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the sin of omission.
It isn't the thing you do, dear,
It’s the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you a bit of heartache
At the setting of the sun.
The tender word forgotten,
The let,er you did not write,
The flower you might have sent, dear,
Are your haunting ghosts to-night.
The stone you might have lifted
Out of a br other's way,
The bit of hearthstone counsel
You were hurried too much to say;
The loving touch of the hand, dear,
The gentle and winsome tone,
That you had no time nor thought for,
W itb troubles enough of your own.
The little acts of kindness,
So easily out of mind;
Those chances to be angels
Which every one may find—
They come in night and silence—
Each chill, reproachful wraith—
When hope is faint and flagging,
And a blight has dropped on faith.
For life is all too short, dear,
And sorrow is all too great,
To suffer our slow compassion
That tarries until too late.
And it’s not the thing you do, dear,
It’s the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you the bit of heartache
At the setting of the sun.
—Christian Leader.
THE NEW CURATE.
“You haven’t seen him yet? Well,
that's a pity. He’s quite a catch, lam
told. Young, handsome and single.
Why don’t you, set your cap for him,
Hattie? You've got as good a chance as
the rest of them, and twenty-si? is not
old, by any means.”
She leaned over the garden gate as
she spoke, this veritable village gossip.
I can see her now, with her great poke
bonnet, from beneath which the cluster
ing gray ringlets peeped; the keen blue
eves that seemed to read your very
tnoughts; the trim little figure, clad al
soffipre brown. ■<•««•-
‘j* Nev'er was there a wedding, funeral or
christening in the village without this
estimable lady’s presence. What a harm
less little body she appeared, and how
incapable of carrying about that wonder
ful budget of information ! How nicely
she imparted her knowledge to her
listeners, beginning with, -‘Well, I
don’t mind telling you,’’or, “They do 1
say, but of course you can’t believe
everything;” and ending with, “That’s
between you and'me; it will go no fur
. . . .
I was in the garden that morning,
training some early June roses; my
.tb, ou g| lts were not the brightest, scarcely
in haMony""with Xaturb, whiyh was
decked in gne of her brightest mantles'.
It was quite unnecessary lor Mrs. Briggs ;
to me of Thy I was Ihfnk- :
ifjg seriously _of i£. Twenty-sixj , Not
very old, to be sure, ami not very
young to an unmarried woman. I must
be content with fewer laurels, less con
quests. I must step out of the field, as
it were, and leave the romance and day
dreams to younger and fairer girls.
It mattered little to me whether the
new curate was young and unmarried, or
a. portly old fellow, with a wife and
grown daughters. At heart I disliked !
(this interfering old woman w T ho had
Droken in on my reverie.
I thanked her kindly for her advice,
telling her that at present 1 had no in
tention of setting my cap for any one,
not even for the new curate; so saying I
went back to my work and the roses.
“There, Mattie, don’t get riled. Of
course it’s nobody'sHnisiness if you’re
going to leave yourself an old maid; but
take my advice and don’t spend your
time fretting and worrying over Bob
Preston, for he ain’t worth it, nohow.”
She shook her head wisely, and was
off before Iliad time to recover from the
cruel thrust that had opened the old
wound—Robert Preston and the past.
I had tried to guard my heart, to
trample under foot the old love. I could
have laughed at my girlish folly as if it
were a dream until a thoughtless word
had brought back the past, like the dead
risen to life again, or a smouldering fire
that needed but a gentle breeze to make
it a burning flame. One by one the roses
dropped from my hands. One by one
the blinding tears fell. Iwason'yaweak
woman, after all, as, covering my face
with my hands, I sobbe^l:
“Robert, O Robert! Why were you
false?”
It all came back to me —that visit to
Aunt Martha, where I first met Robert
Preston, a young student just returned
from college. 1 cannot tell all those
bright, happy day-dreams; how I loved
him and waited for the happy day when
he would ask me for that love. He read
my answer in my tell-tale face before my
lips uttered it. r
So, engrossed with Robert’s society, I
took little heed of other matters, scarcely
giving a thought to the fact that a young
lady, the daughter of a deceased friend
of my aunt's, was going to make her
home with us. She came. From- the
moment I looked upon her lovely face
my happiness was gone. I was a pretty
girl, fair, and fragile, yet one might as
well compare a simple little daisy to a
full-blown poppy or a rich red rose as
my frail beauty to this girl’s exquisite
loveliness.
