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•I FORTY YEARS AGO.” Drifting Sands from the Mountains and Foot-hills of Northeast Georgia. A Brilliant Romance Based Upon Facts. By G. J. N. WILSON. CHAPTER Vir. The flight of time brought the last of Septem ber and the close of Julius, school was at hand. For six short mouths the young teacher had been revelling in the sun-light of those he loved. He Lad given entire satisfnciion us a teacher and disciplinarian. As a teacher, he had shown himself thoroughly acquainted with the branches he was required to teach—as a dis ciplinarian, he had proven himself to be just, kind and merciful. To those indispensable qualifications of a good instructor, he added untiring industry, and perseverance, lie had the love and respect of all bis pupils —from the high-born Nelly and Coralie, to the little girl who said her first lesson while crying for her mother ! It was now the last day of school and Coralie arrayed in spotless white and Nelly in amber colo.ed silk trimmed with purest gold luce, called forth the admiration of the crowds ot plain honest citizens who were present on hat day to witness the last exercises of the school. John Montgomery, conspicuous not only for his tall, handsome person and engaging man ners, but for his immense wealth and liberal ea- ucation, was there to cheer the good and awe the bad. By Lis side sat bis wife. Mrs. Ella Montgomery, a middle-aged lady of splendid appearance and polished manners, Sere an there a trace of Coralie’s beauty might be seen fading away with the flight of lime, while a re- fl.i of Willie’s noble form was visible in her husband; but no resemblance of Nelly s vaned charms, was seen in either her father or mother. „ „ Sitting on a log in the grove was Harry Sum merville, feeding Raino on sweet-cakes with one hand, and smoothing down his coal black coat of hair with the other. A trace of his sisters beauty and complexion was visible in his ea- tures, and while his eyes were not so intensely brilliant, they had the same intelligent look and coal-black color. Of heavy build and broad cbest, he showed immense physical strength while moral courage and firmness ot purpose were plainly visible in his face. Strange to say, by Harry’s side sat Horace Morone; and granger still, that so dark a heart as his should beat be neath an exterior so fair. He was small in per son, but of good proportions. His air was proud and haughty, but bis manners polite and agreeable. His general features were good; but a close observer could detect a vindictive spirit lurking in bis yellowmb gray ejes, and about the corners of his mouth were lines indicating utter selfishness. 0 1 Whils Horace was watching Harry play with the dog, Joe Harper came stalking along with his hat on one side of his head, and whistling Yankee Doodle. As he came near, Harry arose and introduced ins ‘friend, Horace Morone, to •Mr. Harper, a citizen of the immediate neigh borhood." „ , , T Horace was all smiles and politeness ; but Joe simply placed his hat on the other side of his heal, gave Harry’s hand a hearty shake, made on towards the spring without saving a’™™- •That is a strange green-horn, said Horace to Harrv, when Joe was beyond earshot. •Yes, replied Harry, ‘he is strange in some particulars; bull think he means no harm by it—it is his peculiar way of doing things. > ‘Better say, his peculiar way of being a iool, said Horace pettishly, being nettled at Joes oold manner towards him. ‘No,’ retorted Harry with a little warmtn, j ou are mistaken! I have some acquaintance with him, and I find he has a generous heart, and an honest purposs. Though rough and untutored, he is capable of the purest friendship, and is said to be as brave as the untamed lion. You see in his huge proportions and active move ments, the in why he has that lordly step and independent look that flashes from his ^•Yes; I say flasL! Did you notice them when he walked away ?’ asked Horace earnestly. ‘Not particularly. Why ?’ •They turned green, and looked like they were made of burning brimstone. ‘I know he has a penetrating, and somewhat melancholy grey eye; but I have never observed anything of the brimstone in it . ‘Well! you are not a very close observer; tor I never noticed such fury written in any man’s eyes before, and those huge muscles on his arm jerked like those of a fresh-skinned beef. ‘You must be mistaken, Horace; for I know all that I have said of him to be true. •You are mistaken yourself, Harry; you surely have forgotton that you were born and bred difibrenilv to this rough mountaineer. •No; I have not forgotten anything—I simpiy remember all; and among those things tb** 1 re member with most pleasure, are some of the deeds of Joe Harper, to whom you nave taken such a sudden dislike. To convince you that I am right, I will mention one or two of them. This section of the country is sometimes visited by droves of wild hogs that come down from tte neighboring mountains, whither they, when quite young, strayed away from their owners, and being unaccustomed to the presence ot man, they scon become exceedingly savage andlero- sious. They increase so rapidly that some of them are obliged to visit the settlement to find something to eat. Being hungry they often prove troublesome and dangerou^ Ot the attack made by a drove of them upon Nelly and Cora lie, and of their heroic defense by this noble dog, you have already heard; but not of the part taken in it by this same Joe Harper. He was absent from home at the time, but returned soon after. Yon remember that they never troubled any one after this attack—not that the dog killed them all, but that Joe Harper did. Within the very hour that he heard of the dan ger to which Coralie and Nelly had been exposed, ho shouldered his rifle, and never left the woods until he killed the last one that could be found. He did this in defense of two youDg girls to whom he never spoke a word in his life, and for whose welfare he felt no other interest than that of common humanity. Now Horace, if you are all that yon profess to be, you will respect Joe highly for this reason, if lor no other; but this is not all. Some time last spring, sister lost a letter whioh she had received from you only the day before. Joe happened to find if, and as suring her that he had not read a word of its con tents, immediately returned it to her. Such deeds as these, added to his devoted attachment to Julius Latrain and cousin Willie, show some thing of the purest diamond hidden beneath a rough exterior.’ ‘Do you remember anything contained in the lost letter ?’ Horace anxiously asked. ‘I never knew anything of its contents. Why do you ask ?’ queried Harry. •Nothing in particular. I only feared that some one besides Harper saw the letter, and by that means learned something of the relations existing between myself and your family.’ •I do notsupDOse any one ever read it besides B1S *Then I take back all I have said lightly about our mutual benefactor. In fact I was jesting, and ask pardon for my seeming offence; for a Summerville never wounded my pride, save in a single instance!’ ‘Aud wbat was that? asked Harry, haughtily. ‘The attendance of Coralie at such a school as this ! You cannot imagine my surprise when I first heard of it,’answered Horace, sadly. ‘I have no apologies to make, nor any plaster to put over the wound, farther than to say that sister has advanced in her studies much fuster than in any other school she ever attended; and as for her teacher, he is not only an honor to himself, but to the human race as well !’ •Strange things sometimes—’ The near approach of Joe on his return from the spring out short Horace’s reply, and the conversation ceased. When Joe had passed by them a lew steps, he chunced to discover a smail white string on a bush near by. With his pocket- knife he saarpened two sticks, and stuck them in the ground about three feet apart. Then passing the strtng from one stick to to the other some four or five times, he stepped off about fi;- teen paces, drew one ol Colts reptaters from his boot-leg, and wheeling, fired five shots at the string in quick succession. When the smoke cleared away, Harry and his companion saw that the string had been cut five times by as many bullets from Joe’s pistol. Without seeming to notice what he had done, the marksman quietly walked on, and left Harry and Horace in aston ishment at his unerring aim, and in wonder at what he meant by such an exhibition of his skill; for they well knew that such a man as Joe Harper never did any thing for the mere sake of show. . The signal for beginning the exorcises oi the school was soon given at the house, where ali assembled to witness the performance ot the pupils. To show some particular attention to a comparative straDger who Lad patronized Lis school, the teacher nut Harry to conduct him to a front seat. It then devolved upon the latter to perform a duty which had been neglected on a former occasion—the introduction ot