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NORTH GEORGIA I
~ IV.’ F. WARTI V ' E*Wl»r» anil Froprietm-a
IXTO SPACE.
If the sad old world should jump a cog
Some lima in its dizzy spinning.
And go off the truck with a sudden jog,
What an end would oome to the sinning !
What a rest from strife and the btuxleu of life
Tor the millions of people in it;
What a way out of care and worry and wtar,
Adi in a beantiful minute.
As round the sun with a curving swcop
It hurries, and runs, and races,
Should it lose its balance, and go with a leap
- Into the'vast sea spaces;
What ablest relief it would bring to the grief,
Ancftho trouble and toil about us,
To ba suddenly hurled from tho solar world,
And lot it go on without ns.
With never a sigh or a sad good-bv
To loved ones left Ix-hilid us.
We would go with a imige and a mighty plunge
Where worms nor graves could fiud Us.
Wkat a wild, mad thrill our veins would fill,
As the great earth, like a featlior,
Should float thro 1 the air to God knows where—
And carry us ali together.
No dark, damp tomb, and no mourner's gloom,
No tolling bell in the steeple,
But in one swift breath a painless death
For a million billion people.
What greater bliss could we ask thin this.
To sweep with a bird’s free motion
Thro’ leagnS of space to a resting place
In a vast and vapory ooean.
To pass away from lids life for ave,
Withn tty sundered
And »-wovltfon igg for our funeral pyre,
White the stanffookod on and wondered !
Ella #iik&b*, in /temoresf* Monthly.
A FARMHOUSE TRAGEDY.
' BY MARION HARLAND.
Er a provinion of political and domestio
economy, it-is welt lliat there is an overplus of
dying Band human worms of the mother-sex in the
of 1‘ilgritns, when death aud insanity
are w olose attendance to pick up those who,
from weakness, stagger ran of the marching
column.— Eve's JJewjhters.
“It makes no difference 1 Not the
least in the world !” When a woman
says that, she either means exactly what
she utters, or emphatically the reverse.
Any other woman understands her. The
average man takes her at her word.
Tilly Bumoy glanced apprehensively
,
larks.”
Mrs. Burney had not seemed at all
like herself for several months. While
performing diligence, she every task with mechanical
had grown taciturn and
gloomy and, when not busy with regular
household duties, had a way of with¬
drawing her herself from the famuy cirole to
own room, and, if she remained with
the others, sat aloof in listless qniet,
"She was quite well, she declared. She
wished people wouldn’t take notions
about her. Once she had told Tilly,
her favorite daughter, to “mind her own
business I”
There was a great deal of business to
be minded. Like all farmers, Luke
Barney he was found a chronic grumbler, but this
season less fault with Prov¬
idence and applauded his own manage¬
ment more often than he had bad occa¬
sion to do within the memory of his eldest
bom. Dairy, poultry yard, garden, and
field had yielded bounteous increase of
prospective of profit to his bank store, apd
Up positive labor to his wife’s hands.
at four in the morning to look after
milk, baking, and the breakfast for the
with “men-folks,” she filled every minute
hours tasks stated and incidental, until,
after the rest retired, she sought
the pillow that often brought another
form of solicitude instead of surcease of
care. When there was so much to be
done it was bat natural that she should
lie awake to plan the morrow’s oper¬
ations; as natural, she deemed it, that
mueh dreads planning the should bring doubts schemes. and
as to success of her
Luke Burney was not, in one sense, a
covetous man. He would not have
cheated an enemy of half a cent; ren¬
dered to customers fair measure aud
weight; asked of the Lord only that
which he honestly earned. His view of
desert was not perhaps invariably coin¬
cident with the Lord’s. It is certain
that he wanted more than he had ever
yet received. The gnawing greed of
men in his craft slow and accretion station, of expressing cent
itself in the upon
cent, the adding of dollar to dollar, and
the dogged grip of mind and fist upon
the tardy hoard, is inconceivable by
those who-have not studied the action of
avarice on narrowed minds.
