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KISSINCI THE ROD.
Oh, heart of mine, we shouldn’t
Worry so.'
What we ve missed of calm we couldn’t
Have, you know!
What we’ve met of stormy pain,
ADd of sorrow's driving rain,
We can better meet again
If it blow.
We have erred in that dark hour
We have known
When our tears fell with the shower,
All alone—
Were not shine and shadow blent
-4*'the gracious Master meant?
Let us temper our content
With His own
For, we know, not every morrow
k Can be sad;
Mtaforgetting all the sorrow
We have had,
awn y our fears
by our foolish tears
all I h--■•onnnc; vea: s
HHHT Just Ik* glad.
ha /■'•nr- 117,,/.
HjjPaberlys Nci^iibor,
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Beautiful, and—
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■<l hue,
have
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Bt
w
,l!l *- ■ ill
that tin had
V.r his helpless nil.' ;im J rhil
|gfß < Oil ns best they < mild. Why
MB f Know it t It mi-lit lessen
MB f living in thi place if she
s,im ‘hnvii
wm: r, i|"""' " hi-1
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house exactly like it
went mmiin I two sides of
HBtding, amt there were still hang
the beams overhead baskets of
|Mr s plants, some of them yet
HH Vines had been rarefully trained
|M' lattice work and a thick mass of
rendered it almost impossible for
|BBr rain to get in.
house on the right was but a
away, a bright-looking stone
against which clung English ivy,
sun’s level rays turning the leaves to
Icrirason and gold.
m winder Who lives there?” Mrs.
■fieri; asked.
H fThe name is Warren,” said her bn-.
Bbahd, “I have seen him once or twice,
Biut. have never spoken to him.”
A “Warren; it is a good name, and
|n[' neenis to me 1 have heard it
Pn connection with some of my
j friends, but I forget. I hope
t they are nice; one has sometimes to
| depend upon neighborly offices. They
show good taste. I
-i^Bhero
■HH|Hthe be!', ,
HflHßty and ' I !.'
How tri'i! •!, ,• i
■■Bscd 1 Tice y r>.. - t.u
of I !
■ n. \>ple n "l!
or,
■oingff yfe horse is getting impatient.”
H “Ob, i'fls, and the boy will be fretting
H>r me, } for little fellow ! I'm so glad
■here's a ftarn on the premises— don’t you
Khink we could afford a cow? I could
Bnake such delicious ice cream.”
F “We’ll see about it,” her husband said,
Lamiliug.
1 In less than a week the house was
I ready for occupancy, and .Mrs. Maberly
I was as happy as the day was long, set -
I fling things. Of course it took weeks to
"get everything in place, and then a re
arrangement was often decided upon,
but at last the piano was satisfactorily
<|*po6oand of, the furniture and the bric-a
brat set out to the best advantage, and
the little woman fek. very proud of her
house, which really reflected great credit
upon her taste and ingenuitv/As for the
boy he lived out-of-doors. His quarters
in the city had been rather limited, but
here he had, as his father expressed it,
“all creation to roam in.”
Oft (to. as Mrs. Maberly sat on the ve
fluidajthe white-capped nurse came by,
rT the exquisite baby carriage, in
side of
sweet, so wrapped in fine fab-
laces and lovely carriage blank
ets, that the little woman wondered more
snd more who her neighbor could be.
.One day she met the nurse and child on
Nte road. She had been to the unpre- 1
,-ending cottage on her left where she !
bought eggs and cream of
the farmer * wife who lived there,
tod „he gopped as the carriage came toj
ful baby!"she sai’, placing her baaketof
QStgs on the ground. “What a lovely
child! how oU is she?"
“Sixteen months,” said the nurse,with
a broad yiile, that someway looked fa
miliar to Mrs. Maberly.
“I don’t know as I ever saw quite as
lovely a baby,” said Mrs. Maberly, smil
ing down upon the child, whose great
blue eyes were fixed upon her face.
“How I wish I dared to kiss it! But
babies are so caprice.’.is,”
“She’ll let you,” said the girl. “Ma
bel, kiss the lady.”
The cherubic little lips came together
at once in a charming pout that made
them look more than ever like two ripe
cherries.
“You perfect darling!” exclaimed Mrs.
Maberly, as she received and returned
the coveted kißs. “I’m dead in love
with you. Whose child is it?” she
asked, as she resumed her basket and
prepared to move away.
