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kith's legacy.
When Rodney Craig came home from
the army with an empty sleeve, some
people wondered if Ruth Gerrish would
m arry him. A man with one arm gone,
and that his .right one, they argued, was
only part ot a man, and Ruth was a
girl who could have her choice among
the*young men of her acquaintance;
therefore —and what conclusion these
poople arrived at you know well enough,
1 am sure, for you have seen these very
persons. They live in every neighbor
hood.
Hut those who knew Ruth best, never
doubted wlmt she would do for a mo
ment.
“Of course she'll marry him,” they
said. “ She wouldn’t let the loss of an
arm keep her from doing ns she prom
ised. She loves him, and that settles
the question.”
When Rodney Craig told her that he
would give her back her promise, she
came and stood before him, and looking
into his, with her earnest ej T es, she said :
■“ Do you love me, Rodney f”
“ God knows I do, Ruth!” he an
swered, and then she put her hand in
his, and made reply :
“ Then never mention this matter
again. I told you I would be your wife,
Qod willing; and if we love each other.
I see no reason why we should not do
as we intended. I would marry you,
Rodney, if there was enough left of
you to hold your heart.”
After that he never spoke of break
ing the engagement; but he would not
consent to be a burden upon her, and it
was agreed that the marriage be post
poned until lie secured some employ
ment. lie had made application for a
clerkship under the government, but it
began to seem as if it was a modern
case of Jarndyce vs. Jarndyce. Once
in a while he got a letter from the de
partment at Washington, saying that it
was quite probable that he would se
cure the position ; the matter had been
referred to such a bureau, or was now
under consideration by such an official,
etc. And so the weeks lengthened into
months, and he waited and hoped, and
heard nothing definite, and the time
when he would be in a position to
marry Ruth seemed very far otf. She
would have married him next day if he
he had been willing. She would have
been glad to work for him, because she
loved him, and work for those we love
is always pleasant. Hut he was too
proud to consent to anything of that
sort, as I have said.
One day Ruth got a letter from Aunt
Martha Fielding. Aunt Martha lived in
a thriving village among the Herkshire
hills, and all Ruth could remember
about her was she always made her
think of some of the old mountains to
be seen from her windows, because she
was so grim in aspect, and seemed so
unchangeable in all her ways. There
had been some family trouble, and Aunt
Martha had but ver} 1 little to do with
any of her relatives. Therefore it is
not to be wondered at that Ruth and
her mother were surprised when the
letter came, asking Ruth to come up
and stop with her for a month that
summer.
“ Shall I go ?” asked Ruth.
“ I think you had better,” answered
her mother. “She must be lonely
there. Poor thing! she’s had a good
deal of trouble, off and on, but she’s
made the most of it herself. Hilt I
suppose she couldn’t help it; it washer
disposition.”
“ I can’t see wliat she wants me to
come for,” said Ruth. “ I haven’t seen
her since I was a little bit of a girl. I
wonder she didn't seud for one of Aunt
Lucy’s girls.”
“ She's got some plan in her head,”
said Mrs. Gerrish ; “ she always has
when she invites any of her relatives to
visit her. Yes, Ruth, I think you'd
better go, and do all you can to make
it pleasant for her.”
So Ruth went. Aunt Martha wel
comed her in her usual grim fashion.
Her kiss made Ruth think of one of
the old mountains departing from its
usual dignity and saluting one of the
hills.
Iluth wasn't long in finding out what
Aunt Martha had invited her to visit
her lor. One of her nephews was com
ing next week—her favorite nephew,
she told Ruth, and the one to whom her
property would go when she was done
with it, and she had got the idea into
her head that he ought to marry Ruth.
“ I always liked you,” she said, in
one of her confidential moods. “Now,
when Lucy’s girls were up here, I
was completely disgusted with ’em.