For a time his love was unchanged. I
I laughed in my foolish heart at my
doubts aud fears. At times 1 would find
his serious eyes wandering from me and
resting admiringly on the beautiful face
of Kathleen Lee. No man could resist
that wondrous, fascinating face. She
uever encouraged him: but the drooping
lids, the faint flush, the trembling of
the little hands, all told plainly thaf she,
too, loved him.
How I suffered! In my mad jealousy
I grew almost to hate the child. He
loved me be ore she came, with her beau
tiful flower-like face, to rob me of that
love. AY as she blind that she did not
see that we were betrothed? I prayed
that she might go away and leave us to
ourselves once more, and Robert would
go back to his old fond ways. His ca
resses were growing colder, his kisses
lighter. I spoke of his seeming neglect.
He answered lightly, taking both my
hands in his aud looking fondly at me.
“Nonsense, Mattie! Do you know,
my little girl, that you are growing
nearer and dearer to me every day?”
For a time I was satisfied, trying to bo
satisfied with but a share ol his love.
We were seated in the garden, one af
ternoon, early in the autumn, Robert,
Kathleen and I. She was looking unu
sually handsome in a dress of soft Indian
mull. My lover had just paid her a
well merited compliment, for which she
was about to make a gracious reply,
when aunt Martha came to us.
“Robert,” she said, placing her hand
fondly on his shoulder as she spoke,
“will you gather some grapes forme? I
find that some of the bunches hang too
high. The girls will go with you and
hold the basket.”
He rose to comply with her request.
Kathleen was at his side in a moment,
while I refused to join them, feigning a
severe headache.
“They do not want me,” I reasoned
within myself.
I watched them as they walked away
together, he carrying the little wicker
basket, and she tossing her bright curls
with that coquettish air that came so
natural to her.
I cannot tell you w'hat tempted me to
follow them: it must have bq£<* ome evil
genius. Slowly I foll|T • down the
pathway, taking every A tcaution, how
ever, not to be observed. Seated upon
a little rustic bench, I could see every
movement of my lover and Kathleen.
How lovely she looked standing in the
orchard, the sunlight falling athwart
the lovely upturned face, on which a
smile rested! .Never was seen a fairer
vision. Her sleeve of soft texture fall
ing back showed the shapely, out
stretched arin.
Sometimes a peal of merry laughter
would fall upon my ear. They did not
miss me—noteven Robert; he was content
with Kathleen.
The basket was full to overflowing,
and still they lingered. One bunch of
! luscious grapes, the last gathered, was
in Robert’s hand. He stooped to place
it with the others, when then eyes met,
their hands touched. Was I dreaming?
Alas! no. I saw him stoop and kiss her
fondly. I waited no longer. With a
cry of pain 1 turned and fled to the
seclusion of my own room, where I
i sobbed qpt the trouble „of my young
heart, with only God to hear me. •
I went away quite unexpectedly. I
was homesick, I told Aunt Martha. I
left a letter for Robert, giving no ex
planation of my conduct; simply telling
him it was better we should part. 1
was a proud girl and would not stoop
to acknowledge a rival.
I rejnember taking the ring he had
given me from my hand, and what a
struggle it cost me to place it with that
letter—the last I should ever write to
Robert.'
I came home to mother, who was
quite an invalid and needed all my care.
1 never heard from Robert save once,
through Aunt Martha, who wrote:
“Of course, Mattie, you’ve not for
gotten Robert, whom, to speak candidly,
you treated rather He has
gone to New York to practid£ medicTnS. <
He is dping w?ll. ”
'“An old newspaper had fallen into my
hands, where an account was given of a
brilliant reception. Among the guests
were the names of Dr. Robert Preston
and wife. I knew it was Robert and
Kathleen. I made no inquiries, and,
receiving no further information, took
it for gianted that Aunt Martha’s kind
ness of heart prevented her from again
referring to the past. I closed my heart
forever. The world will never know
me as a disappointed woman, I thought,
flattering myself that I had quite suc
ceeded in deceiving general,
until the gossip had come up* me with
her idle words, bringing to life the
bitter past that I thought I had buried
years ago.
