Newspaper Page Text
army LIFE picture.
**%&£*&?* A FINE
-
SUinn'sh - Advancing the
C nts of » Personal Heroism, Etc.
, e in Battle—
F. Williams, in “Lights and
eo. \ Artnv Life,” in the Cent
October, writes as follows: Men
for made of the humorous in
i no been battlefields, but
Hits f happening Wide on fan to be found in
.inks was very 1
when the army was arrnye in
of b itrie. Then everybody quiet was
1 Orders were given in a
find , 1S with lerity and in per
obeyed the ot private of
cilence. Here was
importance than his officer, for on
■p and coolness rested the
courage struggle. If the men in
e of the and used their
ranks stood fast
? pons with proper effect, a v.ctory
d be won; if they failed to hold
J around, direct all was what lost. should 1 he be officers done;
W innlv } execute it. Then
L to
whs the feeling among both ofli
and men that in the presence < f the
„ v luev stood on one common
ue as to danger. The bullets flying
then heads and the shells scream¬
r shrieking in mid-air paid no
ed Brigadiers and colonels,
,1 to rank. better
Itaius le' and lieutenants, the humblest were no private,
than positions for
t of the most trying line dnr- a
Bier is the movement of a
(a lii liable. The men have probably
|iud°the lighting hard all the morning, only
likening tire of the enemy gradually
and finally ceasing rdto
E er Skirmishers are thrown out,
I | word . comes that tho opposing issued line
|nove fallen back. Then orders are
|the forward in line. Slowly, steadi
several brigades step out, follow
I lough their skirmish line over the fields,
woods, and across ravines and
tbes, lapse nnti! at length enemy’s the line men where catch ifc a
of the
I |alt,” taken up ringing advantageous down the ground. line,
K comes
as the men obey and drop the heels
■heir lr muskets on the soft earth, they
curiously at their adversaries,
■wing too well that the next minute
I probably bring them into mortal
■bat. Silent and thoughtful, the soi¬
l's lean on their rfles, their faces
fckened In with powder, or bleeding
some slight wound a veteran never
Ids. They feel no great desire to go
[ward, ling to but do are if perfectly their general ready and de¬
so so
les. Each man in the long line knows
it if an advance is made some of them
I not see the sun set, and he cannot
ike off the feeling that perhaps his
tn has come to join the silent ma
jity. II Look down face, the which line, has and been you
see many a
> life and soul of the c imp, now se¬
ns enough, for, as the veteran gazes
the corpses scattered over the field,
realizes the awfulness of the occa
n. Suddenly the bugles utter their
till notes and the silent line moves for¬
k'd. Batteries behind them open fire,
I under cover of these shells the ad
kce continues, TheB, as they some
ihin musket range, the enemy greets
I advancing body with a blinding vol
[ funded of musketry, in every and direction, men fall dead the and
fors sur
coolly closing up the ranks and
ving them behind, as the next mo¬
ot they make a rush to seize the po
on. The mubketry grows hotter and
;ter, the cannonading fiercer and
•cer, until suddenly a ringing cheer
“ s above the roar aDd racket, telliDg
t the movement has proved success
and the enemy are once more in re
at.
Instances of personal heroism were
V [qnent kte at mies. in both One Federal (f the and Confed- of
jese commonest
was the rescue of wounded com¬
iles under fire, and it was a proi f of
e tien generosity such of ihe combatants that,
efforts were recognized, the
ji-ketry in in cheering would the slacken and both Scarcely lines
jbaitie rescuers.
occurred without a dozen or
pre of these attempts, most of them
tug successful, though it open hap
tnrades, nei. that, instead of helping their
the brave fellows ran to meet
|a!n, ea rih or like in an them to of be pain. streiched on
r agony
I Husbands Too Scarce in England.
| pmen ‘Waat a the reason so many English
come over here to join the AL>r
pns ? said a Castle Carden official, in
feponse to an inquiry. “Because they
[n |nds t have in Eugland; half a chance that’s to get hus
the reason.
(uy, one of ’em was telling me only
t Iks e °t^ er day that, out of 100 women
in her native village between the
fcs of 20 and 33, there were husbands
i only fifty-six Q f ’ eHli Fourteen of
P ot ^ ier ^1 %-four had owned husbands
r e » ^ they had died. The remain
p thirty never had any, and had no
fPes of getting any. She seemed to
ive made a study of the question, for
|e told me that there were less than
000,000 women between 20 and 40
lars in all England and Wales, and of
lem nearly 2,000,000 were unmarried.
r> w hen the English women learned
pout ty it offered Utah, and the glorious opportuni¬
them in a marital way,
[ey became and impressed with the place at
pee; that’s why they keep coming
f e r with the Mormon missionaries.”
