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About The Enterprise. (Carnesville, GA.) 1890-1??? | View Entire Issue (May 5, 1890)
VOL. I. The Useless One, Torts should not reason; Let them sing! Argument Is treason— Hells should ring. Statements none, nor questions Gnomic words, Spirit-cries, suggestions, Like the Birds. lie may use deduction Who must preach; He may praise instructio Who must teach; But the poet duly Sills his part When the song burs From his heart. For no purpose springing For no pelf; He. must do the singing For itself. Not in lines austerely Let him build; Not. the surface merel Let him gild. Fearless, uninvited. Like a spring. Opal-words, iulighted, Let him ting. As the leaf grows sunwart Song must grow; As the stream flows onwar Song must flow. Useless? Ay—for measure; Boses die, 2!ut their breath gives pleasure— God knows why! - John Hoyle O'Reilly. THE LUCKY CAKE. j | ! There was bustie and preparation in | j the farm house at "Oak JLil. Mary Chester, the farmer's eldest j daughter, was to bo married, and a wedding did not take place at Oak Hill every day. Indeed, the last one had happened twenty years ago, and that being tho J wedding of Mr. aud Mrs. Chester, neither Mary nor her younger sister j Kate could bo expected to remember ; much about it. ; “No; weddin’s don’t come along | everyday—the more’s the blcssin’. Au’ I I’m goin' ter see ter it my own self, that this one’s what it hed ougliter bo— lucky cake an’ all. No knowin’ who that cake might affect. An’ cf I do say it, as hadn’t ougliter, I defy cuuy one ter beat me on that,” said Aunt Hetty Blake, Mrs. Chester’s maiden sister, as she took her post in the kitchen, and valiantly refused to leave it. To tell the truth, no one tried very hard to persuade her to do so. It was a pet superstition in tho city, that a certain kind of cake, compounded by a certain recipe, would surely infiu- enee the destiny of one, at least, of the family or invited guests, and while all of Aunt Hetty’s cooking was excellent, her lucky cake was always as perfect as could be, although she had never had any use for any herself. Bo, while the wintry air without was filled with feathery snow-flakes, and the cold, north wind sighed through the leafless branches of the great oaks around the house, within the great kitchen tho air was fragrant with the steam of viands, which surpassed eveu Mrs. Chester’s far-famc-l Thanksgiving feats. “’Pears like you waru’t much good hero, Mary,” cried Aunt Hetty, with a nervous laugh. “An yer ain’t ter blame - a bit, child. Amos is ar likely a feller as the sun shines on, an’ a gal don t go ter her own weddin’ so often as ter go; used to it, I reckiu. So we’ll excuse r e fer bein’ dreamy-like; but I guess f e’d better go an’help your mi about ratting things to rights. Kate an’ me kin manage here, with 8,:ry Ann’s help. Tain’t good fer a bride ter see her cake afore she’s married, much less ter help make it; an’ jest now l’m goin’ about ;hst lucky cake, so “Oh, I’ll go, aunty,” answered Mary, hastily, as she espied a manly form coming down the road,and remembered (hat the parlor had not beau inspected, “Only be very careful about that cake; for, as there are no invited guests, it is lure to oring good luck to you,or Sarah Ann, or Kate.” “Jt ain’t likely ter be me!” answered Aunt Hetty, with a deep sigh. “Law, Miss Mary,’taiu’t me noway!” cried Sarah Ann, with a toss of her head. But her face flamed as she remem¬ bered what Tim McCarthy, the young butcher, had said to hertha day baforc, when be came to buy Mr. Che tor’s prize oxen. Kate said uot a word, but she bent her head lower above the raisens she was stoning, that the others might not see tho happy lovelight in her eyes, as she looked half guilty at the new ring on her finger, which no one had noticed in the hurry A modest trinket it wai-ouly a neat band ol gold with a (rue-lover’s knot m the centre, and one linv pearl—but Charlie Turner had placed it there just the evening befoft, and bis whispered words gave value to the golden c’rc'e, “Come, Knte, don’t you go ter dreamin’, tool Them laisins must be THE ENTERPRISE ( dusted with flour, a-ready at tho very minute 1 want 'cm. ’Taint right to have no drawback in this cake. Be spry, an’ you shall have the bigge " slice ter drenut over touight. Dear, dear I Ido hopa there won’t be no heavy streaks in flt! There was in Nan¬ cy Parson's, au’ she died ju loss'n a year,” said Aunt Hetty, beating brisk¬ ly the foamy mass and dusting the spice in carefully. “Pm afraid these eggs ain't none too flesh. 