Mrs. Burney did not care for money
for money’s sake. Her husband did;
and her part in the earthly orphan life was and to
serve him. She was an a
schoolmistress when Luke Burney of¬
fered her the only real home she hail ever
known. Her contribution to the plen
ishing and of the farmstead tolerably was well a meiodeon stocked
a book-case
with standard works. She “led the
singing” in chnrch until, babies at first,
then the woes of them who make haste,
however slowly, to get rich, made her
attendance npon public worship irregu
lar. By to time the children were
grown her voice was oraoked by the
steam of suds and the dry heat of cook¬
ing stove; her fingers were too stiff for
the meiodeon keys, and her mind too
stiff for the books she used to enjoy.
“If Luke cared for such things it
would be different,” she would say to
herself. “Or, if I had been intellectual.
Being only intelligent, myself.”. I wasn’t likely to
keep Mind up by of properties of
baq some the
SPRING PLACE. GEORGIA, TiJiBSDAY, APRIL R>, 1885.
------—
matter, pressibilitv is one the two
hold in
'■•Mat U worked hard, even for
afer. ----------The all catk of “mnst
be-dones”_|iM body of dW§J, bound over her which soul her as watch to a
was like |jJ t I Bizpah, the daughter of
Aiah, beginning of harvest
SEfftS; until uow the “slack sealon” in
CTW
The breath was drawn in a
combined idav school picnic, the
churches o1 Seld and Eifield putting
forth their rtepgth to accomplish a
creditable ifr. The Bnrnoy girls,
Joe Mary and £s 1 ’! the Bnruey boys, Sam,
and were early enlisted in
the enterpr: of which the most novel
feature was he a brass band from
town. Aft urcestion that they
could secnr ttt ’ is became a
certainty, i r and every
roiling pin i ttship moved to the
imagined qai a national airs and
popular have been SSfcteps. Mrs. Burney would
thought of s aqamed the band to confess how 1 tlie
moved her. She
had not bea r&bne in a quarter of a cen
tnry. Thei ■e Is always enough to keep
a housekei iper-mother at home; too
lionsekeepe much morj i r.jeook, |han laundress, enough'when wife,
seamstress
and mother w the “smart,” help-meet of
a thriving li twiddler. Mrs. Burney was
consoientim: ■iTh abiding by the stuff,
Her chi Idre; s wfe-e used to seeing her do
it. They 1 ’’ ‘*r “good times” at,
home and al •-V The boys visited on
Saturday nij ... Sunday afternoons
and e . d at like times there
wpre seldom’ ihan two spruce bag
gies in front armer Burney’s gate,
and twice th of beaux, more or
less uncomfortable a in their best suits,
chatting with ‘ f girls in parlor or on
piazzas, The m lifts '
yomrffc were the hands on
the face of till rateh; their father was
an importnlf ag-wheel, and believed
ihat he maim# motto the entire machinery.
The * 1, fine of temper, ex
quisito in deltc coiled close and un
seen back ofj was the mother. The
appomfcmefi® HM 1 1 the farmstead were
perfect, ng to wJa neighborhood
8 jrvthing of ttaeW
*
•-»
chuckle, i be bn ”l- the^-orkof heard .foliar to
dollar’s likely lo do a
’n’ a half when she tarns it over.”
She grudged ready totther butter nor dollar
in making for Three the gala-day. the
17th of September. great ham¬
pers were packed over night, with such
baked and boiled cold meats, such rolls,
butter, cake, and pies, as no other ham¬
pers would disgorge. Table linen, sil¬
ver, glass and crockery went into an¬
other. All were stowed away in a
spring-wagon with bags of feed for the
horses, a tea-kettle and two or three
water-pails, before an early breakfast,
on the cloudless morning of the great
day. “Mother” forgot nothing. She
was astir before the boys appeared
below stairs; bustled back and forth
from the house to the big cherry tree, in
the shade of which the wagon was
pioked, directing and superintending
all.
“The fuss and Mary fixing bavo Tilly done her no
end of good,” and agreed
privately when she sat down to table,
flashed and smiling, chatting in her old,
blithe way. “She hasn’t seemed so
chirk before in an age.”
Sam and Joe were to occupy the high
seat in the front of the spring-wagon.
In the family rockaway, drawn by a
pair of sturdy roadsters, the girls and
James would be established.
“I told Sally Mayo, last night, there
would be plenty of room for her. You
won’t mind said Mary, stopping by for her,
James ?” archly.