In Mexico.— From dawn to dusk in a
ex. can market one hears the cake ven
shouting jn Spanish: “Fat little
£e s - eakes! Here are
Dod , fat little cakes 1” While the fruit
pdaler, tne candy boy, the seller of
verages, and a hundred others carol in
ncert their various strains. “Who
tots mats from Pueblo—mats of twen
yards?” cries the seller of woven
_ “Sait , „ beef! Salt beef!”
•pts the butcher; inter
puitry, and the vender of
tn, sings sitting lazily among her fowls in the
kd chickens! by the hour : “Ducks
Qcks aud Oh, my soul! good
f'
[It >nr is thoughts almost as dangerous to kindle
with the help of whisky
[to distance kindle the kitchen fire with the
of kerosene.
The Conyers Weekly.
VOL, VII.
LOOKING A T BOTH SIDES.
The good wife Un-fled about the house,
Her face s*HI bri lit with a p'easaut smile,
As broken sua'cle s of ha;>i y song
Strengthened her heart and her hands thi
vhile;
Th ‘ good man Pat. in the chimney nook,
II'H little clay pipe w th n his lips,
And a. In VI m ide and nl> he had iost,
Heady and clear on his finger tips.
“Good wife. I’ve just hern thinking a bit;
Nothing lias dme very well this year.
Money i- boned to • o i aril to get,
Ever thing’s sur e to be very cl ar.
II w lie c ttie are going t > f ed,
IIow we're to lv e,> the boys at school,
Is n hi n -1 of deb t and credit sum
I ea.i’t make bal nc ■ by any r .le.”
She mined her nronn I from thi baking board,
And s io f..ced him there with a cheerful
laugh;
‘Why, husband, dear, one would really think
That the go d rich wheat wa only chaff.
And what if win at is on y chaff,
S • long as we both are wi 1; and strong ?
I’m not a woman to worry a bit —
But—somehow or other we get along.
“Into all lives some rain must fall,
Over all lands the storm mu t beat,
But when the storm and rain are o’er
The sunshine is sure to be tw o as sweet.
Through every strait we have found a road,
In every giief we have found a s ng;
We have had to bear an l had to wait,
But, somehow or other, we get along.
“Fur thirty years we have loved each other,
Stood by each other whatever befell;
Six boys liav called us ‘father’ and ‘mother,’
And all of them living and doing well.
W’e owe no man a penny, my dear;
Are both of us loving and well and strong ?
Good man, l wish you would smoke again,
And think how well we have got along.”
He filled his pipe with a pleasant iangh,
11s kissed h;s wife with a tender pride;
He said, “I’ll do as you teli me, love;
IM just count up on the other side.”
She left him then witli liis better thought,
And lifted her work with a low sweet aong,
A song that’s followed me many a year—
“Somehow or other we get along !”
BEHIND THE TAPESTRY.
Ten years ago I was in the first sorrow
of my widowhood. 1 was childless, too:
and when the grave closed over my bus
band I thought that there was no place
leit for me inJJS’e world.
I was rich, young; and my friends,
and my own reflections in the glass, told
me that I was beautiful.
I did not care for the people who flat
deied and made much of me, but I
turned, even in the first days of my
trouble, to one friend.
bhe. too. was young and beautiful.
We were schoolfellows; we were eng ged
at ihe same time; we were married m ihf
same month of the same year.
During the three years of my married
liie we had seen little of each other, blit
when my husband died, and Mary Clif¬
ford wrote to me tenderly out of her full
heart, I answered back her love.
She asked me to stay with her and I
went.
I stayed with the Cliffords a couple of
months. Doling that time the house
was quiet, vi.-iiors few—they eschewed
company for my sake.
At the end of two months T left them,
comforted and helped, and with many
promises of a reiutn by-and-by. varied
Ctrcnmstauces, however, too
and too many to mention, prevented
that second visit taking placefoi a couple
of years. At the end of that time a
great longing came over me to see Mary
Clifford again. I must write to her and
promise a visit. 1 did so.