* * * * * s* *
“Going to service. Miss Kemvood?”
It was my neighbor who asked the
question, Marcia Hall—a dear little
girl with the utmost faith in mankind
in general. I smiled faintly as 1 caught
sight of the new bonnet with its dainty
ribbons, evidently got up for the new
curate.
“Young and foolish,” thought I.
“Wait uutil she’s six-and-twenty, and
I’ll wager she will not buy a new bonnet
for all the new curates in town.”
Slowly we walked to church on that
bright Sunday morning, (Marcia chatting
gaily and I, dressed in the plainest of
dresses, walking silently beside her.
1 had not fully recovered from Mrs.
Briggs’s unkind remarks, and was de
termined to show her my disinclination
to “set my cap,” as she termed it, by ap
pearing in an exceedingly unbecoming
gown. I was really disappointed, in
catching a last glimpse in the mirror, to
find that, notwithstanding my plain
toilet and my six-and-twenty years, I
was still a pretty woman, and to hear my
mother say as 1 stopped to kiss her,
“How well you’re looking, Mattie!”
How crowded the little village church
was—filled to overflowing. Every one
was there, even that hateful (Mrs. Briggs.
I caught a glimpse of the great poke bon
net as I walked quickly to my seat.
They were singing as we entered, yet
I scarcely heard them, feeling rather em
barrassed at coming late to be gazed at
by the entire congregation.
I sank wearily among the soft cush
ions, gladly taking refuge behind a
palmleaf fan kindly proffered by a port
ly old gentleman beside me.
Now a hush, a slight flutter among
the eongregatiou, a rustle of garments,
with now and then a subdued whisper
as the pulpit was rolled close to the
chancel, and the new curate ascended.
“He’s just lovely,” whispered Marcia,
pulling goftly at my sleeve. “Do look
at him, Miss Kenwood.”
I kept my eyes downcast. If every
woman in the congregation cast glances
of admiration, I was determined to do
otherwise.
“Am Imy brother’s keeper:” was the
text. Clear and distinct were the words
of the speaker. The first words had
caused my heart to beat wildly. How
like that voice of long ago, that rich,
soft voice that pleaded for my love! I
listened like one in a dream, until I raised
my eyes to see before me—Robert Pres
ton.
Yes, Robert Preston. Changed, to be
sure; not the bright, boyish face of long
ago. There were lines of care and suf
fering on it now, while the dark hair
was streaked with silver.
Was Kathleen dead? I wondered. Had
he given up his practice? Was he happy?
Fifty different queries crowded upon my
memory. Why had fate thrown us once
more together after my bitter struggle to
forget? One thing I was determined
upon: I must leave the village. I dared
not trust myself further. Reason as I
would, my heart told me that I loved
him still.
It was all over! I could hear the
whispered comments of the worshipers
on the eloquence of the new curate. The
singers were chanting in that nasal,
drawling tone so natural to village
choirs, and still I sat dreaming.
“Are you coming?” asked my com
panion; then, as I arose mechanically to
obey, “Don’t you like him, Miss Ken
wood? Do tell me! You listened at
tentively, and once, as I looked at you,
I thought you were going to faint away, _
you looked so pale. Are you ill?”
“Yes, I like him,” I added aloud, while
my heart whispered: “God pity me, ]
love him!”
We were out once more in the bright
sunshine, coming quite unexpectedly
upon a little group composed of the
wealthier members of the congregation,
gathered around the new curate. They
had learned he was a man of wealth and
standing, choosing his calling simply as
a matter of taste. Some one—l think it
was the pastor’s wife—presented me to
him. Our eyes met; our hands touched,
as, resting those serious eyes upon me,
he said:
“I have had the pleasure of meeting
Miss Kenwood before.”
