Newspaper Page Text
VOL. V.-NO. 35.
' the PROPHET WIGGINS.
ATTKIBVTKD TO HIMSELF.
.„ ~n th e biz. of the weather to scan,
rU ,ake “?Ji to mvself. says I.
raani
| ‘^ r Arbors and
F Ti.uMor the fun there will bo iu these
P W»Ito myself, says I.
rn find me a storm in tho'iands of the East,
ril fina l *' mvself. says 1.
That 11‘level the trees, la-h the waves into
JI shvs Ito mys df, says I;
biooly
11l mfiVe the whole univers ■ tremble and
g SHys Ito myself, says I.
L nt-
■yor 1 am the Wiegins, a prophet forlorn.
1* Says Ito myself, says I;
Bke'er have known fame since the day 1 was
bom.
Sa vs I to myself, says I;
■t now to mv zenith I’ll rise with a swoop,
■jd great is the honor 111 got tor tny
Hien tbe°lith comes in with a rush 4ml a
whoop—
■ Says Ito myself, says I.
1 ’ IV.
' Bi? timid will flee Into holes in the ground,
■j Savs Ito myself, says I,
' j.nd Wiggins’ name 'mid the caverns will
sound,
Says I to myself, says T.
When lightning shall pierce the dread sul
phurous gloom.
And old Mother Sh pton s.ts up in her tomb.
Why, then is the time that the Wiggins will
boom—
Says I to myself, says I
v.
Tve fixed for a tide in the Hay of Bengal,
Says Ito myself, says I.
So Gloucester sailors will look for a squall,
Says I to myself, says I;
While every poor mortal that daily doth dwell
Beneath the great forty-and-flfth parallel,
Will find some storm-center to raise “ quite a
spell,”
Says I to myself, says I.
VI.
So, now we shall see if those Washington
chaps,
Says I to myself, says I,
Who Issue the r bulletins, guesses and m ips
Says I to myself, says I,
Can size tip a storm such as I have forecast
That won't leave a sad, or a spar or a mast.
That bend to the breeze before it is passed
Says I to myself, says 1.
VII.
You ask bow it is that I get on its track,
Says I to myself, says I,
By the twinge of my corn and the crick in my
back.
Says I to myself, says I;
These are the signs, and I figure them out.
It’s lucid as mud, and no room for a doubt,
Excuse me, O! Vcnnor, excuse if I shout,
Says I to myself, says I.
BY ANOTHER.
There was a vain prophet named Wiggins,
Mho posed as the seer of the “ diggins;”
Said he to himself:
“ I will rest on the shelf.
It seems a cold day for poor Wiggins.”
Nr,w.».
THE TRUMPETER’S HORSE.
I was nearly forty years of age, and
felt myself so safely anchored in the
peaceable haven of a bachelor’s life that
nothing eoul 1 induce me to run the
risk of disturbing it by marriage. But
1 had reckoned without the trumpeter’s
horse.
It was at the end of September, 1861,
that 1 arrived at Paris from Baden, in
tending only to remain four-an l-twenty
hours. 1 had inv.ted four or five iiriends
to join me in Poitou for the hunting sea
son, and as they were, to arrive at the
beginning of October I had only al
lowed myself a week at La Roche Targe
to prepare for their reception. A letter
from home awaited my arrival at Paris,
bringing me the disastrous intelligence
that out of twelve horses five had
lmen ill or lame during mv stay at
Baden, so that 1 was under the nc es
sty of remounting my c.ivalry before I
lelt Paris.
