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About The North Georgian. (Gainesville, Ga.) 1877-18?? | View Entire Issue (Feb. 24, 1881)
N >rtl| G^eoi c giai], PUBLISHED EVERY THURBDA' BELLTON, &A. BY JOHN BLATS. Tumi—sl.ol* per inium 50 eenU for lii monlhi; 25 cents forlhree months. Parti** away from Bellton ata requested to send their names with such amounts of money •> they ean pare, 'tern 2ce. to $1 Little Breeches. “Yes, they used to have queer times around here,” said the ancient citizen, as he stirred himself around on the up turned soap box, while the proprietor shook down the ashes in the stove. The reporter perehed himself on the end of a flour barrel and patiently awaited the outpouring of language that he knew was sure to follow. “Yes,” said the ancient citizen. “My father cam* here before the trilobites were done drying. He saw some rough times, the old man.” “Rightwhere the Court-house stands,” continued the ancient citizen, “was the old block-house; and here were gathered a mixed crowd of refugees just after the Pigeon-Roost massacre. Old man Booth had his log tavern just outside, and at it was always a motley gathering of back woodsmen.” “Among these,” and the ancient citi zeen twisted his quid across his tongue a turn or two, “was a character who made fun of old Booth and said he was a coward. Booth hated him cordially for the insinuation, yet could never prove the contrary, and the old trapper made up his mind to test his courage. The plan was successful. “My father and two friends owned a cabin just the other side of Booth's, and one of these, a small man, had S6OO, coin, in a sack, when Bill tried his ex periment on Booth. “They had retired for the night and laid their buckskin pants on the floor at the bedside. Have you ever seen any genuine buckskin ?” was suddenly asked the reporter by the aucisnt citizen, “I have.” “Where?” “On the buck.” “Well, then yon know it fits skin tight, and that’s just the way these breeches did. “About midnight Bill stole up between the block-house and cabins and raised the war-whoop. My Gee, what a stir there was. ‘ An attack from the Indians had been momentarily expected, and the whole garrison sprang to arms. Women crept with their children into the safest corners of the fort, while the men pre pared for the expected skirmish. In the little cluster of cabins outside of the block-house the coming savages were awaited with dread. The frightful whoops continued, chilling the blood of all. “My father’s friends hastily struggled on with their breeches, and the small one got on my father's and had room enough in them at the top to get in a bag of coin. My father pulled at the vacant pair of pants, but it was like put ting his legs into coat sleeves. ‘Hold on, there!’ he cried, as his friends were hastily leaving, ‘you have got my breeches !’ “ ‘Hold on, h—l,’ answered his friend, ‘this is no time to change breeches,’ and disapjienred in the darkness. “My father had no mind to be left, so he ran, naked as he was, in pursuit of his friend. The nettles were as high as your head, and before he had gone ten feet he was fuller than a New Year 's pin cushion, but that horrid yell kept him going, and he didn't stop until shelter was reached. “Bill showed us how old Booth was a coward, but he did not loaf around there the next day. The settlers wanted to see him, but he didn't want to see them, so he skipped. “But my father was always called ‘Little Breeches’ from that day on, though he never got too big for his breeches, as some people I know,” and the ancient citizen smiled contemptuous ly as a young man in a sealskin cap came into the grocery and asked for a “‘dahk cigah,’ if you please.” The minutes were tlren amended, and, as amended, approved.— Madison (Ind.) Star. An Author’s Labors. Dr. Prime's little granddaughter got into his lap, and after taking the pen out of his hand, asked him, demurely; “Grandpa, how long have you l>een writing in this way? Ever since I was a little dot, you have been writing, writing, every time I come; did you always write just so?” Then her grandfather told her how long he had been writing for other peo ple’s pleasure and profit. “ The first piece that I ever wrote for the New York Observer was printed in that paper April 7, 1838. From that time to this, about forty-three years, with a brief interval, I have been writing every week, and almost every day, for the Observer. It is curious to see how much one writes in such steady work. Suppose a minister writes sixty pages every week in making his sermons (less than ten pages a day, and he can easily