Newspaper Page Text
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY
BKLLTON, GA.
by JOHN BL ATS.
P er an: ’>™ >SO cents for six
months; 2o cents for three month".
Psrties away from Beilton are requested
to send their names, with such amounts of
money as they can spare, from 2cc. to sl.
AN INCIDENT.
BY AGNES MACDONELL.
Unarmed and unattended w ilks the Czar,
Moscow’s busy street one winter’s day,
rhe erbwd uncover as his face they see—
** God greet the Czar!” they say.
Along his path there moved a funeral,
Gray spectacle of poverty and woe.
A wretched sledge, dragged by one weary man,
blowly across the snow.
And on the sledge, blown by the winter wind,
Lay a poor coffin, very rude and hare.
And he who drew it bent before his load,
With dull and sullen air.
The .Emperor stopped and beckoned to the man;
Who is’t thou bcarest to the grave?” he said.
“ Only a soldier, Sire!” the short reply,
“ Only a soldier dead.”
“ Only a soldier!” musing, said the Czar;
“ Only a Russian, who was poor and brave
Moye on. I follow. Such a one goes not
Uuhouored to his grave.”
He bent his head, and silent raised his cap,
The Czar of all the Russians, pacing slow,
Following the coffin, as again it went,
Slowly across the sn rw.
The passers of the street, all wondering,
Looked on that sight, then followed silently;
Peasant and prince, and artizau and clerk,
> All in one company.
Still, as they went, :ne crowd grew ever more,
Till thousands stood around the friendless grave,
Led by that princely heart, who, royal, true, ’
Honored the poor and brave.
Note.—This incident is narrated by a lady who
as living in Mumtow when it look place.
Spectator.
FIRST AND LAST DIGGINGS.
“ What is this dilapidated old book?
An heirloom?” asked my friend, who
for the last half-hour had been looking
over my library.
“Oh, no,” I replied, “ that is no heir
loom. but something which I prize as
highly as if I could prove that it came
over in the Mayflower, if you would
like, I will explain it to you." Draw up
your chair,” I said, taking the boos,
“and if, in my own interest. I get tire
some, stop me, I beg of you.”
“1 have always called this my‘Col
lege Register.’ In my sophomore year
I conceived the idea of keeping in my
room this book, in which I asked every
body coming to see me for the first time
to write their name, with the date. My
friends were not bored but once, and, if
the writing of their names caused them
a little annoyance at the time, I r.in sure
that if they knew the amount of pleas
ure the possession of their autographs
has given me since, they would feel
amply repaid. A good deal of fun was
made of me at the time, but that has
all passed, and the book remains the
most powerful reminder of my college
days When I look at the names of the
good fellows written here it sometimes
seems as if I was again a student, with
no care but that of preparing my reci
tati ns for the next day. But enough
of that; let us get to the inside. Open
it anywhere—familiar names are on
every page.
“ 'George H. Adams, January 15,
1846. He was a fine fellow, son of a
widow, living in town. He worked his
way through college, and had a hard
time of it, but he succeeded, and is now
a successful business man in the south
ern part of the State.
“ ‘ Louis M. Huntington, March 3,
1847. f never knew him very well, for
he never came to my room but once.
He was a handsome, fascinating fellow,
always a favorite in society because ot
his easy, graceful manners and his fine
voice. I have often wondered what has
become of him, but I have never been
able to find him out, as I lost sight of
him very soon after we graduated.
“ ‘ Leonard Meredith, February 26,
1846.’ That name deserves more than a
passing notice; his life and mine have
been most strongly linked together.
“ In the same building with myself,
in fact directly over my head, there
roomed a young man whom I had seen
in the recitations and in the halls of our
building. He was called Meredith by
the instructors, and that was al! I knew
of him. However, I liked his looks,
and determined to know more of him.
So, one evening I went to ms room, un
der the pretext of borrowing something;
he received me in a most cordial man
ner, and readily loaned me what I a-ked.
We easily dropped into conversation,
and be was so entertaining that I re
mained an hour or more. Whenever I
spoke, 1 noticed that he kept his eyes
fixed upon my sac deep brown
eyes, with an earnest eager look in them.
