Newspaper Page Text
IKK)
»!•
s Cabinet at%S
mineralogically, Nic
be the richest spot in
'Jay is Si,
iC f. the
fK- Simmons is urf inty
on a visit, >
r e notice jn
a,1( »!uig the banks
;e. U* be l'eycng the fishing sea-
Oil is , .-Tc interest.
promises- s; tat unless the present con-
F< »- ■’ fi-hw changed the complete dc-
HB RT k da Wo/
of the Adirondacks is inevita-
blc.
Fourteen ex-Senators are said to in¬
habit the Kansas Penitentiary, though
only one of them ever conducted legisla¬
tive business in the interest of that State.
Australia has just made to a projected
railroad a grant of 16,000,000 acres, or
20,000 acres a mile. The grant to the
Pacific railroads amounted to about 6400
acres a mile.
The Dakotas plume themselves, accord¬
ing to the Commercial Advertiser, upon
artesian wells of such force and number
as to make manufacturers of all sorts well
within their possibilities.
Dr.'Chaillc,the well-known statistician,
states that the average life of woman is
longer than that of man, and in most
parts of the United States woman’s ex¬
pectation of life is greater. ? '
There are, it is said, five men in
America worth $50,000,000 each, fifty
worth $10,000,000 each, 100 worth $5,-
000,000, 200 worth $3,000,000, 500
worth $1,000,000 and 1000 worth $500,-
000 each.
The Atlanta Constitution believes that
Spain holds on to Cuba as a matter of
national pride. The island has proved
an expensive possession. In the insur¬
rection from 1868 to 1878 20,000 lives
were lost, and the total cost to Spain was
about $700,000,000.
I possession,
“Life is a delicate after
all,” concludes the Detroit Free Press.
“A Michigan child was recently fatally
injured by falling upon lead pencil,
and last week an English actress was
killed by the accidental puncture of her
neck with a knitting needle.”
i well-known writer
Miss Rose Porter, the
Df religious books, is a most remarkable
woman. Although an invalid, and forced
lo dictate from her bed, she has already
written some fifteen books, all of which
have had extensive circulation. She lives
in a pretty brick house in New Haven,
Conn., and is much thought of in that
city.
The Albuquerque Democrat says:
“New Mexico covers a vast lake, and as
wells are being sunk in different parts of
the Territory this fact is being assured.
A well sunk at Gallup has penetrated a
body of water sixty feet in depth, and
wherever a hole is sunk to the water it is
found to exist in inexhaustible quanti-
ties.” •
The wide-embracing arms of civiliza¬
tion arc rapidly stretching out to take in
1 he whole world. One of the latest nota¬
ble illustrations of this is the announce¬
ment made the other day that a cable will
soon be laid from Bermuda to Halifax. In
Ik short time, therefore, one can no longer
jget out of the world, so to say, by making
Fa voyage to the Bermudas.
In a recent talk with a delegation of
tlergymen and others who called upon him
E^rge a more Christian policy in dealing
■ Indians, Genera) Harrison said
H ?V^all. !}..v -1 in
:tion named, He added, how-
it “the Indians with whom he
eoncen d present were
Washing-
the
says: The
i had charge
' the Yellow
: an boodlers
lublic money under the
le work. The notori-
|; IL ,m frauds are en-
< hm<so official.
Mrarmkment of millet
“op of the ice which
llow River, and then
irreat breach was satis-
pickets Comitg §tmlk
GEORGIA, THURSDAY. MAY 30, 18811.
THI LITTLE PERSIMMON-TREE.
A little persimmon-tree stood in the road,
Oh fair to see!
Like Topsy it “never was born but it growed,’’
This little persimmon-tree.
By soft winds nurtured, by sweet dews fed,
Its bright leaves trembled in constant dread,
Lest, some wicked caitiff should cut off its
head,
, Poor little persimmon-tree!
it lias come!” said tho little tree, one day,
Oh fair to see!