1 allers do like tho old white turkey’s eggs fer lucky cake, but it ain’t the right time of year fer 'cm. Laud sakes, Kate! you are most cs droaray es Mary. Hand me them raisins. You ain’t fit to dust’em, I know; fur if you get the leastest milo of flour morc’u you need, it ’ill make a heavy streak. P’raps you kin beat these eggs. Beat ’em (lie same way all the time—mind that, now!” And Katie, sitting by the window in the winter sunlight, thought the world a Garden of Eden. “There! that’s all you kin du,child," said Aunt Hetty, taking the yellow dish from her hands. “Run an’ tell your ma not to worry one mite. Every¬ thing is coinin’ on jest es nice cs kin be. Why—what! What ye lookin' fur? Los t any tiling ? ” “No—yes—no!” stammered Kate, groping among the chairs and. under the long table. ‘ ‘It’s all right, aunty —I mean it’s—iffs nothing;’’ aud she flashed out at the hail door, leaving tho good lady to wonder over her disturbed manner aud white, startled face. Straight to her room she rau, with beating heart and dim, misty eyes. She would look for it again, when Aunt Hetty and Sarah Ann were gone. Ob, what would Charlie say? The pretty , newriDg , wilU the onc plm . , )oai q an q the true-lovcr’s knot, was j ost | Charlie had wanted to excliauge it for a smaller one, but no luck ever came of exchanging an engagement ring—and she wanted to wear it, to know that she really had promised to be Charlie’s wife in the happy spring¬ time. But it was worse than exchanging it to lose it, and Charlie would notice tho loss at once. It was a very sorrowful figure that crept to tlio ball door to welcome Charlie in the early evening darkness, and a white, troubled face looked up to him in the wintry moonlight that shone upon the newly-fallen snow, and fell in a broad, mellow line upon the floor. “Just a splendid night for the wed¬ ding, Kate,” he whispered, clasping her hands. “1 wish that you and I were going with them tomorrow; but you won’t keep me waiting long! Why, where is your ring? Too precious to wear, eh?’’ “It’s—it’s gone, Charlie 1” she sobbed. That was the beginning, and lovers’ quarrels arc inueb the same tho world over. They quarrelled fearfully, of course, aud all because Charlie was sure that he had seen George Lyon have the ring he had given to Kate as a love’s pledge and she could not prove it false, for she did not know where it was. That is, Charlie quarrelled, and said many hateful things, to which she re- plied only by sobs;but. then-re was a man, and they will be unreasonable. “But-bnt you'll stay to the wed- ding? You-you are the best man,you know? ’ she faltered at last. “Certainly, I shal stay. As we have told no one yet. the o is no need of making auy bagger fool of myself. Of course I shall stay!’ Ire answered, bitterly, and strode into tho parlor, where tho family were beginning to assemble. Neither of them could remember much about the ceremony, aucl certainly their gloomy faces were a marked con- trast to those of Amos aud Mary. The first that Charlie clearly realized ho was seated by Kate’s side at the wedding supper, and Aunt Hetty, all fuss and flutter, was distributing tho lucky cake. “I told ye you should have the big- : gest piece, Kate, an’ here ’tis,” she said, laying a great slice beside her plate. “An’ here’s another fer you, Charlie Turner. May it be Incky fer ye both!” “Thank you, Aunt Hetty! I hope it will,” answered Chaclie, as lio began 10 eat if ‘ mechanically. But Kate left her s un asted. : What could lucky cake mean to liert j Suddenly a low ejaculation of sur. prise arousrd her. No onc else noticed it; but, as she j glanced up, she met Charlie’s eyes, fil ed with wonder, remorse and earnest pleading, and in his hand, among the fragments of spicy cake, shone the golden circle, with its true- lovers knot and ono tiny pear!. “Forgive m?, dear!” he sai l, when thoy ha 1 slippoi away from the jiyous company to the deep, moonlighted window-seat in the hall. “I was a CAKNE8VILLE. GA., MONDAY, MAY r>. 