Newspaper Page Text
Tilt l'ATCpy APROy.
by mbs. mahaly gowbax.
“ Katie, what girl vere you giving a bou
qiust to; the one having ou a patched
aP -°Jennie Land, ma. Her mother washes
for Mrs. Banks. She is the kindest girl in
the school, and is never cross and hard to
please like some of them I play with.
When she came to school last W ednesday,
she had two bunches of strawberries, and
she offered me one of them, and the clus
ter looked so rod and rich 1 took it and
thanked her. This morning when she was
passing by our flower garden, 1 asked her
to wait a few minutes and 1 would pick
some flowers and arrange for her a pretty
bouquet, and O, ma! 1 wish you could
have 1 seen how pleased she looked and I
heard her say so softlj r , “ Dear Katie, 1
tliank you.’*
••No more of such nonsense as that,
Katie. Ido not wish you to associate with
beggars, or t play with girls that poverty
compels to wear patched aprons at school/’
“ Sla. Jennie is not a beggar. She
always looks clean and has such beautiful
auburn curls. I almost know you would
like her it you only knew how good she is.
She has to wear dresses and aprons with
patches on them sometimes, for her mother
washes and takes in sewing to buy books
and clothes for herself and Jennie. She
stands at the head of her spelling class
most of the time. Mary Kemp, the Pres
byterian minister’s girl, plays with her
and says she ; likes her, and told Maggie
Rice and I last week that her father was
killed in battle at Fort Donaldson. Her
only brother died a few months ago, and
ever since his death Jennie has been ven'
lonesome. She visits his grave quite often,
and when she can get beautiful flowers she
carries them to the cemetery and places
them in a goblet she will keep in summer
time on Harvey’s grave.”
“ Really, Katie, you are quite a story
teller. If I would allow you to have ac
cess to such low associations you will be,
by the time you are sixteen, scribbling for
the newspapers. You are just like your
father, and think that the poor are as good
as the rich. L very much regret that my
daughter, ten years old, exhibits so little
dignity and judgment as to be captivated
by a school girl who w ars a patched
apron.”
Great tear drops glistened in Katie Reed's
eyes whilst listening to her mother's sar
casm, for she loved Jennie Land and feared
that social intercourse, even at school,
would be prohibited by her mother's au
thoritative influence.
Mr. Reed’s opinion was solicited by his
wife, but to her recital of Katie’s deport
ment to a school girl who sometimes wore
a patched apron he gently replied :
“ Jennie Land’s mother is a real lady.
I have known her from childhood—we at
tended the same school. She, like many
others, was unfortunate in selecting a hus
band, l'or he had hut one business talent
and that was seldom seen, Mrs. Land is
Christian woman, and bears the disappoint
ments and the trials incident to life like a
philosopher. Jennie’s moral training is of
a high order, and, if she wears patched
aprons there are no patches on her youth
ful soul, and I am gratilied to learn that
Katie has found a safe and congenial asso
ciate.”
“Just as I expected. Mr. Reed, I
should think you would take a deeper in
terest in Katie's future welfare, than to en
courage her to cherish a liking for such
low company.”
To Mrs. Reed’s remarks her husband
deemed it advisable to make no reply.
