Newspaper Page Text
Cite itlontgotitirg Jltotiitor.
D C. SUTTON, Editor and Proprietor.
MY DATS.
My d,ys pass pleasantly away;
Sty niglits ate blest with sweetest sleep;
I feel no symptoms of decay;
I hare no cause to mourn or weep;
Sly fees are impotent and shy;
My friends are neither false nor cold,
And yet of late I often sigh—
I'm growing old!
Slv growing talk of olden times,
Sly growing taste for early news;
Sly growing apathy to rhymes;
Sry growing love of easy shoes;
Sly growing hate of crowds and noise;
My growing fear of taking cold;
All whisper in the plainest voice
I'm growing old!
ih me! my very laurels breathe
The tale in my reluctant cars,
And every boon the Hours bequeath
But makes me debtor to the Tears!
E’en Flattery’s honeyed words declare
The secret she would fain withhold,
And tells me in “How young you are !”
I’m growing old!
Thanks for the years!—whose rapid flight
Jly sombre Muse too sadly sings;
Thanks for the gleams of golden light
That tint the darkness of their wings;
The light that l« ams from out the sky,
Those Heavenly mansions to unfold
Where all are blest, and none may sigh,
“I'm growing old!”
John G. Saxe.
A MIDWINTER RIDE,
BY J. L. HARBOUR.
I went to tlie stage-coach company’s
office at six o’clock in the morning, and
waited there until nine, never once
taking my eye off the driver’s seat of
the great, clumsy old coach.
When the Jehu who was to hold the
reins that day dashed briskly up Che ->t
nut Street, and turned gracefully into
Harrison Avenue, I had, in Lcadville
parlance, “the drop” on that eagerly
sought for, and often fought for, position
—half of the driver’s seat.
In six month’s staging over Rooky
Mountain passes and through Rocky
Mountain gulches I had never before
been successful in my struggle for the
driver’s seat. Melt more active and vigor
ous were sure to get in ahead of me, and
then came the agony of climbing inside
the vehicle, where the air was nearly
always foul and reeking with tobacco
smoke, and whe re the rocking motion of
the coach made me an invalid during
the entire trip.
Once I came very near getting the
coveted position, and the next moment
had my hopes, as well as myself, dashed
“My hand was on (hr railing around the top
of the coach."
rudelv to the ground in a manner that
humiliates me even now to think of it.
I was climbing up to the unoccupied
seat beside the driver; my hand was on the
railing around the top of the coach, and
my foot was on the wheel. In another
moment I would have reached the goal
of uiy desire. But no! A pair of strong
hands grasped my ankles firmly, a pair
of strong arms pulled me to the ground,
and a sharp feminine voice said:
“ I always ride with the driver my
self. mister.”
I looked around. A stout, red-faced
woman, in a gorgeous plaid shawl, black
dress and bonnet, and a blue veil, stood
before me. While I was looking at her
she put one foot on the hub of the
wheel, and swung and pulled herself up
by the driver’s side. I crawled inside,
abashed and rebuked. Rut ou this
memorable day of which I write I found
myself in undisputed possession of the
coveted seat.
Leadville was gayer then than it is
now; gayer than it will ever be again.
It was, indeed, in the full enjoyment of
its mighty but evanescent boom. The
gods were smiling on it. Prosperity
reigned. Everybody was happy, and I
was about as happy as any one else, if I
had totally failed to come into posses
sion of any of the “ big strikes” daily
being made.
I was doing reportoriid work on a
Leadville daily paper. The managing
editor wanted some one to go to Inde
pendence, a small but somewhat pro
mising camp over the range a day’s
journey, in midwinter, from Leadville.
The* sun was well up in a perfectly
clear sky liefore we started. There was
“an eager and a nippingair,” as Ipoeti
cally remarked to Scotty, the stage
H WSH
“We (rent at a eery smart ga<t. tterttty flour
isbing hi* whip gracefully."
driver. His reply was not so poetical
“ Yaas,” he said, “it’s mighty doggon
cold.”
