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LUMPKIN &. JORDAN, Editors and Proprietors VOLUME II.: A LEGEND OF ARABT. BY ROBERT BURDETTB •Twas even, and Fatima, old and gray, htood at her door to hear the khadoot sing; And as tlie tarboosh tolled the close of day, #t kne beard her iaithful Bah-wow whimpering. Kooftah; the dog is hungering,” she said, And too stuck up, I reckon, to eat bread.” Straightway she oped the ke-yew-übbghrd door the dim relic of the soup—a bone; While Bon-wow sat expectant on the floor, And pounded with his tale in monotone. But she put on her khalfadon, and said, “ There is no meat; by-nings; you must cat bread.” She took the Wady Hadjr in her hand, And sought the Beled Yemen down the street; While the low sun across the desert sand Touched with the hadramant Akaba’s feet. To speak her hunger, quick she touched her throat, i okoob el Hated, ha ben sie auch brod?” Then raised her finger in the air, and smiled. “ Hoop-la!” she said: “ just put on the slate.” And homeward lied, while Haled, somewhat riled, Marked on her score twelve cents instead of eight. But when Fatima readied the ranch—zounds! Bah-wow had sought the happy hunting grounds. In speechless grief she dashed upon the floor The loaf, for lack of which the dog went dead. She paused one moment at the open door; \. °> be’s too thin for sausages,” she said, ” Sihond mehanna drahy jab el wag gin!” (Give me a cracker-box to put my dog in.) But. at the door she stops and gives a shriek That can be heard aiNedjcu, fourteen miles, For the dead Bah-wow, placid, happv, sleek, Sits up alive, looks in her face, and smiles. ‘‘ Islam Abdallah! Nassir-cl-wahed matchet!” Which means, “Just wait a minute and you’ll catch it!” She sought the bazaar of the slioosterman, And cried, “ Ah! Wilkin, I would buy a boot, Strong as a derrick, that will boost a man High as the price of early northern fruit.” She put it on, and found her dog, the brute, At the front window, playing of the flute. Then she was mad. “By Ibrahim’s beard!” she yelled, “ I’d rather hear a double-barrelled bassoon!” She raised her foot; with rage her bosom swelled, Anil then she lifted Bah-wow to the moon. “ Wadji iouarick! Ganattee! ki-yi’d!” Which* means, “I wish I’d stayed dead when I died.” Slow sinks the sun; the tarboosh on the jeld By the kafusha’s marabout is thrust; And scarce mourzouk in the nagah held, - Breathes in the haunted bustchufullah’s crust. While the gafallal sings the Biulween chants. Likewise his sistahs. cuzzhans and hvshantts. Stories and Sketches. THE FLOWER GIliT BY MIXNIE HOLBROOK. “ Millicent, Millicent, where is sup per?” “ God only knows, child.” obuiug ixicu mo lutie fire on which their last atom of wood was burning, and seeing in the red ashes into which the light wood dropped so quickly, pictures of the past. They had never been rich people, but always com fortable. Her father was a seafaring man—first mate of an ocean vessel—and her mother a tidy housewife, who mado everything bright and cozy. How he used to sit telling his adventures to them when he was at home. He would not have been a sailor bad there not been sea-serpents and mermaids in them, butnothing was wonderful for those loving folk at home to credit; and indeed be probably believed them him self. The rooms had been pretty with shells and coral branches, and bright parrots in swinging cages and pictures of ships upon the wall. It had been so different from this wretched place in which the two girls now lived. That was not all; the lave was gone, the tender care that parents have for their children. The mother lay in her green grave in a far-off cemetery; and who can point the place of a shipwrecked sailor’s grave ? She remembered so well how he sailed away that last time—how she looked after him, her mother and herself —how they waited for news, and waited in vain, until at last there came to them a sailor, saved from the wreck of the “ Flying Scud,” who told how she went down in mid-seas at the dead of the night, ablaze from one end to the other; and how Eoger Blair, the first mate, was among the missing. After that, poverty and sorrow; de parture from that dear old home; toil and a strange city, sickness, friendless ness, and the crowning woe of all, the mother’s death. The girl had done her best for her little sister ever since, but she was not a very skillful needlewoman, and could not earn as much as some others; and now work had given out altogether, and she, pretty and sweet and good, and help ful in a daughterly way about the house, was not quite sure that she could win bread for two in any way—bread