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A STERLING OLD POEM.
Wlio shall judge man from his manner,
Who shall know him by his dress?
Paupers may be lit for Princes,
Princes fit for nothing else.
Crumpled shirt and dirty jacket
May beclothe the golden ore
Of the deepest thoughts and feelings—
Satin vest can do no more.
There are streams of chrystal nectar
Kver flowing out of stone.
There are purple beds and golden,
Hidden, crushed and overthrown;
God, who.counts by souls, notjdresses,
Loves and prospers you and me.
While he values thrones the highest
But as pebbles In the sea,
Man upraised above his fellows,
Oft forgets his fellows then:
Masters—rulers— lords, remember
That your meanest kinds are men!
Men of labor, men of feeling,
Men of thoughts, men of fame.
Claiming equal rights to sunshine
In a man’s ennobIing,naine.
There are foam-embroidered oceans.
There are little wood-clad rills;
There are feeble, inch-high saplings.
There are cedars on the hills.
God, who counts by souls, not stations,
Loves andjprospers you and me;
For to him all vague distinctions
Are as pebbles in the sea.
Toiling hands alone are builders
Of the nations wealth and fame;
Titled .'laziness is peusioned,
Fed and fattened on the same;
By the sweat of other’s foreheads,
Living only to rejoice.
While the poor man’s outraged freedom
Vainly lifts its feeble voice.
Truth and justice are eternal,
Born^with loveliness and light;
Secret wrongs shall never prosper
While there is a sunny right:
God, whose world-wide voice is singing
Boundless love to you and me.
Links oppression, with its titles,
But as pebbles in the sea.
H
OLD BLACK JOE.,”
His ’Sperince wid de Ghostses.
t (See Engraving on 8th page.)
BY K. C. I.
My friend, Tom Bright, resides in Houston
county, Georgia, He is one of the few planters
of post-bellum times who successfully cultivates
a large farm. There is a streak of yankee in
Tom’s ff.mily, which possibly accounts for the
vim that characterizes bis manner of engaging
in any undertaking. While his less energetic
neighbors year by year c’.oe their accounts
more or less indebted to the provision merchants
and guano agents, he pays in advance and de
posits at the end of each year a snug little sum
in bank. His three thousand acres are well
fenced against the invasions of the* gaunt,
ubiquitous Georgia bog and the wandering
stock of his neighbors. No tumbled down
gates, patched with clap-boards and grape vines,
♦•otene i */> donayed posts with wooden binges,
uioueleil alter til's WrOSjon of itie , >»ucier' ? *- ' v -'iu
in unsteady, staggering dilapidation at the ends
of the wellkept avenues leading from the road
to his honse. His elegant residence, built in
the most approved style, and furnished with
all the conveniences possible in a locality so far
removed from the advantages of a city ; his
neat houses for his bands ; his well appointed
stablts, barns, and dairy , his beautiful lawn
and lovely flower-garden ; are al! in strong con
trast with the wildernesses of log cabins, pine-
pole stables, and dilapidated out-houses, sur
rounding the almost ruined residences of ths
neighboring planters. , i
People down there say that “Tom Bright kin [
git more work ont of a nigger than any other i
man in these parts,” and I dare say it is true,
for Tom believes in full work as well as fair
wages. He is no sluggard, and will not tolerate
idleness. His disgust for laziness of any ds- j
acription is supreme. He ofteu rails against j
the loose, procrastinating habits of his neigh
bors, bat as be only does this in the bosom of
his own family, bis neighbors profit but little.
I had long promised to visit Tom at his home
among the pines, but pressing business engage
ments had prevented my doing so nntil the
spring of 1875. Having a few weeks of leisure
at that time, I determined to spend them with
mv friend. After I had reached this conclu
sion, I had no time to inform him of my com-
ins;.
I arrived at Perry, fifteen miles from Tom’s
plantation, fate one afternoon in May, Hiring
n horse, I inquired the read, aud started out to
find bis place. The country through which I
passed, is low and flat, thickly dotted with im
mense long-leaf pine. ' Many white, sandy
roads running in all directions through the
pines, form a puzzling labyrinth sure to catch
the unweary stranger. I was subjected several
times to the annoyance of losing the way, aud
had it Dot been for the friendly assistance of
sundrv persons of color whom I met when off
the track, 1 should not have reached my desti
nation until the next day. As it was, the dark
ness caught me still a number of miles from my
friend’s plantation, and when I finally regained
the main road, it was after ten o’clock.
