Democratic Sentinel, Volume 8, Number 48, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 December 1884 — Page 6

FAItKWKLL TO AN OLD FRIEND. Good-by, old hat, dear old silk hat. You're laid aside-to-day; Bnt ere I put you on the shelf I have a word to aay: In weeks and months that now are past. Upon my head cn high, * I carried you with buoyant step - Good-by. old hat, good-by. Good-by, old hat, poor aged thing, Now marked with stain and spots; You've covered multitudes of sins And encased mental blots. But you will keep my secrets safe. Secure with you they lie Alone upon the closet shelf— Good-bv, oid hat, good-by. Good-by, old hat, some varied scenes Have you and I got through; We've seen some stormy times, have we, And pleasant moments, too. And when bowed down with grief and pain, Which worth a id manhood try, I'd take a walk with yon, old hat— Good-by, old friend, good-by. Good-by; no doubt this retrospect Upon a time-worn tile By many may seem most absurd. And not worth half my while. Bnt when I think of by-gone days, 'Tis notrwithout a sigh I bid farewell to you, old hat— Good-by, dear friend, good-by. —Detroit Journal.

SAVED AS BY FATE.

BY SARA B. ROSE.

“What can it be, Louise, that is so charming about Alice? Any one but her would be pronounced homely, with those features; besides, she is a ‘strawberry blonde,’ she is freckled, and she has the most immense feet—wears a six, at the very least. ” “I am sure I cannot say, but fascinating she certainly is; it must be in her manner or in her accomplishments. W,ho would ever have thought when she came here six months ago that she would now be the belle of Lancaster ?” “1 didn’t, I’m sure, or I never would haye allowed papa to offer her a home with us; just listen to that voice!” And Jeannette Taylor paused as the sweet tones of her cousin’s voice came floating up to them from the musicroom. “She is practicing up for the concert. I’d give the world to keep her away from there. Claude Moltrop is sure to fall deader in love with her than ever, for she does look stunning in her coricert dress, in spite of her red hair.” “Do you think that would make any differenoe, Jeanne? Wouldn’t he follow her just the same if she did not attend the concert?” “Hardly, for, you see, Claude knows nothing of this sudden eummans Alice has received from Uncle George, and if he should not meet her to-night, I feel sure I could secure him before Alice would ever see him again, for you know she goes in the early train.” “I rather think so myself,” mused Louise Lorton, Jeanne Taylor’s married sister. “He seems to be almost as attentive to you as he is to Alice; it may be only her singing which attracts him. What are you going to wear tonight, Jeanne?” “My white tissue, but I know it’s all vain to think anything about it, if she sings at that concert. I wish I dare send her away this minute,” and Jeanne Taylor looked at her sister with despair and, anger in her black eyes. “It was a mistake, father’s bringing her here,” said Mrs. Lorton. “But you must do nothing Pash, Jeanne; perhaps I may find a way to prevent her attending the concert.” “Oh, Louise, how? I have positively begged her not to go, have even hinted that it was unladylike to sing in public, but she is not to be turned from her course a single iota.” Mrs. Lorton smiled, and, bending over, whispered in her sister’s ear a few words which acted like magic upon the despairing look in Jeanne’s face. “Oh, Louise, if you only could,” she said. “I think I can,” replied Mrs. Lorton. “And now go down stairs and offer to help Alice with her packing, and then when you are both dressed come to me in the dining room where, I will have a glass of lemonade prepared for you.” Jeanne departed with a little triumphant laugh,’and Mrs. Lorton took up her sewing with a self-satisfied look. Alice Taylor was an orphan. Her parents had left her a small fortune, and when her uncle Harvey had offered her * house with his'own daughters she had accepted, not because she could not support herself, but for the companionship she had hoped to find with her cousins, who were about her own age. She had missed something in their demeanor from the first, but they had never been particularly unkind. Still the lonely girl missed the love she had craved with such intenseness. Soon after her arrival, her cousin Louise had married, and was soon her father’s housekeeper, and acted as chaperon for Jeanne and Alice on all society occasions. After she had been in society a few times people had discovered that plain little Alice Taylor possessed a beautiful voice and an indescribable charm of manner, and she began to be courted and flattered until six months after her arrival she was the acknowledged belle of the small town. Mrs. Moltrop, one of the leaders of society, had decided, just as the story opens, to get up a charity concert for the benefit of the indigent of Lancaster, and Alice Taylor’s voice was to be the particular attraction. Mrs. Moltrop was very popular, and her only aon Claude was considered the best “catch” in town, and Jeanne Taylor, before Alice’s arrival, had been reasonably sure that the prize was her own. But there was a' change, yet she strove with all the tact which is given the young society lady to place herself first in his regards; but, alas for her, Alice’s company was preferred to her own. She was secretly very angry, and Alice perceived an unpleasant change in her, which she could account for on no other grounds than the trne ones. About this time she received a letter from another uncle of hers, who wished her to fill a daughter’s place to him. She hailed the change with joy, and had planned to start for his distant home the morning after the concert. All this had been kept perfectly quiet by her cousins, for they feared she would receive an offer of marriage from Claude Moltrop before her departure. Alice knew all this, but she expected to Ijjlitet Claude once more before leaving, her gentle heart fluttured at what wwflfrt happen on that portentous even-

