Democratic Sentinel, Volume 8, Number 28, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 August 1884 — Page 6

luck OF OXK DAT’S FIIiHXNG. One morn'ng when sprin* wee In her teens, A morn to • poet's wishing, And tin ed in delic>te pinks *nd greens. Hiss Bessie an JI went flsjiing. I in my rough and easy clothes. With rav iaoe at he sunshine’s mercy, She wl,h h r hat tied down to her no.e. And her nose tipped—rice versa. I with my rod, mv reel, and my books. And a hami er tor luncheon recesses; She with the bait of her com ly looks. And the seine of her goiuen tresses. So we sat down on the sunny dyke, Where the white pon - UUcb teeter: And I w, nr a ti- hing l.ke quaint old Ike, And she like Simon Peter. All the norn I lay in the light of her eyes. And dre mily wa cited and waited;" But the fish were running and would net rise, And tfcj baiter alon j was baited. And when the time for departure came. The beg was as flit as a tounder; But Bessie hid neatly hook-d her game, A hundred and eighty pounder.

PEACE ELLITHORPE.

BY LILY CURRY.

The sunset light, which had lingered on the r.ver by the boat bouse and upon the greenness of the shoie beyond, had deepened into tlie dull purple of twiligut; and now the moon, rising oTer the shadows of the bluffs, had flung a golden bridge across the wide, smooth waters. Mid-stream, one boat swung softly to the dip of oars and the song of the rowers, who were moved, perchance, with an impulse to round the completeness of the midsummer night. Peace Ellithorpe and Louis Gordon, standing in the shadow of the boathouse, listened intentiy for a time. “How sweet!” the girl said, presently. Gordon’s eyes were fixed upon her pure, pale face, with its halo of redgold hair, its long-lashed violet eyes. “ ‘ihe Soldier’s Farewell,’” he answered. “It s always beautiful.” His thoughts, nevertheless, might have been more of the beauty of her countenance—there, where the moonlight crept noon the darkness as a timid lady to ht r lord. And now he Lad stepped down into a boat, and was reaching up his hand to assist her. “All right?” he asked. And when she had answered half gayly, he pulled away from the landing out into the stillness and delight of the wate;s. “I am so glad to have you back,” he said, by and by. “It liasseenred ayear s.nce yon went.” “I am glad von missed me,” she responded. “Yet it was only a month.” “And passed ra; idly With you, no doubt, among scenes of gayety.” He spoke in a zealons tone. “I have not said so,” she answered. “There was much to occupy, much to amuse me; nothing to compensate for our separation.” There was no coquetry here. Not onee in all the six months of their engagement had she hesitated to speak the troth concerning her regard for him. “O, well,” he said, as if half-ashamed, “yon must expect one to be ill-natured when he lias to stay at home and let his sweetheart go thousands of miles away from him. But now you are back, you must tell me everything you saw, every place you visited.” “As if I had not already done so in my letters.” “In a general way. you did. I would like particulars.” “ Where shall I hegin? The Springs, or the country ? I spent two weeks at Saratoga, and one at the seaside, you know; then did a seven days’ penance at Brockton. O, such a dull place, Louis! Duller than Western towns of half its s ze. Not a thing to see, not a place to go, except—you’ll laugh when I tell you—except the State reformatory.”

She paused, for he had suddenly let go the oars. He bent again in a moment, and, taking firmer hold of them, begau to pull very hard against the .current. “What is the matter, Louis?” He answered breathlessly, after his -exertions. “Nothing. We—were getting too far ■down stream. Go on, Peace; you were saying that you visited the State reformatory." “Yes, it was very interesting. Were yon ever there?” Gordon laughed faintly. “Was I ever there? Oh, yes; I was there once. Well, how did it strike you?” “I don’t know what you are laughing at,” she said; “and I don’t believe you were there either, so I’ll tell you all about it, for ready I liked it very much —liked the idea, you know. In the first place, it is built upon a hill, and the entire grounds are surrounded with a high brick Wall.” . “In the shape of a square,” suggested Gordon, “with a sentry tower at each corner, and a watchman inside of each tower, with a loaded gun and instructions to shoot down any one caught trying to escape.” “Exactly,” said Peace, with some animation. “So you have been there, and you know all about the workshops, the clean corridors, the grades, and fchq night school. There is one illuminated text upon the chapel wall, which I think most beautiful: ‘ Look not unmercifully upon the past.’ ” Gordon repeated it after her, with a sigh. But it is impossible not to,” he said, wearily. “Impossible not to look unmercifully ? Why do you say that ? Why, nearly all the prisoners were boys, mere boys, placed the e for some trifling offense instead of being thrown into prison among old, hardened criminas.” “There isn’t much difference,” he said, moodily. “Once you deprive a man or boy of his lib rty. for any fault committed ” He broke off suddenly, and cried, “Pshaw! Why are you talking of snch things ?” But sire was not ready to abandon the subject. “You speak as if you did not believe in reformation.” * “Do von he asked quietly. “To be sure I do, and most effectual. ” -Wart a little,” said Gordon. “You eonldn’t think as much as any one who bad been an inmate of such an