1890. brute—I might have known—but, bul I will never oifeud again, doarest." A man’s plea. But she ncceptod it, and believed him with a woman's bliud faith! Aud so it proved a lucky cake as woll ■ as an unlucky one to Kate Chester. Of course, she had dropped the ring into the eggs as she beat them, and Aunt Hetty had stirred it into the cako without noticing it. But her sorrow was overcome by joy and forgotten. An Adventure In California. “I'll never forget an adventure 1 bad some years ago while in California,” said a gentleman to a Cincinnati Times- itar reporter. “I was at Los Angeles aud with five boon and adventuresome companions determined to go to a p ace called ‘Portuguese Bend,' situated ou a prom¬ ontory about twenty-five miles away. It loomed up at least 800 feet above a little whaling station ou the Pacific coast. Wo started out on u Friday morning in September to reach the •Bend.’ All were jolly and never dreamed of the privations in store for us. The first ten miles were all right Then came the tug which was simply awful. Friday night found us penned in by towering hills. Saturday all day long we climbed and fought tlio rugged cliffs, aud when night came we had made less than two miies. Not a drop of water had we seen since our start. Ali min suf¬ fered greatly, as did the horses. Sat¬ urday night was passed in sleepless misery. The next morning we were as lank, lean and parched as skeletons aud yet no prospect of anything to slake our teuible thirst. AU forenoon Sunday we searched in vain. I struck off into the mountains and wended my way up in a deep canyon whose towering walla seemed to pierce the very skies. Final¬ ly I got Way up Iho deep crack, as it were, in the mountains, when I plunged into a den of white owls. Thero seemed to be million i of the things, rvith their ghostly, fiuttsring wings. I was fright¬ ened almost uto a lit before I got ou* of the terrible place. “I was‘gone nearly all forenoon, bu. found no watei. My companions had searched high i.-nd low for mo. When I got back I was exhaustel and com¬ pelled to lie (low i. 1 had consider able money with me, same of it being $20 gold pieces. 1 would willingly have given $100 tor a drink of water. But no, not a drop could I get with all the gold I might command. It seemed that I suffered the most. My compan¬ ions carried me the remainder of the afternoon, and along toward evening, when the groat sinking sun was shoot¬ ing its lurid rays across the Pacific, we came to Portuguese Bend and found water. Oh, what bliss I I never was so happy in all my life before. No man knows what thirst is unless ho has experienced it. Hunger is nowhere in comparison. r» Women’s Family Names. There is a lawyer who does a good deal of real estate conveyancing, ono of the chief of whose grievances in li fc is the scant respect that women show to- ward their uamei. The fact that a certain alteration taker place in the name at marriage destroys, so he claims, whatever regard a woman might be ex- tQ t(> au exact rcwleri and Jh(j fact lhat legnl significance ^ any cage attacb t0 the form secm9 t<> ^ bovond lho of the average bfain> If a irl bab . g christened Elizaboth she will fii ^ ^ to her nam(J to deod ftftei . she is ° n> Lhz] u E!is0j Lisbct r Lisbethj according to which diminutive happens to bo her favorite y or j be yearj and w jh 0 mit her middle nam(N g i va it in f u n or b y initial, or gign instaf d of her owd her husband’s name, according to her sweet liking. The task of the lawyer who has to trace up half a dozen of these signatures to make sure that they all refer to the same person is not calculated to make easy the task of his wife who has to soothe liis rutiled temper with a good dinner. That the married women should ia all cases retain her own famly name, preceeding it by her given name and following it with her husband’s family name is the lawyer’s plea if he is to be saved from insanity. Frances Folsom Cleveland, Julia Dent Grant, Louise Chandler Moulton, Julia Ward Howe, Elia Wheeler Wilcox and other., set in this respect a good example. Rich Food for Ducks. William Masou, who lives about a mile from Bluebill village, thinks there may be a gold mine on his farm, and proposes to investigate the matter this spring. Several ducks killed by him have had pieces of gold in their crops and as they have spent most of their; time in a newly deepened pool, the bottom of which is gray sand, it is thought this is where they got their uousuaiiy rich food.