Time wore on, and Katie had access at
school to the society of her little friend,
Jennie, and their love for each other was
as true as the love of David and Jonathan
of the Bible. The summer had gone into
autumn, and Katie Reed was dangerously
ill of brain fever. In her delirium she
would speak of her dear schoolmate, and
call Jennie her beautiful friend—talk of her
golden ringlets—of her musical voice, of her
f>arting kiss. Sometimes she would ask
ier to come to her bed that she might kiss
her once more. Now and then her incohe
rent sentences were so pathetically ex
pressed that the tears would come into her
mother’s eyes unbidden ; still she turned
a deaf ear to the mournful pleadings of her
dying child. A few days previous to her
death she seemed more rational, and her
father chanced to be sitting by her bed, and
heard her half audibly pronounce “ Jennie,
dear, come!” That was enough for his
tender and noble heart. Jennie was sent
for immediately, and Katie recognized her
playmate, her lovely friend, as she had
often termed her during her illness. The
sweet demonstrations of mutual love by
those children awakened Mrs. Reed's ma
tcrnal affection, and found the door to her
heart. She relented, and her dislike for the
fascinating child soon changed to admira
tion. Mrs. Reed would look upon Jennie’s
winning way with astonishment, when she ;
would be sitting by the bed of her sick
child with their right hands clasped to
gether. She did not wonder that Katie
loved her, for she often thought that Jen
nie Land was the most lovable child she
ever saw. That unsophisticated girl little
thought that her sweet disposition and deep :
solicitude for her sick playmate was mak
ing for her a home where she could find
security from the chilling storms ol life.
Just as the night was stepping into the
morning’s dawn the angels beckoned to
little Katie Reed to come where there is no
sickness, no pain or parting hours; and
that innocent child felt the change coming
over her, seemed to know that it was
death ; for she looked wistfully into her
father's tearful eyes and said :
“ Papa, I shall die soon ; don't you hear
the angels singing, (), so sweetly—l’m
going to that beautiful place where Jesus
is ; for he loves children, and took them in
his arms and blessed them when he came
in this world. Last Sabbath, our Sunday
school teacher told us that Jesus loved
children now, and everybody, and whoever
are good here will be happy after they die,
and sing joyful songs. She said we must
Eray to be kept from temptation, and if
ad thoughts came into our minds we must
ask the blessed Savior to help us to drive
such thoughts away, for wrong thoughts
always preceded wicked actions. Jennie
Land and 1 went into the grove by the
school-house last summer, a good many
times, and we would kneel by a great ma
ple tree, and Jennie prayed that we might
be good and love all our playmates, even
$1.50 A YEAR.
if they were unkind to us. She often snid
that her mother told her if she wanted to
be loved she must love. Please put my
arms around your neck, papa.’’
Her father did as slic requested, then
she kissed him for the last time, and utter
ed the following language.
“ Dear pap 1 want you to pray every
day. and pray that mama may love Jennie,
and give her flowers every summer to put
on her brotheV’s grave. 1 want her to have
the Bible you gave me for a Christmas
present and my new sarque and hat, and
anything else of mine you please to fet
her have. Now call mama and Jennie, for
I want to kiss them good-bye.”
Presently they stepped into the chamber
of death very softly, and Mrs. Reed was
surprised to see the change that had come
over darling Katie within a few hours.
She tried to return the caresses of her
mother and Jennie, but a faint request to
meet her in Heaven and a low good-bye
was all she could say, then commenced her
journey in that shining road that leads into
the beautiful Hereafter, where the loving
Savior dwells.
Love, the sweetest gift of Heaven, be
comes sometimes, as if by magic, chords
binding congenial souls together, whatever
may be the contrast in social position,
especially if money has pajntcd the dis
tinction.
Love, sympathy and kindness should l>e
cultivated in every heart but alas ! these
priceless virtues are sadly neglected ly
many, both young and old, who forget that
their hand may reach after these sorrow
soothing qualifies, without being able to
grasp them ; for'“with what measure ye
mete, it shall be measured to you again.’’
Soon after the funeral obsequies were
performed for little Katie Reed the. parents
of the deceased child solicited Mrs. Land
to allow them to adopt Jennie—and in due
time their proposals were ‘accepted, and
she has had every advantage that wealth
can give. Already she has taken hold of
literary work, and if she continues true to
herself by heeding the loving voice of the
Savior, her example and usefulness will
make her a shining light In the world.
The I.nine C'luftr.
Burlington Hawin'ye.
