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SPRING PLACE JINIPLECUTE
SPUING PLACE, Murray Co., Ga.
J Says the New York World; Our
ichool rooms are filled with spectacled
(Children. This was not the case before
(Optical records and visits were made.
f The Boston Herald thinks “a perma
cent Census Bureau would probably not
materially increase the gross expense of
taking the census, while the results
attained would be much more accurate
and valuable.”
i The Grand Jury of San Francisco,
Cal., recently reported, as a means of
suppressing crime in Chinatown and
lather disreputable places, that “every
dark spot should be illuminated by
electricity, since rascality of every kind
shuns the light.”
“Which succeeds better, the city or
ibe country boy?” is said to be a favorita
question for discussion in country de¬
bating societies. “The general trend ol
opinion seoms to be,” notes the Phila¬
delphia Record, “that the country boy
succeeds better, but only after he be¬
comes a city boy.”
* As one result of the English protecto¬
rate in Egypt, new irrigation works
have been pushed in all directions, and
the agricultural productions of the coun¬
try greatly increased. Last year four
hundred millions of pounds of cotton
were produced in Egypt, being nearly
one-quarter of the entire quantity con¬
sumed in Great Britain.
1 A story is told of now-celebrated
a at-
Jtorney, who, when ho first appeared be¬
fore the United States Supremo Court at
(Washington, to argue a case, started in
jto make a speech such as he had been in
the habit of inflicting on juries. Ho was
mt once stopped with the remark: “Coun¬
sel will please confine himself to the law
in the case; wo have no time to listou to
eloquence.” This, remarks the New Or¬
leans Picayune, would be awkward for a
lawyer who has nothing but his elo¬
quence to stand on.
The annual mortality of tho entire
liuman race amounts, roughly speaking,
according to a French medical journal,
jto thirty-three millions of persons. This
makes the average deaths per day ovei
ninety-one thousand,being at the rate ol
8730 an hour, or sixty-two people every
minute of tho day and night the yeai
round. A fourth of the race die before
completing their eighth year, and one-
half before the end of the seventeenth
year; but the average duration of life is
about thirty-eight years. Not moro than
one person in a hundred thousand lives
jto be a hundred.
A glance through tho code of instruc¬
tions issued by ono of the big cable
companies shows that there are a num-
jber of places which rarely appear upon
jthe priro map from that this country. may bo For reached $2.25 by
pei
(word one may communicate from New
(York with the hectic town of Pram
Pram, upon the west coast of Africa,
•while connections can be established
with the lively hamlet of Grand .Bassnm,
in tho same region, at $1.04 for every
ten letters. For $1.17 per word you
may address your long lost relatives or
business partners in Djedda, Mecca and
Al Hedjas, while tho rate to Bunder
'Abbas, Bassidoro and Lingah is sixty-
four cents in addition to the boat hire
from Jask, Persia, where the message is
delivered. Every word sent to New
Zealand, via northern Siberia, costs tho
sender just $3.74, which is tho highest on
ithe list. It costs sixty cents a word to
to reach Eomansanaguas and Aquada
de Pasageros down in Cuba, and $1.88
to let the old folks in Sungie Ujong, on
tho Malay Peninsula, know you arc liv¬
In sounding for a marine cable off the
Hawaiian Islands recently, the crew of
the United States steamship Albatross
brought up some twenty-live new species
of fish. Among them was a flounder,
six or eight Inches in length, with an
elongated jaw and a pouch liko a peli¬
can’s. A specimen of the red sea horse,
or Hippocampus, found 100 miles north¬
east of Honolulu, is in the collection
and is the only one known to have
been found in that region. Two or
three new species of Macrurus, or great-
tail fishes, were caught in 400 fathoms
of water on the slopes of Oahu, and
several eel-like fishes were found at the
same time. An octopus, weighing be¬
tween forty and fifty pounds, was caught
in the dredge and is now preserved in
alcohol. Specimens of the batfish, with
Blender fins, that look like legs and with
gills in the back part of tho body, and
crabs with globular bodies and limbs
covered with sharp horns, were also
brought to the surface and have been
preserved in alcohol. The collection is
to be sent to ichthyologists at Washing¬
ton, and to Professor Smith, of Y’ale,
.and Agassiz, of Harvard.