A laugh went around the board as the
. bronzed forehead of the young farmer
took on a mulberry blush. girls say,” he
“That’s as you an¬
swered, handing his cup up to the head
of the table in such haste that the spoon
fell out. “A little less sugar this time
mother.”
“He commented won’t need Sam. much to-day, you
see 1”
Tilly’s merry eyes, following the cup,
struck on the mother’s faoe. The
change there startled her. It was gray
and drawn—tho visage of an old woman.
Tilly aged had until never that thought instant. of her The mother hand
as
that grasped the handle of to coffee-pot
shook violently; the milk splashed over
the side of the cup, Tilly jumped up,
aghast. “You aren’t well, mother! I won’t
SO if you’re going to be sick 1”
“Sit down, child, and finish your
breakfast! I’m not sick.” She
laughed to make all right, but in a dry,
mirthless way. “I wouldn’t let you
stop at home on any account To teli
the myself. truth, ” I was thinking, maybe, I’d go
Those Puritan forefathers of ours,
with whom repression of natural emo¬
tion stood for mortifioatiou of oarnal in¬
stinct, who confounded softness with
sin, austerity with righteousness, sowed
a crop of confronts dragons’ their teeth, descendants the harvest of in
wbioh
vengeful hosts. The absolute Inability
to speak when free utterance would be
the salvation of temporal, if not eternal,
happiness; the shamefacedness that
deprecates the cracking of the crust
hiding from the nearest of kin and
dearest of soul the pulsing of heart
tides—these are but a few forms of the
heritage we deplore, yet do not put
away. This desired, with longing
woman
tnat was agony, to oreaK pnson-ocunas
for one of day. Sue joyous had dreamed day and
night the neighbors convocation of
mends and on the mountain
top, the free day in the open air; most
of all, of the music. She had reached
that verge of endurance when over¬
wrought Nature cried, “I will have this
thing I” The picnio and the the band
represented foreign tour does to her what intellectual coveted
to the weary
trudge, Yet, or nerve-worn woman she of so¬
ciety. for ohange deadly athirst as was
and recreation, she could;
have perished more easily than she
could have put one-hundredth part of
what she felt into words.
A stunned silence followed her re¬
mark. James broke it
"I wisht you had spoke of it before V’
tie said, regretfully.
Mary “Why, was mother, more explicit.
it never came into my
mind that you oared for such things'!
rerent, without one of ns stays at
home.”
Mrs. Burney caught the meaning of
the amazed pause and her daughter’s
tartness. .
“It makes no difference,” she said,
hastily. “Not the least in the world 1”
Before Luke finished his corrobora¬
tive speech, she was on her feet, gather¬
ing up cups and plates for the dish-pan.
“Do yon think she really had a no
oi going?” rolled Tilly questioned, as the
wagons from the door. “She
acted sort of queer after father said
what he did.”
“Pshaw 1” Mary was her sire’s own
daughter. “She would wish herself
home mountain.” fifty times before we get up the
possessed The day was warm, and Mrs. Burney
“In by reg’lar a frenzy of work.
fur a bout o’ oleanin’, be
you ?” observed her lord when he came <
in to dinner.
Beds were on roof and grass; the
smell of soap-snda floated,
porous, in the
waited on him <
not ; fling herself,
of herb t
That she was in
seem mutely strange to h
and in a
PVrwmwim? « in i
new purple calico, a fresh collar at her
neck, linen cuffs about her bony wrists.
Fol the evening repast she had set forth
short-cake, apple sauce, hot dish gingerbread,
pot-cheese, and a lordly of pork
and beans. Her husband liked “some¬
thing hearty with his tea.”
“I ain’t a-hankerin’after nopicnicky
victuals,” he grunted, when the edge
was taken off his appetite. “Noplace
like home for me !”
No reply. He had hardly heard bis
wife’s voice since breakfast. Eying
her somewhat closely, he noted how
haggard she was. She used to be “real
jolly” about her work, singing, chatting,
laughing—the life of the house. He¬
reditary custom of disagreeable not withholding the he
utterance truths,
spoke as he thought: you’re
“I say, old lady, do you know
agin’ fast ? The day o’ your good 1 looks
is ’bout gone by. Seems to me never
see you look more peekin’ nor what you
do to-night.”