By return of post I got a short but
characteristic reply:
“Dearest Honor : Of course I long
to see you, hut unfortunately the house
is full. Large as it is, it is crammed
from cellar to attic.
“Aly dear, I don’t want to refine yon.
I do long to see you. Will you sleep in
the Tapestry room ? for of course it is
empty. I dare not put anybody else will
there, but I don't think yon, Honor,
be afraid of the ghost. If the Tapestry
room will do, come, and a thousand wel¬
comes. I can put up your maid. Your
loving friend, At ary Clifford.”
T ) this lericr I made a short answer:
“I do tot believe in the ghost. The Ex¬
Tapestry room wi; l do beautiiuliy.
pect me io-rroTcw.”
The next evening I arrived at Aspen’s
Vale in time for dinner. The Tapes try
room looked charming. I fell in love
witn it at once, and vowed laughingly
that the ghost and I would make friends.
Mv maid, however looked grave over
my jesting remarks; it was plain that
she believed in supernatural visitations.
The Tapestry room was quite away
from Ihe rest of the house— it^ was at
the extreme end of the wing. No other
bedrooms were in the wing.
Altogether, this wing of the old house
seemed dead. Visitors only came to it
out of curiosity; they paid brief visits,
aud preferred doing so in broad daylight.
Old as the other rooms in the wing
looked, the Tapestrv room bore quite
the palm of ancient appearance.
The fumirura was nil o' the blackes
oak; the bedstead the usual four-postei
on wlffch our ancestors loved to stretch
themselves. But the carious feature of
thiroom, that which gave it its name,
was the tapestry. Not an irch of the
walls was to be seen; they were hung
completely with very ancient and very
faded tapestry. One Dame Clifford, of
long, long by-gone days, had worked it,
with the help of her maidens. She had
come to an untimely end ou the ve ~
day on which the great work of her lift
had been completed.
CONYERS, ROCKDALE CO., GA., FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 28,1884.
It does not matter to this story what
became of the proud and fair dame, but
it vas her ghost which was said to haunt
the wing, and the Tipestiy chamber in
partioular. Warden, my maid, as she
h^lp^d me to undress, looked quite pale
W1
“Thev do say, ma’am, as Dame
Clare Clifford appears with her head
tucked under her ann, and threads from
i lie old tapestry hanging to her skeleton
fingers. She’s dressed in gray silk, that
don’t rustle never a bit, though ’tis so
thick it might stand all alone, they do
say. ’Tis awful lonesome for yon,
madam, to sleep here alone, and I’ll slay
with you with pleasure it it comes to
that, though my rorves arn’t none of
the strongest.”
I thauked Warden, however, and as
snreri her 'ha. I was not in the least
a'raid; and she, with a well-relieved
fac», left me alone. I heard her foot
steps echoing down the corridor—they
died awav. I was now out of reach of
all human help, for in this distant room,
in this distant wing, no possible sounds
could reach any other inhabitants of
Aspen’s Vale.
I think I have implied that I was
brave. Tn my girlhood, in rov short
married life, even in the sad depression
of my earlv widowhood, I had never
known physical fear; nevertheless, when
the l&3t of Warden’s footsteps echoed
ont and died, and that profound stillness
followed which can be oppressive, I had
a curious sensation.
I did doe call it fear, I did not know
it for that grim and pale-faced tyrant;
but it made me uncomfortable, and
caused my heart to beat irregularly.
The sensation was this—I felt that I
was not alone.
Of course it waa fancy; and what had
I to do with fancy ?
I determined to banish this uncom¬
fortable feeling from my miud, ami
stirring the fire to a cheerful blaze, I
drew one of the black oak chairs near
it and sat down.
Warden had looked so pale and fright¬
ened before she left me, that out of con¬
sideration for her feelings I had allowed
her to leave the jewels which I had
worn that evening on the dressing
table.
There they lay, a set of very valuable
brilliants. There was an old-fashioned
mirror over the mantle-piece, and as I
sat by the fire I saw the reflection of my
diamonds in the glass. As I noticed
their sparkle, again that strange sensa¬
tion returned; this time more strongly,
this time with a cold shiver. I was not
alone.
Who was in the Tapestry chamber ?
Was it tlie ghost? Was that story true,
after all ? Of course I did not believe
it. I laughed aloud as the idea came to
me. 1 felt that I was getting quite
silly and nervous. There was nothing for
me but to get info bed as quickly aspos-,
Bible.
