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olnnibia
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HAKIM. GEORGIA.
l‘l Ill.H-HI I> EVERY THURSDAY.
Ballard «*> AlUln«on.
PBOPnUCTOM.
Tli- C<»mHii‘»i<>ner >.f tbr Gramral Ixmd
Office hn* mud- the remarkable diwovery
that, through u hgWatlve or dericnl ■
cidrnt, the Indian title to lO.tXHI.OtM.
arm of land in Dakota ha* not l*<n < *■
tinguioheil, though not l< * than twenty
thoWMih'l people have moved in and *• t
lied the M-< tlon. Ten million i<•* ur<
n good ileal of land enough to maki
three «tat< Ilk* < ’onn» <t» nt and hav< ,
million •<(<■« over
What wouldn't th< average lx»y give if
hi* pa would only wrid him to the Fort
Wratigel training *< hool in Abi-ka? Ihe
new jmjHl of tl.it jiltue -av> that the
boy* of the rhool la-t year kilhd for the
uac of the Institution 121 <l« r, 11 acai*.
I leaf nlioul 150 wild g < -<. over 300
duck*, and numerous grouse, |tor« npine*,
niannot* and ani|H . and < aught rill the
salmon, halibut, eodtlsh, trout, herring,
flounde r cralis and <lama they needed.
Tii- Euphrates river, once a mighty
■tri am, »eciua liki ly to disapja iir alto
getin r. For some years tin river hanks
la-low Babylon have been giving way, so
that the stream spread out into u marsh,
until steamers could not pa**, and only a
narrow channel remained for flu native
boat*. Now tin pnssnge is k ing tilled
up, and the proajs< t is that the towns on
the banks will lie ruined, and the famous
river itwlf wUi be swallowed up by the
desert.
The Boston ./<oowd recently told 11 cor
rrajamdi lit tluit tin report that snow had
fallen in the West when the mercury was
80 degrees below zero is rm erroi, assert
ing that it is then "too cold to snow."
The bt Paul /‘imror J'rtne denies the
•aaertion most emphatically, saying that
in Minnesota, it doe* snow, and snows
furiously, when the mercury is SW) degrees
below zero. These, the editor adds, are
terrible storms for the people who ure
caught in them
The principal astronomical event of
IH*H will be the total el lipse of the sun
on the tjgth of August The line of
totality in this eclipse will cross the At
lantic Ocean, traversing land in the West
Indie* just after sunrise and in Southern
Afri, ati iward* sunset. On the coast of
Bcnguela the total phase hets nearly five
minutes, and nt Grenada, in the Weal
Indies, the duration will la- nearly four
minute*. Three comets of known |*ri
*>d arc < x|* vted to return during the
year, tHber*'comet, with a |a riod of
•evenlyone ami a half years, will proba
bly reach Perihelion near the close of the
year. A small comet discovered by Pons
in 1619, and rediscovered by Winneckc
in 18.18, i* due in 1888, as 1* also the one
tint seen by Temple in 1 HOP, and again
observed by Swift in 1880. The ]ieriod
of each of these two comets is about live
•nd a half years.
Lieutenant Greely makes a pathetic ap
peal in his recently published book fol
the survivors of the Lady Ffanklin Bay
expedition. Some of them have not laen
fully |>Mi<i for their Arctic service; not
one of them has been promoted in the
army; one lies in n city hospital the re
ci|Hiit of private charity, and one and all
are neglected and forgotten afterglheit
faithful discharge of tin government
service required of them in the fat
North. The Lieutenant remarks that
Brainard, who wit* Lock wood’* associate
in making the furthest North, is still a
■ rgeant in the United States Army,
whereas his gallant service would havi
earned liiui a commission in any other
■■rvice in the world. The New York
TrJniM thinks that the fai t that these
nu n were sent to Lady Franklin Bay by
the I nited States government and were
cX]a>M'd to the most agonizing suffering
in the internet of science fairly entitle*
them to generous consideration.
