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LUMPKIN & JORDAN, Editors and Proprietors
VOLUME 11.
WHAT IS IT.
What ra’t that every fibre thrills,
That every sense of beins fills.
That memory robs of other things,
What is’t that makes the strong man weak,
That makes ike robust pine ami peak,
Thar makes the ruddy face turn pale,
Thai makes the heart of bravest quail?
What makes the knees together beat?
What makes one limp from head to feet?
What makes one wiithe in sore distress.
And bends him up like letter S?
What causes groans with every brcath7
What reconciles to instant death?
What is’t that makes the baby weep?
What is’t that visits hhn in sleep,
And prints the semblance of a smile
Upon his Ups, that doth beguile
”l'he women folk—queer, foolish things—
■s tul make them talk of angel wings,
Of cherubim and seraphim,—
Those creature* of that old wife’.-, whim,
That when in sleep a baby smiles.
The angels whisper it mean whiles?
Wlmt wakes that baby from his dream
Awake with call kqiic scream?
What makes that precious baby wake?
Hood friends, it is the stomach ache.
Stories and Sketches.
A HEART OF STONE.
>
The old clock in the wall rang out five
melodious chimes, as Cora Smith softly
closed the kitchen door, and ran to the
little bedroom for her blue scarf.
“ Five o’clock,” she said, as the last
stroke died away; “he is wondering
why I don’t ccme, and I must haste.
Madge, little Madge, are you coming
with me to-night? lam all ready.”
Little Madge, the twelve-year-old sis
ter, came flying through the hall.
“ Auntie say3 you have forgotten to
get the potatoes for breakfast, and we
must prepare them before you go.
Never mind if he does have to wait a
little for you; you’ve waited for him
many a time. Come quickly and I will
help you.”
So sweet-tempered Cora Smith untied
the blue scarf, and tripped away to the
forgotten task as merrily as her little
sister, albeit her heart beat like an im
prisoned bird’s at the delay.
The West was all aflame with the au
tumn sunset ere the sisters closed the
cottage door behind them, and ran down
the garden path toward the stile, where
he was waiting—in other words, where
hazel-eyed, sweet-faced Cora Smith’s
City lover was waiting for his lady-love,
as she had many a night waited for
him.
Almost every evening they met them
at the stile—their “ trysting place,” he
said, just half-way between her home
and his boarding-house. He had pro
posed it, and she was nothing loth to
accede—it was so pretty and roman
tic.
Then, Auntie Smith was not at all
pleased tfrith this dark-eyed young
stranger, and though she had not for
bidden him the house, both lovers knew
she preferred “his room to his com
nanv.” And so, always with dear little
Madge at her side, she daily trip}>ed
down the path through the leafy woods
to the half-way trysting place where she
met her handsome, dark-eyed lover,
Neil Rowan. How her heart fluttered
to-night as she thought of him 1 and the
warm love-light deepened and darkened
the soft bro wn eye3!
“Neil, Neil,” she said, almost uncon
sciously, aloud; and little Madge clasped
her sister’s hand closer, and looked up
in her face.
“ Do you love him so very much sister
Cora?”
A swift, hot color came into the girl’s
cheeks, and then she paused suddenly,
holding the hands of little Madge in a
fervent grasp.
“ Love him! love him! Madge? better
than all the world—better than my
youth, my life—aye, sometimes better
than my hope of heaven! And I want
to be his wife, little Madge, this good
man’s wife, when the beautiful Spring
comes. I shall leave you, and auntie
and uncle to be his. But this is our
secret, little sister, and only you can
share it.”
And then her hands relaxed their
hold, and drawing the light scarf over
her shoulders, the pair tripped slightly
on. They were almost there—nearing
the edge of the wood, and the stile was
but a step away. Another step for
ward, and then Madge held her sister
back.
“Wait!” she whispered; “lean see
two men on the seat, Cora. We do not
want to see strangers there.”
“No,” she said drawing back in the
wood; “it is Neil’s friend, Willis Dean.
We will wait until he goes for I do not
ike to meet him.”
Even as she spoke the figure arose,
and the sound of the voice came on the
. twilight air, distinct and clear,
j “And what of this love affair, friend
iNeil? When is it to end, and how?
g Are you really in earnest, and do you
me in to marry the girl?”
| Cora Smith’s hand closed upon the
! ‘arm of Madge till she shrank in pain
while they waited for the answer. Neil
%Howan laughed softly.