— Lewiston (Me.) Journal. HAT BEFORE SLEEP. It is the True Way to Obtain Refreshing Slumber. To Sleep on an Empty Stomach is to Awake Exhausted. Goiug to bed with a well-filled stomach is tho ossential prerequisite of Refreshing slumber. Tiro cautious so often reiterated in old medical journals against late suppers were directed chief¬ ly to tho bibulous habits of those early times. When at every late feast tho guests not unseidom drank themselves under tho table, or needed strong as* sistance to roach their couch, tho canon against such indulgence was not un¬ timely. Nature and common sense teach us that a full stomach is esseutial to quiet repose. Every man who lias found it difficult to keep awake aftor a hearty dinner has answered the problem for him-.elf. Thero are few animals that can be trained to rest until after they are fed. Man, as be comes into tiro world, pre¬ sents a condition it would be well for him to follow in all bis after-life. The sweetest minstrel ever sent out of para¬ dise cannot sing au infant to sleep on an empty stomach. We have known reckless nurses to give the little ones a dose of paregoric or soothing syrup in place of its cup of milk, when it was too much trouble to get the latter, but this is the one alternative. The little stomach of tho sleeping child, as it be¬ comes gradually empty, folds on itself in plaits; two of these make it restless; threo will open its oyos, but by careful soothing these may bo closed again; four plaits and the charm is broken; there is no more sleep in that house¬ hold until that child has been fed. It seems to us so stiangc that with this example before their eyes full-grown men are so slow to learn the lesson. The fanner does it for his pig, who would squeal all night if it were not fed at the last moment, and the groom knows that his horse will paw ia his stall until ho has had his. meal. But when lie wishes to 9loep himself he never seems to think of it. To sleep, the fulness of the blood must ieavo the head: to digest tho oaten food the blood must come to the stomach. Thus, sleep and digestion are natural allies; one helps the other. Mau, by long practice, will train himself to sleep on aa empty stomach, but it is more the sleep of exhaustion than the sleep of refreshment. Ho wakes up after such a troubled sleep feeling utterly miserable until he has had a cup of coffee or some other stimulant, and he has so injured tho tone of his stom¬ ach that he has little appetite for break- fast. Whereas, ouo who allows himself to sleep aftor a comfortable meal awakes strengthened, and his appstite has been quickened by that preceding iudul. go rice. The difficulty in recovery comes from the fact that we are such creatures of our habits it is impossible to break away from them without persistent effort. In this case the man who has eaten nothing after <> o clock and rc- tires at 10 or 11 takes to bed an empty stomach upon which the action of the gastric juices makes him uncomforta- ble nil the night. If he proposes to try our experiment he will sit down and eat a tolerably hearty meal, He is unaccustomed to this at that hour and has a sense of discomfort with it. lie may try it once or twice, or even long¬ er, and then he gives it up, satisfied that for him it is a failure. The true course is to begin with just one or two mouthfuls the last tiling be¬ fore going to bed. And this should be light food, easily digested. No cake or pastry should bo tolerated. One mouthful of cold roast beef, cold iamb, cold chicken, and a little crust of bread will do to begin with, or, what is bet¬ ter yet, a spoonful or two of condensed milk (not the sweetened that comes in cans) in threo times as much warm water. Into this cut half a pared poach an< I two or three Itttle squares of bread, the whole to be one-fourth or one-sixth of what would be a light luuch. Increase this very gradually, until at the end of a month or six weeks tlio patient may indulge in a bowl of milk, two peaches, witli a hal f hard roll or a crust of home-made bread. When peaches are gone lake 1> iked apples with the milk till strawberries come, and eat the latter till peaches return again. This is the secret of our health and vitality. We often work until after midnight, but eating the comfort¬ able meal is the last thing we do every night of the year. This is not an un¬ tried experiment or one depending on ‘.he testimony of a single witness.