Newspaper Page Text
THE WEEKLY CHRONICLE.
VOL I. NO. 19.
"NOTAS I WILL.“
BHndfoLled and alone I stand
With unknown thresholds on each hand,
The darkness deepens as I grope.
Afraid to fear, afraid to hope;
Yet this one thing I learn to know
Each day more surely as I go,
That doors are opened, ways are made,
Burdens are lifted or are laid
By some great law unseen and sti)
Unfathomed purpose to fulfill,
“ Not as I will.”
Blindfolded and alone I wait;
Loss seems too bitter, gam too late;
Too heavy burdens in the load.
And joy is weak and grief is strong,
And years and days so long, so long;
Yet this one thing I learn to know
Each day more surely as I go,
That I am glad the good and ill
"By changeless law are ordered still,
“ Not as I will.”
“ Not as I will;” the sound grows sweet
Each time my lips the words repeat.
“Notas I will”—the darkness feels
More safe than light when this thought steals
Like whispered voice to calm and bless
All unrest and loneliness.
“Not as I will”—because the One
Who loved us first and best has gone
Before us on the road, and still
For us must all His love fulfill.—
“Not as we will.”
—Helen Hunt Jackson. ?
HERMIONE.
BY MARY E. MOFFAT.
The master of Briar Hedge Farm stood
thoughtfully apart from the place where
his young cousin was laving his face and
hands at the hydrant, which had been
placed in the summer kitchen for the
convenience of the men in the busy sea
■on.
Some unpleasant thing had happened,
or Guy Fellows’s frank face would not
have worn such a perplexed, uneasy
look. At last he said, quietly:
“I wish to speak to you, Lcuis.”
“Yes, Guy,” answered Louis, in a
startled voice; for Guy’s manner was so
unlike his usual one that it foreboded
trouble of some kind, though what it
could be was a puzzle. Had he hurt
himself? or had his pet colt gone lame?
“Something unpleasant has happened.
Hermione’s bank-book is gone, and they
tell me, at the bank, that the money
was drawn yesterday by a man who had
an -order purporting to be signed by
me.
“Either the officials at the bank are
very careless, or the handwriting must
have been a good imitation. Banks
can’t be much protection to the people
depositing in them, if it is so easy to
get another person’s money out. It
* strikes me I won't patronize them much
when my ship comes in.”
“Forgery is difficult to be guarded
against, Louis,and the name appended to
the order is such a perfect facsimile of my
autograph that I myself could not detect
the difference. Is this your work?”
As Louis looked at the page of foolscap
which was held toward him, and which
was scribbled over with various names,
among which was that of Guy Fellows,
he first turn red and then pale. For
Loais was very expert with his pen, and
was always coppying specimens of
peculiar handwriting which fell in his
way.
“Yes, it is mine,” he said, with a
brave effort to tell the truth, no matter
what might be the consequences. For
like a lightning flash he realized what
danger was hanging over him—a worse
•ne than was the fabled sword which
had threatened Damocles in olden time,
for that only menaced life, and this, at
what did it not strike a blow? Foran
instant he stood as though dazed, look
ing blankly into Guy Fellows’s troubled
face; then he threw himself impulsively
upon his knees before him.
“I see now. It looks badly, Cousin
Guy, but don t judge me by appearances
—judge me by what you know of me
since we have been together. Do you
think any one who knew her would
have a hand in robbing Hermoine? No,
not even if he were an accomplished
thief, far less a man whose only wealth
lies in his good name!”
“I believe you, Louis, even in the
face of evidence which would convict
you in a court of justice. I have felt all
along that you were innocent; and, see
Jiere.”
As Guy Fellows spoke he held up the
paper which had been given as an order
for the money, and let Louis compare the
brief form signed with his name with
the practice-sheet which he had ac-
knowledged as his work. Then he turned
and lifting a lid from the cook-stove, put
the dangerous document in and watched
it catch tire and then burn to ashes.
Guy Fellows, although scarcely thirty-
five, had already come into a fine inher
itance by the death of his father. He was
a practical farmer, and also what some
people consider a visionary one. That
is, he was always trying any new experi
ment which might commend itself as an
improvement uponold-fashicned ways.