I bad been riding rapidly along the road half
an hour when my attention was arrested by a
strangely musical voice singing a kind of chant
Looking ahead, I discovered by the aid of the
xuoon, the figure of a man on horse-back, riding
slowly up a gentle elevation in the road. I
slackened my pa?e and listened. Again the
voice broke into song.
“Bul-low angel Gabrul, blo-o-ow,
Soun’dat trumpet louder;
De debbel’s mad,
An’ I ani glad.
He los, one son he thougbt he had,
Blow, blow, blow !
Wlioa dah!”
Evidentlv some colored brother returning
from meeting," I thought.
The voice rose again, changing the tone te a
sort of wail.
“Mv Lord said unto Micbaul,
You may strike dat dividin’ line,
De slieep all fall on de right han’ side,
An’ de goats on de dead lef bellin’.
Tbang God I hyar Jerrooslum mourn,
An’ I hyar Jerrooslum mourn !’’
His wail over the sheep and goats was brought
to a sudden end by some antics of his steed.
Quieting him with a few cajoling words, he be
gan again. The interruption had probably
caused him to forget the remaining stanzas of
the waiL for he commenced, in regular camp
meeting style, a chorus of rather joyful charac
ter , , ,
“Thane God, my Lord is acoinin,
Tliang God, my Lord is acomin.
Thane God. my Lord i* acomin,
T An’de lubcome a trickullin’ down!
“Ask an’ it shall beglbben,
Seek an’ ye shall fin’.
Knock at de do’ an’ de do’ fly open.
1 Au ’ de lub come a trickullin’ down!
Whoa dah !’—‘Woa!
mule ! Yer cussed fool. I ’spec’ I bab ter knock
yo’ ole head offsn yer, fus’ thin’ yer don’t know!
Who yer dun ben gwine foolin’ wid, liftin’ dat
bin’ hoof dar? Glong, now, an’keep dat hoof
down, sah !’
These words were addr ssed to his refraotory
steed, which, it seems, was a mule instead of a
horse, as I first imagined. ObedieDt to his
rider b commands, the mule paced quietly along,
and once more the singer lifted his tuneful voice
upon the air.
“Rock my soul in de buzzum of de Abraham,
Rock my soul in de bnzzum of de Abraham,
Bock my soul in de buzzum of de Abraham,
Oh ! rock my soul !
Littul chillun yer better belie-e-eve,
Littul chillun yer better belie-e-eve,
Littul chillun yer better belie-e-eve,
I’m gwine home to Hebben bime-by!
“List’nin’ to de words of de good ’Postle Peter,
List’nin’ tode words of de good ’Postle Peter,
List’nin’ to de words of de good ’Postle Peter,
Oh ! list’nin’ tode words 1
Littul chillun yer better beiie-e-eve,
Littul chillun yer better belie-e-eve,
Littul chillun yer better Ijelie-e-eve,
I’m gwine home to ”
The mule that carried the unctions singer
must surely have been an infidel among his
kind. He certainly bad no relish for gospel
songs, for just as bis rider was concluding the
last line of his sonl stirring chorus, the wicked,
mule ‘humped himself,’ as the darkies say,
ducked his head, drew up his bind feet, and
with terrific force, sent his master straight ont
of the saddle and landed him in the middle cf
the road. With a snort, he galloped furiously
off up the road, soon disappearing from sight.
I rede up to the spot where the discomfited
singer lay and dismounted to discover the ex
tent of his injuries, if he had received any.
‘Hallo, uncle!’ I said ‘are you much hurt ?’
‘Mighty bad, Mars’er ; pow’ful bad !' returned
the victim of the infidel mule, in feeble tones.
‘I dunno what’s de matter wid dat mnle. He’s
or’narily de quietes’ an’mal I ebber seed ; bnt
de debbul seem to got inter him ternight, far he
ben kickin’, an’ pranoin* an’ cattervortin* ronn*
ebber sene* I dnn lef de meetin‘ n'ouse. ‘
‘Where are you hurt? 1
T‘s pow’ful brused on de back ob de head.
Dat mule flung me so high np in de air, dat I
turned ober an* kotch on de back ob my head.