All they thought of was dress and par
ties. They were willing to see their
mother slave herself to death for ’em,
and they wouldn’t lift a finger to help
her. Rut I've heard all about you and
I know you're a good girl, and I know
John’ll like you. He's sensible, and I
hope you are.”
When Ruth saw how determined she
was to make a match between her and
this expected nephew, sire thought it
time to tell her how matters stood.
“ Aunt. Martha,” she said, with a lit
tle frightened catch of her breath, for
she was afraid the old lady would be
mortally offended at the failure of her
jilans, “ I’m engaged to be marrie 1.
And then, the worst being over, she
■went on and told her all about it, and
succeeded in making her lover into a
great hero, in. her own estimat on, it
not in Aunt Martha's.
“ And so you’re going to marry a man
with one arm and as poor as poverty,
are you ?” m l the ol 1 lady, grimly.
“ Yes, if nothing happens to prevent
it.” answered Rut’’, bravely, “We
R>ye each other, and we’ll get along
VOL. Ill—NO. 6.
some wa) T ANARUS; and love’s better than all
the wealtli in the world, I think, and so
does Rodney.” .
“Humph!” said Aunt Martha, and
there the matter dropped.
Nephew John came, and he and Ruth
were good friends at once; but neither
of them ever dreamed of loving eaeli
other. One day Aunt Martha hinted
her plan to him, and then had a long
talk with Ruth, which hadn't the least
effect toward changing her mind.
“ I have promised to marry Rodney,”
said Ruth, firmly. “ I shall keep my
promise. Not all the wealth in the
world would tempt me to break my
promise to him, because I love him.”
That afternoon, when she and John
were together, he told her what Aunt
Martha had said in the morning, and
then they had a good laugh over the old
lady’s plans, and before the interview
was ended, lie showed her the picture
of “ his girl,” and Ruth told him all
about Rodney.
“ It’s almost too bad to disappoint
her so,” he said, laughingly. “ Hut 1
don’t feel quite willing to give up my
plans for hers, and I see you don't; so
we don’t seem to be able to gratify her
by carrying out her pet project.”
“ I think not,” answered Ruth. “ I
like you pretty well, John, but I like
Rodney better —in a different way,
you know; and I guess we shall have
to run the risk of Aunt Martha's dis
pleasure and take the consequences."
The matter was never mentioned by
Aunt Martha again. When Ruth went
home, she kissed her after the same
grim fashion of her welcome, and told
her that she should expect to see her
next summer, if nothing happened.
Something did happen. It will hap
pen to all of us some time. Aunt
Martha had not expected it so soon,
and none of her relatives had thought
of her dying for years to come. Hut
the call came for her suddenly, and she
went away in the darkness of a winter
night, and there was no coming back
from a journey like hers.
Ruth and her mother went to the
funeral. The lawyer invited all the
relatives to tarry to the reading of the
will. That had been her request.
To her dear nephew, John Hunt, she
gave the sum of thirty thousand dollars ;
to her dear niece, Ruth Gerrish, she
gave her Bible, witli all the papers
therein contained. That was the sum
and substance of the document.
Ruth took her legacy, which was
found in Aunt Martha’s room securely
tied up in a thick wrapper, with her
name upon it, as the will had stated,
and they went back home.
“ I wonder who lias the homestead ?”
said Mrs. Gerrish that evening. “ All
the property willed to John was in
bonds and notes.”
Rodney Craig came in, and Ruth
brought out her legacy to show him.
She removed the wrapper, and they sat
down together to look the well-worn
Bible over. A paper fluttered to the
floor. Ruth picked it up and read :
“ My Deau Niece Ki th : I believe
that the woman who is true to the man
she loves, even if he is poor and hasn’t
but one arm, is an honor to her sex.
If you had been willing to marry John
and given up your lover, I should have
despised you. As it is, I respect you,
and, as a token of my respect, I give
you this old Bible and all you will find
in it, and pray that yon will be happy,
as 3 011 deserve to be.
Maktha Fielding.