write ten pages in an hour or two) he will write 3,000 pages in a year, or 30,000 pages in ten years, or 120,000 in forty. I have written on an average more than five columns each week for forty years, or 10,000 colums in all; at least 100 vol umes of 400 pages each.” — Cincinnati Commercial. A Funny Fact. Sol Smith Russell tells the following storv of his experience as an entertainer: At a small Ohio town, where he had given his performance the previous night, he met at the depot the following morning an elderly granger, who, while he peacefully munched a huge quid of tobacco, intentlv eyed the humorist and finally said: “feay, mister hen’t you the fellow wot gin the show up to Smoot’s Hull last night?” “Yes,” replied Russell, “I did gi- r e an entertainment at Smoot’s Hall last night.” “Wall. I thought you was the chap. I wanted to tell you ’bout a boy of mine; yon ought to have him; he’s just the fellow for your showphe s the daindest fool I ever see." The North Georgian. VOL. IV. MY HI SBANB. Who took me from my childhood’s home, To love me for myselt alone, And for my sacrifice atone? My busband. Who grumbled at the pnor beefsteak, And hade me better coffee make, And told me greater care to take? - My husband. Who swore because the baby cried, And to the spare-room quickly hied, While I to quiet, vainly tried? My husband. Who tore the buttons off his shirt, And said 7 could those ills avert, If 1 was more on the alert? My husband. Who hade me arise, the fire to make, While he another nap should take, Although I’d been all night awake? My husband. Who, when I ask for half a crown, Knits up his brows into a frown. And asks mo where the other's gone? My husband. And when I see my mother, dear, Who tries my lonely lot to cheer. Who says she’s dreadfully, dreadfully queer? My husband. Who stays out till late at night, And then comes home so very light That I nearly die of fright? My husband. Who breaks the china, slams the door, Leaves all his clothes upon the floor. And swears it's all a dreadful bore? My husband. And who do 1. for his dear sake, Os everv sacrifice partake, lx«t I, his confidence should shake? My husband. Ellis. in the Toledo Blade. JEAN GLENDOWER. “Dear Lady Elizabeth, will you not redeem your promise now, and tell me why that grand old castle we visited yesterday is left to be the abode of owls and bats, while its master wanders in foreign lands'? Look—from your east window here the setting sun is just kiss ing the old tower and tall chimneys ‘good-night.’ It is just the hour for a story; please, Lady Morton, tell me about it.” Ashadow crossed the face of my beauti ful old friend, and her dark eyes looked sadly across the beautiful English landscape, the fertile valleys and grand old trees, to far in the distance, where the silver river marked the bounds of De Clifton Manor. “I will tell you the story, Leda, but it will bring a flush to your Spanish cheek, for one of your countrywomen, dear, was the cause of that beautiful homo’s Ire coming desolate, and its master a broken hearted wanderer. Come, sit hero by me, little one, and do not interrupt me, while I turnback the leaves of my life and read to you from the brighest and saddest among them. ““Thirty years ago, Clifton Grange wa« tTie finest place in Somersetshire, and though not, strictly speaking, the hand somest, preserved its prominence on the score of antiquity; plebeian feet had seldom trod its wide halls and grand old rooms. You saw yesterday what the house is—a massive pile of Byzantine architecture, with deep, pointed porches, where pillars, once crowned with statues, stand close around the outside, and where fragments of a stately figure are here and there remaining. The high old mouldering walls of rugged sculpture are gray and grisly now, with exposure to wind and rain, but the old tower so high above them was then, as now, covered with the deep or ange-russet lichen which- gleams so lovely in the sunset. Behind the castle were the garden and fruit walls, where the bloomy l>each and purple grape ripened in rich profusion, and where may be seen here ami there among the nectarine the ves tiges of an old cloister arch or wall re maining. A wide terrace runs around the west front of the house, which was a favorite walk of the inmates at all sea sons, for of all the views around the old home this commanded the finest. Ah! my dear,” continued Lady Elizabeth, laying her little, soft, withered hand, with the frill of rich old lace around it, on my bend, “we were a merry party at the old Grange that month! 