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FORGET MB HOT.
fiwcelhMkrl, imtleot tie, worn not my vsrre.
and I
Will wilt* with erlnuoa'd check
The word* I dm not speak,
low »t thy feet I lie.
In w»k!n« and In deep thy lace Is baaatlzg
me.
Thy mice,eo sweet and low,
1 hear, like rippling flow
And murmur of the sen.
Unworthy,dear, am I,to «*k for lore and thc<v
Hnl. sweet, be merciful,
As thou art beautiful.
And learn to cam for me.
O.tnrn not cold away, thou sunshine of my life,
To live from thee apart
Would deaolate my heart,
Thru be my own, my wife.
Thin* Image from my heart no ether face can
blot,
soul, shall be
Pmsessed alone by thee;
O. love, forget me not.
—[Johnny Joy.
THE AUSTRALIAN'S STORY.
I had just finished reading for the
twentieth time my last letter from homo
when a sudden growl from Bouncer, our
station dog, brought me back from tho
dream into which I was beginning to fall
and made me drop my letter, look hastily
around, and then walk to the door of the
hut. But all waa as it should bo. Noth¬
ing unusual was to be seen in any direc¬
tion. The sun was sinking blood red be¬
hind a range of dim blue hills, and stars
were beginning to show on the paling
sky.
Long Ridge Station was a very solitary
jpot indeed, even at the best of times;
hat just at present, when Long Peter and
I were its only occupants, tho loneliness
of our position was horrible. I don't
think Peter felt it as I did. He was a
tall, gaunt Scotch,nan, who had been a
shepherd in his native land. I hod come
out from a full nest—a happy homo; and
the awful monotony of tho Australian
wilds seemed sometimes more than '1
could bear.
For a month at least Long Peter and I
had shared the work and tjac danger be¬
tween ua; he, as tho mo#k experienced,
going out with the sheep, while I kept
the hut, cooked the food, and attended
to the various duties.
On this particular day I had been feel¬
ing an amount of listless weariness which
I could scarcely understand myself; but
the fact waa th,.t nervous depression so
overpowered me that when Bouncer roflfc
up from my fee* with a growl I started
ns though some terrible danger was dose
at hand. 1 walked to tho door of tt!J>
hut, ns I have said, and looked keenly aft
Mound, but could not see anything
unusual. Still, Bouncer knew what lib
was about; he never growled without
having something to show for it. I,
therefore, walked back to my faithful
companion, and, taking his muzzle in
both my hands, “What is it, Bouncer,
my boy ?" I said, “Is it friend or fool
Almost any ono would be welcome in
this dreary solitude. ”
Bouncer had risen to his feet, and waa
listening intently. Again he growled;
no, not grow led, but whined imjxitlontly,
and trotted to the door. Then I knew
that whoever might be approaching was
no enemy, but a friend. Yet who could
it be? Long Peter and his sheep were
not due yet for nearly un hour; and I
need scarcely say that afternoon visitors
were scarce at Long Ridge. I followed
Bouncer to the door of the hut, and,
shading my eyes with my hand, looked
earnestly toward the west, which teas tho
direction in which the dog was looking.
Presently the quick though muffled fall
of ble. a horse’s I knew feet became distinctly audi¬
the canter well; it was that
of Btarkfoot, the splendid riding horse
belonging to Mr. Ashby, the owner of
the station. Yes, there he was! canter¬
ing over the waving grass and making
straight for Long Ridge. “Good after¬
noon, Jem, ” he said in his usual pleasant
manner. "Give me a light for my pij>e
ami a morsel to eat, for I must be off
again directly. Any news going? Long
Peter is not home yet, I suppose J”
Even as Mr. Ashby spoko we could
recognize the bloating of the flock, and
could dimly see the white fleeces of the
sheep as they emerged from the somber
shadows of the trees. “Aye, there they
come, ” said the master in a relic veil tone
of voice; “and now, after a few words
with Peter, I can mount and be off. I
ought to be at home before it is quite
dark. Jem," he added impressively, “I
fame to-day to warn you ami Peter that
there are blacks iu the neighborhood.