“Good-by, oh bonny blue sky, for aye,”
Sad little persimmon-tree!
For a man dug round it with might and
main,
Till it nearly died with the terrible strain,
And feared it should never look up again,
Poor little persimmon-tree!
But it woke next morn in a garden grand,
Oh fair to see!
And it felt the touch of a master’s hand,
This little persimmon-tree!
Budding fron\ Japanese seedlings rare,
Cutting skilfully here and there,
Till the little tree marveled how much it
could bear,
Dear little persimmon-tree!
Years passed—it had grown to a goodly
height,
Oh fair to see!
And the crimson fruit was a wondrous sight,
On this stately persimmon-tree,
And it blushed when the master its story
told,
And said ’twas to him worth its weight in
gold,
And had paid for his labor a hundred-fold,
This noble persimmon-tree!
I could point a moral, but is thero need?
Oh fair to see!
And a moral somo people don’t care to read,
Whether of man or tree.
But you understand, if you don’t, I do,
That a little, unlovely child to view,
Can with culture become quite as wise as
you,
And even more fruitful be.
-rMary A. Denison , in Youth's Companion■
FORTUNE’S FAVORITE.
He was a happy-go-lucky fellow, my
uncle, Colonel Edouard Griffard. He
was ever ready to risk his life, to take
any chance, and chance seemed always to
favor him. Among his comrades he was
known as Fortune’s favorite.
At the age of forty he was Colonel of
a regiment of Hussars, and an officer of
the Legion of Honor. He had an in-
come of six thousand francs enongh to
enable him to live well and maintain his
position, but not enough to tempt him to
relinquish his military career. He was
high-spirited, brave as a lion, and well-
educated. He was at once gay and
philosophical, accepting without a mur¬
mur the fatigues and privations of a cam¬
paign, and enjoying to their full the
pleasures and advantages of life in garri¬
son. He had fought in the Crimea, in
Africa, Italy and Mexico, escaping with
only two insignificant scratches. He had
an iron constitution, that enabled him to
endure suffering that would have killed
an ordinary man.
Such was my uncle Edouard when, in
1869, it was our fortune to be in camp
together at Chalons, where his regiment,
which had been decimated by yellow
fever, had been ordered.
He was not more than six years my
senior, and he loved me as though I was
a younger brother.
One day I was dining at bis mess, and
■while we were over our coffee the Sergeant
entered and handed him a letter. He
looked at the superscription and knitted
his brows, and a shadow seemed to flit
over his handsome face.
“Excuse me,” he said.
He tore open the envelope, from which
fell the photograph of a young woman.
With a quick movement he picked up the
photograph, and gazed at it a moment
with a look of admiration. Then, hand¬
ing it to me, he said:
“It is Suzanne. She is right, poor girl.
I ought to have informed her of my ar¬
rival.”
Then he handed me the letter, saying*
“What progress she has made!”
“Why, of course!” I replied, “she is
seventeen years old; you forget that.”
I read the letter, which was as follows:
“My Dear Guardian—Is it right for you
to act thus toward a poor little prisoner who
Jias much? only you in the world and who loves you
so departure for Only Mexico! one paltry And I letter have since had to your
re¬
ceive from one of the Sisters of the Convent
the news of your return to France. For the
past bell announcing eight days every time I have heard the
11 announcing the the arrival a of a visitor I have
thought it was you who had come to see me.
But I was always mistaken. The visit was
always for some of the other girls, sisters of
the officers who have made this campaign
with you—this campaign during which I
have wearied heaven with prayers shall for your
protection. vacation Fortunately with I sister. pass Come a part
of my your and
see mo at her house, and sacrifice a little of
your vour time time to to your your little little Suzanna.”
From that time my uncle was not the
jovial man he had fonnerly been.
Wife he received that letter it was
nearly time for the summer vacation, and
his sister, my aunt, had invited Mile. Su¬
zanne to spend it with her and her
daughters.