Rut it was the drv. crisp kind of cold
weather not Hard to endure, niut com
mon only in high altitudes.
There were few passengers. Two men
and a woman had the inside of the coach
entirely to themselves. I was the only
outside passenger.
We left Harrison Avenue, and went
down Leadville’s gay Chestnut Street
at a very smart gait, Scotty nourishing
lie whip gracefully and making the lash
crack in uncomfortable proximity to the
red ears of the urchins trying to linng on
behind.
Wo went on very rapidly after the last
cabin \nd shanty in the desolate suburbs
had been ioft behir.n. Scotty handled
the reius well, and I fancied that he was
doing some sjtecinl showing off for my
benefit.
He sent the lead horses gracefully
around curves in the road. The rock
ing of the coach was ns even and gentle
ns that of a boat on the light waves of
the sen. There was grace and strength
in the way Scotty held these lines, in the
quick, graceful curve of his arm as ha
skillfully cut the keen air with the lash
of his whip, and brought it near enough
to the off leader’s ear to make that
sprightly animal shake its head angrily
and step forward at a livelier gait.
We drove down through Malta, Lead
ville’s nearest suburb; a wretched little
village, but about ns attractive in its
general appearance as its boastful and
more prosperous big sister higher up on
the barren, rocky lulls.
The wretched log cabins and hoard
shanties we passed after leaving Malta
added nothing to the picturesqueness of
the valley and the near mountain range
before us. I was glad when we were
out of sight of every human habitation,
and had before us nothing but the wide,
snow-covered Arkansas Valley and the
long mountain range, rising peak after
peak, one long, uneven, but unbroken,
snow-w hite line, so clearly and beauti
fully outlined against the blue sky.
The sun was just above their snowy
summits. Their white crests sparkled
and glistened in its light. The wide,
smooth valley lay before us; we drove
down its center over the smooth, white
roads, the driver was talkative. Most
stage drivers are so. Ho told me he had
been “ handlin the ribbons” on Rocky
Mountain roads “ever since’s9.” Ho
had been through “ Californy Gulch
more’n twenty year ago.”
He had seen the time when lie
wouldn’t have given “a tinker’s cuss”
for the whole town site of Leadville.
He was of the opinion that “some men
was born lucky, but he iva’n’t born that
way.”
“Yes,” he said, “stagin’ was putty
hard work, but bo didn’t mind It any
more. Got so used to it he wa’n’t fit for
nothin’ else.”
Would he like to go back East to live?
Well, not that anybody knowed of, lie
wouldn’t. Couldn’t live out o’ sight o’
them mountains no way you could fix it.
He’d like to be buried right on top of
the highest one of ’em. There wa’n’t
nothin’ so much comp’ny to a lonesome
man as mountains. The mountains
were to him what the sea is to a sailor
and to all who have been “ born and
! raised” oil its coast.
Wc reached the Twin Lakes before
noon. They are the largest ami most
beautiful of all Colorado’s lakes, and are
likely to become a very fashionable sum
mer resort for the future. There are
already a great many little cottages on
their wild shores, and a more charming
place could not be found in August and
! September. After that the nights are
j cold, and the general aspect too wintry
to please most visitors.
One passenger came aboard the stage
;at the Lakes. He remarked ominously
; that wc would have “a tough time of
it ” getting over the range that lay
j between us and Independence. He
| ventured the prediction that we’d have
• to come back to the Lakes for the night,
if w'e didn’t go rolling off the pass.
We were in the mountains now. The
valleys disappeared with the lakes. The
roads grew rougher as we drove through
narrow gulches, under gloomy pines,
and around mighty bowlders. The
driver did not tempt any more fancy
driving. He did not talk much, intimat
ing that the time had come for attend
ing strictly to business. We hud chang
ed horses at the Lakes, and the new
horses had not the spirit of those we had
ioft behind us. The driver dubbed
them “ lazy old rips,” and made dire
threats as to what he would do if they
didn’t “git out o’ that ”in a hurry.