“Why, ma’am, is it possible that you
don’t remember me?” was the astound
ing form the girl’s answer took.
“Remember you!” exclaimed Mrs.
Maberly with unfeigned astonishment,
and then it slowly dawned upon her that
the face she was looking at was not un
familiar.
“Yes, I’m changed, of course, ’cause
it's years ago since you used to come to
Miss Mabel’s for to stop in your vaca
tions. Don't, you remember the old
plantation down in Georgy and the old
hands? I’m old Hartley’s daughter—
Marthv, that used to be laundress, and
I'm growed up, you see.”
Old Martha!—Mabel!—the old planta
tion down in Georgia! Mrs. Maberly
felt dizzy as she heard the well-remem
bered names.
“You see Miss Mabel married a North
ern gentleman, after all, and came here
to settle.”
“And she—she is—our next-door
neighbor!" said Mrs. Mablely iu a faint
voice. She felt dazed. “I think I un
derstand how one might be knocked
down by a feather,” she said, in speak
ing of the matter to her husband ufter
xvard.
“Mabel—Georgia,” she kept repeating
to herself, “and she is my next neigh
bor! If I had known it I would never
have taken the house.”
The brightness had all died out of her
face. She wanted 1, ask some questions,
Wit would net allow herself to do so.
T ha nurse’s chocolatc-colorcd face was
on a broad grin. How much did she
know of the state of affairs between these
two women who had once been the clos
est friends.
“No, I would never have taken that
house!” she said ovsr and over, as she
moved on, still iu a dazed, startled mood,
that even the sight of her beautiful boy,
waiting outside the gate for “mamma,”
failed to change. A cloud seemed to
have been suddenly thrown over the gray
stone cottage. Vines and flowers and
all the belongings were as if they had
never been. Mrs. Maberly turned her
face resolutely away and went into her
own house.
“Oh, dear—l have found out at last
who our next door neighbor is!” she ex
claimed, as her husband entered the hall,
where she was awaiting him that even
iug.
“Yon don’t seem to be very much de
lighted over the discovery,” was his re
ply. “I met. the gentleman to-day in a
business affair. He is very genial. It
seems his wife is something of an in
valid, and seldom goes out.”
“I’m so glad!” exclaimed Mr3. Ma
berly, with heart-felt emphasis.
“That don’t Rpeak much for your
Christian charity,” said Mr. Maberly,
smiling.
“I don’t mean thst I’m glad she is
sick, but that she seldom goes out,” said
his wife.
“That will make it encumbent on you
to call on her, won’t it?”
“I’ll never call on her,” was the reply,
delivered with almost spiteful energy.
“Why, what on earth has happened?”
her husband asked, now really puzzled.
‘•Heretofore you have seemed to wish
for her acquaintance. I’m sure I have
heard you wonder why she did not call.”
“Very true, but then I did not know
who she was—now I do,” and she nar
rated her interview with the nurse that
morning.
“So you see I know her; she used to be
one of my dearest friends. I think at
one time I almost worshiped her.”
“And you have spent days at her
house?”
“Indeed I have—one of the loveliest
old plantations in Georgia. In my
vacations, when mamma and papa
were abroad, I always went home with
her. But now 1 dislike her quite
as much as I loved her then. When
we last parted I told her nothing
would induce me ever to speak to her
again or to treat her with respect. O,
we said very bitter things, both of us;
but it was she who was the first offender.
1 couldn’t forget how she insulted me if
I lived a thousand years. And now I
am sorry you bought the house.”
“Don’t you know you arc nursing the
spirit of revenge?” her husband asked,
gravely.
“I know that I could never respect
myself, after what she said to me, if I
so much as noticed her, and very likely
she foels the same way toward me. What
a pity that we are neighbors!”
“I am sorry to hear all this, as.l like
Mr. Warren remarkably well, atfaf prom
ised that you should call- However, it
can tbe helped. Here we are, and here
we shall stay, so we must make the best
of it.”
we must,” his wife said, regret
f'Juaf, “but I shall never feel again
'the interest I once did m our pretty
home.”
“To change the subject,” said Mr.
Maberly, “I bought a cow to-day.”
“O, a real cow for our own!” cried
Ernest, looking up from his toys.
