Newspaper Page Text
Bade tally lias.
TRENTON, GEORGIA.
«■■■■■■■ .11 ■■ ■» “ ;-vj ■ .■■■»—!"!»■ ■'■■■—— g
The nations of the world were never
so busily engaged in getting ready for
war. _____
Texas, as large as she is, has never yet
had a Governor who was born within hei
boundaries.
The pinnacle of earthly wealth is said
to be reached by John Rockefeller, the
Standard Oil magnate.
It is predicted that Indian Territory is
destined to be the centre of the Ameri
can sugar making industry.
Florida has $12,000,000 invested in
the orange business, and the sales this
year were a fourth of that big sum.
A philanthropic citizen of Harvey
County, Kan., has planted three miles of
peach trees along the public highway.
Leading statisticians of England assert
that more persons annually choke to death
while eating in England than are killed
on the English railroads.
Every now and then the Czar gives out
that Nihilism is dead in Russia. Ye*
when he goes from St. Petersburg to
Moscow it takes 50,000 troops to guard
him on his journey.
The announcement of the advent of the
seventeen-year locust this season as usual
gives point to the witticism that the in
sect derives its name from the fact that it
comes regularly for seventeen years in
succession.
We hope a San Francisco writer is cor
rect in saying that the poorest patient to
day can secure a hundred times better
treatment than was accorded to Wash
ington in his last brief illness, exclaims
the New York Sun.
The extraordinary growth of Volapuk
in popularity is evidenced by the fact
that its adherents are now supporting
thirty-two monthly journals, while twice
as many newspapers devote departments
.tc the “universal” tongue.
Joe Howard says the majority of the
rich men of New York city are not edu
cated, but their faculties are sharpened
on the lines of money-getting. Their
principal amusement outside of business
is in devotion to horse flesh.
Peter Laing, who is 104 yearn of age,
has just been admitted to church member
ship in Elgin, Scotland. He admits that
he has been a little tardy in joining the
church, but now that he has joined, he
intends to go right in with the other
young folks and do his share of active
work. •* '
Says the New Y'ork Sun: “The knock
ing out of liquor saloons having had such
a depressing effect upon the sale of
cheese, an interesting question as to what
Is the connection between the two has
been raised in the West, some persons ar
guing that spirits create a taste for cheese,
while others maintain that cheese create a
thirst for liquor.”
It is interesting to know, declares the
New York Mail and Express , that oil
running from bags suspended over hei
bow broke the force of the waves and
enabled the United States sloop-of-war
Yantic to survive, though in a sadlj
battered condition, the severe hurricam
that it was her lot to meet on her brief
and stormy cruise.
Brigadier-General Drum, who has just
been placed on the retired list, is believed
to be the first private soldier that ever at
tained the rank of Brigadier-General in
the regular army of the United States.
The New York Telegram in announcing
ini* withdrawal from active service, says
he “has had a long roll, but they have
muffled him at last. Jle is on the retired
list and his beat will be heard no more.”
• The London Spectator pays this tributt
to-the United States: “Her people are
becoming the greatest nation in the
world. It is probable that nothing short
of. actual violence would now' induce any
cation to attack her, while she could, if
■she pleased, almost ruin the commerce of
any nation on the globe.” It predicts
that there are children who may live to
see the Republic with a population of two
hundred millions.
: The Atlanta Constitution says: “Here
is a new difficulty in New York concern
ing the mode of execution by electricity.
It seems that most jurors are prejudiced
against it, and they hesitate to find a
man guilty of murder simply because they
do not want him to suffer an unusual and
perhaps a cruel punishment. So this
scientific fad of the New York Legislature
may result in the pon-conviction of a
host of criminals who, under other cir
cumstances, would have been condemned
jto death.”
GOOD TEMPER.
There’s not a cheaper thing on earth,
Nor yet one half so dear;
’Tis worth more than distinguished birth
Or thousands gained a year.
It lends the day a new delight,
’Tis Virtue’s firmest shield;
And adds more beauty to the night
Than all the stars can yield.
It raakoth Poverty content.
To Sorrow whispers peace;
It is a gift from heaven sent,
For mortals to increase;
It meets you with a smile at morn,
It lulls you to repose;
A flower for peer and peasant born,
An everlasting rose.
