The tribune. (Beaufort, S.C.) 1874-1876, November 17, 1875, Image 1
. *
- *y P
?
THE TRIBUNE
4 -A
VOL. I.--NO. 52. BEAUFORT. 8. <\, NOVEMBER 17. 1875. $1.50 PER ANNUM.
Awkward.
And bo eho's engaged to bo marriod
To one of our class! I'm afraid
That if veiy much longer she tarried
Her degree would be O. M.?Old Maid.
" I know her ?" Oh, yes. or I thought so ;
But I'm more than inclined to believe
I was wrong. I'm the fellow ehe sought so,
But couldn't deceive.
" Your surprised ?" I imagined yon would be ;,
It's a thing I say little about;
'Twas as open a case as well could be?
"Did she love me?" There wasn't a doubt.
Why, she just throw herself at my head, Bill!
But I knew she'd no heart and less brainB;
And though money will settle a bread bill,
It won't wash off stains. ^
"You're astonished at this ?" My dear fellow,
What the deuce did I care for her age ?
1 like women like apples?when mellow.
But the fact was, 1 knew every page
Of her history. "Flirted?' You'd think so.
mere was Harry McKeown. sixty-three;
It was she that drove bim to the drink so ;
" Am I eare ?" Ab can he.
She's a echoming coqnette, and 1 know it;
She hasn't the least bit of a eoul
Og an atom Of truth. " Doeen't eliow it ?''
No ; her feelingB are under control.
Then it's nonsense to eay she has beauty,
I pity the fellow she's caught.
It muBt be a matter of duty
With him, or he's bought.
Who the deuce cai^ it be? There'B Fred
Baker ;
You remember him?? scored for the Nine;
But there isn't much fear that he'd take her ;
He wants blue blood, and not a gold mine.
"Chicken Joues?" No, he's married. 'Twas
funny,
How he ran a tie raoe with Jim Prout
For the " class cradle," wasn't it? Money
He's got. and the gout.
" Tub " Abbott was sweet on her. Sandy
MoQillutn!?be must be the one ;
By Jove, it's old " Bandy, the dandy !"
It's not be ? I give up, then. I'm done.
Is U ono of our class, are yon sure,
That the vixen lias seized for her prey V
Who's the fellow ? let's havo it! What! you
are?
The dickenB you say ! ?Scribiter.
THE KIND TURKEY-MAN.
A ThnnkMtvInc Htorr.
It was the evening before Thanksgiving.
The sun had gone down behind the
hills of Greonville, leaving them cold
and bare against the dull sky. The
squirrels were safe and warm in their
own little houses, cracking nuts for their
Thanksgiving dinner. The trees waved
their tall, bare branches in the bitter
cold, but they knew that their roots were
sheltered by. the kind earth. The cold
winter shouted a merry "good-evening"
to everything, as he rushed over the
frozen ground.
lie raoed over the bare hills ; the
squirrels drew closer together, and exulted
ovor their crowded storehouse ; the
trees bowed a stately good-night, as he
whisked away ; but he calmed down as
he met a little tigure on the frozen road,
and gave her time to draw her faded
cloak tighter over her blue hands, before
lin on
jtu & ?40ucu uu n^UIll,
A wagon was hoard. " llattlo, rattle
!" Even the wagon is cold, the child
thought, as she heard the loose spokes
rattling in the wheels.
She stepped aside for the wagon to
pass ; the driver, a pleasant-looking
man, stopped his horses, and asked her
whether she was going.
" To the city," answered the child.
"To the city!" cried the man.
" Why, yon will never get there, unless
you are blown there, or I hike you."
"Will you take me ?" she asked, not
eagerly, but like one accustomed to refusals.
His auswerwas to reach down his hand
to help her up.
"Now," said he, as ho put her
under the heavy buffalo robe, " what's
your name ?"
"Mary?only Mary," she answered
ha tilv.
"Mary," said the man, softly, more
to himself than to the child, " I wish it
"Why, there's lots of Mary?," said
the child.
" Yes, I know it," he said. * I had a
little Mary last Thanksgiving. I?I
don't like to see any one named Mary in
trouble."
" I ain't crying," said the child, smiling,
" because I'm in trouble, but 'cause
I'm so cold. I ought to have trouble,
Granny says."