They have been lurking around the home
station for several days, and they mean
mischief, too, for their women are not
with them I 1 would have sent Sam and
Jerry here to help you and Peter, but it
is impossible now to do so; my wife and
children must be protected, and we need
all the hands we have. I hope your guns
are in good order. Do you want powder
or lead ?"
“We hare enough of both,” I replied;
"hut we have only half a dozen bullets.
I'll run them to-morrow." This 1 said
with a flush of shame rising to my cheek,
for had not Peter asked me that very
morning to run the bullets I Yet I had
spent the long summer day listlessly
reading letters, because, forsooth, 1 saw
no immediate need of the bullets; aud
now, thanks to my carelessness, we were
practically unarmed.
Mr. Ashby did not seem to observe my
embarrassment; for he was standing at
the door impatiently waiting for Peter;
hr had, however, heard my words, for ho
replied immediately, “ Don’t put off any¬
thing till to-morrow, Jem; fetch tho
mold and get the bullets run at once;
then go to the water holes and fetch up
•s many buckets full as you can stow
*way in the hut. ”
Even as he spoke Peter and his flocks
arrived, the animals feeding quietly all
the way along. “Good evening, sir, ” said
Long Peter quietly to his master. “I've
had some trouble with the beasts to-day ;
three are missing. I found the body of
one of them. Sir, it had been speared I ”
Mr. Ashby looked full at the man, con¬
sternation clearly written in his face,
“Are they so near us as that, Peter?” he
said. “I must get home to-night, louiy
came to warn you and Jem."
"Id "I iom’t >tth think ktht that you can possibly ht go,
sir," responded the shepherd, coolly filling
a pannikin of Fat. “ They are too close to
Wit"
i ' e looked at the man inquiringly; his
i wa * I K de, hut resolute looking, and
j his voice sank to a w hisper as he added:
! ' “After seeing the spear wound in the
j sheep I looked about me pretty sharp,
i you may be sure, but I saw nothing till I
j was just clear of the timber; then I
j sighted through one of the blacks wriggling
the grass like a snake. I w ould
have fired at him, but I saw another,
then another! so 1 thought it best to re¬
turn and warn Jem, They did not guess
that 1 had seen them or I would have had
a gj«ar through my back. As it k 1 ex¬
pect they will attack us to-night.
Scarcely were the words out of his
mouth when a spear whizzed through the
open doorway arid quivered in the wooden
slabs behind. If 3d my two companions
been as inexperienced as I was all would
now' have been confusion and dismay,
but both the master and I,ong Peter were
old colonists, and had had more than one
brush with the natives. They were both
as cool as possible.
“ Bar the doo% Jem, ” said the shep¬
herd, “and hand me the powder flask and
bullets. Here, B uncer, keep to heel,
good dog.”
With a feeling more akin to agony
than I had ever known before I handed
the powder flask to my fellow servant, at
the same time telling him that I had for¬
gotten all about the bullets and that only
half a dozen remained on hand.
He just gave mo one glance, partly in¬
dignation, partly pity. “Thon We are ail
up a tree, ” he said. “However, let us do
our best; two bullets to each of us, Jem,
and we’ll stand by each other. ”
The good old fellow! I saw by his face
that he felt for me in tho agony of re¬
morse I was enduring, and did not mean
to make it worsoforme by his reproaches.
Yet Long Peter had a wife at home
among the heather mountains, and
daughter, a curl of whose golden hair I
had often seen in his pocketbook. Ah,
Long Peter could not afford to die yet!
Meanwhile, Mr. Ashby was coolly ro-
connoitoring through window, the loopholes; he
had let down the and was pre-
Iiaring for action as calmly as tho
shepherd. We had handed him his two
bullets, but ho pushed them back; he
had a few of his own. “Take them, take
them," ho whispered; “you will nead
them all." Ana truly wo did. By this
time the moon had risen, its light gradu¬
ally growing on the iftndseapo till we
could see the outlines of the trees, and
could the long grass wavihg white iR
tho ghostly shadows: bjft all was silent
—nothing but the hoarse cry ol some
night bird broke oh tho stlUncte around.