Indeed, his whole face expressed an
earnestness and determination which
won me completely. I told him that I
roomed right under him, and asked
him to stop in any time when he was
going by.
“After waiting for him a month, I
determined to try again. I was received
in the same cordial manner as before,
and when I asked him why he had not
been to see me, he frankly confessed that
he was afraid of meeting a crowd of fel
lows there, which he'always avoided, if
possible. I talked with my other class
mates about him, and they all said that
they had had an experience very simi
lar to mine.
“ I had also noticed that Meredith,
although quite talkative when I was
with him alone, became suddenly very
quiet if anotier person joined us. I
attributed this peculiarity to diffidence,
but I soon found that I was most com
pletely mistaken, for Leonard was al
ways at his ease, and although by no
means forward, be could not be called
diffident.
“The more I knew and saw of Leon
ard Meredith the more I liked him, and
finally on February 26, 1846, he came
to my room and wrote his name there
in my ‘register.’ From that time we be
came better acquainted, and lie used to
come to my room often when he knew
that I was alone. On one of the even
ings when he was with me he told me
The North Georgian.
yoL. in.
the reason why he shunned general so
ciety. 1 had never suspected it, nor
would you, ha‘d you known him. He
told me that he was almost totally deaf.
I could hardly believe him. His voice
was as perfectly modulated as yours or
mine, and then I had been talking with
him more or less for a whole year, and
had never once suspected his infirmity.
Lip-reading was not so common then as
it is now, and so I was the more com
pletely astonished when he told me that
he could understand what a person said
by watching the movements of their
lips. If there were two or three in the
company, he was unable to look quickly
enough from one person to another in
order to see what he said. This ex
plained his rather peculiar conduct.
“After Leonard had told me of,his
infirmity our friendship grew stronger,
and we gradually became almost insep
erable. Our walks were always taken
together, and during ore of them, on a
beautiful spring afternoon, he entrusted
to me another secret.
“ I knew that he was in the habit of
visiting one family in the town, and it
was the only place outside of college
where I hadever heard of his going, but
1 had never guessed the attraction which
drew him there.
“ In one part of the house, he told me,
there lived a brother and sister, who
were orphans, and the-e were the per
sons whom he visited. The brother was
an invalid, and it was probable that he
would never recover. The sister, Mar
garet Wadsworth, was most devoted to
him, taking entire charge of him. She
was accustomed to read to her brother a
great deal, and it was in this way that
Leonard had been able to assist her.
All this was mere preface to Leonard’s
seciet, and by this time I had guessed
that he was in love with Miss Wads
worth. It was so, indeed, and they were
engaged, but with no immediate pros
pect of being married, although Leonard
wished it as soon as he graduated: but
Margaret was not willing that he should
encumber himself at the beginning of
his career with the care «f her invalid
brother, who demanded all her time
and attention. I saw that Leonard was I
in great earnest, and, although he longed |
to claim Margaret as his wife, his love
for her would not allow him to urge
anything against her wishes.
“ In a few days after our confidential
talk, Ijeonard asked me if I would call
with him upon Miss Wadsworth and
her brother. I was very much pleased
that he should show me that attention,
and I eagerly accepted.
“ Leonard led the way to a little cot
tage in a retired part of the village,
where the brother and sister lived.
They occupied only a part of the house,
as their means would notallow them to
do more, and Margaret wished to have
somebody else in the house, in case she
had need to call any one. Leonard gave
a couple of little raps on the door, and
soon we heard some one running lightly
down stairs to let us in. Margaret
Wadsworth opened the doorherself, and
Leonard introduced me as ‘ My friend,
Will Dennet, of whom you have heard
me speak so often.’ By the manner
in which Miss Wadsworth gave me her
hand I knew I was welcome, and her
eyes told me that anyafriend of Leon
ard’s had a claim upoir her friendship
also.
“She led the way upstairs to their
little sitting-room. We paused a mo
ment in the doorway, and I recall ex
actly how the room looked to me then,
with the marks of Margaret’s graceful
and artistic nature, displayed every
where. A dark, modest carpet covered
the floor, a wood fire burned on the
hearth, and on a low, broad couch, by a
curtained window, lay the invalid. By i
his side was a small table with an open
book, face downward, as if some one
had just ceased reading, and a lamp,
with a crims >n shade, which shed a
soft, subdued light through the room.