institution, e en for the shortest time, as you could of one who had never broken the law in any way, could you?” “That would depend entirely on his after-conduct,” she answered promptly. “If he we e disposed to do right in every respect, no look or word of mine should recall the past ” “I would like o see you put to the test in this,” he said, incredulously. “1 would like to be. I would like to know some one who had broken the law aud made atonement, and who wanted to forget it all and live aright henceforward. I would like to be a stanch friend to such a one. ” Gordon began to row very hard again, and so was very unable to respond for some minutes. “I once had a friend,” he said, speaking very slow, “who was sent to that Bame reformatory—nearly eight years ago. He—he forged the name of a distant relative. ” “Tell me about it,” she said, with evident interest “I suppose he was young and didn’t realize.” “Yes; he was quite young. He was in the employ of this relative—a second cousin—aud had bsen perfectly honest and aithful until that moment. Even then, he had no interest in being dishonest, for he meant to restore the money within twenty-four hours. It was a mutter of pride aud extravagant companions, lie fully intended to restore the money, and only did it to get out of a boy’s scrape. But—it was discovered. His relative might have saved him, but did not. Alter all the the three years the boy had served him honestly, that consin—prosecuted him. * * * * The boy was i-ent to the institution you visited. Perhaps you remember tlie rules. He was perfect in behavior for six months, which put him on parole another haif year, and then gave him his freedom. He left the State immediately, aud nobody who knows him now, has the faintest suspicion of the secret he carries,—nobody but myself. Not even the young lady he is to marry.” “He has not told her?” cried Peace, in a startled voice. “Oh. how wrong! and how foolish! If she should Audit out by and by, how much worse than if he himself had told her. Indeed, he ought to tell her, for she, if she loves him, will be the very one to sympathize and to help him forget it. Louis, you must urge him to tell her.” “I do not know about that.” "But you must, dear. Promise me, the next time you see him, to suggest it.” “I dare not, Peace. I might be the means of wrecking his happiness eternally. No, don't ask me. Let us talk of something else.” “But I cannot think of anything else until you have promised me.” “I will promise to ask him to think about it,” he said, reluctantly. “ \ ery well, dear. Because if she loves him, it will certainly make no difference iu her feelings for him. Let me see; you say ho was perfect in conduct. Then he was of the first grade, and wore gray. How distinctly I remember seeing them all at work. In the foundry building they were almost all third grade men, in red uniform, a lovely shade of red, too, a rich cardinal. I remember the light from the molten iron shining upon the workers, and making the color they wore even handsomer. Well, well, Louis, you are not vexed with me, are you ? ” “Vexed!” “You seam so silent, dear.” He lot the oars rest, and leaning forward, drew her face close to his own. “I am so glad to bo with you again,” he whispered. “So glad! I have missed you so much!” The boat drifted as ho held her thus —drifted placidly. They could hear the other rowers singing sweetly once again: Soft and low, soft and low. Wind of the Western sea.

