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VOL. I.
Kissing the Rod.
Oh, heart of mine, we shouldn't
Worry sol
What we've missed of calm we couldn’t
Have, you know!
What we’ve met of stormy puin,
And of sorrow’s driving rain,
We can better meet again
If it blow.
We have erred in that dark hour
We have known,
When our tears fell with the shower,
All alone—
Were not shine and shadow blent
As the gracious Master meant 'i
I<et us temper our content
With Ilis own.
For, we know, not every morrow
Can be sad J
So, forgetting all the sotoW
We have had,
Let us fold away our fears
And put by our foolish tears,
And through all the coming years
Just be glad.
—[James Whitcomb Itiley.
THE DOCTOR'S BOY.
“Mother, it’s awful cold to-night!
Can I put a little more wood on the
lire—only one more log?”
Mrs. Netley glanced grudgingly to¬
ward the wood-box in the corner—a
receptacle which, by the way, was not
too well filled.
“I suppose so,” said she. “But be
careful John ; wood gets away so fast,
and tho price always goes up toward
winter.”
And kneeling on the braided rug in
front of the fire, John Netley amused
himself with building up the founda¬
tions of a cheery sheet of flame, while
on one side of the table his mother
made buttonholes on vests, and on the
other Aunt Eunice stitched busily away
at shirt finishing for a factory near
hv. •
Mrs. Netley was a pale, hollow-eyed
little widow. Eunice White was ten
or twelve years younger, and although
not in the first bloom of youth, might
have been pretty if her cheeks had
been a little rounder and her eyes less
mournful in their expression.
The room, although furnished with
a pitiful plainness, was neat and clean.
A very old blackbird gave an occa¬
sional-spasmodic chirp in its cage near
the ceiling, and a lean cat watched in¬
tently at an infinitesimal mouse-hole
behind the bureau.
“Well, mother,” said John, who
was the only real young creature in
the room, “why don’t you ask what
luck I had?”
I 1 “Because,” sighed Mrs. Netley, bit¬
ing oft’tiie thread to save the trouble
of reaching for her scissors, “you
never do have any luck. Folks don’t
seem to want a boy.”
“The new doctor does, though,” said
John, chuckling, as he reviewed the
result of iiis architectural dealings
with the fire. “And lie’s engaged me
to look after iiis horses and cow.
There!”
Mrs. Netley paused, with her needle
suspended in mid-air.
“AV'ell, that is luck,” said she. “The
new doctor! I suppose lie’s a very
grand gentleman, eh?”
“He’s very nice and pleasant,” said
John; “that’s all I know. And he’s
going to give me two dollars a week.
And lie says I mustn’t be discouraged,
because he was a poor hoy once, with
emptv pockets and never a shoe to liis
feet.”
“And now,” said Mrs. Netley, “he’s
bought that big stone house and
grounds. It’s well to be lucky.”
“But,” cried John, “he says it isn’t
luck. Ho says it’s nothing hut hard
work and push. And I mean to work
hard too, and buy a nice house, some
day, for you and Aunt Eunice to live
in.”
“What’s liis name, Johnny?” list¬
lessly asked Miss White.
“Dexter,” the boy answered—
“Doctor David Dexter.”
“Mercy on us, Eunice!” cried Mrs.
Netley, “what possessed you to give
such a start?”
“I—I pricked my finger!” mur-
mured Eunice, “Can’t wc have
another lamp, Mary? This sort of
thing is ruinous to the eyesight.”
Mrs. Netley rose to bring another
starved-lookriig little lamp.
Johu sat aud stared at the fire, with
speculative eyes.
“I’m only to feed the horses, and
carry wood and water to the kitchen,
and look after the fancy Brahmas and
Leghorn fowls,” said he. “Doctor
Dexter has a man to drive around
witli him. So you see I can study at
homo evenings, just the same as if I
went to school; and I'm sure Aunt
Eunice is as good as any school-teacher
going, to keep me up with my
geography and arithmetic.”
“Two dollars a week will he a
great help to us,” said Mrs. Netley.