1 made the round of all the horse deal
ers of the Champs Elysees, where 1 was
shown a collect on of screws, the aver
ageprice of which was £l2O, but 1 was
neither in a humor nor incash to throw
w,l y my money upon such useless
nfru 8 * ,twas a Wednesday, the day
ot Chen s autumn sale; 1 went to the
nue de lonthicu ami purchased at a
. n of 6 ei £ bt horses which cost me al
together £2OO. -Out of the eight.”
fmir n « myße ! f> “ there Will bc SUl’ely
tom or five which w 11 go.” ‘
wlitoi 0 ?- th / se borsea "there was one
acc.mnt l '° n J? SS ’ 1 bou £ bt pr ncipaliy on
not "• ° f I h ‘ s £ oat - The catalogue did
tion« S ' K ’ n \' any special qu difica
*’”S a hunter. All that it stated
well hr, L IU, M S ’ , a saddle-horse, aged,
trrav 1> °^ Cn ’i was a large, dapple-
Etter mart- i’ 1 - neVer had 1 seen one
dappleds® d ’ ?. ts snio °tb, white skin
TaroZnd 1 left for La Roche
arrived Mv« r fo . l,owin S da y my horses
This ~ro 1 ' lst carc "as lor Brutus,
the last foH? 18 ” k a< l bccn runnin g f °r
and 1 wai ,5 ’ Clght ho,,rs in my head,
see\ h T ‘ J 1 "* 10 "’ J*? his paces and
teeth nn S g °° d for ’ Hc had long
Hire\n«2Tr V l mark of a respectable
his hU i ’ 1 jUI s h°ulder. and he < arried
in Bnmw elh bu * what 1 most adnd red
looked a WaS < th .? Way in "hieh he
ment with h/’ evc ry move-
quisitivc b a V cntlve ’ intelligent, in
to X'i’t E T en rav words%eemed
one side n h'f 1 ?' i‘ e leaned his head on
had t m s h^‘ toll< i ar nte ’ and w hen I
merry netoh rcpHed With a
were bronchi lhe other seven horses
hut thev r'l 1 1° me ,n succe-sion,
>» any other horses,
lhem al i ® am y WaS dilTere nt from
ride in the L anxious to take a little
ac'iuaintance Untly Or ' ler to make his
brHl?d US aid°m d h ’ ri ' sclf to b « saddled,
knew his wor? O " n, . e ' 1 “ a horse who
together 1 ’ We Parted quietly
had a f ’ ie “ d « possible. He
to every turn of "? outh ; and answered
neck and - the re m—archin<r his
wS a . nd f c p hamP u g Y biL His P
measured cantn * 6 by a slow,
high and S ’ r T 31Dg his feet ver y
repulari* of l h ? m fall with the
at a t ??t and a r ndul 'im. I tried him
aud a short gallop, but when I
<Zlic Dolton Dnius.
sought to quicken his pace ho began to
amb'e in grand style. “Ah,” said 1;
“ I see how it is; 1 have bought an old
hor c o t of the cavalry riding school at
baumur.”
I was about to turn homeward, satis
fied with the ta’ents of Brutus, when a
shot was heard a short distance of. It
was one of my keepers firing at a rab
i bit, for which shot be it said.cn passant,
he after.vards received a handsome
present fro 11 my wife. 1 was then ex
actly in the < enter of an open space
where six long, greeiProads met. On
hearing the shot Bru! us stopped short
and put. his ears forward in an attitude
of listening I was surprised to see him
so impressionable. After the brilliant
military education I assumed he had
received in his youth, he must bc ac
customed to the report of a gun. I
pressed my knees against him to make
him move on, but Brutus would not
stir. 1 tried to back him, to make him
turn to the right or to the left, but in
vain. I made him feel my whip, but
still he was immo able. Brutus was
not to be displaced; and yet —do not
smile, for mine is a true history—each
time I urged him to move the horse
turned his head round and gazed upon
me with an eye expressive of impa
tience and surpriseand then relapsed
into his motionless attitude. There was
evidently some misunderstanding le
tween me and my horse. I saw it in
his eyes. Brutus was saying as plainly
as he could without speech: “1. horse,
do what 1 ought to do; a d you. horse
man, do not perform your part.”
