Newspaper Page Text
THE LINGOLNTON NEWS.
VOLUME VII. NUMBER 46.
r Great Britain has $500,000,000 in¬
:
vested in our railways.
■ Another expedition to search for the
North Pole has been organized.
| Englishmen in New York who can
afford to talk freely predict that royalty
in England will not outlast the Prince of
Wales.
Out of thirteen clergymen interviewed
in Cincinnati on the project of preaching
sermons for little children, twelve de¬
cidedly opposed it.
Nearly one hundred officers of the
British army have qualified as interpreters
in foreign languages, thirty-eight of the
number being in Russian.
The New York Voice is of the opinion
that “Cuba is the plague spot of this
continent, a standing menace to the life
and health of the surrounding coun¬
tries.”
Siam has for the first time begun the
issue of paper money. The bills are of
the denomination of one, five and ten
ticals, a tical being equal to sixty cents
of American money.
Brick works, lumber yards, foundries,
saw-mills, flour and grist-mills and plan
ing-mills are being built all over the
South at a rate that, the Chicago Sun de¬
clares, “is almost alarming. Never was
such an industrial revival seen.”
f
The “Angelus,” Millet’s painting,
which was recently purchased in Paris by
an American, will have cost $150,969
when the duty has been paid. It is only
22^-inches wide and 25J inches in length,
This makes it cost $3500 a square inch.
The New York Tribune is convinced
that any permanent division in the Liber¬
al party in England is impossible while
Mr. Gladstone lives. He is the heart,
brain and soul of English Liberalism, and
while he remains in public life he alone is
leader.
The Pesther Lloyd, a German paper,
calls attention to the curious fact that
strikes and labor riots are most frequent
where laborers are best paid, in France,
in ^England arid iri Hie United 'States,
while the artisans of Turkey and Eastern
Austria work without a murmur for twen¬
ty cents a day.
I The manufacture of postage stamps,
which for twenty-eight years has been
carried on at New. York city, is to be
transferred to Philadelphia, Charles F.
Steele of that city having put in the low¬
est bid. The business is a large one.
Two hundred hands will be employed
and the annual output will be about 140,
000,000 sheets.
The knapsack by which the weight of
the burden carried is transferred to the
hips from the shoulders has been under
trial for some time by the authorities of
the United States War Department. So
favorable have been the reports received
from the officers testing*it that the Ord¬
nance Bureau has been ordered to manu¬
facture two thousand for use in the army.
Electric experts have not yet contrived
to agree on a verdict concerning the ad¬
vantages or disadvantages of the pro¬
posed new' mode of capital punishment.
After a two hours’ cross-examination one
specialist admitted that no reinforcement
of the electric current would make the
shock infallibly fatal, vchite his colleague
confessed that a current sufficient to kill
a bull might now and then fail even to
stun a dog;_
The officers of several of the European
steamers running to the port of New
York, are trying to suppress gambling by
passengers. The rules against it have
been strictly enforced upon some of the
lines, but entirely disregarded \»pon oth¬
ers. It has been found by long experi¬
ence that it is a hard business to deal
with biv the high seas, just as it is on the
dry land.
London’s famed photographer, Dow¬
ney, was recently summoned to serve on
a jury; and at the very same time was
summoned by Queen Victoria to go to
Buckingham Palace and photograph the
Shah of Persia. He obeyed the latter
call, and his lawyer had hard work to
save him from being fined for contempt
of court. “A jury summons,” said the
Judge, “ takes precedence of everything
else, even the Shah,”
The Boston Investigator should have
investigated the laws of probability be¬
fore publishing the following hunting
story, which certainly surpasses all recent
achievements, even of our far "Western
specialists. The anecdote in question
describes the adventure of a duck-catch¬
ing old tomcat that used to hide in a
canebrake frequented by swarms of water
fowl . His plan was to pounce on the
bird unawares and kill it after dragging
it ashore; but the last time he tried that
trick his claws got fastened in the down
of an old greenhend drake, and seeing its
■ lidAyintage, the bird took wing and flew
pway wjtlf its would-be captofr. ****
'
r>EVOTJEJL> TO THE INTEREST OP LINCOLN COUNTY.
SCYTHE SONO.
Mowers, weary and brown and blltha,
What Is the word methinks ye know,
Endless over-word that the Scythe
Sings to the blades of the grass below?
Scythes that swing in the grass and clover,
Something, still, they say as they pass;
What is the word that over and over,
Sings the Scythe to the Bowers and grass?