The Cur /bidder reproduces the half
jiagv photograph of a strangv r sight than
Baron Munchausen ever saw. A train
wa» stallevkin as:: -w bank. An engine
with a small snow -plow started out
from the station to aid the incoming
train. Sup|*>snig the stalled train to be
three miles out instead of two, the engine
with the plow ran into the stalled en
gine in a spow bank ami a< tually took
tlie incoming locomotive < ntirrly up on
its entire length. Th, smokestack, liell,
•ami chest. Mid cab were wijM-d off tin
lower machine, but the up|wr one hist
only it* smokestack. The two oar drive
wheals of the upper locomotive sit over
the pla of the lower smokestack, and
the forward trucks above ate in the place
of the low. r cab. There is iuh of per
hajw ten degrees to the right in the up
per locomotive. Both engines vur, now
in a dangerous place, ■< the pluck y
engineers plugge d the broken pip s~f
the und«T engine and di«. on rod that it
<lll cvuld be work d. In this condition,
with a full sired locomotive on its ba. k,
the under engine was iun back tWs
miles to a si.iitrack and swit.hisl.
1 DO not ere any object in j- alouay, for
ten to one if tbiaw w e are jealous < f are
not •qualta jealous of some one olac.
An inslam -of the intimate rolatkrn
*hip between a horse and its keep r is
afforded, says the New York Timet, in
the remarkable history of the hor—
Epaul.-t, for whir h Mr. Bonner offered
620,(8X1 in vain. On its first app-aranee
in th- ring it was unnoticed mid lost the
first two heats. Tl.< regular driver mid
trainer of the horse, n colored man,
begged . arm -fly to be p rmitted to take
the horae and drive the remainder of the
rru-e, rind fortunately Ida request was
granted nt the last moment. The horse
n.-ighed with pleasure when hi* well
known driver mounted the sulky and
showed hi* satisfaction by putting forth
all L;» effort' mid winning the rare, uud
o-veral othw afieiw.ird th- sum. -i a-on,
with eiise. Hi* record i-to<*i at 2:19,
2 ‘iO 11. 2 :20 14, in three straight herit“,
which for a 4 y.-ar-old was so gratifying
to .Mr. Bonner that In at once offen d the
large price mimed for him. With any
oth-r driver the horse sulked and had no
i-nthii-iasm. Th- affection which exist*
between all kinds of animals mid their
kind and sympathetic keepers is a trait
whi< h should ni-v. r la- ignored.
Considerable attention ha. la-en lately
directed to the commercial ami indus
trial value, at least prospectively, of the
tupdo gum and willow oak timbers of
Mississippi. After various and thorough
tests the first named has lieen pronounced
almost a* soft ami light as cork, and the
whitest timla- in the valley. It is ex
tremely light, <ain not be split, while at
th. same time it. i- v.-ry tough, tenacious,
and will hem a heavy strain, its various
qualities rendering it specially valuable
for buckets, pitchers, trays, ox yokes,
ami almost all kinds of water vessels, as
well as for many other purposes. The
water or willow oak is raid to Is- si-cond
only to the live oak, is almost as hard
wh.-n scnsonisl as is the bitter, and for
the rim and spokes of wheels is alleged
to have no superior, while for ship-build
ing it will almost equal the live oak in its
firmness and durability. Test* have been
made of the . rushing capacity of this
wood, and al o of its transverse strength,
with remarkably favorable results, the
published data showing that it is one
third stronger than any white, red, or
black oak, and only one eighteenth less
than live oak.
•
‘‘The comedies of Washington society
are more funny than those that upp-ar
upon Die stages of its theatres,” writes
th.- correspondent of the Cleveland
"Throughout every part of the
city, just now, the sublime is tramping
upm the heels of the ridiculous, and the
high and low, the rich mid the poor, the
patrician* and the apostles of the raggeU
edge bump up against each other, bow
mid apologize, mid move onward in a
mixed up, indescribable throng. To the
looker-on in Washington the funniest of
things are those behind the scenes. You
go to a reception and as the gayly dressed
throng flits by you, you think of the skele
tons w hich each one has in his closet. That
indy dres'.-d so nicely and wearing such
elegant stuffs, like ns not buys her clothes
on instalments and does not get them paid
for before they are worn out. That great
mini’s wife has laen mixed up in some
questionable si nndals before she was mar
ried, mid the next man you meet may have
bought his wealth mid good clothes by a
long can er of Ibbbying. Washington
s.H-icty contains more good and bad than
you will find any where in the country,
mid the danger of it is the vices are all so
fair, and they never walk the streets but in
the clothes of virtue.”