I was morepu zled than emba - rassed
“What a strange horse Cheri had sold
me! and why docs he look upon me in
such away?” I was about to proceed
to extremeties and administer to him a
good thrashing when another shot was
tired.
The horse then made one bound. I
thought I had gained my point and
again tried to start him, but in vain,
lie stopped short and planted himself
more resolutely than ever. I then got
into a rage and my riding-whip entered
into play; I took it in both hands and
struck the horse right and left. But
Brutus, too, lost patience, and, finding
p ssive resistance unavailing, defended
himself by rearing, kicking and plung
ing, and, in the midst of the battle,
while the horse capered and kicked,
and I. exasperated, was Bogging him
with the loaded butt end of my broken
whip, Brutus, nevertheless, found time
to look at me, not only with impatience
and surprise, but with rage and indig
nation. While I required of the horse
the obedience he refused, he, on his
part, was expecting of me something I
did not do.
How did this end? To my shame be
it spoken, I was relentlessly and d s
grace'ully unseated. Brutus saw there
w s to be nothing gained by violence,
sb judged it necessary to employ mal
ice. After a moment’s pause, evi 'ently
passed in reflection, the horse put down
his he d and stood upright on his fore
h gs with the address andequilibriu n of
a clown upon his hands. 1 was, conse
quently. deposited upon the sand,
which, fortunately, happened to be rath
er thick in the place where I fell.
I tried to raise myself, but I cried out
an I fell stretched with my face towards
the ground. 1 fell as if a knife were
sticking in my left leg. The hurt did
not prove serious—the snapping of ono
of the small tendons—but not the less
pains I succeeded, however, in turn
ing myself, and sat down; but while I
was rubbing my eyes, which were filled
with sand, 1 saw the great foot of a
horse descend gently upon my head and
again extend me on my back. 1 then
teit Quite disheartened, and was ruminat
ing in ray mind what this strange horse
could be, when 1 felt a quantity of sand
strike me in the face. I opened my
eyes and saw Brutus throwing up the
du t with both fore and hind feet, try
ing to bury me. This lasted for several
minutes, wh n, apparently thinking me
sufficiently interred, Brutus knelt by my
grave and then galloped around me, de
scribing a perfect circle. I called out
to him to stop. He appeared to be em
barrassed; but seeing my hat, which
had been separated from me in the fall,
he took it between his teeth and galloped
down one of the green paths out of
sight.
i was left alone. I shook off the sand
which covered me and with my arm and
right leg—my left I could not move —
dragged myself to a bushy hank, where
I seated myself and shouted with all
my might for a-sistanee. But no an
swer; the wood was perfectly silent and
deserted.
1 remained alone in this wretched
condition above half an hour, when 1
saw Brutus in the distance, returning
by the same road by which he went,
enveloped in a cloud of dust Gradu
ally, as it cleared away, 1 saw a little
carriage approaching —a pony chaise —
and in the pony chaise a lady, who
drove it, with a small groom in the seat
behind.
A few instants after Brutus arrived
covered with foam. He stopped before
me, let fall mv hat at his feet, and ad
dressed me with a neigh, as much as to
say: “I have done my duty: I have
brought you help.” But 1 did not
trouble myself about Brutus and his
explanations; 1 had no thought or looks
save for the beautiful fairy who had
come to my aid, and who, jumping
from her little carriage, tripped lightly
up to me, and suddenly two exclama
' tions were uttered at the same moment:
“Madame de Noriolis!”
“Monsieur de la Roche Targe!”
I have an aunt between whom and
1 myself my marrying is a source of con
-1 tinual dispute.
“ Marry,” she would say.
“ 1 wili ndt,” was my answer.
1 "Would you have a young lady?
! There is Miss A, Miss B, Miss C. ”
“But I won’t marry.”
DALTON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, APRIL 21, 1883.
“Then take a widow; there are Mrs.
D , Mrs. E., M s E., etc.
“But marry 1 will not.”