and shelter and fire. She was only seventeen, and a frail little creature, with very little strength in her small body, and now that matters were so bad, who can wonder that she almost despaired? ‘‘l suppose it isn’t quite supper time yet?” said little Jane again. “What shall I do?” said Millicent to herself, as she looked about the room. “J have sold everything—the clock, the books, even mother’s work-box and the parrot. There is nothing left. The child will starve before morning. Oh, what shall I do ?” She arose and went to the window, and looked down into the street. It was dirty and narrow, and swarmed with filthy children. Opposite was a little drinking shop, about which a blind man with a fiddle drew a profitless audience. Nothing sweet, or fresh, or pure met her eye there, butbetween that scene and herself a sudden breeze blew a beautiful screen, and there was wafted to her through the broken glass an exquisite perfume. On the sill without stood a rose in a broken tea-pot: She had picked up the slip among the rubbish cast out by a neighboring Jf) o}: i “is*-' ”'' RISING FAWN, DADE COUNTY, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, DECEMBERXjIS79. gardener, and it had grown well in its handful of earth. To-day it had bloomed; a perfect rose, exquisite in shape, perfume and color, drooped from one stem, and beside it a half-blown bud gave promise of another flower as lovely. Until this moment Millicent, in her anxiety, had forgotten her one treasure. But for a gentle shower that bad fallen that morning it might have withered where it stood, for she had not even watered it. Now a bright thought flitted through her mind. She had often seen children selling flowers in the street, and ladies and gentlemen seemed glad to buy them. She would force herself to be courageous. She would go out into the street with this rose and its bud, and some one would give her enough to buy a loaf of bread, or at least a roll for little Jane. She would do it—she would. She tied on her hood and rapped her shawl about her, and plucking the flower and a leaf or two, and that bright bud, that seemed perhaps the fairer of the two, bade Jane be good and wait for her, and went down stairs and out from the dingy cross street into Broadway. There every one save herself seemed gay and happy, and well dressed. She seemed to be a thing apart—a black blot in all this brightness. - She stood at a corner and held out her flowers, but it seemed that no one heeded her. At last she gathered courage to touch one of the ladies that passed, and say: “ Buy a rose, lady—buy a rose! Please buy a rose.” But the woman hurried hv as the rest did. It would not do to stand still. She walked on slowly. Whenever she caught a pleasant eye, she held out her tiny bouquet and repeated her prayer. “Buy a rose! buy a rose!” But the sun was setting, and she was opposite the City Hall Park, and still no one had bought her flowers. She was growing desperate. Some one should buy it. Jane should have bread that night. ‘Buy a rose! See! Look at it! See how pretty it is!” she cried, in a voice sharpened by hunger and sorrow. “ Look! You don’t look at it, or you’d buy.” “These street-beggars should be sup pressed,” said a stout man she had ad oi Yjt I J II gjivo VOU in charge if you don’t behave yourself.” “He don’t know; he don’t know,” said Millicent to herself. “ Nobody could guess how poor we are. Oh, what a hard, hard world!” Then she went on, not daring to speak again, and. her rose drooped a little in her fingers, and sti'll no one seemed dis posed to buy it. In her excitement, she had walked further than she knew. Shfe was far down Broadway, and before her was Bowling Green, with its newly-trimmed grass plot and its silvery fountain. A little further on the Battery, newly restored to its pristine glory, and on its benches some blue-bloused emigrants, with round, Dutch faces, and their bare headed wives with woolen petticoats and little shawls crossed over their bosoms and knotted at their waist. As they stared about them, it struck the girl that they, fresh from the sea, might be tempted by the fresh, sweet rose she held in her hand, to spend a few pennies; but when she offered it to them, she saw they were more prudent. They only shook their heads solemnly, and looked away from her. And this last hope gone, despair seized upon Millicent. She sank down upon a bench and began to weep bitterly. The twilight was deepening. She was far from home and little Jane. She was faint with weariness and hunger. Be yond the present moment all seemed an utter blank to her. She covered her face with