“Yes, a real cow—and we shall have
j real cream,” said his father. “She is
| coming here to-night. ”
Mrs. Maberly said nothing. She had
been very anxious for the cow, but her
thoughts were all taken
jm
Tue \! dav she can
blinds to all the windows that overlooked
the pretty gray stone cottage, thus deny
ing herself a view that had come to he
almost a necessity of her beauty-loving
nature.
“They shall never be opened again,”
she said bitterly. ‘‘l want nothing to
do with her or hers.”
The time went on and winter came
with its deep snows and keen, biting
winds. The blinds were still kept closed
on the south side of t’ne house, and the
next neighbor was seldom mentioned.
One day Mr. Maberly spoke of him on his
return from business.
“It’s a bitter night,” he said, “and I
wouldn’t like to be in Warren’s place.”
“Why, what is that?” his wife asked,
with some show of interest.
“His wife's father is not expected to
live, and Mrs. Warren is not able to go.
There are some business matters to be
attended to, and his presence is needed.
It’s a long, cold journey. It must be
hard for the poor wife that she cannot see
her dying father. I feel very badly for
them both.”
“It if—very hard,” Mrs. Maberly
forced herself to say, and once or twice
in the night she thought of the lonely
woman, ns the snow-flakes were whirled
against the window in the heavy wind
beat of the storm. She could not help
picturing her. wide awake and tearless in
her misery. And yet she never sug
gested to herself that she ought to call
or betray any interest in her neighbor’s
“I said I never would speak to her
again,” she said, “ami I never will. She
brought it all on herself.”
“Don't expect me home till the last
train to-night,” Mr. Maberly said the
next morning. “There’s a meeting of
business men that I must attend, so I
shall be obliged to stay in. Send John
down with the sleigh about eleven.”
The day proved a pleasant one, and
Mrs. Maberly felt unusually light-hearted
as she sang and worked about the house.
It was not till evening that she realized
how very lonesome she was. Ernest had
been kept up an hour beyond his time,
and it was not till he pleaded to be sent
to bed that she allowed herself to carry
him upstairs. His prayers were of the |
briefest, although she tried to prolong
the process of undressing, but he was too
sleepy ; and presently, as his head
touched the pillow, he was in the land of
dreams. Something prompted the woman
as she went out in the hall to open the
inside blinds and lift the curtain from
one of the xvindows that commanded a
view of her neighbor's house.
All between was one bed of snow—
trees, shrubbery, fences, garden; and the
moon-beams fell gently over the wide,
white, uneven space, and bathed the op
posite cottage in its silvery radiailce.
She looked toward the house. On the
white surface of the window were shad
ows flitting and coming, seemingly going
to and fro in great haste.
“I suppose they are putting the baby
to bed,” she said to herself, “or perhaps
she has company; it looks like it.”
Carefully closing the blinds again, she
went softly down stairs. The parlor
looked very cozy, with its rich red drap
ery, made more intense in color- by the
blazing coal lire, and yet the woman had
a vague feeling of uneasiness. Opening
the door, she could distinguish voices in
the kitchen. John was talking with the
cook, and the sound reassured her some
what; but, oh, how she missed the genial
companionship of her husband! Sud
denly there was a peal of the door-bell,
so sharp and sudden that it set all her
nerves tingling.
“I’m so glad John is in!” was her in
ward comment, as she heard his heavy
footsteps across the hall.
Presently the front door was open.
The accents of a woman’s voice, as if in
despair, came faintly to her ears. The
parlor door was opened, aud John was
saying: “The madam is in here,” when
there appeared, pale and drawn in its
agony, the face of her neighbor ot the
gray stone house. The room seemed to
whirl round her as she looked—what
could it mean?
“O Anne—O Mrs. Maberly!” cried the
woman in a choking voice, her tightly
clasped hands unconsciously extended as
if in supplication, “something sent me
here to you. My baby—my beautiful
baby is dying!—dying before my eyes,
and lam all alone. Come and help me,
if ever you loved me—come and help me.
You have studied medicine and will
know what to do. I have sent for a
doctor, but he is ten miles off with a pa
tient—and that horrible croup!” H#r
voice failed her. There was a noise in
in her throat like the coming of hysteria.
Mrs. Maberly had sprung forward and
caught her or she would havo fallen.
Into her voice crept the old-time tender
ness, into her hands the old caressing
movements.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “wait till I
get a shawl-—wait till I get my medicine
box, and I believe I can help you. Don’t
give up Wart. You were too ill your
self to come out; you should have sent
for me.” All this time she was going
rapidly about the room, preparing herself
to go.