Hush, ah hush! the Scythes are saying,
Hush, and heed not, and fall asleep;
Hush, they say to the grasses swaying,
Hush, they sing tet the clover deep!
Hush—’tis the lullaby Time is singing—
Hush, and heed not, for all things pass,
Hush, ah hush! and the Scythes are swing
ing
„ .Over the clover, over the grass!
—Andrew Lang.
DRIVEN AWAY*
BY JAMES FRANKLIN FITTS.
I am sitting in my Grandmother God¬
frey’s rocker at the window of the east
ing-ground room looking out upon the family bury
at the foot o? the hill, the
meeting-house on its summit, and the
Merrimac, which Winds round it, in the
distance. Here, fifty years ago, she used
to sit with her knitting in the after¬
noons.
She dearly loved to talk, and, as I
was her favorite, many of her quaint ob¬
servations were addressed to me. One of
them I now recall, as it has a certain re¬
lation to the matter of this narrative.
More than once, as I sat near her, have
I seen her kind brown eyes fixedly re¬
gard me over her steel-bowed spectacles,
and heard her say, with perfect gravity,
“My dear, I think you’ll be an old maid.
You’re a Ttobie through and through,
and most of their womenfolks were that
kind. Indeed,” she added, reflectively,
“I came near being one myself.”
The prophecy of the good old soul has
been fulfilled, but it was my choice that
made it so. When I was twenty-four,
Joshua Goss came back on a visit from the
West, whither he had gone ten years be¬
fore to seek his fortune. He was of the
pushing, thriving New England type,
already prosperous in his new home be¬
yond the Mississippi, nnd promising to
become rich, perhaps famous,
I had corresponded with him occa¬
sionally since he went away, I had been
his favorite among the girls at school,
and was not surprised when he told me
one day that his chief object in coming
back at this time was to induce me to
cast my lot with his,
It was in this very room that he asked
me. Little Percy, only four years old
then, had come in tired from his play,
climbed into ray lap, and fallen, asleep.
Joshua waited for my answer seriousiy
and anxiously. My heart said yes, but I
looked at the child, and duty bade me
say no. It cost me a dreadful pain, yet
I did not hesitate.
Very frankly I answered that this little
orphan in my lap was my charge; that
my brother Ephraim would never marry,
and that my duty forbade that I should
He leave^ did the hot old home. Joshua listened.
remonstrate nor argue, blit
I had never seen upon his face just such
an expression as it then. had.
“For your own sake, Patience,” he
said, in a trembling voice, “I hope you
have chosen wisely. Whether so or not,
I know you too well to try to alter your
resolution. Good-by!”
I gave him my hand—for an instant—
watched him as he slowly walked down
the road until the turn hid him from my
eyes, and then my life went on again the
same as if no interruption had occurred.
His life since then has not been un¬
known to me, nor to the country.
Should his true name be given here, it
would be recognized as that of one Whose
voice has ofteu been heard in the Senate
of the United States.
When Percy was four years old and I
twenty-four, Ephraim was twenty-six,
and wc three Were the survivors of the
long line of Baltards, Godfreys, Robies,
Halts and what not, running back far be¬
yond the War of the Revolution, who
had dwelt in this ancient homestead and
tilled this rooky farm.
In the last two years death had been
busy with us. First, Grandmother God¬
frey, full of years and ready to depart,
was laid by her fatherrs, and within the
twelvemonth both our parents were
stricken down by the terrible scourge
that visited the village that summer.
They-were carried to one grave on the
same in morning, while Percy picked clover
tops the yard, and laughed as the long
procession moved toward the hill.
In the six or eight years following I
think we were happier than ever again
while Brother Ephraim lived, for those
were the years when Percy’s sweet child¬
ish ways and cunning prattle filled the
house with sunshine and music, and be¬
fore any troublesome question as to his
future had come in to divide us.
God’s blessing- and compassion, after
our sore tribulation, seemed given us in
this dear child. He was not at all like
us, either in looks or actions; he never
was . Ephraim and I were dark, almost
sallow, like our father, and we had his
slow, thoughtful speech and ways; but
the child was like mother, fair, blue¬
eyed, with all her lightness of heart and
cheeriness of voice.
The picture that comes back to me most
vividly from those old days is that of
Ephraim, stern and serious, even when a
young man, as he read the Bible aloud at
our early bedtime in his strong, nasal
tone, and bore with a patience that he
would not have exercised toward another
the intcriuption liis caused by Percy’s’put¬
ting chubby hands upon the page.