her hands; the rose dropped from her lap unheeded. She ,carea for it no more. * Fate was against her, that no one would even buy a beautiful flower like that from her. There were steps. She heeded them not. There were voices. It mattered not to her. Suddenly some one said: “What a beautiful rose!” And the words caught her ear. She looked up. Three or four seafaring men, with bundles in their hands, were pass ing by, fresh from the ocean evidently, embrowned with the sun and wind, and the ship’s roll still in their gait. Sailors were always generous. One of these would buy the flower. She held it out. “Buy it, please?” she whispered, faintly. “Please buy this rose?” “I’m glad to get it,” said a stout elderly man stepping forward. “What’s the price, my lass? Will that do?” He tossed three or four foreign-looking silver pieces into her lap, and took the flower. Then looking at her very closely, he spoke again: “What’s the trouble, lass? Don’t be afraid to tell me. I had a little girl of my own once. She’s dead now. Tell me, can I help you?” Millicent looked up. The man’s face was half hidden by his hat, and he was stouter and grayer than her father had been, but she fancied a likeness. “You have helped me, sir,” she said, by buying the rose. Thank you very much. My father was a sailor too; and he was ship-wrecked.” “It’s a sailor’s fate,” said the man. “It’s time you was getting home, lass. This eitv is no place for a young girl to be out in after night. But just wait. A sailor’s orphan has a claim on a sailor, and my poor little Millicent would have been about your age if she had lived.” “Millicent!” screamed the girl. “Oh, mv name is Milligent. I’m frightened. I don’t know what to think. You look like him—you. I’m Millicent Blair. My father was Roger Blair. Is it a dream? It can’t be true. It can’t be father!” “ Faithful to the Fight, fearless Against the Wrong.” But the next instant he had her in his arms, and she knew that the sea had given him back to her. Wrecked with the vessel, but not lost. He bad been cast upon a desert island, whence he escaped, after three weary years, only to find his little home empty. The widow had left her little cottage to earn her living in the city, and news of her death had been brought back to old home by some one who had been in New York when she died, and who had either heard or imagined that her chil dren were dead also. And the news was told to Roger Blair by kindly people who believed it thor oughly, and had borne it as best he could, and had sailed the sea again, a weary, heart-broken man. He had not found all his treasures, but that some were spared was more than he had ever hoped; and the meeting be tween father and daughter was like that between two arisen from the dead. And so the rose bush had done more for Millicent than she could have dreamt; and to this day it is the most cherished treasure in the little home where the old man lives with his two daughters; and when once a month, its blossoms fill the air with their fragrance, they crowd about it as about the shrine of some sainted thing, and whisper: “But for this we should still be parted.” Cultivation of Wheat. [Detroit Free Press.] ’ * A communication has reached this office over the signature of A. B. Travis, of Oakland County, which gives some interesting statements concerning wheat culture. Samples of wheat in the sheaf were sent to illustrate the points made. He says: “My rotation is wheat, corn, oats, clover two years and summer fallow. The sheaf of wheat was grown in a field drilled on September lGth, 1878. Each alternate tooth in the drill was closed up thus throwing the rows of wheat fourteen inches apart. About four pecks of seed was used per acre and the crop was given a thorough cultiva tion, once in the autumn and twice in the spring with a horse wheat hoe, the work being done at the rate of one acre per hour. I am satisfied from my ex perience that the crop cn ordinary soil may be thus increased from five to twenty bushels per acre. “Pursuing this method I would always put my ECViI Upon ft L.iUvr. Last year a committee was selected to gather, weigh and pass judgment upon wheat managed differently upon my place. The soil was similar in two pieces, but in the one the drills were eight inches apart and ninety pounds of wheat sown per acre and no inter-cul ture employed; while in the other the drills were sixteen inches apart and sixty-four pounds of seed sown per acre, and the grain was cultivated between the fall and spring. Three samples of each were taken, equal spaces being measured off, with the following results: Weight. Test No. 3, 16-inch space, cultivated ...3 lbs. 4 oz. Test No. 1, 8-incb space, not cultivated... 