Origin of the Word Texas.
In u recent article published in the
-Ae-fA -limrrorn Rerifir, Governor Ire
land, of Texas, asserts that the word
Texas means "welcome;" mid that on
the landing of the first white men on
the coast of Texas, the Indians greeted
them with the exclamation of "Texas!"
or “welcome."
This theory,according >o a correspond
ent in the Texas Terir.ierf* is not cor
net. In the ancient Spanish archives.
Stored away in the land office at Austin,
it app-ars that certain lands wen- situ
ated “eu el puis de his Tejas," or in the
country of the Texas, or Tejas Indians,
x and j being pronouncisl alike.
It is well known that the Texas or
Tejas Indians were a trilie or Indians liv
ing in the valley of the Bio Grande, who
were exterminated or driven off by a
more savage tribe. The won! Texas or
Tejas is the root of the minu sos all the
Indian trilx- in Texas and Mexico. The
prefix indicated the locality of the tribe.
The A- Tejas, or Aztecs, dwelt on high
lands of Anahuac. The Tol-Tejas or
Toltecs, lived as far south as Yucatan.
Tin Huas Tejas lived on the Gulf coast,
b. tween M taniora- and Vera Cruz, and
.he Tol Tejas were located in tin- state
■f Coahuc!:; /’aru* ■>
Not ‘he Mleh'ent Consequence.
I..t< waite iprofusely > "My dear Mis’
Olivette, you must excuse me. Passed
viHi on the street—baw Jove! forgot to
bow - actually didn’t see you!”
Miss Oliv.tte (iiffablyh-"I beg you
won’t distress yourself. It is not th<
•lightest consequence,”
Lit* Waite (still in a flutter "Ah, yes,
but I—you know—l am—’’
Miss Olivette unore affably 1 "Not the
(lightest ixiusequincc." /‘AiWe/pAia
t U. 4.
Whip-Poor-Will.
The ran Is sinking tn hi* rest
'U.bm.l tli* brown hili'* distant ere*
I ho river wander* townrrf the aea,
f b<- weary !*«■ drone drowMly;
'.Vh»-n, «w iftly a* the falling -tar,
\ clear voice soundeth from afar—
Whip-poor-will, whi|e|>oor-wilL
\ fl<-ld. with liarvoat sheave* aglmr**
Tail willow*, drooping to the streau
A farm house with it* momy «h«i«,
A garden from whose spicy bed*
A savory odor, rising, float*.
And mingles with those mournful notes.
Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will
The cloud shi[>* in the western »ky
With cloae reefed sails at anchor Ua
Upon a sea whose- tint* of gold
And purple hue* lie fold on fold,
And with the dewdrop’s gentle fall
There ech.iea still that plaintive call—
Whip-poor-will, whip-poor ivilh
One pale star trembles in the east,
A long guest at a gorgeous feast,
Whose brilliant colors slowly fade
A* drop* the nighttime'* somber shade.
And clear and soft the distance lend*
The voice that with the twilight blends—
Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will.
All through tlie darkness and the de
Until the- day ls-gins anew,
'i'he katydid- and nightjars lone
Will sing their weary monotone;
' But only through the dusky trail
Os evening comes that tender wail—
Wbip-pxir-will, whip-[*s>r-will
—Effie M. Lan*.
HER CHILD'S PICTURE.
In a secluded village in Brittany there
lived some years ago an honest peasant
woman, known as “La Veuve Yvonne.”
She happenoi one day to hear some of
her neighbors speaking of the wonderful
powers of photography.
“Wonderful indeed!" she exclaimed.
“Where are the best of these marvelous
pictures to la- s -en?”
“In Paris. Why do you ask, Mere
Yvonne 1”
“Never mind. I have an idea. You
will see.”
The widow’s mind was strong and sim
ple; it did not take long to “make up.”
Without staying to deliberate, she
packed up a few necessaries, and one fine
morning, rich with the savings of many
industrious years, she set off alone for
Paris.
She arrived in the great capital, with
her scarlet petticoat, her white necker
chief, her large cap and her honest face.
