Newspaper Page Text
HOW BUNGAY FOOLED HER.
Max Adder , in X. Y. Weekly.
Bunny, the real-estate agent over at
Pencauer, suspected that Mrs. Bungay
didn’t care as much for him as she ought
to. So one day he went up to the citv
after leaving word that he would he gone
two or three days. While there he ar
ranged with a friend to send a telegram to
his wife at a certain hour, announcing that
lie had been run over on the railroad and
killed. Then Bungay came home and slip
ping into the house unperceived, he secre
ted himself in the closet in the sitting-room,
to await the arrival of the telegram and to
sec how Mrs. Bungay took it. After a
while it come, and he saw the servant girl
give it to his wife. She opened it. and as
she read it she gave one little start. Then
Bungay saw a smile gradually overspread
her features. She rang for the girl, and
when the servant came Mrs. Bungay said to
her:
“Marv, Mr. Bungay’s been killed. I've
just got the news. I reckon I'll have to
put on black for him, though 1 hate to
give up my new bonnet for mourning. You
just go round to the milliner’s and ask her
to fetch me up some of the latest styles of
widow’s bonnets, and tie a bunch of crape
on the door, and then bring the undertaker
here.”
While Mrs. Bungay was waiting she
smiled continually, and once or twice she
danced around the room, and stood in front
of the looking-glass, and Bungay heard her
murmur to herself:
“ I ain't such a bad-looking woman,
either. I wonder what James will think
of me ?”
“ James!” thought Bungay, as his wid
ow took her seat and sang softly, as if she
felt particularly happy. “ Who in the
thunder is James? She certainly can't
mean that infamous old undertaker.
Toombs? His name’s James, and lie’s a
widower ; but it’s preposterous to suppose
that she cares for him. or is going to prowl
after any man for a husband so quick as
this.”
While he brooded, in horror, over the
thought, Mr. Toombs arrived. The widow
said :
“Mr. Toombs, Bungay is dead; run
over by a locomotive and chopped all up.”
“ Very sorry to hear it madam ; I sym
pathise with you in your affliction.”
“ Thank you ;it is pretty sad. But I
don’t worry much. Bungay was a poor
sort ofa man to get along with, and now
that lie's gone I'm going to stand it with
outcrying my eyes out. A\ e'll have to
bury him. 1 s'pose, though ?”
“ That is the usual thing to do in such
cases.”
“ Well. I want you to 'tend to it for me.
I reckon the Coroner ‘ll have to sit on him
first. But when they get through, it you
just collect the pieces and shake him into
some kind of a bag and pack him into a
colfin, I'll be obliged.”
“Certaiirty. Mrs. Bungay. When do you
'want the funeral to occur ?”
“ Oh, ’most any day. P'rhaps the soon
er the better, so's we can have it over.
It'll save expense, too, by taking less ice.
I don’t want to spend much money on it.
Mr. Toombs. Rig him up some kind of a
cheap coffin, and mark his name on it with
a brush, and bury him with as little fuss
as possible. I'll come along with a couple
of friends; and we'll walk. No carriages.
Times are too hard.”
“ I’ll attend to it.”
“ And, Mr. Toombs, there is another
matter. Mr. Bungay's life was insured for
about twenty thousand dollars, and I want
to get it as soon as possible, and when I get
it I shall think of marrying again.”
“ Indeed, madam !”
“Yes; andean you think of anybody
who'll suit me ?”
“ I dunno. I might. Twenty thousand
3 r ou say he left ?”
“ Twenty thousand; yes. Now, Mr.
Toombs, you'll think me lol<l, but I only
tell the honest truth, when I say that 1
prefer a widower, and a man who is about
middle-age, and is in some business con
nected with cemeteries.”
“ llow would an undertaker suit you?"
“I think very well, if I could find one, I
often told Bungay that I wished he was an
undertaker.”