I cannot tell how it happened that we
were all walking out through the church
yard toward the highway, and I found
myself alone with Robert. He was
the first to break the silence. It pained
me to think it was a common place re
mark.
“How is Kathleen?” I asked, endeavor
ing to show him how little I cared for
the past, and how, withont betraying the
slightest emotion, I could inquire after
his wife’s health.
“Kathleen?” He looked dazed at the
question. “I believe she is well, but not
happy, poor girl.”
He believed she was well. How strange!
Had he grown weary of her as of me?
Was he utterly devoid of honor?
“Not happy?” I said, as I toyed nerv
ously with the roses in my bomce. “She
should be very happy as— as —your
wife,” I falterj^j.
**As mfy wife!” he said, gazing in
blank amazement. “Did you—oh,
Mattie, you have judged me wrongly.
I never married Kathleen.”
He looked like a man upon whom a
sudden truth had dawned, or one ac
cused of a great wrong who could prove
his innocence.
it was in the twilight before service
that he told me it all. The notice con
cerning Robert Preston and wife referred
to his cousin. He had entered the min
istry from choice, as he had come into
a large fortune through the death of his
uncle. True, he had admired Kathleen
as a man would admire a beautiful wo
man, but he never entertained the
slightest feeling of love for her.
The scene in the orchard was but a
simple ruse gottep up by Robert and
Kathleen to excite my jealousy, little
dreaming of the seriouls result?”’'*-
Kathleen mad£ a most unfortunate
match, like most beautiful women, mak
ing a poor selection from her many
suifors. Poor girl, what a dear, kind
letter she sent to us, telling how happy
she was to hear we were reunited!
“Just to think of it!” said (Mrs.
Briggs. “He came back to her after the
other girl had given him the mitten. I
wouldn’t take him. Would you?”
We can afford to laugh at her idle
* gossip, we are so happy, Robert and I.
I smile proudly to think that without
“setting my cap” I have captured the new
curate, after all.
The Simple Natives of Jamaica.
The natives of Jamaica, says the New
York Observer , are ingenious and skillful
with their fibers. They mike many
pretty for sale, which can be
bought for very little. They utilize the
palm leaves in many ways, making from
them hats, pretty fans, ornamented with
gay wools, and dainty little baskets with
handles and covers. These they weave
of strips of palm, making the body of
the basket white, with a colored border
of strips dyed red and yellow or black.
They also carve well, aud some of the
sets of jewelry, tiny vinaigrettes, and
rosary beads, made from the root of the
“groogroo palm” are exquisitely done,
with carvings in relief almost equal to
the best Swiss carvings. They are emi
nently a people of expedients, and are.
very clever at adapting the various tropi
cal growths to their needs. Living
often far from a railroad and on an
island where needful things cannot al
ways be procured, they set their in
genuity to work to furnish sub.-titutes.
The coarse, fibrous network which hangs
from the base of the cocoa teaves, they
call “cocoanut strainer,” and use to
strain milk, rum punch, coffee, etc. A
cucumber-like vegetable, full of 30ft
fibre, they call the “Dish-rag” plant,and
scrub their kitchen utensils with it.
They cut the husk from around the
cocoanut, favel it out into a brush and
polish floors with it. They wrap the
leaves of the cashew tree around meat to
make it tender, and hang butter in a
draught in a porous clay vessel, which
they frequently wet to insure rapid
evaporation, and thus cool it in the ab
sence of ice, and have hundreds of labor
saving plans of a like nature. They are
clever at making pottery, and use the
clay “yabbas,” a kind of earthenware
bowl, in lieu of pots and kettles, doing
most of their cooking in them. They
make them of all sizes, for beating up
cake, washing tea-things, and also in the
shape of large jars, for various purposes.
Pitchers for water aud filters are also
made in this pottery, some of which are
exceedingly graceful both in shape and
ornaments, with ears of corn moulded on
the sides, and other designs.
A Famous Pear Tree Dead.