Directly she arrived she inquired:
“Who is the best photographer?”
In reply she was furnished with the
a Idress of a clever artist, to whose studio
she at once hastened.
“Everybody says, monsieur,” she be
gan, “that your likenesses of children
are admirable.”
"Everybody is very kind,” replied the
photographer. “If I have attained any
unusual skill it is probably because I
have worked eon amore. I love the little
rogues. I have, moreover, plenty of little
subjects of my oivn to practice upon.
See here!”
He opened a door, called, and the next
moment half n dozen merry children, of
ages varying from three to twelve, rushed
into the room and crowded round his
knees.
“It is a child, I presume, madame,
whose portrait you wish taken?"
“Yes, monsieur, it is a child. He will
b> neither petulant nor rebellious, the
poor little love. Good reason why; he is
dead.”
At these startling words the photogra
pher felt distressed. He felt he must
have bitterly renewed the mother's grief
in exhibiting to her these fair children
and caressing them before her eyes.
“Go and play on the balcony,” he
whispered, hastily; and as they passed
through the door he kissed them tender
ly, but softly, lest his visitor should hear.
Then he said, with great gentleness:
“As the little child of whom you speak
is dead, it is, I conclude, a posthumous
portrait you wish to have taken the pic
ture of the little creature whose innocent
soul has fled, lying in liis white bed, a
cross in his hands, a crown of white
roses on his colorless forehead. I shall
be happy if you will give me your ad
dress. to proceed as soon as possible to
your residence.”
“Thank you monsieur,” she said. “My
child has been dead six years. ”
“You have then already a portrait of
your son?" he said, after a pause—“a
painting, perhaps, that you wish photo
graphed 1"
“A painting of him!—ll" exclaimed
Dame Yvonne. "Mon Dieu. no. It is
the hope of obtaining one that has induc
ed me to make this long journey."
“What, madame! Anil do you imag
ine that without the original, without
another portrait, without any sort of in
dication or guide, I can produce a like
ness of a child dead six years ago?”
“What. monsieur!" cried Dame
Yvonne, in her turn; “and do you mean
to say it is itnjMissible? People vaunt on
every side the prodigies, the miracles of
photography. Cannot the art that ac
complishes these marvels repnxiuce a
vestige, a shadow of my son : Cannot it
give ever so imperfect a resemblance of
her child to a desolate mother, who "
Sobs broke the sentence. Dame Yvonne
could say no more.
The kgid-hearted photographer did
not wish the simple peasant t* return to
her Breton village disappointed, so he re
flected awhile.
“Madame," he said, thoughtfully,
“nothing is absolutely impossible.”
“Ah," *he cried, quickly, “then you
can give me a portrait of my darling?’
"Who kaows?" he said, "I will try at
any rate.”
“You have preserved the clothes of the
child you have lost?” he asked.
“Preserve them?” she echoed; “I have
the very little garments still as good as
new, in which I dressed him the last
time he ran chasing the butterflies in the
green fields.”
“Send them to me directly," said the
artist.
“You shall have them in an hour, mon
sieur,” she replied.
The clothes were sent, the work was
begun, and two days afterward Dame
Yvonne received the first proof of the
portrait. She uttered a cry of joy.
“It is he!” she exclaimed. “I knoxv
him again! It is my son! See! there is
the little vest with the silver buttons—
the little trousers I made with my own
hands; there are his little arms, his tiny
fingers, his long, golden hair, falling over
his shoulders. Oh, yes, it is—it is my
little child! Oh, monsieur, how much
do I owe you!”
“Madame,” said the photographer, “in
presenting to you un image which you
recognize as your son, dead six years ago,
I have accomplished a miracle. Miracles
are not paid for.”
For us, the miracle is not difficult tc
explain. Nothing is so like, in figure,
air and attitude, to a child five years old
as another child of the same age. The
photographer merely placed before the
camera one of his own children, dressed
in the pretty Breton costume of the dead
boy. He was represented kneeling on a
cushion, h s head bent, his face hidden
by his hands, which were raised and
ciasped together in the noble and grace
ful attitude of prayer.
Dame Yvonne returned to Brittany.
