Democratic Sentinel, Volume 7, Number 30, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 August 1883 — Page 6

HUNTING OWI4 IN MBBOUBL BV 9. CL BOHtENBKSOBB. you, who are skilled in banting fowls. Know you how they capture owls? No? The* wait • bit anftsoo . u j How *tis done in Missouri Well, they start out sot the woods. Having no explosive goods. Nothing of the kind, you know, Nothing but the Jplan below. Now they spy one on a tree, Very wise owl looks to be; When they see he starts with fear 'Round his tree their course they steer. And the owl leers, as is right, To keep the hunter m his sight: Onward still the hunter's bound— The owl his head twists round and round! Well, the consequence one knows— So, at least, the s ory goes— Keeping the owl upon the f tring Till his head quite ott they wring!

IN SPITE OF HERSELF.

BY HILDA.

“Uncle Morton, I do wish you would drop the subject of, Bandall Whitney, ftojv -"ud forever. If you are tired of me, just say so, and I will pack my trunk yet to-night, and go to Aunt Barbara’s.” And the glow deepened on Ethel Dean’s face; her brown eyes almost black, with little smoldering gleams of fire shining in their depths. She had been given into Uncle Morton’s care at the early age of 3 years, and, in all the eighteen years that she ♦had lifed with him, never beheld. her in such a passion. The good. old man was frightened, both at .the .girl’s anger and at- her threat of leaving the old homestead. “Well! well! Ethel, child, don’t getso angry. Ofyjpurse . you needn’t; marry Bandall Whitney, unless -yojt ulioose, for there i»>no compulsion about the matter, ataß* I only mentioned that he expend th A visit this summer, should like to have you if eat liiutciYiUy.. il l Am sorry if I said, any thing to hurt yotfr feelings,Jftthel,”. said. Mr. TMbrton,; walking he-vqpply up and.down the broad piazza of the Morton farm-tonaei . n ui “I am not a»g»y with you; unCM*ont I have gjßjfth JtrfiSflJot Whitnhe & here thuijiuwnw, you Mason, atoWKWilt gortQt AJtuict Bstobarasi while he iS'Hel'baj^'b^h“Wanting' to visit be a ,, Uncle .Marton: ,'paased- Ja.dWSLJWW*,. and look®! dowfi’at ttiA' yoaagtfgijii as she sat ofxHh'e''steps pulling*'’ &■ rose to pieces, W,by leaf, vW picture she .madet,« vl&.j.clambesmg rose-bush, with its wealths Of foliage; and its jhMiTS'dfstttig fiito blobmj formed for” the fresh, sweat flwh the frank brown eyes and whving ' masses, of>;lustrous brown hrif?*l ™ : N *<--n I ijjfhre' you C* st J?eal disess, “with the harvest just; .coming on, the fnigmier’s fruit to look after, and the dairy to be taken care of! Not now, Ethel) not now. I will write to him not to come until fall; will that do?” r 1 Ethel laughed outright. "You dear, old uncle! It is a shame that you cannot invite who you please to your own house; but I do so much want to have the house without visitors this summer. ”