Still no answer. But the sunken eyes
flashed out a red spark, and the thin
jaws were more closely clenched, he
might Perhaps have thought she had not heard
him. she was tired, and in
need of his sympathy. . “Mari’ was a
master-hand to work, and had ought to
have an encouragin’word now ’n’ then.”
He tendered it:
“Clean tuckered out, b’ain’t you?
That’s the way with you women—al
ways on the strain. Tain’t worth
while fur to kill yourself!”
“Opinions differ 1”
She snapped at him angrily; her eyes
glowed with liquid fire, her complexion
was of a livid sallowness. Luke
widened his round bine eyes, but asked
no explanations. Something had upset
mother. She would come around sooner
for heartily, being he let alone. Having eaten
inclined to physical, not
mental, rumination. The evening
closing in still and sultry, he smoked hm
pipe under the cherry tree ten steps or
so from the house. The katydids were
^changing boughs; bullfrogs testy bellowed contradictions in the in creek the
beyond to the lowlands; overhead winked
stars, of languid night. with the breathless
heat the On a dump of
lilacs within easy eye-range of the
5“ “Hta
habit was togoin when that went ont,
this being the token that household
“chores” were done for that e^hi, Aftv Aa
the kitchen clock struck to
bushes were black; he knocked the
ashes from his pipe, and stretched his
arms in a comfortable yawn :
“I guess I’ll turn in !”
The farmstead was all gloom but for
splinters of the of light blinds. falling between the
slats parlor
“’S’poseMari is still potterin’roand
with her cleanin’t” grinned , the hus
band. "How she dooz love work I”
Had he opened the best-room door,
instead bovine of going directly upstairs, even
bis imagination would have been
excited. An ironing-table stood in the
middle of the floor, spread with a dark
cover. On this Mrs. Burney was ar
ranging a long She white gown, smooth and
straight. length, folded drew the skirt sleeves to its ut
most the across
the bosom in awful likeness to the
sheeted dead. Last of all, she laid on
the bosom of the shroud the great
bracketed Bible, open. These passages
pSRfhen I lie heavily in ink:
* down, I say, ‘When
ftijr **“*» and the night be gone?'
ij* I am full of tossings to and fro
■teap the dawning of the day.
■IbK gHDb, °^ remember e no more that my life good. is wind ;
TBo see
that, my soul chooseth strangling,
‘JijjBde&th *1 loathe rather it! I than would my not life. live alway.
ne alone, for my days are vanity!”
e livid face looked steadfastly for
moment on burial-robe and Book.
fdi ' The thin cut the air like
, “ cry
S j erv “ You know I can't bear it any
\ r ■ f, ow toed out I am.,; how it is
r for a 'l I should be out of
fX she Mi Hg I?™. 1 «*«l
Oil ypo|3-1 oorch mat, where t turn. Then
look for it on their Hi Bw. the lush
eho walked across the mead enched
p* udbobbiogdoTO-topi, gs and
drat-e, ft* 4 ’ dew, the soaking purple calico her stocki gown? Tt
mg
m* 1 ™* of neatness took offence e
mm Hr’ >nr. the
: would have been drier aloi!® in a
Up she muttered. “But I wa’
n the margin of the creek ski ln,e ' t
Lord! forgive me if I am
eg. But you know how r
Aten i” : i0eg
lie took off collar, cuffs andsfyj; ’
pul them on a Btone, and laid herself 1 !, ,
tte last sleep, face dowuwarcl, in
mSIIow !!j|od water. auct
rest such distraught souls ’
hspted bodies 1 for their kind and rn
■n have little mercy upon then* !—
Bmixfian Union,
™
A Terrible Adventure. s
fee Italian and Swiss papers re* *thc 11 ' 0
8 ie striking incidents to which A
pit of avalanches the have Rapelli, given rise. 1
1 name of an
Shall of carabineers, lived with l 11
S and his children the villager! j 1
m invalit.’
tecavello, The wife was an littV e
I while her husband aud their
•were avalanche in her bed-room fell the two village Sunday*! 1
.an on an.
jhed I to house. Rapelli was killeie
the child, one of whose feet wi-N
gilt, between two joists, was thrown'
tough a
beam, had one of her arms so tightly
just wedged under the child’s it that she could only
touch head with the tip
of her fingers. After hanging in the
position continually described for thirty hours,
help, she died crying to her mother for
in convulsions. Mme.
