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She iflontgamecQ iftonitor*
D C. SUTTON, Editor and Proprietor.
A LETTER,
Only an old-time letter;
Bnt from each faded line
Tliero breathes a tender passio
That oneo was only mine.
Only an old-time letter;
But from each yellow page
There comes a woe of long ago—
The ghost of a sweeter age.
Only an old-time letter,
Dark with the stain of years;
But oft that withered writing
Has bloomed beneath my tears.
But oh ! that dream is shattered—
Tiie fount of grief rnn dry;
To-day tho sad remembrance
Wakes but a passing sigh.
Yes, the page is old and yellow;
And the moss is on thy grave,
Where the palo moon nightly silver*
Tho shadows of wind-blown waa e;
Where the long and silent river
Ends in the moaning sea,
As tliy sweet life hath vanished
Into eternity.
— W. J. Henderson.
THE CHILD LED HIM
BY MARY B. SMITH.
11l nows travel.", fast. Therefore it is
riot surprising that tho whole town of
Deermont had heard of Benton's sus
pension from Bayard College, Before
tho arrival of the evening train that
brought the young man himself. He
had not delayed his departure from the
scene of his downfall.
During the long ride by rail to his
native village, there were constantly be
fore him tho interview with the libra
rian, and, later, tho official notieo of
his suspension. Not but that ho had
studiously avoided thinking of the mat
ter over since its occurrence—witness
his wild gayety of the evening before,
and the farewell supper with his special
cronies, who this morning had cut their
recitations to accompany him part way
on his journey homo. They had ail
left tho train now, and a few more sta
tions would bring them to Deermont.
Ho gave careful attention to the scen
ery, watched his fellow passengers
closely, and tried in every way to keep
from the consciousness of what was in
his coat pocket—that terrible envelope
bearing tho college seal and inclosing
the short but decisive notice of his sus
pension. Not that lie had called it ter
rible when the post boy brought it to
liis room. How ho had joked about it
with tho fellows who were with him,
laughed over the phraseology, and con
temptuously tossed it aside ! Now,
whichever way he moved, ho was sure
to crumple it, making him aware of its
existence. If he bent to open tho win
dow, rattle went the accusing paper; if
he hunted for change for the peanut
boy, lie put his hand into that pocket
by mistake; when he passed out his
ticket, his urm always set the paper rat
tling again and set fiis thoughts going.
But they were not very deep thoughts.
They could all bo summed up in these
passionate words: “I will never return.
They may call it ‘suspension’ if they
please, but lam through with Bayard
altogether. I shall never darken her
doors again. Her precious books are all
safe from mo—‘Stewart’s Comparative
History’ and all the rest. ‘Until mid
year examinations!’ Until mid-year
forever ! I will never return.”
“Deermont! Deermont!” called the
brakeman.
Benton was disappointed not to see ;
his brother Ghipman at the depot with
the team to take him the two miles’ !
drive up to the farm. Then, remem
bering how ill the child had been, and ’
that he was only just about again, he
judged it likely that his aunt did not
think it wise to have him out so late in
the evening. In his place wore three of
the village boys. It did not need throe
to rein in his uncle’s womout farm horse; |
but it was a great event to go down for
“Benton, who has been expelled from
college.” The boys greeted him in a
constrained manner* which seemed to
say, “Wo know, but we won’t say any
thing aliout it.” Their stiffness, to- i
gether with a slight condescension, was
intolerable to Benton, and as he took the
reins he broke out: “See here, boys!
Don't look so solemn. I haven't killed
anybody. lam just coming home on a
jolly vacation to last from now to for
ever 1”
“Ain’t yer goirx’ back ?” asked Ben.
“Oh, no! They were afraid I would ,
learn too much. Go along!”
“Was that wlmt yer come home fur?
’Cause yer couldn't do the lessons?” i
asked Dick, keen enough to see that
Benton was not in earnest, but not quite
understanding what was meant.
