Newspaper Page Text
NORTH GEORGIA TIMES.
Wm. C. MARTIN, Editor.
Wo Judge Not.
may measure by our measure,
We may judge our fellow dust,
Wo can sea ur, man e’er seeth,
And may^ftunk our judgments just}
.But the hidden springs of action
There is; none but God oan know;
^nly He can see the forces
TKat are working weal or woe.
There are deep and unseen currents
Moving all mankind along;
There are powers for good or evil
1 hat impel the huih^n throng.
There are motives born of’ages
Actuating every lit©;
And the Witney who’s eternal
Knows the victor in the strife.
Mrs. Hattie CoiMih Foster.
THE HISJED GIRL.
“She maleel a perfect picture, out there
in that tropical sunshine;” said Mr. Vil
Sars. “Look, at herewith that scarlet
ribbon at her ne.k aud those coils of haiaf
wavinjr blue-black in the intense
It is like a dream of Italy I” '
_
“Yes,” said Mrs. Leeds, -“she is very
■pretty, but^hat don’t signify bo much.
She s a good, smart girl and don’t lose
m0 p° i/Vn 6I ^ W la tIui gI a 9S»
like like some Fve had,” ,v^r •
v
“Where did you pick her up?” a^ted
the young clergyman, carelessly drawing '
the newspaper from his pocket as ho sat
down on the carpet of pine-needles" under
tho big evergreen tree.
“Didn’t pick her Upt anywhere,” said
Mrs. Leeds, tartly (for this was a part of
the transaction that had never been quite
satisfactory to her business* likd soul).’
“She came ohing.”
di “Camo'along?” (with a slight accent
surprise.)
■ “Yes—looking jir, fay work.”
ViRars lilted his eyebrows. 1 y
“Then how do you know who she-is?”
he asked.
“I don’t know!” retorted Mrs. Leeds,
unconsciously betraying her weak point
by this irritability of manner; “but I
know whnt. she is, and that’s more to,the
purpose. She’s the best washer tbn£ ever
crossed my threshold; as docile as a kit¬
ten, and as smart as a cricket; does twice
the w,ork of any one else that I ever had,
ini if she’s ever tired she don’t say so.”
Mrs. Leeds bustled off to .interview
Farmer Parks for more Alderney cream
for the summer boarders, now that the
’ house beginning fill
was to up.
Mr. Villars improvised a pillow out of
his coat, folding it cylinderwiso and
placed under his head, and closed his
eyes in a sort of summer dream among
the pine boughs and butterflies.
And Eliza, spreading out blackberries
to dry on the board platform that had
been erected rflong thc garden fence, be¬
gan to sing softly to herself. She was
very silent ordinarily, but somehow it
seemed as if the sunshine had thawed out
her very heart to-day.
Mr. Villars had been right. There
was something of the atmosphere of
Italy about Eliza—her eyes were so deep
and dark, her hair so glossily black, her
cheek stained with such a rich olive.
Morever, she did not move like
girls of rock-bound New England. There
was a subtle, gliding motion—a languor
of gracefulness in her gait—which was
foreign to all her surroundings.
The girls of the vicinage did not fra¬
ternize with Eliza when, at rare intervals,
she accompanied Mrs. Leeds to church,
3ewing-eircle or village gathering; for in
Staplevillc the employer and employee
occupied one fill-comprehensive social
platform.
They said she was “odd;” th- y looked
at her askance; and Eliza, always very
quiet in her ways, made no effort to in¬
sinuate herself into th’ir good graces.
Why should she? Wuat did it signify,
one way or the other, w hether Deborah
Smart and Keziali Hayes and Abby Jane
Clark liked her or not, as long as Mrs.
Leeds was pleased with her?
But the village girls made one erior in
their calculations. They had not inten¬
ded, as the time crept, on. to emphasize
their antipathy to Mrs. Leeds’ Eliza so
strongly as to awake a partisan feeling in
Mr. Villars’ breast: but they did so, un¬
consciously to themselves.