I “Marry her!” he repeated. “She is
just the subject for a grand flirtation,
and I assure you I have done the thing
well. But for anything further—bah!
I am going back to town to-morrow,
and this is our last meeting; so be off,
old fellow, for 1 expect her every mo
ment.”
| J list for one moment Madge Smith’s
h 'art stood still in awful fear, for she
thought that Cora was dying. That
white, ghastly face there in the twilight,
'. that motionless figure, those tightly
locked hands, it surely was not the fair
Bweet maiden of a moment before. But
Stlu spasm passed off, and without a
j|pord, she arose, and glided noislessly
|way, and Madge followed her in
/ iilence.
jf Neil Rowan waited until the light
i had all died out in the West, and the
* dew lay like summer rain on the grass
at his feet. His cigar was smoked
down to ashes, and his lazy reverie
§mh §omtv §mtk.
RISING FAWN, DADE COUNTY, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, JANUARY 1, 1880.
was broken by the cry of the whip-poor
will.
“She isn’t coming to-night,” he said
mentally; “ that is certain. The schem
ing auntie up yonder managed to pre
vent it this time. Oh, well, it saves a
scene. I will drop a loving farewell
note, and so it ends—a summer’s amuse
ment. Ha! hum!” and Neil Rowan
strolled homeward, singing half uncon
sciously, “I won’t have her, I know—l
won’t have her, I know—l don’t care a
straw who has her, I know.”
The farewell note came to Cora Smith
the following night, but the fever-britrht
eyes never rested on the creamy page,
for, ere the insane light gage place to
reason again, death sealed the white
lids. To such natures as this girl’s,
love is, life; and the rude blow that
woke her from the one bright dream
ot her youth, snapped the tender cord
that bound her frail spirit to earth, and
out of the depths of her awful grief, the
kindly hand of death led her.
Day by day, week by week, months,
so sped the time until eight years w r ere
counted. Eight times the grass had
grown over the littie grave in the lonely
country graveyard, and again the Oc
tober winds rustled the scarlet leaves
over the narrow mound.
Wonderful changes had the eight
years brought. Side by side with this
grave were two others, and the head
stones bore the names of good Aunt and
Uncle Smith. They rested there
six years; and every summer beautiful
Madge Smith came down from her city
mansion, and lingered in the old home
a week, trimming the grasses and plant
ing bright flowers on the mounds.
Bright, beautiful Madge Smith, the
heiress of all Uncle Smith’s hidden
wealth, the wealth he guarded so well
during that toil-worn, weary life.
Three years before, Madge Smith left
school, to reign queen of society. Beau
tiful, strangely beautiful, with that
cold, white, high-bred face, those wide,
fathomless, glittering amber eyes, a
figure matchless in symmetry and grace,
accomplished, polished, and the heiress
of great wealth, no wonder that lovers
old and young, knelt at Madge Smith’s
shrine. A strange wonder the world
said, that all were scorned —not gently
and with w'ords of pity and apology,
but spurned from her very feet with
scornful lips and blazing eyes.
Aye, Madge Smith was an enigma
and mystery to all who knew her. No
warmer friend, no brighter companion
did those of her own sex seek for. But
never were those lips seen to smile, or
those wonderful eyes to soften, in re
sponse to any lover’s ; no glacier more
frigid than she to all men. All, did I
say? Nay, Dame Rumor had plenty of
gossip just now. Only a few weeks
since anew rival appeared on the scene
of action. Neil Rowan, merchant and
millionaire, entered the list of Madge
Smith’s adorers—not for wealth, surely
Madame Grundy acknowledged graci
ously. He had enough of his own. It
was genuine love that this blase man of
society felt for beautiful Madge. And
a wonderful change had come over the
fair lady since his appearance. Bright
before, she was brilliant now—sparkling
witty, bewildering; and the world looked
on in amazement to see the flush stain
her cheek, and the bright smile that
lighted her eyes at his approach.
And did he not recognize her, you are
wondering? Nay, how should he?
Sweet Cora Smith and the summer in
the county were forgotten things with
this man. He had broken half a dozen
silly hearts since then, and left them all
with time, the great healer. He had
flirted with society’s queens, and village
maidens, innumerable, and left the past
all behind him. And now he came and
laid the first pure, real love of his life
time at this woman’s feet. So he told
her, one autumn night, in the grand
parlor of her stately home.