“Well, Mrs. Bungay, it’s a little kinder
sudden; I havn't thought much about it;
and old Bungay’s hardly got fairly settled
in the world of the hereafter; but busi
ness is business, and if you must have an
undertaker to love you and look after that
life insurance money, it appears to me that
lam just about that kind of a man. M ill
you take me ?”
“ Oh, James ! fold me to your bosom !
James was just about to fold her. when
Bungay, white with rage, burst from the
closet, and exclaimed :
“Unhand her, villain ! Touch that wo
man and you die! Leave this house at
once, or I’ll brain you with the poker !
And as for you, Mrs. Bungay, you can
pack up your duds and quit. I've done
with you ; I know now that you are a
cold-hearted, faithless, abominable wretch !
Go, and go at once ! I did this to try you.
and my eyes are opened.”
“ 1 know you did, and I concluded to
pay you in your own coin.”
“ That’s too awful thin. It wont bold
water.”
“ It's true anyhow. You told Mr. Ma
gill you were going to do it; and he told
“’ lie did, hey? I'll bust the head off of
him.”
“ When you are really dead I will be a
good deal more sorry, provided you don t
make such a fool of yourself while you re
ft 1 1 ve
“ You will ? You will really be sorry ?”
“ Of course!”
“And you won't marry Toombs. ” here
is that man Toombs? By George, I 11 go
for him now ! He was mighty hungry lor
that life insurance money! I'll step
around and kick him at once while I m
mad. We'll talk this matter over when 1
come back.”
Then Bungav left to call upon loombs,
and when he returned he dropped the s>ub-
Sl.oO A YEAR.
ject. Has drawn up his will so that his
wife is cut oiF with a shilling if she em
ploys Toombs as the undertaker.
Oo Hot n Itnh.v ?
On one of the delightful days last week,
a young lady, well known in the exclusive
first circles of society for unrivaled per
sonal charms and elegance of accomplish
ments. was driven around to make a con
gratulatory call upon a married lady who
was happily convalescent from that occa
sional sacred event in the lives of wedded
ladies, which, far from being a sickness, is
the culmination of their health. She was
shown into the parlor, and for the few
minutes required to arrange for her recep
tion in the room where mother and hild
were doing as well as could he expected,
was left with no other to entertain her
than the only son and heir to the house.
Master Charles, then in his fourth year.
But Charles was equal to the situation,
and promises to grow up into an ornament
of society that will never be abashed by
beauty, however brilliant, into the painful
negative of “no conversation.” After
some unessential preliminary remarks,
Master Charles approached nearer the vis
itor and. lowering his tone into the confi
dential. asked—
“ Miss . oo dot a baby?”
The young lady gave one swift glance
around to assure herself that there was no
other hearer to this pertinent question,
and replied—
“No, Charlie, dear! I have not.”
“ And did oo never have a baby?”
In spite of the youth of her interlocutor,
her handsome eyes dropped before bis in
genious ga/.e, and her pretty face flushed
as she replied—
“ No. Charles. I never did. Is not this
a beautiful day ?”
“ And ain't oo never doin’ to have no
baby ?" persisted Charlie, declining to en
ter on the tempting conversational side
track of weather.
“My boy, 1 can't tell. Tell me all the
names of whom these are the photographs.”
•* And don't oo want a baby?”
“ Why. Charlie, boy, what a close ques
tioner you are ! If you are not careful,
you will grow into one of those newspaper
interviewers, and then what will your
mamma think of you?”
“ Because " con -vikvly
*/c fusing Zc switched off—“l know
where oo .ui get one. The doctor brought
my mamma one, and he kcepth them in
his ofiith. You jutli go down Lilith threet
to Market threet, and then oo go down
Martet threet, ever so far, and den oo go
up a lot of thairth. and thath where he
teeps ’em. And they’re awful cheap, too.
My papa hath'nt paid for my mamma's
baby yet. but he'tli doin to.”