Ofi, how long wap it to last, this dread¬
ful silence aud inaction ? For myself I
body must confess that every pulso in my
was heating like a sledge hammei',
every nerve quivering till I could
scarcely hold my rifle. But the master
and Peter; they knelt as quiotly ns
though no danger was to be apprehended,
their barrels pointed through tho loop¬
holes, white they closely watched for any
movement outside.
But there was none. The sheep woi*
camping quietly round the hurdles, tlys
night wind swept with a mournful sound
through the dark trees, causing the
spectral tracery of the branches to danof
in tho moonlight on the grass: but that
suddenly was all—still there the terribja change; silence. three Bui
four of wgp q oi
the sheep rose, looker! alt round,
stamped with tlprir Something feet, and huddled
dose together. had alarmed
them, some sight or sound os yet unrq-
vented to our blunter faculties. Bounce*
rose to his feet, too, whining uneasily.
“Down, dog, down I" whispered Peter,
breaking the silence for the first time;
and the docile animal once more sank to
the ground.
The next moment a loud report rang
out into a thousand echoes. Peter had
fired the first shot, a shrill death scream
followed it, while we could dimly see
the dark figure of a man who leaped
from his ambush and fell like a clod to
tlie ground.
“Now, master,” cried Long Peter,
white rapidly reloading his gun, “fire
away, but aim to tho right, sir, aim to
the right. I can aeo the cursed creatures
gathering there in numbers. ”
Mr. Ashby obeyed the directions given
him by his servant, for, iu truth, Long
Peter had a fuller view than any of us of
what was going on outside.
“There, you are all riglitl" he added
exultantly, as both Mr. Ashby’s gun and
mine were fired at tho same moment.
“ You have each fixed your man and the
others are drawing off for a little. But
mark my words, sir," he added, “though
they are mortally afraid of our guns,
they’ll find out soon enough that our am¬
munition is running short, then they will
fire the hut, and we are done foi l Sir, I
mean to get Bouncer to help us."
“The dog?* aBked Ifr. Ashby inquir¬
ingly. “I don’t understand. What can
ho do? They will certainly kill him ii
you let him out. ”
“So they will, if thoy can catch him,"
replied the shepherd composedly; "bflt
we must take out chances on head that, sir. H
you wilt write a tine to the atatioft.
telling them what a fix we are in, 1
reckon that my dog will carry the letter
there iu less time than a thoroughbred
horse could do it. 1 have taught him,
sir, to fetch and carry, little thinking
that at some time our lives might de¬
pend upon him doing it Please Write tho
letter, sir. ”
“ But will he go to the head station with
it?" replied tho master, who Was busily
writing; “how can you get him to under¬
stand?”
"Leave that to me, sir," replied Long
Peter; “the dog is as wise as any Christ¬
ian, and a deal wiser than many besides.
I have a waistcoat hers that belongs to
Jerry. If I show hipi that it is all right;
he loves Jerry, and knows that he is at
tho head station. Tho only difficulty is,
"'ill the black fellows wait long enough
before they fire the hut, so to allow oi
help coming ? It is doubtful, but we can
only try. We are in God’s hands, sir. ”
“True,” replied Mr. Ashby, as he hand¬
ed the letter to his faithful servant. The
master said no more, but I couid see that
hw heart was full. Ah, his dear young
wife, his blue ewed little out*! Would
be ever see them more ?
There was certainly no time to lose, I
j *ould see the dark figures of the natives
dodging round the hut, evidently think-
ing that since we had ceased firing our
ammunition must be totally expended;
but it was not so, we had each of us one
bullet left, but only one, which we were
keeping for emergencies or for the final
scrimmage. Meanwhile Long Peter had
pulled away a half rotten slab from be¬
hind hie bunk, thus making a hole suffi¬
ciently large for Bouncer to creep through.