“Why do they neglect that giil so?”
the young clergyman asked himself.
“Can they notseo how infinitely superior
she is to them? It’s a shame!”
And so Abby Jane Clark and Deborah
Smart and Keziah Hayes scaled their own
doom, so far as Mr. Villars was con¬
cerned.
There was not one of them but would
have been delighted to win a smile, a
glance, a pleasant word from the young
man who was summering at the Leeds
farm-house.
But, alas I like the priest and the Le
vite, he passed by on tho other side; aud
when the village girls, in their afternoon
muslins and ribbons, sat at their windows
and wondered why “he came not,” he
was, in nine cases out often, helping
Eliza to gather brook, peaches for tea; spread standing
betide the while she out
. SPRING PLACE. GEORGIA. THURSDAY, OCTOBER 14, 1886.
towels and pocket-handkerchiefs to
bleach, or even explaining- to her the
difference between the notes of the thrush
aud the woodlark, the speckled eggs of
the robin an^ the pearl-gray treasure of
the whipijf&r-wilk
“Be seems to be taking a notion to
her/’ said Mrs. Leeds toi herself, as she
eyed the pair shrewdly from ller milk
room window. “Wfell, toby shouldn’t
he? It’S true lie’s a minister, and ray
own C’ephcw; but in my mind Eliza is
good enough for any man. My salces!
Won’t Abby Jane Clark be mad? If ever
a girl wanfed to be a parson’s wife, Abby
Jane does!’- *
Tim* things were progressing, when
ono^pnp a smart • yqtfng tradesman from
an adjoining town came tb board out his
fortnight’s vacation at Deacon Clark’s.
. The Clarke were a well-to-do family;
but the deacou was a little close in his
administration, and Mrs. Clark
Abby Jane wej not averse to earn
mg a hiuw 'up now-and then out of the
rmg-spare room. And Mr?
fJSCm hwtiT»JW; B ,.letter of rccomirien
dation nd in Packerton, and
dre.ssed in tho latest fashion, and had
| big black moustache j\ke that overshadow
ed his upper lip ft pont-housfc. *•
“Ohy nfa, hdW yerv ggffeel he is!”
said Abby Jane, J£u in a flutter of adrnir-.
'
. 7JUH7. TP ■
And the very next weMJFAbby v Jane
came . down , to . tho/Leeds’. ..*-v» j ,V farm . house.
(1TI “Ilave y.pivhcarcPthts , , news of «. your
Eliza?” shewed of%* fimer’s wife,in
" Eli , Mrs! S *
rsaid noIMj^Tw Lee$r
“She’s Janc^$dding actress,”
said Abby herWd until
the stuffed bhirblrd L onhe^at quivered
as if .... it were alive. “Mr. Alphonso x s ^ i Trud- m j
kins §aw her himself m the Greatf . . New T
v York Combination i • A . troupe. , She waiting j i.
®
■
a who . Was married , » to CuDaffc^nd
woman
J intiii
i lost * i her pockflgaflMpkerchief, , ■ s* , and * waff .
afterward n i A i . tvith the pillows -n off it:
i bestbcjl I ^^■emonia . , her name was.
“We'SPfppose ink
she was?”
Mrs. Lee flBB Eho was too goodaffen#n
to 1 ,
r
. „„
“What . then?” , v 0 „ echoed , ,' Abby Jane. T
((llr “Well, „ w I do , declare, , , Mrs. __ Leeds, , / ^ I tun
SU1 .^^ ecJ ‘
“I don’t . believe word , of , it,” ., „ said
a ’
Mrs. Leeds, T defiantly.
“But v. Mr. Trudkins saw , her with .... his
own eyes! ’ cried Abby Jane, flushing
scarlet with indignation. 43 “He knew her
the , minute . ho looked at her yesterday , in
J J
church. Elizabeth Ellesmere her name
was, he says, in the advertisments, and
she danced a dance, with a yellow scarf
and a lot of roses, between the pieces,
making herself out to be a Spanish man
doline player. It’s enough to make one’s
hair stand on end to hear Mr. Trudkins
tell about it.”
