Democratic Sentinel, Volume 7, Number 37, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 October 1883 — Page 6

THE MOTHER OF A FAHKT. A HOUSEHOLD CANTATA. Characters—Mother of the family, children, servants. SOLO—MOTHEB OT THE FAMILY. Rcctt.—At length my work is over and done I ' l is true the morning is nearly gone, Bnt still there’s a ualf-honr left, I find. So now I’ll sit down and improve my mind. I’ll write that letter I’ve owed so long. Set right those accounts that would come wrong I’ll peep into Scribner and Harper, too! Oh fin this half-hour what won’t Ido? Aria—Sweet it Is when the dishes are washed! Sweet It is wh rn the children are dressed, Pleasjnt the time when the stockings are darned. Hail to the hour of noontide rest! Haii! hail! hail!What though a bonnet be yet to trim, Feathers and fringe, for my Sunday best! Time for that when the day Sight’s dim! Hail to the hour of noontide lest! Hail! hail! hail! . . To the hour of noontide rest! BEMI-CHOBUB I. —CHILDREN. Oh! please, mamma, my jacket is tom! - Oh! please, mamma, my kitten is gone! Oh! please, mamma, look where I will. My cap and mittens are missing still! (Da capo.) DUET—COOK AND HOUSEMAID. Cook—Oh, madam, ’tis my duty to inform you That empty stands the hour-bin to-day, You haven’t any fuel to warm you. And the neighbor's dog has stole the beef away. Housemaid—Oh, sorrow and grief! The beautiful beef! Cook—The beautiful beef I Oh, sorrow and grief! Cook and Housemaid —Oh! powder and shot for the rascally thief Who stole the beautiful, beautiful beef. The beauti-ful beef! Housemaid—Alas! mum, here’s your vase of china— The way of it I cannot understand, You’ll find no fingers carefuller than mine are, But here 'tis all to pieces in my hand! Cook—Oh! piteous case! The illegant vase! Housemaid—The illegant vase! > Oh! piteous case! Cook and Housemaid—Oh! dagger and knife for • the miscreant base Who broke the illegant, illegant vase,. The ill-igant vase! SEMI-CHORUS lI.—CHILDREN. Oh! please, mamma, I want some cake! Oh! please, mamma, my teeth do ache! Oh! please, mamma, what shall I do? My doll’s left leg is broken in two. TRIO AND CHORUS—MOTHER, COOK, HOUSEMAID AND CHILDREN. Mother—Sweet is the hour— Cook, sotto voce—Oh! sorrow and grief! Mother —When the dishes are washed — Cook. s. v.—The beautiful bots! Mother—Sweet is the hour — Housemaid, s. v.—Oh! piteous case! Mother —When the children are dressed. Housemaid, s. v.—The illegant vase! Mother—Recosant the time— Children, s. v.—Oh! please, mamma. Mother —When'the stockings are darned — Children, s. v.—What shall I do? Mother—Hall to the hour — Children, s. v.—My doll’s left leg Mother —Of noontide rest! Children, s. v.—ls broken in two. ALL TOGETHER. Labor to pleasure lends livelior zest. Away with the hour of noontide rest! Away! away! away! With the hour of noontide rest! For oh! it’s a glorious thing to be The mother of a familee, Of a fam-i-lee! ! ~-Portland Transcript.

A LESSON FROM A WOLF CHASE.