Mme. de Noriolis was a'ways in the
first rank among my aunt’s widows. To
tell me she lively aud pretty
was unnecessary, but, after settin ; forth
all her attractions, my aunt would take
from her secretary a "map of the district
where she lived and point out how the
estates of Noriolis and La Roche Targe
joined, and she had traced a red line
upon the map uniting the two proper
ties, which she constantly obliged me to
look :t. “Eight hundred acres within
a ling fence! A fine chance fora sports
man.” But I would shut my eves and
repeat as befo e: “I will never marry.”
Yet, seriously speaking, 1 was afraid of
Mme. de Noriolis, and always siw my
hea I encircled with :11 aureole of her
aunt’s red line. Charming, sensible,
t dented and eight hundred acres with
in a ring fence! Escape so your safety
if you will not marry.
And I always did obc ipe, but this
time retreat was impossible. I lay ex
tended on the turf, covered with sand,
my hair in disorder, my clothes in t t
tei s : nd my leg stiff.
“What are wo doing here?” inquired
Mme de Noriolis. “What has hap
pened?’
I c ndidly contessed I had been
thro" n.
“ But you are not hurt?”
“No, but I have put somethin" out
in my leg—nothing serious, f am
sure. ”
“And where is the horse which has
played you this trick?”
“I pointed out Brutus, vho was
quietly grazing upon the shoots of a
broom.
“How! it is him, the good horse!
He has amply repaired his wrongs, as
I will relate to you later. But you must
go home directly.”
“How 3 I can not move a step.”
“But I am going to drive you home,
at the risk of < ompromising you.”
And calling her little groom, Bob, she
led me gently by one arm. while Bob
took the other, and made me get into
the carriage. Five minutes afterwards
we were moving in the direction of La
Roche Targe, she holding the reins and
driving the pony with a light hand, I
looking at her, <on f used, embarrassed,
stupid, ridiculous. Bob was charged to
lead back Brutus.
“Extend your leg quite straight,”
said Mme. de Noriolis, “and I will
drive you very gently to avoid jolting.”
When she saw me comfortably installed,
“Tell me,” she said, “how you were
thrown, and I will explain how I came
to your assistance.”
1 began the story, but when I spoke
of the efforts of Brutus to unseat me
after the two shots, “1 understand it
all,” she exclaimed; “you have bought
the trumpeter’s horse.”
“The trumpeter’s horse?”
“ Yes, that explains it all. You have
seen many scenes in the Cirque de
I’lmperatrice, the performance of the
trumpeter’shorsc. A Chasseur d’ Afrique
enters the arena upon a gray horse;
then comes the Arabs, who tire upon
him, and he is wounded and falls; and,
as you did not fall, the horse, indignant
at your not performing your part in the
piece, threw you down. What did ho
do next? ’
I related the little attempt of Brutus
to bury me.
“ Exactly like the trumpeter’s horse.
He sees his master wounded; but the
Arabs may return and kill him, so what
does the horse do? He buries him and
gallops off, carrying away the colors
that they may not fall into the hands of
the Arabs.”
“That is my hat which Brutus carried
off.”
“Precisely. He goes to fetch the
vivandiere —the vivandiere to-day being
your humble servant, the Countess de
Noriolis. Your great gray horse gal
loped into my court-yard, where 1 w r as
standing on the doorsteps putting on
my gloves and ready to get into my
carriage. My grooms, seeing a horse
saddled and brid'ed with a hat in his
mouth and w thout a rider, tried to
catch him, but he escaped their pursuit,
goes straight up the steps and kneels
before me. The men aga n try to capt
ure him, but he gallops off’, stops at the
gate, turns round and looks at me; so I
jumped into my carriage and set off.
The horse darts through roads not al
ways adapted for carriages, but I follow
him and arrive where 1 find you.”
At the moment Mme. de No iolis had
finished these words the carriage re
ceived a fearful jolt and we saw in the
air the head of I r t r . who w s stand
ing e:ect on his hind legs beh'nd us.