“It don’t do to believe all one hears,”
said Mrs. Leeds, losing alt count of the
eggs she was breaking into a china
bowl, in her consternation. “And
Staplevdle does beat all for gossip.”
“Well, you can ask licv yourself, and
see if she dares deny it I” said Abby Jane,
exultantly. *' “Hero she comes now. Ask
iei on j as - ici .
Aud Eliza came into the kitchen, with
the , spice box in her hand. Mr. Villars
1
followed close behind, ’ funning ° lumself
.wt i a stiaw -at.
“I have come from the men in the hay
held,” said lie. “They want another jug
of cool ginger and water, with plenty of
molasses stirred in, Aunt Leeds. Good
morning, Miss Clark! I hope the dca
con is quite well this morning?”
Abby Jane turned pink, and smiled
her most seductive smile.
“Ob, quite so,” she simpered, “I—I
only came on—”
“Is it true, Eliza?” Mrs. Leeds asked,
sharply. “Have you been deceiving me?
Are you a play actiess all this time?”
Eliza’s largo eyes turned slowly first to
one, then to another of the little group.
She did not blush—it was i,ot her way
—hut the color ebbed slowly away from
her cream pale cheek.
“I have been deceiving nobody,” said
she. “I am not an actress now. I have
been one. But T did not like the life, so
I left it. If luij'one had asked me,
I should have told them long ago.”
Mr. Villars came forward and stood at
the girl’s side, as he saw his aunt shrink
away. said,
“Well,” lie “even taking
it all for granted, “where is the
harm?”
Charles! Charles!" cried Mrs. Leeds,
putting up her hands with a gesture of
warning. “Remember poir Avice!”
“It is because I remember her that I
speak thus,” said Mr. Villars, calmly,
“I had an elder sister once,” he added,
turning to Abby Jane Clark, “who ran
away from home nnd became an aotress.
She had talents far above the average,
but my parents were old-fashioned peo»
pie,and their ideas ran in narrow grooves.
They disapproved of the stage, so Alice
left Us. Whether she is dead or living
we know not, but wherever she is, t am
sure that she cannot but be good and
true and pure.”
Abby Jane’s eyes fell under his caln
glance. She was a little sorry now that
she had chosen to come hither and bear
the news herself.
Somehow, Mr. Viliam had taken it in
a different spirit from what she had an¬
ticipated. . * And Eliza’s soft, languidly
modulated voice broke on the constrain¬
ed silence like drops of silver dew.
“I have been an actress, and perhaps
I should still have been -on the stage,” she
said, “had it not been for cirfcumstances.
My father dealt in stage properties, and I
was brought up to the business, but still I
never liked it. But one cannot easily
step out of the path where oatifVfeet have
been placed, especially if orie is a wo¬
man,
, “However, the turning point came at
la t. Our leading lady fell sick of a
contagiohsfever, in'a lonely village where
we had 1 stopped to play one night. Tho
manager packed up everything in a panic,
and bade us all to be ready to go. 1 told
him I could not leave Sirs. Montague
alone. Ho said Xu that if I left the com
tm 4.0,4,,. am, i „ u.
’ ^ i M •«.*,.
living, .. it (rue, .. , but . lead- ,
was my ’ 8 ’ was ’ our
ing , lady , had , no friends. , , It would ... have
, . , , desert , . , her T ,
° > “
behind and took care of f her. , She died,
poor thing, and it swallowed u ? all my
^ bury T 1 ^ ^ ^ a " d th ?° f to
°7 my ^ing as best I cou d. I was
not always’successful. , More than once
T I , have , been , hungry and , homeless; . , . but, .