How her hands trembled and her eyes
shone as she listened. ,
“Wait,” she said, “I will give you
my answer to-morrow night; it is my
birthnight, and I shall give an entertain
ment. You will come; I will answer
you then. Be in the library at ten, and
you shall hear my answer.
And the night came and he was there
waiting. He paced the room impa
tiently. Would she ever come, this
girl that was dearer to him than life ?
Ay, she was Ufa to him. The world
had seemed old, stale, favorless, until
he met her, the woman who, alone of
all her sex, had ever stirred the slum
bering passions of his heart. How
bright the future seemed! He was so
sure of her answer; had not she given it
in so many words?
“My beautiful, my queen!” he said,
softly. And just then he heard the
light ripple of a woman’s laugh in the
adjoining room. Her laugh; he knew
it among a thousand; and her voice;
she was speaking loud and clear.
“ There, Guardie; you must let me sro
now. Mr. Rowan is waiting for me in
the library. You know 1 am to give
him his answer to-night.”
And the guardian’s voice, speaking
tenderly, said:
“ And that answer, I can guess it, lit
tle Madge. You are going to marry
this man, and leave us all.”
She laughed, softly.
“Marry him? No, indeed, sir? Jle
is just the subject for a grand flirtation.
and I assure you I have acted my part
well; but for anything further—bah!
But he is expecting me, so by-by till I
come again,” and she tripped lightly
through the half-open door, ere the
amazed guardian could utter a sylable.
A white, ghastly, shivering figure
stood by the window.
“ For God’s sake, Madge Smith, tell
me you were but jesting!” he cried, aa
“ Faithful to the Right , Fearless Against the Wrong.’’
brilliantly, growingly beautiful, she
glided into the room.
“Not so, my friend,” she answered,
lightly; “I spoke the truth. Jf you
overheard my words, I need not repeat
them. It is my answer.”
“ But you gave me hope; you led me
on; you have given me reason to think
you loved me,” he cried, passionately.
“It is the one love of my life! I have
centered every hope and thought in you,
Madge Smith, and, for my sake, for
God’s sake, do not wreck my life!”
She was pale now, and her eyes were
black and glistening.
“ Neil Rowan,” she said, slowly, “ I
have prayed for this hour for eight
years; but never in my wildest dreams
did I think my prayer would be so fully
answered. When I saw the hue of
death, the white agony on my only sis
ter’s cheek—when I saw her writhe in
speechless agony at the words she heard
eight years ago to-night, I vowed to
avenge her. Again, when I heard the
thud of the earth upon her coffin, I
vowed that vow. It has been brought
about, even sooner, more complete, than
I had thought. If I have given you
one hour of such agony as she suffered,
lam content If you could live and
suffer it for countless ages, I should be
better contented. My work is ended.
Good-night!”
Two hours afterward, the sharp ring
of a pistol rang with startling distinct
ness through the crowded drawing room.
All sprang to their feet, save Madge
Smith. Perhaps her cheek paled a
little—l cannot tell; but the light of
her eye never changed, her smiling lips
never relaxed, as she gazed upon the
blood-stained corpse in the libra-y.
Neii Rowan had taken his own life, and
Cora Smith was avenged.
The Great Bridge.
[Boston Transcript.]
Work on the great East River Bridge,
New York, is continued vigorously,
about nine hundred men being employed
at the present time. The work upon;,
the superstructure will be continued
through the winter, except in the most
severe weather. One thousand tons of
steel are to he delivered this winter.
The first suspenders for the support .of
the roadway were placed in position last
week. All those for the Brooklyn side
will be in position within a week, and
after that those on the New York side
will be placed. There will be thirteen
suspenders on each of the foil# cables
on each side of both towers, making 204,.
all of which will bo put up during the
winter. The longest measure 128 feet.
These* suspenders' are of steel wire rope,
1 4 inches in diameter, with a socket at
each end. The upper socket is fastened
by means of a bolt 1J inches in diame
ter to a band of wrought iron five inches
wide and five-eighths of an inch thick,
which is bolted to the cable. At the
lower end of the suspenders are two
bolts 1) inches in diameter, through
cast-iron sockets, by which to attach the
beams to the suspenders. After the
beams are in place, the trusses will be
erected. The thirteen suspenders to be
placed this winter will extend nearly
one hundred feet from the piers. The
cables are to be swayed thirteen feet
nearer together than they are now, the
outer ones being brought six and one
liaif feet nearer the centre; A strain of
twenty two tons will be required to draw
them together. They will then be con
nected at intervals with wire rope stays.