The boy grew up bright, quick and af¬
fectionate, but not over studious, He
was full of fun and spirit, and hated con¬
finement. I date the beginning of our
troubles about him from the time that a
copy of .“Robinson Crusoe” fell into his
hands.
The book absorbed him. He was thir¬
teen years old at that time, but he said to
me, with all the gravity and positiveness
of a man, that he could never be any¬
thing but a sailor. I thought little of
what he said at the tifne. and treated it
as ^Igcd a mere boyish whim; but he never
his mind.
LINCOLNTON, GEORGIA, FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 1839.
He was almost seventeen when he left
us for the sea. 1 think of what occurred
before that day with pain and sorrow,
but it must be told. It was one night
after Percy had had gone up to his chamber;
Ephraim been sitting some time in
silence, and I saw there was something
on his mind. At last he spoke:
the “Patience, that perverse boy will be
reproach and disgrace of our lives.
He is bent on going to sea.”
I knew something of Ephraim’s stern
will, but I had not often seen him so
aroused. He tried in vain to repress his
anger as he continued:
“Fot a hundred years our fathers be¬
fore us lived here, doing their duty in
the way that God had called them, They
tilled the land, and were not ashamed of
their calling. There have been no
rovers nor vagabonds among them, so
far as I have heard; but here we have
an idle, shiftless fellow, too proud to
work on the farm, who must needs go oil
and herd With profane and rum-drinking
sailors,’’
Useless as it was to argue with him, I
could hot bear to hear him speak so of
Percy.
is “Ephraim, pray don’t wrong him. He
not proud; he does not despise labor;
he is a loving and truthful boy. My
heart is sore enough to think of his
leaving us in that way; but I remember
how different he is—”
Ephraim rose, candlestick in hand,
and cut short the discussion before it
had faily begun.
“I am his guardian; I stand in the
place of his father; I know what is for
his good; I will never consent. He is
almost a man, and quite able-bodied.
Do you know that I am paying five and
three-pence a day for labor? He shall be
informed of hi* duty to-morrow.”
I hoped that the explosion which was
now to occur would be in my presence,
that 1 might stand between these two
brothers, so different in age and temper,
and try to moderate their passions; but
it was not to be.
the Nothing was said on the subject at
breakfast table, When the meal was
finished, Ephraim said to Percy that he
wished to see him alone, and walked out
behind the bam. Percy followed him.
At noon Ephraim returned to the house
alone, his face darker and sterner than
before.
“Where is Percy?” was my anxious in¬
quiry.
“I do not know,” he replied.
My heart was heavy with apprehenston.
Other questions that I asked he would
not answer.
The day passed, and supper-time came,
but not Percy. I thought I should be
sure to hear what had passed between
them before another day, but Ephraim
continued to be morose and silent, and
I passed the most unhappy night that I
had known since our parents died.
As we sat mute and oppressed at an¬
other and almost untasted breakfast; the
door opened, I looked round and littered
a cry of joy, for Percy stood there; his
hand on the door-latch. He looked very
tired, and his shoes were white with
dust.
“I couldn’t go this way,” he said, “so
I walked all night to come back and just
say good-by. Ephraim, don’t blame me.
I’ve tried to think as you do,but I can’t.
I know I’ve tried your patience, and I
want you to forgive me. We must part
friends.”
He took a step toward the table, and
held out his hand.
“You disobey me; you quit this house
without my leave, ” Said Ephraim. 1 ‘Un
dutiful boy, never speak of forgiveness,
nor offer me your head, uritil you have
ceased to rebel!”
He left the room; and during that last
twenty-four hours that Percy remained
Under the roof, Ephraim saw him no
more.
A brief letter to me from Boston told
me that our truant had shipped for a
voyage to Canton. He put the world
between us at the start, and not another
letter was received by us from him.
Almost ten long years passed before any
intelligence of him reached us. They
were years of secret grief for me, which
only the cares and labors of the house
made tolerable. Not a day but I thought
of Percy; not a night but I prayed for his
safety. I used to scan the marine news
in the paper to find something about him,
and for his sake I was doubly kind and
hospitable to the blue-jackets who some¬
times came our way.
We filled these years with hard toil,
and the unvarying round occupations that
our situation afforded. There was rest
and the comfort of coming nearer to God
on the Sabbath; there were the prayer
meeting and the choir meeting, and an
occasional vwit with a neighbor.