A charm to banish grief away—
To snatch the brow from care;
Turn tears to smiles, make dulness gay,
Spread gladness everywhere.
And yet’tis sweet as summer dew
That gems the lilly’s breast;
A talisman for love as true
As ever man possessed.
What may this wondrous spirit be,
With power unheard before—
This charm, this bright amenity?
Good Temper—nothing more!
Good Temper—’tis the choicest gift
That woman homeward brings,
And can the poorest peasant lift
To bliss unknown to kings.
ONE MORE IMPORTUNATE,
BY LOUISE STOCKTON.
Martha Clarkson, the widow of a fish
erman on the Jersey coast, told me the
greater part of this story. It has always
seemed to me full of significance, espe
cially to women, who, more than men,
lack the dramatic power of putting them
selves into another’s place. For this rea
son we fail to help each other as we
might if we understood how the long un
broken pull of dejection and misery
wears out even the desire for better. If
the rising sun renews only the monotony
of deprivation, if it sets upon days made
of negations, what avails the sun to us?
There are those of us who can fight bet
ter than we can endure, and by whom
violent suffering is preferred to passive
misery. And it would be well if we
would understand how to go out and
help the ones who are in this plight,
knowing that the great fact to recognize
is that these are the victims who will
never come asking for succor.
The story concerned Agnes Jerome.
When it begins, Agnes was about thirty
years old, and under many troubles had
grown worn and weary. While she was
still a young girl she had married against
the advice of her family, and her conse
quent unhappiness ought to have satis
fied the most revengeful in it. If her
husband had justified her faith in him,
and she had prospered, she might have
been forgiven, but she was so persistent
ly w r retched that it was uncomfortable to
even think of her. Her brother resented
being called upon to go bail for her hus
band, her sisters did not like their ser
vants to see her forlorn figure coming
into the house; she always had the aspect
of a beggar, they said; and indeed this
was true; but it was not of them she was
forever craving help, it was of life, of
death, of the Lord in heaven, sometimes
of the devil himself.
In the first years of her marriage she
used to think she would be happy if only
Barney would reform; then she despaired
of his reformation, because all their sur
roundings were so abject. They had lost
their comfortable home, and were living
in a back room in the lodging-house. In
the morning she used to get up and boil
her coffee over a smoky little oil lamp,
in a tin cup, while Barney was Still asleep.
As she sat eating dry bread and drinking
poor coffee, wrapped in a shawl, because
the people below stairs kept the heat
turned down until their rooms were
warmed, she used to think that if any
thing would excuse a man for living in
saloons it was the alternative of living in
a room svich as her own. She did not
realize that Barney cared nothing for the
dreariness of his home. He never
thought of it except as a place where
there was a bed to sleep upon, and where
possibly something to Cat poujd be ob
tained. If he came home late at njght
and found his wife sewing, he was satis
fied, because it was evident that she had
work, and there would be some money;
if he found her asleep, he said little, be
cause he was always sleepy and stupid,
and lie didn’t want®to be talked to by
her. If he had any treasons to which
his heart or thoughts turned, they were
not in his home. He never abused
Agnes—that is, he never struck her—
but he never thought himself responsible
for her privations, her hunger, sufferings
or mortifications. They were both poor,
and that was all there was of it. If the
landlady turned them out-of-doors he ex
pected Agnes to find a new shelter, and
this she had to do, because no one would
have trusted him for the rent of a room.
And if people had known how entirely
penniless and destitute she always was
when she sought a new home, no one
would have let her in. But she had
some bravery and the breeding of a lady,
uud her gentle manners carried her over
many hard places, And she sank lower,
until she was quite out of sight, aud this
was comfortable for her relations. To
have a skeleton in the closet is bad
enough, but one in the front hall is
worse.