— American Analyst. Mrs. Hardhead—That’s our milk- man’s wife. Mr. Hardhead—She’s very becomingly attired. Mr-. Hardhead— How so? Mr. Hardhead—She wears watered silk. _ They Split the Difference. Adjutant-General Mullen was" in s reminiscent mood. “I will tell you a little experience I had down in Louis¬ iana in 1802,” ho said. “I was a mem¬ ber of tho Connecticut Volunteers. The opposing armies had corns into protty close quarters, and Confederate out- pickets, stragglers and skirmishers were around us and doing considerable mischief. Three companies of our reg¬ iment wore ordered out on skirmish duty. We marched down, five paces apart, according to regulations, into a perfect morass. Tho water was waist deep everywhere. “I am not very tall, and found it uecossary to hold up my cartridge belt lo keep it from getting saturated. The Confederates were scattered through this swamp, aud wo to k a number of prisoners without opening fire. I met with a misfortuue. .My foot caught be¬ neath a couple of parallel branches be¬ neath the water, and I was socurely pinioned. My companions continued ou their way while I struggled hard to extricate myself from my unpleasant predicament. I finally pulled my foot out with a desperate effort, but my shoe was left behind. I could only secure it by plunging my Jtcad beneath the surface of slimy, noxious, muddy water, but it had to be done. I had no sooner got the shoe tied ou again than a Confoderato came in sight from behiud some bushos. Intuitively our muskets were simultaneously raised. “Surrender!' thundered the Cm fed. erato. “Surrender yourself?’ I returned at the top of iny lungs. “Then wc stood aiul eyed each other. Each had his gun cocked and levelled at the other, but neither pulled a trig¬ ger. Why we hesitated is more than I can explaiu. By delaying, you see, each was practically placing liimsel f at the mercy of tho other, or so it would seem. Suddenly tho Confederate’s gun dropped and I brought mine down also. t i ‘See here, Yank,’ he begau, in a much milder tone, ‘if I should shoot you ray side wouldn’t gain much; and, again, if you should shoot mo your sido wouldn’t gain much. Now, I’ve got a wife und two babies over yonder, and if you dropped me they wouldn’t have nobody to take care of them. Now, it's a blamed mean man what won’t split the difference. I’ll let you go if you’ll let me go, and we'll call the thing square. What do you say?’ “Well, what should Isay? I walked over half way, aud we mot and shook hands and parted. About a year after a letter came to our camp addressed to ‘Little Yankee that split the differ¬ ence.’ 1 had told lrim my regimont, you see, but not my name, The letter was a cordial invitation to visit tho man at liis homo in Louisiana. He wanted me too see the wife ari l babies whose members had prompted him to propose to split tho difference, and I have al¬ ways regretted that I was unable to ac¬ cept the invitation.”— St. Paul Pioneer Press. Worship of Flowers by Persians. A recent traveler in India gives the fo’lowiug description of flower worship as practised by the Persians in Bom¬ bay. A true Persian, in flowing robe of blue, and on his head a sheepskin hat—black, glossy, curly, the fleece of Kar Kill—would saunter in and stand aa( j meditate over every flower ho saw, and always as if half in vision, And when the vision was fulfilled, and tho ideal flower ho was seeking found, ho would spread his mat and sit before it until the setting of the sun and then fold up his mat again and go home. And the next night, and night after night until that particular flower had faded away, he would return to it and bring his friends in ever-increasing troops to it and sit and play the guitar or lute before it, and they would alto¬ gether pray there, and after prayer still sit befor it, sipping sherbet and talking the most hilarious and shocking scandal late into the moonlight, and so again every evening until the flower died. Sometimes, by way of a grand finale, the whole company would suddenly arise before the flower, and serenade it together with an ode from' Hafiz and (lapart. — Cassell's Journal. Homely Women of Portugal, The Portuguese men are rathor be¬ low the medium height, of olive com- plexion and have brilliant black eyes. For the most part they are very hand- some. The women, on the contrary, are excessively homely, but dress in very good tasto. Both gentlemen and ladies copy the Parisian fashions. The prettiest women are the fisher maids, who go about the streets barefooted with their baskets of fish on their