And then she coughed that dry,hard,
rattling little cough that John disliked
to hear so much,
“It seems strange, don’t it.” said
she, after John had gone to bed, and
two' sjsten* were putting
THE ENTERPRISE. 1
their wearisome work preparatory to
seeking their own pillows, “the idea
of a new doctor settling here, after old
Doctor Plympton had resigned for
forty years? Mbw times do change,
to-be-sure!”
“Yes,” said Eunice, almost inaudi-
bly.
Mrs. Netley looked sharply at her.
“Eunice,” said she, “what does ail
you tonight? You ain’t sick, are
you?”
“Yes,” said Eunice. “Sick of liv¬
ing-sick of drudging—sick of this
endless fight for daily bread! Oh,
Mary, Mary! what a fool I have been I
If I could only undo the past!”
“Eunice, what do you mean?”
“Do you remember when I taught
school at Milford, Mary, when John
was a baby, and you were living over
at Dawson's before Albert
died? Well, I iiad a lover then,
a lover that really loved me—
for I was tolerably good looking in
those days. But lie was plain and
quiet and not very well-to-do. I
thought I could do better, and I found
it great fun to tease the poor fellow as
I’ve seen boys play a trout in that lit¬
tle crooked stream up the hills. And
I ended by refusing him, and he went
away.”
“I’ve heard all this before, haven’t
I?” said Mrs. Netley, with a puzzled
countenance.
“Yes; but you never heard lii s
name. It was David Dexter.”
“Goodness me!” ejaculated Mrs.
Netley.
“Hush!” said Eunice, “Don’t
wake John. Oh, yes, l know I’m
rightly served; hut it don’t make the
dose any the less hitter to swallow.
Doctor Dexter is a rich man now, and
I hope—ves, I do really hope—that he
has a good wife, one worthy of him,
by this time. But I can’t help think¬
ing what a dreadful mistake 1 made in
those old days, lie was so good and
true.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Netley, slowly,
“it’s done and it can’t he undone. So
far as I can see, folks are always
making mistakes in this world. Don’t
fret, Eunice. It’s small good crying
after spilt milk. And it’s past ten,
and the fire’s clean burned out, and
we’d better go to hod, I guess.”
John Netley went to his new place
the next day, and any hov who has
been thrown on his own resources can
easily imagine the delight he felt when
Doctor Dexter placed two big, round
silver dollars in his little brown
palm at the cud of the first week, with
the pleasant words:
“You have well earned them, my
hoy.”
It was a dreary November evening,
with the windy air full of flying dead
leaves, when Alison, the old cook,
came to the office door in Doctor
Dexter’s fine stone house.
“Please, doctor,” said she to her
master, who had just seated himself
with a book before the red light of the
fire, “do you know what’s come of
little John? I’ve called and called,
and he isn’t there.”
“Not there?" repeated Doctor Dex-
ter. “Aud I let Collins go home to
spend Sunday. Call again; the boy
must he there.”
“He isn’t, doctor. It’s the first
night he has failed us since you hired
him. And now I come to think of it,
he had an awful hoarse cold this morn¬
ing, when he came in for the chicken
feed. Perhaps lie’s sick.”
Doctor Dexter laid down liis book.
“I’ll go down and take the horse
out of the traces myself,” said he.
“Where does Johnny live?”
Alison did not know; neither did
tiie doc:or.
But as Dexter opened the stable-
door, outside of which the patient
horse stood waiting, his mane and tail
drooping before the knifelike wind,
the flash of a lantern greeted his eyes
with unexpected lig'h*.
“So you are there, after all, John?’’
said he.
But it was not John Netley. It was
the tall, slight figure of a woman that
shrank hack from its task of throwing
hay into the manager of General, the
big iron-gray horse.
“Why,” cried Doctor Dexter, in
amazement, “who arc you?’
“Iam John’s aunt,” faltered alow
voice. “He’s sick, and he fretted so
much about tiie horses’ supper that I
told him I would come and put hay
into their mangers and water them. I
am not timid with cattle,” she added,
“and I did not suppose any one would
know.”
“John’s aunt!” repeated Doctor
Dexter. “Let me take that lantern a
minute, p ease! Why do you turn
vour face away from me? Is it true?
You are Eunice White, then?”