After a time Barney disappeared. Ag
nes expected him back day by day, but
he did not come, and she began to hope
he was dead. It seemed so much better
to think of him as asleep in a quiet grave
than wandering drunken about the
streets. She sewed very constantly in
these days, and as she could keep, use
and manage what she earned, she was
able to rent a room with a stove in it,
and now aud then cook herself a little
cheap meat. But the long hours of cheer
less toil, the want of fresh air and ven
tilation, brought on a slow fever, and she
had to go to a hospital. Here she lay
far several weeks until she was discharged
as cured. Aud she was curpd of the fe
ver, but she was a sick, suffering woman
when she went feebly out of the hos
pital gate and stood at the street corner
waiting for a car. She did not know
where to go. She had three dollars in
her pocket, given her by two of the
nurses, but that was a small capital upon
which to start in life again. And in
deed she did not care much where she
went if only she could get somewhere
where she could lie down. Her limbs
were stiff; she had a pain in her back,
and her brain seemed tired and sluggish.
As she stood on the corner she read a
placard on the wall advertising an ex
cursion to the sea-shore. For one dollar
one person could go and return. As Ag
nes read this she half smiled. For a
convalescent to go to the sea-shore was
a proper and usual thing to do. And it
occurred to her that she would best go.
She would, for a dollar have two long
rides, and she would see the ocean,
breathe the air. The very thought rested
and inspired her, and when the street-car
came along she got into it with some
spirit, making up her mind where to go
for lodgings for the night.
Early the next morning she went to
the w'harf, bought her ticket, and crossed
by the ferry to the railroad station. It
was a clear sunny morning in early sum
mer, and the river was all freshness and
glitter, and the islands which lay in the
middle of it were green and beautiful.
The trees hung over, looking into the
water, and the gulls sailed ahead of the
boat. To be in the midst of people bent
upon a holiday, to be in motion and out
in the air, and so be going somewhere,
made Agnes feel as though she were out
of her mind, and that she must pinch her
self and make sure her sensations were
normal.
But after she had been in the train for
an hour her excitement went away, and
she sank into her usual depression, yet
not into her usual quiescent mood. She
had during her illness bound herself to a
certain task, and she meant now to per
form it. In the night this had come to
her—that the time, the opportunity, had
now arrived, and this was to be done.
It w’as no new thought. Before she was
ill it had been a poor comfort lying
ahead, and in the hospital she had silently
reflected upon it day and night. The
only question was how she should do
it. She knew how much trouble and
gossip there always was in the miserable
houses where she must live, and she also
knew that if she died in one of them, and
the alarm was spread, and the police and
the coroner called in, that her history
would be canvassed, and her family hear
it all. And she also thought of the peo
ple who might keep the house in which
she should die, and that they might find
it a loss to have a lodger kill herself in
one of their rooms.
But to drown herself in the sea, and to
be swept out into the waste of waters,
and only God and the angels know—that
contented her, and took away all her per
plexities; because when one has an imagi
nation and comprehension of details and
some thought of others, it is not entirely
easy to decide upon how it is best to die,
there always being some complex difficul
ties in the matter. Being a woman, she
had naturally th4(pat of poison, but it is
not easy to select a poison. Agnes did
not want to die in torture; the very
thought of this was horrible to her. She
had suffered so much that she thought of
death as a relief, to make it another
agony was imposMfle. But if she did
this tlAg she wanted to do it surely, to
makeli mistake; aud who can be sure
of a narcotic? She had known of more
than one miserable creature who by force
and the skill of doctors had been brought
back to life. Her escape should not thus
be hindered. To shoot or to hang her
self was impossible to her. But to go
away silently and quietly and trouble no
one, that seemed to her a most fitting and
proper thing to do.
And so, having come to the end of all
she knew, and seeing nothing before her,
she believed, that the time had como fqr
her departure, and she went on to her
destined place without any desperate
feeling whatever. There was perhaps no
one on the excursion who was more quiet
than Agnes; and she even smiled, being
amused because she had in her pocket a
return ticket. She was noticed by every
one near her as being so forlornly unlike
the others; she was alone, and, it was
easy to see, was both poor and sick.
But np one guessed how tranquil and
content she was, feeling as she did that
sleep was awaiting her, As for the here
after, she had no fear w'hatever, being
quite surp that her Father knew how
wretched was her life and how useless.
In some other world there might be both
happiness and ivork for her, and to it she
would go.