“ Well, Charlie, I'm sure I am much
obliged to you for your full directions, and
I know just where to go.”
“ Oh, Miss ,oo needn't go ! I'll tell
my papa jfith ath soon ath ever he turns
home that oo want a baby, he'll det one
for 00, and—”
That young lady seized the little boy by
his two shoulders, and leaning over so as
to look full into his eyes, she said, with an
impressiveness lent by sudden terror —
“ See here, Charlie, listen to me ! I don't
want any baby yet, and if you ever say
anything about it to your papa I'll never
like you any more at all. at all—never,
never ! Now will you promise?”
“Well; if oo don’t want a baby. I
w on't; but I to't everybody liked to have
babicth. I do.”
The interview was here terminated by
the entrance of a servant to usher the visi
tor into the presence of the convalescent
lady.
Slic Couldn't Njuirc lior Darling:.
A young couple from Lebanon, says the
News , appeared at the office of a squire to
get married. The squire, who had been
seen before, agreed to do the job at the
lowest market price. The lady, a beautiful
blonde, of twenty summers, looked gay
and happy, while the countenance of the
gentleman was careworn. The squire
meant business, and was just about look
ing up the form book, when the thought
struck him that it was his duty first to
learn the ages of the parties. The question
“ How old are you?” had only been pro
nounced to the young man, when before he
could answer, in rushed mothers of the
groom and bride almost breathless with
excitement. A lively scene followed. The
young man, still in nis teens, seeing his
mother enter and taking in her intentions
at a glance, joined with her at once in pro
testing loudly against the imposition about
to be consummated, exclaiming: “I was
only in fun ; 1 am too young yet,” the mo
ther hammer ing on the desk with her fist
and crying out: " I can't spare my boj r ,
my darling. He's under age. I'll prose
cute the squire if lie does it.”
The would-be bride and her mother,
equally excited and wildly jesticulating,
insisted on the ceremony, saying: “ Now
or never.” ” Squire do your own duty,”
“ A bargain is a bargain.” ”No backing
out!”
Meanwhile the witnesses (females), who
had gathered by request fled in terror to
the adjoining room, leaving the bachelor
squire to the mercies of the contending
parties. The combatants cooled down,
the would-be bride agreeing to wait a few
years longer, at the risk of becoming an
old maid, until her intended has attained
three times seven.
HARTWELL, GA„ WEDNESDAY, MAY 30, 1877.
The Party.
buriington Hawkey*.
Some
One
Has lately begun
To start a
New party.
Which, when !t is done,
Is going to smash,
Into eternal crash.
All other parties under the sun.
Whigs,
Nigs,
Fire-eating robs,
Tramps,
Scam ps,
Reconstructed confeds ;
Hot abolitionists.
Raw prohibitionists.
Labor reformers, frantic protectionists,
A pair of
High tariff
Old Whig resurrectionists;
All the old federalists.
Butter and breadalists;
Wild annexationists,
Emancipationists,
Texas rangers,
Suspicious strangers,
Illinois grangers,
Rabid secessionists, nullificationists,
Temperance agigators.
Soft-voiced conciliators,
Bruisers,
Snoozers,
Republican broilers,
Barn burners,
Coat turners,
Tories, free-soilers;
Communists, destructionists,
Strict constructionists,
Constitution revisionists,
Bred Scott decisionists,
I.oco-
Foco,
Baltimore knocks,
(ieorgio lvu-Kltix,
“ Blue lights,” dissensionists,
Hartford conventionists,
Fogy old-timers.
Modern white-liners,
Anti-monopolists,
Bloated metropolists,
Bondholders, huff 'uns,
Border rullians,
Ballot-box stuffy 'urs ;
Bulldozers, back-trackers,
Free niggers,
White leaguers,
Know-Nothing advisers,
Ku-Iv 1u x compromisers,
Temperance liberals.
License wine bibberals,
Sinners and ’publicans.