“Nonsense! no!” answered Benton,
sharply. “I stood higher than a lot of
others—almost the very highest. 'Twas
just a little bother about a hook. You
know they think so much of books up
there—get up! —that they can't have
them moved a bit out of place, and I
moved one out of place, and so lam
here. ”
“Mr. Benton is jokin’ us,” said Ned.
“No, I’m not, honestly. That's just
what it was; and if you wish to go to
college you must let all books alone!”
Benton laughed; partly at the idea of
these boys who wouldn’t go to school,
wishing to go to college, partly at his
satire on letting books alone, partly I*3-
cause he was desperately unhappy.
The boys laughed, too. They under
stood that learning was being made fun
of, and wasn’t at all sorry; they sus
pected, also, that law and order of some
Kind was scoffed at. and that delighted
them.
“Chip has had the scarlet fever, did ,
yer know?” asked Ned, wishing to give |
soms information.
“Oh, yes, I know it,” returned Ben
ton. “He has written me since it was
over. ”
“That's why wo come,” explained
Dtek, “ ’cause 'twas so late. He cried
like everything, thought”
“Get up; will you!” said Bouton,
seining the whip. Two more hills and
ho would see Cnipmnii again. What a
year of separation it had been!
There was the child's face at the
window; and now they were together,
Chip sitting on his brother’s knee, his
eyes fixed on liis face. Benton was try
ing to explain to his uncle and aunt the
reason for his suspension. I say “try
ing,” for with Chip's grave face watch
ing him ho found himself unable to
speak in so flippant and jocose away as
he had spoken to the boys who drove
him up. It was a long niut fretful con
versation.
j “What I can’t see anyway was what
you were a-toiu‘hin’ tho books for. 1
should think you would have known
enough not to touch the shelves.”
“Ain t there a boy or somethin’ to get
the book's for you?”
“But you don’t understand. These
books were reserved for us. We could
go to them whenever we wished to use
them in the library, and take homo at
night. I just laid one where I could get
it when 1 wanted it.”
“Well, well! I think it’s awfully con
fusin’.”
“No wonder the books get mixed!”
“No sense in trustin boys that way.”
“Why should they go to savin’the
books for the students, and then ex
pellin’ them for liiyin’ them in the wrong
place?”
“I wish you wouldn’t keep saying
‘expelling,’ aunty. I’m only suspended
till February of next year.”
“Till February next year! That’s a
pretty thing!”
“I can’t make out why you are ‘sus
pended,’ ns you call it, any way. And
as to next year, why, you lose a year!
Here you will not lie through college
for fivo years! Y’ou said that four years
was all von asked me for.”
“No, no, uncle. It will not bo any
longer. I must keep up my studies
don’t you understand? Enter my own
class again. And I may as well tell you
now that I shall have to havo a tutor
these months to keep me up.”
“A tutor!”
“What a piece of expense!”
“Well, I can’t help it. That is the
way Bayard College manages things."
“Whr did you persist in goin’ there,
then? Eon said you wanted the best.
Is this what you call the best?”
“I don’t see no sense in your goin’
back.”
“I don’t expect to t”
“What did yon say you wanted a tu
tor for then ?’’
“Because I do. I trill have my four
years’ education you promised me.
Maybe I will go to Yale—or Amherst.
I don’t know. I only know this child
is asleep here, and that there is no use
of talking. Como Chippie,” his voice
changing in tone —“eonie, Chippie,
wake up! We’ll go up to bed together.”
“The day after the end of the world,”
thought Benton the next morning. Col
lege, or no college, or what college?
Tutor, or no tutor, or whom for a tutor?
Study, or let all study go? The relief
from these continuing vexing questions
with his uncle and aunt lay in the com
pany of liis little brother. The child
was thin and feeble after liis Into illness,
and seemed more quiet than usual,
though he wns always a sober little fel
low. Benton devoted himself to liis
pleasure, taking him on drives, boating
excursions, and picnic» l iind was soon
repaid by the flush of health returning
to the palo cheeks and the merry laugh
ringing out in the noisy games in which
ho was soon able to join.