“Well, girlie, have it as you please. I will write to Randall this very evening not to come until fall. Bless me I we can’t have you gding off to Aunt Burbara’s now. No, indeed!” And bustling into the house, Uncle Morton called lor a lamp, and immediately set about writing a letter to.,Randall Whitney. A glimpse of the .old gentleman’s letter to the son of his old college friend will explain the situation of affairs as well, or perhaps better than anything we could say. My Dbab Randall: I had anticipated a jgreat deal of pleasure from the visit you pr praised to make us thlssummer. Though Vour father and I were suqU warm friends, I have not seen you since you were quite a .email boy, and I am very sorry, but I shall .have to ask you to defer your visit until fall My niece, Ethel Dean, who has also been my housekeeper sinoa the death of my wife, refuses to have any via.tors at the farm-house this summer.. You pee, my dear boy, I do not heat about tna bush, but tell you the pl*in truth of the mat.er. This Sail, she is goitg away on a visit, then I whall certainly look for you. By the way, . do you know of any likely young fellow wuo would come out here to work? I keep ♦bout twenty cows, and sell the milk at a Cheese factory, some three miles distant, and 1 need gome one to drive back and forth twice each day. If you Jtnow of a steady, trusty young man whey, would like such a place, send him out, and'be sure to come yourself about the Ist of September. Hoping you may not feel offended, I remain your friend, John Mobton. "There, Ethel, do you think that is plain enough?** and he tossed the letter to Ethel, who came in from the moonlight, het’, and her forehead in tiny rings. “Oh! uncle I he will think I am a cross-grained old maid, and that I rule you and your-house with a-rod of iron,— cried the girl, “but neec^Lcare; anything so he with his pr<w z that iaaU right, anile. Rile will not be apt! to bother us soon, especially, wliile lam here,” and" with a nierry langfl she gave her uncle a “good-night* kissyand went up to her own roefttu John Morton ’and Incharci Whitney had bec i ii'q<ihbbrnittes a]ifr '“flhwfis ; ’ ipr, their early years,, and lyarm friends, during the dawning dignity pf man'-, hood. In time, they were both married,, and while “Dick,” as he was familiarly called, went to a distant city, and engaged in the mercantile business, Jack took up the occupation of a farmer. The young men were often spoken of as twins, though there was no tie of blood between them. “But if we are ever blessed with children, ’’ they said “we will have the families united by marriage,” No ■children ever came to John Morton’s home, except Ethel, the daughter of his only sister, who, in dying, left her orphan child to his care. When Ethel ■was 12 years old, Mrs. Morton died, and on the shoulders of the young girl fell the care of her uncle’s home. Servants were employed as in her Aunt’s time to do the heavy work, but Ethel, despite her tender years, had personal supervision of the household department, afid soon proved herself Co be a capital manager of affairs be-

to that domain. Ten years previous to the opening of our story Bichard Whitney died, leaving an only son, Bandall. The young man was not aware of the existence of Ethel Dean, mum less of the plan talked over by his father and John Morton, to have him marry the young lady dome time in the future, ■ Bandall had succeeded his father in business, and one summer, weary of the ceasless round of care, tired of the heat and confusion of the city, he remembered the promise he had made to vist Uncle Morton, and he determined to spend a few weeks at the farm-house. All needful preparations were completed, and he was on the eve of starting, when Mr. Morton’s letter was received. “Heigh-ho !”said he, when he had read the characteristic epistle through twice. “The poor old man does not have a very pleasant home, I’ll wager. From the sum Of his lefts*, I imagine Miss Ethel Dean to be a crabbed old maid, who, to use a slang phrase, “‘runs the ranche.’” So he sent an immediate reply to Mr. Morton’s letter, stating that it would suit him just as well to make the promised visit later in the season, and he had found a young man that he hoped would suit Mr. Morton. He could recommend the young fellow as being trusty and of respectable family, and he would be on hand some time during the next week.

Randall Whitney’s letter was received at the Morton farm-house on Tuesday, and on Tipirsdayof the next week, as Ethel was busy in the front-yard tying up a refractory rose-bush, the click °f the gate warded her of the approach of some one. “Well.T wonder What he has got to sell,! for Of course he is agent for some tilingor another,” was tlie girl’s thought as a young man dressed in a serviceable suit of. dark-gray and carrying ift Valise came Up the floWerbprdered oath.: 4\/Is this' where Mr. Morton, lives?”. rimmed straw hat, and bowing with tne graceful ease that comes only with true’ politeness, jv “Yes; sir, ’’ answered, down from. the.etoyatod position on the toree-legg^dstooly. ! Mr, Morten sitting on.toe,_ pi asam’k h *-• * "Thanfisi, ” and the- young <UKn r With--7sloqk ofpeVident 'udinirfationdaf' tho <lfc.-hliei sweet .face hail- Mudden inl the -depths oiLa capeaious Hnfi-bdmret,'took h£V ■fthy fcf of Uncle Mbrtoh' ’ < -••bostaownO . . evjffw Bfisy witll IfeWSWs'Ethel la’d STmo'sh forgotten tile presence df a %t?aifgfer at 1 the house, when she heard her uncle calling to her.” “Now, What’s WAritihg,” said she to herself,; pa cJJalf t petulantly she dropped her pruning shears and ball of twine. “My opinion on some wonderful labor-saving invention, I ex? pect.” feht no‘sample in inmiature or a washingAnoeMne,- -dr' automatic bafrel churn,- npishlf-bperating wringeryor gironing-board met nqr gaze. Qmy the gentle madly- appea'Hhg niaxf, quietly talking to her Uncle Morton.