“Ah! yes, they make rapid progress,
these young girls! The little girl who
was lank and awkward in short skirts,
whose complexion was dingy and whose
hands were red, becomes a beautiful se¬
ductive creature, with golden hair and a
sylph-like form, like that of Psyche, an
incarnation of the spirit of spring time.
We both obtained leave of absence in
order that we might visit my aunt, who
had a beautiful estate in the valley of
Chevreuse.
Soon after our arrival at my aunt’s
home I noticed that whenever my uncle
“WE SEEK THE REWARD OF HONEST LABOR.’’
was in the presence of Suznnne he
cold and reserved. At times he would
pass his hand over his forehead, as though
his thoughts troubled him. Every morn¬
ing by 5 o’clock he was on horseback,
and it was often 10 before he returned,
his horse always showing signs of
been ridden hard.
Suzanne’s position was well known in
the family. Au old friend of my uncle, a
Captain in the Third Cuirassiers, had, on
his death-bed, named him in his will as
the guardian of his daughter Suzanne,
then a girl of eight years, a pupil in a con¬
vent.
One morning my uncle aroused me early.
Two saddled horses were waiting for us,
and I accompanied him in his daily ride.
We were riding side by side when, sud¬
denly turning toward me, he said:
“Why do you not marry?” 1
I laughed and replied:
“Because I have not cared to do so.
And you?
“Ah, I? I am too old. What do you
think of Suzanne?
“She is ono of the most beautiful aiftl
fascinating girls I have ever met.”
“Very well, I wish you to marry her.”
I looked him full in the eyes. He was
confused.
“That is not true,” I said. “You
love her.”
He laughed with a forced laugh as he
replied:
“Nonsense! my ward! Why, I am
twenty-three years older than she! I
would be mad to think of marrying her.”
“I do not know whether or not you
are mad, but I know, my dear uncle, that
you are trying to deceive yourself.”
“It is not so,” he answered. “If I
thought it was generally supposed that I
wished to marry her I would leave this
place at once.”
“Ah, well, let us say no more about
it,” I said.
During breakfast I observed my uncle
and Suzanne. Her manner toward him
■was winsome and attentive, while be was
reserved and severe.
After breakfast, as the morning was
beautiful, we all went into the garden.
As we were leaving the house I told Su¬
zanne that I wanted a few words with her,
and we walked apart from the others.
She became a little pale as she ex¬
claimed :
“Ah! already!”
I perceived that my uncle was casting
a dark look toward us. It was Suzanne
who first spoke.
“My guardian,” she said, “told me of
his plans yesterday. I do not know
whether or cot you agree with him; but,
before you tell me, I wish to say that I
shall only marry a man whom I love, and
I do not love you.”
“I thank you for your frankness,” I
replied. “I do not, however, agree with
my uncle, and I approve of ybur senti¬
ments. I cannot understand why he
should be so anxious for us to marry.”
“It is not difficult to understand,” she
answered. “He wishes to rid himself of
u troublesome ward, as he himself desires
to marry. He evidently loves some
woman. But why doesn’t he marry and
leave me by myself? I will not trouble
him. I can remain as a teacher jn the
convent where I am studying. That is
P"- choice.”
tear rolled down her soft cheek.
You would not like to see him mar¬
ried?” I said.
“I!” she exclaimed. “It would be
She did not finish the sentence; a
choked her. Then, suddenly
from me, she ran down into the
leaving me standing alone. exclaimed.
“How she loves him!” I
That evening I went to my
chamber and related the scene to
He was pale as a spectre.
“You have done a bad thing,” he
“How so, since I have revealed you
each other and shown you how to
happy?” uncle. “1
“Happy 1” exclaimed my if J
tell you that I would be a monster
should marry Suzanne!”
I was dumbfounded. He made nr
promise that Suzanne should never knot
what he was about to reveal to me. I
felt that I was growing as pale as ljy
uncle.