“Yes, but I remembered—O, I
thought if I came myself in all my
misery, you would take pity on me!
D, my baby! my baby! My poor old
father is dying, too, and I can’t be with
'liml It seems as if I cannot boar it—to
lose my father and my baby, too,” and
she wept bitterly.
“Don’t give up heart or hope," said
Mrs. Maberly. “There, lam all ready
—I can help you, with God’s blessing, I
am sure I can. Hush, don’t cry so—lean
on my arm,” and so she tried to comfort
her till the two entered the gray cottage,
Mrs. Maberly wondering all the time
where her resentment had gone.
It was a pitiful sight, the baby in the
arms of her nurse, struggling for breath.
Giving orders in a low voice, forcing her
self to be calm, with the beautiful, agon
ized face looking up in her own, M*.
Maberly worked quietly and efficiently
with the remedies she had brought, and
which for a long time seemed unavail
ing. But, even as the agonized mr ia.
from what to her we
of the child, her n 3
dread disease, and just as the doctur’s
carriage drove up to the door, the la
bored respiration gave way to easy
breathing, the flush of anguish was
gone, ard the little sufferer slept on Mrs.
Maberly s knee.
“It's mighty lucky you had such a
neighbor,” said the doctor, speaking to
Mrs. Warren, “she knew just what to
do. I couldn’t have treated the case
better, myself.”
For answer, Mrs. Warren went on her
knees and kissed the hand under the head
of her baby—then bowing her own head
beside it, she sobbed and sobbed. Was
it thankfulness for the service rendered,
or a mute avowal that she had wronged
her old friend?
Mrs. Maberly had news for her husband
when he returned that night.
“So you really found that you had s
neighbor,” he said, when she had fin
ished.
“I think it was she who found the
neighbor,” she said, flushing. “ 4,nd
who would not help her worst enemy in
such an emergency? Really, nothing
could have happened better, since it had
to happen, and she will always feel as if
I saved the baby.”
After that one might have seen fre
quent crossings-over to the cottages, al
ternately. Sometimes the pretty baby
carriage, with its beautiful occupant,
stood for hours in the front yard of the
Maberly’s—and often the two mothers
sat on the porch, talking of old times,
and finding pleasure in the renexval of
themes that had been so long forbidden
to them.
Under Mrs. Maberly’s directions the
invalid gathered health and strength, and
the two families became, in deed and
word, the best of good neighbors.— The
Housewife.
Last Coin Spent by Abraham Lincoln.
Dr. J. B. Mobley, of Fairburn, Ga.,
has a curiosity, with a history of unusual
interest attached, in the shape of a ten
cent piece—not a dime, but 3 regular an
cient ten-center. TJ runs this way:
,Oc tb? evening of the 14th of April,
1865, the night on which President
Abraham Lincoln was killed, the Presi
dent, before reaching the opera house,
walked into a drug store close by and
bought of the druggist a bottle of smell
ing salts, paying him therefor ten cents.
He handed the druggist the exact
change, this identical ten-cent piece.
Just as the President walked out of the
drug store, Charley Lines, a Union soldiei
and a member of the 146t1i New York
Volunteers, entered the store and bought
a cigar lor ten cents, and handed the
druggist a t.wenty-tive-cent piece, and
the druggist said:
“Here is ten cents just paid me by
President Lincoln, and here isative-cent
U,;„ n l,.tnr ”
.......
Private Lines placed the ten-cent piece
in his vest pocket and went on his way
rejoicing in the flavor of his cigar. The
next hour and a half brought the news
to the soldier that the President had
been fatally wounded at the opera house.
The soldier thought of the ten-cent
piece immediately, being the last money
the President had spent while in life.
He valued it very highly, and in the fall
of 1866 he met with Dr. J. B. Mobley
and told him about the ten-cent piece he
had. The doctor laughingly asked
Colonel Lines what he would take for
the piece, and Colonel Lines remarked,
jokingly, he would take $25 for it,
whereupon Dr. Mobley pulled out the
amount and handed it to him. Colonel
Lines wanted to back out, but Mobley
insisted, and finally received the piece
from the hands of Colonel Lines.