When she reached the sea-shore she
stopped at a store, bought some bread,
and then wandered away by the beach,
and watched the tide go out and then
pome in. The sky shone over it all, and
the fresh winds blew on her thin and
sunken cheeks; but no one disturbed
her, and the day was quiet and very sa
cred to her. It was not a hasty leave
that she was taking of her life, and she
could not be sorry to be gone, although
it was bitter, bitter to feel that she must
do it, when there was so many happy
people who would awake with the morn
ing.
In the late twilight some boys ran past
the little house where Martha Clarkson
lived, and stopped just long enough to
call in that Jim had been out and brought
a woman in. Mrs. Clarkson laid down
the match she had lighted, put back the
chimney on the lamp and went out to the
light house where Jim was on duty. She
found a group of men—some from the
life-saving station, some fishermen and
the light-house keeper standing around
the body of a woman who was lying on
the ground, and Jim, her son, was among
them, still in his wet clothing. Martha
Clarkson pushed her way through the
little group and looked down on Agnes.
Truly she was a most pitiful object. Her
dripping garments clung to her meagre
figure, her hands fell away limp on the
ground, her hair clung to her face, and
her eyes were partly open—sightless, un
meaning eyes. Poverty—poverty and
trouble lay there embodied; and it made
the heart of the old woman acho. She
had borne many griefs, yet she had never
thought of anything but of living through
them. In her family the men might
peeish out*at sea, but the women died in
their beds, waiting until death came foi
them.
“I saw her go in,” said Jim. “She
looked around first, but she didn’t see
me, and she took off her bonnet and held
it in her hand, and walked right down
into the water. The tide was about in,
but it was quiet, you know, and any of
us could have stood up and laughed at it.
But she went down all of a sudden,
when it wasn’t up to her waist. She
didn’t throw herself over, but a wave,
just took her off her feet, and down she
went. When I got out after her I was
afeared I wouldn’t find her, but I saw
her face once, and then I knowed where
to look.”
“It didn’t do any good,” said the
light-house keeper; “she’sswallowed her
last drink of water.”
“Who says so?” asked Martha. And
when she heard that Doctor Shields had,
she looked around for him, and then
said, in a loud, clear voice, that Doctor
Shields’s opinions -were like dreams, and
should be taken contrary. And with
that she had Agnes carried into the light
house, and she and the life-saving guards
went to work, and after awhile poor Ag
nes opened her eyes and saw the same
world to which she had vainly tried to
say farewell.
As there was nowhere else to take her
that night, Mrs. Clarkson took her home
to her house, and made her comfortable.
She went in through the night very often
and looked at Agnes, who slept like a
child; and in the morning Mrs. Clarkson
began to nurse Agnes. She already was
interested in her because it was Jim aud
she who had restored her to life, and day
by day she tried to strengthen and nour
ish her. Agnes accepted all that was
done for her. Never was any one more
passive. She did not understand what
else to do. She had so parted with life
that it now eluded her, and she could
not catch hold of it again; and more
over, she was very inert, and after a time
it was found that her right arm was stif
fened, so that she moved it with diffi
culty.
All summer she staid with Martha.
How could she break away and depart
when there was no one to whom she
could go? She could not work, and as
for starving, of that she had had enough.
And Martha was glad to keep her. She
could sew, even with her stff arm, better
than Martha could, and she pleased and
entertained them all. Jim came home
every day, because the house was more
alive with this gentle creature in it;
and the boy of the family loved her
stories next to sailing. She taught
Hiram—this boy—to read when winter
came; and now, indeed, they were glad
to have her company, shut in as they so
often were that stormy year.
In the spring Jim was drowned. He
lost his life at last saving others; and
when Agnes, weeping with Martha, cried
out that there was nothing she could do
for one who had done so much for her-~
because Agnes was now reconciled to life,
and at rest—Martha took her in her arms,
and begged and implored her to turn the
boy from the thoughts of the sea. It
had swallowed her husband and taken her
son, and she could not give it all that was
left to her. ,
And after this Agnes gave herself tc
this work—to keep the boy from the
ocean. But it was the teaching of water
to run uphill. The blood of fishermen
and sailors coursed through his veins; all
the traditions of his life were of ships,
and the very stories his mother told had
the salt of the sea in them. He drew his
brows together and looked sullen when
the women asked him to keep out of th(
boats; and many a night he climbed from
his window and went fishing alone.