“Ethel, this is the young man Mr. Whitney spoke of in his letter, my niece, Ethel Dean, Mr. Fields.”''A surprised, incredulous look flashed, for a moment, across the stranger’s handsome face, then his polite, deferential bow was returned by one equally polite from Ethel. “Now, girlie,” this was Uncle Morton’s pet name for Ethel, “have Katy show Mr. Fields to his room, as I know he must be tired with two days of steady travel on the cars. After supper Ned will drive over to the station, and fetch your trunk.” Wh‘en the young man had gone to his room Ethel joined her uncle on the piazza. “Why, uncle, Mr. Fields is a gentleman; what possesses him to hire out as a common farm hand?” “Well, his health is not very good, and he was advised to spend the summer in the country, taking plenty of exercise. When Whitney told him that I was in need of a man to drive to and from the cheese-factory, the thought struck him that here he could enjoy country air, have an abundance of healthy exercise, and turn an honest penny in the bargain.” “But what can he do, uncle, if he is in such poor health ?” “That remains to be seen, for now that he is here I am under obligations to give him a fair trial. I like his appearance very well; he seems so thoroughly frqnk and outspoken.” And so thought Ethel when the young man came down to supper. Sidney Fields was not what one would call a really handsome nian, yet there was something that suggested mental culture and wide and F Vayied knowledge of life. His was a frank open face, though with proud,, firm lines; a face that once seen was forgotten. A look of pleased surprise flitted across his expressiyQ., qo}|ntonanee wliejj he entered the- cooj, wide kitchen where the evening meal was served-;: .The table was spread with a-snowy cloth, on which was placed a repast, cream, aWysm dishJ'of ’hMfer-cdlored jelly, potatoes, eggs? o doughnuts, fragrant tea, and, a l®rg£i pitcjhpr of milk for any who-wish it. A pretty set of 'plain wh'ito china, silVet knives and forks, and the whitest'ofwhitbnapkins. When abdut ■KHEthobhl-d attended an excellent boarding-S£hoQ]L,for h'o years, tlie duty .of cleanly and,'beautiful living had been strongly impressed on her tnind. She heiseif was pleasant to look at as she sat it the head of the table, and dispensed the honors with gentle grace and dignity. Uncle Morton, Mr. Fields, Ethel, Susan and Katy, two rosy-cheeked damsels, shy, but not awkward, and Ned Brown, the hired man, formed a very pleasant group about the farmer’s table. “Surely,” thought Sidney Fields, as he went to his large, airy chamber that night, “my lines have fallen in pleasant places.” Next morning the young man entered upon the duties assigned to him; and,as Uncle Morton expressed it, “he proved to be the right man in the right place.” Every morning he was up with the sun, and down to the milking-lot where Ned and Susan,“and Katy were filling the pails with rich milk, then back to the cool stone milk-house, with a brimming bucket in either hand, where Ethel, her round arms bared to the elbow, her lovely face flushed with j the early exercise, was straining the