" Ought to have trouble, hoy!" said
the man, stopping his horse, and drawing
from under the buffalo robe a can of
hot ooffee. "That hasn't been off the
stove more than five minutes," he said,
as he filled a little tin cup and handed it
to her. "Take that, and drink to your
Granny!"
"It is very nice," she said, when she
had drank it all. She did not say, I
have tasted nothing before to-day. Why
should she, when there had been so
many days like this in her short life ? I
The man replaced the can, pulled the
a robe up even with her chin, and told
the horse to " get up" and "go along;"
then he whistled awhile ; then he said:
" It is mighty cold. I hope it will keep
so! '
"Oh, don't!" exclaimed the child;
"\*oe it makes turkey oost so muoh,
poor folks can't have any."
"Don't yon care anything for me!"
cried the man, pathetically ; "here's my
wagon full of turkeys."
"I didn't know you were a turkeyman,"
she said, gently.
"Yes, I am a 'turkey-man,' and I
think even poor people can afford to buy
a turkey once a year, if they are high.
The turkey-men have been waiting n
year for this day."
There was a twinkle in his eye she did
not see; he looked down into the little
pale face. " I am afraid yon don't care
for the turkey-men I" he said, soberly.
She hung down her head, started tc
say something, but stopped.
" Well, what is it?" ho said, laugh
iug.
"I do like you," she answered, earn
estly; '' but the poor people?I have
known them always."
They rodo on for a while in silence.
The hot coffee had worked wonders; the
blue little hands had stopped shaking,
and the child smiled as she saw the city
lights in the distance.
" Now you are a little more comfortable,"
said the turkey-man, "let us heai
where you aro going, and what youi
other name is."
" My name is only Mary,' and I am
going to find my cousin."
" Nonsense 1" he said, a little sharply.
" Of course you have got a name."
" They call me ' Mary Kent-,' but 1
hate it, and I won't have it I" she cried,
passionately.
"Why did they call you that?" he
asked, gently.
" 'Cause my father ran away, and
left me in Granny Cole's liouee, when 1
was little. He pinued a paper on in-*
dress, that fuid ou it : ' Loft to pay the
rent.'"
The turkey-man whistled, and asked ii
Granny Colo were good to her.
" Pretty kind," said the child, wearily.
" Anyway, she didn't 'spise me like
Sally did.'
" Who may Sally l>e?" asked the turkey-man.
"She is Granny Cole's daughter."
" Did Granny Cole send you alone
to the city ?" said he, watching her suspiciously.
"She told me the other day," said
the child, mournfully, "if I ever oome
home aud found her gone, to go to the
city and find my cousin. Yesterday she
sent me off with Sally, an' when I come
hack Sally ran away from me, an' J
couldn't find Granny."
"Are you quite sure you can find your
cousin?"
She looked up in his face, aud laid hex
thin hand on his sleeve.
jl uovci b?w my wuHiii, sue earn,
calmly. "If Grauuy lias run away from
me, I haven't anybody I know."
" Why, then, did you come to the
city?" said tho turkey man, wondering
where he could leave her
" I know the city best," she said ;
" Granny used to live thore, till a week
ago. It is so dark in the country, when
you have to stay alone ! There are the
market-men?sec how bright they aro !"
It was the night before Thanksgiving,
in the city as well as in the country ; the
markets shone as they always do the
evening before the great feast. Never
wore garlauds more green, never applee
more red, or gobblers more plump.
The turkey nan drove up and stopped.
"Here is as far as I can go, little
one," he said, as he lifted her out and
Btood her safely in the bright light oi
the market.
She was a pretty child, but pale now,
with blue lips and shaking hands.
"Poor little thing!" ho muttered;
" I wish they hadn't named her Mary
and he entered the market.
Tho market-men beamed 011 everybody.
They rubbed their hands as customer
after customer vanished with the
cold form of some kiud of fowl neatly
covered, all but its feet, in brown paper.
It was growing late ; tho turkey-man
had sold out ; he waited only" to get a
hot supper before starting for home.
He had been thinking entirely of dollars
and cents ; but as ho walked out of the
market he thought of his home, his wife
waiting alone for him in the great white
house, and his little Mary safe in God's
home above?he had forgotten the
homeless child left alone ontside the
market.
A heavy hand was laid on his arm.
"Staud back a moment!" whispered a
voice. He looked up, and saw a large
policeman watching a child at a barrel
of red apples. #
It is his little fellow traveler !
" That's a sharp youngster !" half
laughed the policeman, under his breath.