This will secure strong lateral bracing
for the whole structure, and add im
mensely to its ability to resist the winds.
Sixty or seventy men will be employed
during the winter. If all the work that
is now laid out is accomplished, about
one hundred feet of the superstructure
on each side of both piers will be com
pleted by spring, except tlie flooring
plank. Four thousand tons of steel will
be used next summer, in addition to the
thousand tons to be used this winter.
A Conductor’s Romance.
The Chicago Daily Navs publishes an
interesting little romance in the prosaic
life of a Chicago street car conductor.
John O’Brien, a handsome young con
ductor on the Ogden Avenue line, had
among his daily passengers Miss Fannie
Farlin, the adopted daughter of L. P.
Chase, a beautiful and accomplished
young lady of twenty-twe years, heir to
a considerable property in Minneapolis,
attending Scammon High School. He
fell in love with her, and to the most
casual observer it was apparent his affec
tions were reciprocated. His suit was
opposed by the Chase family, whose
social position is more exalted than
O’ Brien’s. He visited her clandestinely.
She always waited for his car, would
ride out of her way with him, and when
his run for the day was ended they
would have a little promenade together
in spite of Mr. Chase’s objections.
Chase went to Superintendent Lake oi
the West Side Railway Company and had
O’Brien suspended by reporting that he
was passing Miss Farlin and other girls
free on his car. O’Brien told Lake
that be passed no one free, but paid Miss
Farlin’s fare and meant to marry her.
Mr. Lake encouraged him, and said if
he succeeded he should have his car
•igain. ’'he Chases being in the coun
try on Monday evening, O’Brien took
Miss Farlin to Father Gashman’s church
and tney were married. Now he has
his car again, and all his brother con
ductors are congratulating him. It is
believed that the Chases will gracefully
accept the situation when they return to
the city.
A Grandson of Dom Pedro is to
marry a daughter of Dr. Ayer, the pill
man (see advertisement of Ayei’s pills).
The young woman is worth *55,000,000,
part of which is paid to us quarterly tor
the aforesaid advertisement. Peck's
Sun.
Ladies Besieging llic Prussian Heads
man.
In the Kleine Journal, a daily news
paper recently started in Berlin by the
Prussian railway king, Dr. Strousberg, is
published an interview recently granted
to the writer by Krauts, the state execu
tioner, who beheaded llocdel last sum
mer. While “ Monsieur de Berlin” was
chatting pleasantly with his visitor
about the decapitation of the would-be
regicide—Krauts’ first performance as a
beadsman-a knock was heard at the
door and a footman in splendid livery
entered the room with the request that
the tfeharf rich ter would be pleased to
speak with him for a moment in the
passage. Krauts went out with the
lackey, and after a brief interchange of
sentences in an undertone, was heard to
say aloud:
“TellherExcellency the Lady Countess
that l am very sorry; but 1 cannot, dare
not, do it!”
Interrogated upon his return by his
visiter with respect to the mission of the
mysterious man-servant, he replied with
a smile:
’ “Oh, it was only a request from one
of my ‘sympathizers,’ such as reach me
several times a week. You may often
see the handsomest equipages in Berlin
standing at the corner of Mulack-Strasse.
They bring me lady visitors, young and
old, pretty and ugly. Yes, yes; many
ladies of our highest aristocracy have
calicit upon me and insisted upon seein°-
my wife when I was not at home.” °
“And what did these ladies want?”
“The merest rubbish. Hair-cuttings
of criminals, for instance—a blood-stained
pocket-handkerchief, a morsel of bread
from the headsman s breakfast table, or
one of my gloves.”
Krauts himself is a fine young fellow
decorated with the Iron Cross for valor
in the field. _ Like most subordinate
functionaries in Prussia he was a non
commissioned officer in the army, Ttnd
received his present appointment upon
his discharge as a reward for faithful
and gallant service. He is married and
Ihe proud father of a fine little boy, the
ben-apparent to his important office.
