green leaf in the country is
dead”
But a sparrow sat up in the same locust
tree,
And much oftener cussed than the locust
was he.
And he said to his mate, ‘Tnere’s a bug over
there—
Buch a nice little n.orwC for a fond loving
pair;
Just wait here a minute, and I’ll take the
boy in.
Now don’t slip- hip chip—
Ain’t he flip—chip- -hip—?”
And when they were through there was left
but a skin.
Washington Star.
Greenbacks.
“Old Greenbacks,” was the soubriquet
given to Secretary Chase in the army,
from the green ink with which the backs
of the United States paper money was
printed. This ink was invented by Stacy
J. Edson, and patented in 1857, as anti
photographic. It could not be photo
graphed on account of its color, and
could not be dislodged by alkalies by the
counterfeiters to get a complete fac
simile of the bills, and as it was a secret
known only by the Ametican Bank Note
company and the inventor, it was im
possible to counterfeit the greenback
money. It was used by many banks be
fore the war, but was never a leading
feature in the bill; but even if the com
position of the ink had been known, it
would have been of no use, as the work
could not be copied from the genuine
bills with any kind of ink. The date of
the patent could be seen on all the bills,
in small print. Old Genera! Spinner
wanted to have Congress enact a law
making the counterfeiting of national
notes a capital offence, as ‘.as once the
casein Great Britain ami to have them
bear the legend which had been on the
bills then issued by the Bank of Eng
land: “To Counterfeit is Death.”— Ben:
Perley Poore.
FUN.
Misery—a girl with a new dress on arra
no place to go.— Marathon Independent.
The Finnish language ought to be
taught at all boarding-schools. — Pica
yune.
“Women dentists are gaining ground
in German," saysa Boston paper. Achers
of it, no doubt.— Lowell Courier.
More than $30,000,000 is invested in.
telephones in the United States, and yet
some people say talk is cheap. — Derrick.
A dentist in a Western city is named
Leggo. As a usual thing, however, he
will not do so until it is out. — Boston
Post.
Perhaps nothing has more of a ten
dency to sour the milk of human kind
ness than a snoring man in a sleeping
car.— Chicago Ledger. ■
A felon is a bad thing to have, but
there is one good point about it. It is
’ always on hand when vou want it—and
! when you don't.— Teras Siftings.
There is a Chinese laundryman in Cali
fornia who has no chin, which leads us
to remark that we wish our washerwoman
were afflicted in a similar way. She has
too much chin altogether.— Lowell Citi
i zen.
There are times in a man’s life whet
the whole sky seems rose colored, and
this old, dull world a paradise. One of
these is when he has discovered a quar
ter in the lining of his old vest.— Boston
Post.
“I rather marry a yaller dog than
you,” wrote a California girl to a suitor.
She afterward reconsidered her determi
nation and married him. He now wishes
he had taken her at her word.— New
York Graphic.
Boots are seldom worn in the evening
and undressed kid is the favorite ma
terial for slippers, says a fashion jour
nal. It may be added that slippers are
not a favorite material with the un
dressed kid.— The Hatchet.
.■
How to Keep Cool.
Don’t work as hard as usual during
the middle of the day if it can be es
caped.
Don’t eat as much as usual. It is not
necessary, and a little fasting in hot
weather always pays.
Don’t drink extremely cold ice water.
It is always better to eat the ice or let it
melt in the mouth.
Don’t have any fires going in the
house unless absolutely necessary. Use
cold foods and do without hot drinks.
Don’t wear your clothes tight. It im
pedes the already depressed circulation
and is a great source of discomfort.
Don't eat any meat or butter if you
can do without them. They are heat
ing, and any one is better without them
this weather.
Don’t fail at meals to give preference
to fruits and acids, which are more
agreeable now to the stomach than any
thing else that can be offered.
Don’t neglect any chance to get out of
the city to the country or seaside even
for half a day. Such an excursion will
often bridge a person over an entire
heated term.
Don’t walk any faster than is neces
sary. Strain a point and ride as much
as possible, as every street car fare such
weather as this is a great saving of phy
sical wear and tear.
Don’t drink any strong stimulants, as
simplest and plainest beverages, such as
lemonade, milk or iced coffee, do more
for the tired eneigies at such a time than
the best brandy.
Don’t worry and fret. Try and put
off the unpleasant thing with which you
have to deal until cooler weather, and
make up your mind not to get mad at
anything.
Don’t neglect your feet. Bathe them
night and morning, pay more attention
than usual to corns, and wear the oldest
and roomiest shoes you have. No one
can keep cool with tight shoes on their
feet.
Don’t miss any oportunity that is of
fered to bathe or go into the water. If
nothing else can be done dip the hands
in a basin of water and rub them all over
the person on arising and before retir
ing.
Don’t wear a stiff hat. Compromise
on something light and soft—straw if
possible—and ventilated above to let out
the hot air. Frequent shampooning and
wetting the top of the head is one effec
tive means of keeping co®l. — Philadel
phia Times.
Fishing by a Hen.
Joseph T. Favinger, of Lawrenceville,
East Coventry township, is the owner of
a Plymouth Rock hen which is possessed
of th : peculiar trait of necking in the
water for a portion of its livelihood.
Pigeon creek empties into the Schuylkill
river at Mr. Favinger’s machine shops,
just after furnishing the power for that
industry, and before doing so flows over
a shallow, pebbly bottomed bed in
which numerous minnows are at all times
to be seen. Lately the hen referred to,
which probably (list discovered the spot
in seeking a place for water, has gotten
in the habit of visiting this place daily
and spending some time in wading
about the shallow water and catching
live minnows, which, as it catches them
in its bill, carries them to shore and
after pecking them until they make no
more movements swallow them whole.
The hen's method of catching the fish is
to go in among a school of small fish
and drive them toward a spot where the
water is so shallow that they are scarcely
able to swim, when it will plunge in
among them and is almost certain of
c qituring one at each effort. West
chester (Penn.) Village Record.
A mountain explorer, just returned
from Asia, states that during a four
month's residence at a height of 15,000
feet above the sea. his pulse, nominally
only sixty-three beats pet minute, sel
dom fell below 100 beats per minute,
and bis respirations wero often twiee as
numerous as at ordinary levels,