Horace Morone. As usual, Horace was all smiles and politeness, but not a smile played over Julius handsome features ! His deportment gave no indication of his humble birth, nor that he had not been trained according to the usages of the best society. As seen conducting Harry and Horace to their seats he was the impersonation of manliness and true greatness. A rostrum had been erected in front of the schoolhouse door, which was surrounded by a beautifal grove of oak trees. Beneath these, comfortable seats had been arranged, and in a few minutes they were filled to overflowing by all classes of people from the surrounding coun try. While the preliminary arrangements were going on Harry Summerville employed himself in taking a survey of the scenes around him. He was strongly impressed with the contrast be tween that and the assemblages in which he had been accustomed to mingle ; still he was so highly pleased t aat ha had seldom enjoyed him self better. The rude manners and plain dress ing of the people around him were novel, and sometimes even amusing ; but he could read honesty and benevolence on almost^ every face. These traits alone are always sufficient to gain and retain the esteem and admiration of all minds as well balanced as was that of Harry Summerville. So feeling himself very much at home, he began to notice particular incidents whioh well illustrated the character of a majority of those present, a3 well as other things that materially enter into the personnel of our narra tive. With baskets in their hands and pipes in tbsir i*’v ,f hs. tb- t~*“ going ibws ~ • .^i niin»~~~« r ~f nishing them with water; nowTveriney woul slap the children on their backs to unchoke them, then effer them another apple, and sometimes a cold potatoe. When all were carried through this course of treatment, these motherly ma trons took their seats, and adjusting their specta cles, first looked over them to survey the crowd, and then drawing from their ‘reticules’ a ball of thread, pierced by ‘a pair of knitting-needles,’ they began what they called ‘putting on the stiches.’ While thus engaged, such a counting was heard as to show the size of almost every man's foot in the community. t •It takes forty stitches to a needle for Sam s stockings,’ says one, ‘picking up a stitch that she had dropped. ‘Alack-a-day ! my old man takes more than that,’ says another, looking oyer her glasses. ‘Thats’ nothing, ‘ says a third one. ‘My old man’s foot takes fifty, and he stretches ‘em so bad at that, pulling ‘em on, that it takes seven pair to do him a winter. Seven pair is—let me gee—twice Beven is thir—no fourteen. So it take3 fourteen stockings to do him in cold weather. He goes barelegged through the hot vou know ! I do decl^r© that th©S6 cion folks are so bad on stockings that a body can t git to do anything else but knit, knit, and knit all the time. How many finger lengths do you knit your old man’s stockings, Sally ? asked the speaker, addressing an elderly lady sitting near by, and who, np to this time, had been a silent listener. ‘I knit ’em four finger-length long, answered Sally, ‘and— ‘Gracious ! what a long legged feller, inter rupted several voices together. ‘Yes,’ continued Sally, ‘that I do; and in the summer the old man grumbles, and says they are too long, and in the winter he grumbles and says they are too short. So its’ grumble, grum ble all the time; but I tell you, aunt Rhody, that I’ll have my own way about it, or there‘1 be an other fuss in the family, sartin, sure !‘ ‘Yes, ‘ rejoined aunt Rhody. ‘These men folks are mighty contrary sometimes. My old man and the boys keeps me knitting busy all the time too; and when I git that done I have to be gin a-cooking, and then its—cook, cook, cook all the time without a chance to do any thing else, and- there ! by— I‘ve broke a needle slap in two, and thals‘ what comes of having so much to do. Here Sally, pick up these stitches for me —wail! if that don't beat the Jews, yonder sets old aunt Penny Lemon. I never seen her at a public gathering before in all my bom days— what upon yeth does she mean ?—I wonder if anybody knows ?’ •Yes; there she is sure enough.* said Sally, looking over her glasses. ‘She looks like a bran new pin, all spruced np, though her clothes are too coarse for them gold specks stuck on her little peeked nose! Wonder where she got ‘em ? —do you know, aunt Rhody ?