I ‘spec’ its broke !•
I immediately examined it but oould find no
signs of any injury. I informed him of the
fact.
•Mus’ be hnrt inside; den, fur it feel pow’fnl
bad. Mebbe de inside wucks is busted ! Oh !
Lordy !* groaned the still prostrate siuger.
’What’Syour name, and where do you live?-
I inquired.
•I s de Rebrend Jce Mille’ - , sah, ‘ he replied,
‘an’I lives ober hyar on Mar’s Tom Bright’s
place. ‘
‘Oh ! you do I said, thinking of the last
words of his answer, ‘how far is Mister Bright's
plantation from this point ?‘
‘I reckon bit’s ‘bout free mile. Is yer gwine
dar ?’
‘Yes, I am ; and if this horse will consent to
oarry two of us, you may ride with me and point
out the way. *
I mounted and rode np to the fence. The
‘Rebrend Joe Miller, ‘ who seemed rapidly re
covering from the effects of his recent fall, pos
sibly beoanse he had landed on his head, fol
lowed me and climbed up on the fence. From
thence he got on behind me. My horse raised
no objections, and together we began once more
the journey towards my friend's plantation.
‘That animal of yours seems not to appreciate
the peaoeful influence of religious songs, ‘ Ire-
marked to my companion, after we had been
riding a few minutes.
•Dat mule?’ be replied, ‘dat mule's demos’
friir’lies. n)ni'> f eW«*<-«®ed *
).« luFtiidle he ebber do qat way. Mar’s Total
callsfhim de ‘Tigions mule,* ‘case he so solium
an’ ‘thodioul. I wucks dat mule reg’lar all de
time, au nebber habs no trouble wid him. D*t
de debbul in him, sho,’ make him do dat way.
We’s had a pow-ful time down to de meetin’
n'ouse ternight, an’ de debbnl got inter dat
mule ter ‘venge hissef. *
•By-the-way, ‘ I said, anxious to hear him sing
again, -those were beautiful hymns you were
singing just before your accident, can’t you
favor me with another?’
‘He ! he ! Yer hyar dem hymns ?‘ he said,
mightily pleased, ‘dem’s reg’lar ‘wake-up-Bin-
ner* hymns. I raises all de cbuues down ter de
meetin’ n’ouse. Now lis’n ; I sing yer de
‘union band ?’
“De debbul he’s a mighty man.
Pawin' an’ er scratehin’ an' kickin’ up san’;
Oh ! jine de union ban',
Gwine jine de union ban’!
“If ebber I gits on de mountin’ top,
I'll pray always an’ nebber stop ;
Oh ! jine de union ban’,
Gwine jine de union ban'!
“If ebber I buil’ my tent agin,
Buil’ it wliar de debbul nebber git in ;
Ob ! jine de union ban,’
Gwine jine de union ban’!
“I prayed las’ night tel twelve er'clock,
When Satan come ter my do’ an’ knock ;
Ob ! jine de union ban’,
Gwincjiue de union ban' !
“Says I Mister Debbul yer can't come in,
Dis nigger’s movin’ away frum sin;
Oh ! jine de union ban’,
Gwine jine de union ban'!”
He sung these words at a very high pitch,
and to a tune that Branded like the grinding of
a sorghum mill. By way of aocompanimen the
■lapped his bands violentlytogether at ttie and
of each verse. Once or twice, in the violence of
hie ardor, he kicked his heels against the sides
of the horae, causing him to jump and rear so
aa almost to bring the song to a premature con
clusion and to throw us into the road. 1 re
quested him to sing a song that would not re
quire the use of his hands and feet.
‘Raokun can’t sing no mo' ternight.’ he said,
‘dar’s de big gate, now, an’ we’s dun got hyar.’
Glad to know that I had reached the end of
my journey, I excused him from any further
singing aud instead, employed his services in
opening the gate.
Riding down a long, beautiful avenue of wal
nut trees to the house, I dismounted, Leaving
my horse in the care of the ‘Rebrend Joe Mil
ler,’ I commenced an attack on the door wtiich
sown brought Tom out. A few minutes sufficed
to explain to my surprised, though delighted,
friend why I had not given him notice of my
visit, and as the hour was very late, I at once
retired to my room.