She was. therefore, a little surprised at Jeanne’s kindness that afternoon when she came down and offered sc pleasantly to help her about her pack* ing. “I am sorry you are to leave us, Alice,” she said; “although I don’t doubt you will like it at Uncle George’s. ” “I hope so,” said Alice, brightly; “and I never shall forget your kindness in giving me a home when I had nonet Jeanne.” “That was nothing,” said Jeanne. “How time does fly; we ought to b« dressing now, and Louise has set out a lunch for us before we go.” Alice did not know what to make oi this unusual kindness, and went awaj to her dressing room thinking that she had possibly misjudged her cousins after all, and they were sorry she was leaving them. Dress made a great change in the plain little girl’s looks, and it was an airy, graceful figure that accompanied Jeanne to the dininf room where Louise, also attired for the concert, was await ing them. “We will have to go alone girls. Paps and Mr. Lorton will drop in before the concert is over,” she said, and thee she observed, “I have some splendid lemonade here, as cold as ice can make it. I thought you would like some, it is such a warm evening. ” “Thank you,” said Alice, “I do not care for anything to eat, but I will take a glass of lemonade.”

“I knew your taste, you see, my deal coz,” said Louise lightly, handing each of the girlß a heavy goblet which stood ready filled at her elbow. “How do you like it?” she asked, when Alice had half emptied her glass. “It is excellent,” was her smiling reply* “We must get on our wraps,” said Jeanne, hurriedly, setting down hei glass. “It is getting late; drink up your lemonade, Al. I hear the carriage.’ Alice drained the last drop of the delicious draught and followed her cousin into the sitting room where her wrapt were lying. “Sit down in this chair, Al, and lei me arrange those lilies of the valley in’ your hair,” said Louise. “That could not have been our carriage, Jeanne.” Alice sat down, and that was the lasi she remembered distinctly, for she fell into a deep doze, and soon after the two sisters laid her limp form upon the couch in the corner of the room. “You are sure it will not hurt her, Louise ?” asked Jeanne, a little regretfully. “Of course not,” was the reply. “I’ve taken it for a greal many times; she will have a dreamless night’s sleep—that is all. ” “And then?” “Then she will start for Uncle George’s in the morning train, and you, if you play your cards right, will marry Claude Moltrop.” Jeanne threw a shawl carelessly ovei her white-robed cousin, overlooked her toilet, and then followed her sister to the carriage and was driven to the large hall where the concert was to be given. The two ladies rustled to their seats, and it was not long before Claude Moltrop joined them. “Did not Miss Alice come with you?” were almost the first words he said. “No,” replied Mrs. Lorton. “She starts for the East in the early train, and so gave up attending. ” “But what will we do without her solos ? My sister will be at a complete loss. ”

“That’s just the way with Al,” replied Jeanne. “No one can depend upon her in the least if she gets a little miffed at anything; she always acts just so.” Mr. Moltrop said but little more to the two ladies, and then made his way back through the hall, which was crowded, to the green-room. “Mary,” said he, “Alice Taylor is not going to come. What will you do?” “Not going to come ?” questioned Mrs. Moltrop, in excited surprise. “She must come; we would not have any concert at all without her. What is the matter? Is she ill?”