The Chattanooga (Tenn.) Tradesmat
has been making a canvass of the South,
and finds that 2,736 945 Southern chil¬
dren were at school on January 1, 1892,
as against 1,391,743 on the correspond¬
ing date of 1880.
In Vienna, Austria, there is a club of
rich men pledged to marry poor girls.
If a member marries a rich girl he is
fined $2000, the money being presented
to some worthy impecunious couple
engaged to be married.
Kate Field's definition of plagiarism,
as a “lade of skill in effacing coinci¬
dences,” scarcely comes up to a Western
clergyman’s idea, who describes it as t
“case of morbidly retentive memory re¬
acting upon unusual receptivity of mind
and producing unconscious assimilation
of ideas.”
Colonel John S. Mosby estimates that
only seven men were killed with
sabres during the Franeo-Prussian Wai
and hardly more during our own Civil
War, in spite, marvels the Louisville
Courier-Journal, of all that has been
written to the contrary about “flashing
blades” and all that.
A writer in a German newspaper has
obtained statistics which show that the
number of suicides throughout the world
is 180,000 yearly. These figures, the
writer observes, have been of steady
growth. The greatest number of suicides
happen in June, the fewest in Septem¬
ber, The first ten days of tho month
gives the largest number of suicides.
Ex-Governor “Bob” Taylor, whe
fiddled his way into tho Chief Magis¬
tracy of Tennessee, is making a great suc¬
cess of his lecture on “Tho Violin.” He
talks entertainingly and increases the in¬
terest of the audience when he takes up
his fiddle and plays an air or sings a song
to liven things up. Some of the Gov¬
ernor’s sententious sayings arc almost
good enough to bo apothegms, such as,
“Tho violin is the poet-laureate of
music,” and “The hoot of the hoot-owl
is sweeter to its mate than tho sweetest
lay of the nightingale.”
“In tho years from 1855 to 1870,"
said a railway superintendent, “if an
engineer got $60 to $65 per month it
was considered good wages, and often
the paymaster would bo two or threo
months behind in paying employes; now
an engineer who is fit to run an engine
gets from $120 to $135 per month, and
sometimes reaches $150 to $155, and
there is but one road in this section
which does not pay its men by the 25th
of each month for services of tho month
preceding. The engineer makes no
moro mileage, if as much, as in the
earlier years of railroading. This is a
branch of railroad service whore skill
and reliability are requisite and well
paid.”
King Lobengula, of Matabeleland,
South Africa, has just proclaimed thal
he will send his regiments on raids nc
more, but that ho will develop his
country with the aid of the white man.
Four years ago no white man was per¬
mitted to enter Matabeleland without a
spocial permit from the King, and mis¬
sionaries are advised not to attempt to
settle in his country if they valued their
lives. Lobengula has just made a new
treaty with the British South Africa
Company by which he cedes to them a
large tract of country in addition to
Mashonalaud, and gives them all the
power aud privileges they require. The
company now controls 400,000 square
miles in Matabeleland and Mashonaland.
The crop reports for 1891 show the
wealth of unprecedented harvests in
this country aud the high standing of
Michigan, boasts the Detroit Free Press,
as an agricultural State. The total num¬
ber of acres planted in wheat was 39,-
916,897; bushels harvested, 611,780,-
000; value, $513,472,711; number of
acres planted in corn, 76,204,515;
productin bushels,2,060,154,000; value,
$836,439,228; acres planted in oats,
25,581,861; bushels, 738,394,000;
value $232,312,267. From these figures
it will be seen that the total acreage de¬
voted to cultivation of the cereals named
was 141,701,272; bushels, 3,410,328,-
000; value, $1,582,224,206. In wheal
Michigan ranked sixth with 1,606,676
acres cultivated, and 30,205,000 bushel!
raised, the value being $27,486,910. Ol
the other States, Indiana was first, Min¬
nesota, second; Ohio, third; Missouri,
fourth, and Illinois, fifth. in corn
Michigan was seventeenth, 1,055,365
being the number of acres, 31,133,006
being the number of bushels and $14,-
943,940 tho value. In the production
of this cereal Iowa, Illinois, Missouri,
Kansas and Indiana stood in the ordei
named. In oats Michigan had 931,677
acres, the yield was 30,2S0,000 bushels,
and the value $9,689,441. The largest
producers of oats were Illinois, Iowa
Minnesota, Pennsylvania, Nebraska,
Kansas and Michigan in the order named.