Surprised by these threats, they “ mo
seyed on” a little faster than before, and
we pulled up before the dinner station
only an hour behind time.
I had been briefly warned i»y the
driver that the woman who kept the
stage station was the “all firedest talk
er,” and had reason to believe that the
polite name was deserved before we
“She was standing in flue door of the long,
lwr, one-story log house."
Irove away. Site was standing in the
d'xtr of the long, low', one-story log
house when we drove up.
“An hour behind time Jack” she
shrieked to the driver, “an’ you ain’t got
half a load, neither. Roads so bad as
that? But wait till you tiy h’istin’
yerself np over the range—you’ll see
roads then! I’ve kep’ dinner hot, an’
it'll be ready in two shakes of a sheep’s
tail. Come right in, ladies. Mizzable
MT. VERNON, MONTGOMERY CO., GA., W KDNKSDY, Al'G I’ST 17, 1887.
weather for ladies to be out. Half
froze, ain't you?’*
In ten minutes a thoroughly good and
bountiful dinner was set before us. I j
was surprised to find Vtich a variety of I
excellent dishes on the neat table.
“La ! yes,” said the woman, iu reply
to some remark 1 made, “w e do have
enough to eat, an that s a fact; but
that’s ’liout all we do have that s wuth
livin’ for here ill this wilderness, that
ain’t fit for white folks to live in nohow.
I ain’t goin’ to live here much longer.
I come from Indianny, whore folks
has things a little decent. Where you
from? loway? That’s a good State, I
guess. My man’s sister lives there.
Meblie you know her; her name’s Jones.
Don’t know her? Well, it’s a right
1 common name. She's got three chil
dren—two boys an’ a girl. I ain’t never
seen her, but I've got her pliotygraft.
I'll show it to you after dinner. My
man’s minin’ here, but I ain’t no faith
in minim’ You might jess as well buy
a ticket in the Loosianny lottery, ev’ry
mite an’ grain as well. 1 tell him ho, too,
but lie will hang on. One thing’s dead
sure: I ain’t goin’to stay here much
longer. Might jess as well git into yer
coffin an’ be buried. Rack there in
Indianny we had quiltin’s an’ singln*
schools an’ literarys an* circuses an’
things wuth livin’ for. Here we ain’t
even got a school for our young ’uns.
They’re growin’ up like wild critters.
Money ain’t all they is oil this earth. I
toll my man so, too. He says we'll go
back East after he strikes it. Strikes
it! Shucks ! It' we don’t go till then,
we’ll be buried here. Have some more
meat— do. What I You ain’t through
so soon ! Have some pie and another
cup of coffee. There’s apple sass in
that layered dish. I’ve got doughnuts
warmin’ in the oven. My man couldn’t
live without hot doughnuts cv’ry meal.
Some folks say they ain’t, healthy, blit
lie’s healthy as any pig.”
“She’d go on like that till day and all
night-, if von stayed so long,” said tho
driver, as we drove away. “A single
man gits pnrty lonesome here some
times; but I’ll lie denied if I wouldn’t
think it a happy sort o’ lonesomness if
I was tied to such a talkin’ machine as
that woman. She ’pears to be wound
lip so she won’t never run down. She's
a real good-liearted sort of a woman, too,
and they say her man don’t mind her
clatter. I’d like to know when in crea
tion she sleeps.”
We had left our coach behind ns, and
taken a sled in its stead. We were
going up the range now, and had a long,
steady pull before us. The snow was
very deep; every rock was white; the
pines were white and feathery. Some
of the hills were very' m Jep; imiv; ■
although there was a horse for each pas
senger, the driver said, many times:
“You’ll have to git out, gentlemen, an’
lighten things up a little.”
It was late in the afternoon when we
reached timber line. The mountains
above looked gloomy' ami forbidding; a
storm was raging around their summits.