But at last Agnes discovered that 'nexl
to the sea Hiram lqved machinery, and
she set herself to making him love it bet
ter. She said no more against the sailor,
but turned all her thoughts and words tc
machinery. She bought a Natural Phil
osophy, and together the two studied
mechanics and everything else the book
contained, so they clearly understood it.
They also made a pasteboard locomotive,
and when they were perplexed they went
tegether to the railroad, and the engi
neers showed them whatever they asked
about. And so it came at last that
Hiram had a situation on the road, and
he became an engineer, and then perfected
the invention that has made him rioh,
But the idea of the invention eamo from
Agnes, because onoo when working on
the pasteboard model they made a mis
take, and she rectified it on a hint given
her by sewing machines. It was this
hint that Hiram afterward applied and
worked upon.
And so Agnes grew to rejoice in her
life, having Hiram to save for his mother - ,
and both of them to love and to serve,
Hiram was a good son to the two vyomen,
and when his mother died, ho and Agnes
went to Russia together, and from there
to China, and she was proud of his
prosperity, and he was full of interest in
everything, and never failed in his tender
affection for her, and the good times he
had she shared with him.
Of Barney Jerome there came no news
at all, and it is probable, had Agnes suc
ceeded in leaving this world when she
meant to do so, she might have found
him already arrived in the other. So
it was well she staid here and had some
of the peace and happiness the earth can
give, and was rid of him.— lfurper'i
Bazar.
Arch Tramps.
The most inveterate loafers on earth
are the Veddahs, or forest-dwellers, of
the Cingalese coa#t swamps, They live
outdoors entirely and submit to unspeak
able hardships of winter rains and sum
mer heat—not to mention land-leeches
and gnats—rather than go to the trouble
of constructing a water-proof cabin.
Like their next relatives, the wanderoo
apes, they are passionately fond of sweet
fruit, but such is their horror of labor
that even the prospect of an abundoiit
crop will not tempt them to undertake
the cultivation of a banana orchard, re
quiring about four hours of work per
week.
]|urmah has altogether a population of
about five millions.
HOUSEHOLD AFFAIRS.
SOFT WATER FOR BOILING.
Soft water is best for boiling vegeta
bles. Green vegetables should be put
into plenty of salted boiling water and
cooked rapidly, without covering, until
tender. As much carbonate of ammonia
as will lie on the point of a penknife put
into the boiling water with peas, spin
ach, asparagus, etc., helps to preserve the
color. —Mew York World.
HOW TO CARVE POULTRY.
An expert carver can divide poultrj
without removing the fork from the
breast-bone or turning the bird on the
dish, but a beginner will do well to have
a small fork at hand for the purpose of
laying cut portions aside as the carving
progresses. Turn the bird so that the
carving fork can be held in the left hand
and firmly fixed in the breast-bone, and
use a sharp knife. First cut off both
drumsticks at the knee joint, and then
remove the second joints. With a ten
der bird this is not a difficult matter, but
both strength and skill are needed to
cope successfully with a tough or under
done turkey, because very strong sinews
are plentiful about the leg joints. Next
cut off the first joints of the wings and
the pinions, and then the joints nearest
the body. This method of cutting ofl
the first joints of the legs and wings be
fore separating them from the body saves
that troublesome feat of holding these
members while they are being disjointed.
Frequently they slip about the platter and
splatter the dish gravy. After the wings
are removed, cut off the merry-thought
or wish bone, and then the wing-side
bone which holds the breast to the back
bone, then carve the breast in medium
thin slices and serve the bird, giving
gravy and dressing on each plate. If the
diners are numerous it may be necessary
to cut off more of the flesh, and even to
dismember the carcass. This can be done
with more or less ease as the carver under
stands the anatomy of the bird. If a
carver would study the location of the
joints while carving and take the trouble
to cut up several carcasses by striking the
points where bones are joined together,
subsequent carving would be easy. The
joints of all birds are similarly placed so
nearly identical in point of junction that
me is a guide to all others. —Detroit Free
Press. .
RECIPES.