. heaven , be praised, * ? T I , have always . found . ’
friends before tho worst came to the
worst. Now vou know all,” ,, she , con
*
eluded , ,, , OpiiefeLy, . ,, , leaning up against • a tho
uoor^fflHHrthe , swlmring t scarlet , beans
n^ J&EBKMr pfantasUc .. . background ~ ® , for - her ,
i illars had advanoed a stop 1 ortw(>
toward ; Euza « . - she , spoke; . his . had ,
as gaze
—I-
‘‘This—this leading , r lady 11 of ,, whom you
mention,” said he, with an effort. “Do
you remember , her . name? o Her TT real ? name,
j
“They called her Katharine Montague
the ,, , bills,” ,, said Eliza. ttT “It .. she , . had ,
on
other she , told : ,, what . .
any name, never me
it .. T 1 if, -r ? because-because— ^
was. say
oh, Mr. Villa.s, I never quite uuderstood
it .. , before, r , but . tlicyc . , look . .
is a in your eves
“
that reminds A me of F her. , T1 I have , been
startled by tho famiUar cxpression many
a timC) but j nevel . couU convinco my .
self where thc link of assoc iation be
longed _ And _ and j stlll kcep a littlo
photograpk of her that i found in her
Bible after she was dead. I kept them
both> Wait> and j will brin them to
y QU i,
Mr vil]ars ga/cd at the pictuve in si .
lunce _ Mrs Lccds uttercd alittle cry of
l . eco „ nition
..Heaven be good to us!” she wafled;
.. it is our Avice> surc cnou h .»
The se of this little life id j is
. Any '
R h _ n0 may guess lt .
Charles . » Villars r . n married . , Eliza. And ,
even
the most fastidious “sisters” of her hus
, band’s flock „ , utter .. word , of r
can no re
preach , against . , tlio minister’s . . . , wife, al- ,
though she makes no secret of the fact
that she was once an actress.
And Ab , Jane Clark is chewing
the bitter husks of disappoinment . Por
cven Mr Trudkill3 has one back to
PacUerton without delaring himself,
.< Thero js no dependence to be put
upon me „,» sny s Abby Jane, disconso
lately> _j 6Iw Forrest Graves _
Beautiful Australian Caves.
A number of large and beautiful sta¬
lactite caverns have b en discovered near
Queensland, Australia. In one, the
walls, according to an exploring party,
were beautifully white while the stalac¬
tites and stalagmites joined in exquisite
tracery, reminding them of Chinese
carved ivory. Another, fifty feet by
thirty feet, with plain walls broken only
by niches, and meeting in a vaulted roof
of immense height, they called the ca¬
thedral. In some of the dark passages
their candles were extinguished by the
host of bats. From others they de
set nded sixty foot into lower caverns, but
everywere the ground sounded hollow
beneath their feet, so that the whole
mountain appears to be travered by sub¬
terranean passages and caves in every di¬
rection excavated in the limestone rock
by the action of hot springs.
Our Indians are up to the times. A
leading chief of the Ogalalla Sioux is
named “Two Strikes.” He is not a
Knight of Labor, however. — Alta Cali¬
fornia. Perhaps he belongs to a base ball
nine.
I U THE CATERER.
-
How Soma Entertainments
Are Supplied with Food.
Oiterera of Every Grade who Garfy Eat¬
» ables to Oitv Households.