“I believe not. Mrs. Lorton, or rather Jeanne Taylor, gave me to understand she was milled at something.” “Impossible,” said Mrs. Moltrop. “Claude, you get the carriage and we will go after her. 1 would not disappoint this great audience for anything. If Alice Taylor is in town she must sing." They had driven but a block or two when the fire-bell began to ring excitedly, and the street idlers rushed toward the indicated locality. “That’s somewhere near the music hall,” said Claude, as he harkened to to the bells.

“That’s true,” said Mrs. Moltrop. “What if it should have caught fire? It was fearfully warm. ” “Let’s go back,” said Claude. Their forebodings were too true. When they arrived a frantic mass of people were pouring from the building, and the engines were pouring a steady stream of water upon the roaring flames.

It was not long before the fire was subdued, but the scene was a heartrending one when the mass of burned and crushed humanity was taken from the crowded building. Many lives had been lost in the swaying living mass who had wildly attempted to escape, and many had been more or less burned by the hungry flames. Claude Moltrop assisted Edgar Lorton, as he brought out his dead wife, all crushed and bleeding, and Jeanne Taylor was found with her beautiful face and hands deeply burned by the falling embers. It was the saddest oc ourrence which had ever happened in the little town, and the survivors never forgot that scene to their dying day. Poor Jeanne Taylor was scarred deeply for life, and when at laßt her cousin and Claude Moltrop were engaged, for Jeanne would not let Alice leave, she told them the whole story of the evening of the concert. Alice freely forgave her, as she looked at her scarred face, and thought that she herself, had been saved as by fate. In boy under twelve can not for any offense go before a magistrate ; the schoolmaster must inflict the neoessary chastisement. Between 12 and 18 years he may be sent to a reformatory and detained till 20,

The Kind of Oil.

For a moment let us glance at the principal sources of animal and vegetable oil supply, ere the fountains of mineral oil were revealed for the use and comfort of the human family. First and foremost, of course, ranked the fish oils—the well-known train (or drain) oil which drained from the blubber of the great Greenland whale—a large whale sometimes yielding fully thirty tons of blubber—eash ton representing nearly 200 gallons of oil. Though the cachalot, or sperm-whale, could never rival the Greenland whale in the quantity of it a contribution, it had at least the advantage of quality and variety, since, besides ordinary blubber, it yields a large amount of sperm-oil, and also of spermaceti, ©f the latter valuable product, the head alone often yields ten barrels. Next among oil-yie.ding fish come the grampus, or dolphin, the porpoise, the shark, the seal, the cod, the herring, and others. Of animal fats are butter, tallow, lard, goose-grease, neat’s-foot oil (prepared from the feet of oxen and used by curriers in dressing leather), and mare’s grease (imported from Buenos Avres and Montevideo, where a multitude of horses are annually slaughtered for the sake of their hides, tallow, and bones) I In Russia, especially at Moscow, yelk-of-egg oil is in great repute for making soap and pomatum. Vegetable oils form a very important item in our supplies, inasmuph as oilseeds to the value of £5,500,000 are annually imported into Britain for crushing purposes, and our exports of oil are roughly valued at £1,600,000. The export of seed-oil from London, Hull, and Liverpool, in 1880, was 14,508,000 gallons.

Under the head of seed-oils rank linseed, cotton-seed, and castor oil. Colzo oil, also, is made from mustard, hemp, radish, rape, turnip, and other seeds. Then we nave olive oil and almond oil. From India comes poppy-seed oil; from the Black Sea, oil of sunflower seeds. From Oeylon and the Pacific isles comes cocoanut oil. From Western Africa the palm-nut oil of the oil palm, and oil of ground nuts for use in fine machinery. From Singapore and China we receive kokum oil an(l vegetable tallow. About 14,000 tons of croton oil are annually imported for the use of the wool-dressers of Britain. Besides these, so familiar to ourselves, almost every country has some specialty in oils. Thus, in Southern Russia, tobacco oil is largely used; in Italy, oil of grape stones; in China, oil of tea seed; in India, oil of nutmegs, of seed of the gamboge tree, of custardapple seed, of cashew-nut, of cardamom, of meam, of margoza, and many others. Brazil, too, has a large number of oils, both animal and vegetable, peculiar to itself. —Popular Science Monthly.