“Do you know how the father pf
Suzanne died?” he asked. “Do' yu
know that?”
trembled His emotion like leaf. was terrible to see; j jie
a
“I killed him! Do you hear? He vas
killed, and I was his slayer, And I live
his daughter with a passion that is fill¬
ing me—that is my horrible expiatiot—
Oh! yes, I know the duel was fair I
challenged him. He was an old wan-
gler, jealous and envious. He was, ill-
favored, disagreeable and had no chnce
of advancement. I was handsome, ppu-
lar, and rose rapidly in the servi£; I
was envied; I was Fortune’s favdite.
He insulted me. Fortune’s favori/■ faorite to
the last, I killed him. Fortune’s
to the last, I love his daughter ari she
loves me. But we cannot join handover
the dead body of her father. Q his
death-bed he called me to him anogave
toe his written testament in whih he
made me the guardian of his dauhter,
who was henceforth alone in the forld;
and as he gave it to me he said:
4 < 4 You have killed the fathc; you
will watch over the child.
i I *
In less than a year from the line my
uncle told me of his duel with Sianne’s
father, the battle of Wcerth warfought.
Our forces were in retreat, and ve were
approaching Niederbronn. I wagallop-
ing beside my battery, doing m* utmost
to save my guns.
“Make way there! make wa!” cried
my guides to a troop of hussars who were
crossing our path.
I recognized the regiment by the color
of their uniform. I put spurs to my
horse und hastened forward. In the
centre of the group I recognized my poor
uncle Edouard; lie was pale, bleeding,
dying, supported in his saddle by a few
of his hussars.
On entering Niederbronn I ordered n
a halt before the house of a physician,
who was a distant relative of our family.
I had my uncle taken into the house,
where many of the wounded soldiers had
already been received.
The doctor shook his head ns he ex¬
amined him. The Colonel had received
a terrible wound from a lance that had
pierced his breast. I we]it holding my
unde’s hand, which was already growing
cold. I felt his pulse flutter. I raised
his head. He gave mo a glance which I
understood. I put my ear to his lips.
“If you escape,” he murmured, “tell
Suzanne that I die loving her; but tell
her nothing more. Remember your
promise.”
Theu his chest heaved twice—and all
was over. I mounted my horse and gal¬
loped .away.
Suzanne has never married. She is a
teacher in the convent in which she was
educated. She knows that my uncle
loved her; hut she knows not how her
father died. She is happy in her memo¬
ries .—The Epoch.
Domestication of the Buffalo.
Regarding, then, the buffalo as an
animal well worthy conserving, what arc
his good and bad points? First of all,
he is hardy, not liable to disease, and on
the plains of the America 11 and Canadian
Northwest he can forage in deep snow
and live in the open air all winter long.
His nieat brings nearly as good a price a.s
beef. His robe is worth $25 to $40; and
his head taxidermized, thanks to the
decorative tastes of sportsmen, fetches
as much as the robe, or even more. So
much for the credit side of the account;
now for the debit. The buffalo is a
strong brute, and of a temper at times so
fierce that his domestication is a task not
seldom accompanied by decided hazard.
Ordinary fences are as gossamer to a
bulrolo bull, especially during the irritable
years when he is past his prime and finds
himself less attractive than of yore. Still,
the example of well-behaved domestic
cattle, with which buffaloes readily
amalgamate, is very effective. It is not,
however, in mere domestication, but in
&s*#4»ceding, oasis that the buffalo’s value
.s. In pairing a buffalo bull and
domestic cow the young are brought, forth,
without any unusual percentage of loss
being sustained. The offspring combines
good points of sire and dam. It has
nearly all its sire’s hardiness and strength,
and so much of its dam’s tractibility as
to bo well suited for draught purposes.