lacteal fluid into the bright tin-cans, around which the clear, cold water replied with a soft, murmuring sdund. There had been a wonderful change in the “new hand” since his arrival at the farm. Hb face was bronzed by exposure to the sun and wind, and glowed with the rich color of health and strength. The tired, jaded look in his brown eyes had given place to the brightness and buoyancy of renewed life. His musical voice, or clear, ringing whistle, as he went about his work, awoke the echoes through the meadow and woodland. “Miss Ethel” said he, coming into the milk-TOOttrohe morning, “do you know this summer’s work will make me almost hate the city? I do not know how I can ever endure its noise and confusion again,” and leaning against the open door he watched her deft hands flying swiftly about their work. “I have been here nearly three months, and my vacation is almost over,” said he, musingly. Ethel glanced up quickly. “I think the summer has been a great benefit to you. You have gained almost perfect health, and, a good brown color,” she added, laughingly. “Yes, all thanks to the health-giving food and air of Morton farm, but Ethel, if I may call you so, there is something else I should like to have the assurance of having gained. ” Something in his voice brought a-shade more of color to her smooth chpek but she gave no further sign of having heard. ‘’There,” she said, carelessly, “the milk is ready and here comes Ned with the wagon.” “Ethel did you hear me ?” and behind the friendly .screen of the ironwood tree’s thick foliage her hand was clasped in a firm, but gentle grasp. “Yes,” she answered, with downcast eyes and glowing face. - “I want you, Ethel, to go with me to ,my home in the city, as my wife. Will you? for Hove you girlie.” ,f ßutjUncle Morton has othelplahs Tor bay future,” sai*d Ethel, arcmy*neexpects me to marry Bandall Whitney. ” “Ha! ha!” what a merry laugh broke the morning stillness. “Ha! ha 1 marry Bandall Whitney, well! that is news indeed. Have you ever met him, Ethel?’*

“No; and uncle has not seen him Swas a little boy; but it was between his father and Uncle that the two families should be y our marriage.” ?ou are willingj|he plan should »d into eyes twinkling iri&wSSfc'ffi “No! I hate ame/gjfl| ;4 the gifl, stampina&2||ufl| foat ently,\“and I o “Never mind,u|lela will a talk with your uHdSfe' id I think Mr. WhittW'yigfftLylfftftTlg his harp bn the willow?” M “But, I have not given you permission to speak to uncle yet; you are too quick in taking things Tor grafted,” said Ethel saucily, as Ned drove up, the rattle of the wheels drowning the sound of her voice. “But it is ‘yes,’ is it not, Ethel?” and she could not say to him “nay,” neither did she wish to. “Yes,” was the answer, as she danced merrily away toward the house, while Sidney Fields drove away through the dawning sunlight, his heart bounding lightly, and a knowing smile lurking on the proudlycurved lips. “Ethel,” said her uncle that evening after the duties of the farm and household were completed, “When do you want-to go on your visit to Aunt Barbara's ? ” The two were in the sitting-room where Ethel was just lighting the evening lamps. “I don’t see how I can go this fall, uncle. The grapes will soon be ripe and the peaches will have to be attended to. It seems too bad to think of visiting now. ” “I know there is work to be done that the girls cannot do,” said Uncle Morton, “but you know next month Randall Whitney will be here on his long-promised visit, and I thought maybe you would want to go away. Y>ou remember what you said last spring,” and the old man rocked softly back and forth in the big arm-chair. “Let him come, uncle. I cannot afford to let all the fruit go to waste on his account." “Better say, Miss Ethel, you cannot afford to leave the new happiness that has come into your young life. Well, girlie, lam glad you are not going. I would hardly know - how tot entertain him alone.” Just thpn Sidney Fields.; sauntered in from piazza, hS'had bdriff sitting, hiddeir-by jtw vines-innd the early chair elos4 -tM;tdr eftf W have a conseasiGn »Rto . •' I have been living'iiwbuj? Souse' almost three I mouths unadFan ivad as I an imposter.®# “What!” cried Mr. Morton, as he sprang to his feet, “you’re a rascal; a scoundrel!” “No. Mr; Morton, not quite a rascal, only Randall Whitney, the son of your old friend, Richard. ” t*. Uncle '* Morton stood- ■ spellbound. Ethel leaned against the mantle, her face flushing and paling by turns. “Randall Whitney!” ejaculated the old man; “and you have been my hired man for three months!” “Yes; Miss Ethel here would not receive me as a visitor, and as I was determined to spend my vacation here, I borrowed another name and came as a hired hand.” Crossing over to where Ethel stood, white and still, he led her to Uncle Morton. “Uncle Morton, Ethel has vowed she will never marry Randall Whitney, but I love her so sincerely that I am willing to take the name of Sidney Fields henceforth, if with your consent, she will be my wife.” Uncle Morton sank down in the arm chair. “The girlie must do as she pleases.” Ethel stood blushing, but no word left her red lips. “Forgive me, Ethel, for my deception,” and Randall Whitney drew her out ifato the silver moonlight “You must say ‘yes,’ for I am a visitor now, and it will never do to be rude to company.”