He then fastened the letter securely to his
collar, the noble animal giving now and
then a suppressed whine, and trembling
from head to foot with anxiety. He had
smelt at Jerry’s waistcoat and quite un¬
derstood what was expected of him. I
couid not bear to look at Long Peter at
this moment. His features were work¬
ing with emotion and I could have sworn
that there were tears in his eyes; but he
said nothing. Everything taring now
ready, he led Bouncer to the hole, held
his muzzle for a moment pressed hard be¬
tween his hands, while he gazed into the
creature’s expressive eyes. “Now, go,
good dog, ” he whispered, and squeezing
himself through the hole Bouncer sped
away on noiseless feet.
We listened intently for a few minutes;
oh, how we listened! our faces blanched
and our limbs trembling. Had Bouncer
escaped away on his weighty errand witV
out taring discovered? Alas.no! a sud¬
den wild jabbering rose on the night air,
a rush of many feet, and the next?instant
we detected a yelp of pain.
“They have study speared him!” whis¬
pered Mr. Ashby.
But Long Peter turned on him almost
in anger. “No, no, sir," ho said, “he is
just scratched. He’ll do it yet, I know
he will!”
“ He must be quick, then, ” replied tho
master, "for those cursed savages have,
struck a light somehow; they mean to
burn us out, look!"
Our eyes were row intently watching
the movements of the black fellows from
the loopholes, and wo had not watched
long till we saw a flaming brand whizz¬
ing through the air, till it fell upon the
stringy bark roof above our heads. An¬
other and another immediately followed;
Still it did not seem to ua that any of
them had taken effect.
“Carry up a bucket of water through
the trap door and pour it over the roof,"
whispered the master to me; “but hike
care of yourself; don’t let them see you. ”
I did as I waa directed, and thoroughly
drenched tho roof, but white thus en¬
gaged I heard a shout from below. It
was Mr. Ashby’s voice:
“Como down, Jem> come quickly,"
ho cried, and I rattled down the ladder
with a sinking heart. Long Peter lay op
the floor of tho hut white and gasping; a
spea r had entered one of the loopholes
and pinned him through the thigh. In
res|K>nse to my groan of utter dismay,
tho good fellow struggled into a sitting
posture.
“Never mind me, Jem," lie said;
“fight it out to the last. Take my gun,
there is one char e in it yet; but first
drag me into that corner. ’’
I obeyed in sileu, a, handed him a pan¬
nikin of cold tea, s..d thou took my place
by Mr. Ashby's side. “Look out.,” ho
whispered, “1 mean to fire at their ring¬
leader—that man with the blazing log in
his hand—I fear he has already fired the
roof. I hear it crackling; but it scarcely
matters now, It the end is not tar off. We
are doomed. ’’ As he spoke these despair¬
ing words Mr. Ashby fired, his bullet
bringing down the man aimed at, who,
with a wild screech, foil to the ground^
There was a pause of consternation over
this ami a hurried bilk among tho savages
outside; then, with wild veils, tho whole
force of the besiegers rushed on our little
garrison. A moment’s surging round
the door, then it gave way with a crash—
Mr. Ashby's gun swinging on tho crowd
of savages with terrific force, felling two
of them tike oxen. I can scarcely de¬
scribe what followed. There was a wild
struggle with our guns and our fists;
then two black fellows forced mo to tho
ground; one was shortening his grasp of
his spear to drive it through my body,
when he suddenly fell on top of me dead,
felled by the butt end of Mr. Ashby’s gun.
But I knew little more; dimly I seemed
to hear a loud hurrah from outside, fol¬
lowed by the cracking of rifles; then
every sound died away into utter silence.
“Well, I declare, you have had a bit of
a scrimmage, and here’s poor Jem about
done fori” It was the voice of Jerry,
who was dragging away the dead body
of my assailant from off my chest
“No, I am not dead,” I said feebly
enough; “noteven wounded, though half
choked with blood that is not my own.
Where is the master? and, oh, go and
look after Long Peter! He is terribly
hurt, I know. ’’
“ The other chaps a re attending to him, ”
said Jerry; “and as for the master, he
says he is all right; he won’t own to a
single scratch; ho is a game one, he is.