Benton’s leisure he spent at his books.
A keen intellect, a vigorous mind, had
been his birthright, and, in spite of the
associations now connected with his col
lege work, lie continued the regular
studies. His play with liis brother and
innumerable callers interrupted liis time
much. For he had callers. Never be
fore had he found himself of so much
importance. It seemed to him that
every one who had ever known his fath
er or liis mother or himself now took the
long two miles drive from the village to
interview him. In courtesy he had not
refused to see them; yet trie awkward
ness with which they met him, tho ques
tions about his future with which they
tormented him, tho hidden reproofs
which they tried to give him, seemed
sometiinee more than he could bear.
The minister called, hut, unable to see
through the young man’s cloak ( f gaye
ty, avoided the subject altogether. The
principal storekeeper called, aud, taking
it for granted tlmt the college plan was
all over, offered him good wages and
steady work as liis bookkeeper, and was
rather taken aback by Benton’s decided
“No.” I’art of the town felt that some
terrible crime had been “bushed up,
and that it was not to he oxjieotod that
“jKior Benton would amount to any
thing;” the other part felt that he had
received unmerited punishment from
the college for some slight misdemeanor
“about a book.”
Ghipman was usually present at all
the talks in the household, but, beyond
showing his interest by stopping liis
whistling, or whittling, or whatever he
was about, and watching his brother’s
face as if it were indeed a very book
from which he could read, never took
partin the wrangling discussions. But as
he grew stronger liis brother’s uri-happi
ness became more apparent to the quick
child’s instinct; and as they were sitting
on the river’s bank one afternoon, lie
sfKike up, abruptly.
“Jamie, I wish you would explain it
all to me. I don’t understand it at all.
I mean why you did—why you came
home. ”
“Yon would better not try to under
stand it, Chip,’ James answered, a lit
tle startled. “I'm sure it has lieen
talked over till there’s nothing left to
understand. Besides, it would only
trouble you.”
“Please, Jamie, explain it all to me,
the way yon do other things,” pleaded
Chip. ”
James knew what the boy meant.
MT. VERNON, MONTGOMERY COL (JA., WKI >NESPA V, AI G1 ST 1 1, 18S7.
Jlow many times had be carefully and
und kindly explained to the child prin
ciples of common law abstract ques
tions of right or wrong involved in some
lioy’s t rouble or town regulation, license,
fines, game lawn, gambling, etc.! How
be delighted in using liis highest thought
to make plain to tho little listener tho
real right in the matter, pleased with
the child’s clear head and conscientious
nature!
But to explain this —this, that he had
so glossed over in his talk that he could
hardly see it plainly himself—to explain
this to his loyal little brother, who be
lieved so in his words —to really show
him I low the case-stood! Ho glanced up
at Chippie, to meet two blue eyes look
ing at him so earnestly that the tears
had ltrimmed up from t hoir liquid depths.
James turned away his face for a sec
ond. It seemed like some bar of justice
before which he was to speak, and he
must beware not to perjure himself. “Ho
help me God!” was his inarticulate
prayer as ho turned to his brother
again.
Benton began the miserable story
once more—he might have said for the
fiftieth time. But he did not say so.
Indeed, it seemed as if this was the first
—the first timo that he told it all before
his bettor self. Ghipman did not by
any means take the place of judge; hut
his simple questions seemed searching
in the extreme.
Benton described the valuable library
itself, the many books imposible to re
place—those endeared by association
with the great men of whose libraries
they had been a part; those so rare that
no second copy could bo obtained; those
so costly that no private owner could
possess them; their ever-increasing num
ber, already many thousands; the meth
od of preserving them and of distribut
ing the books to accommodate readers,
and the great need, to writers and stu
dents, of books for consultation.