Rube Wexford ought to have been a happy fellow. He was certainly considered one on the day when Kate Wilde became hi 3 bride. He was the envy of every young man in the rude Western hamlet where the ceremony took place, and many were the good wishes showered on the heads of the newlywedded pair for their future happiness and prosperity. Still there were those who not only insinuated, hut boasted that the helpmate of her choice was unworthy the woman he had won. Kate’s father and mother were particularly opposed to the match, and did all in their power to prevent it, but the girl, beside her unwavering love, possessed a determined will which, when once aroused, carried much before it. Rube Wexford was never accounted a strictly-temperate man. Indeed, there had been times before marriage when he was for days under the influence of liquor, and Kate had seen him in this state, and therefore knew fully the extent his weakness. But the wqman loved the man, and within herself resolved that his reclamation should be her duty. That success must crown her efforts she little doubted. Autumn drifted away, the crops had (been gathered in, and all the indications pointed to an early and severe winter. Rube’s sprees continued. No wind was too cold, no snow too deep to /keep liinf from Washburn’s, a not disitant tavern. One evening in the latter .part of December, he took down his leggings and gun from the pegs where they hung and was preparing to go out. Kate went to him and said: “Rube, you must not leave me tonight. Give in to me this time and etay at home.” “I ain only going for a jaunt,” he replied, “I’ll be back soon.” ‘‘No, you are going to Washburn’s. "To-night you will, you must gratify me. I am afraid to remain here alone.” “Afraid?” he answered. Such a thing as fear was almost unknown to Kate Wilde. She clasped her arms around his neck, whispered into his ear, her cheeks flushing brightly, then sank down into the rocker and cried as if her heart jwould break. Rube stood the gun in a icorner, threw aside the leggings, and oried, too. The next morning, when the winter sun beamed upon the cabin, the little log shelter held three souls, instead of two. A wee stranger had come in the night, a bright-eyed baby girl. Her weak cry seemed to move all the better part of the husband’s nature, and his wife looked on with a new-born confidence in her face. After a week, when Kate was able to sit up, Rube went to relate the happy event to his grand-pa-rents. It was the first time he had visited them for some months. Very early in the morning he started, and when the afternoon shadows began to lengthen Kate looked up eagerly for his return. It was toward daybreak when he appeared, his hands and feet almost frozen, and his senses stupefied by liquor. The wife’s new hopes were destined to be sliort-lived. Freshly-made promises marked the sorrow, hut days went by only to see them unfulfilled. Now there was a new torture. Rube 3iad forsaken Washburn’s and made his visits to Pineville instead, where Kate’s father and mother lived. It was almost more than the woman’s nature could bear to know that her parents were the frequent witnesses of her .husband’s disgrace. This was a sort of thing which ehe could not and, would not long broolc. Little Kate, the baby, was a month .old to a day when Rube made prepara-