She leaned her head upon his shoulder. How near she was! How dear she was! He could hear her heart beat, and feel her pure breath upon his cheek. Her knotted hair had loosened, and the red-gold rings were shining in the moonlight upon hfer dark, plain dress. And still he held her closely, and they drifted. “Why do you sigh, Louis?” “If I should lose you,” he said, gloomily, “what would my life be worth?” “Do not think of such things. You will not lose me, dear.” “I must not, Peace. ” Again the refrain of the singers came swelling across the still waters: Wind of the Western sea. And again Gordon sighed. “You love me, don’t you, dear?” “What a strange tone for that question, Louis! A tone of doubt. Why, 1 could no more doubt you than doubt the stars in heaven!” “You—you have perfect confidence in me, dear?” “Perfect. ” “And you will always love me, come what may ?” “Always, Lonis.” “You—you want me to have no secrets from you, Peaoe ?” “None whatever.” “No, no," he said hastily, “and you are right, dearest.” They sat apart again, and he pulled steadily at the oars. “That friend of yours, Louis,” slie said, presently, “of whom you wore telling me. I suppose they put him at work of some sort?” Gordon answered slowly: “He kept hooks in the office. He was considered a good bookkeeper ” “That was not bad. Wonld you—would you mind telling me where’ he is now, aud what he is doing? You say he is to be married soon ? ’ “He is in this fitate,” said Gordon. “He has a good business, fair prospects, and is engaged toab autiful girl, whom he worships. He has been very happy of late.” It was her tu n now to sigh, not wearily, but as if his words gave her some vague s itisfaction. Happy her-, seif, she would fain have all'the world at peace. They were out a half hour longer—a half hour sweet with lovers’ whispered hopes and confidences! Then slowly he turned the boat, shoreward. The singers were repeating the “Sol-

dier’s Farewell” with more perfect harmony than before. i Good-night; farewell, my own true lore! _ The words came floating across, distinct and sweet, as Gordon steadied tbs boat and assisted his sweetheart to the lauding. They strolled off leisurely then along the sandy shore and on toward | the road. It was not yet late when they had reached her home, and they sat awhile in the broad porch. But Gordon seemed ill at ease, and this she was quick to discern. • “You have Borne worriment,* she said, softly. • “You think so?” His tone was evasive. “I am sure of it. Will you not tell me?” “It is nothing,” he said, breathi g hard for a moment. “Nothing—only you required a promise of me this evening, and I—l hardly know how to keep it. ” “ VV hat was that?” she asked, wonderingly. “ion asked me to urge my friend to —to acquaint the woman he loves with the fact that he has broken the law during his life.” He spoke constrainedly. “You think he would fear to do so?" “I know it,” he said, in a voice oi pain. “But,” she said, argumentatively, “I am sure I know women better than you do; and I am confident it would be the best thing possible. Besides, the woman who would allow it to make a difference would be unworthy of his love or friendship.” “You mean what you say?” he asked, rather breathlessly. “Of course I do.” “And you would not change, if—if you were she?” “I should only think the more of him for having trusted me.” Gordon was silent for a moment. Then he made a movement to put his hand in an inner pocket of his coat. “I—l have his picture here,” he said, with some effort. “I will show it to you.” He drew the small card portrait forth, and slowly reached it to her. Then he turned away his face aud was silent. “O,” she said, half laughing, “you have made a mistake, dear. You have given me yours instead of his.” Gordon had risen to his feet. She did not understand. Need he explain V It was not too late. Not too late. Need he go farther?—there was yet escape.

Be stood so without uttering a word. Perhaps it was but a moment’s space. Yet to him it Reemed an age. An age! Aud a struggle was going on in his heart. A terrible struggle. His brain whirled fairly, and strange lights danced before his eyes; He heard her last light words mocking him: “Yon have given me yours instead of his. You have made a mistake!” It was not too late. And some demon was tempting him. Suddenly the lights ceased to dance before his eyes; the roaring sound was quiet in his ears. He was himself once more, and calm as the dead. “I have made”—he faltered somewhat nevertheless. “I have made—no —mistake. I gave yon—his picture.” He dared not look at her. She gave a cry, as if he had struck and almost, stunned her. “You! You! O, Louis!” Her voice was faint and horror-sick-ened. “I knew it!” he cried. “I knew it. I —release you!” And, turning, he rushed away down the path and out at the gate. She watched him go; she did not recall him, bit stood silent in the moonlight ;• and the vine shadows crept slowly about her feet. “Heavens!” she said, shuddering. “How—how things come home to one, at times! How easy it is to talk! * * How he shocked me!” * * * She stood there still; she had not moved since he left her. The wind was sighing softly among the fragrant vines. The moonlight fras more beautiful than ever. After a iojjg time she stirred a little, and found that she was weeping without her own consent or knowledge. Weeping softly! and saying something over and over to herself with passionate delight : “ How brave he was! How brave he was!” And now she started, and, hurrying down to the gate, looked eagerly to see if he were not returning. Even she went out into the road, in the direction she knew he must have ‘gone. She went down the road to the first turn, and into the other street. Could she not find him? Was she to look always in vain? Must she wait until to-morrow ?