Rev. Jerome 11. Renson is a young man,
a minister of great promise, and is greatly
beloved by the members of his flock. But
he is a very bashful young man, and it is
quite a cross for him to makopastoral calls
and get acquainted with the people of the
congregation. lie has lived in Burlington
only about eight weeks. A few days ago
he fixed himself up and went to call at the
residence of Mrs. Jasper L. Blasingby, on
West Hill, who, is very stylish and has
four lovely daughters, and young Mr. Ben
son was accordingly more than usually
nervous and embarrassed, and when he
got to the house and entered the parlor
door and saw company, two young gentle
man visiting two of the Misses Blasingby,
his wits immediately went wool gathering.
Mrs. Blasingby bowed him into the par
lor, grandly introduced him to the young
men and waved him toward an easy chair.
As he moved toward it she made a second
ell'ort to capture his hat, and after some
feeble resistance by the young minister she
succeeded. And then that man, thorough
ly demoralized by the loss of his hat,
made a wavering advance toward the easy
chair, and then, impelled by the thought
that he was very selfishly taking the most
comfortable chair in the room, he swerved
aside and beaded for an inviting looking
straight back chair that stood against the
wall. Mrs. Blasingby returning from the
hat rack in the hall, divined his intention
and bore down upon him in order to put
him about and getting him anchored in the
easy chair. But the young minister had
the weather gauge, and the more she bowed
and flourished and said, “ Oh, do take this
easy chair, Mr. Benson,” the more steam
he put on, and the nearer he worked to the
straight back chair. He reached it. He
caught hold of the back to lift it from the
wall, and the back came out in his hand
like a loose tooth. For a brief second he
stood there, very gracefully holding the
chair back in his hand, listening to Mrs.
Blasingby’s hurried explanations about the
children, and then he attempted to put the
chair back where it belonged. He didn't
succeed very well, for the back weakened
on itself as he fumbled with it, and two or
three pieces fell out of it. Mrs, Blasingby
was now begging him to leave it alone, and
sit down in the easy chair. llis face was
so hot and red lie couldn't hear a word she
said, and in desperation he set the back on
the chair, leaned it against the wall, and
picking up the chair bodily started across
the room with it, without any particular
intention, and followed by a trail of chair
back, legs and stray springs that dotted
the carpet like the track of a tornado. 1 e
doesn't know to this day how Mrs. Blas
ingby got the chair away from him. He
can only remember that when he was
about two blocks away from the house, he
discovered that he was carrying a switch
cane with an ivory head, carved in a very
Black Crook design, evidently the property
of one of the young men. and that his head
was covered by a jaunty little hat of dove
colored silk and rough straw, turned up at
one side and decorated with a pearl buckle
and a long drooping plume, all of which he
had often admired on the head of the
youngest Miss Blasingby. Ilis peculiar
appearance, and evident mental distress,
when he was met in this guise by his sen
ior deacon, gave rise to the rumors that he
was intoxicated, which were however so
well explained at the church meeting last
evening, that Mr. Benson was unanimous
ly requested to withdraw his resignation.
This we are sorry to learn, he steadfastly
refused to do, and it is understood that he
| has accepted a chaplaincy at the Black
Hills.
HARTWELL, GA„ WEDNESDAY, JULY 2,1, 1877.
(•corglii to Her Xc ki inuor.
A'inh l or* AV .
Don’t go it too strong, (> Benjamin Hill,
That Georgia that honored may honor you
still,
But not your tongue is too lavish with
praise
Of tlie artful devices of Rutherford llayes.
Of cr.rpct-bag thieves there at length is
surcease,
And Georgia has joy in her sisters’ release,
Though she isn’t bv any means ready to
swear
That it’s due to the Fraud in the President's
chair.
From the bondage of years, from the
wrong and the grief,
To be free once again is a precious relief;
But reason must fail ere our tongue can
applaud
The creature whose forehead is branded
with Fraud.