But it seemed as if the larger part of
my life had left me with Percy. I had
known that he was dear to me; but not
before the sorrowful morning of our part¬
ing had I realized how closely my heart
was bound to him.
His name was never spoken between
Ephraim and me. Sometimes I fancied
that some of the petitions which my
brother offered in his prayers must be in
tended to refer to Percy; and once when
he read the chapter containing the story
of the Prodigal Son, his voice grew
husky, and he finished it with difficulty,
But he never mentioned Percy’s name,
did he encourage me to do so.
The 16th of March, 1859, lives in my
memory as the darkest day of my life,
Ephraim had gone to the village after
supper, and did not return till near nine
o’clock. The candle-light was bad and
I did not see his face well when he came
in. When he had hung up his hat and
turned round I was scared by his looks.
“What is it, Ephraim?”! asked.
He took a copy of the Boston paper
of the day before from his pocket, and
handed it to me, pointing as he did so to
a paragraph which reported that the ship
Emma Montford had arrived from Cal
cutta, and that the master' reported the
loss of Percy Ballard, able seaman, who
had fallen overboard, while reefing.
We sat there together till the candle
had burned low. The selfishness of my
hardly own consuming thought grief possessed me; I
of Ephraim until he
spoke. He sat tyjth his elbows
on the table,and his gaunt hands clasping
his head.
“God humbles and smites me to-night
for my hardness of heart,” he said.
“You never knew what happened on
that morning when I took the boy aside
to reason with him. I did not reason; I
was harsh and tyrannical with him.
When I peremptorily forbade him to go
to sea, he tried to coax and persuade me.
I cut him off with a stern command; he
answered me shortly, sad I chastised him
severely.
“Think of it, Patience!”—Ephraim’s
voice was broken. “I beat him like a
dog. He ran away; but his great heart
reproached him, and he came back, peni¬
tent and weary; to ask my forgiveness.
You saw me—you heard me. Pride and
hardness filled my heart, and I—I re¬
pulsed him.”
His face was turned from me; if there
were not tears in his eyes, his voice be
lied him. For an hour longer, before I
went to my sleepless bed, his heavy tread
sounded from the chamber above, as he
paced the floor. The door was open and
the light was burning' as I passed along
the hall. I looked in and saw Ephraim
kneeling by the bedside.
Thereafter came a dreary stretch of
years, in which I toiled, suffered and
prayed. Our affairs- went from bad to
worse. Ephraim was not the same man
after that night. The remorse that af¬
flicted his spirit seemed also to have
stricken his body, and he wasted into the
mere shadow of his former self.
I tried to console and comfort him, as
did also our good minister, but even in
his distress of mind he seemed as far re¬
moved from human sympathy and influ¬
ence as he had ever been. Often in the
night, when I awoke to think of Percy
as I last saw him, the dee; and earnest
tones of prayer from the adjoining room
told me that Ephraim wa . catling for
the pardon which his abjec: pint almost
declined in advance to receive.
He, too, soon slept in the lamily bury¬
ing ground. Poor, self-accused brother!
I have suffered, blit never as he did.
Ill better times and with average sea¬
sons; I am vain enough to think that;
though a woman, I could have managed
the place with the average prosperity.
But the crops failed, and then came on
the war-time, when help was scarce, and
the demands of labor were high. Next
the barns were burned by lightning, and
most of the stock perished in them.
With each new misfortune I nerved
myself for new efforts; but I came at last
to realize that I was contending against
hope. Years were piling their weight
I upon me; my strength was failing. Yet
struggled on.
For two years the interest on the old
mortgage which dated back to father’s
time had not been paid, and threats of
foreclosure had reached me. The pros¬
pect of being turned out of this dear old
home was rudely thrust upon toe. I
could think of nothing else. 1 was
thinking of it one evening, just at dusk,
as I stood at the door.
A poorly dressed man, leading a ltttle
girl, came out of the obscurity of the
road, hesitated and stopped. His face
was half concealed by hair and beard,
and his shabby dress prejudiced me
against him; but the roll in his walk be¬
tokened the sailor, and inclined me at
once to charity.
“We’er hungry, ma’am—sissy and
me,” he said in a gruff voiced “Some
bread and milk; please.”
I motioned them into the kitchen.
“Go in there;” I said; “and I will come
in a moment and get you some food.”
I was gone no longer than was necessa¬
ry to bring the lamp that I had left light¬
ed in the sitting-room. At the kitchen
door my feet were arrested by the specta¬
cle of the man’s impudence. He had
actually gone to the buttery, brought out
a pan of milk and a loaf of bread, dark
as it was, and out of a dipper full of the
milk, he was giving the child a drink.