" This sort of thing is going on here all
the time. Nothing is safe for a moment."
The little blue hand was already on an
apple. It fnlterod a moment, then
grasped it tightly, then dropped it.
Sho hid hor face in her hands. The
turkey-man stepped up to her and
touched her shoulder gently. She had
not seen him ; but, without looking up,
the child knew who it was?it was the
oniy iriena bug naa.
" I couldn't doit! Oil, I couldn't!"
she sobbed. " But I'm bo hungry
and she fell against the barrel.
******
The stars were shining cold and clear.
The turkey-man's wife was looking out,
and wishing the thermometer could gc
up, without the price of turkeys going
down. "It is so cold for John riding
from the city nlone !" she said to herself.
She opened the door, hoping to hear th?
wagon ; but the oold wind sent her bacl
to the blazing lire. She thought of ?
year ago, when she did not sit waiting
alone. She imagined she heard the lit
tie voice, though it had been hushec
nearly a year?how plainly she saw th?
sweet face though it had been coveret
so long ! She wiped the tears from hei
eyes as she heard the rattliucr wheels
John must not see her sad. 8he op met
tho door, holding the lamp high abov<
her head.
The turkey-man came in, with some
thing wrapped in tho buffalo-robe ; In
laid it on the big dining-table. " Don'i
Ray no!" be cried ; "let na do aom<
thing for Mary's sake, this Thanks
k giving !"
"Are you crazy?" she exclaimed, a
I he uncovered the r>n.le for*v
> " Wftit till I tell you all," said tli<
> turkey-man.
When he had told his story, he said
? earnestly : " How oonld I go to churcl
to-morrow and thank God for His car<
- of us, if I, with no little one to care for
had left this child alone in the grea
city?"
i "You did right, John," said his wife
"yon always do."
With these words, the woman?good
) practical soul!?hastened to wash tin
, little girl's face and hands. Then sh
' warmed and comforted her, whfle th<
kind turkey-inru went to take care o
- his horse.
: "I remember this house," said tin
: child, as she looked out of a largi
blanket before the bright fire. " I sa\
i it one day with Granny Cole ; I stoppe<
and looked through the fence, au<
threw stoues at the turkeys. I didn*
kuow ho was a kind man then. Graun;
- hates rich men?I wonder where Grann;
, is?I'm sorry I threw the stones'?bu
they wasn't big." The little head fel
i lower and lower; the pale lids closed
the little hands grew quiet ; but the lit
I tie voice repeated in sleep : " I didu'
l know he was akiud man."?St. Nichola*
South Western Courtship.
He sat one side the room in a bij
white oak rocking chair. She on tli
other side, in a little white oak rookinj
1 chair. A long-eared deerhound, snap
ping at flies, was by his side ; a baske
of sewing by hers. Both rocked in
cessantly, that is, the young people, no
the dog and the basket. He sighs heav
1 ily and looks out the west window at
crape myrtle tree ; she sighs heavily an*
, looks out tho eastwvndow?at the turui]
patch. At last he remarks :
" This is mighty good weather to picl
' cotton.
" 'Tis that, if we only had any t
pick."
The rocking continues.
"What's your dog's namef"
"Coony."
Anotlier sigli broken stillness.
"What is he good fur ?"
" What is who good fur?" said he
abstractedly.
1 " Your dog, Coony."
s " Fur ketchin' 'possums."
f Silence of half an hour.
' " He looks like a deer dog."
"Who looks like a deer dog ?"
! "Coony."
"He is; but he's kinder bellowset
1 an' gettin' old an' slow now. An' h
i ain't no'count on a cold trail."
In the quiet ten minutes that ensued
( she took two stitches in her quilt. I
was a gorgeous affair, that quilt was
\ made by the pattern called " Rose o
Sharon." She is very particular abou
' tlie nomenclature of her quilts, and fro
j quently walks fifteen miles to get a net
pattern, with a " real putty name."
"Your ma raisin' many chickens?"
! "Forty odd."
r Then more rocking, and, somehow
I after awhile, the big rocking chair ant
the little rocking chair were jammet
! side by side.
, \ " How many has your ma got ?"
! | "How many what?"
" Chickens."
" Nigh on to a hundred."
| By this time the chairs were so clos
together that rocking was impossible.
' " The minks has cat all ours."
Then a long silence reigns. At last h
observes:
" Makin' quilts?"