Then, of course, Ruth had to tell
Rodney all about it. She had told her
mother before. How his eyes shone
when he knew the sacrifice she had
made for his sake ! And he said some
thing about it in a broken voice; but
she stopped him.
“ I made no sacrifice at all,” she
said. I didn’t do it for 3 r our sake
either; I did it for love's sake.”
The Bible slipped from his knee to
the floor, and several documents slip
ped out upon the carpet. He picked
them up to replace them. Ruth took
them from his hand to examine them.
“ Oh, mother !—Rodney !” she cried
excitedly, “ they are deeds /”
And sure enough they were ! The
old homestead in the village, and the
farm a mile or two away, were left to
“my dear niece, Ruth Gerrish,” and
Aunt Martha had had the deeds made
out before her death. A slip of paper
wrapped about them said that Mr. Jeff
reys, her lawyer, could tell Ruth any
thing she wanted to know about the
property. She could take possession
at any time.
“ Oh, we're rich /” cried Ruth, with
happy eyes. “ Dear Aunt Martha!
Her heart was kinder than any of us
thought. I hope she knows all about
it. If she does I'm sure she isn't
sorry for what she's done.”
“It never rains but it pours.” Next
day came a letter to Rodney from the
publisher of the paper in the village
where Aunt Martha’s home had been,
lie wanted someone to take the posi
tion of editor, at a liberal salary, con
sidering the amount of work to be done.
Miss Martha Fielding had advised him
some time ago to offer the position to
him, Would he come up and talk the
matter over ?
Rodney went, and so did Rqth and
her mother. And they are living there
now, much happier, I think, than they
would have been if Rodney had taken
the clerkship, which appointment came
when it was no longer needed. And
Aunt Martha is not forgotten, you may
be quite sure.
A bashful Young Mail.
Virginia Ciiy Chronicle.
This morning a strong, heulthy-look
ing young man entered the County
Clerk’s office and gazed respectfully
around. Harry Thompson, the Chief
Deputy, stepped up and blandly inquir
ed of the stranger if he wished any
busiuess transacted.
The young man when spoken to
started back as though dreading an as
sault, but he soon recovered himself,
and said, in a whisper:
“ Yes, sir ; I called to see—l wanted
to have a little talk —how much is it,
any how?”
He had a soft cloth hat in his hand,
and kept turning and twisting it about
as he spoke ! his lace had grown terribly
red, and big drops of perspiration were
standing on his brow.
“ What is it you want?” asked the
Clerk.
The man looked at him pleadingly,
but struggled in vain for utterance. Ilis
eves bulged out, his face grew redder,
and the veins in his neck and on his
forehead swelled till they looked like
knotted cords. He twisted the hat con
vulsively, and then straightened it out
again, and then pulled the new lining
out of it and dropped it on the floor.
Then lie picked it up all dusty from the
floor and wiped his streaming face, leav
ing a dirty streak after each wipe. Fi
nally, it seemed as though the poor
young man had quite recovered himself,
for he looked cheerfully around the
room, and then turning to Mr. Thomp
son, remarked in a pleasant and confi
dential tone:
“ Well, it is real warm forthis season,
isn’t it?”
“ Very warm, indeed,” replied Mr.
Thompson.
“Itis a good deal hotter than it is
down in the valley, and somehow I’ve
always had just the other notion about
it—that the higher up you got the cool
er—.”
“Yes,” said Thompson, ‘‘but about
that business of yours?”
Another fiery blush that looked as if
it would scorch the collar off his neck
followed this remark, but the stranger
held up bravely. He leaned on the
desk in an easy careless sort of way, and
began to toy with a mucilage brush.
“ The fact of the matter is that I
wanted to—
Here he paused again and meditative
ly jammed the mucilage brush into the
inkstand.
“ What the devil are 3’ou doing with
that brush ?” asked the clerk somewhat
impatiently.