I was very indignant. “How dare you
take such a liberty?" I asked.
He turned his face over his shoulder
to me, and the merry expression of his
eyes stopped my scolding abruptly. He
spoke—this time in a voice that I knew
at once.
“Why, Patience, this is the way I
used to do, you know.”
I did not faint; but I must have
dropped if he had not “has caught me. “O
Percy 1” I sobbed, God given yoti
back to me?”
“Yes, sister. Where is Ephraim?”
I pointed toward the hill.
We talked so late that night in the
sitting-room in that his The little girt went td
sleep my arms. report referred in the
newspaper could not have to
him, as he said that he had nevet seen
tile ship Emma Montford, '
Bronzed and bearded as he was, he had
the beaming eye and the laughing voice
Of his youth; but when I told him more
about Ephraim, his eyes moistened and
he was silent for a long time.
Later he told me the story of his wan
derings which I put in a few words.
He had sailed to almost every quarter
of the globe, and in the first year of his
absence he had twice or thrice written to
me. For some reason I did not receive
the letters. As he did not hear from me
he became careless, and for a long time
was a wild and reckless rover.
Later, he settled in Australia, where he
married and reared a family.
“I thought I was happy in those days,”
he concluded. “But when, one after
another, my beloved wife and children
were taken from me—all but Clarice—my
eyes were opened said to my ingratitude and
selfishness, and I to myself that these
afflictions were judgments upon me.
Away off there on the other side of the
globe I grew homesick for the old place
and the dear, familiar faces—and here I
am.”
His words filled me with delight, and
also pained me, for how could I tell him
that the place was about to be sold? He
was quick to see the change in mv face,
and asked me what was troubling me.
Ho would have to know soon, and it
seemed better to tell him at once. His
eyes actually brightened as he heard me.
“Is that all?” he asked.
told “All? yo||Jher#Vas why, youdou’tcomprehend“me; two thousand
I dol-
lars and two years’ interest due on ths
mortgage, and—”
He drew a leather wallet from his
pocket, and tossed it into my lap.
“There, Patience, examine that ht
your leisure. Tou’ll find three thousand
dollars in it; yon can use what's over to
fix up the old house. Fudge! be quiet \
it’s only a drop out of what I have ac
cumulated. Did you suppose I'd been
farming off in rich Australia for so many
years with nothing to show for it?”
I was laughing and crying all at once.
80 s^^by, Per( ?> I
.
° ID
“J ti-v .0 more would ,1 any one. But „ you
1 did COD! ;; batk ;
a ™7 b ,°y kl1 * un wou d come wuh me.
This happened one evening long ago.
The years since then have brought to us
all the happiness that was forshadowed
in Percy’s return. On this mellow Indian
summer afternoon my heart is filled with
joy and gratitude.
From the east window I see Percy
and Clarice as they stroll among the
mounds in the little enclosure where our
parents and Ephraim are sleeping. He
told me on the night of his return that
the dear child should always be with me,
and that much of his own time should be
spent here. He occupies the littfecham
ber which was his m boyhood; he will
have no other.
Ah, is not life worth living, in spite of
all the clouds and crosses, when it brings
so bright a sunset as this? Yea, not only
in the world to cOme, but here, also, do
we have our rewards.— Youth's Compan¬
ion.
This Year’s College Endowments.
The following table, showing the in¬
crease the past year in college endow¬
ments, we take from the New Y'ork Pod.
It embraces a number but not all of the
leading colleges:
Bates Allegheny College....... College... ...... 810.000 753)00
......
Boston University. M tk* • • * ...... 100,000
Bowdoin Brown University... College’.... ...... 137,000 20.000
......
Bueltnell University. ...... 25, m
Centenary College.. ..... 25,000
Colby Cornell University... College.'.... ..... 10.000 15.000
.....