Between two of the windows stood a
low bookcase, and among the knick-nacks
upon the top was a vase of flowers,
which I immediately knew must have
come from Leonard.
“As we entered the room, Margaret
went to the lounge to arrange her
brother’s pillow an<f to tell "him that we
had come. As she walked across the
room, I had an opportunity to look at
her more minutely. The way she had
of arranging her brother’s pillow and of
speaking to him showed at once what
a gentle, beautiful disposition she had.
Her large gray eyes were full of affec
tion, as she said in a low, sweet voice,
‘Albert, Leonard has come and has
brought his friend, Mr. Bennett. Would
you not like to have the lounge moved
a little, so you can see them?’ Albert
did not speak, but smiled consent; a
sweet, patient smile, and so much like
his sister’s.
“As we weae saying good-night I
asked Albert if I might come and read
to him when Leonard could not. His
face lighted up with the same smile, as
he said he never got tired listening to
his favorite authors. I used to go fre
quently after that, when Leonard was
busy, to read to the invalid. It became
one of my greatest pleasures, and 1
thought it was entirely my desire to do
good, but I now know that a more
selfish motive influenced me somewhat.
“ Leonard’s Jove for Margaret was as
sincere and pure as her’s was for him.
They were most devoted to each other,
but with none of that s’ckly sentiment
ality which you so often see nowadays.
“Time went on, and with it our
friendship increased. We formed a
very happy quartette in the little sit
ting-room at Miss Wadsworth’s. I
generally left Leonard and Margaret to
gether, while I devoted myself to Al
bert. He was no better, but bore up
under his affliction with great fortitude
and set an example of self-control to
BELLTON, BANKS COUNTY, GA.. MAY 6, 1880.
me particularly, who was to need it so
sorely.
“At last the spring of ’49 came, and
we were making preparations to grad
uate. Immediately after, Ixionard was
to leave for California. For the last
few months his health had been failing,
and the physicians told him that an en
tire change of climate with some active
out-door work was necessary for his
complete recovery. He was unwilling
to leave Margaret, but she urged it so
strongly, and I also advised it, that he
finally consented. California seemed
the place for him; the gold excitement
was at its height, and he hoped that
while seeking for his health he might
also find bis fortune.
“ I went to the nearest city to read
law, but alway managed to see Margaret
once or twice a week, for Leonard’s sake,
I said to myself,
“ We received one letter from Leon
ard, mailed at the Isthmus. He said
that the sea voyage had done him much
good, and he felt almost inclined to re
ctum. What a difference it would have
made in my life if he had!
“The damp chilly days of October
had come. We had not yet heard o
Leonard’s arrival, and we naturally
felt a little anxious, but the uncertainty
of the mails at that time woufd account
for the delay. The change in the
weather began to tell upon Albert; he
grew weaker, and no longer took the
same interest in the books which we
read to him. I told Margaret, one day,
that I feared her brother’s end was near.
I found her prepared forft: indeed, she
had realized it, but had not the courage
to speak of it. Poor girl, he had been
a care to her all her life, yet, when
she was called to part with him, it
seemed almost impossible to give
him up.
“ By the first of November Albert left
us. After the last duties of love were
performed, I took Margaret back to her
little home. Inas gentle a manner as I
could, I asked her what her wishes were
and how I could aid her. She said that
she would wait for a letter from Leon
ard, to see what were his prospects. If
she could go to him she wdVd, but if
that was impossible she would look for
some work to do until his return. Her
little fortune bad been almost exhausted
by her brother’s long illness, and by the
necessarily heavy expenses at the last.
On that account she felt obliged to do
something for her own support, but she
had enough money left to take her to
California if that seemed the best
course.
“ I admired her courage, brave girl.
There she was, all alone in the world,
with no one but her betrothed, who was
three thousand miles away. 1 admired
her courage, but J loved herself. It was
the first time I had admitted it to my
self, although I had recognized its in
fluence.