“And was it one of those books?” as
Benton paused.
“No. Out of all 11 lose, a great num
ber —many hundreds. Chippie—had
been chosen by the different professors,
ami put on shelves convenient for us
students, for us to find lmndy just
whenever wo needed.”
“Why only for you?”
“Because the library belonged to tiie
college, and we were like the children
of tli(> college" -seeing now in distinct
outline the bountiful gift, the gracious
favor.
“Didn’t von have to write your name
down, you know, the way you told me,
when you sent for one of those?”
“No; we could go right to the shelves,
and help ourselves, and no one knew"
—realizing the immense trust, the great
appeal to honor.
“And then —?”
And then Benton explained about the
right to take home a volume at evening,
returning it at morning; alamt the great
demand for certain 1 looks, till, day after
day, when one hook was looked for,
’twas gone—couldn’t ho found.
“You had hidden it?”
“Yes, Chipmun’’ his voice very low,
all the ugliness of deceit against which
lie had warned liis brother staring at
him in his own deeds.
“You wanted it most ?”
“No, they all wanted it”—thinking of
liis classmates exposed to the same
temptation. “ ’Twas just before exam
inations. I wanted to be prepared.”
“You wanted to get high marks ?”
“Yes” —the desire for winning praise
not looking so fair as before.
“Ho you wanted to get that book be
fore any of tin* others?”
“Yes”—lower still. All tho love of
self, all the greed, rising up before him.
“Oh, Jamie 1”
“Oh, Chip, pity me! Don’t hate
me?” cried poor Benton, breaking
down at last. “Ob, what would father
and mother think !”
“Oil, Jamie, I’m so sorry!” whispered
Ghipman, waiting in loving silence, till
his brother hud regained liis self-con
trol.
“It's all so awful, Chippie-—and 1
don’t know what to do - and I was so
angry when they found out lam afraid
I was rude, too, to the librarian when
be spoke with me—and then caine tho
letter from tho President and all and
—oh, it’s such a disappointment!” said
B >nt,ori when lie could speak again.
Ghipman made no reply, and a long
silence fell between them, which was
broken at length by the little boy’s voice,
saying, gently:
“Did you tell them you were sorry
for it all?”
“No; I don’t think I was sorry then.
Perhaps not till now. It wouldn’t have
mode a bit of difference, though, if 1
bud apologized.”
“But I should think you should just
want to say you are sorry - even now,”
replied Ghipman.
The quiet that fell between them
again was interrupted by shouting, and
the sound of some trouble in the farm
yard. Away ran Chippie to join in the
fun of driving the cattle out of the corn
field.
Benton soon returnol to the house
gave Chippie a fine swing in the barn,
talked merely at tea-time to prevent the
old subjects being touched upon, after
ton mended some harness for his uncle,
and then sat down to Ins books in the
evening, but with the certainty that be
would probably accomplish little study.
For, running parallel to all he had been
busy about, that evening, were the words
—“Did you tell them you were sorry for
it all?” And all the time lie had been
answering those words: He had not lieen
sorry at the time should he write on
ajHilogy? The very phrase was repellent
to his pride. ’Twas too late now.
’Twas far into July. Where were the.
President and Faculty, anyway? They
would not care at all for an apology. It
would make no difference to them. I
could not help the matter any. “I
should think you would just want to
say you are sorry—even now. ”
Ghipman, glad to see the smiles on his
brother’s face again, had been merrier
and happier than usual. But when he
“SUB DEO FACIO FORTITER.”
was atiect, rtml almost asleep, no roused
up as Bentkn opened liis heavy diction
ary, and slid, half sleepily, "Jamie, I
am ofrahl you enro too much for study
ing,'* The?little fellow only mount that
ho pitied Ijis brother hard at work on
lessoiiH, wlfeli to him lmd dways been
rather of it trial, and wished him the
enjoyment bf the sleep, into which ho
himself was fast dropping.