‘ ‘I s‘pose some ot them fine folks what she goes to see so much, give ‘em to her. They say they are mighty good and nice people, them Montgomeries are. 1 ‘Yes, they are nice, and mighty rich too. It seems curus that aunt Penny hangs ‘round ‘em so much, when she is as plain as a old shoe hor- self, aud poor as Job's turkey to boot. I recken she feels powerful stuck up. Then to cap it all over with a dry meat-skin, there is the old man Latrain, the nice young teacher's daddy, and as poor as the turkey too; yet she hangs ‘round him like she does the Montgomeries, and has ever since she‘s been living in the country. When the nice young teacher was a little boy, and that starchy looking Montgomery gal was a wee bit of a thing, she‘d walk ten mile any day to nuss ‘em; and they say she‘s as big a fool about ‘em now as she ever was, though the teacher wont let her nuss him now—thats all the difference. Aint it mighty odd, aunt Rhody ?‘ •Yes, Sally; and to make it odder still, the nice Montgomery gal and the teaoher are just precisely alike. I‘ve hearn of this before; but I only thought, they sorter favored a little. Bless your heart though, they look just like one an other—more so than any twins in the world, I reckon.* ‘It does beat aDy thing, aunt Rhody ! I seen ‘em together this morning, and I do declare if they'd been dressed alike, I d not a knowed •em apart only by the color of their eyes. May be, this is why aunt Penny loves ‘etn so; and then they are so nice that nobody blames her. D > vou aunt Rhody ?‘ ■No; 1 dont, Sally. Then there is that spirit of a looking gal dressad in white from tip to toe. I do not believe that her or the Montgom ery gal either is our sort of folks. I believe they are spirits. Every thing, aDd everybody loves ‘em. The little children cry after 'em worse than they do after their mammas; and the grown up boys have all run mad, and gone crazy. I‘ve hearn some of ‘6in talking in their sleep about how they love these gals. I‘ve never beam the like before in all my born days. There’s my Bill that comes here to school with em, and he says as how be has seen little birds come and light on their shoulders, and set there and sing away just like they do in the tree-tops; but shorely Bill must be mistaken. Don‘t you 8‘pose he is, Sally ?‘ • •No; I reckon not, aunt Rhody. My old man would hardly tell a lie about ‘em. He come here last spring to heipjjx about, the honse, and what do you think he told me when he came home ? Why he said these two R als come to the spring where he was eating dinner, with bunches of flowers in their hands, and he seen with his own eyes little homiDg-birds come and suck the flowers while in the g-.l-s hands just like they was on a rose bush iu the garden. Such like was never seen before iiial! (he whole world. Wts there, aunt Rhody ?‘ ‘No, Sallie, there never was. Bill a—must have told me the truth shore enough. He’s a mighty good boy. Bill island now I know these gals are not human folks, but fearies, or faires, or something that pounds that way, which my mamma used to tell me about when I was a lit tle gal.’ Thump ! thump ! ba—rum ! went a huge bass drum—squeak ! squeak ! went four or five vio lins-all conversation ceased—down went the knitting—up went the curtains that hurg round the stage, and a strain of music, led by Joe Har per, to the air ‘Over the Hills and Far Away,’ burst upon the eais of the ussembly. If not fine and artistic, it was rich, full and sonorous, and a fit introduction to the scoTTbs that were soon to follow. Instead of listening to the music, however, Harry Summerville continued his survey of the scenes around him. Penny Lemon, with whom he had become well acquainted at his uncle's house, still held her soldier-like position, head erect, eyes to the front, and seemingly uncon scious of everything about her 1 Her dress was exceedingly plain, but its tit and general make up were in good style. Her features were good, and to a close observer, gave unmistakable evi dence of superior intelligence, though she made no pretensions to it, either in conversation or otherwise. Though verging on to the meridian of life, her hair was deep black, and her face al most free from the foot-prints of time. She had evidently seen better days, and beneath her modest and unpretending appearance, the crit ical observer could discover a degree of refine ment consistent with her intelligent look, but wholly at variance with her position in life and the shade of melancholy that found a hiding- place iu her small, black eyes. All in all, she was a mystery to those who knew her—a being who seemed to be one by herself, anrLt&.have hoggin vjj}' P" V ^3 !SdpJ(! A^ur-GyV * “J ' ar, 'nT'aMP^y-the' Seal aitf'ttga’vy-osdJ -js.