Don't go it too strong, then, 0 Benjamin
Hill,
That the State which has honored, may
honor you still;
Asa mother she speaks to a dutiful child.
And teaches the wisdom of drawing it
mild.
He Went I'Milhk.
Cleveland Ledger.
Several of the Clevelanders who went to
Kelly’s Island, by the way of Sandusky,
last week, after black bass, reached home
night before last. One of them, Brown,
rushed into his house, and in his joy at
meeting Mrs. Brown and all the little
Brownses, attempted to clutch them all to
his bosom in one wild embrace.
“ <>o away!” yelled Mrs. Brown.
“ But my dear—”
“ 1 ain't your dear ! 1 never saw vou.
My Leonidas never liad that ugly red all
over his face, and never smelt like a beer
garden Police!”
The baby begran to yell, the oldest girl
started into the back yard after the dog, and
the hired girl fainted dead away in the pan
try.
“I am Brown ; I swear it! Listen, Mary
Ann. Your upper teeth are false; your
switch cost two dollars and a half; you
demolish cloves for the benefit of your
breath ; you keep a bottle of brandy in
your washstand. Hear me for my cause.
What stranger could have learned all this?
Whatman —”
“Me love! mo lave,! ’Tis he! ’Tis
thee 1” And she collapsed into his arms,
and thus prevented the gathering neighbors
from learning any further particulars about
the internal economy of the house of
Brown,
“ And now,” says Brown, “ I am fully
determined to brain the first man who
says ‘ black bass ’ and especially when the
sun is hot enough to turn one into a Hot
tentot or a Fijii Islander in twenty-four
hours.”
“But the GreateNt of all is Charity.”
Greensboro' Herald.
See here 1 >Ve always, had an idea, be
fore we went into the business ourselves,
that editors enjoyed an extra share of the
good tilings of this life. In every paper
you pick up, you see a long paragraph of
thanks to Mr. So-and-so, for the “elegant
basket of fruit,” or the magnificent water
melon,” he gave the editor. Now all this
is a fraud, you hear me ! When you pick
up a county newspaper, and read such an
item as this, “ Mr. Jones will please ac
cept our sincere thanks for the elegant
California pears he presented us with on
Tuesday,” you may rest assured that
some poor devil of an editor was hungry,
and had been hanging around a fruit stand
until the proprietor gave him a half rotten
pear murder to get rid of him. Now, it’s
true, we have had some very nice presents
sent us this summer, such as heads of
wheat, cotton stalks and corn that had been
cut up by the hail, and we were glad to
get them, because they helped to fill up the
paper. But they don’t help to till up any
thing else, gentlemen, that’s the idea.
Corn stalks and the like don,t taste well.
Our friends ought to take into considera
tion that we don’t have time to visit or
chards at night and get fruit cheap, as
some others do ; we’ve got work to do—■
hard work, too, or else pay for the game.
Lively, now, and bring in another water
melon, and great will be your reward.
Take Your County Paper.
Do the city papers say anything in re
gard to your own county ? Nothing. Do
they contain notices of your schools, meet
ings, churches, improvements, and hun
dreds of other local matters of interest
which your home paper publishes without
pay? Not an item. Do they ever say a
word calculated to draw attention to your
county, and aid in its progress and enter
prise? Not a line. And there are men
who take such contracted views of this
matter, that unless they are getting as
many square inches of reading matter in
their own as they do in a city paper, they
think they are not getting the worth of
their money. It reminds us of a man who
took the largest pair of boots in the box
because the price was the same as the pair,
much smaller, that fitted him.
A Biff Hat Trap.
The Sacramento (Cal.) Record-Union of
June, 7th reports the following extraordi
nary rat catcher : “ The kitchen and store
room of a hotel in this city have been in
fested by rats, and it became evident also,
that a hogshead in which swill was kept
furnished the rodents an opportunity to fill
their stomachs when other sources failed.