Seeing the little back seat of the car
riage untenant d, he had taken he op
portunity of giving us ano her speci
men of his talents, by exccutingthe most
brilliant of all his circus perfor 1 an es.
He, had placed his fore feet upon the
1 ack seat of the little carriage, and was
tranquilly continuing his route trot
ting upon his hind legs alone, I’ob
striving in vain to replace him upon four.
Mme. de Noriolis was so frightened
that she let th ■ reins escape fro n h r
hands and sank fainting in my ar ns.
Wi h my b’ft hand I recovered the reins,
with my right arm I supported Mme. d •
Nor olis, my leg al! the time causing the
most frightful torfirc.
In this manner Mm ’. de Noriolis nude
her first, entry into La Roclio Targe.
When she return d six weeks later she
had become mv wife.
* such, indeed, is life,” she ex
claimed. “ This wo Id never havecome
to pa-s if you had not bought th .‘trump
et r’s hors •”
;
—A Committee of the Tennessee
Legislature appointed to riwtl home
of Andrew Jackson find the H«g
in sad need of rep*" and gol ° B t
decay.
Cold Snaps.
“ We’re havin’ some pretty wlntrish
Weather,” said old Daddy Wotherspoon
to Uncle Sammy Honniwell, as the two
gentlemen met near the City Hall.
“ Right for’ard weather for the season.”
“Jist so; jist so,” conceded Uncle
Sammy. “Reminds me of the fall of
1831. It commenced Tong the fore part
of November, and froze stiff till March.
Good, smart weather, too. I remember
that it was so cold in Brooklyn that
November that bilin’ water froze over a
hot fire.”
Daddy Wotherspoon looked nt him
and braced himself. “Yes, yes,” said
he, “ I mind it well. That’s the fall the
milk froze iu the cows. But the cold
season was in 1827. It commenced in
the middle of October and ran through
to April. All the oil froze in the lamps,
and we didn’t have a light until spring
set in.”
“Ay, ay,” responded Uncle Sammy,
growing rigid. “ It’s just like yesterday
to me. 1 walked 110 miles due east
from Sandy Hook, on the ice, and slid
back, owing to the convexity of the
earth, you know. It was down hill
coinin’ this way. But that wasn’t as
cold as the winter’of 1821. That season
commenced in September, and the mer
cury didn’t rise a degree till May. Don’t
you remember now we used to breathe
hard, let it freeze, cut a hole in it,
and crawl in for shelter ? You haven’t
forgotten that?”
“Not I,” said Daddy Wotherspoon,
after a short pause. “ That’s the win
ter we used to give the horses melted
lead to drink, and keep a hot fire under
’em so it wouldn’t harden till they got it
down. But that was nothin’ to the spell
of 1817. We begun to feel it in the lat
ter part of August, and she boomed
stiddy till the 30th of June. I got
through the w hole spell by living in an
ice-house. It was too cold to go out
doors, and I jist camped in an ice
house. You remember that season of
1817. That’s the winter we wore un
dershirts of sand-jiaper to keep up a
friction. ”
“Well, I should say I did,” retorted
Uncle Sammy. “ What! remember
1817 ? ’Deed I do. That was the spell
ivhen it took a steam grindstone four
days to light a match. Ay, av! But
do you know I was uncomfortably warm
that winter ?”
“How so ?” demanded Daddy Woth
erspoon, breathing hard.
“ Runnin’ around yonr ice-house to
find out where you got in. It was an
awful spell, though. How long did it
last? From August till the 30th of
June ? I guess you’re right. But yon
mind the snap of 1813, don’t you ? It
commenced on the Ist of July, and went
around and lapped over a week. That
year the smoke froze in the chimneys
and we had to blast it out with dyna
mite. 1 think that was the worst we
ever had. All the clocks froze up so we
didn’t know the time for a year, and
when men used to set fire to their build
in’s so’s to raise the rent. Yes, indeed.