I had been sleeping I do not know how long,
when I was awakened by the most horrible
screams and groans, seemingly just outside my
window. Thinking that somebody was in ter
rible distress, with urgent need of assistance,
and not knowing exactly what to do, I jumped
out ot bed, hurried on my clothes, and went
into the hall to find Tom’s room and ask if he,
too, had heard the disturbance. After consid
erable knocking at wrong doors, I found ths
right one and asked Tom if he had heard the
screams.
*Yes hs responded, sleepily, 'its old Jee.
The ghosts are after him again. Don’t trouble
yourself about him; he’ll be all right in the
morning.’
Tom’s reply was not very satisfactory. What
did he mean by saying the ghosts are after him
again ?' Did he mean to leave a human being at
the mercy of ghosts? From what quarter of ths
globs did the ghosts eome? I couldn't satisfy
myself about these screams ; but, aa I eonld gat
no fnrther explanation from Tom, I concluded
to return to my room and onoe more seek re
pose. I heard nothing more of the noise that
night, but I remembered it the first thing in
thv morning, and determined -to ask its cause as
soon as I should see Tom.
At breakfast I met Mistress Annie, Tom's
borny wife.
‘I hope you enjoyed your rest last night, Mis
ter—‘
‘Don’t p.ddross me by that title, Mistress An
nie, * I said, ‘I have been too long Tom’s friend
to permit his wife to address me otherwise than
as be does.*
‘Well then. Karl, how did you rest last night?’
she said. ‘I am sure yon were much wearied
by your long ride and needed a good rest,*
I replied, ‘And nothing less than the unearthly
noiseB I heard just outside my window could
have disturbed my slumber. By-the-way, Tom,
your explanation of that disturbance was very
unsatisfactory. What did it mean ?’
‘My explanation!’ exclaimed Tom, ‘When?’
‘Why last night, when I went to your room.*
•’Pou my word, I have no recollection of your
coming to my room. I must have been only
half awake.'
‘I should say so, if yon do not remember it.
You said that those sounefo were made by old
Joe, and that the ghosts were after him again.'
•Oh ! yes. And so you heard uncle Joe's
tantrums last night, did yon?‘
‘Yes, I did ; and I thought somebody was be
ing murdered. What on earth was the matter
with the man ?‘
‘Why the old fool imagines that the ghosts
are after him. Negroes are very superstitious,
you know, and old Joe is one of the most super
stitious of them all. He has all kinds of ghostly
experiences. Its all imagination, of coarse, but
you could never make him believe it, and in
his case, the fright is so genuine that it lays
him np for a day or two after each ghostly visi
tation. He has had three or four such experi
ences since he began working for me, and the
thing is growing monotonous. I can’t afford to
have hi a: lose so much time. Unfortunately,
when once a negro becomes possessed of an hal
lucination suoh as his, there are few earthly
means of ridding him of it, and h6 is almost
invariably ever afterwards practically unfitted
for work ‘
•Do you suppose that these hallucinations of
the negroes are really genuine?’ I inquired.
‘Why of course they are !‘ said Mistress An
nie, jeining in the cor venation. ’Don’t yon
remember Jack, Tom? ml was my father’s
coachman, Karl, and was oue of the strongest,
healthiest looking fellows I ever saw. He had
a love-scrape with a girl belonging to one of onr
neighbors, but was unsuccessful in his attempts
to win the dusky maiden's affections. 8he
married a boy belonging to her master, and
immediately after, Jack was attacked by the
most singular disease, hallucination, or what
you please, I ever heard described. He im
agined that bis snoces'-fnl rival had ‘conjured’
him as they Bay. He said that this rival of his
had made him swallow a lizard while he was
asleep, and that it had filled his legs with its
young. He became absolutely crazy, and was
never again of any use. When be sat down, he
would do so very slowly, so that the lizards
might ran down to his toes, he said. He never
recovered, but died a few years after his attack. ‘
‘Yes,‘said Tom, ‘I remember him. There
was old Bill, too, your father's foreman. He
imagined that he had swallowed a frog while
drinking at a spring. He said that the frog had
gained complete control of his limbs, aud for
over a year went about over the plantation play
ing frog. It was the most ridiculous sight I
ever witnessed. Doctor Jobnns cured him. He
procured a live frog, gave old Bill an immense
deae of epicac, and while the old fellow was
vomiting away with all hft mip’-t, dropped the
frog in frontjof him. j£that he had
tnat day was as well andAfte'jPi'ruy body. •
‘I should like to see my friend, the ‘Rebrend
Joe Miller,' and converse with him,* I said.