Louis Carmichael was a second cousin,
who had been taken under his protec
tion after the death of his parents. He
had been with him now about four years,
and although somewhat dreamy and un
practical, had grown very dear to his
generous kinsman.
Another inmate of the family was
Hermoine Alleyne, the orphan ward of
Guy Fellows. She was two years
younger than Louis, but looked to be
his equal in age, as he was, slender and
boyish-looking, while HerJßfeM|^^>f
tall and stately proportions. But her
playful ways, and merry, laughing face
we still essentially child-like.
In his secret heart Louis cherished the
the hope that, some time in the far
future, he might win her love, when he
should have attained to fortune and
fame. But Hermione was quite an
heiress for a country-bred girl, and he
was too proud to let her know of his
love unless he could meet her upon equal
ground.
Now, had Guy been less noble in his
trusting generosity, Louis would have
been crushed to the earth with shame.
As it was, it caused him to elevate his
cousin into the hero of his life, and
determine to repay him.
It was quite a long time before he had
the desired chance, but it came at last.
Guy, although wealthy, did not disdain
to put his own shoulder to the -wheel
day after day and sethis men a good ex
ample. None could lay a more regular
swath of grass with the sickle in mow
ing time. No one could cut or bind
the ranks of grain -with more rapidity
than he. It was before the time when
mowing and reaping machines took all
the poetry out of harvesting, and Her
mione was fond of making a visit to the
scene of labor about luncheon time,
carrying with her a pitcher brimming
over with a cooling, non-stimulating
beverage with which to quench the men’s
thirst.
Then, book in hand, she would seat
herself under the shade of some friendly
tree, and alternately read or note the
movements of the actors in the busy
scene before her.
One day in the height of the harvesting
one of the men fell ill, and it chanced
that a stranger came to the place and
asked to be employed about the farm.
He was a dark, unprepossessing man,
with restless, uneasy svays and lowering,
stealthy looks from his deep-set eyes;
but Guy engaged him, thinking only of
the inconvenience of being short-handed
at the time.
After they had all set off for the fields
a man drove up to the farm-house in hot
haste, asking if a person of the stranger’s
description had been seen there; and
upon receiving a reply in the affirmative
he looked very much startled, and caused
Hermione’s blood to turn cold in her
veins by explaining the cause of the un
easiness.
“He is an escaped lunatic, and nearly
killed his keeper to make his way out of
the mad-house. If his frenzy seizes upon
him he will make a bloody record for
himself before the day is over. Is any
one here who can go and w r arn Mr. Fel
lows? It won’t answer for me to be
seen by him. He knows me and it
would set him frantic to know that he
has been followed. The only safety lies
in not arousing his suspicions until a
strait-jacket can be put upon him.”
“I will go,” said Hermione, unhesitat
ingly. “I would do anything to prevent
such a tragedy!”
“Take this with you and give it to
Mr. Fellows. It is a strait-jacket.
Whisper the truth about the man to him,
and tell him to -watch his opportunity
and take him by surprise.”
She reached the place, and catching
her guardian’s eye, motioned him to
come to her; and, in a few frightened
whispers, told him the danger that
threatened him.
Some instinct must have attracted the
lunatic's attention and conveyed to his
mind the idea that they were speaking
of him; for, with a -wild cry, he banished
the scythe he held in his hand -with
threatening gestures and shouts of fren
zied fary. Then he started toward them.
Louis had stopped work a moment
previous, and was about half-way be
tween his cousin and the madman. Look
ing up, upon hearing the discordant
yells, he saw at once that Guy's life was
in danger, and, throwing himself direct
ly in front of the madman, caught him
about the waist and clung to him, mak
ing himself as much of a deadweight as
possible. The swinging scythe described
a mad circle in the air, and then it
descended upon Louis, giving him a fear
ful cut in the side. But by this rime others
had reached them, and the lunatic was
overpowered by numbers and secured.
Louis, however, lay like one dead—
prostrated by the shock, and -with the
blood pouring from his ghastly wound.
Unless it could be stanched at once he
must bleed to death; but where were the
cloths to apply to it before a messenger
could be sent to the farm-house?
This queston was soon answered.