Tuesday evening the hogshead was almost
entirely emptied, a little food being left iu
the bottom to serve as bait. All the holes
were stopped up, and when the mammoth
trap was finally sot it was so arranged
that as many rats could enter it as desired,
hut there were no means of escape. A few
minutes after it was set. three or four rats
sprang into it, and not finding much food,
became hoggish, and began fighting for the
possession of what there was. Their
squealing attracted more rats, and when
the trnp was examined, before midnight,
it presented asingulnr spectacle, being ap
parently one fourth tilled with the pests—
little rats and big ones, gray-headed fellows
and others that had scarcely sprouted
their moustaches—all squirming, scratch
ing, squealing, and biting. Soon afterward
they were killed, when the number disposed
of proved to be one hundred and six.
Why Nile Nt upped Her l*npcr.
She came bouncing through the sanctum
door like a cannon ball, and without paus
ing to say “ How d'ye do?” she brought
her umbrella down on the table with a
mighty crash, and shouted :
“ I want you to stop my paper.”
“ All right, madam.”
“ Stop it right oil', too,” she persisted,
whacking the table again, “for 1 waited
long enough for you to do the square
thing.”
She quieted down for a moment, as we
ran our Unger down the list of names, and
when wo reached her’s and scratched it
out, she said :
“ There; now mebbe you’ll do as you
ought to after this, and not slight a woman
ies cans she’s poor. If some rich folks
happen to have a little red-headed, bandy
legged, squint eyed, wheezy squealer horn
to them, you puff* it to the skies and make
it out an angel; but when poor people
have a baby you don’t say a word about
it, even if it’s the blackest-haired, biggest
headed, nobbiest little kid that ever Kept
a woman awake at nights. That’s what’s
the matter, and that’s why I stopped my
paper.”
And she dashed out as rapidly as she
came.
nifteollmiy.
“ Don’t leave vour tobacco quids where
the innocent little children will mistake
them for chestnuts,” reads a sign on a ho
tel in Maine.
A Florida paper says: “ Anew and
commodious (log-house was recently fin
ished in this city for the accommodation of
one of our leading citizens.”
A Baltimore belle, when told by the
waiter that they had no gooseberries, ex
claimed, “ Wnat has happened to the
goose?” The waiter wilted.
“How many children have you?” asked
one friend of an old acquaintance. “ Well,
I have five, but they were eating cucum
bers when I left home, and they may be
all doubled up now.”— Oil City Call.
“Papa,” asked a boy, “what is meant
by Paradise?” “Paradise, my son,” re
plied the father, “ is the latter part of the
summer, when your mother goes on a visit
to your grandfather.”— lndianapolis Jour
nal.
From a tombstone in Cornwall England :
Father and mother and I
Lie buried here asunder ;
Father and mother lie buried hero,
And I lie buried off yonder.
For burns an immediate application of
flour, covering the burns, and wrapped so
as to exclude the air; then burn lard till it
is quite brown, and apply, and relief will
soon come. Do not wash off the flour if it
clings, but put the lard over it.
Little boy —“ Please, I want the doctor
to come and see mother.” Servant—“ Doc
tor’s out. Where do you come from?”
Little boy—“ What! Don’t you know me ?
Why, we deal with you. Wo had a baby
from here last week.” — London Fun.
New Orleans gets her “ first bale ” on al
most the same day every year. This year
it came in on the 11th; last year on the
10th, and in 1873 on the 13th of July. r I he
first of the season came this year from
Cameron county Texas.
A Chinaman became the father of an
American born son, and as he danced
about swinging his pigtail, he said : “Me
Melican man, all samec. Me heap W ash
ington. Me lightning rod agent. Go
'way, Whoopee T” — San Francisco Chron
icle.
It takes according to a scientific journal,
four thousand bumblebees to weigh a
pound; but you stop a bumblebee some
time when he is busy, and pick him up
ami you will raise your hand to heaven
i and swear he weighs a ton. —liurliuyton
I Hawk-eye.