Kapelli would probably have perished
of hunger and cold if a hen had not
come within reach of her free hand.
She seized and strangled it, plucked it
with her teeth, and placed the feathers
under her neck, which was in contact
with the snow. Then she devoured
the fowl just as it was. After remain¬
ing thus imprisodfed nearly sixty hours
she was got out by a rescue party and
carried into a stable hard by, where a
short time ago she still lay in "a condition
bordering on idiocy. The cause of these
disasters (a correspondent points out)
is well known. There is nothing like
forests for stopping or breaking the
force of an avalanche, and slopes of the
Italian sides of the Alps have been al¬
most completely Swiss denuded of their tim¬
ber. The owe their comparative
immunity wrought from tho catastrophes which
have so much havoc among
their neighbors to tho care they bestow
on the preservation of their mountain
woods.
A Real Ship.
The California Argonaut says: Bret
Harte’s new story, “A Ship of’49, ” is
evidently inspired by the strange fate
of the ship Niantic. For the many years
slit: lay at Clay what is now north-west and
comer of and Sansome streets,
was occupied very much as described in
the story. At last the raising of the
street grades and filling m of the low
lying water lots caused her to disappear
from the sight of men. Over her were
oreefed some shanties, winch were torn
tomjbort 187* te miake wifor to
erection of a building. When the work
men who were excavating for the foun
dation got down some six or eight feet
^1°^^ ttie skeleton of ?L^Id the old shte'' ship. The The dis- Sis
“T ® mte a Francisco sensa
^ w! h P SS®
Q d a w_f f h« “Th«
“n e a fSZo X wS."teSta 0 are not famflto
that place whore the ship
ln the st °ry ( aud “ tot) was beached is
now over half a mile from the shore line.
Old residents of the city will, we think,
recognize another local curmsity m one
oI Mr. Harte’s characters-the French
maa > P° Femeres He seems much
1,k f. 4116 strange individual once so fa
™ 8a "”
locally known as ^be Great Unknown.
t ’
Beer. —After oareful consideration of
the subject the Imperial Court ought at Loip
sic has decided that “beer to con
sist only of malt, hops and water. The
admixture of any additional ingredient
must be considered a falsification and a
fraud,” Really, then, is there any beer
in this country ?
The Bank of France has an invisible
studio in a gallery behind the cashiers,
so that at a signal from one of them any
j suspected customer will immediatelyhave
bis picture taken without his own
‘ knowledge.
VOL V. New Series. No. 10.
THE LUNCH BASKET.
A WESTERN EDITOR DISlllVEKri
THAT IT IS NOT MEAN TO CARRY
ONE.
Ilnw Ills Opinion of a Frllon-Pannun
WM i'lmnned sod Iho IVny It Hap
prne<l-A Wine Couple who I njoyed
Thrmovlvn.
There is one thing I traveling want to impress
apon people who design south,
and that is the importance of a lunch
basket, says Peck, tbo Western editor.
Leave your trunk, and valise, if neces¬
sary, but cling to your lunch basket.
There are some good hotels at placet
where you will be apt to atop, but the
eating houses are such that a lunch
basket with a piece of bologna sausage,
will be a picnic. I have in my mind a
lunch basket that will take the oake,
and if I ever get where an outfit can be
procured, it will materialize. Fust 1
want an alcohol lam}) big enough to
heat a pint of water, a little teapot and a
few things like that, and then let nature
take its course. I will have in the
basket some small cans of sardines,
deviled ham, etc., butter, salt, pepper,
mustard, etc., then 1 can buy aloat of
bread warranted anywhere, and in a can-opeuer climate, that that is
to keep any
will cut a dog in two if necessary. So me
peoplo think it looks small to carry a
lunch basket. I used to think so, but I
was converted the other day by a fellow
who didn’t look as though he knew half
as -iiuch the as I did. lato, Everybody was
hungry, train was and we were
looking for an eating saloon forty miles
ahead. This man that did not know
much, remained in the car
with his wife, when the rest of the gang
fell over each other to get to the lunch
place, and I thought what a close-toted
fellow he must be not to go to dinner.
