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Ijiigti ’5 fTwMg. jpDSCRirTlOX PRICES. .$1 .. with*""" 40 |tllS ...................... 2 00 jii" ",i'.nM CousUtation, 1 yr„ fdfctf 1 *™ ET feidat bt 1 hale & WHITE, Editors. jfor Sample Copy Free I WEAVER £ BRO. [Olivers; M % _-DEALERS IN ALL KINDS OF goods £ Notions L ]l a ts, Caps, Boots & Shoe? also Groceries such as Sugar, Tea, Syrup. Kio«, Grits Meal, Oat Meal, Tobacco, Snuff etc. ’ ’ call especial attention hue of ' We to out' HCYGROCER’ES&CONFECTIONERI’S canned peaches, pineapples, oysters, salm< Mack P tomatoes, n, S' . dill6 s, condensed mi k, jelly, pickles, baking candy both ftibey Hors¬ and ebread „ alS) raisins, citron, macaroni, one spoon powders, preparation, etc., etc. Our pej per and spices both ground <f ' and grain the best in the market. are very iif® tsm a, tmuLfc. Iff fko nCo kcet- a good Lwstro variety Shoe-ted of Fresh Stove Crackers, Polish. both A plain good and line sweet, of il,e celebrated, Crockery, Glass and Woodware, r Table ami Pocket cutlery, etc tesr WE MAKE FINE CIGARS A SPECIALTY,“®S !to,motto: 1 Short Profits and quick Sales. Terms Strictly SH- G. W. WEAVER & BRO. I- M- Jones £ Company [corner Commerce and Warehouse Sts. CONYEB8, GA, iwiii -HEADQUARTERS FOR ALL KINDS OF- General Merchandise at Bottom PrieeS. rteiits for the NEW HOME Sewing Machine. T -TrWe keep all kinds of jfeTSEWING MACHINE NEEDLES.-^8 le adq uarters For all School Books adopted by the Board of’School Commissioners of‘.bis county. MORE POPULAR THAN C3S The Recent Improvements Wade in The WHITE SEWI’G MACHINE! ADD MUCH TO THE [ANY EXCELLENT QUAL IESoftiiis Ji Superior Machine. It is an Taiios Espeial and Favorite Others, of Ladies, gift iSSS . Vi use them for the many advantages ippmessover oihor Sewing Machines. m IVIBY arrested WHITE for 5 MACHINE mPi YY wars. i*42 J. J) & T F. SMITH. Wholesale and Retail Dealers, SO Broad St., Atlanta Georgia. IP.&D. M. ALMAND, Agents, Conyers, Georgia. - Carriage Manufactory J W liAWGFOBB to> • ; W 7 Rll PS MY allldPPo, Qr r H rrno YV ClJi.Uiio, n rrmi Q JJU-glGO, 01 iVl 1 1 P OWn V\ ii- IT! iXIvU-XY* d V M WARRANTED TO BE FIRST-GLASS !N EVERY PARTICULAR. 1411 Ikeep also a GOOD LINE of Western Carriages and Bug crips gies which wllir-h I ise Sefi i LOW 1VJ DOWN Repairing ot Carriages, Wagons and Bugg er , Fa. fl .,ng and main , ,H S radei tlone sIlort notice . * on ‘ ALL KINDS OF FURNITURE REPAIRED ASGOOD AS NEW fi should be retneinberd that My establishment is rri ha ve hand the largest and best, stock of waggons, of my own now ou build that I have earned, 1 bugieg homemade ana of western ever P* mu bargains bad better call. All wh owe me for work are ear y ,u promptly. I money s «ly request to come forward and settle promptly will be nee>. given i te but ®“*t have it. These who do not pay So you will please settle promptly. headquarters undertakers goods. COFFINS and CASKETS of all fiSt grades and sizes, and COFFIN HARD everything tha is kept in a class Undertaker. arOFFTW * COFFINs ’ DELIVERED rwr n-t-oiMi ANYWHERE 1WWHFRE IN IN CITY un OR Ui COUNTY ^ Thanking customers for their very liberal patronage in the past, I solioi •hnuanee . my wit be done to give satisfaction. of toe same, with theevervthjig Resoec<fab' Most f , ’ - nunCnOn - LflNarUnD^ . ”* A combina tion Peruvian of Pro¬ toxide of Iron, l’hosjilwrusin Vi / I Buri: and a palatable form*. For 7 Debility. JLosx of of Appe¬ Vital tite f Prostration Powers it is indispensa¬ ble. KEY. J. L. TOWNEB, r Industry, III., says:— “I consider It b .®nefited 7 a most excellent remedy for se itsaafr Vr,- by '~ its 7 / the debilitated vital forces- 5£*£K8gS5 and / V. 1 1 j- Ijt Conner UJcekln <». SUBSCRIPTION $1.25. Volume VI. "INDEPENDENT IN ALL THINGS.” CONYERS, MAY 1883. DEATH IN THE FIT. Amy Glover was the prettiest lass in the viilage, and 1 loved her, but, as for that, all the young chaps in the village were of the same mind, hut she never looked at one more than the another. One day there was no work in the pit for my gang, and so I made up my mind that I would go and have it out with Amy. 1 set out with a brave enough heart, but just as.I reacehd the cot¬ tage, who should come out but Amy herself looking prettier than ever ; but appearing so suddenly she dashed my spirit, and I hadn’t a wt rd to say to her. “Why, Charley, what is the matter?'’ she cried, in a frigntened sort of way. “Well, it is just this,” I said. /And there I came to a full stop. “Is anything wrong with Jack?” she iasked, eagerly. “Jack!" “Yes; he is down in the pit, and they say it is foul, which makes mother aud me un¬ easy. You’ve not heard anything ?” "No,” I answered, steadier now that I could comfort her, “He is all right. Y’ou w usn’t mind what the old women say, or you'll be looking for a blowup every day in the year, when there is nothing more than common. I haven’t come about Jack; it is about myt.elf.” Site looked at me; then her cheeks flushed, and she turned away. “I want to tell you how I love yon; I can” say all I want to, but here I am, and I wouldn’t change for a king if you will take me as I am.” “Ah, you dout’t know how you pain me,” she answered. “Don’t say that, Amy; but if you have pity in your heart show it to me, and I’ll cherish you to the day of my death ” “It is no use. I can never marry a pit¬ man. I gave the promise to mother and Jack over the graves of my father and three brothers, all killed at the same time.” She looked at me through a mist of tears, and I turned and left her without another word. I felt as if the sun would never shine for me any more; I thought f might as well be in my grave as to try to live there. Why shouldn’t I go to Yorkshire or Derbyshire, or even to the diggings in Australia, for that matter ? The notion of it gave me a little spirit. It turned my thoughts, and I stept ped out more briskly, going strait home. IJ hadn't much to settle there, only to bid good-by to the people I lived with, and I soon came out, pack on back, aud begau my tramp. ‘‘I was walking on, when suddenly the air rang with a crash which shook the ground. I knew what it signified ; such sounds de¬ note but one result in the black country, and, throwing down my pack, I darted off to the pit. It didn’t seem a minute before I came to the dust heaps round the pit’s mouth, but some were there before me, and people were rushing from the village in a stream. Tne smell from the pit almost threw me down as I came up, and I had to.get my breath a little when three or four of us crept on to the mouth aud looked down. The explo¬ sion had destroyed the cage, but it hadn’t injured the signal-rope ; hence a means of communication remained for any one im mediately below. As soon as I saw this I proceeded to rig a cross-bar, and presently had it ready. “Just lower me gently; I may ptek up one or two, if there s any near, lsmdtotwo banksmen “Yon can’t go down yet," said the v. e wer “How many are there in the pit T “Half an hour ago there were fifty; bu I’m thankful to say they all came up but ten ’ re P bed tbe time-keeper. “ A,ld they are l03t ’ IT W ! ! e another exposition presently, said the viewer. “ rM g0 d0WD ’ a^ow.Isa.d doggedly; and if nobody lower me Til jump down, A good manywere cn the heaps now and two or three called out, “Good*by, God ble38 y0Ui dear lad .. The banksmen lowered me diWn ’ and * 8ank * rou " 1 ® plts> month. A Davy Tamp was tied round my wai8t and 1 held a rope in my hand so , that I might signal to be hoisted up, if the air became foul. But I had no intention ot going back until I had searched the pit and seen if there were any alive. One thing, 1 didn’t care about my life and another I would have been ashamed to face the folks above without doing something, so I felt impatient that they lowered me at such a snail s pace, and I kept looking up an down to measure the distance yet to be traversed. But my progress was notified by the increasing density of the air which began to affect my breathing ; and as I went on I bad to shift my face from side to gide tomake a ii tt i e curr ent. At last my ! feet touched ground. I looked around as I jumped ofi the straddle, and'saw the furnace was out, which put a stop