I got $3,000 a montli for four bumin’
buildin’s. There was a heap of sufferin’
that winter, because we lived on alco
hol and phosphorus, till the alcohol
froze, and then we cat the brimstone
ends of matches and jumped around till
they caught fire. Say, you—”
But Daddy Wotherspoon had fled.
The statistics were too much for him.—
Brooklyn Eagle.
The Excellence of Marriage.
Happy unions are always voluntary,
not only at thebeginning, but as long
as life lasts. Love cannot be made free
by a change of statutes. It cannot be
bound or lost under any circumstances.
If the State should listen to the petitions
of those who ask that sex relations be
exempt from control, the experience of a
quarter of a century would convince the
world that the old, long-tried, monoga
mic solution of the sex question is the
wise one. There are evident reasons
why such a result would come. In all
the past emotional experiences of the
race, it has been found impossible to
create an intense idealization of more
than one subject at one time; and it has
been found, too, that when such an ideal
ization has been tested by knowledge and
time it does not diminish, but deepens;
and that the effect of this long-continued
idealization is to create the best condi
tions of development, both for those who
exercise it, and for those toward whom
it is directed. Now. if the best condi
tions of happiness are once secured they
should be maintained. It is not possible
to bring out all the results of this mu
tual sex idealization in any short period
of association. The very fact that the
association is a permanent one gives it
earnestness and dignity. It would not
be possible to extract from a half-dozen
associations, extending over a period of
twenty-five years, the same amount of
fine character-development that would
oome from one fortunate association lust
ing for the same time. When we are
once sure of the wisdom, and integrity,
and affection of some friend through
long experience, we spend no more brain
activity in learning his peculiarities of
character and in adapting ourselves to
them. The association of man and wife
is rather moral and affectional than intel
lectual. It is a rest, a certainty, a point
of departure for other activities. Once
settled, and safely settled, we waste no
power in readjusting the relations, but
take the fruit as it ripens, without the
need of uprooting the old and planting
new trees.— North American Review
—A Virginia weekly, which has been
o jd one being rather•stiff wi‘? Sprint-
The Way to Do It.
In 1871 a farmer bought 400 acres of
reputed poor land in Glynn county.
Ga., and poor land there is poor land
indeed, such as California farmers
know but little, if anything, about.
Upon this land he put 100 sheep. In
1873, by natural increase, he had 875
ewes, and had sent to market 75 wethers.
He had a portable fence and penned his
sheep nightly, and every two nights
they manured two and a half acres well.
In the first eight years ho had 1 (Ml acres
of land highly manured and in a state of
cultivation, which, when he purchased
it, was almost worthless. This man has
always kept a book account of every
dime and dollar spent upon his sheep,
and by casting up a balance sheet after
several years found that his sheep cist
him exactly 75 cents per annum per
head. They average him about throe
and a half pounds of wool each. Last
spring he clipped in May and again in
September, and the clip amounted to
five and a half pounds per head. Last
year ho sold 800 pounds of wool, mak
ing an absolute net profit of $1,664.
Last year he sold 92 wethers as mutton
for $312, making a total of $2,289; be
sides this, from 81 acres of the fertilized
poor land 41 acrosin corn, averaging
31 bushels; 10 in sugar-cane, that made
50 barrels of sirup; 15 in oats, that aver
aged 42 buslipls to the acre; besides
growing other truck. Now if a man
can take a poor piece of land and with
good management bring it into a high
state of productiveness at no expense,
but on the contrary, make money all
the time he is doing It, nnot a person
take good land and keep it up to its
( present standard? Os course it can bo
done, with far less trouble than
the poor land can be brought un;
but the trouble is t hat when the orai
nary tiller of the soil st arts on good rich
virgin soil ho is prone to believe that
with ordinary cultivation it will always
remain so, and he puts forth no efforts
to keep up lhe fertility of the soil, and
as his land yields a little less
year by year, ho attributes the cause to
the season or the seed, and never for
a moment thinks that it is on account
of the constant and gradual decline in
the fertility of the soil. The proper way
to farm is to keep your land in at least
its original condition of fertility, and
this can be done with anything like
good management. Then it should be
the object and effort of every laiqlowner
to so manage as to keep up the fertil
ity. A bushel of wheat more to the
acre on all the land in wheat last jjear
in the United States would have made a
difference in the aggregate crop of
about 80,000,000 bushels, and this sold
at $1.25 per bushel would have givqp to
the producers $100,000,000 more than
received. A general increase is desir
able and can ue obtained.— San Fran*
cisco Chronicle.