The snow was blowing in our faces. We
could sec but a few foot ahead. A
wilder, drearier scene could not be im
agined. Tlie two ladies were timid and
frightened. The man who had joined
us at the Lakes made many “I told you
so” remarks. The driver was, however,
serene and confident, and I was t<x)
familie" with mountain travel f*> be
much alarmed. The cold was intense;
but we were all warmly dressed, and
had .an abundance of robes and blankets.
Still, it was a relief when the drivel
cried out at last:
“Here we are on top at last. Now
we’ll go spimiin’ down t’other side like
a streak o’ lightnin’.”
We were, indeed, on the highest point
of tlie range, four miles from Indepen
dence, and those four miles were down
grade all the way', it was not snowing
now, and we could see the road winding
down the mountain-side, across a littli
gulch, and then leading on, in almost a
straight line, to it little cluster of tents
anti cabins half buried in the snow. Wc
could see smoke curling above thereof*,
but no other sign of life in the forlorn
hxiking little camp.
If w'e did not go “spinnin” down like
lightnin’ we certainly went very fast,
and in an incredibly short time had
come to a halt before the hauling hostelry
in the camp, ft was already filled with
storm-bound travellers, but the landlord
said he would do tho best lie could for
us.
Shall I ever forget how bad that
“best” was! His house was erazier
lookirig than any of our modern East
lake or Queen Anne structures. It had
a pretentious-looking but cheap battle
ment front of utipainted pine boards, in
which there was one window and one
door. A red calico curtain, half covered
the window; dirt covered the other half.
Back of this imposing front was a tvvo
rnomed cabin of logs. A slab lean-to
was on one side of the log part, and a
tent kitchen on the other side. There
was a loft, with a ladder leading to it,
altovo tlie log part of the house. There
was not a bedstead in the cabin. Pino
bunks, filled with dangerous-looking
gray blankets, were on three sides of the
room. “We ain’t got fixed up as we
hope to bo yit,” said the landlord,
apologetically; “ain’t bin here but a
month, an’ it was tough work to git tins
illL
“We ain t got fiss't up as w hf/pe to fa yit.* 9 j
/lone. But, aw I said afore, I’ll do the
best I kin for you all.” Twenty-nine
“SUB DEO FACIO FORTITER.”
men and six women slept that night
in that place. The bunks of tho six
ladies wore artistically draped with
blankets; and the male guests who were
to sleep in the same room, considerately
withdrew until the ladies hud retire*!.
We were occasioned a little embarrass
ment the next, morning on account of
the towel, for there was but one in the
hotel. It hung on a roller on the door,
and Inal evidently been lmng there
along with the door, and never removed.
Those of us who had handkerchiefs
could avoid the towel; but several per
sons seemed to be without those make
shifts, and I saw one lady surreptitiously
drying her face outlie lining of her dress
skirt.
Os the meals given us during the day
I stayed there, I have nothing to write.
Tho landlord said he did the “host he
could,” and I don’t doubt it. I simply
say, liow fearfully bad that best was !
Independence had great hopes then -
hopes that were never realized. Most
of its few lints and cabins are now <le
serted, and it is the most forlorn and
desolate of mining camps. But T like
to recall that midwinter ride from Lead
ville, ami I often wonder if that talking
woman lifts “ run down” yet, or if she
is now enjoying the quiltings, singing
schools, and “literarys” of old “Indi
tinny. ”
SAVED BY l’El’IT’.R.
Courageous and Successful Combat
of a Young I j July with a H’njiltU
Assailant.
Heu*er’s Creek, Pa. —Miss Noth*
Fink, a fifteen-year old girl, had ft thril
ling experience while returning homo
from a neiglilHiring store last evening.
The store where she had visited is
shout a mile from her home, and tho
road, like all count ry highways, is deso
late and lonely. Miss Fink, whose ap
pearance was that of a woman of twenty
rather than a girl of fifteen, started
homeward shortly after six o’clock, hav
ing ro fear of being molested, iih she
freqi -ntly travelled over the same road
at a later hour. She amused liersclf by
singing sentimental songs in a low tone
of voice.