tion* one morning for a trip to Pineville. Kate looked on silently for a few moments, and then said : “Where are you going?” “Only to Pineville.” “What for?” “To see about some powder and stnff. ” “That is untrue. You are going to spend the day with worthless companions, and you will come back stupid with liquor. Rube, listen to me. I have stood all which it is possible for me to endure. I have prayed and entreated you to abandon a habit which has disgraced us both. My pleadings have brought nothing. I cannot and will not have our child grow up to know a father who is a drunkard. If you refuse to stay at home, I have said my last say. Go to Pineville if you insist on doing so, but if yon are not here sober by sunset, I shall go with the baby to father’s, and in this house I will never set foot again.” “That’s all talk,” Rube answered in a rough, joking and half serious fashion. “Why, it’s fifteen miles to Pineville.” “No matter,” was the firm rejoinder. “I will make the start if the child and I freeze to death on the way.” “Look out for wolves,’’Rube laughed again. “There has been half a dozen soon lately. It has been a hard winter for them, and they’re almost starved,” “Wolves or no wolves,” muttered Kate. “I’ll go.” Rube hung about the house uneasily for an hour or so, then rigged himself out, leggings, buffalo coat, gun and all. Kate worked away and said never a word. He opened the door, and without looking back, remarked: “11l be here by sunset.” “See that'*you are,” was the reply. “If you come here later, the house wul , he empty.” The wife watched his form across the clearing and saw it disappear in the heavy timber which circled the cabin. She turned to her household duties, but had no heart for them. Well she knew Rube Wexford would break his last promise, as he had broken others before it. If so he must abide by the result. She was determined. The day went by at a snail’s pace,and the afternoon seemed never ending. Kate fondled the baby, listened to her erow and cry, and fed her a dozen times. Then she prepared supper, and sunset came when it was completed. But it brought no Rube. Another hour and still he was absent. So the moments passed until the clock struck 10. The baby was fast asleep. Kate rose from a chair at the cradle’s side, a look of firm determination on her face, and opening the cabin door, peered across the clearing. Nojb a soul was visible. She closed the door, went to the chest, and took from it a pair of old-fashioned skates whose steel runners gleamed in the fire-light. She laid them ready for use and proceeded to wrap herself as warmly as possible. Then she bundled the baby in the same manner, lifted her tenderly in her arms, and with the skates slung over her shoulder, started across the clearing. After reaching the timber she left the beaten path and made for the river. It was coated heavily with ice, and the strong winds had blown it almost free from snow, leaving a nearly naked surface. Kate laid the baby down for a few moments while she fastened on her skates. Then sho lifted her baby once more and started for Pineville, fifteen miles away. -The moon shone brightly, she was a wonderfully-rapid skater, and she knew not the slightest suspicion of fear. Rube Wexford sat near the warm fire which was surrounded by a dozen men besides himself. He had been there for hours listening to anecdotes of hunters’ lives, even adding to the general fund with some of his own experiences, but, though his companions coaxed and, persuaded him, they could not prevail upon him tb taste liquor. This was something so entirely new that many a laugh and joke was had at his expense. He answered all persuasions to imbibe in the same way, saying only, “Not today, hoys; not to day. ” When sunset came he was still in his seat. He wanted to be home, he wanted to keep his promise, but he thought he would wait a while and start later, so as it would not look to Kate too much as if he giving in. So thinking he went to a quiet corner by himself, and had not been there long before he fell asleep. It was 11 o’clock when' he awoke with a start, and said hurriedly: “What is it, Kate?” A loud roar of laughter brought him to his senses, and a rough voice cried: “Rube, guess you have been dreaming.” “Yes,” he replied, foolishly; “I thought my wife was calling me. He glanced at4he clock and said: “Boys, I must go. ” “Have something before you leave,” was the general cry. “No, no; not to-night. ” Then lie was gone. His conscience smote him as he trndged through the snow. It would he after 2 o’clock when he reached home. One thing consoled him somewhat—he was sober. But would Kate he in the cabin when he returned? Of course, she must he. Notkiug short of madness cduld tempt her to keep the rash vow she made in the morning. So thought Rube. This was because he was incapable of estimating the great suffering which he had caused his wife. On he went until through the stillness of the night was borne to his ears the sound of falling waters. It proceeded from a spot which marked the half-way between Pineville and his own home, and was caused by the river tumbling down a deep descent of fifteen or twenty feet of rugged rocks. His road at this point lay close to the river hank, and soon he was in full view of the cascade. As lie passed it he noticed, with a sort of shudder, how cold and dark the water looked as it tumbleddown. For thirty feet above the falls there was no ice. Ii broke off abruptly and the current rushed from beneath with terrible velocity. Beyond, in the moonlight, glistened an unbroken surface of elear ice for fully half a mile before thete was a bend in the river’s bank. The sight was an old one to Rube, and he paid little heed to it, bnt stalked on silently, still thinking of Kate and wondering if the cabin would be tenuntless. Suddenly he stood stock