heads, after the fashion of the Egyptian women their pitchers of water. Some of girls are remarkably pretty, and, to say, their feet are small aud delicate looking and their fornrs graco- fql, CHILDREN’S COLUMN. T11E “ooodkkt” motuicb. Evening was falling cold and dark. And the people harried along the way, As if they were longing soon to mark Their own home candle's cheering ray. Before rue toiled in the whirling wind, A woman with bundles great and small, And after her tugged, a step behind, '1’he bundle she loved the best of all A dear little roly-poly boy, With rosy cheeks amt u jacket blue, Laughing and chattering, full of joy. And here’s what he said 1 tell you true;— “You’re the goodest mother that ever was.” A voice as clear as the forest bird's; And I'm sure the glad young heart had cause To utter the sweet of the lovely words. Perhaps the woman hud worked all day, Washing or scrubbing; perhaps she sewed; 1 know by tier weary footfall’s way That life for her was an uphill road. But here was comfort, children dear! Think what a comfort you might, give To the very best friend you can have here — The mother, dear, in whose house you live, If once in a white you'd stop und say, In task or play, for moment’s pause, Amt tell her in sweet and winning way, “Toil’re the goodest mot her that ever was” SAY ED BY A HAT. There is an old poem which tells a pretty and true story about a rat, aud shows that kindness can work wonders even with creatures which we are accus- tomed to look down upon. There was onco a gentleman wire was noted for his kindness to everyone. It did not matter to him whothcr a person wore rich or poor, old or young, beautiful or ugly, ho did bis best to make everyone he came across happier, But. besi lo being kind to human creatures, he also loved all animals. Perhaps this kind-hearted man was disappointed by some one to whom lie had been good; at all events, he was rather sad ono evening. Thinking much about tho ingratitude which ani¬ mals as well as men sometimes show, he fell fast asleep. Ho was woke suddenly by the tame rat. It was nibbling gently at his cheeks aud nose, determined to wake him, yet uot wishing to hurt him. Starting up, be found that he had upset the lamp with his arm as he slept, and bul for the kind rat he must have lost much of bis property, if uot his life.— Nos York Journal. A J.liSSON FOB r.OUlH. Uncle Jack came in one cold ruorn- ing looking for all the world like a bear, Louie thought, in his big, shaggy overcoat. Ho caught Louie up and gave her a real bear hug, too. “Hello, Mopseyl where's Popsey?" he asked. Popsey was Louie's baby-sister, two years old, aud her name wasn’t Popsey any more than I.ouio's was Mopsey. But Uncle Jack was all tho time calling folks funny names, Louie thought. “Her’s gone to sleep,” said she. Thou Uncle Jack put his hand in his pocket and made a groat rurtling with paper for a minute, before he pulled out two sticks of red-and -white candy and gave them to Louie. “Too bad Popsoy’s asleep,” said he. But I’m afraid Louie was rather glal of it. She took Iter little rocking-chair and sat down by the window to eat her candy. “Aren’t you going to save ouo stick for Grach.?” asked mamma. Popscy’s real name was Grade. “1 guess 1 won’t,” Louie salt), speak- ing low. I don’t b’licve candy’s good for little mites o’ hits o’ girls. ’ Bides I want it myself.” Just as she swallowed the last bit there was a little call from tho bed¬ room; ‘'Mammal’ “Hello,” said Uncle Jack, “Pop- soy's awake! And in a minute out she came in mamma’s arms, rosy and smiling and dimpled. Then there was another great rust¬ ling in Undo Jack’s pocket, an l pretty soon— “Here’s for Popsey!” said Uncle Jack. She took the two sticks of candy in her dimpled han Is and looked at them a second—dear little Popsey! aud then sbe out the one that was a little ; on g,. r |j lau the other to Louie, “Dis for ’on," she cooed; “and dis f or rac ” Poor Louie! Tho tears rushed into her eyes. She hung her head and blushed. Somehow she didn’t want tea look at Uncle Jack or mamma. Can you guess why? “Dis for 'ou, ” repeated Popsey, cheerfully, pushing the candy into her hand, “Take it, Louie,” said mamma. Aud Louie took it. But a little while afterward mamma overheard her telling Popsey: “1 won't be never such a pig any more, Popsey Baker. And I m always going to’vide with you, all the time, after this, long’s I live. t