A Base Impostor.
A farmer from the vicinity of H< nip
stead appeared in front of the Stock lux
change and entered into conversation
with a citizen who was waiting in the
door by asking:
“ The convention in there breaks up
at 3 o’clock, don’t it ? ”
“Yes, that’s the hour,” was the reply.
“Do you know Jay Gould when you
see him ? ”
“Oh, yes.”
“ Is he in there ? ”
“ I presume so.”
“Well, I wish you’d point him put to
me when he comes out.”
The citizen promised to do this, and
within a few minutes he kept his word.
The farmer took a square look at the
railroad and telegraph prineb, and then
turned and asked:
“ Are you dead sure ? ”
“Oh yes.”
“ Can’t I - ® no mistake ? ”
“No.”
“ Well, it’s about as I suspected. A
few days ago a great big sloii h of a fel
low halted at my gate and began meas
uring my ground with a tape-lme, and
squinting around in the most mysterious
manner. I wen tout to see what was up,
and, after beating around for a while, he
said he was Jay Gould, but 1 didn t
know what he looked like.”
“ ft must have been a fraud ? ”
“I am sure of th it now. I pumped
around to find what he was up to, and
he finally said he wanted my place for
an orphan asylum. He was going to
build one as big as a palace and take
care of all the orphans in the country.”
“And of course you treated him
well?”
“ Didn’t I! Why, for three days he
lived on the fat of the land and slept in
the parlor bedroom. He was going to
give me $25,(M10 for my land, and the
wav we killed chickens and turned out
sweet cake for him made the old woman
sick. He finally jnmi>e<l the house and
trsik my Sunday suit and fiddle worth
“ I don’t believe Gould would steal a
fiddle.”
“That’s what I thought, and so I
came over to have a hx>k at him. It
wasn’t Gould at all, but some base im
postor.” I(
“And you are so much out.
“Well, it looks that way; but the
experience is worth something. It
may not be a week before some one else
will come along with a ten-f<x>t pole 111
his hand and a theological semimiry in
his eye, and claim to be Bussell .Sage
and the way I will kn<x-k him down, and
Ht < p on him, and walk over him, and
drive him into the sile will pay me a
profit of 50 per cent, on ther vestment.
__ Wall Street Newe. ,
ei « h ' CCn /
TERMS: SI.OOA YEAR.
PITH AND POINT.
—An lowa editor has a lengthy
editorial entitled “A Month of Horrors/’
and he was married only about six weeks
ago.— Toledo Sunday American.
—The Chicago underwriters want a
law limiting the height of buildings.
They say the line must be drawn some
where in the sky.— N. 0. Picayune.
—A potato can never engage in a
prize fight for the reason that as soon
as it begins to take off its jacket a
‘peeler’ interferes and puts out its eyes.
—When a fellow gets a letter for his
wife out of the post-office and he for
gets to give it to her for a week or so,
tho safest way of letting her have it is
to tie it on tho end of a long fishing
Eolo and poke it through a window to
er.— Kentucky State. Journal.
—Tho trade in mean ooal is slack.—
Glasgow Timet. It’s a grate business
all the same.— The Drummer. When
you Hue in how did you know it would
soot?— Glasgow Times. Well, we just
thought if wo couldn’t fire it, kindling
would.— Peck's Sun.