A Science of Memory.

Washington has a “teacher of memory” who says: “In a few lessons I will enable one to memorize the most difficult things without an effort.” “How can that be done?” “Oh, it’s a mutter of association according to a system I have worked upon for twenty-five years. It is all based upon the alphabet and numbers. I take persons, and in a few hours get them so that they can repeat and reproduce a long poem which I have read to them twice, or, at most, three times. They can repeat it backward or forward, or give you any line you call for by number. 1 had a boy about twelve years old who, after learning the system, went to hear Beecher and Cook lecture, and afterward repeated the lectures to an audience without having taken a note. He repeated Beecher’s lecture at the Young Men’s Christian Association rooms on New York avenue. Of course he did not give every word the lecturer used, but he covered every point in its regular order, just as the speaker had done, curtailing it sufficiently to be able to give in half an hour what it took an hour to deliver originally.” “Do many come to you to have their faculties cultivated ?”

“Yes, a great many of all classes. Some students, reporters—more particularly official reporters of the Senate and House—lawyers and preachers—preachers and lawyers particularly; the former to acquire an aptness in memorizing their sermons, and the latter to memorize authorities and dates. Orators, also, who memorize their speeches. “Then there is another class—the department clerks and persons preparing for civil-service examinations. Before going in for an examination many of them come to me to learn to memorize datea and events, location of rivers, historical, statistical, and political facts, etc. “I had a navv officer here not long ago who was preparing for an examination for promotion, and he perfected himself in the system so that he could without difficulty remember anything he desired.

“There is an old lady between 70 and 80 years old, who, with her daughter, has taken instructions, and she says that she finds no difficulty in remembering ane repeating all that she reads. She says that she can take two poems she has read and repeat them alternately, a line from each. —Washington Star.

Celia Thaxter’s Courtship.

A curious story is told of the romantic courtship of Mrs. Celia Thaxter, the poetess. Her early life was spent on the Isle of Shoals, where she still goes for the summer. Her father, deceased a few years ago, was known as the Hermit of the Shoals. When quite a young man, disappointment, it is said, in the matter of some political office on which his heart was set, caused him to liecome a recluse; and, purchasing the island of Appledore from New Hampshire for some $250, he erected there a small oabin. The delightful location, quiet, fair scenery, and pure air soon attracted the attention of summer tourists, particularly invalids, and requests for board began to be received. Gradually the cabin was enlarged until it had become a summer hotel, though conducted in the most indifferent manner as to whether guests oame or went. They were never sought after. When the daughter Celia reached the age of 15, a young lawyer, at the island for his health, fell in love with her. Duly

and he requested her hand of her father, who irritably ordered him off the island. Respecting the rights of proprietorship, the young man removed to an adjoining one, and there erecting a little hut, avowed his intentention of remaining until the daughter became of age, when he would marry her. Recognizing, probably, the fellow’s obstinacy and strong will, the father relented, stipulating for a year’s delay. That passing, they were married.—Albany Evening Journal.

LIFE IN A MONASTERY.