We’ll have you all carried to the Homo
Station afore breakfast time, see if wo
don’t.. But you should have seen that
dog of Peter’s. Why his foot was all
skinned and raw, aud he had an ugly
spear wound in the shoulder, so that tho
letter was covered with blood. We could
scarcely make it out; but we guessed
quick enough that there was something
amiss, and came away at once. We were
just in time, Jem. my boy. ”
“ Didn’t I tell ye as Bouncer would do
it?” cried Long Peter in rather a weak
and quavering voice; “poor old chap,”
ho added- tenderly, as the faithful brute
limped across the hut at the sound of the
shepherd’s voice and crept close to his
side. “You and mo will never part,
Bouncer, never, as long as we live. ” And
they never did part till seven years later,
when, in extreme old age, Bouncer died,
and was buried in a grave dug for him
by Long Peter himsslf. “Ah,” he said,
when the ceremony was over, “why dq
them faithful brutes die so soon? I’ll
never see ids like again; he was as wise
as :uiy Christian, and a deal more faith-
ful than many.
-- No wonder , dogs , spend , much ...
so ume in
Globa. are" Always going to'tiuun ^[Atehlon
AHCIBHT LOffDOff.
Row the English Lived Six Centuries
Ago.
Who can rebuild before the eye of the
mind a single ordinary dwelling of the
vanished London of the middle at the
thirteenth century? It waa a dwarfish,
squalid structure of such crazy unsub
stantiality that, with a stout iron crook
and two strong cords, provided by the
ward, it might be pulled down and
dragged off speedily in case of fire: a
structure of one story jutting over a low
ground floor, with another jut of eaves
alKive, its roof perchance engrailed with
gables, its front bearing an odd resem¬
blance to the back of a couple of huge
stairs, and the whole a most rickety,
tumbledown, topheavy, fantastical thing.
Chimneys were fairly in vogue then, so
it lead them,squat, square, widemouthed,
faced with white plaster, rid tiles, or
gray pebble work. Red tiles covered its
roof; its walk were of rough planed
planks, or a wooden framework filled
with a composite of straw and clay, but¬
tressed with posts, and crossed this way
and that with supporting beams—the
whole daubed over with whitewash, of
which the weather soon made gray wash.
In front was a stairway, sometimes cov¬
ered, sometimes not, or a Btepladder set
slantwise against the wall, for an en¬
trance to the upper story. The door¬
ways wi re narrow and low, the windows
also; and the latter, darkened with over-
brows of wooden shutters, propped up
from beneath, and sticking out like long,
slender awnings, were further darkened
by sashes of parchment, linen, or thin
shaven horn, for glass came from Fland¬
ers, and was costly and rare.
Such, joint and seam and tile (icing
loosened into crack and cranny and crev¬
ice everywhere, was the dwelling of the
London citizen ns the eye might see it in
the middle of the thirteenth century.
Multiply that dwelling into a tortuous
and broken perspective of like buildings,
some joined by party walls, some with
sixties between, all pent roofed or gable
peaked, heavy caved, stub chimneyed,
narrow latticed, awning shuttered, stair¬
cased, post buttressed, beam crossed,
dusky red roofed, dingy white wailed,
and low under the overhanging vastnesa
of tl»e sky, and you have an ancient
London street, which shall be foul and
narrow, with open drains, footways
roughly flagged, and horseway deep with
slushy mire, overatrewn with ashes,
shards, and offal, and smelling abomina¬
bly. There were, indeed, at that period,
thinly interspersed here and there, houses
of somewhat better description, solidly
built, of stone and timber, though at beet
strangely deficient in comfort and con-
veuience, according to tiie fashion of
ihat most inconvenient and uncomforta¬
ble age. Here and there, too, for those
were the times of the feudal soldier and
priest, rose in dreadful beauteous con-
trust with the squalid city the architect¬
ural grandeurs of church and cathedral,
or the stately house or palace of bishop
or earl. But all around stretched dwell¬
ings which our poorest modern house
excels, and on those dwellings all evils
ami discomforts that can befall had their
quarry,
Light came dim, and sunshine dimly
glimmering into their darkened rooms.