“Good-sight, sleepy head!" returned
Benton, Ktughing. But ns tho boy
nestled book into dreamland, Benton
grew sobof. “Perhaps I do cure too
much for study. Perhaps tlmt is what
has led Jne so astray.” This new
thought pressed out the old one. Tho
dictionary lay open, but the leaves were
unturned. He soon put out the lamp,
ami sat in the deepening darkness
striving to place liis towering ambition
for learning, for public acknowledg
ment, on a lower plane, that it might
not be hi* first thought. Then, keeling
by the bedside, of bis sleeping brother,
be reconsecrated bis life in its first
manly strength all to the Higher Ser
vice.
Benton. Woke the next morning with
tho peace of holier purposes and nobler
resolutions about him. He woke by
hearing the voice of Chipmnn saying:
“Why, it is the First Command
ment!”
“What is, Chippie?”
“Hero, on my little calendar —the text
for to-day: ‘Thou slialt have no other
gods before me.’ Then it gives another
text, too: ‘Yu cannot serve God and ma
nion.’ ”
“iVawimon,” corrected Benton. “I
guess that’s my calendar for to-day,
Chippie. After breakfast, Chip, if uncle
will let us have tho team, we’ll drive
down to the postoffice. I want to send
• letter saying, ‘l’m sorry.’ ”
“I’ll find out now!” cried Chipnian,
delighted at the thought of the two miles
drive. “Uncle is already down. I heard
him hollering to the cows.”
But it was some time after breakfast
before the letter was ready, very simple
and direct and earnest though it wns.
No reply came from the distinguished
body to whom he wrote. Indeed, Ben
ton expected none. But the days lmd
hardly counted a week before there came
a letter from one of the professors in
whose classes Benton had been, and to
whom liis letter of apology had been
shown. Much a warm, fatherly letter it
was tlmt it seemed to Benton uh if now
that he had righted himself-—all tho
angels of heaven and earth were stretch
ing out helping hands to him. The
value of the friendship thus advanced to
him ho never attempted to measure.
The friendship vvus not, short lived, but,
beginning then, extended through the
months of earnest work which followed,
and continued when he re-entered his
name in the college records and became
again the reoipient of his alma mater’s
bounty und honors.
A BIT OF GEORGIA ROMANCE.
Married lo the Woman Who Had
Him Henlenced lo I he Goal Mines.
It does not seem probable that a man
would learn to love arid finally marry a
woman who once had sent him to the
coal mines, but such was the happy
ending a few days ago of a little bit of
romance, says the Birmingham, Ala,,
Ayr.. About four years ago a drunken
miner entered a little town not forty
miles from this city, and at once pro
ceeded to “cuss” out every citizen of the
place without regard to l ace, color, sex
or previous condition of servitude.
Meeting two respectable white ladies
during his wild career he cursed and
abused them at a terrible rate. He was
afterward arrested for the offense and
tried before a justice of the peace in this
city. One of the ladies appeared ns a
witness, mid the mail was sent to prison
and afterward to the coal mines for two
years. He, served his sentence at Pratt
mines, and was released a sadder und
wiser mail.
After liis discharge lie located in o
small mining town, working us a miner,
and became a sober and respected
citizen. Not many months ago the lady
who had appeared against him as prose
cuting witness moved to the town where
this man was living and the two became
acquainted. Time had wrought changes
in the appearance of both and they
failed to recognize each other. Strange
as it may seem, their friendship rijiened
into love, and a few days ago they
entered the office of the same justice
who had tried the ease which sent, tho
man to prison. They went around with
a marriage license and the official made
them man and wife without mentioning
the pakt.
A little quiet inquiry revealed the foot
• that the bride and groom were still
ignorant of the fact that they once ap
peared iy court as defendant and prose
cuting witness.
An Ancient Bird.