It appears the drug store mentioned
was only a few steps from the opera
house, and, further, that the President
had a private box at the opera, and, con
sequently, had no ticket to purchase as
he went iu, and Colonel Lines stated it to
be a fact that the druggist said the Presi
dent gave it to him. At any rate, this is
strong evidence that this is the identical
last ten cents Abo Lincoln ever disposed
of during his life. It it dated 1827,
with the Goddess of Liberty, and the
eagle with three arrows in his claws aud
marked 10c. —Atlanta Constitution.
Longest Railway System on Earth.
It is a fact perhaps not generally
known that the West Point Terminal’s
system is the longest on earth.
The Erlanger system—Queen and Ores
; cent—alone added 1157 miles; 336
miles in the Cincinnati Southern; 142
in the Vicksburg and Meridian; 189 ia
the Vicksburg, Shreveport and Pacific;
195 in New Orleans and Northeastern,
and 295 in the Alabama Great Southern.
This makes a total of SlO3 miles of rail
way, and 8600 miles of rail and water
lines combined.
That’s the longest on earth.
The other railways approaching nearest
are as follows:
Union Pacific, 7776.
Pennsylvania system, about 7600.
Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe, 7500.
Chicago and Northwestern, 7082.
Southern Pacific, 6052.
Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul,
5678.
Missouri Pacific, 5094.
Chicago, Burlington and Quincy,
6520. —Atlanta Constitution.
Reminded the Judge of His Duty.
Judge Peters tells the following story,
and always laughs as he tells it: Sheriff
Brown had been elected in Penobscot
County and had made his son the page
or messenger in court. Judge Peters
presided at the first term, and in the
middle of the forenoon announced a re
cess of fifteen minutes. He retired to the
library and soon became immersed in
some legal books, looking up some points
of law. When the time mentioned had
expired the jury came in, but the judge
did not. The Brown boy, who was anx
ious to have everything go off iu good
shape under his father’s administration,
grew nervous, and at last made a bolt for
the library. Walking in and pulling out
Yjs watch, he tapped the judge upon the
’ Nulder and said; “Come, Mr. Peters,
\\e got to hurry. Your time is up
% V ste folks %re a-waiting.”— Lewiston
VawTial./
BUDGET OF FUN.
HUMOROUS SKETCHES FROM
VARIOUS SOURCES.
A Tiff—A Point ot Superiority—Fem
inine Amenities—Foresight—
Earning His Fee—A
Theory, Etc., Etc.
They had a quarrel and she sent ■
His letters back next day;
His ring and all his presents went
To him without delay.
“Pray, send my kisses back to me!”
He wrote; “could you forget them?”
She answered speedily that tie
Must come himself and get them.
— Judge.
FEMININE AMENITIES.
Mrs. Bjones—“How wonderfully Mrs.
Robbins carries her age?”
Mrs. Bsmith (sweetly)—“Yes, consid
ering how much there is of it.”— Detroit
Free Dress.
ins RICHES MAT TAKE WINGS.
Mrs. Snaggs—“The King of Siam has
something laid up for a rainy day.”
Snaggs—“What is it?”
“An umbrella worth s2ooo.”— Pitts-
jurg Chronicle-Telegraph.
A THEORY.
“What is it, do you suppose, that
keeps the moon in place and prevents it
from falling?” asked Araminta.
“I think it must be the beams,” said
Charley, softly.— New York Sun.
WAS CARRIED BY TORNADOES.
Hostess—“So you lived for some time
in Breezy City, Kansas. Did you do
much traveling through that State?”
Guest—“Oh,- yes, whenever the winds
were high,”— New York Weekly.
EARNING HlB FEE.
Cora—“Oh, doctor, 'mamma scolded
me for holding pins in my mouth. Is it
really dangerous?”
Sawbones—“No, my dear. It’s only
dangerous if you swallow them.”—
Epoch.
FEATHER-WEIGHT THOUGHTS.
Dealer—“ Now, here’s n showcase that
will magnify the goods you put into it.”
Customer—“ Great Scott! Then I
don’t want it. I’m a shoe dealer, and I
want a case for displaying women’s
ihoes.”— Chatter.
A POINT OF SUPERIORITY.
Miss Manhattan—“But certainly you
must admit that New Yorkers aie the
west dressed people ixa tlic world. ??
Miss Lakely—“Well, anyhow, it is
acknowledged that Chicago produces the
be3t dressed beef.”— Puck.
COMMENDABLE GOODS.
Merchant—“ Sir, I want you to under
stand that my goods sell themselves.”