2 lbs. Test No. 2, IG-inch space, cultivated 3 lbs. 2 oz. Test No. 2, S-iuch space, not cultivated...l lb. M oz. Test No. 3, 16-inch space, cultivated 2 lbs. 10 oz. Test No. 3, S-inch space, not cultivated ...1 lb. 10 oz. “The committee found that there was a difference in favor of the broad culti vated drills, having less seed of sixty nine and one-third per cent. “Again, another difference was noted: In the three samples without culture the number of heads of wheat was to the three samples with culture as 1039 is to 1541, showing that the tilling in the lat ter case produced more heads than the increased seed in the former. lam sat isfied also that by cultivating wheat and thus increasing the number and strength of the shoots we are doing all we can to help grain to overcome the ravages of the Hessian fly. On strong soils, too, the j stand will be stronger from cultivation and not se apt to lodge. My experience has all been in favor of thill sowing and inter-culture.” A Well Governed City. Paris is the last place a runaway criminal would wish to go to. Such is the vigilance of that city’s government that no rogue can possibly hide there and no honest man lack protection. The population, floating or permanent, of every arondissement or ward in Paris is counted officially every month. Be your abode at hotel, boarding-htuse or private residence, within forty-eight hours you are required to sign a register, giving your name, age, occupation, and former residence. This, within the time mentioned, is copied by an official ever traveling from house to house with the big blue book under his arm. The register gives, also, the leading characteristics cf your per sonal appearance. Penalty attaches itself to host or land lord who fails to get and give to the offi cial such registration of his guests. There are no unmarked skulking holes in Paris. Every house, every room, is known, and under police surveillance, every stranger is known and described at police headquarters within a few days of his arrival. Once within the walls of Paris, and historically, so to speak, your identity is always there. In ease of injury to any person the sufferer is not dependent on the nearest drug store for a tempo rary hospital, as with us. In every arondissement may be seen the prominent sign, “Assistance for the wounded, asphyxiated or poisoned.” Aliove always hangs the official tri-color. I say, “official ” because a certain slender prolongation of the flag-staff denotes that the establishment is under govern ment supervision, and no private party may adopt this fashion. The French flag is not flung to the breeze like the Stars and Stripes, so that none can toll whether it indicates a United States government station or a beer saloon. A REIGN OF SNAKES. A Railroad Rlockaricri with Them, and m Train Compelled to Halt. [Communication in St. Louis Globe-Democrat.] In Northwest Missouri, where cx-Gov. 1L M. Stewart resided years before and after his political career, up to the time of his death, many old citizens love to tell of his brilliant conversational pow ers and inexhaustible fund of anecdotes. The Governor often told of the difficul ties which he had to surmount, and in one of his happiest moods he related a si* .ke story which I have never seen in print. In those days, said the Gov ernor, snakes were not only uncommonly numerous, but infested certain portions of the State to such an extent that farmers would often pack up their house hold wares and remove elsewhere. Dur ing the building of the road I have seen them so troublesome and numerous that the hands would sometimes stop work and inaugurate a short campaign against them with shovels, axes and crowbars. The serpents were not vicious, the men being hardly ever bitten, but the great vexation consisted in their so ciability and perfect indifference to. danger. They apparently were utterly devoid of that instinct of self-preserva tion with which the Almighty endowed every creature. At night they would sometimes make sleep impossible by hissing and squirming in and about the tent.3, and during the day they would vex the men almost beyond endurance by running between their legs and otherwise annoying them. They were not considered dangerous, being of that species known as prairie hissers. It was only now and then that a rattler was dis covered among them, and death was sure to follow, for the men would alway stop and find time to chase one until he was overtaken and his head chopped off. 1 The men always dreaded a shower, for