She showed the portrait to every one she
knew; and to all who would listen she
enlarged, in terms of reverence and won
der, on the marvelous power of photogra
phy, which had produced the likeness of
a boy who had been dead six years.
Weathercocks.
At Bishopstone church, in Hereford
shire, the vane is in the form of a grid
iron, this being the symbol of the cruel
death of Bt. Lawrence, the “patron
saint” of the place.
The towers of the town-halls are fre
quently furnished with five vanes, a cen
tral one higher than the rest, and one at
each angle. Sometimes the initial letters
of the four points are placed midway be
tween the vanes. We know the market
place of a small Border town, pebble
paved, with a tall market-cross raised on
nine steps near the centre of it. There is
still a large square stone among the peb
bles, where bulls used to be baited, tied
to the ring upon it. There is still an an
nual procession to it of men on horseback,
carrying halberds, to proclaim a fair.
There is still a bevy of pleasant country
women clustered in it every Saturday,
who have brought butter and eggs for
sale from the distant farms among the
hills and moors. It is always cool, quiet,
and grey, with the surrounding hous ea
looking down upon it pensively. Among
these houses, on the west side, stands
the Town Hall, with an archway run
ning right through it for foot-passengers,
and on tlie top of the hall rises a central
tower, with the vsir s all pennon-shaped.
Curiously, in country residences, the
vane is generally placed in the stable
yard, either on the bell-clock turret or
on the louvred ventilator.
As these notes have raised our eyes to
objects above the ordinary level, we may
notice the ornamental ridge with which
large steep roofs are generally furnished,
as they have an origin not generally
known. In early times our predecessors
placed turfs or clods on the upper ridges
of the slanting sides of the rough roofs to
keep out the rain at their junction. Out
of these lumps of earth clusters of flowers
and weeds grew freely. Accustomed to
the floral outlines thus made, our more
recent ancestors handed down their re
membrance of these wind-borne seedlings
in the conventional foliage of the orna
mental clay ridge now in common use.—
Qu leer.
Sheep and Goats of Thibet.
A letter from Thibet, to the New York
Tribune, has the following: The most
disagreeable feature of the Nirpania
Dhura is the sheep. They come in strings
a mile or two long in charge of short,
sturdy little Tibetans, who appear at in
terval' in the procession wrapjx'd in dirty
sheepskins and carrying a long rifle slung
over their shoulders. They brandish
their sticks and emit various awful
squalls, squ< als, whistles and gurgles to
cheer the minds of their woolly charges.
Each sheep carries a pair of little leather
saddle-bags stuffed full of salt or borax.
The caravan is generally led by a number
of huge goats similarly laden. In this
country sheep are covered with wool, and
goats with hair. This may appear to you
a matter of course, but in many parts of
Western Asia the sheep are just as likely
to have hair and the goats wool. There
I could only distinguish the goats bv
their turned-up noses and generally im
pudent bearing, and the sheep by their
mild, Roman-nosed dignity and their
huge fat tails, which sometimes weighed
twenty pounds.
CHEAP MEALS.
A Paradise for Tramps In the
Great Metropolis.
A Restaurant Whera a Dinner May ba
Obtained for a Few Cents.
After a very pleasant lunch in Park
Row, Detective Gilbert Carr said to a
New York reporter, “We know how all j
decent people live; suppose we see how
tlie beggars and tramps eat their food.
Let us go to Tramps’ Hall.” Tramps’
Hall is a small restaurant, if it can be so
styled, in Pearl street near Chatham.
The sign over the door bears the inscrip
' tion, “Small Delmonico. There area
half dozen tables and twenty-four stools
in the place. The tables are made of
rude material and are covered with white
oilcloth. There are a few cheap pictures
| and theatrical show bills hung up on the
walls. The kitchen is in the rear and
i communicates with the eating place by
I means of a door in which an aperture lias
been. cut. Through this door the dishes
ordered by customers are handed out.