Mark Downes—‘lndeed ? And I sup
pose you have all these clerks hanging
round here just to keep you from feeling
lonely.”— Dry Goods Chronicle.
A SPECIAL DELIVERY.
“I delivered a lecture last night,” said
the messenger boy.
“How did you come to do that?”
“The feller, that wrote it forgot to
take it along with him when he went to
the Academy and sent me after it.”
HE WAS SURE OF XT.
Lady Customer (angrily)—“l believe
’here is water in you milk, sir.”
Honest Milkmau—“Yes, madam,there
is. I have on several occasions urged the
cows to he more careful, but they insist
that it is impossible to make milk with
out water.”— Puck.
INTERNATIONAL JOURNALISM.
Hip Lung (of Chinese newspaper at
Peking)—“Here’s a report of a most aw
ful storm in the United States. Hun
dred were killed.”
Fin Wing (managing editor) —“Give
it five lines on an inside page; that’s the
way they treat our disasters.”
MOTHER KNOWS.
Mrs. Fangle—“Lizzie, what time was
it when that young man left last night?”
Lizzie—“ About eleven, mamma.”
Mrs. Fangle—“Now, Lizzie, it was
two hours later than that, for I distinctly
heard him say, as you both went to the
door: ‘Just one, Lizzie.’ You can’t fool ■
your mother.” —New York Sun.
FORESIGHT.
She—“Oh, horrors!”
He—“ What is, it, darling?”
She—“l forgot all about poor pussy,
left in the house alone, and we o 2 for a
week. She’ll starve.”
He : —“Oh, I remembered her. I left
a can of condensed milk ou the kitchen
table with a sardine opener beside it.”—
Life.
SHE LED HIM UP TO IT.
Tramp—“ Madam, have you anything
for me this morning?”
Housewife—“ We’ve a little something
in the barrel; but I’m afraid it’s as heavy
as lead.”
Tramp (smiling)—“l think I can
digest it, madam. Where is the barrel?”
Housewife—“ Hitched to the gun.”—
Puck.
here’s chivalry !
His Mother—“ Willie, Willie, you are
forgetting to say your prayers!”
Willie (crawling into bed) —“No, I
ain't, mamma, but I’ve got an engage
ment to light with Bob Stapleford to
morrow. He doesn’t know how to pray,
and I’m not going to take any unfair ad
vantage of him. betcher life.”— Chicago
Tribune.
quits !
She kissed him as he gave her the
ring.
“George, darling, I have always
lontred for one of this pattern, and you
are the first who loved me sufficiently to
study my tastes in this matter.”
“And yet,” replied he, leveling
things up, “it is no rarity, as in my en
gagements I have never used anything
else.” —Philadelphia Times.
APPROPRIATE MUSIC.
Marguerite (seated beside her affianced
on sofa, to her sister in adjoining room)
—“What is that you be just been play
ing, Dora?”
Dora (aged fifteen) —“Oh, you and
Clarence ought to know!”
Clarence (bravely, but rashly)—
“ ‘Whisperings of Love,’ isn’t it?”
Dora (crushingly)—“No—‘The Luna
tic’s Waltz.’ ”
CORDIAL BUT ILLOGICAL.
Jones was quite struck by the appear
ance of a guest at an evening party
whose name he did not know, but whoss
face was familiar.
“Beg pardon,” he said, going up te
him. “I think we have met before.”
“That is my impression.”
“It wasn't at New Orleans, was it?”
“No; I’ve never been there.”
“Nor I either,” replied Jones in a
burst of illogical enthusiasm.— Judge.
ROMANCE AND REALITY.
Romantic Miss—“Do you love me well
enough to do battle for me?”
Ardent Suitor—“Ay, against a thou
sand.”
“Well, Mr. Bigfish is paying me a
good deal of attention. Would you fight
him for me?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Could you defeat him?”
“N-o, he’d probably thrash the life
out of me.”
“Mercy! Well, never miss!. I’ll take
you without any lighting; and, oh, do
please, remember, my darling, promise
me on your honor, that if you ever see
Mr. Bigfish coming, you’ll run.” —New
York Weekly.
SHE SAVED HIS LIFE.
“Alonzo, darling, once at the seashore
you saved my life!”
4 ‘Do not speak of it. I ”
“I think I said whether as a friend, a
sister or in still dearer relation I would
remember and recompense you.”