Private and public ones,
Till-tappers,
Mouth-slappers,
Hickory Democrats, three card monte men,
Angels, devils, slouchy and jaunty men,
Nobody, every one, sickly and hearty,
Stanley Matthews has got anew party.
Around.
Detroit Free Press.
They are sitting around upon barrels and
chairs,
Discussing their own and their neighbor's
affairs.
And the look of content that is seen on
each face,
Seems to say, “ I have found my appropri
ate place,”
Sitting around.
In bar-rooms and groceries calmly they sit,
And serenely chew’ tobacco, and spit.
While the stories they tell, and the jokes
that they crack.
Show their hearts have growm hard and
undoubtedly black,
While sitting around.
The “ sitter around ” is a man of no means.
And bis face wouldn’t pass for a quart of
w’hite beans.
Yet he somehow or other contrives to exist.
And is frequently seen with a drink in his
fist
While sitting around.
The loungers they toil not, nor yet do they
spin.
Unless it be yarns while enjoying their gin.
They are people of leisure, yet often 'tis
true.
They allude to the work they're intending
to do
While sitting around.
They've habit of talking of other men’s
wives
As they whittle up sticks with their horn
handled knives—
They're a seal}’ old set, and w’herever you
g°
You'll find them in groups or strung out
in a row.
Sitting around.
(.'tire for < onsumption.
A correspondent of the Southern Plan
tation writes as follows about the power of
a well-known plant: ” I have discovered a
remedy for pulmonary consumption. It
has cured a number of cases after they had
commenced bleeding at the lungs, and the
hectic flush had already appeared on the
cheek. After trying this remedy to my
own satisfaction, I have thought philan
thropy required that I should let it be
known to the world. It is the common
mullein steeped strong and sweetened with
sugar, and drank freely. The herb should
be gathered before the end of July, if con
venient. Young or old plants are good
dried in the shade and kept in clean paper
bags. The medicine must be continued
from three to six months, according to the
nature of the disease. It is very good for
the blood vessels. It strengthens and
builds up the system, instead of taking
awav strength. It makes good blood and
takes inflamation away from the lungs. It
is the wish of the writer that every period
ical should publish this receipt for the ben
efit of the human fiimily. Lay this up.
and keep it in the house ready for use.
VVlutt Ailed Hit Uhom.
f'uek. u
Hamlet was announced one night last
week at an Indiana country theatre, and
the Hoosiers had come in with their wives
and babies from miles around, to be made
acquainted with the melancholy Bane.
All went on well until the ghost scene; in
fact, his paternul ghostship had appeared,
and in tremulous, sepulchral tones began
to utter:
“ I am thy fatli—” when suddenly the
text gave place to a series of grunts and
groans, indicative of intense bodily pain on
the part of the apparition aforesaid.
“ Go on ! go on !” came from all parts of
the house, but the ghost didn't go on.
Some loudly-whispered profanity was
heard beliina the scenes, and it became
evident that there was something rotten in
the state of Denmark.
Finally the ghost seemed to brace up,
and tried it again.
“1 am thy fath —ugh—oh, Lord. Some
more brandy, there—quick !”
In the midst of the confusion which en
sued, the manager made his appearance at
the footlights.
“My friends,” said he, “ I regret to say
that the gentleman who was cast for the
role of the ‘ Ghost ’ this evening, has been
suddenly altacked with cholera morbus.
Is there any physician in the house?”
“ Here,” said a jolly, good natured man
in the front row. “I'm a doctor. Show
me the patient.”
They led him to where the spectre lay,
out in the fly, writhing in all the contor
tions of green apple stomach ache. He
felt his pulse, loosened the sufferer’s shirt
collar, looked at him a moment and then
smiled.
“ Well, doctor,” gasped the manager,
“ and what do you .
“Make of it. ray dear sir,” answered
the doctor. “ Why, I call it a clear case
of what is known as cholera-in-phantom.”
A ('use of Kpoiititnooiis fomlMiNlion.