' Wrh a touch of quaint piety he in
trcfdu -ed this lad to his visitor’s notice
a? “Lis successor, please God?”- and
jbsened that though he had passed an
uneasy night before the morning fixed
for L oedel’s execution, when he looked
into .is “ client’s” impudent, sneering
tacer te thanked God for making his
busiu :so easy to him!”
“• • ’*hiifgs Hard to Understand.
*mi endless procession of uiLikors
from a public dipper will,
ception, drink close to the hnnme.
Why half the human was not
born without hearing and tne other half
without speech Then the talkers might
talk on in uninterrupted flow, and the
hearers exercise their especial gift with
out their present pruriency to speak.
Why people will go into society to get
bored,* when they can get bored just as
well at home.
Why the young llnwho will eagerly
chew boarding mince pie will
carefully eschew boarding house mince
meat. %
Why a man’sjtomach will be so ever
lastingly squamPli at home, and at the
eating house display a faith like a grain
of mustard seed.
Why a woman will make excuses for
her bread when she knows it is the best
she ever made, and knows her “com
pany” knows it.
‘ Why a “young gentleman” swears so
much louder and more copiously when
stranger ladies are within ear-shot; or in
other words,
Why the desire to make a fool of
one’s self springs eternal in the human
breast.
Why we are so much angrier against
him who shows us our error than him
who leads us therein.
Why everybody is so prompt to an
swer, “ How do you do?” when you ask
that inevitable question. And,
Why you seem to be perfectly satis
fied with the information contained in
this echo.
Why one's piety strengthens as his
health weakens.
Why people will get married when
courtship is so sweet.
Why a man who claims to have found
marrying a delusion will again embrace
that delusion upon the first convenient
opportunity.
Why cold weather comes during the
season when it is least agreeable.
Why it is so much easier 1o l>c polite
to people whom we shall probably never
see again than to those whose good opin
ion we have reason to cultivate.
Calls'Himself a Christian.
{New Lisbon Patiiot.] p
There is a very pious man in town
who rents a miserable old log house and
a small lotto a very poor man with a
large family for the modest sum of $5
per month, or S6O per annum. The
house and lot are reasonably worth SIOO,
and no more. This may be charity from
which we want to keep aloof. This same
man prays every night and morning, and
directs the Lord how he should manage
this great universe. If you should ask
him about his prospects for heaven, he
would tell you he just awaits the coming
of the Lord to be gathered to his
fathers.
He was weary on the day of Grant’s
reception—completely tired out. He
crawled out from a box in the rear of a
San Francisco saloon, and, seeing the
flags flying in every direction, looked
upon the scene with horror and ex
claimed: “My God! What have I
come to; here is the 4th of July—nine
months druuk. I am going to Bodie to
brace up.” He arrived this morning,
and immediately sent a postal card back
to his friends dated the Bth of July,
1880. —Bodie (Nev.) Standard,
A Flower that Litres the Alpine Tour
Ists to Destruction.
[Swiss Continent.]
Every traveler in Switzerland is
familiar with the tender star-shaped
flowers of this curious plant, whose
sage-green blossoms are stuck into the
hat of every guide, and are collected
with rare ingenuity by the importunate
little rascals who race the carriages on
the road, or start out like rabbits from
the bushes as the pedestrian begins his
solitary climb. The plant is scarce and
very partial. It is found in the Enga
dine; seldom in the Bernese Oberland,
and has particular corners and mount
ains that it loves to effect. This scarcity
and partiality gave to the Edelweiss a
somewhat unhealty notoriety. The
rarer it became the more ambitious
were the excursionists to obtain a sprig.
Some years ago every cockney hat was
adorned with the curious bloom, feath
ered, as its botanical name implies, like
an old man’s beard, and it was no longer
a sign of patience and endurance to
wear this pretty badge that hitherto had
denoted a long climb and patient search.
When tourists began to brand the alpen
stocks down in the valley with the name
of a mountain whose base they touched,
but whose tops they never attempted to
reach, then was Edelweiss sold by the
handful at Interlaken, Chamouni, and
Grindelwald, and the guides, porters
and boys were tempted to rifle the
mountains of their peerless flowers.