t And mamma sapl “A.mcn.” —. Youth's Compan : om It need not bq wood -red at that the excitement of tho canvass is io-tunts, NO. 18. The Voieo of the V0I4. I warn, like the one drop of rain On your face, ere the storm; Or tremble in whispered refrain With your blood, beating warm. I am the presence that ever Hu tiles your touch's endeavor,— Gone like the glimmer of dust Dispersed by a gust. 1 am the absence that taunts you, The fancy that haunts you; The ever unsatisfied guess That, questioning emptiness, Wins a sigh for reply. Nay; nothing am I, Hut the tlight of a breath— For I am Death! —George Lathrop in the Century. HUMOROUS. Flower girls—Tho miller's daughters. Hailstones intended for publication are usually as big as hens’ eggs. Whou a man knows that ho caunot get out of tho mud his next impulse is to go in doepev. Landlady—Will you pass the butter, Mr. Johnson? Mr. Johnson—That butter will not pass, madam? A sailor is considered a good skipper when he understands tho ropes, The samo may be said of a little girl. Writing poetry is recommended as a mental exorciso. You can got physical oxerciso by attempting to road it to the editor. Photographers are tho most charita- blo of meu, for they are always anxious to take the best view of their fellow- creatures. Miss Gabble—1 liavo hud that parrot for three, months now and it has nevor spoken a word. Ciller—Perhaps you liavo never given it a chance. “No," remarked Bonos by, enthusi¬ astically, “there's nothiug like the hot water curei It will brace a man up when all other remedies fail—er—Mr*. Blimdiet, just let me have a cup of tea, is you pleasei” m Student (writing to his father); I beg you, my dear father, not for a minute to think that I need this money to pay debts with. I give you my word of honor that I want It only for myself, and that there is no question of debts. Cuts and the Moon. Everybody knows tho superstitions of sailors, particularly, of course, in re¬ gard to their sailing on Friday; bul. they aro also superstitious on other points, and from this fact we get the saying, “Rats desert a sinking ship.” Again, they resent tho presence of a cat on board, and usually that of a corpse, although as regards both of these in¬ stances tho superstition is not suffi¬ ciently widespread to altogether pre¬ vent tho occurrence. Speaking of cats, it is well-known that thoy were held in such high respect by the ancient Egyp¬ tians that their mummies nr.) met with about as frequently as human beings, and this was from a superstitious belief in their intervention in tho affairs of mon. A special goddess among the Egyptians was rep¬ resented witli the head of a cat, and a tomplo was ereetod to her at a town of tho name she bore—Bubastis. In the Egyptian mythology Bubastis was the child Isis and Osiris aud tho sister ol Homs. What is uot so generally known is tho fact that the cat among the Egyptians symbolizod tho moou. As to the moon there was in ancient times many superstitious. Our word “lunacy” is derived from tho latin name of that planet, and the disorder is still bolioved by many to bo caused by it at its full. Sailors in tlio tropics have been known to become temporari¬ ly deranged because of sleeping with their faces exposed to the rays of the full moon, while fresh fish hung up on deck under the samo conditions aro said to spoil in a short time. —Star - Sayings- Costly Canine Collars. “Some dogs in this town wear collars that cost $200,” said a dealer in those articles to mo yesterday, “Of course, such valu tbles are worn only by the pampore 1 pots of the rich; the average owner of dogs thinks ho or she hits done wot! ia investing $3 dollars fn a collar, and by a good many a plajn leather strap, with natno plate, ii deemed ample for safety and identity. Of Course, a dog with a $100 or a $200 collar has got to be watched pretty care¬ fully, and they usually ride in the ear- raige of the master or mistress, The existence of a good many Fifth avenue and Madison avenue dogs might well be envied by tho poor of our city. They have ail the advantages of wealth in the way of luxury and easy living, without any of the attendant anxieties, from which even Gould) and Vandet* bids are uot free.— M.te York Star. A Medical School Jest. Firstdoctor—Have you a skeleton? S.cond doctor—Ye3. First doctor—Let’s seo it. Second docto/~rC’an’t very well; fact is, I’m wearing it under my flesh, Thi