"Yes," she replies, brightening up
" I've just finished a 'Roarin' Eagul o
| Brazeal, a 'Sitting Sun,' and a 'Nasiou'
| Pride.' Have you ever saw the ' Yel
low Rose of the Parary ?"
" No."
More silence ; then he says :
" Do you love cabbage ?"
1! " I do tliat."
Presently his hand is accidental!
' placed on hers. She does not know it?
I at least does not seem to be aware of it
; Then after a half hour spent in sighs
| coughing and clearing of throats, hesud
denly says :
. j "I'se a great a-mind to bite you."
" What you great a-mind to bite mi
! fur ?"
! " Kase you won't have me."
" Kase you ain't axed mo."
" Well, now, I ax you."
" Then, now, I lias you."
Then Coony dreams he hears a souu?
t of kissing.
The next day the young man goes t
1 Tigerville after a marriage license
Wednesday, the following week. Ni
cards.
Illegitimacy in Scotland.
Illegitimacy in Scotland has attainei
. an extent that will surprise those wh<
popularly contrast Continental profligac;
in such cities as Vienna and Paris witl
continent Puritanism in the land o
, Knox. According to the last annual re
port of tho Scotch registrar-gen oral th
r number of illegitimate births duringth
' past year was 11,077, or 9\ per cent, c
, the total number?a number suflicientl
. large, though the percentage is th
k i HuiiutuHb recorueu ior ten years. Amon
, tLo poorer and more ignorant classes i:
. tho rural districts the rato of illegit
I macy rises to 11.4 per cent. The fac
, may in some measure bo accounted fc
[ by the payment by the parish of a smal
r allowance weekly to the mothers r
j theso children for their support.
3 A gentleman who was asked what h
thought of a lady who had appeared i
- that half-dress which is called full-dresi
3 replied : '' She was a very bandaom
t woman?as far as I could see."
J DEATH'S BRIDE.
A Hud Incident ot the War 01 the Rebellion
B ?Killed the Altar.
The Atlanta (Go.) Constitution telle
0 the following touching story : Scene,
Charleston?Time, April '23, 18G4. The
? Fedorals, from time to time, threw a
1 shell into the city, and nobody seemed
0 to mind it. But misfortune willed that
> yesterday a shell should throw the
t entire community into mourning.
Miss Anun Pickens, the daughter of
; one of ottr former governors, never consented
to leave the city. Despite the
? representation of Clen Beauregard hIio
e remained, braving shells nud Greek fire,
0 tending the wounded and cheering all
0 with her presence. Among the wounded
f officers under her care was Mr. Andrew
de Rochelle, a decendunt of one of the
? noblest Huguenots of this city. This
0 young man was full of the liveliest grativ
tude for his fair nurse ; gratitude gnve
1 birth to a more tender sentiment ; his
1 suit was listened to; Gov. Pickens gave
t Ills nntlSPllf. nrifl flin mnvi-Ionto
7 for the twenty-third of April. Lieiit. de
y Rochello was ou duty at Fort Sumter in
t the morning, and it was determined that
1 the ceremony should hike place at the
I residence of Gen. llonham, at eight
o'clock. At the moment when the Epist
copal clergyman was asking the bride if
she was ready, a shell fell upon the roof
of the building, penetrated to tho room
: where the company was assembled, burst
and wounded nine persons, among them
? Miss Anna Pickens. The scene that fole
lowed counot be described ; order being
j at last re-established, the wounded were
removed, with the exception of the
t bride, who lay motionless on the carpet.
t. Her betrothed, leaning and bendiug over
t her, was weeping bitterly and trying to
r_ stauueli tho blood that flowed from her
a terrible wound under her left breast. A
j surgeon came and declared that Miss
p Pickens could live but two horn's. We
will not paint the general despair. When
k the wounded girl recovered her consciousness
she asked to know her fate,
0 when they hesitated to tell her. "Andrew,"
she said, " I beg you to tell me
the truth ; if I must die, I can die
: worthy of you." The yonug soldier's
i tears were his answer, and Miss Anna,
i summoning all her strength, attempted
to smile. Nothing could be more heartrending
than to see the agony of this
brave girl struggling in the embrace of
death and against mortal pain. Gov.
Pickens was almost without conscionsI
ness, and Mrs. Pickens looked upon her
; child with tho dry, haggard eye of one
I whose reason totters.