-Nn * few really loved, none aespised, Harry s wan deriDg eyes fell upon the tall, athletic form of Calveda, the teacher’s Indian friend. He was sitting on a bench a little distant from the whites, not, however, as a matter of choice or necessity on the score of race, for he was a wel come guest any where in that community. His entire appearance was that of one born to com mand, and his large, yellowish-gray eyes spark led with fire and animation as they constantly glanced from one object to another. In every lineament of his features, the unmistakable characteristics of his race were plainly written, and his fine proportions and well-knit frame be tokened almost unknown physical power. There was nothing about him repulsive, except, per haps, the close compression of his lips showed a tenacity of purpose which, whether right or wrong, was always unyielding—that his life was for his friends—that death was the allotted por tion ot his enemies. At Calveda’s side, and slightly leaning upon his giant form, was another figure of whom Har ry had heard much, but never before had seen. It was Olura Sundown, the Indian’s only daughter, who, until recently, had been long ab sent with -her lather on an extended traveling tour. Judging from her appearance, she was about sixteen years old, of medium size and in form almost perfection. Her complexion was nearly that of a light biunette, and made intense ly beautiful by the deep crimson glow that ap peared, as it under a glass, beneath the outer coloring. Her features were regular and ex quisitely feminine, and her teeth had the ap pearance of a row of pearls set by the most ele gant workman. Her long, slightly dark hair, without a wave in it, fell in luxuriant profusion over her well rounded sho alders, and from thence parted into graceful rolls and rested up on the ground. But the crowning glory of this Indian maiden was her eyes. In color, they were only a shade darker than her father’s; but muoh smaller, and more expressive. Modesty and cheerfulness were so plainly written in them, that they seemed to almost speak the words. The ringing laugh and bounding leap could almost be seen and heard in their playful dancing, while firmness and courage were as plainly spoken by the well-knit brows that arch ed over and met between them. Her dress was of leaf-brown alpaca trimmed with crimson, and having passed through the skillful hands of Mrs. Montgomery, had no appearance of the costume worn by her dusky sisters in their native woods. Her jaunty little straw bat, woven by her own hands, lay on the ground at her side—the orig inal of the since universally worn “sundown.” Though, perhaps, a little inconvenient, it is to be regretted that this popular style of ladies’ hats does not bear all the name of this pure and beautiful Indian girl—“Olura Snndown.” This faint and imperfect outline of her person al appearance was taken at a glance by the cul tivated eye of Harry Summerville, whioh, added to the good character that he had often heard at tributed to her, made a lasting impression upon his mind. The music ceased, and with a sigh Harry turned his eyes from the enchanting flower that grew in a soil where he dared not tread, and placed them npon the speaker, a pert little boy who had just appeared to deliver the Salutatory of the day. From this the exercises went on, alternating between success and failure until the day was waning to its close. Written pro grammes had been distributed, and all the pieces were marked except the last two. It alone remained for the teacher to announce these in their order. Sadly, almost painfully, he arose and called out: “THE LAST jay OF SCHOOL.” An Origiral Composition. % MISS NELL® MONTGOMERY. E/ery thing was sibnt, aud all eyes were turn ed toward the door trough which the reader was to make her appiaranoe. Joe Harper un strung his fiddle, laid it and his bow on the floor, and leaning forward, rested his head on the palm of his hands. A slight rustle was heard, and Nelly Montgomery stood before the gazing multitude. A low murmur of applause ran through the crowded audience, and then all were silent again to hear the first word uttered by her whose personal charms, social position, and wonderful resemblance to rh6 teacher, en chained the mind of every beholder. She read with inimitable grace, ease, and elegance, dwel ling first on life as she had spent