Potato Chowder—This is a nice dinner
for a busy day. Cut half a pound of sail
pork into thin slices and fry slowly, £
very light brown; add five sliced onions,
and let them color slightly; peel and slice
—dropping the slices into cold water
two quarts of potatoes. Put a layer oi
these in a deep kettle; then a thin layer
of pork and onions; season each layer
with salt and pepper, and dredge with
flour. When all the ingredients are used,
cover with two quarts of hot water, let
it come slowly to the boiling point and
cook forty minutes, or until the potatoes
are done. Minced parsley or young celery
is a desirable addition.
Banana Custard—Dissolve two table
spoonfuls of cornstarch in two table
spoonfuls of cold water; add one cup oi
sugar and two ounces of butter; stir to
gether in a stew-pan long enough to cook
the cornstarch until smooth; pour on
gradually, stirring the while, a quart of
boiling water; remove from the fire aud
add the beaten yolks or three eggs; re
turn to the fire and stir until thick.
When cold stir a pint bowlful of thinly
sliced bananas and pour all into a pretty
china or glass dish. Cover with a
meringue of the whites beaten to a stiff
froth with half a cup of powdered sugar
and the juice of half a lemen and heap on
top of the oustard.
English Muffins—Scald one pint of
milk, and when lukewarm stir in three
cups of sifted flour and one level tea
spoonful of salt; beat hard aud add four
ounces of melted butter, then half a cake
of compressed yeast dissolved in a gill of
warm water, and beat again. Let them
stand covered in a warm place until very
light. If wanted for tea at 6 o’clock, mix
about 2:30. Butter some muffin rings
and lay on a hot griddle; half fill with
the batter and bake until brown on one
aide, then turn and brown on the other;
remove the rings and let them remain over
a slow fire for a moment or two. Tear
(never cut) them open, drop in some but
ter, lay together and serve at once. If
any are left until cold, toast and butter
them.
Peach Gelatine—Press half a ean oi
peaches or apricots through a colandor;
whip a pint of cream stiff; take quarter
of a box of gelatine that has been soaking
in two tablespoanfuls of cold water and
stir it over boiling water until it is dis
solved ; strain it into the puree of fruit;
mix well and stand the basin—which
should be a tin one—on the ice or in the
snow, and stir from the bottom and sides
until it begins to set and thicken, their
add half of the whipped cream, mix
thoroughly and set away in a mold to,
harden. If you dine at evening, do this
in the morning, but not over night. ’Turn
out on a pretty dish and pour the re
mainder of the whipped cream, which
you have kept in a cool place, around
the base.
Soup a la Bonne Femme—This is an
extremely wholesome soup which deserves
to be better known. Cut a good-sized
onion into rounds and fry in a little but
ter, or fat taken from the top of soups;
do not allow it to brown, and when half
done add the finely-cut leaves of a tender
bead of lottuce and a handful of sorrel
also cut small; season with pepper, salt
and grated nutmeg, and keep stirring for
five minutes longer. Then add half a
teaspoonful of sugar and a cup of veal
3tock; give one boil, and keep warm until
time of serving. Meanwhile prepare a
dozen and a half very thin slices of bread,
about an inch wide, and two inches long;
dry these in the oven; free the soup from
fat, if there is any on it; set it to. bo>U;
when this point is reached, remove from
the fire and stir in the beaten yolk of an
egg with one gill of cream or rich milk,
[q all cases where eggs are added to soup
they must be well beaten and stirred in
slowly or they will curdle, —American
AdvtiuMrint,
THE FAITHFUL CLOCK.
Although my hands are on my face,
And all the time I go on tick;
Trust me, mine is a worthy case.
The slow may think I am too quick,
But fast and slow at once may sea
At any time good works in me.
Good hours from day to day I keep;
No one down oarly, none up late,
Has ever caught me fast asleep.
If I run down, I lose my weight;
If I should take a single drop
’Twould break me, and my works would stop.
A man wound up is in a fix,
But wind me up and I can go.
Though hard the times, I play no tricks,
And yet it is on tick I do
The constant work of my two hands—
A task the workman understands.
*•-
I sometimes strike, but only hit
The laggards who are out too late;
And some of them have little wit,
And skulls so thick that if my weight
Upon their stupid heads should drop,
They would not know what made them stop.
—George W. Bungay, in Harper's Weekly.
HUMOR OF THE DAY.