“Yes,” she cried out, passionately,
“I am Eunice White. But I neverin-
(ended you to know it, David Dexter,
Fortune has dealt very differently with
ipe from wJtat it bw ifjtb yffib °P? n
CARNESVILLE, GA., FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER W. 1890.
the door; let me go back homo. I’m
sorry I ever came here.”
“You arc cold,Eunice," said he gent¬
ly ; you shiver. Come to tiro house
and let me give you a cup of tea.”
“No,” she said, resolutely, “I will
go home!"
“Then I will go with you, Eunice.
I must see Johnny. Do you know,
even without being aware that ho waa
any kin to you, I have got fond of that
boy ? I shall be fonder still now. 1
have wondered this many a day, Eu¬
nice, where you were and what had
become of you?”
“Have you?” Eunice’s heart had
begun to boat strangely now; her
cheeks glowed deeper than any dam¬
ask rose. “Well, tiiat is a question
easily answered. . I am living here
with my widowed sister—John’s
mother—and I am sewing for a liv¬
ing.” t
It cost her something to make that
confession, for Eunice White was a
proud woman yet. But she scorned
to dissemble.
“Eunice,” he said, looking wist¬
fully down upon her, as be walked by
her side, “I could have done better
than that by you. I’ll clo it still, Eu¬
nice, if you will let me. I’m not one
of those that vary and shift with every
change of the moon. I loved you
then, and I love you now. And as
for these twelve years that have sepa¬
rated us, I’ve loved you steadily all
ilie time. I’ve remained single for
your sake. Now you can decide. Is
it yes, or is it no?"
Was not loyalty like this worthy oi
a return? Eunice White thought so.
She put out her cold hand and let il
rest in David Dexter’s warm grasp.
“it is yes,” said she.
Old Alison was quite out of patience
that night when the doctor did not re¬
turn to the dinner of clear soup,
salmon-steak and roast grouse which
she had cooked with so much care,
until it was all spoiled with standing.
But when at last he came in with a
bright face, and told lier tiie cause of
his delay, she did not so much blame
him.
“I’ve always said,” declared she, in
her quaint Scotch way, “that the one
tiling you wanted, doctor, dear, was a
wife to rule the house. And if she's
as douce and as braw as you tell me,
why, I’ll he contented to call her
missus.”
“I’m sure you will like her, Ali¬
son,” said the doctor, rubbing his
hands.
“Isn’t it nice, mother?” said John.
“1 told you how good Doctor Dexter
was. And now lie’s to be niy real
uncle, and I can go out and hold his
horse every day; and you are to live
there, mother, and rest from all this
dreadful sewing that’s wearing your
heart and eyes out. Oh, Aunt Eunice,
I’m so glad you found your old lover
again!”
“John, you are a goose!” said Aunt
Eunice.
But she laughed and blushed as she
spoke the words, and John knew very
well that she was not angry with him.
Vegetable Immigrants.
Naturalists familiar with tiie habits
of the English sparrow seem to doubt
the possibility of preventing its enor¬
mous increase at the expense of our
indigenous birds, and a similar result
may follow the introduction of a tree
which in the course of the last twenty
years has effected at least a thousand¬
fold extension of its North American
habitat. It is the ailantns tree, im¬
ported originally from the Moluccas,
but now found in almost every shel¬
tered river-valley from Pittsburg to
Southern Alabama. Its fecundity and
rapidity of growth exceed that of the
Canada thistle.
In less than five years a small plan¬
tation of the vegetable colonists will
cover a dozen square miles of river-
bottoms with their pale green sprouts,
and in five years more any one of
those sprouts is capable, upon the
slightest encouragement, to develop
imo a tall and really beautiful tree.
None of onr native arboreal plants
seem capable of competing with the
vegetative energy of the hardy stran¬
ger, which prospers in the poorest, cal¬
careous soils, and appears to flourish
equally well in Southern China and
Northern Ohio. Along the line of the
Miami Canal, north and east of Cin¬
cinnati, it has superseded sumachs and
willows; near Huntsville, Ala., its
thickets are smothering both weeds
and forest trees, and within the last
five years it lias extended its conquests
even to the rocky uplands of Western
North Carolina.—[New York Voice.
A Seveu-I’ound Gent.