The streets of London if placed in one
line, would form an avenue of 7,000 miles
in length. In the daily cleansing of the
streets about 14,000 men find employment,
and 6,000 horses and 2,400 carts. The en
gineer-in-chief has a salary of SIO,OOO
i The work goes on day and night, but the
actual sweeping does not commence until
eight p. m.
John Bougham, in his “ Birds and Poets,”
tells the best story, illustrative of a boy’s
proncncss to tell, and his cairn confidence
in the power of a lie, we ever read. A
teacher, after long and patient watching,
catches a boy eating an apple in school, a
misdeed he had frequently committed and
as repeatedly lied out of. “Ah ha,” ex
| claimed the teacher. “ I've caught you at
it this time.” “Caught me at what?”
asked the boy, in conscious innocence.
“ Eating that apple.” “ Ain't eatin no ap
ple.” The astonished teacher compelled
the boy to open his mouth, and a great slab
of apple was extracted therefrom. “ Didn’t
know it was there,” sturdily asserted the
I boy.
"O^EMAPVJIAII”
HY I’I.KASANT BtfrRKHOOD.
Detroit fri* Frts.
A. B. Lytle is a Justice of the Peace,
likewise a corn doctor. Yesterday his
meditations were suddenly interrupted by
the unmistakable flapping of au angry
darkey’s robes, and turning arouud he be
held Aunt Anarky looking as cross as her
broad, shining, pleasant countenance would
permit. “ Good—morning, Mr. Lytle.
Whew—dat —hill! I.awsy ! 1 kin hardly
—fetch—my—bretf l”
“ Howdyo, Aunty, where arc you bound
for in such a hurry,” said Mr. Lytle, snap
ping a goober.
“ Bound fur to see you, sub, cf you’ve
got time to devotiate to my dilemmon. I
want to git out a corpus chrlshty.”
“ A what?”
“A corpus clirislity.”
“ 1 don't exactly understand you; don’t
know what vou mean.”
“ Law, Mr. Lytle!, You chock full of
book lamin' an’ dunno what a corpus
clirislity is? Why. it's a warriant, sub; a
paper to have ftnlrsoS ’rested on. I nner
staii' now ?”
“ Yes, but who are you going to arrest?”
Aunt Anarky straightened her fat figure
up to its greatest height, threw hack her
head in a manner that proved she meant
business, and, with a marked emphasis on
every syllable, slowly and distinctly said,
“ Josh-way Jy-ara. Josh way Jyars, Josh
way Jyars,” she repeated in a shrill voice.
“Is it possible? 1 suppose you’ve been
‘at it again, aggory watur' ?”
“ Sun?”
“Have you been fighting him again?
Remember, Aunt Anarky, that your little
hands were never made to scratch your
husband's eyes!”
A momentary twitch of contrition cov
ered the corners of her lips, but her eyes
soon flashed and she said, “ I tells you
what it is, Mr. Lytle, I’m de-easiest-to-git
long-wid ’oiuan in this percinity, hut, sail,
de goodest-natured pUsson in tie worruld
can’t keep serennihle wid any body con
ducking lnsself like Josh does lately. Lu
it’s nil owin’ to Mr. Babe Symons. He
owed me live dollar and tree-quarters for
washin’, and instid o’ gibbiiv it to mo he
ups ami pays it to Josqway in whisky !
Yes, sail, in whisky who alius makes n
rantankerous fool o' Josh. l ank de Lor’
it's all gone but a little, on’ 1 put an eel in
dat!”
“An eel?”
“ Yes, sab, hut you musn’t tole him.
You jin’ put a eel in’whisky and lot any
body drink olf’n it once, and slio’ as you
born dey’ll never tetch 'nother drap long’s
dey live. It makes ’em sick and gibs ’em
a disgus’ for it. But I wish you’d git mo
dat corpus clirislity now, ef you please.”