Bummer heats made ovens of them. The
old gray family of London fogs rose
from the marshes north of the city walls,
from the cities intersecting rivulets, from
the Thames below, anil crept in at every
opening to make all dark and chill with¬
in. Down their squat chimneys swept
the smoke, choking and blinding. Rains
such as even rainy England khows not
now soaked them through for weeks to¬
gether. Cold such as English winters
have forgotten now pierced with grip¬
ing blast, and silent shifting snow, to
their shivering inmates. Foul exhala¬
tions from tfie filthy streets hung around
them an air of poison, or, rising from
the cesspools, of which every house iiad
one within, discharged themselves with
deadly maladies. Lightnings stabbed
their roofs or rent their walls, hunting
for those they sheltered. Conflagration,
lurking in aspark, upspread in dragonish
flame, and roared through them devour¬
ing. Whirlwind swept through them
howling, and tossed them down by
fifties. Pestilence breathed through
them in recurring seasons, and left their
rooms aghast with corpses. Civic riot or
intestine war stormed often near them,
and brought them death and sorrow.
Famine arose every few yearn and walked
through them on his way through Eng¬
land, leaving their tenants lean and pale
ov lifeless. Often into them broke the
midnight robber, single or in gangs;
often to them came the gatherer of taxes
or of tithes; upon them hung perpetually
all the bloodsuckers, every vampire
which an age of ignorance and tyranny
could spawn; and in them herded low
lusts and passions, fieudlsh bigotries,
crazy superstitions, brutish illiteracy,
and all that darkens and depraves the
Soul. For that was the mournful mid¬
night of our mortal life, centuries ago,
The old, sad stars that governed our con¬
ditions still kept thoir forceful station
above tho brawl of brutal and infernal
dreams; and one alone, now risen from
(teller's east, hung dewy bright with tho
world’s hope and promise, while Science,
builder of life that is holy, beautiful,
and gay, was but a wondrous newborn
child in Roger Bacon’s cell, dreaming of
things to come.—[Atlantic Monthly.
Just Why a Pat Man Puffs,
In suggesting a new theory of the sun’s
light and heat to t he members of the Bos¬
ton Scientific Society, Mr. George Smith
recently showed scientific reasons why a
fat man should suffer more than a lean
one in summer.
The new theory, briefly put, is this:
Gravity is an ethereal force continually
streaming from space through every solar
and celestial body. If the body is not
movable with relation to some larger
body, this force of gravity becomes that
form of molecular motion which we call
heat,
As gravity depends upon the mass of a
body, and heat is, according to Mr.
Smith’s theory, in one sense gravity, it
foUows that tho larger a body is the
bSSuT imU ^^ disCOmfort ’
[Boston Herald,
More Than Ready.
The successful canvasser, ” once said a
bossiness man, ‘‘is the one who can per-
euade you to buy what you do not want. ”
Few persons of refined feeling would
care to undertake the business under
those circumstances, but even they could
scarcely help being amused by some in¬
stances of persistence in agents.
A “summer boarder” was one day sit¬
ting on the farm house steps, when a
vender of patent medicines appeared,
and began to advertise his wares.
“Good for toothache, rheumatism,
gout, ague, ” he said rapidly, displaying
a bottle, “(hit rheumatism now, haven’t
ye? I could tell that the minute I set
eyes on ye."
“Never had a twinge in my life, ” said
the victim.
.Subject to headache ?"
“No."
“Teeth trouble ye?"
“Never. ”
So the conversation went on, from
tnims to liquids for cleansing purjioses,
and still nothing was sold. After half
an hour’s steady effort, the agent slowly
packed up his wares and sadly prepared
to depart. As he was about to Ro, a
neighbor approached, bringing the morn-
ing’s mail, and called out triumphantly :
“I’ve got tw o magazines, and there’s a
story by you in each!"
The agent threw open his bag with a
lightning like gesture. He seized a bottio
from its contents, and proffered it im¬
ploringly.
“ Why didn’t you tell me you was a
writer ?” cried lie. “Twenty-five cents a
bottle 1 Best thing on earth for writer’s
cramp. ”
He had conquered; the nostrum was
liought, though only to be tossed over
the orchard wall.