then the snakes were the worst. They would literally swarm out on the prairies and travel in schools. On one occasion of this kind, when the road was in course of construction in Livingstone County, the construction engine with tlitee flat cars was at the last camping place, about ten miles in the rear of the track builders. I was there awaiting the landing of some tools and spikes, which it was intended to convey to the end of the road. It had been raining a! morning, but cleared up about noon, - -hi jwUnd i.Gj-o weather was pleasant but a little hazy. We had traveled about half the distance when the engineer—l was riding on the engine - called my hun dreds of snakes crossing sVera'nuindred yards in front of us, for a short distance being black with them and en tirely lost to sight. The engine-driver opened the throttle and in a few mo ments we were crushing through them. The driveA had not made more than two or three revolutions when they began to fly around at lightning rapidity, and the speed of train was slackened. The wheels of engine were almost clogged with ernsned snakes, and still the track was actually buried beneath them for oiA hundred yards in front of us. We not succeed in getting much more Wieadway, when the train came to a standstill. We were unable to make our way through them, and amused ouselves by knockiflg them off the engine. We were detained nearly an hour before the grand march of the serpents had crossed and we were en abled to proceed. They seemed to be moving that day, and the earth seemed to be alive with them; indeed they seemed to cover the earth. A Cool Letter from a Husband. [London World.] I have become accidently possessed of the following letter, which is a correct copy of one lately addressed by a Cor poral of Marines to his wife, from a ves sel which is at present stationed off the west coast of Africa. “ Wife— l was greatly surprised to hear from you (through my Captain). I had forgotten that I was married, and to tell you the truth, I had entirely forgot ten you. I should have thought that a handsome young woman like you would have been above applying to a poor marine for help. I think you have been guided by your mother in* this matter, as you have in all others. Weil, I should like you to act upon my advice for once; that is to take no notice of your mother, do the best you can for yourself, and, if possible, get married again. It might be better for you. I can assure you that I never will* troublayou as long as I Ijve. lam very comfortable in the service, and there is no doubt but that I shall stay in the service for the next 16 years. My Captain said that he would not interfere with my private affairs, and if I Had any trouble with you to take no notice of it. I must now conclude, arid I don’t think I shall ever see you or Man chester again, for I have greater attrac tions in Portsmouth than any other part of England. “ I remain, etc. “P. S.—l cannot return your letter as it is lost.” In this letter the sternness of the war rior and the inconstancy of the sailor are fearfully and wonderfully combined. “Long Metre” inquires “How do you cure hams?” Dear Metre, it de pends on what ails the hams. If they nave a slight cold, soak their feet in hot water and feed them composition tea. If there are symptoms of consumption slice thin and fry and the consumption is assured. H you wish to prevent the consumption, hang the ham out doors where the sun can strike it for a week or two. , 0 The quantity of gold minted in Vic* toria, from the discovery of the precious metal to Dec. 31, 1873, is estimated at £192,050,682. This production has shown a steady decline of late yean. Music in Stones [Now York Herald.] Avery interesting and curious exhibi tion was given by M. Baudrc at Charlier institute yesterday afternoon. M. Baudre made the accidental discovery of musical notes in pieces of flint, and for twenty four years he has been collecting enough of these stones to make a chromatic scale. He has now perfected his discovery and has made a musical instrument of the same general idea as the harmonicon,* but which is much mo're powerful. The stones, which are of various sizes and form, are just as he found them, no artificial aid being brought to bear in adapting them to this use. The instru ment is composed of an iron frame, along the top of which the stones are suspended by means of stout twine; then, with two bits of stone that have no resonance M. Baudre played a variety of tunes, mak ing nice harmonies and bringing forth exceedingly sweet tones. The stones are not regulated by weight, ns entirely different notes weigh