'Very well,* said Tom, rising, ‘his honse is
just outside the yard. Let's walkover and talk
with him.’
When we entered old Joe’s house, he was ly
ing stretched out on a bed near the fire-place,
groaning and granting as if in the last agonies
of death. His features were contracted until
the akin stood in great wrinkles on his face. In
deed his whole appearance was that of a man
suffering from some terrible pain.
‘Well, Joe, • said Tom, ‘you've get ’em pretty
bad this time. ‘
‘Dat's ao, mas' Tom; dey's mighty nigh used
de ole nigger up,‘ he responded. ‘ ‘Clar fo’
goodness, de en‘ ob de worl* mus* be cornin',
‘ease dem ghoates smell pow’ful like suffer an’
brim-atun !‘
‘Uncle Joe,‘ I said, ’how do the ghosts behave
when they visit you as they dullast night?’
‘D»y ac‘ pow’ful bad, mars er*, day ao- pow‘-
fal bad! D«y‘a ’bout t.ree t’oasau 1 in hyar las’
night, an’ dey wuz a singin*, an’ a dancin’, an’
a bouncin' roun’ like niggers at a oorn-shuckin'.
Dey came ober hyar whar I wuz c layin’ an’ dey
b-,u m - wi l rod-hot sticks ou inn. One gret
big «!« it tier he got me on de bed an' kiok me
oaten it outer de flo', an* den dey ail stomped
me ontelljest couldn't holler no mo 1 . Dey
weal, oat after dat, as’ de room smell like brirn-
stue ontel day dnn broke. Dsy’s de wuss t’iog
I ebber seed, an’ dey dun mighty nigh kill oie
Jee!’
‘You must be fearfully scarred, uncle Joe,’ I
aaid, ‘if they struck you with red-hot irons. Let
me seo.’
■Good Lord, mars’er! dem ghosteses don’t
nebber leabs no marks. Dey’s sperits, an’ de
marks is on de inside ob me !'
‘Spirits are they ? Tfiey surely must be the
spirits of the devil then, uncle Joe, it they serve
you as you desoribe,’ I said.
‘Oh coarse dey is, mars'er! Dey b’longs to
de debbul sho'! What dey got dat brim-atun
roun’ ’em fur ef dey aint sperits ob de debbul ?
Yer ne'ober hyars ob enny ob dese hyar mean
niggers bein’ bodderei by ghosteses. Dey aint
gwine to fool roun’ nobody but de Lord's Chil
ian, yer beer me !'
‘Were your friends, the ghosts, white, uncle?’
*Wuzn‘t no white ‘bunt dem ghosteses ! Dey
wnz as blaok as er buzzard bird ! Why mars'er,
dey wuz a big light’ood fire iu hyar when dey
come, an' de room wuz as light as day, but dem
ghoetesee dey wuz so black, ‘clar fo* goodness,
dey make de room darker‘n Esop !'
I suppose he meant Egypt when he said
‘Eaop,’ but at any rate, the darkening power of
these ghoats must have been wonderful!
'How did the ghosts enter, unole Joe ?- I ask
ed, 'did they come through the door ?‘
‘No, sah ! Dat do' lock tight! Dey come
froo de planks. Dem ghosteses don't make nuf-
fin - ob de do' bein' look !‘
‘Look here, Joe,* said Tom, 'are you going to
get out to work to-day ?'
‘Mars' Tom, I’ so banged up dat I can’t hard
ly move! I'e gwine to teke some doetur’e truck
an’ git better by ebenin’; bnt I aint got no
etren’th for wuok now. Dem ghoetesee make
me lose heap o’ time, bnt I gwine make it np
when I gits well.’
'Yon ere losing too much time, Joe,’ said Tom
*you are losing too mneh time ! I want yon to
get out as soon as yon can. Crops are getting
behind.’
‘I gwine git ter wnek die ebenin', sho’, mars'
Tom. Aint gwine take me long to ketoh np. *
‘Well, I hope yon will,* said Tom. ‘Suppose
we look over the place, Karl ?’