“Mv parrot is 100 years old said Eras
tus Judd, living in Chicago. “I have
had him for ulxuit thirty years and my
father had him about forly years. ‘Old
I’lltnatn,’ as we call him, used to belong
to my grandfather, Heth Judd, who lived
at Shelburne Falls, Mass. The old
gentleman got him from a sailor in Bos
ton. I have family letters dated in Ih’.K),
iri which ‘Old Putnam’ is referred tons
‘u prettic bird wltiche hath been taught
to say aft/w one much of our New Eng
land primer ami certain of Dr. Watt’s
hymns for the young.’ I do not see
that the pairot is not as young an ever.
He i:; very docile and ho talks as clever
ly as a child of six. His pinning': is still
bright, but his sight lias failed him
somewhat. The wav to tell the age of a
parrot is toleount the rings on his claws.
\ i.ew ring tor wrinkle) comes every
tenth year. ‘Old Putnam’ has nine of
ih<.: o rings and a shtrtor for the tenth.'*
TIIE JOKERS’ BIIDfiET.
ODDS AM) ION DH OATHKKED
FROM lIIJMOnOGS I’Al’EltS,
11 tvas Her Opinion —The Brave Man
l’leasant riea Never Again
Right on Time—■ Odds ami lOntln,
Fie., Etc.
VERY TRUE.
Heiress—l am afraid it is not for mo
that, you come here so often, but for my
money.
Afdent Wooer -You are cruel to say
so. How can I get your money without
getting you?—Boston Courier.
A SOURCE OP SIN.
“Don't yon know,” she said to Bobby,
who was impaling a fly on the point of
a pin, “that it is wicked to eaten flies?”
"It is wickeder to miss ’em as some
fellers do,” responded Bobbv, who is
something of n base ball expert.
BINOINO.
At the club. A member hums tho lie
ginning of a turn*.
Friend—Aw, Chawlie, can you hum
the rest of that ?
Chawlie —Ynas.
Friend- Well, for the Lord’s sake
don’t— Town Topics.
AT TUP. COUNTRY CTjTTB.
Mr. Damitall—Oh, Miss Gertrude,
Lollipops is looking everywhere for yon.
Miss Gertrude —For mo? You must
bo mistaken. It’s my sister.
Mr. Damitall Not, at all. I nskod
him if it, was the pretty one, and lie
said No ! — Town Topics.
HOW HE SAVED HIS EYES.
“What’s the matter with your eyes,
Joe?”
“Ben sifting ashes. Bill. Tho wind’s
against, me, no matter liow I turn.
“1 never get ashes in my eyes, Joe.”
“flow do you avoid it?’
“1 let my wife sift tliem.”
A PODGE.
Spokesman of party picking berries—
No objections, I hope ?
Farmer No, I haint, got no objections
to yer piekin ther berries, but, by gosh,
tho house is so full I dinino where tor
put, yer all wlicli yer get bit by ther rat
tln-si lakes. (They move on.)
WEAI/rif.
“Talk about speculation!” lie said;
"why the first deal I ever mode I cap
tured a clean fifteen hundred dollars on
oil certificates on a margin of only fifty
dollars.”
“Are you st ill in oil ?"
“No; I’m clerking in a Yorkvillo gro
cery store.” — Pock.
FI RED.
“Oh, Itowonu,” exclaimed Voltigern
Tapomeasure, dropping on his knees
without a struggle, “your beauty tires
my heart —” “My daughter,” sunl old
Hengist Wlieateorncr, entering the
room, “I will divide the contract with
you; I will tiro the rest of him,” which
ho did.
TURNED ABOUT.
“Women are unreasonable creatures,”
observed Brown, ns ho ordered another
round for the boys. “Now, there’s my
wife. Before we were married, when I
went to see her she, always thought it
was too early for me to go homo, and
now I can’t go home early enough to
suit her.” — N. Y. Son.
ri.HAHANTHIKM.