When the rage for art greens came upon
us in full force, aedhetic young ladies
flattered themselves that a wreath of the
softspetals would look becoming in the
hair, and some went so far as to appear
at fancy balls in the character of The
Alps smothered in Edelweiss. As for
the flower itself, it was not so courteous
and graceful as the Indian plant of<
beauty, that raises up its head and opens
at the approach of a woman. On the
contrary, it refused to be in any way
gracious at the touch of the female
botanist, and sternly declined to be
transplanted. The more obstinate was
the Edelweiss, the more determined be
came the ladies, and they purchased it
by the root, carefully tended it during
the journey home, nurse# it across the
sea, watched it at every railway station,
and handed it to the family gardener,
in order to hear in a few days that the
plant, sickening and sighing for its
mountain home, had refused to exist in
England with the aid of any artificial
process.
There have been only one or two very
rare and exceptional cases where the
Ede’vc'w was induced to live and give
forth flowers in England, and then the
result was only obtained by a system of
nursing that would have worn out the
majority of botanists. At last the Swiss
Government determined to put down by
law the wholesale destruction of this
popular flower. It was rapidly disap
pearing altogether from tne country,
when an enactment made it penal to
take a plant up by the roots. The
dignity and importance of legislation
gave anew impetus to the interest that
was attached to the plant, and going in
search of the Edelweiss become as at
tractive a source of danger as any to be
found in Switzerland. Unaccompanied
by guides and straying from the beateß
tracks, more than one tourist has risked
his life, and several have been already
killed, in the quest.
An English Betting Man.
[London Truth.!
A story has often been told of the late
Mr. Davies which, unluckily, would not
apply to any book-maker of the present
day. At the close of a Derby race
while settling an item of £SOO on the
losing side of his book a bet remained
unclaimed. On making inquiry he found
that this particular creditor had died.
“What am I to do with the money
then?” he asked of the person who gave
him the news.
“Keep it, to be sure.”
“Has he no relatives?”% A
“Yes, he has left a wiaow*nd chil
dren.”
“You must be a blockhead to suggest
such a thing,” he answered, and he did
not rest until he had paid the widow the
money.
It would be well for the turf if we
heard nowadays of such sentiments and
such actions. There was no pettifogging
about Davies. He at once offered a fair
price when approached by a backer, and
neither haggled himself nor permitted
it in others; no one ever before laid such
bets, and most certainly no one ever will
again. He laid D’Orsay Clark £IOO,OOO
to £I,OOO against Vandermulin for the
Derby, the horse starting at six to one.
He was always ready to meet his liabili
ties at the earliest moment, and at the
same time expected and insisted upon
prompt and full payment from his
debtors. He never permitted the dis
graceful compromises which now take
place almost weekly, and, better still, he
suffered no man to bet in the ring who
owed him money. It would lie well if
this excellent rule were revived and en
forced in these days of plunging, lying
and thieving.
The announcement that M. Victor
Meyer, of Zurich, had decomposed
chlorine, must be received with some
caution, as he himself does not appeal*
to be altogether convinced, and the dis
covery has not yet been confirmed. It
is certain, however, that when chlorine
heated to l,2i%deg. C. and more, under
goes some change implying that it is a
compound bodv.
There never was such a prospect for
a terribly hard winter. The goose bone
is black clear through; the corn husks
are thick enough for shingles; New
Zealand is asking for more missionaries,
and boarding houses are cutting theii
pies in nine pieces.
TERMS ; si.oo per Annum, in Ad/ance.
NUMBER 9.
A BACHELOR'S Cl HOWL.
What U’t you aay to me, *ir? What! ma marry I
Become a Benedict, sir— me!— and mv be
Id future be obliged at Aight to carry
Acroaa an Icy floor a squalling baby,
Or bo roused up from sleep by son or daughter,
With, “ Papa, please, I want a drink of water I”
Or, what is worse than that, some winter morning
Be awakened from my sleep—O fate most dire!—
When frosted trees the windows are adorning—
With, “John, get up atonce and make the firal”
And learn— 0, no, I don’t think I’ll begin—
To dodge a flat-iron or a rolling-pin 1
Get married! when I know that every woman
Will have the last word, be she old or young,
And he obliged, whene’er a storm iscoming,
To leave the house, or git and hold my tongue?
Or be obliged, whenever I provoke her,
To dodge the wood-ax or the kitchen poker?
Let those who love such exercises marry;
But I in single life still mean to tarry
- -SomerviUs Journal.
Clipped Paragraphs.
The fashionable society wedding is
described as being stiffer than a print*
iug office towel.