I was about to rise from my ea«y
chair and go ever to the old-fast : oned
fonr-poster, when again my attention
was at!• acted to Ihe glass over mi
head. It was hung iu such a way as ti
reveal a large portion of the room, and
I now saw, not the diamonds, but—
something else.
Iu :he folds of the dim and old-wo Id
tapestry I saw something move and gilt
ter. I looked again; there was no m's
taking it—it was an eye, a human eye,
looking fixedly at me tbiough a hole ii
the canvas. Now I knew why I felt thai
I was not alone.
Tuere w r as some one hidden between
the tapestry hangings and the wall ol
the chamber, Some one—not a ghost.
That eye was bumau, or I had nevei
looked on human eye before, I was
alone wilh a thief, perhaps wilh worse,
and gems of immense value lay within
his reach. I was absolutely agonized alone, not a
soul could hear the most cry
for help in this distant room.
Now I knew—if I had ever doubted it
Before—that I was a very brave woman
Tne imminence of the peril steadied
ihe nerves which a few minutes before
were beginning strangely to quiver. I
never started nor exclaimed. 1 felt that
1 had in no way betrayed my knowledge
to my terrible guest. I sat perfectly
still,’thinking out tne situation and my
chances of escape.
Nothing but perfect coolness could
win the victory. I resolved to be very
cool. With a fervent aud passionate cry
to O ;e above for succor, I rose from my
chair, and going to the dressinc-table, I
slipped several cosily rings <ff my fin
gers. I left them scattered carelessly
about, I denuded myself of all but my
wedding-ring. the extinguishers the
Then I put on
caudles—they were wax, and stood in
massive silver candlesticks.
The room, however, was srlll brilliant
with the light of the fire on the hearth,
I got into bed, laid nay' head or. the
pillow, and closed my eyes.
Ii may have been ten minutes—it
seemed more like an hour to my strained
senses—before I heard the faintest
movement. Then I discovered a little
rustic behind the tapestry, and a man
got out. When he did so I opened could not my
eyes wide; at that distance he
possibly see whether they were of open great or
shut. He was a powerful He man, had black
height and breadth. a
beard, and a quantity of thick blkck
’ noticed his features,which were
hair. I
• tolerably regular. noticed another pecnliarity;
I also
among his raven locks was one per
fectlv white. One rather thick white
lock was flung back off his forehead— so
white was it that the fire instantly re
vealedittome toward the
The man did not glance
oerf, he went straight, with no particu* ,
iarlv quiet step, to the dressing-table. him j
l closed my eyes now, but I heard
taking up my trinkets and dropping them
again. Tuen he approached the bed
side. I felt him come close, I felt his
breath as he bent over me. I was lv
ing on my side, my eyes were shut, I
W ^went awafagLhi; he returned to
pressing-table. ' )0 X y strike a match, I hoard then him with rather a
l-gh^ed approaelitd , candle the in bed. his hand 1 his he time once he more ben.
very,low mdeeu, and I felt the heat f
the flame as he passed it softly before
my mosed eyes. I lay still, however;
not fl movement, not a hurried breath,
betrayed me. him aBhort satisfied
1 meard give _ sign,
Agafn, candle in hand lie returned to
the dressing-table. Onoe more I heard
the lei ip king sound of my trinkets as
tfcej fell through Ins fingers,
1' ere was a pause, and then—for no
rea9 p that I could ever explain—he lett
the uukets uutoucked on tne table, and
weu t° the door,
H opened the cioor __ ana went out. I
knoll not what he went for perhaps to
f e1c t a companion, certainly opportunity to return—
but did know ihat my
had ome.
It an instant, quicker ihan thought,
f hap started Horn my reigned bolted slumbers; and
r at tLe doer, I had
lockid it. 1 here were several bolts to
tiffs bid-fashioned door, there were even
cha*|’fi.
I drew every bolt, I made every rusty
chain secure. I was not an instant too
soon. I had scarcely fastened the last
chain, with fingers that trembled, before
the thief returned.
He saw that be had been outwitted,
and his savage anger knew no bounds,
He kicked at the door, he called on me
wildljjtto open it; he assured me that ho
Liaddfccomplices outside, that they would
soon-burst the old door from its hinges,
and my life would be the forfeit.