11 was early winter, and Lord de Clifton, just returned from his travels, was the pleasantest host in England. There were two beautiful women with us—women whose delicate feature portrayed the fairest types of their nationality. Lalla Darst, with her wonderful dower of Moorish beauty—the full, voluptuous form and rich, red color ing of her Spanish face—and Jean Glen dower, with eyes like the blue-bells of her own bonnie Scotland, and hair tinged the sunlight that gildedits moun tains. There were various guests beside; guests assembled in honor of the young Scotch beauty who was soon to wear the diadem of a viscountess; for Jean and Norman de Clifton had been bethrothed some months, and were to be married in a few short weeks. “Never did I see two people more completely fettered by the ‘silver chains of love,’ he seemed to live only in her presence, while she—my beautiful, gentle Jean!—returned it with a passion as pure as the Dowerdale blood ip her veins; her blue eyes grew almost black when he addressed her. and the lovely face was touching in its sensitiveness when he entered her presence. “Wo had been at the castle three weeks; and our visit was drawing to a close; three weeks spent in every species of pleasure and amusement that j the grand old place afforded. How I happy wc were then—how happy we , were!” repeated the old lady. “All ■ full of hope: I first saw Sir Howard ■ that month. ” She always called the now white > haired husband of her youth “Sir How ard” never anything more familiar or affectionate—and yet I never saw warm er, or more devoted, wifely love thau she showered on Sir Howard Morton. “But I am telling of Jean—Jean, BELLTON, BANKS COUNTY. GA., FEBRUARY 24, 1881. whom I loved as a sister, and whose hap piness was as dear to me as my own. One evening—it was the 14th day of December—-I shall never forget it—l entered the drawing-room somewhat later than usual, and found them all assembled; every one seemed gay and careless as usual, but when I looked at Jean—so fair and lovely in her blue vel vet dress and Scottish agates—how she loved everything belonging to her coun try!—l felt that something was wrong. I could not tell what it was, but soon found there was a cloud between her and Norman. Miss Darst- was at the piano, and the beautiful strains of her music floated throush the room. She sat in the full glow of the fire-light, her rich olive dress, strewn over with golden leaves, falling in heavy folds around her; her purplish black hair was wound like a caronel around the shapely head, while the blood-red rubies on her throat and arms, and the smouldering fire in her dark eyes, reminded me of Tintoret’s beautiful picture, ‘the Temptation,’ this hidden tire and the reflected light of the ruby armlet being the only hint given of the character of the real temptress, who is otherwise represented as an angel of light. “Lord de Clifton, his handsome Saxon face aglow with pleasure, was bending over Miss Darst, apparently absorbed in her music;, it was his passion, and here tofore he and Jean, night after night, had listened to it standing in the deep embrasure of the Doric window, almost screened irom view by tlie Heavy crimson curtains. Now, Capt. Dalton sat by Jean’s side; and, though the blue eyes had lost much of their luminous light, and the mobile mouth was a trifle prouder, still no one who loved her less than I did would notice any change; pride spoke in every quiet glance, and her sovereignty was exercised not only over other liearts, but over her own emo tions. Only once I feared she would be tray herself to tlie careless admirers around her—as Miss Darst finished the last stanza of her song: “ ‘ln love, If love be love, if love be ours, Faith and un faith can ne’er lie equal powers.’ “Jean and I, in answer to a summons from old Ladv de Clifton, crossed near the piano to soca new book ot engravings; Lalla Durst’s eyes shone like stars as she finished and glanced up at Lord de Clif ton, whose blonde head almost touched hers. “‘Doesit remind you of the Alham bra'?’ she whispered in her broken, musi cal English. “Jean heard the words, and I saw a look of anguish on her face such as few women ever know. It was gone in a mo ment, though, and no one noticed. Not once during that—to me—long evening did Norman de Clifton approach his affianced bride; though Capt. Dalton,, whom if-o all believed to bo engaged to ■ Lalla Darst. hovered around her most of the evening—lns dark, intelligent eyes wearing a look of trouble almost as great as Jeau’s. “It was over at last; the good-nights were spoken, and all had gone off to their rooms save Jean and myself; wo lingered in the drawing-room, beside the bed of glowing coals, for our usual talk-—prom ising, as tlie domestics had all retired, to extinguish the centre wax-lights before we left, and not to trust them to the drowsy old porter, who slumbered in his chair bv the hall door. “ My darling knelt on the warm velvet rug as soon as we were alone, and threw her arms around me in her unhappi ness. “ ‘Oh, Elizabeth, she knew him in Castile—and he never told mo! They loved each other before I ever saw him —she told me this evening of the hoppy hours spent in the Alhambra, and how they learned to love each other. Her father took her away, and they never met until Norman and I were betrothed.’ She shivered as she spoke, ‘Shall I keep them apart? Oh, Bess, help me in my trouble!’ wringing her little white hands piteously. “ I took her in my arms and held her close. “ ‘Hush, Jean!’ I said, in harsher tones thau I over before heard addressed to her. ‘I do not believo ono word of it; Lord de Clifton is a man of honor, and loves you—you only. The story this woman has told you is the coinage of her own brain. It is the diadem she covets —not Norman de Clifton’s heart.’ “ ‘Elizalieth, haven't you seen how he has treated me? He has not been near me this evening.’ “ ‘I know it, love; I have seen it al). She had poisoned his mind, too. It will all be right to-morrow, little one.’ “ ‘Bess,’ looking at me with startled, eager eyes, ‘if I thought he loved her, I would die! Do you understand? I would die!’ “ ‘Come, Jean, let us go to our rooms. I will not talk to you any more to-night. You are not reasonable. To-morrow you will be happy again.’ “I threw my arms around her and we walked slowly through the wide, dimly lighted hall, past the sleeping porter— not yet retired—and on to the second hall; as we approached the library door we heard the subdued sound of a voice, and as we passed it heard Lalla Darst distinctly say, in low, gentle tones— “ ‘No, Honor de Clifton, no! I cannot give you the love you ask ! The fair haired Scotch senora loves you well, and you must be true to your vows to her.’ “With a smothered, gasping cry Jean started from my side and ran swiftly and noislessly up the stairs and down the long corridor to her room. Before I reached it she had locked the door, and a low moan was my only answer when I pleaded for admittance. At last I left her to herself—but no sleep came to my eyes that night. “Leda, my child, I never saw my sweet friend afterward ! When morning came her door was open, and she had disappeared as entirely and as noiselessly as though wafted away to the heaven she was pure enough to e*ter. Lord da Clifton was almost frenztod. The eastle was searched, the park, and even the silent river; but if it knew the secret, it has kept it well. “ ‘On, Lady Elizabeth, what could have made her leave me?’ said the un happy man. ‘I loved her better than life itself!’ “‘You should know that, Norman de Clifton, better thau any other,’ I an swered tartly. ‘Jean heard your words —at least the answer you received to them—iu the library last night as well as I.’ “Tn tlie library—l do not understand; I was not in the' library at all, yester day.' ‘ ‘ I told him what we had heal’d—and with a stony, mystified look in his eyes. Ixird de Clifton sank at my feet in a swoon. “ The next day lie left his home, and began his fruitless search for his lost loro. “ ‘I will find her if she is on the earth!’ were his parting words. ‘Great heavens! To think a woman can be such a fiend, and wear a shape so fair! Sho was in that room alone last night; and she told me my darling loved Capt. Dalton—had confessed the truth to her, and for a few horn’s I believed her. Farewell, Lady Elizabeth! I will bring Jean back, if she is on the earth!' and he was gone. “ He first went to her highland home, but she had not been there, and he has never heard of her since. His mothei died soon after, and the domestics de serting the old home, it has become al most a ruin.” “ And Lalla Darst?” I asked. “ What of her?” “ She married a wealthy man and lives in London. I met her once after I was married. Capt. Dalton shot himself when she deserted him.” ‘‘See, dear lady! The last beam of the setting sun is lighting up the western facade of the old building; how lovely it is!” “Yes, my child; audits master is a broken-hearted wanderer—old before his prime because of a woman’s treachery and crime.” We were both unusually quiet, that evening, and during my stay at Morton Manor I never saw the old castle across the fields and woods, and gently flowing river, without tlikiking of beautiful Jeon