just the same; the musical quality is something given them by nature. Besides the stones, M. Baudre had a number of bits of wood about the size of an old fashioned clothes-pin, which he threw on the marble floor one at a time, and they produced the regular notes of the scale with remarkable correctness. The singing stones, however, are the more interesting of M. Baudre’s dis coveries. _ Recovering a Lost Watch. [Bridgeport (Conn.) Farmer.] Horace Wedge, of Long Hill, Bridge port, went out shooting recently, and returned at night after a tramp cover ing several miles of ground. After his return home he put his hand in his hip pocket for his watch and found it was missing. He then remembered that at Stepney Depot, that day, he and his companion had pulled out their watches and compared them with the depot clock; but this was worth nothing as an indication for finding the lost property, as they had tramped a weary round since then. That or tnfe foUpwing night he dreamed that he saw his watch lying near a beach tree, in a run near Long Hill, where they had killed a couple of birds, and so vivid was the dream that the following day he resolved to go and take a look for the watch. He found the tree he saw in his dream without dif ficulty, and, lying near it, just he had pictured in his dream, he found the miss watch safe and sound^ Angels Don’t Chew Tobacco. A Methodist minister, the Rev. Mr. H , was a good man, but rough in his ways, and very fond of chewing tobacco. One day he was caught in a shower in Illinois, and going to a rude cabin near by, he knocked at the door. A sharp looking old dame answered his summons. He asked for shelter. “ I don’t know you,” she replied, sus piciously. “Remember the Scriptures,” said the dominie. “‘ Be not forgetful to enter tain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.’ ” “You needn’t say that,” quickly re turned the other; “no angel would come down here with a big quid of tobacco in liis mouth!” She shut the door in his face, leaving the good man to the mercy of the rain and his own reflections. Changing the Color of the Eyes. The strangest news coming to us from Germany—even stranger than that the effeminate Viennese should welcome the man who conquered them at Koniggratz —is that a learned doctor has discovered a means of dying human eyes any color he likes, not only without injury to the delicate orbs, but, as he asserts, with positive advantage to the powers of sight. He can not only give fair ladies eyes black as night or rpbrient skies by day, but he can turn them out in hue of silver or gold. He says golden eyes are extremely becoming. Nothing goes down without a grand name; therefore, the German doctor calls his discovery “Occular Transmutation.” He declares himself quite ready to guarantee success 'and harmlessness in the operation. Sensations After an Opium Smoke. De Quincy’s “Confessions of an Opium Eater ” do not describe those of an opium smoker, although the feeling must be somewhat similar. The strangest dreams overtake the unconscious sleeper, the pipe falls from his hands, hi3 face becomes livid, and the visions that pass before his drugged fancy are simply delicious. No dreams of pleasure, no fancied beauty, can equal the scenes and forms called up in the visions of the opium smoker. After half an hour of perfect content and rest the victim wakes to find that with the dawn of reason comes the waking, racking brain. The head feels about ten times its usual size, and the feeling about the heart is most pain fuL •uorjnios pauoo jsjij aqi roj sgmn jbo jo rind jpsq b puß jßnop y •AouaSraraa oqt oj jvnba eq A sqa x jjtm ‘st uoi;sanb oipp -AouaSaouio aq; aq ajq uio’jj tutqsip spuooas jjnq-B puß omj ‘aouaj pvjqqgia uu ‘.A {vnba euroq mi qi{M sjibj *noa srq Saiuußj pnq pvtu b I x aoj puß}g 'U HM f 3 T ’ c to speak,; Kaiaoaj Tue Cji § have decf not ed f ? r its dainty hea following is one of its recc | Qot have be in di rection: 1 ' John Q. Can non, Bri" an jiristoej r -> a *?d Jonn Ta y lor „- ! whom I was tor Con tempt. -dvanced clc YOUM, ' rrfa^'KpVl l^o S’ 0111- eDer * gies in att too delicate a shade of clc is don't care for them. The / occupies their attention. TtRMS : si,oo prAnnum, in AJm*©*. NUMBER 7. fiOOI)-MIIT. Good-night! I have to say good-nigbt To such a host of peerless things! Good-night unto the fragile hand All queenly with Us weightof rings; Good-night to fond uplifted eyes, Good-night to chestnut braids of hair. Good-night unto the perfect raoutb, And all the sweetness nestled there— The snowy hand detains me, then I’ll have to say good-night again ! But there will come