When she reached a point where the
road is thickly lined on both sides with
tall pines she saw the forms of two men
some distance ahead cross the road and
ente. the brush. As it was customary
to so farm hands take byways and short
cuts home, which branched off from the
main road, she was not alarmed, but
eont mod her journey until she passed
the pot w here the men crossed over,
; u'lic . •niddeidy ft burly locking fellow,
with slouch hat drawn dowp over his
face, jumped out from the nrnsli and
seized her by tho throat., at the same
time trying to force a red handkerchief
into her month. Failing in this he kept
his hand tightly clasped over her mouth
and then tried to carry or drug her off
the road into the brush.
Miss Fink is a robust girl and battled
with her assailant with wonderful
strength. A desperate struggle followed,
during which the girl’s clothing was
almost torn from her body. She had
dropped all the articles she had purchas
ed at the store with the exception of a
small package of pepper, which she held
in her hand. She quickly dashed it
into tho brute’s face, and by a supreme
effort broke from bis grasp aid ran for
her life.
At tlie same time the two men, who a
short time before had crossed the road,
sprang out of the brush as if to assist
the man who made the attack.
The young lady reached homo very
much exhausted, and was scarcely able
to tell her story. Somewhat recovering
from lior shock she related her encoun
ter with the men, whereupon her father,
brothers and several neighbors, armed
to the teeth, started in pursuit of the
trio, while the mother took earn of the
girl, whose face was terribly bruised and
swollen from tho rough treatment she
had received.
The whole neighborhood was aroused
and many recruits soon started out to
join the pursuing party, who kept tho
search up until midnight, without sue
cess.
An Experience with Stowaways.
The Baltimore Hun says: Gapt. Jones,
of the Johnson Steamship Oran more,
fuel an experience with stowaways on
bistrip from Liverpool ended Saturday.
He left congratulating himself that he
bad no deiulheads on board to In- fed at
his expense, which is made necessary
by the fact that the captains “grub”
their crews. The first twenty hours had
flossed when one stowaway came out to
.unit something to cat. At once n
Search was made for others through tic
jargo, but without success. Next day
two others rose from the dark depths of
the hold, followed by two more on the
third day. The five stowaways caused
C'apt. Jones to east up their probable
cost on a passage of from sixteen to
twenty days, and he laid balanced his
account and gotten them down to plenty
of hard work and a meagre allowance
when, on the fifth day, lie was faced
witli another, a robust son of Dublin.
Cupt. Jones was nineteen days on the
passage, and it was natural for him
every morning to ask if any more stows
ways had been found. That those stows
ways worked there is no denial, but all
the same Gapt. Jones is out a grub lull
for six men for fifteen days, in addition
to Jmying a fee of 50 cents a head for
their entry into the United .States, End
grant Agent Hallman took charge of
them yesterday afternoon, and the lest
salutation given to the master of the
Oranmore was “Good-by, Mr. Jones;
much obliged !” which came from one
who gave his age as forty-nine. Ve <ls
ent'-ring English ports with stowaways
on board give the master the option of
having them jailed or letting them go
free.
THK rJOKKIi’S BUDGET.
AMUSING THINGS WE FIND IN
THE PAPEHS.
Ho Whs in (lie City—He Could Keep
There—lt. was so Bitter—Odds
ami Ends, Etc.
A FRIEND OF THE TOOR.
Wife -“You are such a nice man.”
Husband “What is it you want
. » *
now !
Wiso —“I want a new dress.”
Husband “But you should take tho
hard times into consideration.”
Wise —“.So 1 do. 1 want to give the
poor seamstress something to do.”—
Siftings.
u
STARTTjINU IUSBEMBI.ANOEB.
Marcellas- Lodomin, can you toll mo
why your mother’s consent to our mar
riage is like our marriage itself ?
Lodemia—l am sure I can’t imagine
why.
Marcellas —Because wo both thank
her for it. Hoe? Both thank lior—both
hanker —for it.