With a promisfa to Joe to talk to him again I
followed Joe out of tte hoove. Wj sp:nt the
greater part of the day in riding over rite plan
tation. I learned at supper that nigh! that Joe
had not been able to get out, but that he was
still snff->ring very much from his injuries re
ceived at the hands of the ghosts—if ghosts may
be said to have hands.
I was much interested in Joe’s case, and de
termined, if possible, to ascertain the cause of
his curious disease. I regarded his hallucina
tion as a disease, for of course, he could not
have been troubled by any other creatures, hu
man or spiritual, save those conjured up by his
own diseased imagination. I had always delight
ed in the examination of cases of diseased minds,
and now that I had under my view one so sin
gular and which seemed so genuinely to affect
its subject, 1 determined to give it careful
study.
With this intention, I went out just before re
tiring to my room to have another talk with old
Joe, but when I entered his house, he was no
where to be found ! I waited vainly for some
time, supposing that he would soon return, but
he did not. and so I went to my room and re
tired.
I lay for perhaps au hour, trying to assign a
reason for Joe's superstition. The moon was
in full splendor outside, and as I had become
too full of Joe's case to sleep, I got up, pulled
on my clothes, and went out on the veranda in
tending to indulge in a smoke.
I had been standing a few minutes near a col
umn, looking over at the abode of my reverend
friend, when I saw a man jump over the fence
between the yard and the avenne and walk
briskly towards Joe's house. I instantly reoog-
nized him* It was Joe himself, and considering
that he had been handled so ronghly by the
ghosts, he was certainly spry enough in his
movements now, for he walked as if he had nev
er had a day’s sickness in his life ! He entered
the bouse aud closed the door.
‘Well!’ I thought, ‘the night air had a fine
effect on old Joe’s miseries. He’ll be at work
in the morning. 1
But he was not at work in the morning. Ou
the contrary, his sickness had increased to such
an alarming degree, that a physician had to be
summoned. I thought this rather strange, but,
for reasons ot my own, held my peace and said
nothing of having ssen him walking so briskly
the night before.
Tom and I visited him in the afternoon. He
was in ‘dreffal mis’ry, ‘ he said, and he did seem
to be suffering a great deal. He complained of
stiffness in his legs, and when I touched them,
fairly yelled with agony. I began to think that
I was mistaken in supposing that I had seen
him the night before.
When we left the house, I asked Tern’s opin
ion of the case.
‘That nigger is very sick,* he said. ‘It's
strange that the imagination should gain such
complete control of a man. I have no doubt in
the world but that old Joe is really suffering ag
onies. It will not surprise me if he dies. ‘
-Oh ! you don't think the cass that bad ?‘ I
said.
’Yes I do,' be said. ‘Such cases are very com
mon among the negroes. It’s always, too, a
pure case of death by imaginatian. Why it is
so, I don’t know. I wish some ox the doctors
would suggest a satisfactory explanation of the
knotty problem.'
I was satisfied that I had not S99n Joe the pre
vious night as I had thought. It must have
been one of the hands, closely resembling him,
who had entered Joe’s honse for the purpose of
ascertaining his condition.
Late that night I was again on the veranda
smoking. Tom had informed me at supper that
he did not think Joe would live through the
night. I was really very sorry, for beyond the
fact that my investigation of h<s case would he
brought to a conclusion, I had formed quite a
friendship for my religions friend. Wniie I
Mlit aud “Hmucrv*
~as musing on theipoints m Joe‘s ca«e. ! *&*>! , t .
~m' -*»• » - • gyie pf —-J miy.h will it cost us $o 1 icV
Turning my eves in that direction, 1 saw a rfisfr, ‘ y —r.,-/ —
. «1J inn,., .L ticieon “Waterus a lleveihige;”
Cremation is the burn from which no traveller
returns.
What most resembles the half of the moon?—The
other half.
What is it, which, the more it is cut, the longer it
grows?—a ditch.
What is society after all, but a mixture of inister-
les aud misseries.
Don'tliunt lor hsppiness, but for. as little misery
as possible.
Whan you depart, make your best salaam, *but do
not s'lam the door.
If the landlord's daighter is pretty you can say:
Please pass me that, honey.
What is she largest room In the capitol at Wash-
ton? Room for improvement.
Nature, which protects the rose with thorns, has
endowed women with ha'r-plns.
Fact about the sex—Although a woman's age is
undeniably her own, she never owns it.
Talk about a woman not havingastrongstorauch.