Now hsr laugh rang out merrily. •And I dreaded your coming so much. I thought you proUd Overbearing, and would be ready to make sport of our plain, country ways.” “And I,” said her companion, “dread to meet Mr. Morton’s old-maid housekeeper, who would not have any visitors at Morton farm.” When the Christmas bells rang out their glad chimes, Ethel left the old home as the wife of Bandall Whitney, and Uncle Morton went with them. Ned Brown and cherry-cheeked Susan were married and took charge of the farm, where every summer the “folks from the city are greeted as welcome visitors, and from where, Ethel declares, she was won ‘in spite of herself.’”—Chicago Ledger.

The Servant Girl Question.

One of the great difficulties in the way of getting on cmmfortably with hired help is, I belief, the proneness on the part of the mistress to forget that Bridget is flesh and blood the same as herself, and not a machine warranted to keep in good, order and never wear out, and this without the lubricating oil of consideration or kind words. Particularly is this the case with those who are never without help in their kitchens. They forget, if they have ever known, how wearing are the long days of excessive toil; how wearisome are the big washings, the tedious ironing, the hard scrubbings, the hot bakingi; or, if the matter is thought upon at all, it is too often only to chafe that the work does not progress more swiftly, or to chide at little short-comings and defects. While it is generally expected of Gretehen that she possess great physical endurance, it is quite as frequent demand that her sensibilities be of minimum quantity. She is never to show temper, to flare up or grow touchy at commands or reprimands, is never to “aiM'WB back” under z any extremity, but iwto “know hei place’ ■ and keep it. The distress forgets that Mie average girl, while she has*ljuite as much sensitiveness (a morbid sensitiveness if you will) as herself, has, ordinarily, far less discipline and self-control. Often the authority of the mistress, the temper of the maid and the comfort of the whole household are wrecked on the rock of trivialities. The wife and mother forgets or ignores the fact ol how much more important to herself and family are her life and health, hei vital powers of body and mind, than whayjgr thesjaßet is upon the ■'cn.ik-SW othtewStheJKpi baked .wiUi utBB: st Saffig n Joyped upon t theßwb perE*buT '<l, ’ tlii- ofaßnee fbr an agreeable oi^-Wf th -irar effectually swept away. Again, where the mistress is not over severe with a girl so far as hard work is concerned, she sometimes—priding herself upon her skill in managing—so arranges it that the girl never has an hour that she may rightfully call her own. Sewing, knitting, patching, piecing, baby-tending, take up all the leisure time, and the girl, if she goes ever so briskly about her morning tasks, has nothing to look forward to but an afternoon filled to its utmost capacity with other kind of work. This is discouraging to even the most active and besttempered (for we cannot expect others to take interest in our work quite as we do ourselves), and Bridget is likely to become a drone, dragging out her work indefinitely anti with very little regard to the time in which it should be done. —The Country Gentleman.

The Parsees.