A Monotonous Existence—The DaUy Routine. A monk’s day begins at 4:30 a. in., and as breakfast is a very light and hasty matter, taken without formality somewhere between 8 and 9, no one will be surprised to hear that English stomachs are ready for their principal meal at 12:30. Let ns go through a day: At 4:55 precisely—for punctuality is a great matter —the big bell begins tolling for matimus. This is the modern equivalent o{ what used to be called the midnight office. In the thirteenth century the time was 2 a. in., now it is 5; in some monasteries on the continent it is 4. But in those days they went to bed at sundown or soon after 6, while we moderns think 9 o’clock early. When the tower clock has ceased striking 5 all rise at a signal given by the superior, from the places where they have been kneeling and waiting in the chancel and the matin service begins. On ordinary days it lasts an hour and a quarter, and has not much about it of ceremony or ritual that could catch the eye of an onlooker. But on festivals it is an almost gay scene, and must begin earlier on account of its great protraction. On such occasions a large number are arrayed in cope and alb; the organ accompanies the chant, and sometimes the voices of boys mingle with the heavier tones of the monks. These little choristers are selected from the abbey school. ‘'Prime” is chanted at 7:30; the conventical mass—that is, the public mass of the day —is sung at 9 o’clock, and at this mass the whole school assists. On festivals this is the great celebration of the day, and is more or less solemn in proportion to the greatness of the feast; a sermon often accompanies it. The noxt time that the community are called to the church is for the office of “none,” and after this, at 4, comes the evening office or vespers. This, like the mass, is sung with organ accompaniment, and these two, with matins, make up the more solemn of the daily services, at which all are most stringently bound to be present. The office of “compline,” the closing prayer of the day, recited at 8:30, makes the sixth, and last time that the monks assemble in the church. They spend at least three hours and a half every day in this choral duty—on festivals much more; it is one of the principal employments of monastic life. The order of the day never varies, with the single exception that on Sundays and very great festivals the high mass takes place at 10 o’clock, for the convenience of those “outsiders” who frequent the abbey church and who might think 9 o’clock rather early. The remainder of the day is filled up in divers ways, in the discharge of the various occupations which each has assigned to him. From the end of compline till the end of prime of the following morning is a time of the strictest silence and reflection; not a word must be spoken for anything short oi the gravest necessity, and no work or business is done. It is the time for the nightly rest, and for meditation and private prayer. But when prime is finished, the active work of the day begins. Foremost among this is the work of teaching; for the monks of these days still maintain their ancient tradition of education, and the school is an almost integral part of a monastic establishment.

A Relic of “Harry of the West.”

Mrs. Col. Alexander, residing near the city, on the Workhouse road, is the owner of a very magnificent trunk, which possesses an additional value as a relic. During the memorable and hotly contested race for the Presidency iu 1844, between Henry Clay, of Kentucky, and James H. Polk, of Tennessee, a number of ardent admirers of Mr. Clay, being thoroughly satisfied in their own minds that he would win the election and become President of the United States, ordered for him the finest leather trunk that could be made. It was manufactured in this city, regardless of cost, and is a marvel of elegance and durability, being especially designed to convey the clothes of Mr. Clay, as President, to Washington City. It is a splendid piece of handiwork, and contains a remarkably correct likeness of the grand old Kentucky “Commoner,” wrought in hand in the leather. But, alas! “the bestlaid plans o’ mice an’ men, gang aft agley.” The election came on. The vote was very close. As in the last oontest, New York was then the battlefield, and New York, gave Mr. Polk a majority of about 5,000, insuring for him her electoral vote and his election to the Presidency. Under the circumstances it was decided not to present the trunk to Mr. Clay, hut to raffle it. Col. Alexander was induced to take a chance, and drew the prize.— Louisville Courier-Journal.

Feminine “Sensitiveness.”

A woman is far more sensitive than a man. She has finer feelings and a more delicate mind. There are very few who realize this, and in consequence woman is made to endure much unnecessary suffering. One of our merchants was going to church with his wife on Sunday morning, when she suddenly stopped and put her hand to h er . “What’s the matter?” he asked, startled by the look on her face. “Oh! I have got on my brown hat. ” “Eh?” ejaculated the astonished man. She burst into tears. “Why, Martha, what is the matter with you ?” he demanded. “Don’t you see what is the matter?” she returned, in a sobbing voice. “I’ve got on my brown hat with my striped silk. Oh, what will people Bay?”— Danbury News. Spain is the greatest lead-producing country.

REMINISCENCES OF PUBLIC MEN.

BY BEN : PERLEY POORE.