Hermione was dressed in a dainty gown
of embroidered white linen, with a man
tle of the same material over her shoul
ders. She tore this in pieces, and,
kneeling by him, applied one after an
other to his wound as each in turn be
came wet with blood. Her white hands
were colored crimson, and her dross was
spotted with the same ensanguined hue;
but she faltered not. She who had al
ways before felt faint, even at the sight
of blood, now unflinchingly played the
part of surgeon until more skilled help
could arrive.”
In these terrible moments Hermione
first learned her heart's secret. Without
Louis the whole world would henceforth
be as nothing to her.
For long days afterward the youth’s
life trembled in the balance, but at last
his aaturally strong constitution
triumphed and he began to mend. Guy
and Hermione were rarely absent from
his bedside, and one day Louis surprised
them by saying with a faltering voice,
while his pale lips parted in a half
•mile:
“Cousin Guy, we are even. One good
turn deserves another. You saved my
FORT GAINES, GA.. FRIDAY, JUNE 12, 1891.
reputation, and I rather think you would
have been a dead man now if it hadn’t
been for me. It’s worth one's while to
earn a fellow’s gratitude, isn’t it?”
“What does he mean? Is his mind
wandering?” asked Hermione, looking
from one to the other with surprised
eyes.
“He is thinking of the bank book you
lost, Hermione. He was afraid I would
connect him with the forgery on account
of bis fancy for copying signatures.”
“What a silly boy! I would as soob
imagine an angel from heaven could do
such ft thing as you Louis!” and Her
mione took bis poor, pale hand and
kissed it, bright tears falling upon it as
she did so, in spite of her efforts at self
control. “And lam sure Cousin Guy
never once thought of it, did you?”
turning almost fiercely toward her
guardfan. “If you did I would never
forgive you!”
Guy smiled. Her indignation was so
childishly impulsive that it took away
the sting of her words. Then, too, he
did not deserve it.
“Gently, Hermione,” he said, “or
you may hurt Louis’s feelings. You
won’t hear Cousin Guy scolded, will you,
boy?”
But Louis made no answer. He was
for the moment oblivious of the presence
or even of the existence of any one but
Hermione. Her agitation had betrayed
her secret to him, and he was so exult
antly, recklessly happy that he recked
not of anything outside of the one bliss
ful fact that his «love was returned by
Hermione.
“I see. ’Tis the old, old story,” said
Guy, gravely but kindly; and he took
Hermione’s hand and placed it within
Louis’s, “and I will now leave you alone
to settle matters between you, merely
saying tor you, Louis, that the Upland
farm is yours, and that I shall secure to
you the funds with which to carry it on
successfully. As you said, a little while
ago, ‘One good turn deserves another.’
and I thus prove the truth of the adage.
You proved it previously in what was
almost your death.”
As soon as Louis was fully recovered,
he and Hermoine were married.
It was not until several years later that
the truth about the lost bank-book came
out. It had been left carelessly upon
the library table, and a thief who had
gained unobserved entrance to the
house had stolen it, and at the same
time had picked up one of Louis’s
practice-papers, thinking that it would
serve to aid him in drawing the money,
as he had a confederate who was handy
enough with his pen to take advantage
of the sac-simile to Guy Fellows’s hand
writing.—Fashion Bazar.
“The Silent Dane.”
In his early manhood Moltke was
called “The Silent Dane,” and later he
was popularly known as “The Great
Taciturn;” yet he could speak seven
languages fluently. Although one of the
world’s profoundest and sternest soldiers,
he was one of the most modest and affec
tionate of men. Occasionally one might
see him in Berlin driving in a plain cab,
or sauntering along a principal street
looking in at the shop window’s, but few
recognized him. He was as regular as
the sun in his daily tasks; and even in
the lighter employments ot his long life
he was ever painstaking and methodical.
Out of these traits grew, withal, his fine
literary ability, that, besides his pub
lished letters, produced several valuable
military histories.