If merchants would employ girls for
collectors there would be fewer unpaid
bills in the land.— Modern Arao.
Take care of your minutes; ours will
take care of themselves.— Puck. Who
seconds this ? — Boston Post. That strikes
one as pretty good. Time.
Children taught to believe that God
will give them anything they ask for,
with a hand-sled waiting to answer their
prayer for a sled, will grow up to think
lightly of God.— Golden Rule.
“Whenever I see a real hansum
woman engaged in the woman’s rights
bizziness, I am going to take off mi hat
and jine the processhun.”— Josh Bil
lings.
The butterfly, the butterfly,
How doth the butterfly? and why?
Because the hired girl doth make
The round, flat, toothsome buckwheat cake:
Aye, this is why, doth butlertiy.
—Marathon Independent.
The new governess—“ Now, 1 sup
pose you know that there are three
times as much water As land upon the
surface of the earth?” Tommy—“l
should think so, indeed! Look at the
puddles! ” — Punch.
If Jacob's ladder was now to be
placed against the entrance of Heaven
you couldn’t induce anybody to ascend
it. An opposition elevator would get
all the passenger traffic. — Philadelphia
Dav.
He that giveth good advice builds
with one hand ; he that gives good coun
sel and example builds with the other;
but he that gives good admonition and
bad example builds with one hand and
pulls devil will, the otLel.
You can train the eye to see all the
bright places in your life, and so slip
over the hard ones with surprising
ease. You can also train the eye to rest
on the gloomy ifpots, in utter forgetful
ness of all that is bright and beautiful.
The study of literature nourishes
youth, entertains old age, adorns pros
perity, solaces adversity, is delightful
at home, unobtrusive abroad, deserts us
not by day nor by night, in journeying
nor in refinement.
We do not like to find fault with
Father Noah; we believe he did the
very best he could under the circum
stances; but his posterity would have
been just as well satisfied had he pushed
ofl and left a pair of rats on the wharf.
—Middletown Transcript.
By a virtuous emulation, the spirit of
a fiian is exalted within him; he formeth
good designs, and rejoiceth in the execu
tionjthereof; but the heart of the envi
ous man is gall and bitterness; his tongue
spitteth venom ,'the success of his neigh
bor breaketh his’reßt.
The Sandwich Island alphabet has 12
letters; the Burmese 21, the Hebrew,
Syriac, Chaldee and the Samtmtan 22
each; the French 23, the Greek 23, the
Latin 25, the German, Dutch and Eng
lish 26 each, the Spanish 27, the Arabic
28, the Persian 32, the Russian 41, the
Sanscrit 50, the Ethiopic 202.
The British ship City of Bristol, be
longing to the Inman Line, went
through the jetties at New Orleans on
the 21st of October, drawing twenty- .
four feet seven inches of water. The
tide was four inches below the average.
Since that date the largest cargo of cot
ton ever shipped atNew Orleans safely
passed outward.
Accounts from Australia announce
the appearance of the phylloxera among
the vines. The Beedigo journals advise
the goverhment to purchase the vine
yards of Geeleng and have them de
stroyed. The New South Wales and
South Australian Governments have
been asked to join in this movement.
The sum estimated for the purpose is
about £30,000.
A bold Dad burglar recently broke
into the house of an editor, in the
watches of the night. The editor
awakened and questioned the intruder:
“ What do you here ? What look you
for?” Said the bu-glar gruffly, “Money.”
“ Hold on a minute,” quoth the editor,
“ and I will help you; I’ve been looking
myself for it ten years, but perhaps the
two o * us may have better luck.” Then
was the burgular disgusted, but the
editor called it a joke and insisted that
the burglar ought to set ’em up.
’Twas in Arabia's sunny land
He wooed his bonny bride;
His umber Ella, rain or shine,
Was ever by his side; *
But now he does not Kaffir her;
No love tale does he tell her;
He’d fain Bedouin something else—
Alas! Poor Arab Ella.
Yawcob Strauss.
Why is a handsome woman like a
locomotive? No —you’re wrong. It is
not because she sometimes draws a long
train; it is not because she indulges in
“ sparks” ; it is not because she has some
thing to do with a switch; it is not be
cause she transports the males; it is uot
because she may have a head light; it—
in fact, a handsome woman is not like a
locomotive —not even when she is a lit
tle “ fast” and blows up her husband. —
' Norristown Herald.