“ Oh, by George —excuse me 1” stam
mered the man as he withdrew the brush,
spattering the ink all over the Clerk’s
shirt-bosom, and, as if it had been molas
ses dripping from his fingers, thrust the
brush into his mouth, daubing himself
with ink and mucilage, aud then bolted
from the edifice.
“That’s about the worst case I've
seen,” remarked Mr. Thompson, ns lie
wiped a big ink-spot from the starboard
of his Roman nose.
“ Crazy as a bedbug,” said Alderman
Orndorfj who had been an interested
spectator of the whole scene. “ You
ought to semi a police%an after that
man.”
“ No, lie’s not exactly crazy,” replied
Thompson, “ I knew from the start that
lie wanted a marriage license, and I
thought I'd have a little quiet fun, hut
lie’s broke the line now and gone otf
with the hook.”
“ Them Feet.”
Free Press.
For half an hour before the circus
opened yesterday an anxious-looking
middle-aged man was observed walking
around nervously, as if he had a free
ticket and was afraid the show was on
the point of busting up. When the
ticket wagon opened he made a rush
for it and bought a paste-board, but
while on his way to the tent, ticket in
hand, a woman dodged into the proces
sion, seized his collar, and for half a
minute the air seemed full of heels.
“ Going to the circus, eh ?” exclaim
ed the woman as she slammed him
around. “ Sneaked out the back way,
and made a bee-line for here, did you ?”
“Let upon me—stop—for Heaven's
sake! stop this disgraceful conduct!”
he ejaculated as he tried to keep her
at arm’s length.
“ Gentlemen,” she said to the crowd,
as she held up one foot and then the
other—“see them shoes? I’ve worn
’em better nor a year, there hain’t noth
ing left but heels and shoe-strings. All
the children are just as bad off, and we
don't have half enough to eat. That
explains why I’m bouncing him—why
I’ll make his good-for-nothing heels
break his good-for-nothing neck !”
They fell over a rope as she grasped
HARTWELL, GA., WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 2, 1878.
him,Wand kt Hie confusion he broke
away, leaving the ticket on the ground.
A Iwijf handed it to her, and wiping the
mud off her nose with her apron she
said:
“Ihain't seen no giraffes, nor clowns,
nor snakes, nor hyenas for twenty-five
years, and being this 'ere ticket is
bought I'll walk in and view the gor
geousness. and the children shall come
to-night if I have to pawn the wash-tub
to rajse the money !”
Bijali Advises Hie Small boy.
!
Detroit Free Frees.
A rat of a boy about twelve years
old vv; the first caller at Rijah's par
lors. • He wanted a certain matter de
cided, and he wouldn’t trust any other
man in town to decide it for him. Be
ing received in a fatherly manner, he
began:
“ I believe I shall run away and go
to Africa.”
“ Africa, my son. is more’ll a hundred
mi lop away,” replied Bijali. “ They
have nojaw-breakers—no gum—no dime
novels in Africa.”
“I can’t help that—l've got t> leave
homJL” continued the lad. “ About a
uioii(ii ago some big guuduwu town told
dad he ought to make a lawyer of me,
and he came tearing home and ordered
me to begin to reckon on being a lawyer.
Next day someone told mother she
ought to make a preacher of me, and
when I got home she said she'd make
me jump if I didn’t begin to look sol
emn and learn to sing a hymn. That’s
the case. Dad lie’s sot, and mam she’s
sot, and ’tween the two of 'em I'm git
tin to be a corpse. If dad asks me how
many exclamation points (!!!!) there
are in a writ of replevlin, mam she sets
in and wants to know why Daniel was
chucked into the lion’s deu and my best
hold is to skip through the winder and
let ’em wrangle over my tracks. It's
red-hot for ’em up there, and I've got to
embezzle the funds of a bank and take
an excursion aboard.”
“ Boy, I feel for you,” said Bijali ns
he patted the youngster on the head.