still and listened. Many an ear would hare keard nothing but the sound of rushing waters. Rube’s acute and practiced hearing detected something more, and he fel| instinctively for his ammunition and looked to the priming of his rifle. Then from a distance the sonnd eame again—a peculiar cry, followed by another and another, until they ended in a chorus of unearthly yells. Rube muttered to himself one word—wolves —and strained his eyes in the direction of the curve to. the river’s edge. The cry proceeded from that direction and grew louder every instant. Before he could decide on a plan of action there shot out from the bend in the river what looked to him like a woman carrying a bundle and skating for dear life. She strained every nerve, hut never oncß cried out. Next came a wolf, followed rapidly by others, which swelled the pack to a dozen, all ravenous, yelping, snarling and gaining closely on their prey. Rube raised his rifle, fired and began to load as he had never loaded before. The cry came nearer and nearer. Great God! the wolves were upon the woman ! It seemed os if no earthly hope could save her, when, quick as an arrpw from the bow, she swerved to one side, the maddened brutes slid forward on their hind legs, and she had gained a few steps. Again she flew onwaid, and again she tried the ruse of swerving aside, the man on the bank in the mean-, time firing rapidly, and picking off wolf after wolf. A fresh danger arose. The woman evidently did not see the abrupt break in the fails, and the dark, swift current which lay beyond. Perhaps she was too frightened to hear the rushing waters. On she went, making straight for the falls, the wolv.es almost on her heels, and the mania voice crying in terrified accents, as he dropped on his knees in the snow: “Kate! Kate! My God save her!” The woman was on the brink of the ice, when she made a sudden sweep to one side. Nearly the entire pack, Unable to' check their mad flight, plunged into the water, which carried them swiftly over the rocks, and Kate Wexford was flying toward the river bank, where she fell helpless in the snow, her bajby in her arms, while Rube’s rifl& frightened the remainder of her pursuers away. It was some time before she could answer her husband’s voice. When strength enabled her to do so she arose feebly in the snow, her resolution to go to her father as strong as ever, but Rube took her hand, knelt down and said: “Kate, bear me for the last time. As God is my judge, I shall never again taste liquor. This night has taught me a lesson which I cannot forget. ” Kate believed him and accepted his promise. Then they started for Pine* ville, Rube carrying the baby and more than half carrying his wife. When they arrived there Kate told her parents she had been dying to show them the baby, and, taking advantage of the moonlight night, had made the journey on skates. Rube kept his vow, the roses bloomed again on Kate’s cheeks, and to-day a happy family of boys and girls feel no touch of shame as they look up with pride to their father. The Camel. The expression of his soft, dreamy, heavy eye tells its own tale of meek submission and patient endurance ever since traveling began in the deserts. The camel appears to be wholly passive—without doubt or fear, emotions or opinions of any kind—to be in all things a willing slave to destiny. He has none of the dash and brilliancy of the horse; that looking about with erect neck, fiery eye, cocked ears, and inflated nostrils; that readiness to dash along a racecourse, follow the hounds across country, or charge the enemy; none of that decision of will and self-conscious pride, which demand, as a right, to he stroked, patted, pampered, by lords and ladies. The poor camel bends his neck, and ■with a halter round his long nose, and several hundred weight on his hack, paces patiently along from the Nile to the Euphrates. Where on earth, or rather on sea, can we find a ship so adapted for such a voyage as his over those boundless oceans ot' desert sand ? Is the camel thirsty—he lias recourse to his gutta-percha cistern, which holds as much water as will last a week, or, as some say, ten days, if necessary. Is he hungry—give him a few handfuls of dried beans, it is enough; chopped straw is a luxury. He will gladly crunch with his sharp grinders the prickly t thorns and shrubs in his path, to which hard Scotch thistles are as as soft as down. And when ' ill fails, the poor fellow will absorb his own fat hump. If the land storm blows with furnace heat, he will close his small nostrils, pack up his ears, and then his long, defleshed legs will stride after his swanlike neck through suffocating dust; and, having done his duty, he will mumble his guttural, and leave, perhaps, his bleached skeleton to be a land-mark in the waste for the guidance of future travelers.— Harper* x Young People.

In a Business Way.