In wheat, corn and oats Michigau had
3,593,710 acres, raised 91,618,000
bushels, the value being $52,120,291.
A FOOL’3 ADVICE.
Let us look on the beauties of nature, nor
school
Ourselves to be happy by rote and by rule;
Let us deem the earth fixed, and declare the
sun rolls,
If you please, with the moon on his arm
round the poles;
Let us draw on the skies
No meridian lines.
Nor, straining cur eyes,
Seek divisions and signs;
Let the day turn to night without counting
its hours.
And the seasons be known by the blossoms
and flowers.
O, let’s not endeavor to fathofa the laws
Of motion and matter, nor seek for the
cause
Of form and of color; it’s useless to care
Why heaven’s above earth, if it only is
there;
We shall only perceive
The design of the whole
Was the heart to relieve
And to gladden the soul;
Let us live in this world unannoyed, unper¬
plexed,
And willingly wait to be wise in the next.
—Eva MacDonagh, in Harper’s Weekly.
UNCLE DAVY.
BY MARY E. WILKINS.
m HERE’ S Uncle
Davy?” asked Sarah
Cobb of her mother.
She had run over
bareheaded and
came hastily in the
north door; her
H hands were all pur-
ifsliti/tSf ^Sishe pic with had grape been juice; mak-
v
K ril P ,: jelly.
“He’s out under
^ the butternut tree,
“Oh, Why?”
Car’line’s run away again. I
tied her up just as strong as I knew how
to the front gate with a piece of clothes-
line, and gave her two cookies and her
doll, to keep her amused while I made
the grape jelly, I don't see how in the
world she untied that knot. Davy’s got
to go an hunt her up.”
“He’ll go,” said Mrs, Whitman. “He
’most cried ’cause you tied her up the
other day. He told me he thought Sarah
was too bad. He jest sets his eyes by
Car’line. Davy, Davy 1”
Mrs. Whitman stood in the door and
called loudly, but she had to call several
times before Davy heard. He was very
busy, indeed, gathering in his winter
store of butternuts. He had been work-
ing hard all the forenoon, and had
gathered two bushels, and was well on
towards a third. His brown eyes gleamed
with a steady radiance under his old
straw bat; his fingers flew. The provi-
dent instinct of the squirrel and bee
were upon him; he was laying in his lit-
tie winter store like them, and took a
genuine thrifty delight in it. Then, too,
he had another object in working fast;
he wanted to get the butternuts all gath-
ered by 5 o’clock, because he was go-
ing to a party that evening. It was te
first evening party, and he was full of
dcliglitful, vague anticipations. He was
going to wear his best clothes, and he
meditated asking his mother for a little
of her hair oil with bergamot in it to put
on his hair; he was also going to blacken
his shoes very particularly. Davy had
planned to go in the house about 5 o’clock
and commence his preparations, and it
was about a quarter before 5 o'clock
when he heard his mother's voice calling
him.
He obeyed rather hesitatingly. “I
shan’t get tho but'nuts pic red before it’s
time to black my shoes,” he thought, as
ho went over tho dry October grass to
the house. Davy was only twelve years
old, and small for his age, although he
was an uncle.
His mother aud his married sister,
Sarah, little Caroline’s mother, were
waiting for him in the door, “You
must go right off and hunt up Car’line;
she’s run away,” his mother called out,
as he came in sight. “Don’t stop a min¬
ute.” Sarah was almost crying. “Here
’tis almost 5 o’clock,” she exclaimed,
“an’ that little bit of a thing! Go right
off, Davy. ’
Davy looked startled, then inquired
“Which way do you s’pose she went?”
“Oh, dear, I don’t know! I was out
in the kitchen making grape jelly. I
didn’t see her. I didn't know how long
she’s beeu gone. Oh, deat 1
“I’ll tell you what to do,” said Mrs.
Whitman with the air of a managing
general. She was not a very old woman,
although her hair was gray blackcap and she cov¬
ered it with a high and a
severe black front piece. She always
wore a large, stitfly-starch apron.
“Sarah and I will go up the road,” said
she, “an’ you, Davy, go down, An’
don’t you take Towser, because that last
time Car’line run away, an’ you took
him to track her, he tracked a wood¬
chuck instead, an’ you went a wild goose
chase for two hours. That dog ain’t the
kind that tracks folus, an’ I don’t want
you to lose any time foolin’ with him.