The largest cat’s-eye of which there
is any record was recently found by a
digger of Galle, Ceylon. It weighed
nearly seven pounds. The finder was
a Moor man who had been very poor,
lie has been offered $100,000 by a 8yn»
flicste of local dnnloyg,
SUN WORSHIPERS.
A. Wonderful Relic of their
Handiwork in Mexico.
A Stone Roadway Up a Mound
1200 Feet High.
Chariot J. Wimple, one of tho
wealthiest miners of .Mexico, is a re¬
cent arrival in the city. To a repre¬
sentative of tho Call ho told tho fol¬
lowing wonderful story:
“You have asked me to give an ac¬
count of tho interesting mountain my
friend, Jcsso 1). Grant, and myself
saw during our trip through Mexico
en route to tin’s city. Well, that
mountain is at once one of the most
gigantic exhibitions of man’s handi¬
work, and something almost beyond
credence wore we not already familiar
with the works of the Aztecs.
“Just imagine a valley forty by
thirty miles in area, and from its
centre rising a mound over 1,200 feet
feet in height. Then you can realize
the first effect created upon our minds
when we came before the hill l am to
describe. My foreman was with us,
and had partly prepared us for the
surprise, hut we had treated his story
with incredulous remarks, and had by
no means suspected lie had but given a
modest description of the mound.
“We gazed to the top and allowed
our eyes to follow the windings of a
road down to tho base. Wc went
.
around the base and conjectured it
was about one and a half,miles in cir¬
cumference. Then we started for the
summit. The roadway was built of
solid rock clear to the pinnacle, and
was from thirty to forty feet in width.
A wall of solid rock formed a founda¬
tion and art inside Wall at the same
time. The outer edge of the road was
unguarded. These stones weigh all
tiie way up to a ton each, and are not
cemented. The roadway is as leyel
as a floor, and is covered with broken
pieces of earthenware water vessels.
“Half way up the mountain is an
altar cut in solid rock; in tho niche is
a boulder which must weigh at least
six tons. Tho boulder is of different
stone from that used iu the walls. The
rocks iu the walls arc dressed by skilled
workmen, hut are not polished. We
saw no inscriptions; in fact we had
no time to spare in making a searching
investigation. We did look for arrow
heads or other warlike instruments to
satisfy ourselves that the mound had
not been used for defensive or offen¬
sive purposes. Nor was there any
evidence to prove that the roadway
had been built for the purpose of wit¬
nessing hull lights and other sports in
the valley.
“I could only conclude the Aztec
suu worshipers expended years of
labor on the hill in order that they
might have an appropriate place to
celebrate their imposing festivals, in¬
asmuch as the roadway was strewn
with broken earthenware, and those
scions of a bygone and notable race
were known to carry at sunrise largo
quantities of water in earthenware
jars to an eminence, and there pour
out the liquid and smash the vessels.
“When we descended wo brought
with us a number of small sea shells
which had petrified, and if you look
at these on my table you will see how
they have been perforated by the In¬
dians. We again took a long look at
the mountain and saw it was oblong in
shape, and that the upward road com¬
menced on the eastern side, I have
traveled on both sides of the moun¬
tains from British Columbia to Central
America, and on either side of the
Sierra Madres where Hie cliff-dwellers
have left such remarkablo mementos
of their skill and customs, but I have
never witnessed anything so wonderful
and magnificent as tho mound which I
have been telling you about.
“The valley is about six hundred
feet above tho sea level, and is about
seventy miles from tho coast. It is
situated in Sonora, between tho cities
of Altar and Magdalena and near the
Magdalena River, We called tiie
curiosity Palisade Mountain, and it is
well named.— [San Francisco Call.
A Novel Fog Horn.
A fog horn operated entirely by
steam and compressed air has been
established at tiie light station at Sea
Bird point, which is the eastern ex¬
tremity of Discovery Island, The
horn will sound blasts of eight seconds’
duration, with intervals of one minute
between blasts. The fog-alarm budd¬
ing is situated about 300 feet south¬
westerly from the lighthouse aud is of
wood, painted xvliite, with brown
roofing. The horn is elevated about
forty-live feet above high water mark.
—[San Francisco California.
The stenographer doesn’t live from
hand to month, although liis business
is from Tpouih to liapd.