The cook and the kitchen are rigidly
kept in seclusion. No outsider is allowed
to enter the mysterious laboratory in
which the repasts of the Lazaruses of
. New York are prepared. There are no
waiters, for the proprietor, Air. R. Barna- ■
t bo, is too wise to trust strangers in sc
economical a business. He acts as wait
er and cashier, and his deep trousers
' pocket is the till from which he make
! change. Mr. Barnabo is an adipose Ital
ian of an oleaginous nature, something in
the way of a cross between Mr. Wardle’s
; fat boy and Uriah Heep. He fairly bub
bles over with good nature and impress
es a casual visitor with tlie idea that he
is ready at any moment to throw his I
arms around tlie stranger’s neck and kiss I
him on both cheeks, after the traditional
and repugnant Italian fashion. A curious
crowd was partaking of J Air. Barnabo’s '
cheer. There were two blind mendi
cants ami two blear-eyed women who
! share their spoils, a cripple who hobbles
f about on the stumps of his legs, anjorgan
: grinder who had deposited his instru-
ment under the table at which he sat, j
, and a vagabond dressed in soldier’s uni- |
i form, who is doubtless familiar to the ;
general public as a broken-down veteran
who lost his arm at Fredericksburg. The i
plates were of the coarsest crockery, the !
knives and forks of the commonest kind
and the spoons of pewter. “It does not
pay to have expensive articles here,” said
Detective Carr, with an explanatory smile;
“the customers might be tempted to
leave the house and take them with
them.” Mr. Barnabo proudly exhibited
to the reporter his bill of fare and price ■
j list. It read as follows:
Cents. I Cents.
Cup of coffee or tea. 1 Fried fish, 4
I Bowl of coffee or tea,2! Beefsteak,
Cruller, 11 Pork chops, 4
Bowl of soup, 2'Fried brains, 4
Fried liver, 31 Pork and beans, 4
Heart stew, 3 > Sausages, 4
Fried heart, 3 j Bread pudding, 4
Hash, 31 Liver and bacon, 5
Roast heart, 3 Roast beef, 5
Pies, 4 Veal cutlet, 5
Pies, half, 2 Roast mutton, 5
Beef stew, 4,Two fried eggs, 5
Mutton stew, 4iMaecaroni,
Pork stew. 4'Chicken stew, 5
Corned l>eef and cab., 4 Roast veal,
Pig's head and cab., 4 Ham and eggs, 10
Mutton chops, 4, Hamberger steak, 10
AVhen asked how he could sell food at
such a price and earn any profit, Air. Bar
nabo smiled, shrugged his shoulders and
i said: “Economy, signor, always econo
my." On leaving Tramps’ Hall Detect
ive Carr said to the reporter: “There is '
no mystery about the matter. In the
hotels the unused food left on their
plates by guests at meal-time is sorted
out when brought back to the kitchen, i
Every evening Air. Barnabo calls with his
wagon, secures it and recompenses the
I cook with whom he is doing business.
That is tlie cook’s penpusite. So it is
that the precise article which a surfeited
millionaire refused to his stomach yester
day is consumed complacently to-day by
“One-eyed Jimmy" or “Slobbery Alike”
in Tramps' Hall.”
The Boy Got Along.
The AVall Street Daily Xew» tells this
story: “It was a New York capitalist
who flung SI,OOO at one of his sons a l
year ago and said; ‘There it is, and it
is the last dollar you'll get from me. You
don’t know enough to pound salt. Spec- I
ulation! You haven’t sense enough to
buy and ship eggs. The other day the
old man went down to Florida to see
about a 3,000-acre tract of land he had
purchased at $3 an acre for an orange
grove. He went to the headquarters of
‘The Florida Orange Grove Estate Agen
cy,’ and he found that his son was Presi
dent. Secretary. Treasurer, and sole own
er. Half an hour later he discovered |
that his 3,000 acres raised alligators in
stead of oranges, and that the boy had
cleared about SB,OOO in the single trans
action.
Lightning Photographs.
At a recent meeting of the Franklin
Institute Prof. Houston presented two
photographs, taken on a dark night by
the light pr.xluced by flashes of light
ning. in which a building and trees were
distinctly shown. They were thrown on
the scene by the aid of Prof. Holman’s
lantern microscope. The duration of the
flash by which the plates were secured
• was estimated at the 1-300 pan of a sec- I
ond. Chicago Trjl/un*.
Song.
3h, three little birds on a bramble spray]
Each flew to fin 1 him a nest;
Diere was one went rarely over the
knd one flexv straight for the North
But the third
Little bird,
ffe winged his way to the watery
Where one that I love sits sighing.