“Mr. Smith, will you indorse my note of $20.” “Why, I shQuld expect to have to pay it if I did. ” „ “Certainly—certainly. ” “And so I might as well lend you $20.” “Exactly, you are quite correct.” “And expect you ever to pay it.” • ' “Of course not; of course not.” “Then why didn’t you ask me direct to give you S2O ?” “Because, sir, I do business in a business way. I never. borrow money from a man who will indorse for me, and I make all calculalations on the indorser paying the note. It’s the same thing in the end, but ire arrive at it in a business way. I believe in making the horse draw the cart. You can’t give me S2O, sir, but if you will have the kindness to indorse a note for that amount, I will see that you are S2O out of pocket.” “Is that gentleman a friend oi yours,” asked a newly-introduced ladj of another at a reception. “Oh, no, he’s my husband,” was thq innocent »e----ply.—Merchantly.—Merchant Traveler.

PEOPLE YOU KNOW.

And Sometimes Wi»h You Didn't—Male and Female Coudu of a Mild Order. [From the Chicago Herald.] The man who apologizes—what a bore! Thinks an apology settles all accounts with his fellows. Carelessly steps on a friend’s tender toes. Apologizes and steps on them again. Walks along crowded streets swinging his cane against people and apologizing right and left. Turns to apologize to a man behind and runs into a woman in front. More apologizing. Thinks he is very polite. Never stops to consider that if he were, the necessity for apology would be removed. Would that he might bow himself off the Government pier or choke on hia tiresome “Beg pardon, sir.” The woman who apologizes. Fishing for compliments. Dressed in her newest and best she apologizes for her appearance.* At table apologizes for her poor biscuits. Oh, for somebody strong enough to reply. “Well, I have eatten better,” just to see her fly in a rage and deny it. She will live a long time. Heaven does not wish for her. The man who cannot wait. Makes everybody nervous. In the barber shop walks up and down in a fidgety manner if he has to wait for a moment for a barber. After he is shaved stands at the door half an hour wondering where be will go to kill time. At the bridge loses his patience and looks cross at everybody. Filially gets across and waits ten minutes to tell a friend how he dislikes to wait two. At the ff ail way crossing says it is just his infernal luck to have to wait for a long train to pass. Sometimes runs to get |across ahead of the train, and, being across, stops to See the train go by. Sometime he may no’t run fast enough to get clear across. Great is hope. The man who looks back to swear at a truckman who nearly runs into his buggy. Truckman drives right along about his business. Man ke4ps swearing and looking back at him. Will not a fire engine please come down street in front and knock him over a block or two. Woman who primps. Disgustingly neat. Everything in its place—except the woman. She has a dust rag in her hand and is in everybody's way. Makes you get up and let her dust the chair you have sat on for an hour. Looks completely disgusted at your dusty boots. Never opens doors or shutters, lest sunshine get in and fade the carpet. Keeps windows hermetically sealed to shut out dust. Life, though short, is also too long in certain cases. Man who wraps $lO bill outside a roll of sl’s. . Harmless, though. Man who talks to himself cm the street. Not always crazy, not always. Chicago is plentifully supplied with them. Sometimes he talks because his mind is so engrossed in business he forgets where he is. Sometimes he talks to make people believe he has a mind and that it is engrossed. He would like to be deemed a much-absorbed man. If the lake would only absorb him. f The woman who washes on Monday cannot think of doing her washing on any other day. Postpones her husband’s funeral until Tuesday because Monday is wash-day. Must have breakfast at 6to get the dishes out of the way early, and give the day to the regular order. Maybe thi* woman will fall into a wash-tub some Monday morning before anybody is up to help her out. While there’s life there’s soap. The man who cannot tell a lie. How stupid 1 Can’t tell a lie to entertain a friend. Stick to thq truth, no matter how stale and uninteresting it may be. Doesn’t know that the right to be deceived is the most precious of all human rights. Thinks it is sinful to violate truth and make people happy. Must tell a sick man he is dying even if it kills him. May he never hear anything but truth. The curse is complete. The man who uses a book-mark. Thinks he has read up to it.. Does not know that if he has read and not merely skimmed he would need no mark to find where he left off. Does not know what reading means.