The world-famous Endleott pear tree,
planted by Governor John Endicott on
the ancient orchard farm at Danvers New
Mills in 1630 or *1033, is dead. Tradi
tion has it that 1030 was the date when
the venerable tree was planted, but there
is also evidence that Governor Endicott
did not break up the ground for his
orchard until 1033. There is no doubt,
however, of the great antiquity of the
pear tree, and that it was from 250 to
260 years old when its last vitai spark
went out. The tree stood on the north
bank of the river, about half way between
the Mills and the ra.lroad track. It had
but one rival—an ancient pear tree at
Truro, on the sands of Cape Cod, planted
prior to IG44. —Boston Journal.
Redhead is the name of the richest
man in Hutchinson, Kan. He made his
money in baking powder.
BUDGET OF FUN
HUMOROUS SKETCHES FROM
VARIOUS SOURCES.
At the Gate—A Sympathetic Heart
—At the Picnic—More than
He Could Stand—
Etc., Etc.
_ 'lights were low, the hour was la
The popping time had come;
And, gazing idly at the grate,
Her love <at chewing gum.
She asked hitn if he'd risk —dear girl—
With her the final step;
He gave his gutn a listless whirl
And yawned and answered “yep.”
—Oil Citg Blizzard.
A Sympathetic Heart.
“Can you give me a little breakfast,
ma’am?” pleaded the tramp; “I’mhungry
and cold. I slept outdoors last night
and the rain came down in sheets.”
“You should have got in between the
sheets,” said the woman kindly, as she
so the gate. —New York Sun.
At the Picnic.
He (with a bunch of wild flowers in
his hands) —“Ah, my dear Miss Sereand
yellow, what kind of posies will you
choose?
She (in a perfect twitter) —“Oh, te,
he; te, he: I will choose pro-posies.”
Mr. Smith sinks into the earth.— Wash
ington Critic.
More Than He Could Stand.
Grocer—“ How is it, Mr. Swartman,
that you are so particular to pay cash
uow-a-days? You used to run a weekly
bill.”
Customer—“l know I did, and you
would always give me a cigar when I
squared up Saturday night.”
Grocer—“ Yes.”
Customer—Well, It was smoking that
cigar that impelled me to pas cash.”—
New Turk Sun.
Not Easily Embarrassed
“Have you kept track of young
Baboony lately? At the rate he is going
on he’ll soon be seriously embarrassed. ’
“Embarrassed? Nonsense! you don’t
know the man. He asked me for the
loan of a hundred this morning without
the quiver of an eyelid.”— Life.
A Small Dividend.
First Tramp —“Well, how much did
ye get out of the felly?”
Second Tramp—“Faix, only enough
for rnesilf.”
First Tramp—“ And is this de way yer
stand in wid me, Mickey?”
Second Tramp—“ Sure, all Oi got was
a kick. Ye can take yer share of that,
if ye want it. ” — Life.
He Liked Cold Roast Beef.
Young Housekeeper (to butcher) —
“Have you roast beef ?” *
Butcher—“Tes, ma’am.”
“Do you keep it on the ice?”
“Oh, yes, ma'am.”
“Then you may send me some. My
husband told me only this morning that
he is very fond of cold roast beef.”—
Siftings.
Getting it Down Fine.
Johnnie was under a cloud. He had
been given six lines to learn before
lunch-time, with the proviso, no lines,
no lunch.
The lunch-bell rang and his mother
called Johnnie, who knew just one
third of his lesson.
“No lunch for you, my son, to-day!”
was the maternal decision.
“Please, mamma,” pleaded Johnnie,
“can’t I have two lines’ worth?”— Judge.
A Generous Offer.
They were riding together in the moon
light, and he was trying hard to think
of something pleasant to say. All of a
sudden she gave a slight shiver.
“Are you cold, Miss Hattie?” he
asked, anxiously. “I will put my coat
around you if you like.”
“Well, yes,” said she, shyly, with an
other little shiver; “I am a little cold, I
confess; but you needn’t put your coat
around me. One of your sleeves will
do.” — Somerville Journal.
No Hope for the Future.
“It grieves me to look back over a
wasted life,” said a comparatively young
doctor to a Chicago girl. “To think
that with fame and fortune in my reach
I have turned from them in order to pur
sue a humble career.”