As in a looking-glass—SA.
Open for an engagement —Portholes.
A tennis player is the boy for a
racket.
An inferior grade of carpeting may be
hard to beat.
Would it be inappropriate to wish a
“king of horsemen” a long rein?
When your father’s sister visits you,
lodge her in the aunty chamber.— Life.
The groom is likely to be a more stable
character than his master. —Detroit Free
Press.
If you are traveling in a Pullman car
you want to give a fat man a wide berth.
— Picayune.
The fastest pair on record—The City
of Paris on land and the City of Paris on
water.— Mercury.
Street Loafer—“ Hello, boy! what’s
new in the paper to-day?” Smart News
boy—“ The date.”
Lightning never strikes twice in the
same place. It doesn’t have to—once is
generally sufficient.
“The only way to prevint what’s past,’’
said Mrs. Muldoon, “is to put a stop to
it before it happens.”
King Charles evidently was making a
knight of it when he dubbed that famous
piece of beef Sir Loin.
A glass eyo has one compensation—
everybody else can see through the de
vice, if the wearer can’t.
Mother—“ Well, what do you think of
Mr. Smith?” Daughter—“He was charm
ing last night; he didn’t say a word.”
“I cannot look back over the path I
have trodden without giving me pain,”
the man said who had two boils on his
neck.
It requires but little faith for a man to
believe he is made of dust after he has
asked for credit and found that his name
is mud.— New Ymk News.
Teacher (to class in geography)—“lf I
should dig a hole through the earth where
would I come out?” Small Boy—“ Out
of the hole.”— New York World.
Wall street shears are sharpening,
And Bull conspires with Bear;
While lambs now skip and hurry,
To leave their fleeces there.
—New York Commercial Advertiser.
A young man in the Treasury Depart
ment calls his best girl “bevizoic sul
phinide,” because benzoic sulphinide is;
three hundred times sweeter than sugar.
Washington Critic.
He—“ You evidently knew that song.
I noticed that your mouth kept moving
as though you were repeating the words.’*
She—“No, George, that was gum.”—
Minneapolis Tribune.
It is said that in some parts of Africa
there are birds with bills a yard in length.
If the theory of transmigration of souls is
a correct one, these birds must be the
spirits of departed lawyers.
Swiley—“l’m going to succeed this
time. I’ve got my business founded on
a rock.” Hawley—“l hope it isn’t the
same rock you split upon when you
were in business before.”— Burlington
Free Press.
Visitor at Kindergarden School—
“ Children, your teacher has asked me
to say a few words to you. How shall I
begin?” Pupil on the Back Seat (just as.
they all do) —“When I was a boy.”—
Boston Transcript.
Mrs. Passe (to her maid) —“How is the
weather to-day, Marie?” Maid—“ Fresh
and windy, madame.” Mrs. Passe—
“Very well; you will please put a healthy
flush on my cheeks this morning; lam
going out.”— Life.
He scarce knows the names of the principal
streets,
Nor the faces of people he constanty meets;
Be ever so plain he won’t know what you
mean,
And he’s no recollection of things he has seen;
He’s short in his memory, his sight is defec
tive;
Can’t you guess what he is—a Chicago detec
tive. —Chicago Times.
A young man of Nantucket, becoming
engaged recently, was desirous of pre
senting his intended with a ring appro
priately inscribed, but, being at a loss
what to have engraved upon it, he called
upon his father for advice. “Well,”'
said the old man, “put on: ‘When this
you see, remember me.’” The young;
lady was much surprised a few days after
at receiving a beautiful ring with "this in
scription: “When this you see,remember
father.”
The Stars and Stripes.
The Stars and Stripes were first lioistcc?
as a national flag on August 3,1777,0ver
Fort Schuyler, then a military post on
the site of the village of Rome, Oneida
County. N. Y. On May 1, 1795, after
Vermuunt and Kentucky had been added
to the Union, the number of stars in the
flag was increased from thirteen to fif
teen, and it remained so until 1818,when
Captain Samuel C. Reid, of the privateer
Armstrong, devised a flag with a star for
every State, making it bear twenty stars
at that time. Stars have been added
since whenever u qe\y tiutv wjjs admitted,
t* the Union. * ~