To my terror, I perceived that his
words were no idle boast. The old door,
secured by its many fastenings on one
side, was weak on the other; its hinges
were nearly eateu through with rust;
they needed but some vigorous kicks to
burst them from their resting-places in
the wood.
I knew that I wa3 only protected thief for
a few minutes, that even if the was
alone he had but to continue to assail
the door as vigorously as he was now
doing for a little longer, to gam a fresh
entrance into my chamber.
I rushed to the window, 1 • threw up
the sash, and bent half out. Into the
clear calm air of the night I sent my
strong young voice.
“Help, help ! — thieves ! — fire ! —
danger!—help, help !’ and
] shouted these words over over,
but there was no response, except an
echo. My room looked into a distant
shrubbery; the hour was late, the whole
household was in bed.
The thief outside was evidently mak
ing way with tho rusty hinges, and I
was preparing, at the risk of any oonse
quences, the moment he entered the
room to leap from the window’, when I
heard a dog bark.
I redoubled my cries. The bark of
the dog was followed by footsteps;
they came nearer, treading down fa leu
branches, which crackled under tho
welcome steps. The next instant a man
came and stood under the window, and
looked up at me. I perceived by his
dress that he was a villager, probably
taking a short cut to his house. He
stood under the window; he seemed
terrified; perhaps he took me for the
ghost. He was not, however, all a
coward, for he spoke.
“What is wrong?” he said.
“This is wrong,” I answered ; “I am
in extreme danger— (xtreme danger.
There is not a moment to lose. Go in¬
stantly—instantly, and wake up the
house, and say that I, Airs, Crawford,
am in extreme danger in the Tapestry
wing. Go at once—at once !”
I spoke distinctly, and ihe man
seemed to understand. He flew away,
the dog following him.
I instantly threw myself on my knees,
aud in the terrible moments that fol¬
lowed I prayed as I had never prayed
before. Would the man be in time ?
Must my young life be sacrificed ? Ah!
no. God was good. I heard joyful
sounds; the thief’s attack on the door
ceased suddenly, and the next instant
the squire’s hearty voice was heard :
“Let me in, Honor ! What is wrong,
child ?”
I did let him in, and his wife, and
several alarmed-looking servants who
followed after.
We instantly began to look for the
thief, but—mystery of mysteries—he
had That disappeared. terrible black bail
man with the
and white lock over his forehead had
vanished as completely as though ho
bad never been.
Except for the marks he had made
with his feet on the old oak door, there
was not a trace of his existence.
1 believe the servants doubted that he
had ever been, and only thought that
the sleep young lady who was foolish enough
to visited in the bv Tapestry chamber ghost. had
been a new form of the
Be that as it may, we never got a clew
to where or how the man hail disap
peared.
*******
Ten years later I was again on a visit
at Aspen’s Yale. This time I did rot
sleep in the Tapestry room.
I now occupied a most cheerful, mod
ern and nnghost-iike room, and but for
one circumstance my visit weald have
been thoroughly unremarkable.
This was the circumstance which
seems m a wonderful way to point a
moral to my curious talc. I paid my
v i~it to the Cliff rds during the A.-siz ».
Kqtlire Ciriforu, as one of the most in-
NO. 88.
flnential county magnates, was neces¬
sarily much occupied with his magis¬
terial duties during this time. Every
morning he went early into Lewis, the
town where the Assizes were held. One
morning he told us of a case which
interested him.
“He is a hardened villain,” he said;
“he has again and again been brought
before me. but has never yet been con¬
victed. He is unquestionably a thief;
ndeed, one of the notorious characters
in the place; but he is such a slippery
dog, no jury has yet found him guilty.
Well, bo is to be tried again to-day, and
1 do hope we shall have some luck with
him this time. ”
The 8quire went away, and it came
into his wife’s head and mine to pay
a visit to the court, and see lor ourselves
the prisoner in whom he was interested.
No sooner said than done. We drove
into Lewis, and presently found our¬
selves in the large and crowded build¬
ing. When we entered, the case under
discussion had not begun, but a moment
after a fresh prisoner was ushered into
the dock.
What was the matter with me ? I
found my sight growing dim, I found
myself bending forward, and peering
hard. The memory of an old terror
came,back, the sensation of a couple of
hours of mortal agony returned to me
again. Who was in tlie prisoner’s dock ?
I knew the man. He was my guest of
the Tapestry chamber of ten years ago.