“You did, dear, you did; but
what ”
“One moment. Until the present I
refused your entreaties to bake. To-day
I acceded to them. But remember my
vow. Before I put my work on the table
I gave one of the cakes to Fido. Come
out and see him.”
He did so, and they buried the dog
and the cook book in the same grave,—
Philadelphia Times.
WHERE THE LEAK WAS.
Mr. Billus (looking over his expense
account)—“Maria, we spent exactly SSO
more than our income this year. We’ve
got to retrench.”
Mrs. Bilius—“lt wasn’t my fault,
John. I didn’t lose $75 on the election,
nor pay out S4O in club dues, nor spend
$65 for cigars, nor run through with
$l2O in three days at the races, nor in
dorse a note for S2OO for a mere ac
quaintance and lose it, nor ”
Mr. Billus (still looking through the
expense account)—“None of these things
account for that SSO. By Jove! Here
it is! ‘Subscription for pastor’s salary,
sso?’ Maria, we can’t stand that! The
preacher will have to get along without
anything from me this year.” —Chicago
Tribune.
Behring, the Russian Navigator.
Behring Straits are so named from
j Vitus Behring, who was a navigator iu
\ the Russian service. He was born in
I Denmark in 1680, and died 1741. He
entered the Russian naval service in 1704,
was mace a Captain by Peter the Great,
served with distinction in the war be
tween Russia and Sweden, and in 1723
was placed in command of an expedition
:of discovery iu the Arctic Seas. Re
| turning from this, he was,in 1728,placed
in command of another expedition to the
seas bordering upon the northern part of
Siberia. The explorations connected
with the expedition lasted several years,
in the course of which he discovered that
the continents of Asia and America were
separated by the narrow strait that bears
his name. Ou June 4, 1741, he again
set sail from Ohkosh, in command of two
vessels. He sailed apparently as far
north as latitude 69 degrees, but stormy
weather and sickness in his crews com.
pelled him to return. He was wrecked
on a desolate island in latitude 55 de
grees, 22 minutes, north, longitude 166
degrees east, where he died. This island
and the sea in which it lies still bear his
name. He founded the Russian settle
ment of Petropavloosk, in Kamschatka.
Tha ad jacent coasts of Behring Strait
j are uninhabited. Russia acquired her
! American possessions, which she sold to
! the United States, by virtue of the right
jof discovery, Vitus Behring, as above
explained, having, in 1741, discovered
the rocky range of mountains, the crown
ing peak of which is Mount St. Elias.—
New York Dispatch.
The Bottom Drops Out, of a Lake
In Sheffield, Ala., the new iron town,
• a curious phenomenon is puzzling the
. local scientists. From time immemorial
I a lake of considerable depth and covering
several acres of ground has existed anil
has been a famous fishing resort for
j sportsmen. A few weeks since the peo
! pie in the vicinity were panic-stricken by
| a fearful noise and subterranean rumb
j ling as of an earthquake. In the morn
i ing it was discovered that the lake had
i entirely disappeared, the bottom having
I literally dropped out, the water escaping
through a hole fifteen feet in diameter.
Indians Keeping Bachelors’ Hall.
The Portland Oregonian says. “Nearly
every able-bodied Indian woman of the
Umatilla tribe has left her wigwam and
gone on a hunt for sheep pelts, which
they remove from dead sheep, bring to
town and sell. The braves are compelled
to lower their dignity by cooking their
own meals, and mourn the loss of their
better halves.”
A COUNTRY IDYLJ’.
1 “Have you dug your grass?” asked the dty
chap
Of the staring farmer man,
For he thought he would not crush th
swain
Beneath his social ban.
“How was your crop when you dug youj
grass?
Did the weevils hurt your peas?
And did the canker worm destroy x
Your young cucumber trees?
“I love, good sir, the country air.
From the town I fain would flea
And lose myself in rural dreams
’Neath the potato tree.
I would pluck the turnip from its vine,
Through the parsnip meadow push,
Aud rest beneath the grateful shade
Of the bending cabbage bush.
“Oh, I fain would be a simple swain
And drive my yoke of cows,
And rest at noon beneath the shade
Of the rutabaga boughs.
Oh, I’d hunt the woods for the cocoanut
bush
The whole of the livelong day,
Or start at morn with the rustic hoe
To dig the hills for hay.