The crowning honor of his life was
the way Germany celebrated the comple
tion of his ninetieth year. From the
Baltic to the Alps, from the Vosges to
the Vistula, every household joined in
the great jubilee, hung out the national
colors and likenesses of Moltke in Hags
and torches. Berlin was decorated and
enthusiastic as it had never before been
for any private citizen. Germans
throughout the world set apart October
26, 1890, as a fete day for the Vater
land, and a day of praises and congratu
lations for her greatest soldier. The
grim old Field Marshal was taciturn, al
most by necessity, being nearly smoth
ered by honors and rich presents; but
when the city fathers of Berlin sent him
their greetings, accompanied by the
sum of fifty thousand marks as a charity
fund for the relief of the aged and in
firm, he replied: “Gentlemen, say to
your Council that this gift touches my
heart, and that of the many and rich
presents I have received to-day, this is
the most valued.” When, since the,’
death of Washington, has the world seen
a more modest, complete, successful and
noble life?— Harper's Weekly.
Sheep’s Wool Sponge.
There is on exhibition at a store in
Pearl street, New York, an enormous
sheep’s wool sponge, which is said to be
the largest one ever obtained. It meas
ures ten feet in circumference and is two
feet thick, being quite solid throughout.
It was fished up near the Bahama Islands
by the crew of a vessel engaged in that
trade, and, judging by the stories of the
fishermen, they had a tough time in get
ting their prize aboard. Being in a
small dingey when the hooks fastened
themselves in the sponge, the men nearly
upset their boat in the effort to haul the
sponge to the surface. When it was
finally secured, the iron prongs of the
hook had become straightened out un
der the tremendous weight. When thor
oughly soaked this monster sponge is said
to hold ten pailfuls of water. — Times’
Democrat.
The farmer declares a dividend on his
plowshares.— Washington Star.
HE THRASHED THE BULLY.
HOW A SOLDIER WON AN OFFI
CER’S COMMISSION,
A Good AVar Story Told by Ex-Gover
nor Curtin, of Pennsylvania—The
’ Result of a Midnight Kow.
Amos J. Cummings relates in the Nev/
York Sun a war story, which he heard
ex-Governor Curtin of Pennsylvania tell
during the last session of Congress. The
incident occurred in the second or third
year of the war. The Governor had left
Harrisburg, and come to Washington on
business. A great battle had been fought.
The number of killed and wounded had
mounted into the thousands. Governor
Curtin had been in consultation with the
President and members of his Cabinet.
Ho had returned to the Capitol, where
an old lady dressed in deep mourning
accosted him. She was evidently very
poor and nearly distracted. She wore
old-fashioned black mits, and her habili
ments of woe were worn and rusty. Her
face was wan and wrinkled, and her fin
gers were toughened with work and
gnarled with rheumatism. She had not
beard from her boy since the great bat
tle, and she had come to Washington in
search of information. He had enlisted
in a regiment raised in the mountains of
Pennsylvania, and had been at the front
for more than a year.
“Oh, Governor,” she cried, as tears
itreamed down her faded cheeks, “my
boy never failed to write before. He al
ways sent me a letter after a battle. I
haven’t heard from him now in more
than a fortnight. He’s the only boy left
me, and I can never live without him.
Oh, I fear he’s dead or sorely wounded.
If I could only get through the lines to
nurse him or bring his body back home.
Please, Governor, try to get me a pass,
and God will bless you. My heart will
break without my boy.”
The Governor said that he heard the
number of the regiment with a shudder.
It had been in the very heart of the
fight, and had been cut to pieces. His
heart went out to the old mother. If
her boy was alive he was determined
that she should see him, or if dead that
she should have his body. Upon ques
tioning her he found that she was ut
terly destitute. She hadn’t even money
enough to pay for a night’s lodging. He
assured her that he would do what he
could for her. He would see either the
President or the Secretary of War in the
morning and get her a pass through the
lines. Then he took her by the arm and
escorted her down stairs. Passing out
under the arch of the Senate wing of the
Capitol he hailed a cab. Gallantly as
sisting the old lady into it he paid the
cabman his fee, and told him to drive
his charge to a hotel where the Governor
was well known, and where he had sent
many a destitute friend. As the cab
rattled away the Governor turned to re
enter the Capitol, when he met John
Sherman, Ben Wade, and Gelusha A.
Grow, then Speaker of the House. The
Senate had adjourned, and they were on
their way home. It was a clear night.