to the ventilation of the mine, aud no air entered but by the shaft. The stench was overpowering, and from tbit; and | sde])ce j guessed the worst. It was evident that the explosion had killed the ! borg es, for no sound came from the stables, j wb i cb were close ‘to the shift; and what hope could there be for human beings In a i distant part of the pit? I did not stand to make these reflections; 1 was working for ward as .bey went through my mind. 1 knew the old pit blindfold, but what with the gloom and my shortness of breath, I was was some some minutes m scrambling * for the in ! chne. e fi „ J j pushed trap , wen open t e an steps, but my amp was utto an the atmosphere was so head j As I stumbled along it came into my what Amy had said about Jack being in the pit. I rushed lorward like mad; my foot struck something; I bent over what ap P eared t0 be a cor P se ’ a,ld the « lfca,u of ' am P U' 1 hpon its face. It was Jack. I cau « b ‘ him in in J arma - and with the length of a giant and the sp ed of a deer hardly conscious, hardly breathing I made a das h for the shaft, It was easier work going back, when you were in the main or horse road, and I found that Jack was breathing when I reached the shaft. The discovery kept all my senses at work without my seeming to notice it, I only felt that there would be another ex¬ plosion. I placed Jack on the straddle and tied him hand and foot; then pulled the signal rope, and as the people above hauled the tackle, I hung on by ray arms, It wasn’t till we had reached twenty feet up that I felt the strain of standing on nothing ; but from that moment it became terrible. My hands seemed ready to snap and my head spun round in an agony. 1 watched the mouth of the pit until my eyes swam, and I thought I must drop before I reached the top. Then they began to hoist, faster; I could see the walls of the shaft ; I could feel the purer air ; I heard voices oLd presently strong arms caught me, and I was landed on the bank. They had Jack off the straddle before you could look round, and he was carried away, while they raised my head and poured a little brandy into m> mouth. I called out for the viewer. “What is it, Charley Baston ?" he asked, bending over me. “Everybody away from the month of ths pit, sir,” I said. “You are right; it will come in a minute or two,” he answered. They got me to the top of the bank, when I heard a scream, and there was Amy trying to throw herself on her brother, but kept back by the other women. She never glanced at me. I wished then that I had stayed in the pit, or let myself drop from the bar as 1 came up, and so escaped seeing her again. But l made up my mind that I had looked on her for the Ust time. I told my helpers that 1 could walk now and when they let go my arms I turned toward the moor intended to pick up pack and drag on to the next village But I could no more walk five miles than I could fly. When I came to my pack I sank dowu by it and felt that I must give up. I was so beat that though the second explosion at the pit shook the ground under me, I didn’t lift my head. All I thought of was lying quiet. By degrees I recovered a little strength, and my thoughts took me to my old lodging, where 1 decided to rest before 1 set out on wanderings. The day passed, and the night, aud the next day, and I was still in bed, the good folks of the houee attending me like a child. My limbs, which had been racked with pain, now felt easy, and I was ready for a start again. But 1 thought there be opposition, so I got up very quiet, and was putting on my things, when the door opened, and in came Jack Glpver. “Hilloa, Charley, here we are!’ he cried, my hand and giving it a hearty squeeze, “Who would have thought of us being alive to day ?” “Well, Jack, I am glad for you, but 1 have cared for myself.” “How’s that ?” “I have something on my mind. “You !’ he sa.d, laughing and giving me a little push. “Here, sitdown and have a pipe aud it will all go off like the smoke. “I don’t care ,f I never smoke a p.pe again, 1 said savagely. "Now, 111 tell you what,Us; you ve been having a tiff with our Amy. I haven t. " We!1, y °", kn0W ; 3 ! ab0Ut, M: ba, r U we re seen talking;w.th her and she had a crying fit direct y a ter n w en s e heard from me that .t was you who brought me up from the pit. she fell fainting in my a ,a£V “Didn t she know that until you tola her?” I asked. "Then 111 just tell you all .. about , her , aud , me, I said. I was a long time telling it, , , but Jack T , sat , u p as if he was listening to a play or a ser mon at chapel. I told him of the feelings A my had raised in my heart, told him how I ba d watched for her; thought of her, dreamed of her; and, firstly ^counted our latest colloqj. Jack never moved a muscle, j an d not til! I stopped for breath did he put in a word. “Don’t you think you have been a little fast, old boy ? ’ he then said. “How do you mean ?” “Why, in giving up so. Suppose when Amy said she couldn’t have you, you had put your arm around her waist and said she must ?’ . • The view had never struck me, and rather took me aback. “But there was her promise to you and j her mother never to marry a pitman.” “So there was. But did you ntver hear that promises were made to be broken ?" “I can’t say bat I have,” I muttered, clapping on my bat. “Where are yeu going ?" “You wait here a minute." With that I took two strides down tbe stairs into the road into Mrs. Glover’s cottage. I stood outride a minute, then I opened the door, and the first thing I saw was Amy sitting by her mother looking like a ghost-only ghost- never look pretty sbe 7e me oce l ook then started up and , • nto mV arms. My h« art was so fail I couldn’t speak at first slipped but I thought I must do something, so I mj arm around her waist as Jack recommended, Now I felt sure of her, and of all the hap¬ piness the world could give, and as my breast swelled proudly I began to bear a little malice. “Ah, Amy, if you had only loved me,” 1 said. She tightened her arms around mJ neck. "How happy we might have been 1” I continued. “Then we can be, Charley," she said. “How ? We can never marry, you know.” The little fingers unlocked, and I felt Amy falling away, but I remembered Jack’s counsel and held on by her waist. “There’s your promise to your mother and Jack; how are we to get over that ?" I conti nued. • "I forgot that,” faltered Amy, as white as a sheet. “And what do your say to it, mother ?" I cried to the old lady, Mrs. Glover got up and took Amy’s hand and put it in mine. “That’s what I say to it,” she said hear¬ tily, “and Jack is ot the same mind.” "And this is what 1 say to it,” I cried, giving the girl a kiss. l r ou won’t be surprised to hear that we were married the next week. And now I am the viewer of the colliery; and as for Amy, she will tell you that, though she has married a pitman, and has her ups and downs like other peop'e, there is no happier woman in the kingdom. Life in Russia. No one is allowed to enter Russia without a passport duly issued, or to leave the coun¬ try without permission from the authorities. These passports are. however, ot little use for detective purposes, as they simply con¬ tain the name but give no description of the traveler. The hotel keepers at St Peters¬ burg are obliged, under heavy penalties, to report to the police twice a day the nam, s of all travelers who enter or leave their hotels. Each householder in the city is compelled by the government to have a “dvornick" to watch his premises. These dvornicks are men of the peasant class who sit day and night wrapped in their sheep skins at the entrance of bouses, their office being apparently that of half watchman, half spy. An order was issued a short time ago that no one should walk the streets of St. Petersburg without a passport, but the absurdity and annoyance of proceedings such as to compel the withdrawal of the order. Newspapermen are only allowed give on cer’ain subjects such views as meet with the approval of the government some questions they are prohibited Foreign newspapers are stopped the postoffice, often held altogether, and delivered at all have any objectionable or paragraphs stamped out and made The