Georgetown Cornell University.. CoUege, Kt........., ..... 205,000 50,000
Hamilton College................ 30,000
Haverford College................ 15,000
Heidelberg CoUege................ 28.000
Hillsdale College.................. 17,000
John Knox Hcpkins CoUege...........'.......... University......... 100,000 25.000
Lake Forest University........... 500,000
Madison University............... 100,000
Middlebury Mount Union CoUege............... 50,000 10,000
Northwestern College.............. University.......... 25,000
Oberlin CoUege.................. 45.000
Pennsylvania CoUege.T.............. CoUege.............. 225,1100 16,000
Princeton
Rutgers CoUege................... 90,000
Smith CoUege..................... 12.000
St. Lawrence University.......... 50,000
Syracuse Swai'thmore University.............. University.......... 365,000 25.000
Tufts............................. 135,000
U.-Aversity University of the the City South....._______ of New Y ork 50.000 50.000
of
Vassar............................ 222.000
Vermont University.............. 80.000
WeU CoUege...................... 30,000
WeUesley Wesleyan CoUege................. 36,000
Western Reserve CoUege................. University...... 113.000 60,000
Williams CoUege................. 152,000
Wofford CoUege.................. 10.000
Yale.............................. 275.000
Total for forty-two colleges. .$ 3 , 674,000
The same paper has another table
showing that seventy-five institutions
have added during the year to their li¬
braries over 100,000 volumes. The total
number of volumes in the libraries of 131
institutions is 3,307.000. Harvard holds
the lead with 355,000 volumes; Yale
comes next with 200,000; Princeton is
third with 136.000; Cornell fourth, with
105,000, and Columbia, fifth, with 92 r
000 .
Haymaking in Finland.
A curious way of making, hay is very
generally adopted by the Finns, says the
Mark Lane Express. Poor men who own
no meadows have long been accustomed
to cut what grass they can find in the
forest glades and other waste lands.
Owing to the lack of roads and farm¬
steads the hay was staffed among the
branches of neighboring trees to await the
winter frosts and snow, when it could
easily be earned off by sledges. After a
wet season some farmers noticed that this
which was actually better in quality than that
they themselves had made from
much better grass. The wild crop, so to
call it, had dried much better in the
tree branches exposed to a free circula¬
tion of air than the rich herbage which
had lain occurred long on the sodden ground.
Hence it to them to make tem¬
porary trees upon which their own crops
might be dried.
This experiment was attended with
such success that the plan has been widely
imitated and bids fair entirely to supplant
the old-fashioned methods. After the
mowing is done a number of poles about
ten feet in length and provided with long
transverse pegs are set up at intervals and
the grass is loosely heaped upon them.
The result is said to be excellent. Even
in wet weather only a small portion form¬
ing the outside of the pile is discolored,
while the inner portions, exposed to the
air beneath and protected from the rain
above, are dried in perfect condition.
Mowing can be carried on in spite of
wind and rain, and when once the grass
is placed upon the drying-poles it may be
left without fear of serious damage until
the weather changes.
A Man 140 Years Old. •
According to the Dnjecnik, a paper
published at Saratoff, Russia, there is liv¬
ing there a man who is 140 years old.
His name is Daniel Samoiloff, and he was
born at Saratoff in 1749. He acted as Ad¬
jutant to Field Marshal Pugatchcff, and
took part in the storming of lift sail and
Simbirsk and in the bombardment of
and Samara. brought He was arrested with Pugatcheff he
back to Simbirsk, where
was subjected to 180 blows with the knout
and cohdemned to hard labor for life in
the Siberian mines. After thirty-eight
years’ banishmentiand hard labor Samoil
off was permitted to return to his native
c*ty. Despite thelliardships of liis exile,
he is described as still retaining all
his faculties.
There are 450,000^000 postal, cards
manufactured unnually^ftna their use js
itcreasing daily. I.v.
Snbscriptioa: $1.25 in Adiance.
BUDGET OF FUN.
HUMOROUS SKETCHES FROM
VARIOUS SOURCES.
The Girl With the Glasses—At
tr ““?f rrl “ e Po^ibility
ter-Honse"* . *Etc - * Euf .
*
Ok, where is the girl with the blue-tinted
Who astonished her teachers by deepness of
Who stood 5"™J?kt at the head m each ' one of her
WhStSin seem with naught but philos
ophy fraught?
sta Y> c&n sha be, that with manner so
DxikTup vT that man as they listlessly
rove?
He's a dry goods young person if mem’ry
Andl^shffi’ girl with the glasses, by
Jove.
—Merchant Traveler.
--—
attractive.
He-—“Good heavens, Dorothy! There
are millions of flies in this room. Of what
use is that fly-paper?”
on She^’Why, it im sure there are some dead flies
He— Yes, but every other fly in . the
county has come to their funeral.”— Life. J
A TERRIBLE POSSIBILITY.
Mother (reading)— 1 “A machine has
been invented that will fling a man 1500
feet into the air. ’ •*
Pretty Daughter—“Horrors! Don't let
pa hear of it .”—New York Weekly.
wocldx t live NEAR a slaughter
bouse.
