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- r - ».* 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,