“But is not too late to begin anew,”
she suggested.
“Alas; I realize too forcibly that it
is.”
“Can you not make one great, final
effort?”
“No. lam too old to learn to play
baseball.”
“Yes;” she said softly. It is very,
very sad.” —Merchant Traveler.
Steep Hills.
“What have you been doinglately?”
asked a traveling man of a former asso
ciate in the same business whom he met
in a Pennsylvania village.
“I been having pretty hard luck.”
“In what way«”
“You see my uncle died and left me a
farm out here in the mountains and I
gave up traveling in order to come out
here aud run it.”
“Don’t you like it:”
“No, I can’t say I do. lean stand a
good deal but I do draw the line at
farming where the hills are so dog-goned
steep that the cattle have to stand on
their hind legs to nibble the grass off
them. —Merchant T/ave’ir.
Dangerous.
“lamgoingto stop bathing,” said a
friend of mine, of good habits. The
statement staggered me, for 1 knew he
did not belong to the “great unwashed,”
nor was he in any way retrograding to
ward that bathless class, the tramps. He
proceeded to explain: “You see, my
wife’s brother is a young physician, and
my wife’s father is an old physician. My
own father reads medical works and
talks a great deal about them. A near
neighbor of ours is a rising young doc
tor, and through him a number of medi
cal men have visited us, and we have
met the M. D.’s also at his house. Now,
in such an atmosphere of wisdom you
would think me safe. But I feel I am
not. About everything I do from the
time I get up until I retire, in the way
of eating, drinking, washing, riding or
| bathing is dangerous! I say ‘danger
ous’ because that is the term they the
doctors, use. lam mostalaimed ibout
bathing. My father has found it ii the
books that it is dangerous to bathewhile
warm. My wife’s father says it i dan
gerous to bathe while cold or chilly.
Her brother asserts that only the trong
est persons dare bathe on arising with
out first taking food. The sane wise
young doctor says it is dangerous and
debilitating to bathe just befoe retir
ing. They all agree that it is danger
ous to jump into water just afte: eating
heartily. Nothing has been sad about
getting up in the middle of tie night
and taking a light lunch and a bath,
nor about leaving business in tin middle
of the afternoon and going to a bath
house for an hour, but as both these
times are very inconvenient for me to
indulge in ablutions, I have decided on
the only alternative, not to lathe at
all.” —Chicago Journal.
Their First Dinner.
They had just returned from their
wedding tour and were to have their
first dinner in their own Lome.
“Well, Percy, dear,” sie said sweetly
after breakfast, “what shall we have for
dinner?”
“Oh, anything you l : ke.”
“No, dear; anything you like.”
“But I shall like anything you like,my
little rosebud.”
“And I shall like anything you like,
my precious old boy.”
Well, theu, what shall be have, dear?”
“Whatever you want, darling.”
“But I want to please you, lovey.”
“And / want to please you, precious.”
“You old darling!”
“You blessed old precious.”
“But what shall we have?”
“That’s for you to say.”
“No, for you."
“But I’m so afraid I’ll order something
you don’t like.”
“I’ll like anything you like, darling.”
“Truly, Percy?”
“Truly, my darling.”
“Because I’d feel so badly I'd just cry it
I had anything you didn’t like. Do you like
roast beef:”
“Do you? ”
“I asked you first, dearie.”
“ What if I don't care for it? ”
“Then we’ll necer have a pound of it
in the house.”
“ You little darling! ”
“jßut/o you like it?”
‘ ‘ De you- ”
“O, Percy, you naughty old boy!
How am I ever to get what you like if
you go on like this? And Ido want to
please you.”
“ Please yourself and you’ll be sure tr
please me.”
“Then we’ll have the beef 1 ”
“if you say go, lovey.”
“But I don't say so.”
“It shall be just as my own little,
lovey-dovey, lifey wifey says.”
“ What if I say beef? ”
“Then I shall say beef, too.”
“Well, then, we’ll have roast beef.”
“I love roast beef.”
“So do I.”
“ Oh, I’m so glad.”
“ So am I.”