The great temple of national legislation
shone in the moonlight like a palace of
alabaster. The city lay below them,
dotted with gas lights. The music of a
drum was heard away off on the right.
A railroad train had arrived with a new
regiment, and the troops were seeking
quarters at the Soldiers’Rest.
The four statesmen descended Capitol
Hill together. They drifted down Penn
sylvania avenue, conversing on political
topics. They had halted on a corner
near the National Hotel preparatory to
separating, when a cab was driven to the
curb near by. Its driver was in alterca- I
tion with a woman inside the vehicle. I
Governor Curtin was even then telling |
the Senators and Speaker the story of :
his meeting with the old lady in the
Capitol. The altercation attracted his I
attention. The driver was using vil- i
lainous language. He insisted that his
passenger should leave the hack then and j
there, or he would pull her out.
“Something told me,” said the Gov
ernor, “that it was my old lady who was
in trouble.”
He stepped to the door of the hack
and looked in. The suspicion was con
firmed. She was the old woman whom
he had sent to the hotel, and she was in
trouble. The driver had not taken her
to her destination. He had stopped at
two or three saloons, and spent his fee
for liquor. Possibly he had forgotten
where the old lady was to go, but at all :
events he had determined to drop her on
the street and let her shift for herself.
He was filling the air with profanity and
threatening the poor old woman with
violence. The Governor was indignant.
He asked the hackman whether he had
not paid him to take the old lady to a
specified place of shelter. The driver
swore that he had never seen him before,
and threatened to punch his head if he
did not mind his own business. The
Governor’s indignation was getting the
better of his judgment. Sherman and
Grow tried to calm him, but old Ben
Wade grew as hot as a bird pepper and
swore like a pirate. He not only wanted
the hackman thiashed, but he wanted to
help Curtin thrash him. The driver was
a giant. He laid his whip across the
foot rest of his hack and squared away. •
He evidently meant to down not the
Governor alone, but the Senators and the
Speaker.
Things were looking decidedly squally
when a boy in blue came along. He
carried a musket, and wore the tail of a
buck in his cap. The Governor recog
aized the insignia. The soldier was a
member of Colonel Kane's famous Buck
tail Brigade. Over six feet tall, he was
brawny and well proportioned. He
looked like a raftsman, and he swung
along the avenue as if the world was too
i^wll for him. He was promptly hailed, j
“Do you know me?” the Governor !
asked.
“Yes,” was the reply. “You’re Andy
Curtin, Governor of Pennsylvania. I’ve
seen you many a time at home and in the
field.”
“I want you to do me a favor,” the
Governor continued, pointing to the
hackmau who had already begun io
skirmish with Ben Wade.
The boy in blue sensed the situation
in a twinkling. Turning to the Gover
nor. he said: “Hold my musket.’’
Then he jumped between Ben Wade
and the cabman and sailed in. It was a
rough aud tumble worthy of the days of
Poole and Morrissey. The raftsman
proved too much for the bully. He had
a terrific struggle, but finally literally
mopped the sidewalk with him. The
hackman looked ns if he had been
through a fanning mill.
Governor Curtin ascertained the name
of the soldier, and placed the old lady in
his charge. She arrived at her destina
tion without further trouble. On the
next day he secured passes for her, and
she went to the front for her boy.
Two weeks afterward Private Fox of
the Bucktail Brigade received an order
directing him to report at the Adjutant-
General’s office in Harrisburg. Trans
portation and supplies were furnished. It
w r as a bright and sunny morning when he
entered the city. Without delay he
sought the office of the Adjutant-Gen
eral. There he was told that the Gov
ernor wanted to see him. The way to
the Executive chamber was pointed out.
The soldier entered with his haversack
swinging at his side. The Governor
stood near a table, talking with a friend.
He saw Private Fox approaching him.
The soldier -was awkward and very much
embarrassed.
“Good morning, Lieutenant,” said the
Governor, “I’m glad to see you.”
“Why, Governor,” replied the boy in
blue, “you make a mistake. I'm not a
Lieutenant. I’m only a private.”
“It is you who make the mistake,” the
Governor replied, with a smiling face.