Poetry and Turnips.

It has been stated by some gushing poet in a turbulant avalanche of wild, highly-colored words that, although there are many epicurian treats in this sad commercial vale of ours, there is is not a single one in the whole rosary that begins to make anything like a decent approximation to the little flat, white turnip that he used to purloin in the field out by the woods. He tells with great pathos how he used to go gunning on Saturday when there was no school. And how he wandered through orchards with other boys, and knocked the song-birds off the low-hanging limbs. And how jealous the other boys were of him because he had a gun; and how they follbwed him and offered to carry the birds, and fetch them out of the water, if he would only let them fire the gun off once. And how he let Bill Murphy fire it off, because Bill could lick any boy of his size in the school, and it was an honor to be seen v. r ifh him, and to enjoy his friendship. And then he goes on to state that he was afraid to go home to his dinner for fear he would be detained to chop wood and study his Sunday-school lessons, and in that case he would not be able to smoke. At the dinner-hour it was that the turnip was enjoyed, because the apples were all gone, and he hadn’t shot any birds t to cook. When he started out in the morning he concluded he would have at least half-a-dozen quail to roast, and that is the reason he didn’t bring anything along. He didn’t even bring toast to put the quail on, for he knew he would get all the toast he wanted in after years in restaurants. And then he tells how he crept into the field, and plucked the turnips from the ground, and went out and sat on a rail-fence under the berry-tree, and pocketed all the turnips except one, which he held in his hands and peeled with his teeth, and ate while his face fairly glowed with satisfaction—and turnip. We have been there ourselves. We

have gone shooting; we have appropri ated the we have glowed with satisfaction and grinned with glee, and stretched on the ground and kicked our fee* in the air. And no boy ever enjoyed the little white turnip more than we did. But we remember, too, that, while we were lying on our back kicking our feet in the air with delight, the farmer came across the field shouting like an Indian, and swinging a piece of osage-orange in a sanguinary manner. And we suddenly got upon our feet and ran, because it was Saturday, and we didn’t have our school-day shingles on. And we remember how the farmer shouted, and how we ran and ran and ran until the farmer gave up the chase, for fear it would take him too long to return home if he pursued us further. And it was the thrilling excitement of the chase that made the turnip so good, and we shall never forget one or the other. But when a man comes forth and states that the little white purpletopped turnip is far superior to any epicurean treat extant, we think he must be a poet who is unacquainted with swell restaurants. We say nothing in disparagement of the little white turnip; but we think there are edibles before which it pales into insignificance every time. For our part, we would much prefer turkey stuffed with chestnuts, calfs head ala poulette, pate de foie gras, kidneys with champagnesauce, devilled crabs and many other things which we cannot think of just novr.—Puck.

The Love of Bears for Melons.