I met a freckled village toy,
Who loitered by the way;
Ilia hat wuh off, ilia briek-dust curia
With balmy winds did play.
“Ob, whither bound, bareheaded boy,
Beneath thin blazing sky ?"
“I’m going homo but tune to wait
Until my hair is dry.”
in l,roil Fro; Press.
itroirr on time.
“I am sorry 1 can’t accommodate yon,
Mr. Paperwait,” said Mrs. MeKerrel,
shaking her hand resolutely, ns she often
did of a Saturday evening, “but all my
boarders settle weekly; my motto is,
‘Pay as you go.’ ”
“Oh, yes,” exclaimed Paperwait,
cheerfully, “so is mine, so is mine. But
I'm.not going yet, you know; I’ll bo
hero six months yet.” And u happier
man never vetoed a bill. — Burdette.
ACHES and PAINS.
Fair patient begins a catalogue of
aches aud pains, when the doctor, re
cognizing them as old acquaiitariocs, in
terrupts. and coolly and accurately fills
out the. list. The lady protests: “I
didn’t send for you to toll me rny symp
toms, doctor; J really wanted the pleas
ure of tolling them myself; and if you
will only let inn tell them, you will see
that I am alarmingly ill." Harper's Ba
zar.
NOT ITT NO I.IKE AiTf'URAOT.
“I beg your pardon,” said a bashful
young lady to a gentleman who hail just
Been introduced, and whose name she
bud not caught in the confusion of the
moment. “I l*-g your pardon, but how
do you spell your name -
“8-in-i-t-li," lie replied, with some
surprise. .
“Oh!” she returned, with admirable
presence of mind, “tjiank you. A great
many people of your name spell it
Hmythe, you know, and that was my
reason for putting tho question.”— Boston
Courier.
HE WANTED H.'S NAME CHANGED.
“Well John,” said the judge to a pig
tailed Celestial, “wlmt can I do for
you ?”
“Want to geteo name changed.”
“What’s your name now ?”
“Hing Hing. No goodeo. To much
aldolroan. Settee changed to Wulbee
Twi,cn."
“To Warble Twice?”
“Yep. Alice same Hing Hing.”
A WAY THEY HAVE.
New York Girl What on earth have
you got in your locket ?
Boston Girl—Dust.
New York Girl—Result of some cre
mation?
Boston Girl—Oh my, no! It’s some
of the dust that Mike Kelly raised while
sliding into tiie home plate latjt Thurs
day,
VOL. 11. NO. 25.
VERY CAUTIOUS.
“How did you lose your arm, Mr.
Cthiteriire?"
“It was shot away nt Cold Harbor?”
“Lose your log at. tho name time?”
“About, two bourn later; while they
woro carrying nio back.”
“And you are totally blind, too?”
“Yes;’ shell came into tho hospital
and exploded light over my cot.”
•‘You must draw n largo pension?”
"Well, no; I don’t got, any pension at
all. Papersaro all right os far ns they
go, but I haven’t boon able to prove yet
that if I hadn’t gone into mo army X
would not havo died of the cholera,
which was mighty bud in our town in
CAUGHT ON.
Tho father of Gen. E., of Virginia,
had a body-servant who was an inveter
ate toper. His master tried every means
in his power to break him of drinking.
Persuasion was useless, advico wasted
and whipping but temporary in effect.
Sam had been to a dance, had imbibed
freely, and returned home at break of
day, and at breakfast was rather the
worse for wear. Ilis master thought to
try tho effect «>f frightening liim by ap
parently reading Iro n the morning paper
the death of a drunkard in It. “Hpon
tauoous combustion! Horrible death
of a drunkard 1 Hast night Michael
Muginnis was in a beastly state of intox
ication; he retired to his room, and in
blowing out the candle his breath caught
tire. Ho was entirely consumed and
nothing left of him but the ashes in his
slioes.” Ham stood with eyes agoir and
hands raised. “Blaise .101111, ms nigger
neher blow out a caudle ez long ez 110
lib, shmih I”
ON TIIll AVENUE.