London Times frequently with paragraphs or portions of the blocked out in this manner. A received his paper a short lime with the whole of it cut away with the i f the advertisements. It would too long to enumerate the many petty other annoyances which official zeal on the ordinary life of the lltissiau aud which have to be accepted public remonstrance or criticism The Ruins of the Tuileries. The areft witMll ^" about the ruing of Tuileries has not been entirely cleared the maS3 o( fallen debria with which it encaiIjberedt and the demolition of o9e parts of the buildings that still stand ^ c0[nmfcuced durin)? , he pa8twe , tk work can proceed but slowly, J owing J to precau(ions tfaftt haye tQ tak t0 from injury , bo8e tragmenta pos . any artistic or historical value. operations, which occupy sixty skilled , IBTe beeD gtaKed ou the rivw rQnt The central pavilion will be attaek in a day Qr (w<) Acco , diug t0 the . . . . demolition,'“ 1 "“ palace mV marvel of C . o7 . rr . “LIl . , theMacing fillings only, an 1 the interior, so generally , fouu(] be on) g w cotnmon moulding affixed to the rough stones, in , ’ ^ g Qne gu d j ig ^ ,, Ang )o.American company has purchas the Pavilic)n d’Honneur as it stands, ^ ^ ^ M ^ ^ u the Crystal Palace grounds at SjdenhatDi whi]e the torcherea (figures hoWiug Jampg) of the SalJe des jfarechaux k ave cer t a { n ]y b een bought by the Russian ^rument for the St. Petersburg museum, —The Architect, A Dinner that will be Served for Seventeen Until Sixteen Die. n0? ”’ u ^ a6t * ook at th f F i Bei evue. It was the third annual dinner , of the Last Man’s Club, formed three years a £° It has seventeen members. Each member tr ust attend the dinner annually. Death, serious illness or separation by great distance alone excuses. At every dinner a place is kept for each ab33nt member, whether living or d**ad, and dishes and wine are served opposite their empty chairs, the same as if they were present. A curious and elegant tankard of beaten silver, filled with wine, ia passed around ihe table and quaffed by each one present until emptied, As each member d'eshm name will be en graved on the tankard until finally the last man surrounded by the overflow,ng plato the full glasses and the empty chairs, will : drink to their memory alone. Then tbe dinners will cease and the tankard will be- : man’s propwrty.-Pbiladel- ' come tbe last phia Times. A Reminiscence oi Niagara. I remember when I was a boy that a man got into the rapids here, having been carried down in a boat, which was broken to pieces. He had the good fortune to be dashed on a rock, to which he clung. It was at the height of the season—August, if I recollect —and he clung there for fully thirty-six hours. Everybody streamed out of the hotels and the village; the batiks of the river, particularly on the side, were thronged with people anxious to do something to save him. Dozens of plans were suggested; some attempted, but they all tailed. Thous¬ ands of dollars were offered to anybody who would rescue him. The desperate sit¬ uation of the mau was telegraphed over the country, and every train brought crowds of passengers hither to witness it with their own eyes. He was encouraged by shouts from the banks, but whether he could un¬ derstand anything that was said is doubt ful. It The world is said to be sympathetic. is, or appears to be, unsympathetic, because the object for which sympathy is asked is abstract. When it is tangible, visible, all is changed, There was an cmnplificalion. This poor wretch could be seen. He was an ordinary, uneducated man; but he was a man, and the brotherhood sisterhood of the race went out to him in pity and intense eagerness to rescue him. Many persons sat up all night looking across the seething, roaring waters at the small dark figure still clinging to the rock. The morning came ; renewed efforts were made, but they all miscarried. The crowd had increased; it was immense. Every¬ body was excited. Tears wero in the wo¬ men's eyes. Can’t something be done ? Must the poor fellbw perish before our faces? Is there no way to rescue