“ I felt it necessary that one of us
should go away, because I was doing
Leonard an injustice, since I could not
longer treat Margaret as a friend. I
thought this all over on my way back to
the city, and resolved to go abroad and
study, if Margaret did not go tc Cali
fornia.
“ Little did I know that my course
was all marked out for me, as soon as I
should get. to my rooms. There I found
on my table a small package, and an I
envelope directed to me in a strange i
hand-writing. Inside were two letters, j
one from Leonard, and the other in the
same hand-writing in which the en
velope was directed. There was but a
word from Leonard, and as I read it, j
my heart stood still. ‘ I entrust Mar
garet to your care.’ The writing was j
Leonard’s, but so changed ; it looked as |
if it had been written with the greatest I
effort. I was so overcome by reading j
these few words that I forgot all about j
the other letter. Why should Leonard
entrust Margaret to me? Was he dead, i
and she free? The thought flashed j
through my mind like lightning. I 1
eagerly seized the other letter, and read I
it at a glance. Leonard was dead, and I
his death caused by his infirmity, with- i
out doubt. It was as I feared. Feared,
when Margaret was free, and I could
rightly sue for her hand? 1 was com
pletely overwhelmed by the contradic
tion of feelings in my breast. My
grief for my dearest friend’s death was
in strong conflict with my mine—mine j
if I could win her.
“ I took up the letter again and read
it carefully. It was written by a friend
ly miner who had been with Leonard at
the time of his death. He had gone to
the hydraulic mines to try his fortune
there. A morning or two after he ar
rived he was working under a projecting
mass of earth and rock which had been
loosened by the water. The other
miners saw the mass tremble and called
to Leonard to run from under it; but,
alas, he could not hear them—he was
deaf. The earth and rock came down
with a crash, and partially buried him;
but he was rescued while life still re
mained, and taken to a neighboring
house, where everything was done for
him that was possible. But all in vain,
for he died within the next twelve
hours of some internal injury. How
ever, he was conscious to the last, and
wrote these few words, entrusting to me
what was dearest to him on earth ; he
also requested that the little gold dust
which he had found should be sent to
me, the result of his first and last dig
gings- • . ,
‘ 1 learned ail this from the miner s
letter. It was written in strange lan
guage, and still stranger spelling, but
under the rough exterior you could see
that there was one of the kindest of
hearts, always ready to aid a feliow
being in distress.
“ Leonard’s friends in the little min
ing town sent the gold with the letters
to San Francesco, where they were
given in charge of a merchant on his
way East, who brought them to me.
“ After reading the letters, I sat in
thought for a long time. At the end of
that time, let me say it to my credit, I
thought only of Margaret’s deep sorrow
and my great loss in the death of Leon
ard Meredith.
“ The' , next day I went to her. How
was I to break the news without break
ing her heart? She had just lost her
brother, and now to lose her lover was
indeed very hard.
" This was the severest trial I had
■vßr been through, and when I told
Margaret the burden seemed more than
she could bear. The hope of seeing
Leonard had carried her through her
brother’s death, but now no hope was
left, and she was alone.
“I was resolved that she should no
longer remain in the little college town
where everything reminded her of her
brother and Leonard. I urged her to
move into the city, and she consented,
because she thought she would be in a
better position to get work.
“How I longed to tell herthat there
was no need of her working!
“Through the influence of friends,
Margaret was soon offered the position
of governess in a family going abroad
for three years. She consulted me
about accepting the place, and I ad
vised her to, by all means. I was loath
to have her go away, but what better
thing was there for her than a change
of scene ?
“ I continued in my law studies, was
admitted to the bar and practicing for
myself when the three years appointed
for Margaret’s absence had passed.
“In the meantime I heard from her
often. She wrote in a bright, chatty way
which showed that she was improving
both in health and spirits. In my let
ters to her, I tried to write as a friends,
but I know that my love showed itself
in spite of me. By-and-by I fancied
there was a change in her letters. I
was unable to tell whether this change
meant that she was offended at the love
which I could not conceal, or, what I
scarcely dared hope, that she was learn
ing to love me.