When killed, the net weight of its car¬
cass exceeds that of a buffalo’s, while thq
meat is bettor. Such a carcass has beep
known to weigh as much af 1100 pounds
net. Its robe is much more valuable than
the buffalo's; for its fur, instead of be¬
ing chiefly bunched at the mane, is evenly
distributed over the hide, and is much
Iner in quality—its present value being}
from $50 to $75. A buffalo paired with
S half-breed cow produces an animal quite
Experiments as hardy as its sire, but not quite so large.
of much interest are in
ijrogress with various strains of domestic
qittle, the outcome promising to original be per¬
haps domestication, only less important than the
and subseqent molding, of
torses and cattle from their primitive!
tvild forms .—Popular Science Monthly,
I Farmers’ Houses In Japan.
■
The native house of the Japanese
farmers is a shell-like affair, built up off
the ground, with sliding paper screens
for walls, and with no facilities for heat¬
ing excepting the little charcoal braziers
by which they warm their hands, while
the feet are kept warm by sitting on
them. The only furniture of the house
are the thick rice mats or matting, which
cover the floor, and in the hotter houses
the cases of drawers for clothing and the
low tea or writing tables. Chairs and
sofas are unknown, so that sitting on the
floor is the only alternative, and this can¬
not easily be done in leather boots and
trousers or in tho dress of western women.
Nor can the Japanese afford to ruin these
soft mats by walking over them in shod
feet, and so the wooden sandal that can
be slipped off at the door is preferable.
The light walled, airy, indicated houses
necessitate wadded clothing in winter,and
this can only bo comfortably secured in
the loose obi and kumona of the Japanese
costume. In striking proof of the
superior comfort of the native dress is
the fact that native men and women who
wear the foreign dress at their business
during the day exchange it for the Japan¬
ese dress as soon as they enter their
homes.
Elaboration in house and dress would
involve extra labor and strength and
a consequent charge of diet.
In addition to the fish and rice, bread
and meat would be necessary. These
would mean greater outlay and unless the
money-making resources of Japan were
correspondingly developed western civili¬
zation would only increase the wretched¬
ness of the country .—Mail and Express.
The number of places of religious
worship in England and Wales, certified,
recorded, and on the register at the clooe
of 1888, was 25,857, an increase of 630
in the year.
The pretty young misses at church fairs
are continually laying themselves liable
to arrest on the charge of robbing the
males .—Bochester Post-Express.
$100 Par Annua, In Advance.
HOUSEHOLD AFFAIRS.
RENOVATE BLACK CASHMERE.
Boil a handful of ten or peppermint
leave* If you design to renovate black
eashmerein a pot of hot water, strain,
nnd ln the decoction wash the cashmere.
When clean, rinse thoroughly, wring and
wrap in white muslin until nearly dry,
which should bo iu about twenty-four
hours; iron on the wrong side while
damp .—Detroit Free Press.
ItOT WATER.
Applied to a bruise,hot water will allay
paiu and prevent discoloration. It has
superseded medical “eye-waters” in the
treatment of inflamed and aching eyes.
An American author,whose excellent eye¬
sight was wonderful, wheu one consid¬
ered her age and the immense amount of
literary labor she performed, attributed
it mainly to tho custom of bathing her
eyes freely in water as hot as could be
borne, night and morning, a habit con¬
tinued for many years. For the bath,
hot water is incomparably better than
cold, which contracts the pores and thus
roughens the skin.
Florence Nightingale says: “One can
cleanse the whole body more thoroughly
with a quart of hot water that with a
tubful of cold.”— Sunshine.
TO rATEU LIMED WALLS." .....
! The lime-washed wall is brushed over
with a strong solution of alum, after
which the following preparation is used,
viz.: Eighteen pounds of finely powdered
white bole, a kind of clay to be procured
at the paint or drug stores, is softened
with water, the surplus water being
poured off; one and a half pounds of
powdered glue are boiled with one gallon
of water until dissolved, and this is
mixed with the bole and two pounds of
calcined gypsum; the mature is forced
through a hair sieve by means of a stiff
brush, and is then diluted with hot water
to the consistency of a thin cream. This
is laid on the wall, and when it has dried
the paper is put on in the usual way. A
good way to make the paper adhere still
more firmly is to first put on the news¬
papers and brush the outer surface well
with the paste as the papers are laid on;
the wall paper then adheres closely.