Lieut, de ltochello was the first to
1 j speak. " Anna," he cried, "I will die
e soon too, but I would have you die my
wife. There is yet time to unite us."
t The youug girl did not reply. She
t was too weak. A slight flush rose for on
instant to her pale cheek; it could be
f seen that joy aud pain were struggling
t iu her spirit for tho mastery. Lying
. upon a sofa, her bridal dress all stained
v with blood, her hair disheveled, she had
never been more beautiful. Helpless as
I she was, Lieut, de ltochelle took her
' baud and requested the Rev. Dr. Dickt
insou to proceed with the ceremony,
j When it was time for the dying girl to
I say yes, her lips parted several times,
but she could not articulate. As last
the word was spoken and a slight foam
! rested upon her lips. Tho dying agony
; was near. The minister sobbed as he
proceeded with the ceremony. An hour
e I afterward all was over, and tho bridal
I chamber was the chamber of death.
e j An Editor's Work.
As a sample of tho daily life of an exceptionally
hard working journalist, the
f following account given by Henry Wata
tersoir, editor of the Louisville Courier.
Journal, may be interesting. It is taken
from an unpublished letter, and it
should be remembered that it is written
i by a man who is partly blind :
I wake up at ten o'clock in the morn|
ing, and after a cup of coffee I write for
y two hours in bei. I get up at noon
_ anil have a plunge bath, and take breakfast
with my fumily, who then have
i" taken theii- lunch. I go to the office after\
ward, and remain there till seven, prepared
to see everybody that calls. During
the same time the work of the day
e is planned out and everybody begins it.
I then go home and have supper, and
spend the evening until ten o'clock
j there, usually listening to reading -by
! my wife, or having a little music. At
ten o'elock I am back to tho office
I again ; where I remain until two o'clock.
I am only able to write two hours a day
0 myself, uud tho rest is done by dictau
tion. I read but little myself; but
0 glance through the exchanges, in order
to get an idea of things, having important
articles read out loud to me. ]
have no time for exercise and do not carc
j for riding, all the exercise 1 get being
u in walking to and from the *ffice.
1 Hard to Please.
' I^ast year a commercial man, generally
'* known as " lminer," was traveling iii
e Kansas, and stopped at a farmhouse,
* when tho following conversation toofc
* place :
y " Well, how do you like Kansas ?"
e " Don't like it.at all," said the farmer ;
B "yon can't raiso anything ; and when
P you do, the plaguod grasshoppers takf
l" it all! I'm going to leave as soon as ]
can get ont of it."
Happening along last summer ho mel
the man again, and Raid :
"Hello, you here yet?"
" Yos, but I am going to leave soon."
"What are you going to leave for?
e Yon Rurely have raised enough this
n year."
3, "Yos, but that's the trouble. Got
e mor'n I wae* ibis year, and ean't sell n
cent's v.ortli."
\
A CALIFORNIA SNOW STORM.
A Picture Drawi by Bret H arte ,1a a Meet
Interratloc Hnnncr.
Bret Harto in his new novel in Seribner'n
Monthly paints a graphic picturt
of a California snow storm: Snow.
Everywhere. As far as the eye ooulc
reaclf?fifty miles, looking south wart
from the highest white peak." Filling
ravines and gulches, and dropping fron
the walls of the canyous in white shroud
| like drifts, fashioning the dividing
ridge into the likeness of a moustrout
grave, hiding the bases of giant pines,
and completely covering young treei
and larches,'rimming with i>orcelain the
bowl-like edges of still, oold lakes, and
undulating in motionless white billowe
i to the edge of the distant horizon. Snow
; l.yiug everywhere over the California
l Sierras on the 15th day of March, 1848,
j and still falling.
It has been snowing for ten days ;
snowing in linely granulated powder, in
I damp, spongy flukes, in thin, feathery
i plumes; snowiug from a leaden sky
steadily, snowiug fiercely, shaken ouf
of purple-black clouds in white floccu
lent masses, or droppiug iu long level
liues like white lances from the tumbled
I and broken heavens. But always silent'
; ly! The woods were so choked with it,
I the branches were ho laden with it, ii
: had so permeated, filled and possessed
. earth aud sky ; it had so cushioned and
i muffled the ringing rocks and echoing
hills that all sound was deadened. Tht
I strongest gust, the fiercest blast awoke
no sigh or complaint from the snowI
packed, rigid files of forest. There wa*
110 cracking of bough nor crackle of uu'
derbrnsh; the overladen branches of
! pine and fir yielded and gave way with|
out a sound. The silence was vast,
measureless, complete!