“Y’ou were only a private last night, but
you are a Lieutenant this morning. Here
is your commission.”
It was the commission of a First Lieu
tenant. The parchment was gratefully
accepted. The soldier expressed his
thanks. He was modestly asserting a
doubt as to his merits, when the Gover
nor replied: “I know your record. Y’ou
can truthfully say that you won your
rank by service on the battlefield.”
The Governor dispensed the usual hos
pitalities and Lieut. Fox departed. His
fate showed that he richly merited the
distinction. Within three months he
became Captain and afterward Major. He
was shot through the heart while leading
his regiment as its Lieutenant-Colonel in
a charge at Spottsylvania.
Growth of Business in the South.
Eight columns of the Baltimore Manu
facturers’ Record are occupied by Super
intendent Porter, of the United States
Census, on the wonderful progress of the
South and the intrinsic merits of South
ern investments. He shows by compara
tive statistics that the mineral develop
ment of that section and its increase of
manufacture during the last decade
have been of such magnitude and impor
tance as to “seriously attract the atten
tion of the world.” In no part of the
country is there a more satisfactory show
ing of industrial advancement. Com
pared with the situation even in 1880 this
advancement is wonderful, with that of
1870 it is amazing, with the condition of
things at the close of a devastating war
it reads like ata’e of magic and suggests
a miracle. Look at the cities that have
grown up in this period—Anniston, with
its population of nearly 10,000, where
ten years ago the number of inhabitants
: was less than 1,000; Birmingham, un
known in 1870, now a flourishing town
of 20,000, and the centre of industrial
activity of 75,000 people; Florence,
Sheffield, Chattanooga, Johnson City.
Tenn.; Roanoke, Va., and a hundred
similar examples of prosperous growth
due to the evolution of mineral industries
that prior to 1860 were slumbering, un
developed, almost unheard of forces.
Mr. Porter cites the astonishing facts that
the South is to-day producing as much
coal, iron ore and pig iron as the entire
United States produced in 1870; that
enough iron ore, exists in Eastern Ten
nesseee to supply the Southwest with
steel and iron for a thousand years, and
in the same part of the same State enough
coals beds already discovered to supply
the same great section with coal for a
century; that Kentucky and East Ten
nessee abound in superior coking coal,
and that the out-put of the coal-produc
ing State of the South in 1890 was more
than twice that of the whole country in
1860. It is also the opinion of Mr. Por
ter that during the next ten years the
manufacture of steel will increase in as
great a proportion as the product of coal
and pig iron has increased in the ten
years just past. But it is not alone in
the development of her mineral resourc
es that the South is thus forging to the
front. Georgia has become the fourth
in the list of marble-producing States:
Arkansas leads all the other Southern
States in the output of lumber, and in
West Virginia, Tennessee, and Ken
tucky the manufacture of lumber has in
creased 158 per cent, in the last decade;
the product of the 3,382 saw mills of the
South is valued at §112,879,000; the
number of cotton mills has increased
from 156 to 366, and of the total cotton
crop of the world the South grows about
three-fourths, or an annual average of
7,000,000 bales.—[Washington Post.
The Humps of Camels.
The humps of camels are mere lumps
of fat, and not provided for in the
framework of the skeleton. When the
animal is in good condition the humps
are full and plump. On a long journey
where food is scarce the humps are en
tirely absorbed, the skin covering them
hanging over the flank like an empty
box.— St. Louis Republic.
Alaska claims the largest quartz milk
81.00 A YEAR.
ns SWEET TO^REST.I
1 *
When, in th© early dawn of life
The childish hands grow tired
Then from the nursery din and strife
The baby feet, speed, fast away
And never cease until they find
That mother’s door is open wide;
And tightly clasped in.arms so kind
The little one doth now abide;
What cares he now, her baby boy.
His weary head- is on her breast,
To him tho world is naught but joy, •
For now he knows, “’Tia sweet to rastfP
Years pass. He’s now in middle life.
His youthful joys have fled away.
His soul is rent by care and strife,
His heart’s no longer young and gay;
The mother whom he loved so well
Has long since sought her home abov^
His wife and child havo gone to dwell
lu realms of everlasting love;
He’s lonely, weary, and in vain
His feelings he has long suppressed;
For now they all rise up again
And tell him that, “ ’Tis sweet to rest.*
But quick! lead on, good Father Tima,
Who can that aged stranger be!