It’s gettin’ dark. You shut Towser up
in the barn; then you start. You stop
at Mis’ Brigg’s when you get there and
ask if they've seen anything of Car’line,
an’ you stop at Mis’ Smith’s an’ Mis’
Wheelock’s an’ if they have you keep on
till you find her, no matter how far you
have to go. Don’t you come back with¬
out her.”
“I can't see how she untied that
knot,”said Sarah. Her pretty face was
all streaked with tears and grape juice.
Her mother took a corner of her apron
and wiped it forcibly as they started up
the road. “You keep calm,’’ she said.
“She’ll be found.”
Uncle Davy shut Towser in the barn.
Then he walked briskly down the road.
There was not a house for-some distance,
but he peered carefully ovei the stone
walls across the fields. Caroline was five
years old. She was very fair and chubby,
with carefully brushed,reddish curls and
a Httle blue ribbon to keep them out of
her eyes. She always wore a nice little
white tire in the afternoon, Davy
attained his eyes for a glimpse of that
white tire and those shining carls among
the bright October undergrowth The
road was very dusty. He kicked up a
white cloud as he walked. “Shan’t
have any time to black my shoes,” he
thought, woefully. Uncle Davy was
very particular boy, and needed a great
deal of time for everything.
■When he reached the Briggs house
there was still no sign of Caroline. He
went around to the side door and found
it open and Mrs. Briggs sitting there
mending a coat. She was a large woman
and seemed to quite fill up the doorway.
“Have you seen anything of Car’fine?”
asked Davy, standing before her.
“Car’iine,” repeated Mrs. Briggs.
“Yes, Car’iine, Sarah’s little girl.
She’s run away, and I’m tryin’ to find
her.”
“When did she go?”
“I don’t know—a little while ago.”
“Well, I declare,” said Mrs. Briggs.
“I dun know but I did see her. Ttiere
was a little mite of a thing run by a little
while ago in a white tire an’ I wondered
who she was. I’d just come out here
with this old coat of Mr. Briggs’s to
mend. I didn’t want to get any dirt
Around in the siltin’ room. I guess ’twas
her fast enough.
“Which way was she goin’?” asked
Davy, eagerly.
“Oh, she was goin’ down the road,
She couldn’t have gone back, ’cause I’ve
been sittia’ here every minute, an’ I
should have seen her. I ain’t been in
the house but once to get a spool of
thread, and then I wan’t gone long
’nough for a mouse to get past. You
keep right on an’ you’ll find her.”
Uncle Davy was out of the yard before
the last words were out of Mrs. Briggs’s
mouth. He hurried up the road, look-
ing more hopefully for that little white
tire—it seemed to him that he must see
it. Many a time had he pursued his
little niece Caroline when she had run
away, and had always found her easily.
Caroline, although she had a venture-
some spirit, never ran very far. But to-
night it began to seem as if she had.
Her Uncle Davy reached the Smith house
and went to the door to inquire. But
the door was locked and all the curtains
were drawn; the Smiths were evidently
all away.
Davy kept on to the Wheelock house;
that was a quarter of a mile farther;
there was still no sign of that little white
tire. He ran through the weedy yard
to the door and knocked. Nobody
answered, although he could see quite
distinctly the motion of a rocking chair
beyond the kitchen window, and knew
there was somebody at home,
He knocked again louder; nobody
came. He could still see the tall back
of the rocking chair sway. Finally he
went boldly to the window and pounded
on it; a startled face turned toward him
from the calico back of the rocking
chair, then somebody went across the
floor, and the door was opened. “Who
is it?” asked a gentle, drawling voice,
Mrs. Wheelock was very tall and pale,
with pale sweeps of hair over her ears,
and a mildly bewildered, spectacled face,
“It’s Davy Whitman,” replied Davy,
“Have you seen Car’line?”
“What?” Mrs. Wheelock was not
deaf, but she was as slow of comprehen-
sion as a heavy sleeper,
“My sister Sarah’s httle girl has run
away. Have you seen her go by here?”
“No, I dun know as 1 have,” repeated
Mrs. Wheelock, slowly, while her look
of bewilderment deepened. “I ain’t been
settin’ to the window sense dinner.
When did-.” But Davy was gone,
and she stood staring after him. She
stood there quite a while before she went
back to her rocking-chair. The Whee¬
lock house was the last in that direction
fora mile. Davy walked on about half
a mile, then he stopped before a narrow
lane that led over through the fields to
the woods. “I’m ’fraid she went into
the woods. “I’m a goin’up the lane,”
he said. “I'm ’fraid she went into the
woods.”