. Nor could it be said that any outward
sign of life or motion changed the fixed
I outlines of thus stricken laudscape.
Above, there was 110 play of light and
' shadow, only the occasional.deepening
of storm or night. Below, no bird
winged its flight across the white ex
| p;uist*, no beast haunted the confines ol
i the black woods; whatever of brute Oft
! ture might have once inhabited tliest
solitudes had long since flown to tlielon
j lands. There was no track or imprint
whatever foot might have left its marl
upon this waste, each succeeding snowfall
obliterated all trace or record,
Every morning the solitude was virgir
aud unbroken ; a million tiny feet hat
stepped into tho track and filled it up
Aud yet, in the center of this desola
j tion, in the very stronghold of this grin
fortress, there was the mark of liuraar
toil.
A Youug Lawyer.
" Your cognomen, my son f" asket
the Detroit court of a boy of eleven, whc
came out wiping his uose with as mud
vigor and rapidity as if ho were being
paid ten cents a wipe.
" He's dead !" sobbed the boy.
"You don't understand me?I meat
your name."
i "Bill."
" Bill what {"
j " Bill Davison."
" Well, bub, I have heard a very bat
. report concerning you. I am told yot
broke a window and called a woman bat
names. How is it ?"
" I'll tell yon, and I won't lie, nuiher
I was goin' 'long Congress street and i
woman axed me: 1 Boy, will you bring
j iu some coal ?' And I said I would fo;
twenty-live cents. And she said: ' Yor
little lazy brat! yon ought to be in tin
poorhouse.' And I said I was muci
obliged, and she set her dog on me. ]
i never called her no names, and I brok<
1 the window a tlirowin' at the dog."
"Is Mrs. Skidmore here?" asked tin
; court.
j She wasn't, and after a look arouut
the boy continued:
it T?.^1 \r ci ltna
x viao uiui n\/ uuouicon iw uaii uujri
names, nor set dogs on 'em."
" Have yon been telling me the truth
iboy?"
j " Yes, I have. I'm willing to be strncl
dead as a herring if I've lied ! Where'
' the woman i Why don't she come hen
: and swear agin me ? Here's where tin
dog bit mo on the leg, and I'll face he
; any time !"
" William, you may go, but keep ou
! of trouble hereafter. It's pretty har<
I for a free American citizen to run awa
i from a skirmish, but you had bette
J dodge around the corner than to gt
; into a wrangle with a woman. Go i
i and iind your hat, quit wiping you
I nose, go to bed early, and you'll som
| day bo able to deliver an agricultun
address before a couuty fair.*'?Pre
, | Pre**.
A Terrible Plot.
' A case in Lincoln, Ont., illustrate
j! the liability of courts and juries to cru<
.' mistake. A few months Bince Mathic
' i Konkle was found guilty of felonious ai
Mill 111. linnn n fnmnln r\f wanra /
age. llo wns convicted and sentence
to be hanged, but the sentence wn
r ] afterward commuted to imprisonmei]
i j for life. It now appears that there wr
, I a conspiracy to get rid of Konkle, i
;! which his stepmother was the principi
mover, her motive being to obtain poi
session of proj>erty. She took into lit
; , contideneo the grandmother of the lilt!
i i girl, and a servant. These together a
) | ranged the plot against Konkle, th
! i child being brutally maltreated to fro
[ nish evidenoe against an innocent mat
I At the trial Mrs. Konkle " posted " a
' the witnesses for the government. 8h<
with her fellow ranspirators, have bee
' arrested, and the convict will be brongl
1 from prison to testify against then
i The little girl has turned Queen's ev
dence, and her statements, which at
. very clear, leave no doubt of a malif
> nant plot to put a troublesome heir ot
j of the way.
Items
of Interest.
Darling I am growing fat.
Adipose among my bonee.
It is on aooonnt of that,
) I now protest in earnest tones.
No more bring ap the ooal can I;
Neither oan I ohop np wood.
To dotheee duties please to try,
My gentle wife, pray be so good.
A smart tiling?A mustard plaster.
Order of oourt?"Send one dozen
jury, carefnlly packed."
Ohio proposes sending a youth of one
hundred and sixteen summers to the
Centennial.