Vice President Morton's Itnll Story,
Y ice President Morton now and then
perpetratre a joke or story by w ay of illus¬
tration upon his hearers. He knows it
well by heart before he begins.
Not far front where I live in the country
there is a farmer noted for his fine, large
cattle. Durhams und Alderneys r< Ktru
over his extensive lands, and people come
from a long distance to view his stock.
But visitors have to be careful about
walking around alone in the clover fields
on account of tho number of ferocious
hulls owned by the farmer. A certain
major general, who was very proud of his
title, visited a neighbor of the farmer,
and one day he strolled out and began to
cut across the clover fields in order to
save a little distance. Before he knew
what was up, a big bull, bellowing and
shaking bis head, began to chase him.
The general was a swift runner and made
good time in front of the pursuing animal.
But the animal was swift, too, aud every
time the general would get near a fence
the bull was too close for him even to at¬
tempt to climb over. At last the general
made a line for a gate near the farmer’s
house and reached it in time to shut off
the hull from further pursuit. The farm¬
er, it seems, was there and had wit¬
nessed the chase. The general, all out of
breath, said, lie tween gasps:
“Sir—sir, did you see your bull chitsing
me?”
“ Y-e-s, ” said the farmer, suppressing
a smile.
“ Is that all you have to say ? Do you
know whom that bull was chasing?”
“You, I guess.”
“Do you know who I am, sir? i am
Genet, 1 1 Blank. ”
“Wall, why didn’t you toll the bull
that?” curtly retorted the farmer.
It Wii» In I!i« Diary.
Some men were talking about the
weather in a Michigan avenue grocery
the other day when one of them said :
“It is the earliest spring I have seen in
Michigan since the year 1710. ”
“Good lauds! but what do you know
about the year 17101” exclaimed one of
the listeners.
“I know all about it. I was 18 years
old that spring, and made maple sugar
right along where the city hall now
stands. ”
“ You can’t mean 1710."
“Can’t I? In looking over my papers
yesterday I came across this old diary
and put it in my pocket. Here it is. Bee
this entry: ’April 15, 1710; weather
warm enough for June; got a lift on the
heel of my left boot; caught two coons
last night.’ How does that strike you?”
“Why, man, do you know this is tho
year 1891 ?”
“Ido. ”
“And if you were 18 years old in 1710,
you would now be 190 years old ?”
“Certainly—that's my exact age. I’m
none of your spring chickens, I want you
to understand. ”
And he gathered up his codfish and
tea, aud walked out with the dignity of
a major, while the others looked at eacdi
nfher and almost forgot to breathe.—
f Detroit Free Press.
An Englishman Couldn' It Sect.
Little Marshall P. Wilder, the famous
merrymaker, is perennial and has a
humorous skit for every hour of the day,
Tiiis is one of his latest, illustrative of an
Englishman’s appreciation of humor;
“I have been iu England, and I liavo
studied English humor. Its fundamen¬
tal principles are not related to tho
American article that raises a cyclone of
laughter. An Englishman was dining
at a swell hotel out West, and after he
finished his regular dinner he asked for
sweets. A waiter from the Bowery had
gone West for employment, and was
waiting on the particular table at which
the Englishman sat.
“And phwat i3 sweets, sur?” asked
the waiter.
The Englishman finally explained that
he meant dessert, pudding, etc.
“We ’ave apple and mince pie, ” said
the Bowery man.
“Give me mince pie. ”
"What’s der matter wid der apple
pie?” asked the waiter, in a hard, I-dou’t
care-a-continental tone of voice. Many
heard the remark and laughed. An
hour later I happened to meet the
Englishman and he asked me if I heard
the waiter ask him what was the matter
with the apple pie. I said ‘Yes.’ Then
tho Englishman naively asked me:
“Welt, what was the matter with tho
apple p.e?”
Co an try Plrxnurc*.