There he stood, surly, indifferent,
with bis vast breadth and height, his
raven black hair, and that peculiar white
lock flung back from his brow. He
did not glance at any one, but kept his
eyes * on the ground. contain myself; I forgot
I could not
every thing blit my sense of discovery.
I started to my feet, and spoke. he
“Mr. Clifford, 1 know that man;
was in my room ten years ago. Ho you
remember the night when I got the ter¬
rible fright in the Tapestry chamber in
your house? There is the man who
frightened me. I could never forget his
face. There he stands.”
Whatever effects my words had on
the Squire and the Judge, there is no
doubt at all of their remarkable signifi¬
cance to the prisoner. His indifference
left him; he stared with wide-open and
terrified eyes at me. It, was plain that
if I recognized him, he also recognized
me. All his bravado left him; ho mut¬
tered something, his face was blanched,
then suddenly he fell on his knees and
covered it with his hands.
My evidence was remarkable and con
elusive; and that day, for tho first time,
Hercules Armstrong was committed to
prison. He had long been the terror of
the neighborhood, and no ono regretted
the just punishment which had fallen on
him. What his subsequent career may
be I know not; this is the present end
of a strange and perfectly true story. —
Cassell.
A Clever Dodge.
The circnmstances under which the
son of Consul Dussi, recently captured
by brigands near Rodosto, was liberated
without paying a ransom are related as
follows by the Vienna correspondent of
the London Telegraph. The brigands
were surrounded by a detachment of
troops, under orders not to attack until
the young man should be in safety.
Meanwhile the brigands had run short
of provisions, especially of wine. M.
Dussi, their captive, suggested that he
should be allowed to write to his father
to send a few bottles, which was readily
assented to. M. Dussi accordingly wrote
the letter; but as none of the band
could read, he proposed mixed that a strong wine,
narcotic should be with the
and that a sum of £500 and a free par¬
don should be promised the messenger
if he assisted him to escape. The plan
wa3 carried out. When the wine ar¬
rived the brigands eagerly partook of it,
and were soon stupefied by the effects
of the narcotic it contained. M. Dussi
and his guide were thus enabled to get
away and to reach the nearest village oc¬
cupied by the gendarmes. The brigands
were then easily taken prisoners by the
troops, under the command of General
Alehemet Pacha. The member of the
band who contributed to M. Dnssi’s
escape has received the £500 promised
to him, and will not be in any way mo¬
lested bv the authorities.
.
Thrashed Tiro Cowboys.
President Potter, of Hobart College,
who bad just been elected Bishop of
Nebraska, was making a tour of the cat
tie country in August. At Paxton
Branch, on the Ogailala Land and Cat
tie Company’s range, the party heard
that Wilson, the man who tied Burbank
on the broncho’s back and turned him
adrift on the prairies, had been caught,
and was held prisoner at Blue Creek
ranch, GO miles distant. Bishop Potter
drove over there the next day, and
learned that Wilson was to be killed at
Sundown. The Bishop implored the
two cowboys who were guarding the
prisoner to release him, but they were
relentless. After pleading and praying
with them for a long time Dr. Potter
concluded they were past such influ
ence, aud wound up by giving them
both a thrashing. This done, he un
bound Wilson, who straddled a pony and
escaped. The affair made the Bishop a 1
hero among the ranchmen, and he was
induced to write a detailed account of
the rescue to his friends in the East.
----- j
iv agricultural exchange has Cobble an arti- i
clc beaded “Howto supple Treat !
.
Woiias.” We the polite thing
would ^ to offer them cabbage, unless
tffev expressed a preference for seme
Bili & ~
THE HUMOROUS PAPERS.
WHAT WE FIN1> IN THEM THAT
CAUSES US TO SMILE.
An Alter Effect—About the Pre»erre»—A
Terror to Teachers—A n Uncertain Matter
—He was Reckless. Etc.. Etc.
TRIALS OP THE ANGLOMANIAC.
“I see they had an eclipse of
moon in Europe night before last,
Alphonso.” Deah
“Yaas, I don’t donbt it. me,
they have evewy thing in Enwope. We
nevah get anything lieafa until it is all
worn out ovah theah. I suppose we’ll
be getting them along in a year or bo.
It’s such a boah, though, to wait”—
Chicago News*
WHY HER FATHER WAS A FLORIST.
During the organization of the schools
recently, in a certain town, the children
were interrogated as to the occupation
of their fathers. The question reaching
a bright little Bix-year-old girl, she re¬
sponded that her father was a florist
“A florist?” asked the teacher.