“ You huVon't told mo what the Col,’a
been doing to need arresting, yet.”
“ Well, lie’s ben jawerin’ and mouthin’
and callin’ me names, he is ?”
“ What opprobrious epithet did he hurl
at you ?”
“ Sub?’*
“ What did ho call you?”
“ Well, you see I was asettin’down las’
Sadday lAoppin’ my bar for moetin’ and
Hingin’ dat blessed hyme, ‘de anguls a
walkin’ on do warter,’ when my gal,
Phrony, she say she want me to larn bet a
speech for to say at de ’ramination. ‘Law,
chile,’ sez I, ‘d’know no speech but ‘Ole
Mammy liar.”’
“‘Ole Mammy liar!’ Dat’s de very
thing!” sez I‘hrony. “Larn me dat.”
So 1 commence :
“Ole Mammy Har,
What you doin’ dar,
Settin’ in de corner
Smokin’ a cigyar.”
“ And, Mr. Lytle, je.fi’ as I got dat fur,
Josh he ups and says l- didn’t taught it to
I’hrony right. He say it orterbedis way :
‘ 010 Mammy f I Air,
What you doin’ dair,
Settin’ in de cornair
NUMBER 48.
Smokin’ a cigair.’
And jes’ ’cos 1 ’sputed him, he call me a
muskydine-skinned, wnrnut-headed, rhi
nockerous-cveil, undermined, Texasgreser,
he did. and 1 want you to h’isthim olf ter
de callyboosh, suh.”
“AuntAnarky, instead of having him
arrested, why don’t you go home and call
him some names? It will annoy him a
great deal more.”
“ I dunno what to call him;dcrc ain’t
nothin’ bad ’hough fur sicli a Babe-Symon
whiskiod-fool-nigger.”
“Call him a lump of unadulterated,
crystalized saccharine matter.”
Aunt A narky smiled at the proposed re
venge, but she asked : “ Don’t you reckum
dey’ll church ine for sicli onproper, per
fane langwidge, suh?”
“Oh, no,” replied the humorous Justieo
airily, “all those expressions are recom
mended in the statute books, likewise in
Hennen’s Digest.”
“ Fore de Lor*, I’ll call him dat, den 1
But, Mr. Lytle, I can't rememberize dat
store talk* 'thout you’ll say it ober fur mo
sebral times.”
“ Well, I'll teach it to you,” answered
Mr. Lytle, and after several failures she
succeeded in “ rememberizing ” the “bad
names,” she was to call the Colonel.
“ Now I’d better go home ’fore I forgits
it. But, Mr. Lytle, Which do you say i*
correck, ‘ Ole Mammy liar ’ or Ole Mam
my Hair ’ ?”
“ Well, really, Aunt Anarky, T have no
official information on that point. Danto
and Joaquin Miller don’t agree as to which
is the correct version, and when the doc
tors disagree who shall decide?”
“ f dunno, sab. But don't you think it
more probabliest dat ‘ Ole Marnray liar ’
is dc most humhunctious way to say it?”
“ 1 believe it is; the other version sa
vors of Mark Twain's horse-car idyl.”
“ Den I’ll make Phrony say it flat way
at de ’/.amination. Josh Jyars or no Josh
•Jyars ! Virginny ’stocracy nigger or no Vir
ginny ’stocracy nigger, he shan’t be tyrum
izing ober me no more ! Well, good-bye
Mr. Lytle. I’ll go home and call him dem
names while dey's fresh iu my mine.”
Dead dogs are sold in San Francisco for
forty cents apiece. The skins are made
into gloves, the hair is used in plaster, the
bones are ground for clarifying sugar, and
the fat is manufactured into oil. Every
part of the animal appears to be utilized
except its hark—and this, it seems to us,
in the hands of a yankee, might be saved
and placed in the front yard to frighten
off tramps and lightning-rod ageuts.