“Mv parents had the same fuss over
me. My respected governor was deter
mined that I should be a philosopher,
the governess wanted me to be a poet,
and my aunt insisted that I learn the
hliteksruilh’s trade. One .yelled Dio
genes at me —another hammered vol
umes of poetry at me—my aunt bought
me a sledge aud a pair of bellows. What
was the result! I ran away from home
and became nothing but a statesman.
They lived to repent their action, but it
was too late.”
“ Have I got to be a statesman ?” ask
ed the boy, a lonely quiver in his voice.
“I hope not —I hope not. You go
homo and say nothing, and I'll make it
a pint to call up that wa3 r . I think I
can convince your parents of the error
of their wa3’s. If I can’t I'll watch
for a chance to run ’em down to the
cooler and have ’em sent up for disobe
dience, and before they come out I’ll
make a Washington correspondent of
you.”
The boy went away feeling good.
There was a chance to steal a dog on
the corner, but he was too happy to
seize it.
Hitting the Wrong Man.
The following amusing incident occur
red not long since in a denominational
book store, not a thousand miles from
Cornhill, Boston :
Amusing it certainly was, though the
hero of the occasion has not regained his
equanimity.
The clerks in this store had acquired
the habit of playing off tricks upon
each other—practical joking they called
it—and one of the tricks was this : If
one of the clerks happened to see an
other in a sitting posture, selecting books
from the lower shelves, he would seize a
board, perhaps part of a box cover and
smartly spank the stooping victim.
Jerry I* was one of the clerks,
a simple-minded, good-natured fellow
from Vermont, always ready and willing
for the hardest kind of work, and prized
by his employers accordingly.
Jerry had been the chief victim of the
spanking process, and lie was determin
ed upon revenge —not with malevolence,
nor yet with indignation, but simply in
the way of fair play. To this end he
lay low, watching an opportunity.
One afternoon upon returning to the
store from an errand, the longed for op
portunity seemed to present itself, and
Jerry seized it instanter.
At the far end of the long counter he
saw an individual overhauling books on
the very bottom shelf, his body bent at
a most tempting angle.
Jerry was sure it was Tom S ,
from whose hands he had received many
an emphatic spank, and now was the
time to pay off old scores.
So he selected a splendid board and
creeping noiselessly along to the spot, he
gave tlie stooping man a blow that
sounded through the store like the burst
ing of a retort, and brought him to an
erect position like a Jack in the box.
Here was a fix. Tom S , at the
sound of the blow, appeared from an
other part of the store, while the gentle-
WHOLE NO. 110.
man who hnd bwn struck stood in u t r
bewilderment, rubbing away at the af
flicted part moat assiduously ; and poor
Jerry then discovered to his dismay and
deep regret, that ho had struck his cm- (
plover’s parson, the Rev. Dr. B who
had been curiously searching among a
lot of old Greek ami Hebrew books.
Jerry wept with shame and confusion,
was forgiven ; and from that that par
ticular species of amusement was dis
continued in the store.
Power of Eloquence.
Sargent S. Prentiss, of Mississippi,
was one of the most brilliant of orators,
as an advocate before a jury, or as a po
litical speaker addressing a multitude i
from the stump. His was a mind in
which there was a rare combination of
faculties. Judgment, imagination, mem
ory, flic power of expression, and (lie
faculty of intense application, each did
work to perform a perfect oration.
On a certain occasion Prentiss visited
Boston and addressed its citizens in Fn
ncuil Hall. A gentleman who heard
him, then a venerable judge, told tins
anecdote, which illustrates the orator’s
power. Unable to secure a seat, he
stood jammed by the crowd. As Mr.
Prentiss began to speuk, the gentleman
took out his watch to time him. Ashe
was replacing it m his fob, something in
the orator’s manner and words arrested
liis attention. He found it impossible
to take away his eyes or care. He for
got tiic presence of tlie crowd, his ow n
fatigue, the passage of the time, every
thing but the speaker. Mr. Prentiss, as
he drew near the close of his address
seemed fatigued. So intense was the
sympathy of the venerable man with
him, that he found himself breathing
rapidly and painfully.