She turned to go back, and had reached the corner, when some one stood before her. “Peace!” It was his voice, husky with agination. “Louis! I have been looking everywhere tor yoiV’she cried, with infinite relief. “I thought—l was sure—you wouldn’t go without bidding me goodnight.” “And you—understand?” She laid both hands upon his shoul ders; she had recovered her serenity, and could look up tenderly w.th her soft eyes yet moist. “I understand,” she said, gently. “And now suppose w'e agree to forget all that. We have so much happiness to consider, present and future, we have no time for gloom.” He drew her face upon his breast; for the moment lie was weak as ever worn m. Perhaps she heai d him sob. “Mv darling!” he said, brokenly; “mv faithful darl ng!”

“Chari,E' ,” said mamma, “you have been a v ry naughty boy; you have been play ng marbles; ancl you know 1 told that von must i’t, for it is gambung, and gambling is verv wick d. Nov I hope you will never gamble again.” C iarley prom sed that ho wouldn’t, and his mamma w s so delighted that she took him to the parish fair and gave lnm money to take chances in a: most everything there. —Bos on Transcript.

Once Upon a Time.

How quiet was the farm that afternoon! Everything nodded and dozed in the sun or rested in the shade. How i the sun streamed down on meadow and j field! The corn-blades drooped and wilted. Iu the old hill field I could see j Uie men in the wheat, their arms swayI ing in perfect rhythm with the swinging cradles. And how like silver the bright blades flashed as they turned! The bees droned and. drummed lazily about the old-fashioned “cypress” under the sitting-room windows. We always called it “cyprus,” you know, because that wasn’t the name of it; and they buzzed in vagrant fashion up and down the long rows of flowers that lined the path to the front gate. The morn-ing-glories had closed their bright eyes of blue and pink, but a forest of 4 o’clocks were getting ready to wake up; the boll \ hocks stood up like blossoming beanpoles. I always used to think that Aaron’s rod, when it “brought forth buds and bloomed blossoms,” looked like a hollyhock; it yielded al- . monds, but it looked like a hollyhock, I know. The breath of the old-fash-ioned pinks—no, dear, they were not carnations; he had no carnations then; they were just pinks—came sweetly on the air; and the fro w.-y bush of “old man” at the corner looked old and wilted indeed; in the bla ing heat a tall group of sunflowers stood up like a cluster of hospitable umbrellas; the big bunch of “ribbon-grass” looked as seasonable ps a striped summer silk, with the larkspurs drooping over it on one side, and on the other a group of “rugged robins” standing up, cherry and blue as the skies. As though it was not sensibly warm enough to sight as well as feeling. a colony of poppies stood blazing away above their pale leaves, while the coxcomb and Prince of Wales feather added an unnecessary touch of warmth to the paterre. And here, there, everywhere and trying to get somewhere else the “Bouncing Bets” swarmed all over the garden, crept through the garden fence, and ran right along iu the corners and right by the dusty roadside, among the disreputable dog-fennel and plebeian rag-weed, clear down to where the big slough c osses the road. I laid under the big Morello che.rv tree by the new well- the one near the house, you remember, seventy-eight feet deep, aud yielded the coldest, clearest water iu America —aud lazily watehed a few straogling, fleecy clouds sailing aimlessly across the blue skies, as though they had lost their reckoning, and were only waiting to be picked up and set right. I could hear thi old clock tick solemnly away in the sitting room. It limped a little on its way around the dial, and always ticked loudest on the left hand swing of the pendulum; and it had a startl ng way of going off at unexpected times in a funny sort of noise that sounded like a conga or a chuckle, whichever would scare you most. The girls had gone to town. Grandma sat in the open sitting-room door sewing. Grandfather stood in the cool shade at tlie long work-bench at the end of the kitchen, making a new singletree for the light wagon. They could not see each other. I doubt if they heard, or at any rate observed, each other’s voices; but I could very plainly see and bear each one, and I forgot my book listening to them, and Irving to guess their thoughts from their disjointed, changing, abrupt fragments of song. And the occasional flutter of leaves stirred by a wandering breath of wind, the shadows dimpling the second growth of red clover, the stray ng note of a restless bird, the long, dusty road, stretching far away past the woods to the “high prairie,” the flash of a buttertlv’s wings—how it all harmonized with the broken songs that fell almost unconsciously at times from the old lips, while “the singers were over with the business of tlie house;” while the whole earth is at rest, and is quiet, they break forth into s uging. Robert J. Burdette, in Brooklyn Eagle.