The dusk was increasing fast; how¬
ever, the full moon was rising, and it
would be still light enough to see the
white tire a long way ahead. Davy
trudged on. He emerged from the lane
into a cart path through the woods. It
was darker theie. He called all the
time at short intervals: “Car’line?
Car’line! Here’s Uncle Davy! Car’line!”
But there was no sound in response-
Davy’s voice grew husky as he went on;
it seemed to him he was walking miles,
but he did not know hnw many. It was
now quite dark except for the moon, but
that lighted the open spaces quite
brightly. He had had a plau of taking a
circuit through the woods and coining
out in a point further down on the road.
He knew there was a path, but somehow
he had missed it, and did not come out,
although he was constantly expecting to.
At last he sat down on a rook in an
open space to rest a minute. “I’ve just
got to,” ne said to himself. His legs
trembled under him and he was panting
for breath.
In a few minutes he called again:
“Car’line, Car’line, Caalinel Here's
Uncle Davy! Where be you, Car’line?”
but he could scarcely speak. Davy was
a slender boy, and, besides, he was worn
by anxiety for Caroline, of whom he
was very fond, and agitated, too, by a
secret remorse.
He put his head down on his knees
and groaned. He had completely for¬
gotten the party, even the blacked shoes,
the best clothes, the bergamot hair oil.
“I ain’t never goin’ home without her,
anyhow,” he said, but his voice was lit¬
tle more than a whisper. The sharp
notes of the autumn insects ran together
in his ears. Uncle Davy had not found
Caroline, but he was so worn out that he
fell asleep.
It was a long time after that when a
cold nose and a sharp bark awakened
him. It was Towser, who for once had
tracked folks instead of woodchucks.
Davy sat up straight aud everything
came back to him. He heard noises and
saw lights moving through the trees.
“They’re after Car’line,” he thought
with a pang, “they ain’t fouud her
yet.” staggered feet, , there
Davy to his was
a crash through the underbrush, and his
father took him by the arm. “Here he
is!” he shouted, and there was a glad
shout in response. Then Sarah’s hus-
band and Mr. Briggs came up.
Ain’t you found her yet?” panted
Davy half sobbing,
“Found who?” cried he; father shah-
ing him.
“Car’line.”
“Car’line”—she was found all right.
She wan’t lost. She didn’t run far.
She went back to the house whilst her
mother was gone, an’ Sarah found her
eatin* grape jelly when she got back,
She’d eat a whole tumbler, but 1 guess it
won’t hurt her any. It’s you we’re
huntin’ for. It’s 12 o'clock at night.
What did you come in here for?”
“I was huntin’ for Car’line.” Davy
was so tired and bewildered now that he
was crying like a baby, although he was
twelve years old. His father grasped his
little cold hand fast and pulled him
alone. “Well, there’s no use standin'
talkin’,” said he. You’d better get
home. Mother's got some supper waitin’
for you. Mr. Briggs’s team is down
here a little piece; so it won't take long,
and you won’t have to walk.”
Davy would not have walked far.
Sarah’s husband took hold of his other
hand, and he and his father nearly carried
him between them to Mr. Briggs’s wagon,
which was tied under an oak tree. “It’s
lucky he ain’t no older,” said Mr.
Briggs, as he got in, “or he’d got
his death with rheumatiz, sleeping out
there side of that swamp.”
Davy fell asleep again as soon as the
wagon was under way. He never knew
liow he got home nor how his father
pulled off his little damp jacket and
wrapped him in his own coat, but the
flash of lights in his face and his mother’s
voice awakened him thorougnly when he
got home. Sarah was over at her
mother’s waiting, and Car’line had been
put to bed on the sitting room lounge.
Sarah hugged him and cried, but his
mother hurried him into the bedroom
and took off his damp clothes and rolled
him in hot blankets, then he sat out by
the kitchen stove with his feet in the
oven and drank a great bowl of ginger
tea and ate a plate of milk toast, of
which he was especially fond. Every¬
body stood around him and petted him.
“They didn’t have the party to-night,”
said his mother, “they were so upset
about you. They’re going to have it to¬
morrow night, so you won’t lose that.”