An Arab Foundling’s Carper.
The public has been reading lately a
great many dispatches from Franco
and Africa, giving (lie progress of
the war which the French government
Iui9 been waging in Dahomey. Lieu¬
tenant Colonel Arcliinard was the
officer mentioned as being in common I
of the French troops, who, although
merely a handful of some four or live
hundred cavalry, have inflicted great
slaughter on their opponents, killing
as many as a thousand in one engage¬
ment.
There recently arrived in this city a
young French officer who is an inti¬
mate friend of Colonel Arcliinard, and
who rolatos the following strange
history of the dashing young colonel’s
life:
“About twenty-six years ago, at the
time France was engaged in a series
of petty wars against the noma 1 tribes
in Algeria, and after ono of these en¬
gagements a certain Gaston Arcliinard,
then a captain in a cavalry regiment,
was attending to the removal of the
wounded, when quo of his men dis¬
covered a little Arab child, who had
evidently been abandoned by its par¬
ents in their flight.
Being a bachelor, and, liking the
bright, intelligent look in the little fel¬
low’s face, the captain determined to
adopt him and give him his name, lie,
therefore,sent him toaiyceo or French
school in Bordeaux, where tho lad was
educated, and later, in 1875, the cap¬
tain having risen to the rank of briga¬
dier general, lie caused him to bo en¬
listed as a private in tho Seventh Hus¬
sars,under liis own name of Arcliinard.
Gaining rapid promotion he was soon
sent to the Cavalry School at Saumar,
from whence lie graduated in 1880,
only ten years ago, as a sub-lieutenant
of calvary.
He was then sent to Tunis, and
fought through the campaign of 1882,
and the following year saw him com¬
manding a battalion in Touquin. In
1887 he was sent to Senegal as a major
ill the,famous regiment of Spaliis Sen-
egalais, which he commanded, as lieu¬
tenant colonel, in liis late successful
campaign in Dahomey. Although a
pure-blooded Arab, with a thorough
French military education, Colonel
Archinard, it is whispered in promi¬
nent Parisian military circles, is next
on tho list for promotion to the covet¬
ed rank of general of a division of tho
French army.— [New York Star.
What a Prison Association is Doing.
Tiie convict’s career is no longer
blighted forever by his term of im¬
prisonment, avers tho New York
Press. Provided that lie sincerely 're¬
grets his period of crime and shows
evidence of his intention fo lead a bet¬
ter life, iie can now get a job ami start
afresh. There are several thousand
ex-convicts who are now employed in
reputable business houses in this city
aud who can, in caso of change, get
mighty good recommendations both as
to conduct and ability from their
employers. This condition of affairs
is brought about by the Prison Asso¬
ciation of New York.
The association is a branch of tho
National Prison Association, which
lias its branches in nearly all the lead¬
ing Slates of tiie Union. The New
York association, however, has done
more good and accomplished more no¬
ticeable and far-reaching results than
any of the other brandies in the coun¬
try. It secured positions for no less
than 1300 men last year, all of whom
had at some time occupied a cell in one
of the prisons of this Empire State.
Missionary Boals.
A novel craft is in course of con¬
struction at the Benicia shipyards. It
is no less than a missionary packet,
which is built to tiie order of tho
American Board of Commissioners for
Foreign Missions. Iler dimensions
are as follows: Length over all, 56
feet; on the water line, 52 feet;
breadth, 16 feet 11 inches; depth of
hold, 8 feet; draught, 8 feet 3 inches.
When completed she will tako on
board a missionary outfit consisting of
Bibles and devotional tracts, and will
take an evangelical cruise to tiie south¬
ern seas. The Seventh Day Adventists
are also having a craft built, to be de¬
voted to a similar purpose. She will
be of about 120 tons register and will
be completed by August of the present
year.— [San Francisco Chronicle.
Wild Camels in California.
As proof that the camels brought to
Arizona a number of years ago are
not extinct and are breeding rapidly,
tiie following from the Yuma (Cal.)
Sentinel is reproduced: A large band
of camels, numbering 35, were seen
within a few miles of Harrisburg last
week. Jim Doten caught one with a
lariat, and after bringing it into the
camp was forced to shoot it, as all tho
horses around became badly fright-
eued the sight of the ungainly boast.