n
» The caterer,
says a correspondent of
t e.'Troy Times, is now a power in New
York. A few years ago a well-stocked
household was considered sufficient unto
i# auts , but now the caterer and his assist
are i called in for anything out of tho
regular order of things, from a luncheon
of Ax people to supper for five hundred
guests. There are caterers of every
grldet from good-natured and hard¬
wiring negroes who serve meals to
bachelors living in cheap rooms, at
prices ranging from thirty to seventy
cents a meal, up to the Pinards, who
pretend to be a peg higher even
than Delmonico. Tho humbler caterers
m.iy be seen trudging along in the morii
in from their homes in tho poorer quar¬
ter^ of the city, lugging oblong
tin* boxes that have been ja
pa|to»d less a remote, soal-brown and wending at a tlicir date
more or
way toward sleeping bachelors all over
town. Tho tiu boxes are about a foot
square and two feet and a half high,
with a big handle on the top. Within
are fin shelves. ’ Under tho bottom shelf
are alcoholic lamps. On tho shelf is a
platjter with chops, steak or ham. The
space between that shelf and the next is
only threo inches, but the shelves above
it ary about five inches apart to give
room for tho cups, saucers, coffee and
milk pots and sugar bowl. All of these
fcive their slots, into which they
fit cicely. Tho top shelf is used for tho
table cloth and napkins. The front of
the \ iox is a door. It swings open and
exlvi ..its tho breakfast to tho hungvy
lodgir when the caterer bustles into his
roon . More pretentious kits than this
are « at out by the hotels and restau
rant 1 A breakfast may be carried miles
thro gh the snowy streets and laid on
the i -ble hot and inviting. Tho cater
ing department of the big restaurant is
f %rcr ■ - Th e rj -i a - N t p r ej u
dice against boarding houses in
York. At all events, it is
unfashionable to live in one, and
people who are not supplied by caterers
from choice are from awe of tho form of
fashion. Contracts to servo meals may
be made with tho big restaurants at
lates far below the regular figures on the
bill of fare. But perhaps tho caterer
is most highly appreciated by people
who entertain.
Instead of bulldozing the regulation
cook into preparing a dinner for a num¬
ber of guests, a note to tho caterer sot
ties it all. There is then no hurry, no
delay, no wrangles with servants, and
the surety of a good dinner well aud
promptly served. Half an hour before
it is time for tho guests to arrive a wagon
of the hearso pattern with a chimney
through the roof drives up. Nimble as¬
sistants carry in the wine from the re¬
frigerator in one end of the wagon and
the edibles from tho hot compartment in
the other end. Everything is there,
from tho flowers to the salt. The regu¬
lar servants retire and the caterer takes
possession of the kitchen, pantry and
dining room until thc guests have
gone. Then the wagon drives up
again, aud in twenty rainutos all traces
of the dinuer party, whether to six or a
hundred guests, have disappeared. This
plan of giving dinners grows more and
more popular every year. The extent to
which the fashionable New York house¬
wife depends on the caterer, not only for
food but for nearly everything else in the
way of entertaining, is growing more and
more noticeable. These useful servants
take all the details of the work of party¬
giving off the hands of tho hostess. They
lay the dancing cloth, provide musicians,
have the dancing orders composed and
printed, decorate the rooms, put up tho
storm awnings, number the carriages,
provide extra chairs, coat checks, supper
and help, and virtually givo the enter¬
tainment. All the lady of tho house has
to do is to walk down to her parlors and
receive her guests when they begin to
arrive. The cost of all this is very much
less than one would imagine, and the re¬
lief from the din, hubbub and annoy¬
ances that prevail when the house
servants undertake the work is decided.
Freaks of Nature.
Old Mr. Bently (who is very much in¬
terested in anything of a curious nature)
—Hero’s a curious thing, wife. A far¬
mer in Iotoa cut down a maple tree one
hundred years old, an’ found imbedded
in the centre a live toad.
Old Mrs. Bently (who is more inter¬
ested in darning socks)—Well, well, is
tl at so? A maple tree a hundred years
old imbedded in the centre of a live
toad. That is curious, Joshua. Read
girthin’ more.
Vol. VI. New Series.
A Cape Breton Parson.
He was a tail, angular parson of the
old severe Presbyterian type. As the
local idiom has it, “You would know
by his English that he had tue Gaelic.”
He Was preaching in a brother parson’s
pulpit to a congregation who were
strangers to him. Descanting on the j j
lamb as a type of gentleness, meekness, j
etc., he said:
The lamb is quaite and kind. The
lamb is not like the other beasts, the
lion and the tiger and the wolf. Ye
will not be riinnin’ away from the lamb.