“And if at noonday I grew faint
With my labor’s strain and rush,
I would mix the milkweed’s luscious milk
With mushroom’s luscious mush.
I would pluck the pineapple from the pine-.
But why has your color fled?”
But the farmer fell with a sickening thud
The farmer man was dead!
—Texas Siftings.
PITH JiNB POINT.
Handled Titksat glare: -Soap.
A dead poet—The poet laurie ate.
A financial crash—The bank towel.
A man of letters—Mr. Mieczysobjiel-
Wisoivwiecki.
There is no tongue tide in a tongue
tied woman.— Yonkers Gazette.
“Gas is going up,” as the aeronaut
said when he cut the balloon rope.
“Thrice is he armed who hath his quarrel
just,”
And four times he who gets his blow in fust.’
—Atlanta Constitution.
A horse has the advantage over man in
one thing, he’s worth more after ho’i
broke than he was before.— Berkshire
News.
‘ ‘Remember to sweep the parlor verj
clean to-day, Mary. A gentleman is
coming this evening who will kneel to
me.”— Boston Budget.
Chairmen of conventions have often
found, to their sorrow, that the hardest
of all gates to shut up are delegates.—
Burlington Free Press.
When a young man embraces uii his
opportunities he is quite apt upon oc
casions to get an armful of something
nice.— Binghanton Leader.
“This House For Sail!” the placard read,
And ’ere there was a bid,
A Kansas cyclone struck the place—
And, sure enough, it did.
Whiteside Herald.
“Wake up, Chappie. Which of these
houses is yours?” Chappie (a little the
worse for wear) —“Zhe one thet—Lie—
Btsh me night-key—hie—of coursh,
shtupid.”— Epoch.
“Sue was stupid to-night,” said Fred,
“She yawned, as I could see.”
“I’m more to blame than she,” Joe said;
“She sat up last night with me.”
— Epoch.
Mrs. Brown—“ What made you call
your grandmother down all those steps?”
Little Johnnie—“ Because since she’s the
rheumatism she looks so funuy coming
iown stairs.”— Epoch.
A dude is a fellow who would
Bea young girl if he could;
But as he can’t, does ail he can
To show the world he's not a man.
— Chatter.
Bobby—“ What animal is that, pa?”
Pa—“ That is an old hyena, Bobby.”
Bobby—“ Why, pa, that doesn’t look a
bit like you. Mu doesn’t know what she
talks about half the time, does she?”—
Judge.
Although my heart’s been oft awhirl,
It happened thus, you see:
I always chanced to love tho girl
Who didn’t care for me.
— Life.
“Sold out your grocery business al
ready? What for?” “Couldn’t make
any money out of it.” “You should
have stuck to it lrniger. You hadn’t
perseverance enough.” (Wearily) “No,
f suppose I lacked sand. —Chicago Tri
bune.
“Beware! there may be rooks ahead,”
I said, bat he with merry laughter
Replied: “I hope so, for when I wed,
The ‘rocks’ are what I’m after!”
—Pittsburg Bulletin.
“Oh, my poor little lamb.” said a ten
der hearted lady at the butcher’s, “1
hate to order the meat and think I’m
helping to destroy the little creatures."
“I can send ’em around alive, ma’am, il
you say so,” said the butcher.— Chatter.
Daughter—“ Papa, George has asked
me to marry him and I have said ‘Yes.’ ”
Papa—“And I would have said ‘No.’"
Daughter (respectfully)—“That’s what
you should have said, papa, if a young
man asked you to marry him.”—Wash
ington Star.
A book agent says: “We can elevate
our business and make it a grand success
if our friend and brother will but lend a
helping hand and bestow upon us a kind
word.” As it is now-, the book agent is
too often elevated by his “friend and
brother bestowing upon him a helping
foot.” —Norristown Herald.
A gentleman went to keep a written
appointment in Wall street with a broker
whom he did not know by sight. See
ing a forlorn-looking gentleman seated in
the office, he said : “I beg pardon, sir,
are you the broker?” To which the
other promptly replied: “No, sir, I’ra
the fellow that got broke!” —Tczis Sift*
ings.
Her Good Fortune.
Miss Crabtree—“And so your sistei
has married an Italian Count.”
Miss Giltman—“Yes, the wedding oc
curred last week.”
Miss Crabtree—“What a fortunate
girl. You know she was always so fond
of bananas and roasted chestnut*.”