At last the orator, exclaiming, “My
powers fail!” sank exhausted into a
chair.
Not till then did the aged listener dis
cover that his hand was still holding his
watch at the opening of its pocket. He
looked at it. He had stood in that
crowd listening for throe hours and fif
teen minutes. Near him stood an aged
minister who tremulous with excitement
exclaimed:
“ Will any one ever doubt again that
God inspires man?”
Signs of the Weather.
Dew is a sign of fine weather, and is
never seen except under the cloudless
sk3 T . Wind and clouds are sure preven
tatives of dew, from the simple reason
that clouds arc able to retain some of
the solar heat; and, as they can give
forth warmth, the radiation from the
earth is checked, and the warmer tem
perature preserved. Wind evaporates
the moisture ns fast as it appears; and
if the wind is westerly, there is little
dew or cloud to be seen. The contrary
is observed with easterly wind, hut a
west wind blows over a vast expanse of
land, and having lost its vapor, dries up
any moisture it may come across ; while
an east wind, crossing the Atlantic, is
full of vapor and sheds dew on all sides.
These remarks, of course, apply chiefly
to particular localities, but the influence
of a west wind may be seen in the
spring. Dew is more copiously deposi
ted in the spring and autumn than in
summer, as there is usually a great dif
ference in those seasons between the
temperature of day and night; in the
spring, however, there is a small depos
it of dew when a west wind prevails;
hut in autumn, during the soft influences
of south and cast winds, the cartli is
covered with moisture. It has also
been observed that there is a greater for
mation ot dew between sunset and mid
night. •
Solemn.
Wise indeed, will lie the man who profits
by the ominous ami portentious signs that
loom up in the unknown future, who heeds
the distant rambling of the far away hut
rapidly approaching storm, that will yet,
like the relentless hurricane, or the deadly
simoon, sweep over the land. Rut wiser
far is he who has learned wisdom and expe
rience from the hitter lessons of the long
past. Kven as he listens to the cry of the
warnings ahead that betokens the breaker,
or that death-trap into which so many
great, good and honored men have fallen
never to rise again—that fatal wj pas of the
infernal cledit system. Make no false
step —mistake not the clouds that obscure
the sun for the brilliant orb itself. The
merchant who gets the' everlasting and al
mighty dollar for his goods can afford to
sell them cheaper than he who scatters
them in worthless debts and paper tehose
redeemer liveth not. New advanced ideas
arc crowding out the old. Pluck instead of
luck —cash instead of credit—brains in the
place of cheek—nre heating hack and
crushing into oblivion the moonshine mer
chants with their tough, long time credit
prices.
Grant was in Denmark three weeks,
and not a single newspaper informed its
readers that “ there was something rot
ten in Denmark is our civilization a
failure, or are our newspapers losing
their enterprise? —Atlanta Phonograph.
A DISTINGUISHED VISITOR.
Feck's Sun.
The Sun office is in receipt of many
calls, but no more distinguished looking
man has been in than the one who came
in on Monday. It is a settled habit
with us to treat every person cordially,
and not to be outdone in anything so
cially. If a man were to come in with
a grievance or a club, and desired,
alxive all tilings, to erect a head upon
the editor, we should receive him with
cordiality, give him a check for his club
for the time being, set out n bottle of
wine, and gradually draw him out on
the subject of finance and other great,
questions, previous to throwing him
down stairs. Politeness is never
thrown away, and there is no person so
humble but that he appreciates a pleas
ant word, or a cordial shake of the
hand. And in these days you can’t
tell by n man's appearance, what is in
him. A tramp may be clothed in pur
ple ink on a fine linen ulster, or the _
millionaire ma)' be dressed ns a tramp.
So it is safest to receive warmly any -
person who calls. On Monday the door
opened and a smiling face peered in.