Marriage as a Financial Speculation.

More difficult divorce will be an estoppel, to a great extent, upon marriage as a financial speculation. There are men who go into the relation mst as they go into Wall street to buy shares. The female to be invited into the partnership of wedlock is utterly unatt active, and in disposition a suppressed Vesuvius. Everybody knows it, but this masculine candidate for matrimonial orders, through the commercial agency, or through the county records, finds out how much estate is to be inherited, and he calculates it. He thinks out how long it will be before the old man will die, and whether he c.in stand the refractory temper until he does die, and then he enters the relation, for ho says: “If I cannot stand it, then through the divorce law I’ll back out.” That process is going on all the time, and men enter the relation without any moral principle, without any affection, and it is as fifitreh a matter of stock speculation as anything that transpires in Union Pacific, Wabash, or Delaware and Lackawana. Now, suppose a man understood, as he ought, to understand, that if he goes into the relation there is no possibility of his getting out, or no probability, he would be more slow to put his neck in the yoke.—Dr. Talmage, in Frank Leslies Sunday Magazine.

The Distribution of Fish.

One of the most marvelous and successful achievements of modern enterprise is the introduction of new fish food into the treams and lakes of the various continents. The salmon of the ’■fficitic coast has been successfully introduced into the streams of the east <mast of North America. The delicious sli d of our waters is now to be found in the sea going rivers of the Pacific coast. California salmon were suci essfully introduced in 1077 into the Australian rivers, where that fine fish had never before been seen. The restocking of streams with fish is going on all over the world, and will eventually increase the supply of fish food a thoiis nd-fold. In England, our American trout, black 1 ass, and whitefish have become naturalized, wli le the German c rp, a fast grow.ng and lood-produt ing fiali, is already widely known in the

Un ted States. This country icaaa t.« world in fish cnltuie. Our expens d< not despair of being able in time t< vastly increase the swarms of fish or our sea-coast. It is known that fron time to time there is a short s apply o salt-water fish, but experiments are now being made with the spawn of cal. haddock, sea bass, Spanish mackerel, and other denizens of the ocean, wiiicl will undoubtedly be successful. It i> said that an acre of water can l>e mad to furnish many times the quan it-y o food produced annually by an acre oj land.— Uemorest’s Monthly.

Old Hickory.