See now the hillside he doth climb,
And now sinks down all wearily. '
His hoary head is bent and gray.
The flickering spark of life is gone,
His sorrowing soul has passed away;
And now his weary toil is done.
He sleeps tho sleep of peace and joy,
He’s gone to lie on God’s dear breast.
The mother's come to take her boy
To where ’tis ever sweet to rest.
-Katherine Walker, in Boston Transcript.
HUMOR OF THE DAT.
An old stick-in-the-mud—An anchor.
It is peculiar that when a man is full
he lias a vacant look.
There is very little security in a light
ning bolt.— Lowell Courier.
“ Some men can't stand suspense,’* as
the philosopher said when he witnessed
the hanging— Columbus Post.
The man that has “gone to grass” finds
that he has to keep off of it when ho has
got to the public parks.— Puck.
A Chicago man has just had a coat-of
arms fixed up with the motto, “All
things come to him who hustles.”
“Hello,’’said the citizen, as he watched
a cloud of dust arising, “I seo real es
tate is going up again.”— Washington
Post.
That was an ingenious disciple of Isaak
alton who fished for electric eels with
a lightning rod.— Boston Commercial Bul
letin.
It is all right to hawk spring-chickens
about the streets, but it isn’t to hawk
them about a barnyard.—
Star.
Sharp—“Renthaus is going to move
again.” Flat—“Howdo you know.**
Sharp—“ He’s using up the back steps
for kindling. ” — Puck.
A- man in North Carolina has a horse 40
years old, and he is doing all he can to
smooth the animal's pathway to the glue
factory— Texas Siflings.
Freshly—“ The moon is just comfort*
ably full now.” Old Soak (with the
o vic I^c of experience)—“lt will
soon be reduced to its last quarter.”
Sunday School Teacher:—“ When
your father and mother forsake you, who
will take you up ? ” Small Boy; “The
periice, sir.”—— liar card Lampoon.
Beggar—“lwas once a soldier, sir.”
Veteran— “You were, eh? I’ll proveit.
Attention! Eyes right!—now, what is
next?” Beggar—“ Present arms.”— Neta
York Herald..
Things Ohe Would Ratner: Algernon
(who is much given to talking in phrases)
—“Angelina, I love you with a fer
vor—a fervor worthy of a better cause 1”
—Harvard. Lampoon.
Mr. Rasticus—“Mias Simper, shall we
promenade?” Miss Simper— “Prome
nahd? With a pleasure.” Mr. Rasti
cua—“Shall we have a glass of——er—
lemonahd first?”— Chicago Tribune.
“Mercy me 1 ” said Miss Passee; “ I
sincerely.hope they will not pass the law
making a day of eight hours.” “ Why
not ? ” “Just think how rapidly we shall
age ! Just three times as fast.”— Har*
par's Bazar.
The editor of the Chicago Tribune hat
probably run into an umbrella. He
prints this admonition: “No mao should
carry a half opened umbrella in a crowd.
He should either put up or shut up.”—
Kansas City Star.
Old Vickars—“Oh, of course, you
think you know ever so much more than
your father.” Young Vickars—“Ob,
no, I don’t; indeed I don’t. It is, no
doubt, true that your age and experience
more than counterbalance my superior
intellectual ability, pa.”— lndianapolis
Journal.
“ Well,” said a lawyer as he entered hie
condemned client’s cell, “ good news at
last.” “A reprieve?” eagerly ex
claimed the prisonor. “ No, not a re
prieve, but your uncle has died and left
you $2500, and now you can meet your
fate with the satisfying feeling that" the
noble efforts of your lawyer in your be
half were not unrewarded”— London Tid
Bits.
“Young man,” said the stern father,
“do you realize that my daughter is in
the habit of wearing dresses that cost all
the way from SSO to $100?” “I do,”
replied the young man, firmly, “and,
sir,” he continued, an exultant ring in
his voice,” it was only the other night
that we took an account of stock and
found that she had enough of them •»
lastthxoa years ahead.”— Cloak Review