“ You old darling!"
“You precious!" — Detroit Free Presi.
Majilton, the Man Monkey.
The original of the character of
“Jocko, the Brazilian Ape,” was Henry
Leech, an Englishman, whose profes
sional name was Otto Motti. His body
was of the size of an ordinary man’s, but
his legs were only a foot long, yet such
was his agility that he could outrun, ou
all fours, a very fair runner. His skele
ton is in Mine. Tussaud’s exhibition in
London. The Ravels afterward intro
duced the character in their pantomines, j
but it was left to Majilton to bring it to I
perfection, lie had wonderful strength
in his hands and could walk with his
hands hanging under an ordinary floor
joist, his whole weight depending on the
grip between his thumb-; and their op
posing fingers with perfect ease; and he
occasionally astonished a braggart of the
profession by walking on his hands on a
slack rope, or on the hawser with which
the circus was towed by a steamer. This
singular faculty made him an expert
climber, and he would run up aud down
the interior of the circus and leap the
rail of the tiers and run along them with
an agility that no ape could excel. He
fairly rolled with laughter when he told
how he frightened people on the Missis
sippi.
On one occasion, when he leaped
among them, chattering and grimacing,
many jumped in their fright through the
windows of the circus into the river and
were rescued with difficulty. In Decem
ber, 1854, while playing in Charleston,
S. C., he created almost a panic in the
theater. One of the scrub women was
stationed in the third tier with a stuffed
baby, and Majilton, in his Jocko act.
snatched it from her and, jumping to the
side of the proscenium boxes, beat its
head against the wood and then threw it
to the stage and jumped on it, the woman
yelling all the while and the audience in
a terrible uproar of terror and indigna
tion.—Detroit Free I‘ress.
Tlie Dandelion.
The dandelion is a neglected flower
It blows and dies, returning
To the vile dust from whence it sprung,
Unwept, unhonored and unsung.
Yet it comes early,blossoms freely and
lifts so bright a color to the sky that it
rivals the very sunshine that coaxed it
from the cold ground. Not the C ali
fornia poppy, the pride of the Pacific
coast, glows with a more brilliant yellow,
or shows more delicate gradations of
color. The heart of the dandelion is
warm and fervid like the rich gold of a
ripe orange, while the tips of each deli
cate calyx reflect the fainter tints that
shine on the tender leaf of a buttercup,
and so perfect is the shading that we
cannot tell when the orange passes into
yellow, and the yellow into the palest
amber. "What can be prettier than this
brave blossom set in the vivid green of
the new grass? —Des Moines Register.
Builders of the Florida Peninsula.
Among the agencies which have helped
to build up the peninsula of Florida, aro
certain trees, like the mangrove and
cypress, which grow on land more or less
under water. Like the coral builders,
they have worked slowly, but in thou
sands of centuries the change wrought
would be great. It is altogether proba
ble that the thousands of tree-covered
“islands” in the Everglades and Big
Cypress were once mangrove thickets,
and that the present mangrove islands
will in time be added t the mainland.
— Arkan&aw Traveler.
A GREAT INVENTOR ~
He had a startling genius but somehow it
didn’t emerge.
Always on the evolution of things that
wouldn’t evolve;
Always verging toward some climax, but hi
never reached the verge;
Always nearing the solution of some theme
he could not solve.
And he found perpetual motion, but a cog
wheel set awry
Burst his complex apparatus au u he could
not get it fixed;
And he made a life elixir—if you drank j ou’d
never die—
But the druggist spoiled the compound when
the medicine was mixed.
And he made a flying vessel tha t would navi
gate the air,
A gorgeous steamer of the heavens, a grand
aerial boat,
A matchless paragon of skill, a thing beyond
compare,
And the only trouble with it—he could never
make it float.
And ho found a potent acid that would
change red dirt to gold;
but the tube from which he poujed it had
some trouble with it’s squirt,
So the gold held in solution and would not let
go its hold,
And the dirt in dogged stubbornness it still
continued dirt.
And he made a great catholicon to cure all
disease,
A general panacea for every ache and pain,
But first he tried it on himself his stomach
achy to ease,
And it killed him very quickly—and he did
not try again.