Lodemia (stiffly)—Ah, that reminds
in*-, Mr. Hankinson; can you tell mo
why our innrringo is like the color of
your nose ?
Marcellas —No, dearest; I give it up.
Lodemia—Because I have about como
to the conclusion that it can’t come off.
Hoe? Can’t como off. Como off!—C'hi
rago Tribune.
CODED keep them.
A laughable story is told at tho ex
pense of a Boston gentleman, who went
with a party of excursionists to Han
Francisco. When the Bostonian lnid
been duly dusted, and all traces of travel
removed from his immaculate broad
cloth and shilling lieavcr, he turned to
the affable porter with a benign smile,
and vouchsafed: “Well, [ suppose you
want something for your trouble,” and,
drawing out his*portly wallet, ho too.
therefrom two blight new pennies, and,
with the air of a man who was doing
rather more than was expected of him,
or the occasion demanded, presented
them to the porter. A look of puzzled
astonishment overspread tho feat ures of
the African, as nothing smaller than tho
live in nt. nickel circulates there; but ns
soon as lie regained speech lie passed
them back with the remark: “Wo has
no use for them here, Hah!” “Oh,”
replied tho frugal New Englander,
“keep them, keep them; you may go
East some time.”
<:i(IMINA 1/ CAKEIiESBMRHS.
“Julia, did that young man who called
ori you last evening kiss you just before
he loft the house ?”
“Why, mamma, could you hear?”
“I heard enough; too much for my
own peace of uiiinl. How often have I
told you to beware of these men ? Your
conduct is inexcusable.
“I wasn’t to blame, mamma. We were
standing at the frontdoor, and his mouth
was real close to my face, and before I
knew it—”
“That will do. I see you have no ex
cuse to offer.”
“Yes i have,” sobbed Julia.
“What is it, pray?”
“His mouth was awful close to mv
face and I didn’t know it was —load-
ed.”—■Merchant Tcarrier.
WAS IN A CITY.
A traveller in Kansas, wliilo crossing
the prairie, came upon a party of friends
who seemed to lie preparing the land for
agricultural purposes. “My friend,”
said the traveller, addressing one of the
men, “you are laying your corn rows
quite a distance apart. ’* Corn rows?”
the man gasped. “Yes, those rows over
there.” “My stars, stranger!” exclaim
ed the Kansas man, “is it possible you
ain’t heard of it ?” “Heard of what?”
“Os tho boom. Man alive, them ain’t
corn rows over thar; they arc streets,
an’ this here is a city. You air now on
the corner of Commercial anil Empor
ium streets, find not in tho check of a
corn row, as you mout suppose.”—
A rlcarisaw Trureller.
THE CONSCIENTIOUS FIREMAN.
Young Wise —“I know very well,
mother, that my husband no longer loves
me.”
Mother—“ How do you know it, my
daughter?”
“You know lie belongs to a fire com
pany?”
“Yes.”
“Well, before we were married, when
we were courting and the fire lx-11 rang,
In: never went to the fire. He said that
ho would rather pay the fine.!’
“Well, what does ho do now ?”
“Why, now, ut the very first sound
of the hell, he says duty calls him, and
lie is off and away in three shakes of a
sheep's tail.’* —Term Siftings.
THE BEST.
A man with brick-colored whiskers en
tered a Harrison street saloon yesterday
afternoon, and, leaning one greasy coat
sleeve on tin- mahogany, exclaimed:
“Gimme some of lie- liest you’ve got.”
The man behind the liar set out a
glass full of water.
“What’s that?” asked the man with
the whiskers.
“That’s water,” replied the proprietor.
“What do I want of water ?”
VOL. 11. NO. 24.
“You asked me for the best I had, and
there it is,” continued the barkeeper.—
Chicago Herald,
MADS HIS PEACE.