I once worked on a watermelon plantation where we had 100 acres under vines at a time. The curious thing about the business was that our hardest fight wasn’t agin weeds. It was agin bears—black bears. We’d got the vines all shooting along, some oj them with melons on ’em as big as a pumpkin, and the old man was getting the road to the river cleared ont, so as to be ready for shipping, when one morning in came one of the boys, and says he: “Something has broke down the worm fence and battered up about an acre of the vines in the clearin’. ” We’d just cleared about ten acres oi woodland the past winter, and melons were doing amazingly-well in that field. So you may know the old man was mad when he heard of this. Him and 1 went down to see what was up, and we saw in a moment that it was bears. There were tracks, just as they were made by men walking on their hands, in the soft earth, all over the field, and the vines was torn up, and the ripe and green melons mashed k to flinders in a way that nothing but a bear could do. “They’ll be back to-night,” said the old man. “You and Josh and Henry clean out your rifles and be ready foi them.” There was a full moon that night,and I tell you things looked purty. josh and Henry and I settin’ behind stumps, with our rifles across our laps, waiting. The fence was still tore down at the point nearest the woods, and the moonlight shining on the dark forest, where we expected the bears to come from, and then on the field of watermelon vines, whose wjtiite tendrils glistened like silver, looked mighty purty. Now and then we heard a screech owl yelling down in the woods, but w* didn’t pay no attention to that ;■ and presently I saw a bear come out and walk slowly into the field. He was a big fellow, as black as coal in the moonlight, and he wasn't in any hurry, either. H« sauntered along as slowly as you pleas* over to a big striped Georgia melon, and, settin’ down on his hams, he jusi picked that melon up in his two fore paws and smashed it between ’em like paper. In half a minute his whole head was dripping with juice, and I could hear him smacking his lips like a hog. We let him alone, according to the old man’s instructions, waiting until there should be a bear apiece for us, for the tracks showed that at least sir of ’em had been around the night before. In a few minutes along came anothei one, and then there walked in an old she with two little ones at her heels. We had three bears now, but nary one of us fired. Watching them bears was the picnic ever I saw. Sometimes they’d catch up a melon just as you’d take up a baby, and, holding it close to ’em, travel across the field or their hind legs until they’d see a bigger one, and then smash would go the rind, and juice would drip off ’em like they had just come out of a bath. I was watching the old she teaching her young ones how to break into th< juicy part, when crack went Josh’s rifle, and the whole gang started on t 1 run. The vines tripped ’em up so thal they couldn’t go very fast, and we eacl j bagged one of ’em, mine being one oi the young ones. We watched every night after that fill the season was over, but they were kind of wary now, and w« never shot more than one in a night. While we’d be sitting in one field waiting for them, they’d be rip-snorting away at the fruit on the other side o: the plantation. Bears are keener after watermelons than a negro, and I can say no more than that. —Denver Republican.

Oregon’s Timber Supply.

The average yearly cut of lumber is Oregon and Washington for the lasi thirty-five years has been, in round numbers, 72,000,000 feet. Let us assume that for the next thirty years il will be three times as much, or 216,000,000 feet a year. At that rate ol forest destruction it would take 74C years to exhaust the timber ,now growing from the Columbia to tie Frazer, and from the sea backward to the eastern slopes of the Cascade mountains. At an average lumber consumption o) 500,000,000 feet a year, there is a forest sufficient to last 320 years, and in that time the timber first cut would be re produced. Last year the Paris cabmen restored 27,000 pieces of property left in theii cabs. Honest cabmen are rewarded ii order to encourage the rest. The weakest spot in any man is whert he thinks himself the strongest. —Em mom.

HUMOR.