***
i*a
fifes i
The time ot season is at hand when the
city dude, with his married cousin and
Iter children and pretty sister, straying
through the vernal fields, is encountered
by an inquisitive bull calf, and earns any
amount of reputation for courage by not
being able to run as fast as they do in
getting over a convenient fence.
ITpe and Downs.
“Talking of people who have gone
down in the world, I never knew one to
experience more of it than that man
there. ”
“ He don’t look like it."
“That may be, but he’s been a work¬
ing coal miner 40 years. ”
A Clerical Juke.
8
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Curate (to chorister)—Mr. Passay, you
should not drop your voice so suddenly
in singing the Te Deura.
Chorister—Why so?
Curate—Why, it is so cracked now that
it wouldn’t take much to break it.
FLOATINO HUMOR.
Mr. Solid at the Piano Warerooms.—
"Tins one is the one for me. It has the
strongest and solideat legs of the whole
lot."
“What gender is boy?” “Feminine. ”
“Why,Johnny! Next-Tommy?” “Ain’t
boy feminine?" “No.” “Then I duu’-
now. ’’—[Harper’s Bazar.
“ I wish 1 knew any way to find out
about that new neighbor of ours.” “,(’11
tell you what we can do. Just ofttet^^’ "■ % get
him nominated for some 3
we
shall soon know all about him. ’’ ’*
Xantippe—I declare, how cheerful my
husband looks to-day, “No wonder, sis¬
ter ; you know to-day is election, and the
jKior his man about is naturally something." delighted to have
say
Satisfactory.—“Henry, I don’t under¬
stand how it is that my cigar box gets
empty so soon. You never touch the
cigars, of course.” “Oh, sir, you may
be quite easy as to that, for I have three
boxes still that I have left over from my
last master. ”
Alphonse Karr was present at a ban¬
quet of medical men where toasts were
drunk of certain celebrities, when the
president said: “M. Karr, we now ask
a toast from you. ” The jKiet arose and
replied modestly, “I propose the health
of all who are sick. ”
The Bazar says that * dress shirts should
lie of ribbed goods, ” Wo don’t know
alsmt the ribs, but what the average dress
shirt seems to need is a little more back¬
bone down trie front What shall it
profit a man if lie have an eclat hammer
coat and a shirt that bulges like a paper
bag.
A Fair Offer.—Hotel Clerk—Very sorry,
sir, but I can’t let your trunk go until
your bill is paid. Stranger—You can’t?
Why, I’m a city official of Chicago.
“Must have the cash. ” “Well, I haven’t
any money witty me, but I’ll tell you
what I’ll do. PU give you a street car
franchise. ”
Weeping Spouse—I shall erect a monu¬
ment to you, dearest, when you are gone.
1 shall have “Loving Husband" engraved
at the bottom of the column. Dying
Advertiser—Good Heavens, Pauline, that
will never do 1 Top of column, eighth
page, next reading matter—or—I refuse
to die!—[Dry Goods Chronicle.
No Chance for Energy.—Northerner
(down South) — There are plenty of
chances to make money in this section if
you’d only look for them. Take this town
for example. The water of your anti¬
quated wells aud cisterns isn’t fit to
drink. Colonel Sunnisouth—I know it;
hut what kin we do ? The Prolubs about
here won’t let us start breweries.
Out Collecting.—Collector—Mr. Hard-
up in? Mrs. Hnrdup—No; he’s out col¬
lecting. C.—That’s what you told nie
the last time I was here. Mrs. II.—Yes.
C.— And the time before that. Mrs. H.—
Yes. C. (sarcastically)—He don’t seem
to have much success. Mrs. II. (as she
slams the door in his face)—Seems to
have as much success as you have.—
(Texas Siftings.
Art in Boston.—Mrs. Pneumonie—I
was so provoked at the Art Museum to¬
day. There was a painting there which
they told me was painted by a man by
the name of Murillo. If you believe me,
it waa only a copy of that beautiful chro*.
mo of ours over the parlor mantel! I
don’t know who this Murillo is, but I
think it’s shameful that he should be al¬
lowed thus to cheapen works of art, and
I didn’t hesitate to let the people know
just how l felt about it.—[Boston Traa-
script