Glendowsr. Ger*ra! Houston, Ilia Pony and His Razor. If was on his departure for Mexico “to revel”—as he had said—“iu the halls of the Montezumas,” that he again met with Maj. Rector, a generous and genial man known as the original of the “The Fine Arkansas Gentleman." In company with Maj. Arnold Harris, also well known in New Orleans, who was then perhaps a Deputy Marshal, they journeyed to Southwestern Arkansas, to which point their route was the same. Gen. Sain Houston rode an Indian pony very dis proportionate to his own tall .stature. This was a source of considerable annoy ance to him. He had become t horoughly disgusted with Indian life, was intem perate and ill-tempered. His constant theme of discussion was-the unworthy appearance he would present in a foreign country, mounted on an nnimal so igno ble, with a frequent appeal to Arnold Harris to swap his largo bay mare for his Indian pony. These proposition were discussed for several days with all the energy and eloquence of the general, one of wliose favorite exclamations was: “This d—d bobtailed pony is a dis grace. He is continually fighting the flics and has no moans of protecting himself, and his kicks and contortions render him ridiculous. I shall be the laughter of all Mexico. I wish a steed appropriate to my own stature. I require a steed with his natural weapon, a flow ing tail, that he may defend himself •gainst his 'enemies as his master has done. Harris you must swap!” As the result of persistent expostula tion, aided by a liberal arrangement of “boot,” effected and guaranteed by Maj. Rector, the general acquired the broom tailed mare, and recovered his dignity and good humor. When they came to part, Maj. Rector said he was sorry for him. He knew his worth and felt for his misfortune. He had got so low, said the major, that he couldn’t stay with the Indians. He was desperate and intemperate, and was go ing among the Mexicans, so that would bo the last he would ever see of poor Sam Houston. They dismounted to take a last drink of whisky together. “General,” said Elias, “you said you liked that razor of mine when you shaved. You are going where it may not be convenient to buy one, and I can get another when I get back; sup pose you take it along?” So he took the razor out of his saddlebags and pre sented it. Gen. Houston opened the razor, strap ped it on his hand, looked at its edge, and as he shut it carefully up, and re placing it in the case, said : “Maj. Rec tor, this is apparently a gift of little value, but it is an inestimable testimonial of the friendship that has lasted mauy years and proved steady under the blasts of calumny and injustice. Good by. God bless you. When next you see this razor it shall be a shaving the President of a Republic. The last words Maj. Rector remembered distinctly. They were impressed upon his memory by the battle of San Jacinto, the recognition of Texan independence and the election of Gen. Sam Houston to the Executive Chair.— yew Orleans Picayune. -i uhtsician gives directions how to see the blood circulate. His method is not as simple ns the old way of calling a prize-fighter a liar. Double Consciousness. The disappearance of tha Rev. John Marslond, of Windham County, Connecti cut, and his explanation when he was found at Binghamton, N. Y., 400 miles away from his residence, that all that had'hoppened in the interval was a blank to him, brings up the mooted question whether there is or is not snch a disease as double consciousness. Many skeptics aver that such a condition of mind is impossible, but several physicians of this city and Paris declare that the diag nosis of this mental disorder is well de fined. Dr. William A. Hammond, of New York city, being asked his opinion on the subject said: “No doubt that amnesia, or double consciousness, exists in both a chronic and acute form. It is something more than absent mindediiess or temporary insanity. I have classified it as a mild form of epilepsy. Many cases have come under my notice. Among them was that of a patient in a large mercantile establishment, who left his office at 11 o’clock to get a signature to a paper from a gentleman whose place of busi ness was distant only a few minutes’ walk. Ho had not returned at 8 o’clock, and, as was subsequently ascertained, visited the office aud obtained the signature, and left, apparently in good health, at 11:30. He did not appear at his own office till nearly 5 o'clock. The last thing he recol lected was passing St. Paul’s church, at the corner of Broadway and Vesey street. It was subsequently found he had gone to Brooklyn, visited a newspaper