No. The lamb is kaind; the lamb will
not eat ve, whatever.
“And there is food in the lamb, too.
Oh yes, you will be killin’ the lamb and
the sheep when the cold weather will
come in the winter. Yon will be
wantin’ some good strong food in the
wiuter, and it is then you will be killin’
the lamb.
“And there is clothing in the lamb—
he is good for nothing. You will tele the
wool off him, and you wilt rack clothes
for yourselves. And how would you
and I look without clothing?” etc.
At the close of the exercises he gave
out the following very particular notice,
to explain which I must state that ravages
had been made among the Presbyterian
flock by the influence of a divine of a
different persuasion: “And there will
most likely be a family from X. that
will be baptized here after meeting on
Friday night, but”—here ho leaned for¬
ward, and added, in a loud stage
whisper—“ye’ll no be saying a word
about it, dear brethren, as I do not
think they wnnt it known.”— Harper's
Magazine.
Where is He.
°And you say you would dio for me,
George?”
“Die for you Yes, a thousand
deaths.”
“You are a noble man, George.”
“My darling, you do not know mo
yet.” fiSt
“Well, dearest, I do wish you to
die for me, but I will tell you what you
can do for me to show your effac¬
tion."
-MWiitfiatt wSydirttftg?’-Shall I--pluck
the stars from the cerulean dome? Shall
I say to the sea, ha! ha! cease to flow,for
my love wills it! Shall I tell yon bright
and inconstant moon that is glinting the
hill tops with her light, that she must
not shine on thy face too rough,y—
ha!”
“No, George, no,” she smiling said
“I do not wish you to attempt such im¬
possibilities. All I ask of you is
this-”
“Yes, my darling.”
“All I ask of you is this—don’t cab
again.”
Russian Feasant Courtship,
When once aparobok (young Russian
peasant), with his parents’ consent, of
course, lias made up his mind to marry a
certain girl, nothing can make him go
back on his decision. Desregarding any
obstacles that may happen to be in his
way, he is as firm as a rock in carrying
out his purpose. Whenever an oppor¬
tunity of seeing thc sweet object offers
itself to him it is generally taken advan¬
tage of, and thus something like a court¬
ship springs up between the young lev
ers. This, however, is of no long dura¬
tion nnd is of tho simplest character.
The parobok frequently visits his dyevka,
but this is generally done when the
parents of the latter are in the land of
dreams. A stable or a pig shed, a cor¬
ner of which is often found to he occu¬
pied by n peasant girl as a summer resi¬
dence, answers the purpose of a recep¬
tion room or a parlor. It is there, in
that improvised parlor, where young lov¬
ers reveal their hearts to each other.
Easy Way to Escape Suffocation.
A correspondent of the New York
Times notes a most important means of
escape from suffocation by smoke, a
strange fatality by which many lives are
lost annually. He points out that if a
handkerchief be placed beneath the
pillow on retiring to rest, as to bo with¬
in easy reach of the hand, it can, in case
of an alarm of fire, be readily dipped in
water and tied over the mouth and nos¬
trils. As an amateur fireman, he has
gone through the densest smoke protect¬
ed in that manner, and he alleges that
such a respirator will enable its wearer to
breathe freely in an otherwise irrespir
able atmosphere.
To Jioarn the Colors.
In the course of a trial of an engineer
at the Gloucester, England, assizes, on a
charge of manslaughter, of which he was
acquitted, tho counsel for the defense in¬
cidentally gave an easy rule for remem¬
bering and distinguishing railway sig¬
nals :
White for “right,” rad for “wrong, ■
And green for “gently go along.”
NO. 36.
Life’s Bitterness.
This is the bitterness of life, to know
That love lies not in front, bat far behind;
That not for violent searching shall we find
A sweet-faced rose of hop^ benoath tuna’s
bnow,
Nor any flower of new joy below
The furrows swept by the autumnal wind.