“I’met her at thedock as she landed
and hardly knew the Margaret Wads
worth of old. The lines of care had
gone from her face, and, although she
was three years older than when I
saw her last, she looked as much
younger,
“ I will not burden you further with
V>w I wooed and won her, but if you
wih notice the wedding-ring on my
wife’s hand, the only jewelry she wears,
you will see that it has a richer, deeper
color than ordinary rings, because it
was made out of his first and last dig
gii’gs-
The Economies of Society.
The London correspondent of the
Philadelphia North American, writing
under the above heading, says:
Two of the chief instances of this
have been so often pointed out that I
need only mention them to say that
signs of the talked of reaction are small
indeed. These instances are the great
fall in the price of pictures, and the
“ putting down ” of an immense propor
tion of the carriages kept by the smaller
fry of London society. A sign of com
parative poverty, less immediately ob
vious than these, is the enormous
growth of “afternoons.” One does not
know a lady who has not now her Tues
day “ teas,” her Saturdays “ at home,”
or—if her set be in the least Bohemian
—her Sundays. But—and here is the
point —it is such a cheap civility. Tea
is only half a crown a pound; biscuits
and butter cost little, and are worth
much.
And this rage—for fashion would be
too mild a term —is in the main, we
may be certain a matter of economy.
It has been growing for years, in various
forms, and it has now reached a pitch
which an artist would call in every
sense of the word frightful. I was at a
“tea” the other day, and looked round
me in dismay at the dreary alternation
of black coats and black gowns. There
were eighteen ladies in the roo?n in
which I was, and of these all but one
were dressed in black —and she only
wore a gray jacket, and was very likely
black underneath. Os course, there
were a few colored ribbons and trim
mings to show that every one present
was not mourning a deceased next of
kin; but the material of every dress was
black, and the effect against a dull
green “aesthetic” wall lively.
And men are studying minor economy
also; dark, if not black, trowsers are
worn more than ever, and black gloves
and neckties for evening dress have now
been “in” some time. The saving in
these two little items will be appreciated
by any one who goes out much; but the
desire to save in dress is certainly a new
feature in the jeuneue doree, who, I pre
ume, sets the fashion in such matters.
At a recent meeting of the Southern
Historical Society, in Louisiana, an
apron made in the semblance of a Con
federate flag was shown, and its history
told. In the spring of 1863 the 11th
Virginia Cavalry passed Hagerstown,
wearied, discouraged, and pursued by
Federal troops. A young girl stood in
the doorway, wearing this apron. The
soldiers cheered enthusiastically, and
the Colonel asked her to give him a
piece of it for a memento. “ You may
have it all,” she said, and it was carried
with the regimental colors into a battle
the following day. The youthful sol
dier who wore it was mortally wounded,
but he saved the apron from>apture by
biding it in his bosom.
Central Texas has been suffering
from drougth for nearly a year.
NO. 18.
How a Married Woman Goes to Sleep.
There is an article going the rounds
entitled, “How Girls Go to Sleep.”
The manner in which they go to sleep,
according to the article, can’t hold a
candle to the way a married woman
goes to sleep. Instead of thinking of
what she should have attended to before
going to bed, she thinks of it afterward.
While she is revolving these matters in
her mind, and while snugly tucked in
bed, the old man is scratching his legs
in front of the fire, and wondering how
he will pay the next month’s rent. Sud
denly she says:
“James, did you lock the door?”
“ Which door?”
“The cellar door,” says she.
“ No,” says James.
“ Well, you’d bettergo down and lock
it, for I heard some one in the back
yard last night.”
Accordingly, James paddles down
stairs and locks *the door. About the
time James returns and is going to get
into bed she remarks:
“ Did you shut the stair door?”
“ No, says James.
“ Well, if it is not shut the cat will
get up into the bed room.”
“Let her come up. then,” says James,
ill-naturedly.
“ My goodness, no!” returns the wife,
“ she’d suck the baby’s breath 1”
Then James paddles down stairs
again, and steps on a tack, and closes
the stair door, and curses the cat, and
returns to the bed-room. Just as he
begins to climb into his couch his wife
observes:
“ I forgot to bring up some water.
.Suppose you bring some in the big tin.”
And so James, with a muttered curse,
goes down into the dark kitchen, and
falls over a chair, and rasps all the tin
ware off the wall, in search of the
“ big ” tin, and then he jerks the stair
door open and howls:
“ Where the deuce are the matches?”