The Parsees of India are the decendants of the ancient Persian “fire-wor-shipers.” They claim a history back to Abraham. The Zendavesta is their holy book, and the venerated Zoroaster, who flourished B. C. 550, is their great prophet. Driven from Persia a thousand years ago, they found a refuge in India. Now there are but left in their ancient home. Of this strange people there are about 200,000 in all the world. Of this number 150,000 are in India. Bombay, “the city of the Parsees,” has 75,000, making one-tenth of the entire population. As you walk the streets of Bombay you cannot help noticing these deisciples of Zoroaster, differing as they do from both Mohammedans‘and Hindoos. The Parsee gentleman is tall and erect, with fair complexion and dignified air. His long white coat of silk or fine muslin is buttoned closiely frolh chin to waist, and hangs in a fall flowing skirt to the knee. 'He wears a tall, tapering, queep-looking, indescribable hat, without a brim&rfnolining backward from the and leoking very much like a sec®n,of a stovepipe. It is ap-paste-board covered with broWfi silk or muslin. In toiy he puts ips handkerchief. of the badgj&s 'st his remust ndvfer change it for any other style. The Parsee always keeps his head covered, indoors or out, day or night, asleep or awake. Around wears a silken cord, which he is to untie at prayer. Nosbargain is biftding if this cord is left off when the contract is made. These people are among the most intelligent, influential, and patriotic in the community. Most of them are merchants and bankers, and as such are honest, industrious, and polite, taking the in all commercid! enterprises. One-half of the wealth and three-fourth of the business of Bombay is in their hands. They are often called the Jews of the East.

He Did Not Hear It.

Johnny Fizzletop had been over to the house of a neighbor, Col. Percy Yer ger. “Well, Johnny,” asked Maj. Fizzletop, “did you have a nice*time over at Goh Yerger’s?” “Oh, yes, I had a nice time, and, pa, they are going to have cabbage for dinner.” “Haven’t I told you forty times that you must never repeat what you have heard at people's houses." “But, pa, I didn’t hear anything about the cabbage, I smelled it with my nose.”— Texas Siftings. A J&UNK from Philadelphia to NeW Oriea&s changes ten times.

The Worn Turns.

From the sterner sex, and from the sterner members of her own sex, poos defenseless woman has Mgsived an enormous amount of reviiin* hex corsets, her high heels, her bustles, her tight shoes,, and the thousand and one other things which she imagines make her more charming. All this she has endured up to the present, and with saintly patience, but at last even the worm brought Jto bay will turn and rend his accusers. And the peculiar thing about this is that she seems to have some reason on her side. She tells her critics to remove first the beam from their own eyes, then they will be better qualified to judge of the size of the mote which is obscuring their sisters’ vision. Her first point of attack is the starched shirt-front This we surrender at once. And so on until we are reduced almost to the condition which Eve succeeded in making improper for Adam to appear in on the day when that wretched couple indulged too unrestrainedly in a vegetarian diet. Then it was that woman first provoked the dress discussion, and it has remained with her a fruitful topic ever since. Up to that time there was no qgestion. as to what was and what was not “rational” dress. But Eve listened to the Worth of her day, and here we are,, after centuries of evolution, each sex wearing a fashion of figleaf which the other knows to* be ridiculous, and yet are no nearer a solution of the vexed problem than were our unworthy progenitors that November afternoon when they were evicted fipm the Garden of Eden. Is their no compromise possible ? If we yield points on our side, will our daughters, wives and sisters meet us half way? . Will the abandonment of the high hat purchase abstinence from the flower and feather-trimmed monstrosities that furnish the millineis a luxurious existence? Will the giving tip of -starched collars, cuffs and shirt-fronts gain the abolition of an equal number of starched skirts and lace-trimmed petticoats? Will our return to sandals mean death to French heels ? Will our absolute desertion of barbers secure temperance in the use of rice-powder and arsenical solutions?When these questions are answered in the affirmative we will give in Our allegiance tb. the r\ew order of things, but until the J are weshall cling manfully to the right to encase our bodies in stiffened linen and torture ourselves in any other way we may see fit.—The Modem Age.

Where Sheep Are Kept.