3h, for the withering bramble spray
And the bird that sleeps in his nest!
Diere is one in a castle over the sea;
Ind one in a pine in the North Country-
Bnt the third
Little bird,
He sings *t a lattice far in the AVest,
Where one that I love lies dying.
Ah me, for the thorny bramble spray
And the weary bird in his nest!
There is one that dreams of the silver
And or.e looks over the North Country
But the third
Little bird,
He sings o’er a grax-e in the silent West,
I Where one that I love is lying.
—Chambers' Journal
HUMOROUS.
Hobbies nre hard steed* to manaM.
■ Society’s favorite flower—The dand*
lion.
A tongue that never talks scandal—the
tongue of a shoe.
An anomaly in pantaloons—They jr
never tight when they are full.
The pupil of one’s eye is made to
tend to business by thq lash that is held
over it.
A woman refused to give a meal toj
dwarf the other day, because she xj]
□pposed to dine-a-mite.
A man should buy ready-made shoes il
he wants something to wear well, be
cause he never secs the last of them. ;
She—“ What a man you are, George;
always making fun of the ladies' taper
waists.” He—“ And what should Ida
with a taper, but to make light of it."
1 ‘Give us the ballot box!” is the cry ot
but very few of the fair sex, while the
rest of our feminine population is content
with being allowed to frequently stat
the band-box.
“Afaud, dear, why is a gardener :a
your checks?” “Now, John! you know
I never can guess conundrums. Why ii
he?” “Because he is the culler of mses,
love.” Tableau.
In olden times they used to punhhi
man for lying by boring a hole threap
liis tongue. In modern times they unit
it, because a man’s tongue would nol
last more than six weeks, if a hole w
put in for every lie he told.
Lieutenant (to a brother officer): 'i
have ill-luck in getting married. A fair
one without money my father objects ti
A homely one with money my persooq
feeling objects to. A fair one witk
money her father objects to. A honwlj
one without money—why, naturall]
everybody objects to.
Senators on Exhibition.
It is astonishing the extent to xvhidi
the Senators pose for the galleries, says*
AVashington letter to the Boston I/rri/A
There is one Senator who appears to
make this almost the sole object ofhir
service on the floor ot the Senate. No
matter how thin that body is in attend
ance, you will always find him there.
He strikes many attitudes, but hem 'er
retains one of them long at a time. He
will sit in his own seat; then he will go
into the lobby; soon he returns anil
walks back and forth behind the rows of
benches; then he takes the seat of anoth
er Senator; then he rises to promenade
again. He does not make speeches him
self; he writes little in his scat; he sel
dom talks with other Senators; he is just
on exhibition. Another from the Vest
is not so tall, so large, or so handsome,
but he is almost equally conscious. He
looks so different from the rest that the
visitor’s eye rests on him at once as it
surveys the Senate board, and generally
the inquiry is made as to who he is.
is a Senator who does speak, and he
speaks with the realization that be is ®
presence of the galleries. Not a w™
that comes from him escapes the ear®
the auditor in any part of the building-
How Many Honrs for Sleep-
There is an old saying that has fright
ened a great many people from taking
the rest that nature demanded for them,
“Nine hours ary enough for a fool.
They maybe; and not too many for*
wise man who feels that he needs them-
Goethe, when performing his most prod
igious literary feats, felt that he need™
nine hours; what is better, ho took the®-
We presume it is conceded by Sli
thoughtful persons that the brain in v’lf
young children, say three or four year*
of ag-, requires all of twelve hour-®
rest or sleep. This period is shortened
gradually until, at fourteen years of art
the boy is found to need only ten.
full grown and in a healthy conditio
the man may find a night of eight ho-y’
sufficient to repair the exhaustion of ta»
day and new-create him for the morr >*•
But if he discovers that he needs mo®
sleep he should take it. There is surt-f
something wrong about 1 ini; perhaps»
forgotten waste must be repared. H*
sleep, evidently, has not bem made up
and until it has and he can spring to
work with an exhilaration for it, »*
should sensibly conclude to let hi’
stiuct control him and stay ia bed-"”
Good