A father and daughter out walking,
when two young gentlemen pass and
how.
Father —Who are those gentlemen?
Daughter -George and Charlie, pa.
Isn’t, George just too good looking?
Father Sly minx 1 You love Charlie.
. Ton'll Topic*.
men opinion.
The reports of burglaries bad made
the mistress of the house cautious, anil
she reminded In r maid of all work that
the door at the fool of the buck stairs
must be bolted at night, and told her
tho reason why.
“They wouldn’t como up stairs, would
they?" asked Abigail.
“They might," said (he mistress.
"And go brio the rooms where folk#
arc sleeping?"
“Yes, indeed."
“Well, if they ain’t got check I”—Hot
ton TrartHi'.rivt
A UUAVK MAN KIIItINICK.
First Omaha Man —How’s this, John?
You said you intended to propose to
Miss Gushington this evening, and here
you are hack before 1) o’eloolc. Surely
she didn’t refuse you ?
Second Omaha Man—N o; I didn't
propose. 1 concluded to postpone the
question.
“Now, see here, John, if you don’t
get that girl it’s your own fault. The,
idea of being such a coward. You, who
have bravely walked up to the cannon's
mouth."
“Y-o s, but tho cannon hadn’t been
eating onions.” -Omaha World.
ODDS A Nil ENDS.
A man is seldom very much hated
until he is successful.
Tun man who speculates in stocks
should hear in mind that a hell is never
rung to give notice when the trap is to
he sprung.
A Minneapolis man lias invented a
dust collector, lmt it is hardly expected
that it will surpass the top surface of u
centre-table.
Thebe are men in New York who
spend half their time dodging people
they have borrowed money of, and tho
other half in hunting up fresh vii Vims.
Evkiiy man thinks lie is about right
himself. An old Quaker said to his
wife; “All the world is queer except
thee, and me, and thee is a little queer.’’
“What Is forever ?" asked the Sun
day-school superintendent of a little
girl. “The Army and Navy,” was the
1 guileless answer. You see, she had
heard the chorus of tho "Bed, White,
and Blue.”
•
Feed. Wan!, Hie Sing Sing Printer.
A few steps to the South from tho
keeper’s office is the printing shop of
the institution, says 11 Sing Hing letter.
It consists of one small room in which
all the apparatus of printing are in
cluded. There is only one workman,
lie sets the type, corrects the galleys,
hicks up the forms, takes proofs arid
does thepresswork. The press stands
on a bench at one side, the eases at the
1 other, and the walls art' covered from
! top to bottom with specimens of the
printer's art, taken mainly from the col
urnusof the illustrated newspapers. Tho
t v|Kigrapher whose sanctum is this room
is a man who lias eutised a great
d< al of talk in his time, devised the
most astounding schemes for mak
ing money, the memory of whose sen
i sutional enreer will not, soon fade away.
His name is Ferdinand Ward. Ho was
stooping over a box on the floor when
the keeper entered, watching with keen
enjoyment a spaniel surrounded by a
; litter of very young pups. He glanced
up with a smile and said, “That was a
good place for her, wasn’t it, Mr. t'on
j naughton; I’m glad she made her bed
there, for I am very fond of dogs.”
The keejier assented briefly, and pro
! ceded to point out to the visitor the
various features of the room. Ward
stepped to the lieneh aud picked up a
proof that he hud just taken and hand
ed it to Mr. Comiuughtoii for inspec-
I lion. The prisoner was dressed like
! the other convicts, with tho exception
of a rtraw hat instead of the regulation
! striped cap. lie was evidently pleased
with his work, and perhaps hud failed
to sec that if, was amateurish in several
respects, although the selection of tho
type showed good taste.