him? Such questions were instantly asked; but alas! rio reply could be given: The man had good courage and great strength. He clung to the rock with the desperation of a dying soul. To lose bis hold was to be dashed over the cataract, Apparatus and contrivances arrived from Buffalo. New experiment and new failures. Hoarse shouts still raug across the rapids to hold on, be of good heart. The stoutest heart that ever throbbed could not grip that rock forever. It was wonderlul how he had endured. A fresh idea had come to the minds of half a dozen mechanics. They were laboring to throw out a hawsers; every muscle was strained; every eye was bent upon their work. Suddenly the man slipped away. He was exhausted; he threw up his arms ; he dashed toward the cataract. A low groan as from one brt ast went through the throng; the thousands shivered with- terror. A black object appeared for a moment in the hell of the waters, and then disappeared for¬ ever. There was an agony of relief. No one moved, no one spoke for a whi'e. All looked in the direction where the figure had been swallowed up. It was the enchant¬ ment of terror; It was the chill of tragedy distinctly wrought which froze every one for the moment to the spot. Setting Hens . This is the season when hens run mad and will not be comforted unlesB they can hide away somewhere and sit day and night on a wooden nest egg or an old door knob. Several men were discussing thisquestion in a grocery store one evening recently. A man who owns a large flock of Dorkings remarke d, “Not even an act of Congress can break up a Bettin’ hen.” “Ever tried jaramin' ’em under a barrel an’ pourin' water on ’em'/" demanded the man on the sugar barrel. “Yes,” said- the Dorking man, “I've poured wafer on 'em till they grew web footed, like a blamed duck, and afterwards found ’em in an old coal hod settin’ away on lumps o’ coal.” “Tie a r rag on one wing," said a man who w eating cheese and crackers. ‘Tha .ifik ’em.” Might’s well offer ’em a chromo,” said he Dorking man. "I tied a whole red woolen shirt to one last spring, and dog my cats if she didn’t make a nest in it and set three weeks on the buttons.” Then the grocer said it was time to shut up, and each man girded up his loins and slowly filed oat. An Answer That Every One Wishes. People often wonder what becomes of the old tomato cans. Wagons can be seen on the Btreets almost every day, filled with old tin cans of every description, picked from vacant lots or streets. They are taken to to Newark and sold for fifteen cents a hun¬ dred. The price is small, but cans are numerous, and the gathering of them pays handsomely, if our informants tell the truth. The Newark purchaser sorts them out, and puts them into a furnace, which softens them so that they can be rolled by machi¬ nery into plates. These plates are artistical¬ ly blackened and present a smooth, polished surface. The trunk makers buy them to bind tbe edges and bottoms of trunks, and often to cover up defects of woodwork. In this manner old tomato caus become a most useful as well as ornamental material The process of heating the cans also has its profitable result, for tbe solder, running hrough a grate into a receptacle, is sold for twelve cents a pound, it almost paying, it is claimed, all tbe price originally paid for tne cans. “Ella ia better looking,” remirxed Mrs Brown with a smirk, ‘ but Lucy will get married first.” “Yes,” chimed in her husband “gimme Luci-for matches every -Springfield (0.) Repunlican. C. W. WHITE, Publisher. Number fte Mongers UtoMg. CITY AND COUNTY ORGAN, THH LARGEST CIRCULATION, FINEST ADVERTISING MEDIUM. Advertising Rate*. One column, one va»r - JUt* One column, stx months. . _____ MW One oolnmn, three month* MW Small advertUemenU, U eenu a n» T l Special Rates to General AdveiHsere. ALL SORTS, Financiering vowels—I. 0. U.—Life. Out on a fly—The insect’s wings.—Har¬ lem Times. The greatest composer—sleep.—Burling¬ ton Free Press. The garment of a ghost must be a spirit ’rapper.—Harlem Times. The Jersey mosquito, like charity, begins to hum.