Young women are advised to set good
pramnlan hnnanoa VAnnrv man ore elwmwa
' following them.
1 The height of a man is equal to the
measure of his extended arms from tip
, to tip of finger.
[ That writer does the most who gives
. his reader the most knowledge and takes
r from him the least time.
; "Pull on this rope," wrote Mr. Wine
gardner, of Williamsport, Pa., "you
L will find me in the canal."
I At Jacksonville, Fla., recently, five
' sharks were seen swimming after a boat
> in which n man had out his foot.
J, The supreme court of Iowa has
affirmed the constitutionality of the law
providing that railroad companies shall
be responsible for fires oaused by sparks
| from their engines.
They tell of a man in Maine who
, kicked a can of nitro-glycerine out of his
. way. The story is a shocking one, as
f the story of tne vain search for the
. scattered fragments of a human being
always is.
A man nearly seventy years old, blind
I and infirm, has been sentenoed to death
I for murder in Red River county, Ark.
, His orimo was committed twenty-two
L years ago, but he was not nnnl re;
oently brought to trial.
I The superintendent of the Passaic
- zino mines, at Ogdensburg, N. J., a few
f days ago found a large garnet in the
- mine, for which he has been offered $50.
> There have been several smaller ones
r found, valued at from $10 to $15 each.
j To know how to keep a tidy house and
: well aired apartments; to know how to
select the best kinds of food ; to know
' how to prepare them in the best manner
1 ?these' are first things, and every ,
1 daughter should learn them before
marriage.
l Some time ago a little girl in West,
field, N. J., while playing dropped her
mother's silver thimble into a chicken
i coop. Some days afterward two of tho
chickens were killed, and in the gizzard
I of one of them was found tho lost thim,
ble, finely polished but not injured,
i In these days of labor-saving devices,
r lazy rustics will rejoice to know that a
Vermonter has invented a churn which can
be so adjusted to a wagon, that all a
i | man has to do is to pick np his reins,
drive a mile or so, and presto?the
butter's made.
The supreme court of Wisoonsin has
recently decided that the whipping of a
1 child by a pnblie school teacher is an
i assault and battery, and that an offend 1
ing teacher may be mulcted in damages
as well as held answerable for violating
. the d'gnity of the law.
1 Warren Shailer, an old captain of
J PirAr flnn? fnll
sound, the other day; bnt, catching the
rope, was towed along on his back under
the vessel's bow for over a mile, when
he was hauled up in safety, still smoking
his pipe.
There is in the moral straits a current
from right to wrong, but no reflux from
wrong to right ; for which destination
^ we must hoist our sails and ply our oars
incessantly, or night and the tempest will
8 overtake us, and we will shriek out in
vain from the billows, and irreooverably
I sink.
A London detective hgp discovered a
i new crime among clever children. It
b consists in getting intoxicated, and oonb
frequently getting the clothes torn and
b the body wounded, and then aooounting
r for the whole thing to credulous parents
by laying abduction and maltreatment
t at the door of supposititious tramps and
1 gypsies.
y
* A Discouraged Editor.
Q A Colorado editor thus narrates : He
ur was a sod-eyed, meek-faced man, and
o wq suppose he merely whhed to give us
il a news item ; but when he oommenocd
>e telling us about building a barn on his
ranch 190x280 feet, seven stories high,
aud ornamented with bay windows, we
thought it was time to check him, and
s so we commenced :
si "Well, wo must admit that that 19 a
m pretty large barn for this country, but
5- back in the States our father bnilt a barn
>f 325x600 feet, nine stories high, and
d furnished with steam elevators , but "?
.s " Back in the States," interrupted
it our listener. " Why, that wasn't much
is of a barn for the States. I remember,
n now, that when I was quite young, my
d father built a chioken-coop 660 by 882
s- feck I don't recollect how many stories
r it was high, but I know there was a culo
pola on it for the roosters."
r- " About how high was the cupola !"
le we asKPd.
r- " I don't remember the exact height
i. now, mister," waa the reply, "but I
11 know it was so high that the fourteen
s, upper tiers of roosters died from the
n effects of the light atmosphere the first
it night."
1. Then he looked up towards the oeili
ing and oommenoed humming " Silver
e threads among the gold," and we went
j- out and sat down on tho wood-pile and
it wondered why somebody mwalways outi
stripping us in the rsOe of life.