She giveshim minute directions where
to find the matches, and adds that she
would rather go and get the water her
self than have the neighborhood raised
about it. After which James finds the
matches, procures the water, comes up
stairs, and plunges into bed. Presently
his wife says:
“James, let’s have an understanding
about money matters. Now, next week
I’Ve got to nay”—
“1 don’t know what you’ve got to pay,
snd I don’t care,” shouts James, as he
lurches around and jams bis face against
the wall; “all I want is to go to sleep.”
“ That’s all very well for you,” snaps
his wife, as she pulls the covers vicious
ly, “ you never think of the worry and
trouble I have. And there’s Aramenta,
who I believe is taking the measles.”
“ Let her take’em,” says James, stick
ing his legs out as straight as two ram
rods.
“ It seems to me vou have no sense or
feeling,” whines his wife, “and if you
nad any respect for me you wouldn’t eat
onions before you come to bed. The
atmosphere of the room from the smell
of onions is horrid.”
“ Well, go down and sleep in the
kitchen, then, and let me alone,” says
James.
Hereupon she begins to cry softly, but
about the time James is falling into a
gentle doze she punches him in the ribs
with her elbow, and says:
“ Did you hear that scandal about
Mrs. Jones?”
“ What Jones?” says James, sleepily.
“ Why, Mrs. Jones.”
“Where?” inquires James.
“ I declare,” says his wife, “ you are
setting more stupid every day. You
now Mrs. Jones that lives at No. 21.
Well, day before yesterday, Susan
Smith told Mrs. Thompson that Sam
Baker had “aid that Mrs. Jones had”—
Here she pauses and listens. James
is snoring in profound slumber. With
a sort of rage she pulls all the covers off
him, wraps herself up in them and lays
awake until 2 a. m., thinking how bad
ly abused she is. And that is the way
a married woman goes to sleep.
The New Home es Adolph Sutro*
Adolph Sutro, who, since its iacep
tion, has been the life of the Sutro Tun
nel, is at present living with his family
in elegant style at his new home on the
northwest corner of Hayes and Fillmore
streets, San Francisco. The residence
is described by a writer in the Sutro In
dependent as being one of the most gor
geous in ban Francisco, and is furnished
without consideration of expense. Mr.
Sutro is a great lover of the beautiful
in art, and while his heme is supplied
with an immense library purchased re
cently in New York, and with other of
the stabler commodities, it is, in the
way of its art contents, a perfect won
der. Among his collections are paint
ings, large and small, by old masters;
paintings by artists who have but one
particular style, and that to perfection;
beautiful landscapes, among all of
which can be seen now and then a pro
duction of his daughter, Miss Katie,
who has become an adept in the accom
plishment. Among his articles of stat
uary is one of “The Amazon,” purchased
recently by him in Europe and valued
at $5,000.
In last week’s Independent a denial of
Mr. Sutro’s having purchased a place on
the Hudson River, New York, was made.
The informant was mistaken. Mr. Sutro
has purchased one of the finest places on
that romantic stream, the same to be the
home of his aged mother for the remain
der of her days. It is opposite the Pali
sades, and is said to present a charm
ingly beautiful view.
“Ah,” he groaned, “ never tell me
again about the ‘widow’s smite’ being a
small affair. I’d rather be kicked by a
hippopotamus!”— Deadwood Pioneer.
Gteorgiar;,
Published Every Thubspat at
BELLTON, GEORGIA:
RATHS OF SUBSCRIPTION.
One year (52 numbers), $1.00; six months
(26 numbers) 50 cents; three months (It
numbers), 25 cents.
Office in the Smith building, east ot the
depot.
PASSING SMILES.
•
High pitch—that on the California
pine trees.
A woman sfung is the nearest ap
proach to perpetual motion.
You can always tell a clerk in a dry
goods store from the millionaire pro
prietor by the good clothes the clerk
wears.
M.Meibsonier, the great French artist,
“ paints very slowly.” The same may
be said of a house painter working by
the day, but this doesn’t make him o
great artist.
The ice and peach crops arc ruined
yearly, along with the champagne crop,
and it seems to be really doubtful
whether we ever see genuine-, ice and
{teaches in this country.