a time, my love. When, if I read your stars aright, I shall not linger by the porch With my adieus. Till then good-night I You wish the time were now? And I. You do not blush to wish it so? You would have blushed yourself to death To own so muchrft year age— What? both these snowy hands? Ah, then, I’ll have to sav good-night again I Clipped Paragraphs. A barber generally dyes by over work. Mary had a little lamb. It was roasted and she wanted more. Even criminals like paragraphs —that is to say, they prefer a short sentence. It is a rule of the penitentiary to cut the locks off before turning the locks on a prisoner. The boy who is well-spanked fully realizes the deep meaning of sterns juitice. “ Be careful how you punctuate the stove,” is the latest. It means not to put too much colon. It’s not only hard work to pop the question, but it is equally hard to ques tion the pop about it afterwards. A lame farmer was asked if he bad a corn on his toe. “No,” he said, “but I’ve got lots on the ear.” Cervantes has said, “ Every one is son of his own works.” This makes the great Krupp a son of a gun. A man may have a Boston look in his eye simply by letting liis imagination dwell on the things that have bean. Just as soon as ladies' belts are made to look like surcingles horses will de . mand a change of fashion for them selves. Don’t judge a man by his clothes. Can you tell what the circus is going to be like by looking at the Italian sunset pictures on the fence?” Job has been marked down in history as the patient man. The fact is that at one time he was just boiling over with impatience to die. If the surrounding circumstances are congenial, it is fair to conclude that the position preferred by lovers is juxtaposi tion which suits them. A projectile weighing 1,700 pounds, shot from a cannon charged with 425 pounds of powder, is the latest. Why not use the earth fora cannon ball? An Irishman should patronize the concrete pavement, because every time they look upon it they will see their country’s emblem—sham-rock. Kansas school-teacher: “Where does our grain go to?” “Into the hopper.” “What hopper?” “Grasshopper,” tri umphantly shouted a scholar.” Full many a flower ra bom To blush unseen, And many a man Likes his com Behind the screen. “ I AM glad that painted belts are in style,” said a frisky fellow, as he artis tically decorated the one he received over the eye the previous day. A correspondent wants to know what is an affinity. An affinity, my dear sir, is something that exists be tween a small boy and his neighbor’s grape vine. A man’s clothes are not always indi cative of his character; for a fellow may wear the loudest kind of garments and yet be as mild and quiet as an autumn sunset. Fashion understands that a lady is in a full dress when the trail of her garments cover her form, the spittoon and three squares of Brussels carpet at the same time. A rather gaily dressed young lady asked her Sunaay-sehool class what was “meant by the pomp and vanity of the world.” The answer was honest but rather unexpected: “Them flowers on your hat.” H e stole along the edge of the patch, Till an object his keen eyes fell on; 110 snatched it up and waltzed away ’Twas a squash instead of a melon. - _ —Joaquin Miller. “ How came you to be lost?” asked a sympathetic gentleman of a little boy ho found crying in the street for his mother. “ I aint lost,” indignantly exclaimed tho little threc-vear-old; “hut m-m-m-y mother is. and I ca-ca-can’t find her.” The other day, an old toper, recover ing from a prolonged spree, sat reading the morning paper. Soon he looked up and exclaimed. “Why, bless my soul, the rebels have been firing on Fort Sumter!”— Cincinnati Saturday Night. “Johnnie, what is a noun?” “Name of a person, place or thing.” “ Very good; give an example.” “Hand-organ grinder.” “And whv is a hand-organ grinder a noun?” “ Because he’s a per son. plays a thing.” He is a fruiter’s factotum; and when he writes letters for his employer, and signs them “John Smith, per Simmons,” he instinctively puckers up his lips. It is seasonably suggestive, and he can’t help it. A story in an exchange is entitled “In Two Halves.” Will the author kindly inform a suffering public, blindly groping about in the misty avenues of ignorance, in how many more halve i it would have been possible to have Had that storv? The author of “Grandfather’s Clock ’ is at last meeting his punishment. One of his daughters, not able to stand the tick any longer, recently stopped short before a clergyman with a runaway young man, promised never to go single any more, and the old man nearly died.