The Nor golden any corn-stalk in long, where laughing the ma fa^is nhv. bind
ears a V
This is the bitterness of life, to feel
Tho sJow-liinbud noisomo :ninuto3 crawl
away,
But not. to in irk by any happy pool
Of silver bo Is the passing of a day,
Tarrying till our now consciousness doth
steal
Into death’s pine wood, damp, obscure and
grey.
—Qcarge Barlow.
HUMOROUS.
When a singer’s voice fails, he canno
take up his notes.
No man would hang a picture frame
because of its gilt.
A friend in need is a friend—who gen¬
erally strikes you for a quarter.
Wealth may not bring happiness butit
forms a voiy good substitute for it.
An over-due steamer- the tea-kettle
th»t failed to boil with its usual rapidity.
“What a beautiful form!” exclaimed
Mrs. Nifty, the first time she saw an eel;
“such a long waist, you know.”
Why are good resolutions like fainting
ladies? Because they want “carrying
out.”
Speaking of wages, it is when the har¬
vest comes that tho farmers go for a
general cut down.
Speak of a man’s marble brow, and he
will glow with conscious pride; but al¬
lude to his wooden head, and he’s mad
in a minute.
“Somo men have so much genius that
they cau’t do anything but sit down in
the shade and think about it,” says a
philosopher.
“Mm,” said Adam Smith, “is an ani¬
mal that makes bargains. No other ani¬
mal does this—no dog exchanges bones
with another.”
“I aim to tell the tiuth," said a New
.York Fi^herraswL ‘ ‘Yes,” interrupted ftg
acquaintance, “and you are probably the
worst shot iu America.”
Husband—“That fence wants paint¬
ing badly; I think I’ll do it myself.”
Wife—“Yes, do it yourself if you think
it wants to be done badly.”
It is about time for somebody among
the back cents to raise up and remark
that the mosquito bar, like the campaign
lie, is made out of hole cloth.
“Ah,’! said Jebokus, taking his friend’s
baby, “he has got his mother’s eyes—
and my hair,” he added, as the youthful
prodigy giabbed him by the foretop.
Fond mother (to bachelor -UDcle)—
“Why, John, don’t let tho baby play
with that gold tootlipiek. He’ll swallow
it.” Bachelor uncle—“Oh, that won’t
do any harm. 1 have a string tied to it,
so I can’t lose it.
Policeman—Have you a permit to play
here ? Organ-grinder—No, but it amuses
tho little ones so much. Policeman—
Then you will have the goodness to ac¬
company me. Organ-grinder — Very
well, sir; what do you wish to sing ?
Patriotism and Rum,
A gentleman who lias been looking up
the early history of Albany assures me
that patriotism and rum were about the
same those days as at the present time.
At the time of Washington’s prospective
vist to Albany, he was to 1 o entertained
at a hotel standing on the corner of
Beaver and Green streets. Great prepar¬
ations were made for the occasion, and a
gentleman was delegated to deliver the
welcome address. How long he labored
in writing out his remarks, history does
not state. It intimates, however, that
the orator “enthused” to a considerable
extent, mid when thc distinguished guest
arrived was in a condition that unfitted
him to perform his delegated office. In
modern parlanco ho was “knocked out,”
and his ssay. burning with eloquence
and patriotism, was read by a substitute,
and Washington ne«xr knew the differ¬
ence. “Those were great days,” .ontin
ued our historic friend. “Why, the priev
of a beer at the present time would buy
enough rum to keep a man drunk for f
week .”—Albany Arg'ti.
Settling Old Sco-es.
Smith:—Robinson was looking for
you to-day, Brown. He leaves for tl.e
West to-morrow morning, where he in
tends in remain, and he wanted to col¬
lect that twenty-five dollars you owe
him.
Brown:—Yes, I saw him nlittlo while
s.g-J. I promised to forward him tiu
money next week.
Smith:—In what part of i' c West'doei
he expect to settle?
Brown:—I don’t know. T didn’t
him.— Life,