San Francisco Post.
A most horrible and sickening death oc
curred in Kernan's saloon, in the backyard
of the City Hall, at a quarter past ten
o'clock this morning, being no less than
the spontaneous combustion of a human
body. The victim was a man who had not
been more than a month in the city, but
during that time had been frequently ar
rested for drunkenness. He wandered
about alone, seemingly demented, occupy
ing his w’hole time in drinking the vile poi
son of the city front and Barbary Coast
dens. He has twice been treated by Dr.
Strivers for delirium tremens, and was this
morning discharged after a longer time
than usual. With a seemingly insane de
sire for drink, he continued from thirty
minutes past seven o'clock drinking stead
ily at the various bars in the vicinity, and
the large size of each potation promised to
speedily send him back to the hospital
About the time mentioned lie staggered
into the room nearly insensible, and feebly
asked for a drink. This was refused him.
and he staggered toward the gas jet to light
the stump of a cigar he carried, w hile the
barkeeper turned away to attend to his du
ties. A moment afterward he heard a low
moan and noticed a flash of fire, and turn
ing around he saw Ilarlev falling to the
floor, his head enveloped in black, thick
smoke, while flames issued from his mouth
and ears. A horrible smell of burned
flesh filled the air. Not a moment was
lost in attending to the sufferer. Be was
beyond relief, however. His face w r as per
fectly black, partly charred and partly
covered with a moist soot. His eyes were
open. llis mouth was completely roasted
on the inside, but. with the exception of
his head and hands, no part of his body
bore marks of his horrible death. A let
ter found in his pocket, addressed to M.
Harley or Hartley, furnishes the only clue
to his identity.
There.
Detroit Free Frees.
The average Detroit boy sees bis oppor
tunity in winter as well as in summer, and
he makes the most of it. Yesterday after
noon, as an old man was driving a stout
sled up Michigan avenue, having two or
three kegs of beer in a box, a boy called
out to him :
“Say there! Wheel's coming off!”
The old man nulled up, looked around,
and the boy said :
You'd better look out —hind wheel’s
coming off.”
The driver got down, looked his sled ali
over, felt of the braces, and inspected clear
to the dash board, and then asked :
“ Vhat you say? Vhat proke?”
“ I said the hind wheel was coming off,”
replied the boy.
The man made another inspection, gave
the sleigh a shake, and all at once called
out:
“ Vyh. dere is no hind wheel on here.”
He heard the boys snickering as he
climbed into the sled, but he didn’t look i
back.
NUMBER 40.
A COMPOSITION ON PARENTS.
Parents are bom to be a grent trouble to
thoir offspring. They upset all a fellow’s
plans. It would be lolly not to have any.
When 1 was ever so little, I remember. I
tried to hang up the kitten by my whip
lash, and mother took the kitty, boxed my
ears, and went and drowned it herself next
day. So she had all the fun to herself;
and father's worse than mother. He told
me to take care of the pennies and the dol
lars would take care of themselves ; so I
nt\d Hen Smith formed an Anti-Swearing
Club.
We had a rule that for every profane
word used we should pay a cent in the
treasury. Wo had seventy-five cents in
the first day, but when we divided, and I
fetched thirty-seven and a half cents home,
father said it was a bad business, whipped
ine and broke up the club. How is a fel
low to know when he is doing right? If I
had no parents to bound me around I’d
beat George Washington all holler, for I'd
cut down every cherry tree in the garden,
and own it too. If I was an orphan, l
know what I’d do to-morrow.
Ben Smith and me would go straight to
a desolate South Sen Island and stir up the
goats and monkeys and other things, crack
cocoanuts, fry toadstools, eat oranges a
spell, then we'd make a ship and sail
around the world. What’s the use of dry
ing up in one place? 1 told mother one
day when she wouldn’t give me ten cents,
that I meant to go a whaling and 1 hoped a
whale would swallow me, as one did Jo
nah, and then she would never seo me
again, for I can’t swim. She said I would
not be likely to make much of a visit, for
I would turn the whale’s stomach mighty
•quick after l got there. Wasn’t she
bully ?