He looked real sort of "near” and I
thought he was probably going some cheap till he
hand that was not to eat
got to New Orleans. His wife seemed
a real nice sort of a person, and if the
man had not looked so ugly I would
have but 1 invited didn’t his wife to go out fuss, to dinner, and I
want any
thought if he wanted to starve her it
was his business and not mine, fell,
we went out and had a oatch-as-catch
cau wrestle with the poorest meal that
ever was. Oh, it was awful. Seal skin
boots of the arctic would have been pie
as the grocers sell, and spread on some
axle grease, and it will be a banquet be¬
side that meal. After I had tasted of a
few things, I went out of the dining¬
room and back to the oar, chewing a
toothpiok. It was aD excellent tooth¬
pick, too, but it did not fill to want
long felt. I went in the oar prepared to
lie down and die, die thinking of some
of the meals we had last summer. When
I went in the car that man and his wife
were surrounding a lunch that made me
faint to look at. They had spread out
one of the tables in the Pullman car,
and o .pencil a basket that I had not
notice d before, and the table was loaded
with chioken, and sandwiches, and oake,
and everything, and a little tea pot over
an alcohol lamp waa filling the oar with
an aroma that made me respect that
man. Somehow he looked like a thor¬
oughbred. “Well, what sort of a dinner
did you get out thar ?” he asked me. I
had talked with him daring the fore¬
noon about raising hogs, and the war in
Egypt, and the transmigration of the
soul, and the price of wheat, etc., and
felt acquainted, so I told him it was the
worst meal that ever was, and he told
his wife to hitoh along and let me Bit
down, and he handed me a leg of a hen
and a biscuit, and his wife poured out a
cup of tea There is no nse of talking,
they Baved my lifo, and I want to say
right here that that man whom I thought
didn’t have any sense had more than the
whole carload, and he is my friend from
this out. So, don’t South, forget toflunob
basket when you go • ?
A Man of Sense.
The |he nostmnster pMtmaster at at Lick L ck Skil-let Skfllet, Ark., Ark
“ ^’re T was°T^i^to to Oscar HaHun/f ’«Sd u
“J ' f «e ™‘ lokos w on ?d anS&k «| e tf£2
^ nf tlL r i n tow
J that would laugh. ’Twan’t
. , art . iekle ,,„ fc it W1 the
he rad ^ it l4 ’ ® He ounhter g been tK the
View , ik T ourn
could up his mouth an’
, - ™. , - He could holler ies’
totoh^ ain many a tuck
when he heard Oscar er
veilin’ in him the woods. V His the daddy shoemakin alius '
wanted to * TD
«». “ » '«!■■“““■ Ttt2?VI
I woulder like fined
jj 0 couldn’t write a county a!
'^•^t n hemmed^n by Webster^r tk„ none
o{ ^ y our 8pe n iu - book makers. When an
iato his bead< an > was
everlastingly g J. a poppin’, f he jes’ slammed
her down ]e Webster jog along
the best way he could. I wish he hader
Hved. fur it grieved the old man power
ful when he died. ‘Jist to think,’ said
lie to me t’uther day destroyed at the buryiu’,
‘that Oscar shoulder so much
viddults an’ then died. It’s mighty
nigh more than I can b’ar. I heerd a
f e j{ ow say some time ago that you was
((U tho ]ook out fur a mftn „> j 0 j
: thought I’d tell you 'bout him. but he’s
; dead .”—Arkansaw Traveler.
----—----/
Of the GOO,000 widows in India under
> nineteen years of age, who are pro
' hibited from marrying again, 200,000 according
j to the laws of the country, 78,000 we
, | (ess * han fourteen * rears old, and
l68a than cin e,
THE JOKER'S BUDGET.
STRAV BITS OF HUMOR FOUND IN
THE COLUMNS OF OUR EX¬
CHANGES
fwo Siylrs ol' FropoMil-He Knew It*
Fntlier-A Lemon In Firmin'—-' New
Sensotlon-A Retired Humorist, V.u-
two styles of proposal.
Now, there was Miss Manygeld. calling
Young Simpkins had been on
her for nearly a year when he made hi- 1 *
proposal. So one evening he came to
the point as follows:
"My dear Miss Mary, you must have
noticed that I lmvo been here a good
deal lately, and perhaps you’ve won
ddrod why** 1
“Oh, bo ! I guessed it from tbo very
first! And papa, too !”
“Does your father know? What did
he say about It ?”