—“ Those pios,” explained ono
boarder to another at a table d'hote, as
he endeavored to rollsh one, “were
made for the Saratoga races of 1875,
and were secured by the proprietor of
this hotel at auction last autumn. They
do not require mustard or vinegar.”—
Hotel Mail,
—A well-known journalist was taking
a walk oije evening with his wife when
she, who is somewhat romantic and an
admirer of nature, said: “Oh, Georgy,
just notice the moon!” “Can’t think
of it, my dear, for less than two shillings
per line,” was the reply.— Chicago
Tribune.
—“ What makes old Bulger stick out
so in front?” inquired one boy of anoth
er concerning a rather corpulent, pro
trusive neighbor. “1 know,” was tho
reply, “ ’cause I heard him tell father
last night. He says he’s been carryin’
a secret a good while, an’ he can’t bold
it much longer.” “Shouldn’t think he
could,” rejoined tho interrogator; “but
what an explosion there will be when it
does go off.”— Yonkers' Gazette.
—Dumpsoy went hunting the other
day and took Johnqy with him. They
saw a rabbit, and Dumpsoy drew up
and shot. The cap exploded and there
was a long splutter, and finally, just as
Dumpsey took tho gun down, the gun
went off. When they got home the folks
asked Johnny what luck they had had.
“Oh,” said Johnny, “papa sawarabbit,
but his gun stammered so ho couldn’t hit
it.”— Burlington Free Press.
—There is such a beverage made and
known as artillery punch. We are liv
ing witnesses to the fact that it is no
misnomer. When it attacketh a man it
layeth him low and he knoweth not
whence he cometh or whither he goeth.
Like death, it knoweth no ago or station
in life, or, in other words, “it is no re
, specter of persons.” It lacks respect.
* There’s where the trouble is. Its work
is as quiet as the breathless working of
wizard oil. Being so full of tho subject
wo might write a lecture on it, but will
forbear.- Columbus (Ga.) Tinies.
WAIFS AND WHIMS.
Something to be sneezed at—snuff.
A cbuelj husband calls his wife “green
fruit,” because she never agrees with
him.
Few men arc so awkward with tools
tliat they cannot work a corkscrew quite
handily.
It is bethr to give than to receive.
This relates especially to advice and
medicine.
They say Chicago girls never find it
hard to elope. They make rope ladders
of their shoe-strings.
There are some men so talkative that
nothing but the toothache can make one
of them hold his jaw.
Minnie Banks, of St. Paul, kissed her
lover 614 times without stopping. Min
nesota liked it, anyhow.
“Strive to make a good impression
wherever you go.” said Jones, as ,ie
pulled his foot out of the mud.
When a man and a woman are made
one, the question “which one’ 1S *'
bothersome one until it is ijettled, as 1
soon is.
It is about as difficult to convince a
burglar that the owner of the house is
afraid of him, as to convince the house
holder that the burglar is afraid of h‘/a.
The angel of midnight-thc woman
who opens the street for her hus
bandwhenhe is trving to unfix k e
bell-knob, and then lets bun sleep on the
hall-floor. .
When a Michigan minister is about to
elope with the wife of a parishioner he
preaches a farewell sermon and exalts.the
duty of patience and long suffering.
This sort of pours oil on the troubled
waters in advance.
There is to lie a club of circus men.
There will be no chairs in the club, not li
ing but trapezes. When they dme every
body will stand on his head.
be no stairways. The members wi g
into the club by climbing the waterspout
and coming down through the cb * n ‘ ll(^ s ;
A religious tract, called “Put Not
Your Trust in Princes,” was thrown into
the safixm of a simple old (ter
man He read the title, and soh
onized- “Veil, I don’d put some drust
a?
dis shop chust <ler sauio as
l
haa apruDg UP liab al ticlo is m-
IJverpooL 1 , _ rico than tho
ferior and bangs r
American. —rr. • v