Some alum should he dissolved in the
paste to prevent the too common mold
which attacks tho paste .—New York
Times.
CURRANTS ARE SMALL GRAPES.
A frequent error among those interested
in Rookery is to suppose that the imported
articles called currants, used in fruit
cakes, mince pies, plum puddings, buns,
and the like, are a fruit resembling
own black or red currants dried. In
reality these dried fruits which we call
currants are just as much raisins as any¬
thing that is offered under that specific
name, being only a small dried grape,
although of exceedingly small variety,
each grape no bigger than a common pea,
and each bunch but two or three inches
long. These little grape bunches aro
picked and dried in the sun, and arc so
full of saccharine matter that tho exuding
sugar crystallizes tliem into a conqiact
form of sufficient hardiness to require
considerable strength to open the mass
and preparo the fruit for packing, they
being then a second time compressed,
this time by means of treading with the
feet, which process perhaps account for
a good deal of the dirt and gravol usually
to be found packed with them. The
grapes grow all through the islands and
adjacent regions of the Grecian Archi¬
pelago, and being exported originally
from Corinth, thoy were called corinths,
which word was gradually corrupted iu-
to currants, till the primitive plant and
its fruit were forgotten in the remem¬
brance of the little round berry of our
own gardens, which might ho dried from
now till doomsday without developing
sugar to molt them together as we find
tho Zante currants melted. — Harper's
Bazar. ■ ■ • t
■
RECIPES. _ -
Cabbage Cold. —Chop cabbage;
season with little salt and vinegar.
Sweeten with rich cream and turn over
cabbage just before serving.
Beefsteak and Onions. —Cut the
steak three-quarters of an inch thick and
fry in hot butter, und whan nicely brown
remove from the frying-pan and keep in
a hot dish before the tire ; have in readi¬
ness a plateful of sliced onions seasoned
with pepper and salt, put them into the
pan and cover to keep in the steam; when
soft and brown pour over the steak and
serve immediately.
Spinach. —Pick over carefully, remove
the yellow leaves and cut off the ends of
the stalks. Wash in four or five waters,
then lay in a colander to drain. Put it
into a saucepan of boiling water, with a
tablespoonful of salt. When it has boiled
three minutes strain the water off and fill
up again with boiling water, Keep it
boiling till tender, which will he in about
ten minutes; squeeze it dry, lay it on a
dish and cut in squares.
Roast Lamb.— Procure a quarter of
larnb, trim and roast in hot oven so as to
be cooked through and nicely browned
all around; make a gravy from the drip-
pings in the pan, pour this gravy over
the lamb. Chop one large bunch of
green mint very fine and mix with one
pint of vinegar and three-quarters of a
pound of pulverized sugar, stir until
thoroughly mixed, and serve. This sauce
can also be boiled and cooled again to
make a stronger mint flavor, Wash oil
the contents of two cans of French peas,
put in a saucepan with a piece of butter,
salt and pepper, toss over a fire to be-
come thoroughly hot, and serve.
NO. 32.
1 the old
vane.
Crmk-a-ty-ereuk I Croak-a-ty-crcakJ
Tho’ skies be blue or gray,
Hero, from my perch, a word I speak
To all who glance my way.
Flushed by the coming’s earliest light,
Before the town’s astir,
Kissed by tho starry beams of night i
With every wind I whir.
Ever a message true I speak,
Creak-n-ty-creak 1 Creak-a-ty-creak!
Creak-A-ty-croak I Creak- o-ty-oreak 1
Tho farmer heeds me well;
Over the fields, his hay to seek,
He hies, when rain I toll.
Slave of the breeze; yet tyrant 1 .
To those who watch below;
Joy or regret, a smile or sigh,
Uncaring, I bestow.
Ever a message truo I speak,
Creak-a-ty-creak? Creak-a-ty-ereak!