office there, and purchased a newspaper. He then returned to New York, got into an omnibus at Fulton ferry, left it at the corner of Twenty-third street, entered the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and while there recovered recollection.” “An even more interesting case oc curred in the autumn of 1875. A patient, who was a manufacturer, left his office at Ba. m. to buy some bulbs. He re mained away eight days, and no trace wns obtained of him during that time. Subsequently it was ascertained that he had been to theaters, and hotels, where ho slept, and stores where he made purchases, and that he mode a journey of 100 miles from New York. Losing his ticket he was put off nt away station, and, returning to Now York, passed the night at a hotel, and on the eighth day, at about 10 o’clock, made his appearance' at his office. He had no recollection of what occurred, though he acted coher ently and bad drank nothing intoxicating except a glass of ale, which he hail with some oysters in a restaurant on Sixth avenue.” Dr. Hammond's daughter has com pleted a novel entitled “Mr. Perkin's Daughter,” which has been accepted by G. P. Putnam’s Sons. The plot turns upon the idea of a double consciousness. The heroine, while in the “second state,” engages herself to be married, aud when sho recovers her normal condition has forgotten al) about that. The publishers have induced Dr. Hammond to write a preface, which certifies that this pheno menon of double consciousness is recog nized by the medical profession.—.Win neapolis Tribune. An L'ngallant Translator. Iu a review of Professor Blackie’s translation of Faust the Saturday Ilc view says: “Will it be believed that the closing words— Das Lnlie chreibliche flier ist es cetnau ; Das Ewlg-Weibllche Zelht tins hhmn— Are presented by him to the English reader thus: Beauty immortal The rapt spirit nail?, Where the eternally Female prevails. Os course translation is baffled here; but only total want of sympathy could ena ble'a scholar of Professor Blackie's abil ity to turn out such a carricatiu’e, even byway of incidental illustration. Bay ard Taylor’s— The Indescribable, Here it is done; The Woman-Soul leadeth us Upward and on I Is at least in the right direction toward the movement and spirit of the original. And it is just the finer spirit and move ment that, even where ho is in sympathy with his author, Professor Blackie does not always preserve. ” Discovery of a Letter Written by Adaiu to Eve. In Josh Billings’ “Cook Book and Picktorial Receipts,” the following in teresting letter is found; Edonia, December, Year Two. Deab Eve—l have been on the rampage now ono month, prospecting for our new home, and and have aeon some ranches that will do pretty well, but none of them just the ticket. The old garden in a hard place to beat, but we have lost that, and are turned out now to root hog or die. Wo will fight it out now, on thia line, if it take* al! summer. Eating that apple was a great blunder, but, my dear girl, let bvgonen be bygones; there is hope for ns yet. Juntas soon as I strike a good claim I will come back to you. Watch over Cain closely; he is a brick. The weather is raw aud cold; I feel that lam too thinly clad. No more now from your loving Adam. P. B.—Has Cain cut another tooth vet? Compliment Exchanged. Says the Cleveland Herald: “They tell of a very ‘cultured’ divine in Boston, who, instead of saying, ‘The col lection will now be taken up,’ impres sively remarks: ‘The accumulation of money will now ensue.’ Perhaps there is such a man, but he is a poor creature compared with the Cleveland shepherd of souls who says, ‘The deacons will now sail around, and the congregation will enthuse aud pass in its chips.”— Boaton Transcript. _• __ “ Oh, Miss Dashwood, ma says she’s so sorry to keep you waiting. I know it isn’t true, though, because she said ‘Bother!’ when she saw you driven uj the avenue.” Puawnrap Thvmday at BELLTON, GEORGIA, BATBB Os. SUBSCRIPTION. One year (52 numbers), $1.00; six months numbers). 50 cents; three months (1$ numbers), 25 cents. Office m the Smith building, east of the depot. ftO. 8. ENTERTAINING PARAGRAPHS ■A— ■ ■ Some man are never sweet on their wives except at a masquerade ball. A bthmbij of wheat, weighing sixty two pounds, contained 550,000 kernels. A Boston paper charges certain actors with “fulminating trite faculties.” No arrests were made. It is estimated that a freight train now enters New York every fifteen minutes, each train averaging 35 cars. * Boston servant girls always ask for poor molasses at the grocery, because it takes longer for it to run. Ths world is filling up with educated fools—mankind read too much and learn too little.