According to the last census the number of sheep in the United States in 1880 wgs 49,192,092, including the number estimated in on the great Western ranches. Ohio reports the largest number of any Strte, having nearly 5,000,000 sheeps shearing over 25,000,000 pounds of wool. California comes next, with- over 4,000,000 sheep, shearing nearly .17,000,000 pounds of wool, beside half as much more at the fall clip that was not accounted for in the June enumeration. Michigan stands third, with 2,189,389 sheep, producing nearly 12,000,000 pounds of wool. New York and Pennsylvania each prodjice over 8,000,000 pounds of wool; Missouri and Wisconsin 7,000,000 pounds each, and Texas nearly as many, beside the fall clip, which would make .her product nearly equal to that of Michigan; Illinois, Indiana and Oregon shear about 6,000,000 pounds each. Vermont, with 439,870 sheep, had 2,551,113 pounds of wool, but was exceeded by Maine, whose clip was 2,776,407 pounds from 565,918 sheep. Of the other New England States, New Hampshire, with her 211,825 sheep, produced 1,060,589 pounds of wool; Connecticut had 59,431 sheep, clipping 230,133 pounds of wool-, and Massachusetts had 67,979 sheep, shearing 299,089 pounds of wool. Comparing the number of sheep in the New England States with the number of inhabitants, we find that Rhode Island has one sheep to every seventeen inhabitants; Connecticut one to ten, and Massachusetts one to twenty-six, while Maine has six sheep to seven inhabitants, and Vermont three sheep to every two of her population. Forty-five years ago Massachusetts had one sheep to about two of her inhabitants, or 325,841 sheep to people.

Great Self Denial.

“Where can I buy a pair of cuffs ?” inquired a late riser of an Austin hotel proprietor one Sunday morning. “Don’t believe you can anywhere,” replied the hotel man, “clothing stores are all closed up until 4 o’clock in the evening.” L “Well, where can I get a cocktail? I am as dry as a puff bail.” “Gan’t. Saloons are closed up until ■afteM o’clock,” “Ji,suppose I can get a glass of sweet cidet“at some corner grocery, can’t I?” “Not much; groceries are all closed up until after 4 o’clock.” Are, eh ? Then I guess I’ll have to go down'to some 'drug Storenhd get * glass df plain soda.” e -31 ‘ “Qpn’t do that, either. Drug stores are-pot allowed,fo sell until after 4 o'clock.”... 'the man 1 moved mournfully over to the water cooler and had about half filled a tumbler, when a policeman in, front of the hotel commenced shooting at a suspicious-looking dog. The hotel guest dropped the glass, jumped about fourteen feet, and, running behind the office desk, shouted: “Don’t shoot again, cap! I won’t touch a drop of your blamed old ice water until after 4 o’clock! If you think it’s too rich for my blood, I’ll practice self-denial and spit cotton till sundown.”— Texas Siftings.

Two Kinds of Worms.

“Mamma, what’s a book-worm?” “One who loves to read and. to study and collectbooks, my dear.” The nest night company called. Miss Edith, who wears rings innumerable, was present. “Oh, mamma, look at Miss Edith’s rings! I guess she is a ring-worm, ain’t she?”— Springfield (Ohio) News. The high attitude of the lakes in Wyoming Territory reduces the buoyancy of the water, and makes swimming much more difficult Chan in lower localities.

HUMOR.