If l were a parent I know what I’d do ;
I'd keep still, and mind my own business,
and let my children have some fun. There’s
Tom Cults lives with his aunt, and lias a
bully time. lie goes wood-chucking und
ecling Sunday, lias no best clothes, and no
pocket handkerchiefs to bother him,
crawls under the canvass of circus tents,
earns money at the theatre, sleeps in the
stable when he likes, ami always has his
pocket full of peanuts. lie says he would
not he bothered with parents, if he could
have ’em for nothing, and he thinks if I
hadn't any it would ue money in my poc
ket. Them’s my sentiments.
Anordotm of Jmlae IT ml or wood.
Reminiscences of an Oid Georgia Laxcytr.
Judge Underwood, like Judge l)oolcj r ,
luul his controversies with his landlords at
the taverns, but, unlike Dooley, all in a
good-humored way. At a court, thinking
his landlord was remiss, he asked John
Mabry if he had taken the oath #f the
Special Bailiff.
“ Because you have ‘kept us, without
meat, drink or fire—candlelight4 n d w u f cr,
ari4UeU*4M'oath which
is administered to the Baliff before he takes
charge of the jury, John Mabry, and from
the way you have kept up this court, I
thought you must have taken it. If you
have. John Mabry, I can certify you have
scrupulously observed it.”
He never forsook horseback and saddle
bags, while I knew him, for buggies or
railroads, and alw’ays rode a fine animal,
about which lie felt great anxiety. Stop
ping all night with Charter Campbell, of
Madison, w hen his bill was presented next
morning, he said :
“ Well ! Mr. Campbell, do yon really
think I owe you three dollars for the en
tertainment of me and my grey-horse,
Cherokee?”
“Oh ! yes, Judge ! it is a fair and usual
charge.”
“ Well ! Mr. Campbell, if the poet had
stopped wdth you, instead of saying,
“ man wants but little here below nor
wants that little long,” he might have said,
“if man has but little here below, and
stops with you, he will not have that lit
tle long.”
During the Know-Nothing campaign, a
drummer recommending his tavern, said,
“It was a Know-Nothing house,” when
Judge U. replied :
“ Well ! it the landlord knows less than
Jim Toney— his old landlord of the tavern
—I shall not risk m3 r self with him.”
Having been asked the politics of a
friend, whom he accused of fickleness, he
said : “ I can’t say, for I have not seen
him since dinner.”
Judge Thomas, of Elbert—in which
county Underwood once lived—meeting
him, said the people of that county would
like to sec him there, and he (Thomas)
thought he could make a pleasant visit to
the old place.
“ Yes,” said Judge U., “ there is an hon
est stupidity about the people of Elbert
which is amusing, and which I rather
like.”
Some citizen of the county, who took
the remark of Underwood as offensive,
meeting him afterwards, rebukingly said,
he ought to take it back. “ Well, said the
Judge, I will take part of it back, and
since the county voted for Buchanan I will
withdraw the word ‘honest.’”
For a long time he was accused of being
an old Federalist, of the John Adam's
school—which, in Georgia, then, was little
short of a charge of theft, and having been
taunted with it by a politician, who said,
“ there has always been but two parties in
the country, and we class you with the
Federalists, for all know that is your
place.” “ Yes,” said Underwood, “there
nave always been two parties, Federalists
and fools, and I have never heard you ac
cused of belonging to the Federalists.”
On being importuned to move to the
town of Marietta, he said he would not
like to live there, but thought it the best
place to die in that he knew of, and gave
as the reason that he could leave it with
fewer regrets than any other place in the
world. And what may seem a strange co
incidence, he died in Marietta.
Action should follow thought. No farm
er can plough a field by turning it over in
his mind.