CHILDREN’S COLUMN.
tommy's CHOICE.
A boy Hint doesn't like apples
Is very bard to please;
A 1:11 peaches are the nicest things
That ever grew on trees;
Rut of all the fruit, the sort to suit
And (tie finest every way
Is a jolly, juicy melon
On a sultry, summer day!
— [Youth's Companion.
THICKS OF THE lllltOS.
“1 was much amused one afternoon,"
says an observant friend, “by a little
family scene on a twig of an elm tree,
whore a fly-catcher had her tiny brood
of live, just out of tho nest, all perched
in a row. 8ho was feeding them, and
tho little dots took their rations with
great content as often as tho mother
caught an insect and flow back with the
morsel to each open beak iir turn. The
regularity with which she kept account,
feeding one after another, in exact
order, from top to bottom of the row,
was very intcrc tiiig.
iToscidly one small chap grew inpa¬
tient, and while the mother was away
11 uttered over and crowded himself
into the place next to (lie bird last fed
—exactly as if he had planned to get
the next fly. IIo sat there, looking
very sober and innocent when tho
mother returned, hut she saw tho
trick at once, and gave the fly to the
l ight bird, whisking the interloper (as
1 fancied) with her wing as site passed
him, by way of cuffing his cars.
Probably ho was the rogue of tho fam¬
ily and she knew him too well.—[Bos¬
ton Transcript.
a cunning bear.
The coyote, you must know, is very
stupid about some things, and in al¬
most all Pueblo fairy stories is the vic¬
tim of one joke or another. The hear,
on tho other hand, is pno of the wis¬
est of animals.
Once upon a lime the Ko-id-deh
(the hear) and Too-wliay-deh (the
coyote) chanced to meet at a certain
spot and sat down to talk. After a
while the hear said:
“Friend Coyote, do you see what
good land this is here? What do you
say if wo farm it together, sharing
our labor and the crop?”
The Coyote thought well of it, (jnul
said so; and after talking they agreed
to plant potatoes in partnership.
“Now,” said the Bear, “I think of
a good way to divide the crop. 1 will
take all that grows below the ground
and you take all that grows abovo it.
Then each can take away his share
when he is ready, and there will he no
trouble to measure.”
The Coyote agreed, and when tho
time came they ploughed the place
with a sharp stick and planted their
potatoes. All summer they worked
together in tho field, hoeing down the
weeds with stone hoes and letting in
water now and then from Hie irrigat¬
ing ditch. When harvest timo came
the Coyote went and cut off all the
potato tops at the ground and carried
them home, and afterwards the Bear
scratched out the potatoes from the
tho ground with liis big claws and
took tliom to iiis house. When the
Coyote saw this liis eyes were opened
and lie said;
But this is not fair. You have
those round tilings, which are good to
eat, hut wlmt I look home we cannot
eat at all, neither my wife nor I.”
“But, friend Coyote,” answered the
Bear, gravely, “diel wc not make an
agreement? Then we must stick to it
like men.” The Coyote could not
answer and went home, hut lie was
not satisfied.”
The next Spring, as they met ono
day, tiie Bear said:
“Come, f. iend Coyote, I think wo
ought to plant this good land again,
and this time let us plant it in corn.
But last year you were dissatisfied
with your share, so this year we will
change. You take what is below tho
ground for your share, and I will take
only what grows above.”
This seemed very fair to the Coyote,
and he agreed. They ploughed and
planted and tended the corn; and
when it came harvest time the Bear
gathered all the stalks and ears and
carried them homo. When tiie Coy¬
ote came to dig his share he found
nothing hut roots like threads, which
were good for nothing. He was very
much dissatisfied, but the bear remind¬
ed him of their agreement and ho
could say nothing-. — [New York
World.
One Tiling He Did Not Want.
“The trouble with Boodteton is that
lie wants the earth.”
“You wrong him,” said the book
agent. “There are some things lie does
not want. I labored with him two
hours the other night trying to get him
to buy a copy of your poems, and he
wouldn’t have ’em.”—[Bazar.
The first steamboat waa built mi
E ngland in 1816.
NO. 36.
Evening.