Creak-a-ty-creak I Creak-a-ty-creak I
I watch the snow-elves weave;
Keen arrows of tho rain so bleak,
Sun lances I receive.
All’s one to me; my task I do,
Untiring, year by year;
A lesson may this be to you
Whoso glances seek we herel
Ever a message true I speak,
Creak-a-ty-creak! Creak-a-ty-creak 1
—George Cooper, in Independent.
HUMOR OF THE DAY.
Dressed hens look chic.
Late habits—Night gowns.
A head gardener—Tho barber.
Court plasters—Awards for damages
Words of wait—“Bring that bill nei
week.”
Waiter’s epitaph—He couldn’t wail
my longer, so he went,
i Better to be a loan than in bad com
pany was not written of our umbrellas.—
Life.
Even the tiger is not without affection,
ne is very much attached to his paw and
maw.
Girls who use powder don’t go off any
quicker than those who don’t .—Boston
Courier.
The homely girl is seldom mentioned,
and the pretty one is also seldom men-
sliun’d.
The railway sandwich is an instance
where they never succeed’in making both
ends meat.
Even the most unemotional man can't
contain himself when he goes to sea.—
Terra Haute Express.
A Stray Thought.—De Few—“I have
an idea.” . Van Riper—“Can’t you find
the owner.”— Munsey's Weekly.
The press feeder sooner or later finds
that the press is intemperate. It often
takes five fingers .—New York News.
Tommy—“What did your mother do
for your cut finger?” Little Johnnie—
“Licked me for cutting it ."—Epoch.
Lobsters and babies are alike in one re¬
spect. They both turn red when they get
into hot water .—Burlington Free Press.
“You can’t do anything without money,
my hoy.” “Oh, yes you can.” “I’d
like to know what?” “Get in debt.”—
Statesman.
It is an indication that peppery times
are near when the salts are mustered for
action on board of u man-of-war.—
Boston Courier.
A long-winded artillery captain had
his pocket picked in Denver recently,
and his companions speak of him as
“another rifled bore.”
The highest office in the gift of the
President is that of Postmaster at Mineral
Point, Col. It is 12,000 feet above tho
sea level .—Norristown Herald.
Though Yet it a maiden’s voice be squeaky,
cannot be disowned,
That the dollars of her daddy
Make it very silver toned.
—Detroit Free Press.
A Born Grumbler.—“I am the un-
luckiest man living. Here I find a piece
of money, and it is only a nickle. If
any one else had found it, it would have
been a quarter.”
She—“Isn’t Miss Ambler a perfect
daisy?” Mr. Jonathan Trump—“Yes,
they are all daisies, but after awhile they
lose their petals in the game of ‘love mo,
love me not.’ ”— Life.
“It is the partings in this world that
give us pain,” sadly sings a poet. It is
tho meetings too. If you don’t believe
this, ask the man who has a note to
meet .—Boston Courier.
The old-time rushlight was even dim¬
mer than parlor gas. Still, the young
men of those days were very well satisfied
with it and didn’t call early to avoid the
rush.— Terra Haute Gazette..
“You say your son . is a painter, Mrs.
Browne. Is he a landscape painter?”
“No, I think not. His last job was on
*-he Gulway flat house, lie is more of a
fire-escape painter.”— Harper's Bazar.
“You appear to be in good health,”
said a prison visitor to a convict. “It is
only in appearance, sir,” replied the con-
vict - “for the fact is I am confined to my
room more than half the time. Siftings.
A busy doctor of Scfanton, Penn., sent
in a certificate of death to the health
officer, and inadvertently placed his name
in the space for “cause of death.” This
is what might be called'accidental exact-
ness .—Chicago Herald.
A live mouse fell into a pan full of
milk. It swum round and round in its
efforts to get out, but in vain. How-
ever, through the activity of its move¬
ments the milk was at last churned into
butter, when the mouse was enabled to
jump out of the pan and regain its
liberty .—Gazette de QuatrecM.