it with her classmates, and then on the pleasures and bene fits that all had enjoyed while journeying on to the day when they were to separate, perhaps never to meet again. Her comparison between the ‘last day of school,’and the near and cer tain approach of the ‘last day of life* was touch ing in the extreme, and brought forth many a heartfelt sigh as the beautiful reader disappear ed behind the curtain. Again silence reigned. J09 Harper’s violin was still unstrung, and though ‘music’ was next in order, no instrument made a single note. Not even a passing zephyr played among the fading leaves of autumn;but ali eyes were again turned expectant towards the door through which the last reader had just passed frem view. The silence was broken by the teacher, who,as if to receive his death sentencs, arose and made the final announcement: ‘Farewell: .4/1 original composition, By Miss Coralie Summerville. Like some ideal phantom gliding through the moonlight ‘the White Angel,* stood before the staring audience. ‘How beautiful, how beauti ful!’ arose from the admiring throng. Her graceful movements, her elegant form, her beautiful face, her musical voice, and the unearthly appearance of her dress, all combined to make her one of the most lovely objects that ever elicited the admiration of any audience. Like Nelly’s, her reading was good, and free from all affectation and restraint. After review ing some of the most important events in real life, and showing how they had passed away, she touchingly referred to h6r own career in school—to the many pleasant hours she had spent with her class-to the sorrow she felt at the near approach of the time when she must bid them all farewell, perhaps forever, after which sbe proceeded to point out tbe glorious reward ot the finally faithful in a land where there will be no farewells spoken. ‘And now,' she said in conclusion, ‘with the pleasing hope that we may all meet again in that home of the good, I bid my faithful teacher and affectionate classmates, a long, sad farewell.’ As Coralie slowly uttered the last words, she gracefully waved her right hand towards the congregation, and then disappeared behind the curtains leaving the audience in that frame of mind in which the lost traveler finds himself when on the near approach of darkness, a flam ing meteor, having sparkled for a moment, dartB across the Northern sky, goes out in gloom, and leaves only the remembrance of its lurid path upon the wondering mind. The general impression made upon the audi ence by the reading of these two compositions was such as to charm not only the plain inhabi tants of North East Georgia, but those of culti vated and refined circles as well. All of the beautiful that the most exacting could require was fully seen in their personal appearance, and all of the grace, ease, and elegance that the most refined could desire, was fully displayed in their performances, and so won upon the admiration of those present at the time, that it is to this day -- ^: r r»M tho . fir * sides * ‘00f llpf and sumewiiu. etteot. lhe wild exclamations of ‘Sally,’ and her talkative companion, ‘Aunt Phody, ‘ were readily under stood; but the deep emotion of Mrs. Louion was strange and unaccountable, particularly so, as she was unable to control herself while Nelly was reading. All attributed the conduct of Joe Harper to a mere love of being ‘odd from any body else,’ and dreamed not of the consuming love he had for one of the fair performers, which caused his instrument to be unstrung at his feet. From the very reasonableness of the idea, Julius Latrain was supposed to be in love with Cora lie or Nelly; but his overpowering sadness was g9nerally attributed to effects produced by the close of his school, to which he was known to be devotedly attached; but why Olura Sundown, the beautiful Indian girl, should rise to her feet only when Coralie appeared upon the stage, and after giving her a long look, knelt at her fath er’s side and wept bitterly, no one could under stand! The sun had already reached far down the western sky, and with the long shadows of eve ning the light of the teacher was passing away— school was closed, and those he so well loved would meet him there no more. All his pupils, excepting only one, he fondly hoped to meet fre quently—that one was Coralie Snmmeiville. who iu a few more days would bo in her far-off home in the Crescent City. Her gladsome laugh, her gentle step, her beaming smile must, with that evening’s sun pass away from the dear old hills, perhaps forever! Slowly the congregation began to disperse. Side by side Nelly and Coralie advanced to bid their teacher good-bye. He covered his face with a handkerchief and extended his hand; but was unable to speak a single word. To make the scene still more effecting, Raino trotted up, and looking his master in the faoe, seemed to ask: ‘Must I go with them this evening? 