The following appears in the Alla
habad Pioneer: “Wanted, a situation
as a snake charmer in a serious" family.
N. B.—No objection to look after a
camel.”
As you travel around the country you
are more and more impressed with the
conviction that the chief end of man is
to paint patent medicine signs on the
fences.— Burlington Hawkeye.
Wealthy cad—“ Look here—bring
me some dinner, oil man. The best
you’ve got.” Restaurateur —“ Dinner a
a carte, M’sieu?” Cad—“ Cart be
hanged I Dinner a ler carriage 1”
A YOUNG man in Maryland started
out with horse and lance and battle-ax
to champion damsels in distress. He
had not gone five miles when a red
headed school ma’am pulled him off his
steed and rolled him in the mud.
Professor—“ Which is the more del
icate of the sense?” Sophomore—“ The
touch.” Professor—“Proveit.” Sopho
more—“ When you sit on a tack. You
can’t hear it; you can’t see it; you can’t
taste it; you can’t smell it; but it’s
there.”
On the planet Jupiter one year is
nearly as long as twelve of our years.
By the amount of time some people in
this world take on their promissory notes,
it is evident that they labor under the
delusion that they are inhabitants of
Jupiter.
Certain of our exchanges advocate
the leaving off what they call super
fluous titles, as “Mr.” and “ Esq.”
Why, brethren, this will work great in
jury—to a certain class. Take away
what is superfluous and there will be
nothing left.
“JThxt are like a tree?” he
The maiden yawned and could not tell;
Because you’re woo’d ” and blushing red,
The young man thought he did it well.
“ How smart! and why are you a tree
That’s dead—’tis easy you perceive;”
He gave it up; then answered she
“ Because, young man, you never leave.”
After the jury had been out all day,
the judge very properly sent them word,
saying, “ Mr. Foreman, it is true I gave
you the case, but I didn’t intend you to
keep it forever. If it is all the same to
you, you will return it when you get
through with it.”
“The smooth places made rough,”
said .Mr. Simkins, as he sat down sud
denly at the suggestion of a slidding
place on Main street. “And the rough
places made smooth,” continued the
sage, as he considered the journey of
life. Then he smiled and was glad he
fell down.
Mrs. Sacket, of Downsville, Delaware
County, slammed her door to and a gun
standing behind it fell to the floor, dis
charging its contents into her leg, and
making a wound which necessitated
amputation. Moral: Always shut a
door softly, as though there was sickness
in the family.
“My friends,” said the political
speaker, with the burst of ingenuous
eloquence, “ I will be honest—” There
were a large number of neighbors pres
ent, and the terrific outburst of applause
which followed this remark entirely up
set the point which the orator was about
to introduce.
A countryman, afler intently watch
ing a sign in a boot and shoe store in this
city the other day, which read “ Find
ings,” stepped in and told the proprie
tor he had lost a brindle heifer last
week, and he would like to know what
they would, charge to hunt her up?
An article upon the human figure says
that “tl.e proport : ons of the figure are
six times the length of the feet. Com
ing generations, when they shall exca
vate a Chicago young lady’s shoe, will
remark incontinently, “There were
giants in those days,” and mentally re
construct a race of women ten feet tall.
Hearing that hoops are coming in
style again a Steubenville girl visited
Wellsburg the other day to have a pair
built around the half-mile race track on
the fair grounds. She wanted to get a
set that would hide a portion of her feet.
If it wasn’t for Steubenville girls half
the tanneries this side of civilization
would have to hang up their shutters.—
Wheeling Leader.
A Water-Resisting Cement.
A water-resisting cement, which looks
as though it might prove serviceable,
has been proposed by a German chemist.
He dissolves from five to ten parts of
water, and then adds ten per cent, of
concentrated solution of birenromate of
potash. The articles united with this
glue are exposed to the light of the sun,
when the birchromate becoming re
duced, the gelatine film attains great
strength and flexibility. Glass orna
ments and utensils when broken are said
to be neatly and efficiently repaired
with this mixture. Os course, the very
principal upon which the utility of the
cement depends, requiies that it be kept
in the dark, in order that it may act as
desired when used.