•• Is George in ?” asked the visitor, aud
his whole countenance from lire chin Jo ,
liis hair, was one good natured laygh of T
welcome. As the good natured sexton
of the office directed the visitor to our
room, we instinctively dsvpped our wri
ting, stopped in the midst Af an edit.o-,
rial, and bottling up ideas that were
flowing from the spigot at a great rate.
The man walked in and sat his box
down on our mahogany desk, the brass
nails grating the varnish otf, and the
visitor took our hand in both of his,
gazed into our soft brindle eye with a
i look of mingled love, admiration r.nd
devotion, lie was a thick-set, dark
complected man, attired in a linen dug
i ter, which covers a multitude of sins
at times. We amid not plane him, ex-i
actly. though lie seemed to know ns
like a book. Squeezing our hand like
a woman he said he had long looked
forward to this day. lie said he had
j expected to see a large fat man, and we
must excuse him for being surprised at
finding a thin, emaciated, homely man
in the editorial chair, lie seemed fa
miliar to us, but we couldn't tell where
we had met him before. In some re
spects lie resembled a member of the
legislature, and then he Imd the air of
a circus agent, lie might be a railroad
superintendent, or a high officer of the
government. Anyway, he was a dis
tinguished guest and we bade him bo
seated, lie said he was in a hurry,
and lie began to open his box, saying
I that he was introducing an article. As
he fumbled at the lock of the case wo
wondered what was in it. Jt might be
a case of duelling pistols, it might be
a lot of government bonds, or lie might
ie the agent of some millionaire that
had died and left 11s much money, aud
i it was with anxiety that we awaited the
opening of the box.
Finally the fop of the burial case be
came loosened, and the lid Hew up, and
he said there were a few hundred corns
and bunions that he had removed from
people’s feet, and he wanted to know if
we had any to remove. Heavens, what
ja fall was there, me countrymen ! Of
all t he disgusting sights in the world, a
collection of corns and bunions is the
worst, and as we readied around for a
lemon to ward olf sea-siekness, lie be
gan to tell about them, lie picked up
a bunion about the size of a peach bas
ket and said he removed that from the
foot of a young lady living on Van
Buren street. If there is one thing we
won’t stand, it is to hear a man slander
a girl, and knowing that the girl men
tioned wore a number one shoe and
I that she couldn’t possibly have raised
j that bunion unless she raised it in a
hothouse, we decided to kill him at
once, so we touched a wire connected
with a can of nitroglycerine under the
the chair in which the bunion was seat
ed, and there was an explosion, l'ieces
lof linen duster were found up by the
water works, and parties who came
across the lake on tho Amazon said
'they noticed peculiar looking scales
raining down, about half way across
the lake, though there was not a cloud
to be seen. It was corns and bunions.
No one regrets more than we do the
necessity of resorting to harsh meas
ures to break up this habit of speaking
ill of respectable girls, and when we
think how pleasantly lie spoke to us,
. and how glad lie was, it causes a mo*
; mentary sadness, but someone must
I do these disagreeable things. Peace
to liis fragments. If the coroner holds
an inquest on every bunion and corn
that is found, that will be the best pay
ing office in the city.
George Woods tells this ynrn: A
young sprig of the law went to a doctor
who gave him a couple of pills: Next
<luy the lawyer returned with the report
that the pills had no effect on him. The
doctor then gave him four pills with the
same result, when the old doctor re
marked, “My G—d, man, two of those
pills ought to act on any one. What
sort of a man arc you? What is your
business?” “ I’m a lawyer,” replied the
young man.
A girl says that when she dies she de
sires to have tobacco planted over her
grave, that the weed nourished by her
(lust may be chewed by her bereaved
lovers. There is poetry in the idea.
An Irishman was once asked to de
fine an Irish bull, to which he replied:
“ Whenever you see two cows lying down
in a field, the one that is standing up is
a bull.”
While the lamp holds out to burn, it
I it is well to keep the parlor blinds down,