Think of the poet Laure-ate!
Mary Anderson chews gum in four diffeiont lan
guages—oue, of course, beiug gum Arabic.
Lying about a politician never hurts the one lied
about: it is having the trutfi told that kills him.
“Beauty and booty,'' was the cry of the young man
win* kissed the girl and was kicked by her fattier.
Hanging is capital punishment especially when
you are hanging on some good-looking girl’s arm .
“Look here, printer, you have not punctuated
my poemat all.” “Well, sir, 1 am not a pointer, I
am a setter.”
A country mayor has decided to kill half tbedogs
iu the city and.to tau their hides with the bark of
the other half.
A hotel is advertised as kept by the widow of Mr.
Brown who died last summer on the new and im
proved plan.
A .Sunday-school boy, on being asked what made
the tower of Pisa lean, replied, “Because of the fam
ine in the land.”
Most truly limned— AJbeautifuI woman has been
described as a paradise of the eye, and a purgatory
of the purse.
At I ronton. Mo., people are no longer allowed to
smoke iu church, and they call it a free country
out there.
A libel.—An old traducer says that a month be
fore marriage, and a month after death, men regard
their wives as angels.
What is the difference between the weather and
the baby? One never rains but it pours and tue oth
er never pains but it roars.
A country girl, gettiug off a traiu at Cape May
was asked ifshe might be helped to ali gtit, and she
replied that she did not smoke.
It is said that one of the bravest officers in the
Russian army signs his name with his mark. He
must be a soldier ofthe cross.
Why isa periodical like a tooth brush? Because
everyone should have one of his own, and not be
borrowing his neighbor’s.
Going down hill.—“The fact is,''saidan old farmer.
“when a man begins togo down hill, he find s ev-
erytliinggreased for the occasion.”
Very modest.—A modest young editor says: “Our
editorials have been crowded out this week by n
pressure of interesting reading matter.”
Painful question frequently asked in England—
, If It costs 82,500,00) a week to let tiie Zulus lick us*
ick them? v .
the exact image of old Joe, jump over the fen
walk to the door, and enter the honse !
‘What in the world does it mean ?’ I thought
‘I am Barely not mistaken again ! If that isn’t
Joe, it is his ghost!’
I thought the ghosts were becoming too plen
tiful, and concluded to investigate the one I
had seen jump ever the fence. I jumped down
from tha veranda, got over the fence, and crept
cautiously up to the bouse. I found a conven
ient orack, and applying my eye, beheld the
man whom we all thought dead or dying, sitting
in a chair in front of the fire-place, in which a
light-wood knot was burning, smoking a pipe !
There could be no mistake about it! It was the
veritable Joe himself!
‘So, old gentleman, you have concluded not
to die!’ I thought. But how eonld the man be
ao dreadfully sick during the day and so thor
oughly well at night? VTas tnat the way peo
ple whom the ghosts visited were affected ?
There was some deep mystery about old Joe that
I could not explain. I returned to my room to
think it over.
On my way to breakfast Dext morning, I met
Mistress Annie.
‘How is Ufacfo Jee this morning?- I inquired.
‘Why, he is a great deal better!' she replied.
‘He began to improve at midnight, he says. I
am very glad, for he is one of the most cheerful
and obliging of ali Tom's hands.'
‘Mistress Annie,' I said, ‘what kind of a work
man is ancle Joe?’
'Really, I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘He is a
field hand and never comes under my supervi
sion exoept at odd times. Then I have always
fonad him full of gend humor and ready to de
any little thing about the house. Bat Tom can
answer your question.'
At breakfast I inquired Tom's opinion of old
Joe as a werkman.
'I am unprepared to say,' he replied. ‘He
has been on the plantation enly since the be
ginning of the year and there hae not been a
great deal to do. In the early months of each
year we are employed in fencing and clearing
up, you kuow, and during that time Joe acted
as oue of my bosses. Since the beginning of the
planting season he hat had so many interviews
with the ghosts, be has been of very little nse.
He always expresses himself as anxious to be
about and at work, however, and I think he w //]
prove a good worker if he ever gets rid of the
ghosts. ‘
'What are his antecedents?' I asked.
'I don't know,' Tom replied. T picked him
up at Hayneville while on my annual search for
hands. He said that he had been employed by
Doctor Freeman, a gentlemaa who lives in the
lower part of this county.'