—New York Advertiser. Cbeckerss is looked upon as a square game.—New Orleans Picayune. Ladies, a piece of advice—never send your letters by male.—Burlington Free Press. A trade paper, called The Corset, is talked of. It will no doubt, “come tostay." New York News. Assafcetida is now on the free list, there being no American cheese to compete with it.—N. Y. Herald. Money is the great enigma of the age. Everybody is compelled to give it up — New York Advertiser. When a dumb photographer wants to say “yes to a customer, he merilly displays two negatives—N. Y. Advertiser. Many a man who thinks himself a person of note is not so far out of the way. He may be a natural or a fiat.—Boston Tran¬ script, Carpenters who refashion o'd dry goods boxes should be called “circumstances,” because they alter cases.—New York Ad¬ vertiser. When a perXn writes a poem to kill time, he may be pretty sure that time will have its revenge aud kill the poem.—Bos¬ ton Transcript. To those who invest in real estate and buy lots on long payments, it seemes yearly more plain that Martgage is Lot's wife. —Pittsburg Telegraph. An exchange says it is fashionahie to in¬ troduce some element of the antique into every dress. Whatl are old maids becom¬ ing the rage ?—Boston Star. “Is that your dog, Mr. Trigg?” “Yes, sir, that's my dog." "Is he a setter?" “Hess of that type, yes, sir.” “Oh ! then he's a type setter.”—N. Y. Sentinel. "You said, Mr. Jones, your umbrella had a straight handle?” “I thought it did, but since it vanished I am quite certain it en¬ ded with n hook.”—Boston Traveler. There is no difference between a well limbed tramp and a well trimmed lamp when a cyclone makes its appearanae, for they both light out.—New York Advertiser. “I get an inkling of your thought,” said the retreating agent, and he neatly dodged the Hying bottle of writing fluid as he made for the door.—Boston Traveller. He rang the door bell of a banker. The servant tells him “Mansieur does not re¬ ceive to day.” That makes nothing to me. My racket is to know if he will give any¬ thing.”—French. “Can you tell me," asked Twistem, "the difference between my cook this morning and a passenger on a new railroad? One was bakin' shad and the other was shaken bad.”—Pittsburgh Telegraph. “I'm sorry to keep you waiting for your money,” said the bank teller to Snithers “but here’s the money all in yellow boys.” “Never mind," said Smithers, “1 see 'tis worth the weight in gold.”—Boston Star. A Milton man who a few weeks ago kind, ly offered to share his bed and board with an impecunous acquaintance somewhat addicted to intemperance, says he is suffer¬ ing from an attack of room mate-ism.— Milton News. B. lives in.the country near Paris, winter and summer, but always after the 1st of May they meet him on Sunday on the boulevard. He explains: “The country is too crowded. Everybody is there on Sunday; so 1 come to get the air of Paris —French. “How is your brother ?” askel Mr. Grumper of a friend. “Oh, so-so. His health is not any too good, and he has been bothered a great deal of late with spina) meningitis." “Spinal who ?” “Meningitis.” “VY'e.'l, why don’t he shoot the Italian son of a gun ?”—Williamsport Breakfast Table. Truthful Sentimennts. Peter Cooper, a short time previous to his death, sent the following letter to a friend. The first publication of the fines of truth were made in the New York Sun: “Mankind will improve and better their condition just in proportion as they come to see, know, and understand that what a man, acommunity, a State, or nation soweth that must they also reap somewhere, some¬ how, and at sometime, and that by the oper¬ ation of a reign of beneficent laws, design¬ ed in infinite wisdom for tha use and the ele¬ vation of mankind. Man without knowledge is a soulless body; without science he is a straying wanderer. Science is knowledge demonstrated by the actual experiences of mankind. Dewitt Clinton in a moment of inspiration uttered this sentiment: ‘Pleas ure is a shadow, wealth is vanity, power is pageant; but knowledge is ecstatic enjoy¬ ment, perennial, unlimited in space and in¬ finite in duration.”