Literary Lady—“I know scores of New
^ ^ ad * e! ’ bve b y their pens.
Chicago Lady—“Horrors! Why, in
Chicago we won t even live by our abat
toirs. —Aew York Tribune.
BID HIS BEST.
Henry—“So yoa asked old Growler for
his daughter last night, did you, Fred?
And how did you come out?"
Fred—“It was a window. I believe.
Henry. That was the best I could - ,
though."—AVer York Sun.
So dOLBNESS BETWEEN THEM.
He (oil the piazza at night)—“There's
a cool wave coming.”
She (anxiously)—‘“Oh. dear! I hope
it won’t come between us.”
And he drew nearer so it couldn’t.—
Chicago Globe.
A DIAMOND ROBBERY.
Repoiter—“What shall I put over this
baseball item for a heading? The home
club lost, you know, through rocky um¬
piring.”
Editor—“Head it a ‘Diamond Rob¬
bery. ’ ”—Lawrence American.
DOUBLY SAD.
“What is the matter, my man? Why
do you look so sad?”
“I have lost my wife.”
“No wonder you look sad.”
“Besides that, I have also married an¬
other. ”—Fliegende Blaetter.
A TRIFLING ANNOYANCE.
She—“What a magnificent figure Cap¬
tain Clair Craig Macintosh has,' and how
well he looks in his Highland regiment
als.”
He—“Yes. indeed, Miss Maude, but I
should think the flies would bother him.”
Utica Observer.
SO WONDER HE CRIED.
“What are you crying for, Karlehen?”
“I went and bought a penny cigar, and
was smoking it and then papa came
and”-—
“Thrashed you, eh?”
“N—n—no, he said I'd got to smoke
it till it was done.”
NOT IN EFFIGY.
Tenderfoot—“What did the boys do
about that horse-stealing case?”
Arizona Joe—“Hung the thief, stran¬
ger.”
Tenderfoot—“In effigy. I suppose.”
Arizona Joe—“Naw! In that patch
a’ woods over yander.”
SOCIETY NOTES.
“Look at that beautiful young rose¬
bud with a lot of old bugs swarming
irourid her,” remarked Brown, as sev¬
eral old boys were flirting with a young
lady at a ball.
“Yes, but those are gold-bugs, so the
rosebud don't mind it,” said Jones.—■
§ftings.
THEY MEET AS STRANGERS.
“Clara, dear, I want to show you my
aew engagement ring before you go.”
“It's very pretty, but remember the
stone is loose.”
“Why, how do you know that?”
“Didn’t Mr. Rigsby tell you I wore it
for a month or two?”— Scribner.
TRUE ENOUGH.
“Are you going away for a vacation?”
taid one merchant to another.
“No. I am going to the store every
day; but I have made arrangements to
take a rest.”
“How?”
“I took my advertisement out of the
paper. ”—Lynchburg Virginian.
FERFETUAL MOTION.
A slab-sided, mud-covered Westerner,
entered a Broadway clock store about
dusk the other evening, arid, with a pe¬
culiar look, asked:
“Mister, is this where a man kin git a
clock?”
“Yes, sir,” said the clerk.
“Well,” said the granger, “what be
that ticker worth,” pointing to an ornate
and intricate piece of time-recording
mechanism on the shelf.
“That, sir,” said the clerk, “is a won¬
derful time-piece. It is worth $200 and
will run three years without winding.”
“Great Scott!” gasped the granger,
“three years without windihg I Say, mis¬
ter, how-long would the thing run if she
was wound upl’w-IYet* York Mirfury.
rrt>
A SLUMBER SONO.
There’s a cradle rocking, rocking;
There a song in measures low, \
And the echoes sweet come flocking
Frcm the land where the dream-flower,^
blow,
Sleep and rest the murmurs flow.
afaoe in rapturt)
O’er her baby’s happy rest:
Sweetest gift of all God’s sending—
Child of love, a symbol bless,
Sleeping on the mother’s breast.
There her mystical pure treasure
Into a soft unconscious power,
Pills the heart with untold pleasure*
warmer hour by hour,
Dimpled, dainty, snow white flower!
There’s a song that comes flowing, flowing
F f°“ tb( V ii ? 1 ? hore /f away ’
. baby listens, knowing
All the words the angels say,
^ S ° DgS the harpCrS play '
Thongh the mother’s eyes are smiling,
Though her kisses weave a thrall,
Though her arms are love-be<uiiling
And her tears entreating fall,
Still hslistens to the call,
0 _ ,
-!