'He ia a preacher, isn't he?'
‘I believe he is something of that kind, but I
don't think he attends meeting a great deal.
He 'zerts,' as the negroes say, a little en Sun
days, and generally has his mouth full of pious
sayings and camp-meeting songs.*
‘Doea he run about mnon at night?'
‘Old Joe ?' Tom said in surprise, ‘why, no ! I
don't think he has been off the place onoe einee
he came here, except on the night you arrived.’
■Oh ! you don’t ?' I thought, but I said noth
ing ef what I knew en that point The fact is,
I bad about reached the conclusion thst nenc of
us had made a correct diagnosis of the case of
our spiritually affected colored friend. The
doctors. I thought, in this case, as in many oth
ers, were mistaken as to the nature of the disease.
I determined, therefore, to feel the pulse of the
patient, press his forehead and examine his
longue again, in order to discover if some symp
tom before unnoticed might not present itself.
Already a half formed idea of the true character
of old Joe's disease had lodged itself in my
mind. Various circumstances oonviuoed me
(Continued on 6;h page.)
whereupon* a coun
try contemporary says: “The idea seems to be feasi
ble.’’
A poor, but nigh spirited woman in Chicago
pounds an old rng on the kitchen table every morn
ing to make the neighbors believe that she has
beefsteak for breakfast.
“This Is a sad commentary on our boasted civili
zation.” as the tramp despondently observed when
he found out that the ham lie had taken from the
front ofthe store was wooden.
“Who was the first man?" asked a Sunday-school
teacher of tier prodigy. “Adam!" “And>ho was
tbefirst woman?” He hesitated but a moment an d
then replied: “Madam."—
Thereare girls who will wrestle with a croquet
malletUn the hot sun for hours and not complain.
Bur just ask her to hang on the wooden end of a
broom and she will have a fit.
It was an old, but a very gcod thing, said by a
French paragraplier lately, to the effect that lie
hates a girl when trying to be.woman, and a woman
when trying to be a girl.
Too Green.—“Sally," said a fellow to a girl who
had red hair, “keep away from me or you will set
meonfirc!" “No danger of that," replied the girl,
,‘you are too green to burn.”
Lord Nelson's brother once wound up a sermon
on the whole duty of man thus: “If men would only
think before they do, then I think that they would
not do many things that they do do.”
STlie man who undertook to lick a thousand post -
age stamps In a thoussud minutes, gave out onjhis
seven hundredth lap. He says he would rather un
dertake to lick the postmaster-general.
Practice does not always make perfect. Curran,
when told by his physician that he seemed to cough
with more difficulty, replied, “That is odd enough ,
for I have been practicing all night."
“My son,” said a doting mother to her eight-year-
old, “wbat pleasure do you feel like giving up du-
ringthe Lenteu seasoD?” “Well’ ma, I guess I will
stay away from school,” was the reply.
“Well, wire, I dou’t see, for my part, how they
send letters on them 'ere wires without tearing ’em
all to bits.” “Law me, they dou’t send the paper,
they just send the writing iu a fluid state!”
A tramp applied to a lady for employment. “I
have nothing for you to do,” replied the lady. “Ah,
Madam,” sighs the applicant, “ifyou only knew bow
little work it would take to occupy me.”
Little Susie, looking at some pictures of winged
angels, exclaimed: "Mama, I don't want to be an
angel.” “Why not dear?" “Humph! leave off - all
my pretty clothes and wear feathers like a hen?”
One evening iu the opera in Dublin a gentleman
sarcastically asked the man standing In front of
him if he was aware that he was opaque. Th e oth
er denied the allegation, and said that he was
O’Brien.
The other day a father said to his five-year-old
boy who came in late to dinner from school. “Rob
bie, why are you so late? Didu’tyou hear the bell?’
“Yes, father,”replied Robbie, “But I couldu't hear
it plain.”
An inebriated Irishman, on being kindly ques
tioned iu a very narrow lane, across which he was
reeling, as to the length of the road he had traveled,
replied: “Faith, it’s not so much the length of the
the road that tired me.”
Canada announces an electrical girl, who, by-
mere contact, can impart a powerful shock. We do
not desire to discourage Canada, but her new pro _
ductlon is nothing wonderful-there are plenty o
girls In the United States who can shock anybody a
sight.