1 Julius shook his head and pointed to a car riage that stood in waiting. The faithful dog seemed to understand that his services were no longer needed, and so quietly laid down at his master’s feet. The girls patted him on the head with one hand, and extended to him the other. He held out his huge paw, and with tears in their eyes they took it as when parting from a dear friend. Thus they parted with the hero, who, at the risk of his own life had saved theirs. Coralie rode away at the side of Horace Mo rone, and Julius Latrain gave her up forever. ‘I suffer,’ said he to himself; ‘but I will be a man and suffer in silence.’ That night he spent in sleepless agony. The hours lengthened into days as one by one tney slowly passed away. Weary and worn he wel comed the coming morning. With it the sun mounted into a cloudless sky; but all natnie se-med to be veiled in mourning. The wind sighed sadly turough the distant tree-tops, and the rustling leaves, as one by one they came trembling to the ground, seemed to be warning all nature of its final doom. Loneliness and desolation brooded over all earthly forms, and the dim sunshine, as it shone through its smoky veil, partook of the lonely boy’s sorrow and sad ness. (To be Continued.) A package in a basket was left on the door step of a cautious Newport woman, who having no desire to adopt a foundling, took the basket to the police station, and there found that it contained a twenty-pound turkey. ‘Why, Charles,’flhe exclaimed in great sur prise, ‘are you chewing tobacco !’ And Charles lapped the quid carefully under his tongue, and replied: ‘Why.no, dear; I’ve been out a good deal to-day and my teeth got badly sunburnt.’ A lady of experience observes that a good way to pick out a husband is to see how patiently the man waits for dinner when it is behind time. Her hnsband remarks that a good way to pick out a wife is to see whether the woman has dinner ready in time. MUt ami Humor. Studying medecine—The average small boy med itating upon taking a dose of oil. Blessed is the man who loveth his wife's rela tions; and not only blessed, but also scarce. The Nation wisely says: Financially, a tramp is centless; aromatically, he is quite otherwise. A clock is tlie only thing that can run on “tick,” and give satisfaction to itself and everyone else. It is now thought that the amount of pin money required by the married woman depends upon whether she uses diamond pins or rolling pins. Now the winds that softly breathe, and the flow ers that garlands wreathe, a gentle hint of summer in the mind implants; and so does the beetles, and the spiders and the aunts. That was a neat hull one of our clergymen perne- trated in his sermon the other day. Speaking of Bunyan in prison, he said: “No one but his blind daughter ever went to see him.” We should like to kiss the sweet little creature who said that Are flies were made by God to “yite ze ,ittie froggies to bed.” If she is seventeen years old, bring her around all the same. Two California sharps were playing a game of cards. “It is very singular/’ observed one, “that I haven’t seen a king yet.” “Not at all,” replied the other, “you have one in your sleeve, and I have the other three in my boot.” The girl who “hates oysters” at home, is always at a church festival, with her l/oss appetite in read iness, and an earnest desire to tackle anything for the good of the cause and the young man who parts his hair in the middle. If a small boy slides down a flight of stairs on his head, a little piece of candy will generally cure him; but just let his mother waft her old slipper across the base of his trousers for the space of a second, and there is not enough balm iu Gilead to soothe the agitation. A bald-headed old chap of Balligomingo Said: “These blonde troupes should be stopped, by Jingo!” When the show came around On the front seat was found The transparent old fraud of Balligomingo. “Aren’t you rather too old to ride for half price?’