It had been quite essential to the self-respect of the new republic, at the outset, that it should have at its head men who had coped with European statesmen on their own soil and not been discomfited. This was the cast with each of the early successors oi Washington, and, in v.ew of h.s manifest superiority, this advantage was not needed. Perhaps it was in a different way a sign of self-respect that the new republic should at last turn from this tradition, and take boldly from the ranks a strong and ill-trained leader, to whom all European precedent—and, indeed, all other precedent—counted for nothing. In Jackson, moreover, there first appeared upon our national stage the since familiar figure of the self-made man. Other Presidents hail sprung from a modest origin, but nobody had made an especial point of it. Nobody had urged Washington for o.lice because he had been a surveyor's lad; nobody had voted for Adams merely because stately old ladies designated him as “that cobbler’s son.” But when Jackson came into office the people had just had almost a surfeit of regular training in their Chief Magistrates. There was a certain zest iu the thought of a change, and the nation certainly had it. It must be remembered that J ackson was in many ways far above the successive modern imit tors who have posed in his image. He was narrow, ignorant, violent, unreasonable; he punished his enemies and rewarded his friends. But he was, on the other hand—and his worst opponents hardly denied it—cliasto, honeot, truthful, aud sincere. It was not commonly charged upon him that he enr.ched himself at the public expense, or that ho deliberately invented falsehoods. And as he was for a time more bitterly hated than any one who ever occupied his high office, we may be very sure that these things would have been charged had it been possible. In this respect the contrast was enormous between Jackson and his imitators, and it explains his prolonged influence. He never was found out or exposed before the world, because there was nothing to detect or unveil; his merits and demerits were as visible as liis long, narrow, firmly set features, or as the old military stock that encircled his neck. There he was, always fuilv revealed; everybody could see him; the people might take him or leave him—and they never left him. Moreover, there was after the eight years of Monroe and the four years of Adams an immense popular demand for something piquant and even amusing, and this quality they always had from Jackson. There \v*s nothing in the least melodramatic about him; ho never posed or attitudinized —it would have required too much patience—but he was always piquant. There was formerly a good deal of discussion as to who wrote the once famous “Jack Downing” letters, but we might almost say that they wrote themselves. Nobody was ever less of a humorist than Andrew Jackson, and it was therefore the more essential that lie should be the cause of humor in others. It was simply inevitable that during his progresses through the country there should be pome amusing shadow evoked, some Yankee parody of the man, such as came from two or three quarters under the name of Jack Downing. The various records of Monroe’s famous tours are as tame as the speeches which these expeditions brought forth, and John Quincy Adams never made any popular demonstrations to chronicle; but wherever Jackson went there went the other Jack, the crude first-fruits of what is uow known through the world as “American humors.” Jack Downing was Mark Twain and Hosea Biglow and Artemus Ward in one. The impe uous President enraged many and delighted many, but it is something to know that under him a serious people first found that it knew how to laugh.— T. \Y. Higginson, in Harper’s Magazine.

Values in the Time of Henry VIII.

In the early part of the sixteenth century, just before the Beformation, the ounce of silver was worth ts. 4d., or, in other words, the shilling of Henry VIII. was in intrinsic value 1.05 the modern coin. The wages of an ordinary laborer were 6 id. per day. The rents of cottages varied from ‘2s. Fd. to 4s. per annum. Six or eight days’ labor was, therefore, sufficient to pay the year’s rent. At the present day, taking an agricultural laborer’s wages at 1 s. a week, and cottage rent at 2s. a week, or £5 a year, it requires forty days’ labor to pay the yearly rent. No doubt the cottages at that time were mere hovels, but I fear a large number at the present day are little better. About the same period wheat was 6s. Bd. per quarter, the price of a pig 3s. Bd., and of a cow IDs. A laborer earning 6|d. a day, or 3s. 3d. per week, could purchase a quarter of wheat with a fortnight’s labor, which would now require three weeks, or a pig with one week’s work, which would certainly now require the labor of three. Leaving out of view the cost of clothing and of the higher agremens which modern habits require, there can be no doubt that the common people before the lleformatiou enjoyed an amount of rude plenty which has never since been equaled.— London Notes and Queries. An English journal recalls the fact that our first President never saw a steamboat, our second never saw a railroad train, our seventh never heard of the electric teleg aph, and our seventeenth lived only long enough to know of the existence of the telephone.

HUMOR.