‘Where is his greenhouse ?”
“His greenhouse 1 He hasn’t any
greenhouse, ma’am.”
“Why, then, do you call, him o
florist ?”
“Ob, he makes floors for Thompson
k Taylor.”— Boston Transcript.
NOT MUCH CHOICE.
“Will you have some butter or some
jleomargarine ?” asked the facetious
boarder.
“What did we have yesterday ?” asked
‘bo thin boarder.
,r L don’t know."
“Well, if we had butter give me oleo¬
margarine, and if it was oleomargarine
I’ll take butter."
the musical block.
Hark and oh hear, the piano is banging—
(Sonnet and canticle, chant and glee);
The fellow upstairs his giiitar is atwanging,
The children are singing a jubilee.
Just over the way there’s a banjo, I think,
With its “Pink-a-punk-pank, pnnk, pink, pank,
pink;” with the flute
And down at the corner the man
Is rending tho night with a tootle-too-toot.
And oom pah-pah oom, pah-pah, bra-a, bra-a,
boom !
The brass band is practicing up in its room.
Bubdetts.
an after effect.
“Look here, Bridget,” paid a Van
Ness avenue matron to her cook tho
other day, “I really can’t allow yon to
have company in the kitchen every
night.” terrible fire ii
“It’s all along of the
Chicago, mum.”
“What on earth has that got to dt
with it?”
“Why, mum, ever since then I do be
afraid of fire, so that I have one of the
boys from the engine house round the
corner come and sit with me evenings,
It do make me feel more comfortable
aomohow.”_ San Francisco Post.
A TERROR TO TEACHERS.
Young Clipman suddenly returns from
sohooL “Why,” exclaims his father,
“havo you come back?” (Aside to a by¬
stander.) “He whips every teacher he
has anything to do with. Got the old
Clipman blood in him.”
“Oh, I couldn’t get along with the
teacher,” replies the young man.
“I don’t know what’s to become of
■ you. Why, sir, you arc a terror to
teachers. You whipped him, Isuppose T
“No, sir; he whipped me.”
QUEER HUMAN NATURE.
“Isn’t it a lovely day ?”
“Delightful. I feel magnificent.” 4 ‘
“So do L I never felt better in my
life.”
“Let’s take a drink.”
* ♦ ♦
“This is awfnl weather.”
“Awfnl I”
“Makes me feel miserable.”
“Yes, it gives me the bines.”
“Let’s take a drink .”—Pittsburg Tel¬
egraph.
HIS SALARY REDUCED.
“I shall be compelled to reduce youi
salary, Mr. Johnson, until cold weather
sets in,” said a mean employer to his
bald-headed bookkeeper.
“Why?” asked the old fellow, with a
sinking heart.
“Because I notice that a large por¬
tion of the time which should be devoted
to my service is spent by you in fighting
flies off the top of your head.”
BO RECKLESS.
“What are you going to do with
that ?” asked a gentleman upon enter¬
ing his room and finding a negro with
his coak “Discoat?” “Yes, that coat I”
“Wail, I ain’t goin' ter do nothin’ wid
di3 coat. Thought dar wuz suthin’
wrong.” “There is something wrong.
Yon are in the wrong place, and I want
you to get oat.” “Ain’t yer gwinter
’pjoy me no mo’?’’ “No, I am not.’
“Dat’s whut er man gits fur being so
kereful. Hadn’t er been fur me yer
wouldn’t er had no clothes.” “How
so?" “’Case I could er stole , em ii . fT
bad er wanted ter; dat’s bow so.” “I
believe you did steal my vest.” “Didn’t
jo nothin’o’de kin’.” ’ “ ‘I T believe *’• yot
did IUU steal 8 . . that .. . *» gray ’* vest, for it disap
pc area shortly a. ter came.” “It
wuz de black vest, eah. White mans so
reckless wid de truf ver kain put no
con ferdence in him.”—Ar&ansaw Trav
eler.
A . B *■'' b • , _ t , nt mU sic
^ _ easy
8t ° r6 Si : 9 * oa
Boston-Providence ri pieces . for begin
^rs?" “What are Boston-Providence
pieces?’ asked the astonished oWk.
‘ P ecos without auy runs in them,” ex
pWd . . the .. blUe , ereJ sm SWt - eUr ‘