The sun goes out behind the purple sea;
The gray clouds swim along the yello-#
west.
Shadowless, shapeless, and in the slow un¬
rest,
Along the west, all dark and silently.
The night with solemn state and majesty
Is throned behind the eastern ocean's
breast,
Wrapped, like the eagle in her see.ret
nest.
Waiting the hour when her broad wings are
free.
The evening smiles a smile of fear and hope;
The peace of starlight may come with the
night,
Or all the thunders of the sky may ope
To smite the sleeping earth to waking
fright.
Which shall it be? What prophet lias the
HCOpC
To read the warnings in yon waning
light?
— [W. II. Henderson in New York Times.
HUMOROUS.
A road race—Tramps.
How soon tho crying baby in the
house grows to be a girl with a piano!
Charles—Miss Ella—Ella—may I
hope to win you? Ella—Why, Charlie,
do you think I’m to he rallied?
Merchant (in want of a hoy, to ap¬
plicant)—Can you spell correctly?
Boy—Yes, sir. C-o-r-r-c-o-t-l-y.
Kaiser Wilhelm now calls himself
“tho man of rock and iron.” A little
sarsaparilla added will make a fine
bitters.
Barber—Does the razor hurt you,
sir? Victim—Are you sure it’s a
razor? I had an idea it was a piece of
barrel hoop.
The man best qualified to enjoy tho
honeymoon is the one who had all the
romance kicked out of him before ho
reached that period.
Mendicant—Can’t you give me a
few pennies for my poor family at
home, sir? Merchant—No, no, man;
I don’t want to buy any poor family.
“I am sober and steady. I was ton
years in my last place and five in the
one before that.” “But where was the
last piaeo you worked?” “In the
state’s prison.”
Time, One a. m. —“1 know I have
my short comings, Miss Edith,” began
the young man depreciatingly. “Yes,
George,” site replied, “but they don’t
hold a candle to your long goings.”
High-priced doctor—You are now
convalescent, and all you need is ex¬
ercise. You should walk ten miles a
day, sir, but your walking should have
an object. Patient—All right, doctor,
I’ll travel around trying to borrow
enough to pay your bill.
Her Picture On Every Silver Dollar.
The figure stamped on the face of
our Bland silver dollar is an exact
likeness of Miss Anna W. Williams,
a young lady of Philadelphia, Tiie
profile is the work of a young Briton
named Morgan. When Mr. Morgan
came to this country, in 1876, to devise
a stamp for the coinage of our stand¬
ard dollar, lie at onoe entered the
Academy of Fine Arts at Philadelphia,
that lie might more thoroughly Ameri¬
canize liis work. Here lie remained
for several months, then spent several
days trying to sketcli the head of tiie
fanciful Goddess of Liberty.
Finally, he concluded to abandon the
idea of making a fanciful design, and,
in its stead, use the profile of an
American girl. Aided by a friend, ho
began searching for one whose beauty
would entitle her to tiie honor of tiie
position. For weeks lie continued his
search without success, until lie was
introduced to Miss Williams, then a
resident of 1023 Spring Garden street,
Philadelphia. With great difficulty ho
persuaded her to sit for a skelch.
After four trying sittings Mr. Mor¬
gan succeeded in obtaining sufficient
tracings to enable him to proceed with
his work. With what degree of success
ho met may be seen by an examination
of the silver dollar. As to the beauty
of her figure, Mr. Morgan declares
her profile to be the most perfect he
has ever seen either in this country or
England. For two years the identity
of the figure was kept a profound se¬
cret, aud the original picture is still
carefully preserved.—[New Orleans
Times-Democrat.
Sharing on Sunday.
The Supreme Court of Pennsylvania
is to be called upon to determine
whether shaving in barber shops on
Sunday is a necessity and therefore
lawful. The question lias been passed
upon by the courts in several States,
and tiie general conclusion has been,
states the New York Herald, that opeu
barber shops are in violation of tiie
|aw.” In one ease the Court remarked
that “if men want to get shaved ou that
day they must bo their own barbers or
appeal to the Legislature to change tho
law. The latest tribunal heard from
on the subject is the Supreme Court of
Indianna. Jt holds that tiie question
is oqo fqv a jury to decide. J