Sarah leaned over and stroked Davy’s
little damp head lovingly. “To think
of Uncle Davy’s going out to find Car’¬
line an’ staying out till midnight,” she
said, tearfully. “Sister’d never forgive
herself if anything had happened to
him.”
Uncle Davy looked up at her suddenly,
his honest face gleaming out of the folds
of the blanket. “You musn’t feel so
bad, Sarah,” said ho. “I untied Car’¬
line.”—Atlanta Constitution.
An Unassuming Monarch.
“The Emperor of Austria 13 one of the
most unassuming monarchs in all Eu¬
rope,” said W. P. Eidridge, a
gentleman recently returned from
Europe. “While in Vienna I had
occaoion to visit the palace and
found the Emperor’s audience cham¬
ber crowded with Generals and no¬
blemen who had come to thank
his Majesty for promotions and decora¬
tions; but mingling with these were au¬
thors, inventors, professors, widows and
orphans seeking pensions, and a number
of very poor men and women who had
petitions to present. There are few
countries in which persons of this latter
class would ever chance of seeing their
sovereign; but in Austria anybody who
has anything reasonable to ask of the
Emperor is sure of an audience. On one
or two days a week his Majesty receives
all comers who have applied to be re¬
ceived, and he receives them alone. Ev¬
ery applicant takes his turn. A master
of ceremonies opens a door, the visitor
walks in and finds himself face to face
with the Emperor, who is usually unat¬
tended. The door closes and the peti-
titioner may say to the Emperor what he
likes. There is no chamberlain or secre¬
tary to intimidate him. The Emperor
stands in a plainly furnished study in
undress uniform without a star or grand
cordon, and he greets everybody with
an encouraging smile ana a good-na¬
tured gesture of the hand, which seems
to say, ‘There is no ceremony here. Tell
me your business, and if I can help you,
I will.’ The Emperor of Austria has a
clear, penetrating eye, and quick catch¬
ing manner. By a glance he makes peo¬
ple feel at home, and by a word draws
from them what they have to say. Then
he gives his own answer straight out and
fearlessly, but generally .vith an acqui¬
escing stuiie, and whatever he promises
is faithfully performed. There is noth¬
ing petty or evasive in him. He is a
monarch who replies by ‘Yes’or‘No,’
but always with the greatest courtesy.
A most lovable trait in him is, that
whenever he sees anybody nervous in his
presence he makes the audience last until
by his kind endeavors the nervousness
has been entirely dispelled.”—St. Louis
Star-Sayings.
Superstitious Turks.
Notwithstanding the progress the
Turks have made of late years in the
arts of civilization, all, from the highest
to the lowest, over the length and
breadth of the Ottoman Empire, are a
prey to the devoutest superstition. The
office of Munejiin Bashi, or Court Astrol¬
oger, still exists. The man’s duties are
not of a very complex kind, but they
have an important bearing on political
and social movements. For every action
of the Sultan and his ministers he has to
calculate the most propitious day, hour,
and even minute; and he publishes an¬
nually an almanac, in which, for the
benefit of the whole Mohammedan pop¬
ulation, the days are specified on which
it is best to have the hair cut or the
nails trimmed, to take medicine or to be
bled, to visit friends, to buy houses,’
lands or slaves, to undertake a journey,
and even to do nothing. Next to the
Koran no work is more widely studied
among the Sultan’s subjects, and it is
very doubtful whether even the great
Evangel of the Prophet is more scrupu¬
lously obeyed.—Once-A-Week.
n*S NO* A’ COVVC TiiAf GUTTiRS
Deed no, ye’U find yerseif mista’en,
Din ye expect to find it!
The grandest scheme that mak’s men vain,.
Aye hides some flaw behind it,
The virtues we like best to see
Are no’ persistent sitters,
When they’re ill-treated sune they flee—
It’s no’ a' gowd that glitters.
The pompous earl who panes to kirk
Until his wealth increases.
Is no’ richt soond—gi’e him a jerk.
An’ he fa’s a’ to pieces.
The man who kens the worl’s ways best
Tak’s life’s sweets wi’ its bitters,
An’ sune discovers like the rest,
It’s no’ a’ gowd that glitters.
The trouble seems to work eiean through
Baith cliques an’ corporations.
It's bard to find a thing true blue.
An’ free o’ complications.
Deception noo’s a common crime,
But guid sens? never flitters,
It tak’s for granted a* the time—
it’s no’ a’ gowd that glitters.