A comic actor was much addicted to
drink. He wuson the road and billed
to appear in a small town. When he
came on the stage he was so drunk that
the audience hissed him. Steadying him
self on the scenery the actor said: “la
dish and shent lemons —When an nrtist
of my shtanding eonshents to appear at
all in’ such a little ono-hosh town as this
he musht either lie drunksh or crazsliy.
I virefer to bo conshidered an inebriate.’
The audience roared and forgave him.—
Texas Siftings.
TIME FOR REPAIRS.
Railroad official (to President of the
company) —I am inclined to think that
the big iron bridge has been a trifle un
safe.
President—Nonsense. Why do you
think so ?
Official because, this dispatch says it
has just gone down with a train load of
passengers.
so little.
Laura—Papa, isn’t my new dress just
too lovely for anything?
Papa—Yes, clear. Was the goods very
expensive ?
Laura—Why, no, papa, I am delight
ed over the colors and the perfect fit.
What makes you think the material was
expensive ?
I’apa Because you bought so little of
it.— lh< rpef’s B< mi r.
A HOME CYCLONE.
A Dakota young man put on enow
shoes and walked twenty miles through
a blizzard to keep an appointment to
get married. A year after marriage he
will tell his w ife when he returns Home
a few hours after bed time that he was
detained by a threatening rain-storm
and In' forgot his umbrella. —Norrutovn
J lr mid.
NO CARPS.
Angry stranger (to assistant editor)—
Is the man who is responsible for this
article in ?
Assistant editor—No, sir. t
Angry Stranger—Wlicrv '* ’ - he sit ?
Assistant Kditnr—lf”•- raer desk,
sir; the one that has 44-calibro re
volver for a papdl Weight. Will you
leave your card, sir\
Angry Stranger (mildly)—N
ALMOST A HINT.
Esmeralda Longcoffin’s parent says to
young Mr. Htaylate—l may be an old
man, and a darned ugly old man, but if
you don’t go home I’ll show you that
I still posHscH". the lire of youth, for I’ll
flm a youth out of this house, and you
will ho that youth.”
Young Mr. Htaylate —Mr. Longcoffin,
is this a hint for me to go.
nis PENSION.
Applicant- Is this the place to apply
for a. pension? I ‘in an old soldier, sir, and
tip to the present time I haven’t Asked
the Government to give mo a cent.
Now f want assistance.
Pension Agent You want a back
pension ?
Applicant —Certainly; that’s where '
was shot. — Ti<l Hits.
HOTEL LIFE.
Dumley (registering in hotel) — I suf
pose l can put up hero for a day.
Clerk—Oh, yes, sir. Any baggage
Mr.—er—Dumley ?
Dumley—No.
Clerk Then you may put up $4 for a
day.
BEATING THE RECORD.
First Landlubber—l see that the
Dauntless has beaten the record.
Second Landlubber —In what way?
First Lindlubber —Her fresh water
gave out before the beer and cham
pagne.—N. V. Sun.
GETTING THE MONEY RACK.
Old Mr. Bently (reading)—l see it
costs fJ'.MH) to tire off one of these new
fangled siege guns.”
Old Mrs. Bently (placidly)—Well, I
s’pose they kill enough people to make
II ji for the expense.
STRONG.
Lady (in grocery store) —Let me have
a pound of butter, please.
Clerk (who used to tend in cigar store)
—Mild or strong ?— Harper's Bazar.
IIP. didn’t complain.
Jinks—Don’t you object to your wife
wearing such an enormously high hat,
Binks?
Biliks—No, not at all. I complained
of it once, and she said she would take
off an inch for every drink I refused.
Jenks—No wonder you don’t complain
any more. —Tut Bits.
ODDS AND ENDS.
A pig’s tail is of no more use to the
pig than the letter “p” is to pneu
monia.
People rail it “putting up” at a
hotel, because there is so much that they
have to put up with.
A Tottenham magistrate recently
fined himself SI for allowing snow to
lie upon the sidewalk.
A woman doesn’t know half as much
about voting as a man does about rock
ing a cradle, yet there are more women
who want to vote than there are men
who would rock cradles.