Turns to that she may not see,
T 0 T oveDivin» f',*. to thee' I
—Laura .' F. c . Hinsdale v Picayune. „
, in
PITH AXD POINT.
Some of the upper crust looks soft
tnough to be dough,
Very few persons can hold their own
>n their first sea voyage.
The clam stands the summer weather
setter than the oyster. In fact, the
clam is full of grit.
Jokes about the icemajj do not go in
Greenland; the ice there is 6000 feet
thick—delivered at the door free,
„ Two such blind Milton and ?
men as
Homer rather “down” the venerable pro¬
verb that “ofit of sight is out of mind.”
“You naughty boy. come tell me how
You got your eyes all black and yellow?’
“’Cause, ma,” he said, with troubled brow,
“I couldn't lick the other fellow.”
Miserly weather, isn't it?” growled
rid Xylo. ’Why?” asked his friend.
-Because it is so close and grasping.”—
Yankee Wade.
Ted—“Has one alway to ask De
links to pay back borrowed money?”
Ned—“Worse than that. You never / get
it .”—New York Sun.
Mother (to her little son)—“Johnny,
go to the butcher's and see if he iCEls any '
pigs'feet.” Johnny (on his return)—
“Mamma, he had big boots on and I
couldn’t see his feet.”
riiere was once a charming young Mme,
Who had never been told about Ame,
At the serpent and Eve
She laughed in her sleeve,
icd said: “Oh, the poor creature, rt^ece hme.”
—Lau American.
First Gamin—“Say, I’ll bet a nickel
Fve more money in my pockets than you
have.” Second Gamin—“GoyCronce.”
After money is put up: First Gamin—
•How much money have you got in my
pocket?”— 1'ime.
Lady (to gentleman who has been
:hrown from his horse)—“I am so sorry
for you.” Gentleman—“It isn’t so bad,
madam, as it seems. I assure you I am
much morf comfortable now than I was
ji the saddle .”—Fliegende Blaetter.
The young lady now conjugates the
verb: Ice cream, thou screamest, he
screams. The third person singular em¬
bodies the solid truth, especially when
:lie young man is like the moon in one of
its phases: on his last quarter.— Times
Dcmocrat. £
rhere is naught that will make a man much
madder.
And very few things will make him sadder.
Than to get caught in the rain,
With, only his cana,
When he's wearing a brand-new tile.
And a white duck suit,
And he has to scoot
Through the storm for about a utile,
— Good-all's Sun.
A Pioneer Woman's Heroism.
Great heroism was shown lived bjr Mrs. the
John Bush, who in 1791 in
Muskingum valley, Ohio. Two of her
children—there were always a large flock
of them around the cabins of these
frontier people—had been sent away the
early in the morning to drive up
cattle. Hearing their screams Mr. Bush
started out, when he was met at the door
by an Indian who snatched away his
gun and shot, him with it. Bush fell
aerost the threshold and the redskin
drew his knife to scalp him when Mrs.
Bush ran to the assistance of her Jius
band and with an axe struck the savage
with such force that the axe fastened it,
self in his shoulder and was pulled off
the handle when he jumped back. She
then dragged her husband into the house
and closed the door. By this time other
Indians had come up, and after endeavor¬
ing in vain to force open the door they
began shooting through it, but the
woman remained uninjured, though
eleven bullets passed thrqugh her cloth
ing and some grazed her skin, until
neighbors came and drove the Indians
away, but could not sake the two chil¬
dren.
Tliq World’s Fire Clay Mart.
St. Louis leads the world in the prepa¬
ration of fire-clay and has for twenty
years or more, though there has never
been any blow or bluster over the fact.
In the extreme southwestern part of the
city are large deposits of this clay which .
seem inexhaustible, and it is to the quali¬
ty of this clay that St. Louis owes its su¬
premacy in the commodity. The clay is
prepared with the utmost care, and the
visitor who wishes to observe the process
of preparing it for the market must take
off his shoes and stockings, and enter the-"
works almost as carefully as a Turkoman
does a mosque. This precaution is taken
to prevent the accidental mixture of the
smallest foreign substance with the clay,
because a grain of limestone in the Clay
might result in a flaw in the valuable re¬
tort. St. Louis competes with the clay
producing parts of Europe in the manu¬
facture of .this clay, and the standard product of
the Future Great is the by
■Which Louis Star-Sayings. all other glays are judged—St.