“He here, said to ‘I mammijjk khow wit when that yon young first
came He’ll
Simpkins came here for, Maria.
be very polite to ns, and when bo’s flat¬
tered ub enough lie’s going to try to
borrow tome money !’ Oh, you -can t
fool papa, Air. Simpkins.” Alisa Stebble. She
Then there was a Manygeld.
was the opposite of Alias
Whenever a man spoke to her she im¬
mediately looked on him as her suitor,
and when young Waolitsduausfurchad
stadtheimer, of tho German Legation,
met her at Miss Rosebud’s last german
and danced with her, she thought she
had another victim; so when he bent
over her chair uud inquired,
“Miss Shtebble, don’t you shunt
Shermans?” she said:
“Oh, really now, Count, this is so un¬
expected, yon know, when you havo
known mo so short a time ! But there,
I can’t resist you. But you must ask
papa.”— Washington Hatchet.
TRAVELING “INOOO.”
A retired humorist one day veutnrec!
into a cottou mill and while in an un
guarded moment ho was perpetrating
some of his old and shopworn jokes
upon an innocent operative, he wae
drawn into some of the crushed, ponderous They gear¬
ing mid dreadfully the machinery
combed him out of
after a spell and spread the effects on
the floor. “Who is it ?” “Who is it ?”
was the anxious inquiry as tree crowd
gathered around. Slower Nobod v know. utr’oyo# Then,
the humorist lips. opinion sympathizing
as moved bis A
bystander bent down his ear. “There
is good reason why nobody recognizes
me,” the humorist whispered sympathizing painfully. by¬
“Why is it?” to
stander asked. “Because,” the humor¬
ist explained, as he saw a ehanoe to
steal home, “because I have been travel¬
ing incog.” And then a smile like a
"summer cloud played for an instant over
his features and was gone. He never
spoke again .—Boston Journal.
A LESSON IN FINANCE.
dome years ago there lived in a vil¬
lage which is now included in the limits
of Boston a blacksmith. He was a
master workman, his custom was large,
and the owners of fine horses for miles
sronnd were in the shod. habit One of taking day them
to Green’s to be a new
oustomer but not a stranger to the old
gentleman, drove up. HiB name waa
Blodgett, bat he had passed considerably a season
abroad aud had returned
Frenchified, as well as Anglicized, and
bis name had been transformed into
Blogee, He wanted a shoe set, and, after
the job had been completed in the usual
excellent manner, he inquired:
“Aw, how much is the ebawge, Mr.
Green ?”
The reply came short and sharp,
‘Half a dollar.”
“Hawf a dollar ! half a dollar ! Why,
weally, I’ve been out of the country so
long that I don’t know what haw! a
dollar is, don’t yon know,” answered
Mr. Biogee, handing stood over a dollar bill. in
The blacksmith a moment
speechless amazement; then thrusting
the bill into one pooket, he and, brought handing forth it,
a quarter from another,
over to Blogee with the remark, “I
thought every darned fool knew a half
dollar was Beventy-five cents,” marched
back to his forge.— Boston Record.
A GAME LAW.
The Arkauaaw Legislature has passed
a game law, aa enactment which is a
“peart” gentlemen step toward civilization. Sev¬
eral opposed the bill. One
man said: “Mr. Speaker, this here law
will keep a fellow from hunting in Au¬
gust. This is a calamity, for our peo¬
ple, not having anything else to do. will
have to go to work .”—Arkansaw Trav
cler.
tuose bills.
!»*«-! 1»"'» .Ir, ,o
^ k ^' u10 W my addresses
to Old v y°“r Gent daughter.
(somewhat deaf)—Pay for
dear eir '
H ®re aredhe bills,
Philadelphia |e gave one glance Call. at them and fled
s< > 11 ave we all of us.
“You’d think,” said the man on the
wood box, “that a squirrel, born and
raised and always living in the woods,
would know them so well that he never
could get lost aud oould find his way
anywhere.” does,” said fat
“Well, he never the
passenger. “Doesn't?” rejilied the the
man on
wood box, “good land, he’s lost half the
time; never knows where he is. I’ve
hunted a whole good long day for one
iquirrei and then gone home without
finding him.” voiceless of that
And a dnmb cry woe
could be heard at the Q. C. crossing
arose in the car and walked the isle like
a living train boy.— Burdette,