— Josh Billings. A man troubled with sleeplessness can core himself by pretending to do duty as a night watchman.— New Orleans Pica yune. ALa Crosse, Wis., minister prayed tor those “who were smitten with ill ness, and those who have gone a-fishing, and also those too lazy to dress for church.” > An old couple in Maine have been married seventy-live years. What a shud der this item will create when it gets to circulating in the Indiana papers!— N. Y. Commercial. The obstinancy, observes a London journalist, with which old smokers cling to life is really marvelous; they seem altogether to ignore the fact that tobacco is a»deadly poison. Lavater was a good observer when he wrote: “Mistrust the man who finds everything good, the man who finds everything evil, and still more, the man who is indifferent to everything.” An epitaph on a recently out tomb stone reads: “ Here lies Samantha Harriet Jones, Whose maidan name was Sickles, Most p'.teoua were her dying groans. The cause of death was—pickles.” —New Y&k Commercial Advert leer. ■When a Buffalo street cor conductor was told by a lawyer that he had fallen heir to a legacy of SIOO,OOO, the man simply asked the loan of five cents to buy a cigar with. He wanted to find out if the lawyer was lying to him. A person who had an important case in court sent two very handsome and ex pensive flagons to tlie Judge. He or dered them to be filled with costly wine and sent back to the donor. The Judge was a pagan, however, and didn’t know any better. Such foolish stories can’t be told of the courts of nowadays. Slavery is still a recognized institu tion of Arabia, and an active trade in blacks is carried on in some of the larger towns? Arab custom enfranchises a slave at the end of seven years’ faithful ser vices, and on leaving his master presents him with one or more camels and an out fit. The manumitted negroes marryand have an even chance in life with their former owners. There is no prejudice against a negro in Arabia. “Eye peeping” is the new game. Two holes are made in a screen. The per formers stand behind it and place their eyes in the holes, while the persons in front guess to whom the eyes belong.— New York Herald. They have the same game, modified somewhat, out West. “Eye openers” are drank, a fight ensues, in which gouging prevails and then the person who sweeps up the floor guesses to whom the gouged eyes be long. Russell Sage is said to be the very model of frugality and domestic econ omy. His household concerns are con ducted with systematic attention. He weighs out the sugar, tea, coffee, aud spices, and measures the liquids required by his housekeeper and exacts a rigid ac count from that usual pet ticoated ty rant. After this the old man drives down town and sets to work to checkmate Jay Gould on Western Union or to get awaj with any stray New York Central Mr. Vanderbilt may not be able to carry off. T»ru- .. ■ The Hat Wouldn’t Stand It. Billy Manning, the lamented minstrel, bad an inexhaustible fund of natural wit. He was up and down in life, sometimes worth thousands, and again flat broke. These reverses did not affect his spirits in the least; indeed, his poverty inspired in him many a happy thought. It was a habit of Manning, when hearing of the death of an acquaintance, to take off his hat, and, bowing very reverently, re mark: “God rest his soul.” On one occasion several of his friends entered into a conspiracy to report to him the death of some person he knew. One friend would approach him and say, “Well, Billy, George Jones is dead at last. ” Manning would take off his hat and say: “God rest his soul.” Presently another friend would coma along, and, according to arrangement, ask him if he had heard of the death of Smith. After the usual expression of surprise and sorrow, off would come Manning's hat, and he would make the tearful ob servation, “God rest his soul.” In this way he heard of the death of a dozen old friends within an hour. Man ning was then playing in hard luck, and his hat was of straw and badly out of re pair. Just as he had uncovered to ask rest for the soul of his twelfth departed friend, the depth and breadth of the “racket” dawned upon him. Standing there, holding his miserable straw hat by the brim, and increasing, if anything, the look of sorrow upon his face, he said: “Now let this end right here. I don’t want to hear of the death of another per son. This hat won’t stand it. ” Ladies* should rjipiember that the sweetest lips are social* chapped.