After a’ grumblin’ ower the case
Is na oor nearest duty
It seems it wad be better graco
To show truth’s honest beauty.
It’s no’ sae much hoo ithers act
Or hoo the queer worl titters.
Let’s look at hatne an’ be exact
To see that oor gowd glitters.
—William Lyle, in Detroit Free Press.
PITH AND POINT.
A receiving teller—A phonograph.
Tides in the affairs of men naturally
come under the head of current events,.
The man whose came is most often
under a cloud is the umbrella maker.”—
Puck.
“My face is my fortune, sir,” sha
said. ‘ ‘You must be in debt,” said tho
man ill-bred.
Law is a dry study; but the moisture
of tears seems to have much effect on a
jury.—Puck.
The carpenter is not always a mathe¬
matician, but is handy with his “adz.”
—Columbus Post.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder,
but presence causes it to glow like a full
moon.—Texas Siftings.
The philosopher can be plain amongst
men; but no man can endure with pa¬
tience a woman’s slur about his clothing.
—Puck.
Of tho man who is his own worst
enemy it can hardly be said that wo love
him for the enemy he has made.—Boston
Transcript.
“I am at your service, ma’am,” as tho
burglar said when the lady of the house
caught him stealing her silverware.—-
Texas Siftings.
He—“You didn’t know I was color
blind, did you?” She—“I suspected it
from the neckties you wear.”—Clothier
and Furnisher.
Yabslcy—“Does your wife ever
choose your clothes for you?” Wickwire
__ “ Na; she merely picks the pockets.”
—Indianapolis Journal.
“I have a pair of suspenders for every
pair of trousers I’ve got, ” he said.
“Gracious! how many pairs of suspend¬
ers have you got?” “One pair.”—New
York Press.
“No, my son, it is not always polite
to tell a man what you think of him. It
is safer to tell it to somebody else,and ia
just as effective in most instances.”—
Boston Transcript.
“Papa, why does the arum major of
a band wear that big thing on his head?”
“Because the natural size of his head ia
not equal to the occasion, my son.”—
Baltimore American.
Probably the reason why poople are so
liberal in their praise of men after they
are dead lies in the fact that flattery is
not likely to give a dead man the big
head.—Boston Transcript.
I asked lifer for her heart and hand,
And smiled to see the blushes gently start;
Her answer helped me understand;
“You hold my hand—but I have lost my
heart.”
—New York Herald.
“It was all very well for the poet to
talk about ‘a perfect woman, nobly
planned,’” said Mr. Arreers sadly, “but
the trouble is that it takes such a lot of
money to carry out the plan.”—Boston
Post.
'Tis sad how deep into Oblivion go
Some books we thought would shine on
every shelf:
To-day, while looking through my works, L
found
Two that I wrote,and then forgot, myself.
—Puck.
Eider Sister—“I must drive around
to Hose & Mantle's; I hear they have
quite a new thing in gloves.” Younger
Sister (sweetly)—“Indeed! And when
you get them on it will be quite an old
thing in gloves, won’t it, darling.”—
Comic.
“Is it true,” said the reporter, rushing
breathlessly into the railroad superin¬
tendent's office, “that there was a tieup
on the road last night?” “l T es,” re¬
sponded the official, “there was. Our
agent at Buzzard’s Fork married his
typewriter.”—St. Joseph News.
Beggar (standing in front of an exhi¬
bition of paintings, to stranger about to
enter with a lighted eigar)—“1 inside say,
mister, there’s no smokiDg allowed
yonder; but if you’ll give me twopence
I don’t mind keeeping your cigar a-bura-
ing till ye come out again.”—Dorfbar-
bier.
Mrs. Wickwire—“Next Wednesday is
brother Edwin’s birthday, dear. Don’t
you think we ought to make him a pres¬
ent?” Mr. Wickwire—“Lemme see.
Ne has been visiting us about two months
v. >w. Guess I’ll give him a real nice,,
handy traveling satchel, Eh?”—Indian-
apolis Journal.
“Everything goes wrong!” comp’ained
Bellefield. “Nothing that I touch suc¬
ceeds.” “I wouldn’t feel that way if I
were you,” replied Shingess. “But I
can’t help it.” “You must try to. You
should always look on the bright side of
things.” “I dare n’t. The eyesight.’’— doctor says
brightness will injure my
Pittsburg Chronicle. ----------