[From Carl Pretarf’a Weekfyd What has Random doneAhat so many people shoot at him. When a man is sentenced for twenty days in jail his days are numbered. Any tramp who attempts to steal the dose of the day, ought to be shot on the spot. Dissolving views—Looking through the bottom of a glass containing gin and sugar. Some men return home from “The Lodge” as a hunted criminal does when passing a jail. They say that bald heads and gray hairs are defects in nature’s works. The defects are more noticeable when a ballet tronpe is in town. “1 say Pat how do you like Ameriica?” “Purty well, but lam thinking about going back to Ireland.” “What’s the matter with this country?” asked his friend. “Faith and there’s nothing, but, I am going back to be ex-pat-riated.” A woman applied for a divorce, and in giving her evidence in the case averred that she had passed “many sleepless nights in tears.” The Judge granted a decree, at the same time expressed his sympathy for the man who had a wife that would tear around so much. [From Texas Siftings.] In a library: “I say, who took the * Life of Washington ?’ ” “I’ll swear I» didn’t know he was murdered. ” It is common enough for love to laugh at locksmiths, but it is a much more serious matter for marriage to laugh at the plumber. The temperance societies in considering how to treat drunkards seem to lose sight of the fact that the more they are treated the worse they ore. , “Are-trade dollars taken at par,” inquired little Rufus Botts of hjs mother. “No, but they are taken from pa, when he goes to bed with his boots on. ” One of the sionists, who visited Austin not long And feel tuat)shrinkageoftbODurso ?Ac Aa you don your last ile&n sntrtT ’ Farmers’ good things forrprptection, .against, pat-ent-gate and lightning-rod swindlers. They should be about five feet long and ’blade of stout hickory. ** 1 [From Chicago Cheek.] It has just been ascertained why Arab folded his tent at night, and silently stole away,” he was afraid the Sheriff might want him 1 ; lib lingered any longer. / M ’• ’ An old colored preachpr in Atlanta, Qa., so th§ story goes, was lecturing a youth of his fold about the sin of dancing, when the letter protested that the Bi bib plainly said “There is a time to dance.” “Yes, dar am a time to dance,” said the dark divine, “and it’s when a boy gits a whippin’ for going to a ball.” At a town in Illinois, the seats of the church had been freshly painted, and on Sabbath the paint was as green as a country pedagogue. There was a large congregation. Before opening services the minister requested Bro. Jones to “lead in prayer.” Bro. Jones colored like an Oriental sunset, but did not respond. Bros. Smith, Brown and Simpkins were in turn invited to “address the Throne of Grace,” but what was the surprise of the good man when all remained seated like graven images. To cover his embarrassment the preacher called upon the congregation to “rise and sing. ” Not one moved! He then stepped down and asked the janitor what it all meant. The janitor explained that the fresh paint held every worshipper fast to their seats. Such was the fact and services were closed amidst much merriment, and after no little trouble and some damage to wearing apparel the congregation dispered.

The Owl and the Farmer.

An owl who was reconnoitering a Farmer’s hen-coop, was caught by the leg in a steel trap, and held fast until the toil-hardened agriculturist came out in the morning to finish him. “Sir! What is the meaning of this outrage!” demanded the Owl. “You were after my Poultry,” was the reply. “We will let the law settle that point. I will see if a free-born American Owl is to be treated in this lawless manner 1” Being taken into Court, the Owl put in the defense that no farmer had any legal right to keep Hens, and the Judge closed the case by saying: “While the presence of the Owl in the vicinity of the henery goes to show that he would prefer Fowl to Hash, the Farmer has failed to prove whether the trap was bought of a man with a squint in his left eye or a wart on his nose. The Owl is entitled io SIOO damages for his injuries, and the Farmer is jugged for thirty days for unlawfully obstructing the United Staimt Mail- ”1 r ■ : a ♦.. >.. Moral: Keep Otfls, instead of Hens.

Hurrah Grass.

Several years ago, before the Wat, an Arkansas Congressman introduced to Jus agricultural oonstitunnt** Wew kind of grass, which he declared would form sod enough, to kill all the weeds and other growths of worthless nature. The Arkansaw Trawler says: The seed was sown quite extensively in the southern part of the State, and the farmers were much gratified to see that a very thick sod was at once formed. Next year, however, the grass began to take root in additional fields until it was found to be impossible to keep it down. The ' grass was soon discovered to be worthless for hay, and was in fact, only good for choking out all kinds of weeds, corn and cotton. This disastrous growth gained the name of “hurrah grass,” and is so known “even to this day.” It is said that large plantations have been abandoned on that account. In his trial sermon before a Boston church the preacher said: “The children of Israel were repeatedly on the point of manumission, but at the very last moment the Lord afflicted Pharaoh I with auricular ossification." He received a unanimous calk