“This is fun!" ironically yelled an angry man who sat on a tack. It was more likely sat-ire. Breakfast table. The girls in Brittany are not allowed o sell their hair. In this country the girls don’t have to, as it’s a sell itself. — da trloo Observer. The hog may not be thoroughly posted in arithmetic, but when yon ome down to square root, he is there jvery time.— Chicago Sun. Gibus shouldn’t whistle. It reveals to the young men that tney have wind nough to make excellent scolds.— Philadelphia Chronic e Herald. A Vermont editor, in publishing one of Byron’s poems, changed the words ■‘O gods!” to "O go.sh!” because the. former was too profane for his readers. Mary Ellen Chase says “there will i>e three women to one man in heaven. ” Tnen there will be two women out of every three that will be almighty lonesome. “Used you pretty rough, didn’t he?” remarked a sympathizing bystander to the man who had ,ust got an awful licking. “Well, no,” replied t..e subdued one, “I thought lie polished me on very nicely.”— Burdeite. “Alonzo, dear, do you believe in ghosts?” she asked, dreamily. “No, lariing, Ido not,” he replied. “Well, Alonzo, that ghosts tosliowyqru are not -.uperst.tioils.” Then they'fell into a iweet, calm sleep. tarl PretzeVs tVeekly. “Why do they always paint angels as blondes?” asked Mrs. jurank oi her lusbaud, as they stood looking at a picture in the art gallery. “Be ause,” mswered Mr. K., looking at his wi.e’s uair, “artists’ wives are, g nerally brunettes. ” There is a frigidity iu the atmosphere about the Krank mansion now .--Peck’s Sun. A w hite squall caught a party of tourists moving across a lake in Scotland, and. threatened to capsize the ooat. Wh4n it seemed that the crisis was come, the largest and physically strongest of the party, in a state of intense fear, said: “Let us pray.” “No, 10, my man,” shouted tue bluff old boatman;, “let that Lttle man pray; you take an oar.” “D D you atrest that fellow I put you on to?” asked a grocery keeper of a policeman. “Yes, and “ti e Judge u iied him.” “Was he found guilty?” “Yes.” “What did he do?” “Paid the penalty, of course.” “What was it?” “Workhouse for thirty days.” “Well, t’s a good thing it wasn t a grooery bill >r be would have hung before he paid it. I know the snoozer.” — Merchant Traveler.

Mabel —“Do you try to observe the crolden rule, Mr. Nicefellow?” Nicefellow “Yes, indeed. D.> you?” Mabel—“ Yes; I always try to do as I would be done by.” Nicefellow—“That is the right spirit.” Mabel—“ But I sometimes fail. If I wre to try I should fail now.” Nicefellow n;eed. Why ??■. Mabel—“l am not tall enough to reach.” No cards. 1 “Now, brudders an’ sistahs, I will now take up a collection fur de preacher,” said the colored minister to his congregation, “an’ I ’spec fully adwise you ter not put no buttons in de counerbution hat, as I is goiu’ roun’ myself, an’ will take a list of de button membabs of dis congregation an’ make dem le subjec’ ob my sermon de naix meetin’. Close dafc doah da.”— Kentucky State Journal. Mormon papers are trying to prove that the Book of Mormon is true by publishing affidavits. They will have o get affidavits outside of Mormondom if they want to make an appearance of truth, for that commod.ty is not in their society. If they could only get the Angel Gabriel to do a little swearing for them there would be some hope. Maybe the gentleman in bla k has already affixed his autograph to “one of them there happy da vide.”— Peck’s Sun. for man’s delusion givhh. Thcs? tr rls arc all a wicked show. For m m’s delusion given. The r s.niles of jov an l tears of wmo Deceitful shine, deceitful Low. Not one is true in seven. They love you for a little while. And tell you nm-ht shall sunder Two loving h;a is; then full ot guile, Ba t otl ers with their wit liing snide. And you may goto thunder. —Chicayo Sun.

Few Rich Men in California.

The majority of people in this State are not rich. There was a time when the glamour of wealth seemed to be over all the State. There are not so many rich people in California to day in proportion to the population as there are in each one of the older States of the Union. There is less warrant for costly living or for domestic expenditures on the scale of prospective fortune. Looking to the future, one might inquire what are the prospective sources of wealth ? There are no more great fortunes to be made in ra Iway construction, few or no great fortunes to be made in mining ventures, the stock boards are no longer prominent. Only the slow processes of wealth are left—agriculture, manufactures, and industrial pursuits generally, which are most fitting for a people who are not wealthy, but who have not yet quite forgotten the lives of their fathers and mothers—the domestic economy by means of which large families were well brought up, educated, and set out into the world to make their own way successfully.— San Francisco Bulletin.

Hadn’t Accused Him.

Smith’s wife was not a very bright woman, but she sometimes said things which were worthy of a wit. One day, after doing or saying something s.lly, her husband snapped out: “Well, you are a little the worst I ever saw. ” “Why, what’s the master now? Have I done anything wrong?” “I should say so. You don’t know the difference between a horse and a donkey, I quite believe.” ; “I didn’t say you were a horse, did I?” she replied, meekly, and Smith said no more.