> seid a ticket clerk to the eldest of two boys. “Well ” remarked the youth, “I am under fourteen, and this boy with me is under six. That don’t m ike twenty, and you will take two boys under ten for half each.” He took them. There is a pocket telephone stretched across from the house of a young man in this town to the win dow of liis sweetheart, just opposite. They are to be married soon, and it is a touchings'ght to watch the little sparrows perch on the string and peck at the taffy as it slides alODg. We don’t object to young people extracting all the pleasure possible as they journey through life. But _> ouug men with six dollar salaries can’t be ex. pected to attend more than three (lances a week, and have much money left to put in the contribu tion box Sunday morning. “And Moses was an austere man,” read the min ister from the bi hie. “Dar now, you dun hear dat, Sam? Lie Scriptures say dat Moses was an oyster- man, aud you dun flung at me dat sellin' oysters wasn’t a ’spectable bizziness. If it’s good enough for Moses, it’s ’spectable enough for me. A nephew (in Normandy, of course) assists at the reading of his uncle's will. “And to the servant who shall close my eyes, I will and bequeath,” read > •» ” «a.v. <»hoshall close my eyes?’ ’ asked the heir at law. “It does.” “Then the will is void. The old cuss had only one eye.” A Frenchman lias found that sawdust dried and sifted clear of t lie larger particles is a better article than hair to use in mortar for the purpose of keep ing it from peeling off. It may do for mortar, but sawdust will never take the place of hair in butter for the purpose of making it go a great way. “Yes,” said the witness, “I do remember the de fendant's mother crying on the occasion referred to She was crying with her left eye—the only one she has—and the tears were running down her ri^ht cheek.'’ “What!” exclaimed the judge, “how could that be? - ’ “If your honor please,” said tbe witness, “she v as awful cross-eyed.” “Will you love me thus forever?” And she looked into his eyes With a glance that seemed a token Of the fervor of her sighs. ‘‘I wudn't guaranty it,” With a smile responded Pat. “For I'm hardly av the notion That I'll last as long as that.” A farmer, having buried his wife, waited upon tli3 grave-digger wiio had performed tbe necessary du ties, to pay him his fees. Being of niggardly dispo sition, he endeavored to get the knight of the spade to abate his charges. The patience of the latter be coming exhausted, ho grasped his shovel, impul sively, and with an angry look, exclaimed: “Dooa wi' another shillin’—or oop she eomesl” The threat had the desired affect. Tell you one thing, brethren, and it’s money in your pockets if you remember it; never lend a dol lar to the man who habitually and frequently prints “whilst” in his paper. He is as unreliable as the man who says “Chewsday.” “Jack," said Mrs. W—, “what smell is that?” “Cloves.” “But that other smell?” “Allspice.” “But isn’t there another?” “Yes—apples.” “J ust one more?” “Cider, my dear.” “Well, Jack,” said she,“ifyou'd only drink a lit tle brandy now, you would make a good mince pie.” Detroit Free Press: One of the oraDge sellers on Campus Martin yesterday found a bad specimen among his fruit and carelessly tossed it away. I 1 struck an old woman in the eye, and .'-he made such a fuss over the accident that the man gave her a dozen good oranges to get her away in peace. She had scarcely left, when a sharp looking boy about twelve years of age slid to the fruit-seller and said: “Say, are you going to hit any more old women to-day?” “why, no—not if I can help it,” was the reply. “If you are,give me a chance,” continued the lad. “I’ll bring my mother down here and you may hit her in both eyes for half the oranges you gave tha other woman, and if that isn’t fair you can have a shot at dad and me.” Iu the city of Halifax there dwelt a lawyer, crafty, subtle and cute as a fox. An Indian of the Miami tribe, named Simon, owed him some money. The poor red man brought the money to his creditor, and waited, expecting the lawyer to write him a re ceipt: “What arc you waiting for?” said the lawyer. “Receipt,” said the Indian. “A receipt,” said the lawyer, “what do you know about a receipt? Can you understand the nature of a receipt? Tell me the use of one and I will give it to you/’ The Indian looked at him a moment and then he said: “’Spose maybe die; me go to heben: me find gate locked; me see the 'postle Peter; be say, Simon wha* you want? Me want to get in. He say you pay Mr. J. dat money? What me do? me hab to hunt all ober h 1 to find you.” He got the receipt.