A DntWiU man keeps his favorite trait in a refrigerator because he believes in freeze peaohe. *Tm sitting on the style, Mary," said Mary’s father when he refused to buy hear a new bonnet. Thk average of human life is that women live longer than men. This is j loubtless owing to the liberal exercise of the tongue, which is said to promote longevity. —Carl PretzeTs Weekly. A young lady being told at a reoent fire to stand baok, or else the Bose would be turned on her, replied: “Oh, I don’t care; they are striped on both tides, anyway.” How old does a single woman become before being considered am old maid ? —Clara. If homely and poor 21 years is about the figure; if rich and handsome 173 years is the limit. Hebe is another point in favor of the Darwinian theory: There is a boy in Norristown who “sprang from a monkey.” The monkey belonged to an and attempted to bite the boy. A young man informs the New York Journal that he is five feet ten inches in height, and asks how much he ought to weigh. If he is a coal-dealer’s clerk he oughtn’t to weigh less than 2,000 pounds to the ton. Man's br.ck across track; Engine roars; man snores; Engine rushed; mansquehed; Widow sports; seeks courts; Lawyer weeps; jury sleeps; Judge charges; heavy largess; Judge hollers, live thousand dollars. A BOVINE HUM. Only a tiny bonnet. Set with exquisite grace. With heaps of daisies 'upon it. Over a pretty face, W Whose lips were swiftly moving In a low, bovine hum— Only a Newport maiden Chewing a hunk of gum. —The Judge. PATTERING BEHIND. Tis now the little boys, Intent on summer joys, Go bathing in every stream they lind, find, find; Returning home they feel While twisting like an eel, The little shingle pattering behind, ’hind, 'hind. —Homerville Journal. “Strange,” remarked Mrs. Brown, “I have rung at Mrs. Smith’s door three times this week, and didn’t succeed in raising anyone. I guess the family is out of town. ” “Possibly, ” replied Mrs. Jones, “but Mrs. Smith was telling me just now that she could tell your ring among a thousand. ” — Newark Register. Nancy, Miss Broughton’s heroine, tells, her middle-aged wooer, among other things, that she accepts him because, “I’d think it would be a nice thing for the boys; hut I like you myself, besides.” After this aideit confession ’he “kissed her with it sort of diffidence.” Many men would have preferred to go out and kick “the boys.” A little incident, which illustrates the half-unconscious feeling which many people have about depending on Divine Providence, is related in the memories of Mary Somerville. When a girl, she and her brother had coaxed their timid mother to accompany them on a sail. The day was sunny, but a stiff breeze was blowing, and presently the boat began to toss and roll. “George,” called Mrs. Fairfax to the Captain, “this is an awful storm! I fear we are in great danger. Mind how you steer. Remember, I trust in you.” He replied: “Dinna tr.ust in me, leddy. Trust in God Almighty.” In perfect terror, the lady exclaimed, “Dear me, is it come to that?”

How It Feels to Kill a Man.

“I believe I must have killed at least a dozen of the enemy during my three years’ service in the army, ” said Gen. Charles F. Manderson, of Nebraska. “One gets used to that Bort of business just as a surgeon becomes hardened and calloused in his profession. The first man I killed was before Richmond, when McClellan was in command. I was doing picket duty late one night, near the bank of a creek, and had been cautioned to be especially watchful, as an attack w r as expected. I carried my musket at half-cock, and was startled by every rustle the wind made among the trees and dead leaves. It was sometime after midnight that I saw a Confederate cavalryman dashing down the opposite side of the creek in my direction. As he was opposite me I fired upon the horse and it fell. The cavalryman regained his feet in a moment and had drawn his pistols. I called to him to surrender, but his only reply was a discharge from each revolver, one bullet inflicting a flesh wound in my arm. Then I let him have it full in the breast. He leaped three feet in the ait and fell with his face down. I knew I had finished him. I ran and jumped across the creek, picked him up ahd laid him on his back. The blood was running out of his nose and mouth and poured in a torrent from the ragged hole in his breast. In less time than it takes to tell it he was dead without having said a word. Then my head began to swim, and I was sick at my stomach. I was overcome by an indescribable horror of the deed I had done. I trembled all over and felt as faint and weak as a kitten. It was with the greatest difficulty that I managed to get into camp. There they laughed at me, but it was weeks before my nervous system recovered from the shock. Even in my dreams I saw the pale face of the dying cavalryman, and the epecter haunted'me like a Nemesis long after 1 had got over the first shock of the affair. It was simply horrible, but in time I recovered and at the close of the war I was quite as indifferent to the sacrifioe of human life as you could imagine.”— Denver Tribune.

The Danger of Too Much Immigration

I would not be surprised to find, at no distant day, a general check called on foreign emigration to these shores, attended with rapid citizenship here. That would not be so much in the nature of a Kmow-Npthing movement at present as a movement of both the naturalized and native citizens. When they are supporting their paupers in many parts of Europe by turning them into American citizens it is worth stopEing to consider whether citizenship ere is not too cheap. —Gatiu