—S. W. Foss, in Yankee P’ade.
PITH AND POINT.
A country seat—The top fence rail.
A patient man—One in ?. doctor's ofticb.
A doctor must understand all tongues.
Imaginary scholars—The pupils of your
eyes.
Ball players are capable of base in
gratitude.
A mau in his cups might as well be a
tumbler.
The high old time—The ancient clock
in the steeple.
Working like ahorse—A lawyer draw
ing a conveyance.
When a thin man visits you, lodge him
in the spare room, of course.
A sick burglar is very loth to call a
doctor for fear tl at he may give him up.
“Mine, miner, minus;” This is the
ujrshot of speculations in mining stock.
W’hat are ministers good for? They’re
good because it is part of their business.
The exact quantity of the lion’s share
is not stated, but it is all the lion can
get.
When a woman is trying to write a
letter ou a half-sheet of paper much may
be said on both sides. —Naw dlai en News.
“Talking is cheap,” they say:
That’s not so clear.
Just hire a jawyer
And you’ll find it dear.
—Judge.
That one swallow does not make a
Summer may be true, but one mosquito
can make it hot enough for anybody.—
Life.
Smith—“l see by the papers that the
Dey of Algiers is dead.” Jones—“ I’m
glad to hear it. It’s time deoth took a
Dey off.”— Siftings.
“Madatne,” said the tramp, “I’m not
a vegetarian.” “Ah? No?” replied the
lady. . “I thought you were. You look
like a beat.— New York Sun.
A correspondent wants to know the
difference between a dog-watch and a
watch-dog. Well, not much; they are
both kept on the bark. The Ocean.
This world is but a fleeting show.
And no wise man regrets it,
For man wants little here belo w ,
And generally he gets it.
—Somerville Journal.
Ingenious thing, this English lan
guage. When you hear a citi/en say:
“Oh, he’s a good man,” you cau t tell
whether he is talking of n pugilist or of
a deacon.
A criminal.lately executed in England
protested his innocence on the scaffold,
and his last words were that he was a
good and faith/ul subject of the Queen.
The subject then dropped.— Siftinys.
“Nothing is ever lost,” Walt Whitman sings;
But poets hava peculiar views of things;
Few will agree with him who’ve had ill luck,
When they the frisky tiger tried to buck,
—Boston Courier.
President McCosh, of Princeton, says
he expects every fresh student who en
ters the institution to rhyme his name
with “by gosh,” and it is only rarely
that he is disappointed. —Detroit Fret
Press.
E’en with scratches and bruises,
And covered with loam,
Though it’s nearest the umpire,
There's no base like home.
— Life.
The King of Dahomey has had an um
brella made for him twenty-one feet in
diameter, the handle being twenty-one
feet long. He is determined that no
one shall take it in mistake of their own.
Chicago Journal.
Brown made a bet with Wagerly that
he could cause nine out of every ten
men who passed a certain building that
day to touch the structure. Wagerly
accepted the bet. Brown simply hung
j out the sign “Paint.” — Judge.
A lover called upon a Miss,
And thought she looked bewitching,.
He longed so much her lips to kiss,
He chased her round the kitchen,
But fell against the red hot stove
As soon as he had kissed her,
And though he thought the kiss was bliss,
He found the burn a blister.
—Siftings.
Overtaxing his brain. Old Mrs. Bently
—“ Did you hear, Josiah, that the young
; student, who has been boardin’ at tho
Hendrickses’is very sick?” old Mrs.
! Bently—“Yes, I heard so; what’s the
! trouble with him?” Old Mrs. Bently—
“Btudyin’ too hard I s’pose. The doc
tor says he’s got information of the
brain.” — The Epoch .
“Miss Howjames,” said the agitated
young man from Jersey City, “ifyoffi
onlv could look with some degree ofl
favor upon me! I know I express m|
feelings but illy” “You certainly d|
not express them welly, Mr. Ferguson,!
replied the coldly critical Boston youal
lady, “and it would be better, perha;*
to change the subject.” —Chicago Irm
une. f