President Jackson appointed his Kentucky friend, William T. Barry, Postmaster General, having transferred to the bench of the Supreme Court Mr. McLean, who had refused to remove efficient officers on account of their political opinion. He also invited Barry to take a seat at his council table, from which the Postmaster General had previously been excluded. Barry was also the first to increase the compensation of Postmasters on “star-routes,” and to pay the large extra allowances was forced to obtain loans from banks. This resulted in a tedious investigation of its affairs by a Congressional committee. President Jackson, in consequence, transferred Mr. Barry to a sphere of duty calling for less financial ability, and placed in the postal chair Amos Kendall, a man of singular clearness of intellect, fine administrative qualification and herculean energy, who immediately set on foot measures destined promptly to elevate the credit and relieve the embarrassments of the Postoffice Department. In a short time he bad restored the lost credit of the institution, and paid off the half a million dollars of debt resulting from Mr. Barry’s unsuccessful policy. Dueling was the fashion at Washington during the exciting debates on the Kansas-Nebraska bill m the early spring of 1858. Col. Sumner challenged Gen. Harney upon having secured his trial by court-martial upon trivial charges involving breaches of military etiquette. Messrs. Clay, of Kentucky, and Cullum, of Tennessee, members of the House of Representatives, went to Baltimore, and practiced with rifles preparatory to shooting at each other, but finally submitted their difficulty to Senators Crittenden and Toombs, who amicably settled it. Lieuts. Robert Williams and David Bell, of the army, fought, at Bladensburg, the second duel that had ever taken place between graduates of the West Point Military Academy. Pistols were selected as the weapons, and at the first shot the ball from Bell’s pistol passed through Williams’ hat. Williams, who had reserved his fire, lowered his pistol and fired in the ground. The friends of the parties then interposed, and “the affair was adjusted on terms satisfactory and honorable to both parties.” There was also an unpleasantness between A. C. Rhind, who had been dropped from the rolls of the Navy Department, and Commander E. B. Boutwell, but this affair was also amicably settled. Postal currency, which was the “change” during the war and until the resumption of specie payment, was the invention of Gen. Spinner, who had represented the Syracuse district of New York in Congress, and had been appointed Treasurer of the United States by President Lincoln. Small change had vanished, and in buying a dinner in the market change had to be taken in beets, cabbages, potatoes and what not. Gen. Spinner was constantly appealed to from all quarters to do something to supply the demand for Bmall change. He had no law under which he could act, but after buying a half-dollar’s worth of apples several times and receiving for his half-dollar in change more or less different kinds of produce, he began to cast around for a substitute for small change. In his dilemma he bethought himself of the postage stamp. He sent down to the Postoffice Department and purchased a quantity of stamps. He then ordered up a package of the paper upon which Government Securities were printed. He cut the paper into various sizes. On the pieces he pasted stamps to represent different amounts. He thus initiated a substitute for fractional silver. This was not, however, a Government transaction in any sense; it could not be. Gen. Spinner distributed his improvised currency among the clerks of the department. They took it readily. The idea spiead; the postt ge stamps, either detached or pasted upon a piece of paper, became the medium of small exchange. It was dubbed “postal currency.” From this Gen. Spinner got his idea of the fractional currency, and went before Congress with it. That body readily adopted it, and but a short time after Gen. Spinner had begun pasting operations a law was on the statue book providing for the issue of the fractional currency which became so popular. The sac-simile of a postage stamp was put on each piece of currency, and for a long time it was known as “postal currency. ” An enormous amount never was presented for redemption, and the Government was consequently the gainer.

Excellent Interest Rules.

For finding the interest on any principal for any number of days, the answer in each case being in cents, separate the two right-hand figures to express it in dollars and cents. Four per cent.—Multiply the principal by the number of days to run; separate the right-hand figures from the product, and divide by 9. Five per cent.—Multiply by number of days,and divide by 72. Sixper cent. —Multiply by number of days, separate right-hand figures, and divide by 6. Eight per cent.—Multiply by number of days, and divide Ly 45. Nine per cent. —Multiply by number of days, separate right-hand figures, and divide by 4. Ten per cent.—Multiply by number of days, and divide by 86. Twelve per cent.—Multiply by number of days, separate right-hand figures, and divide by 8. Fifteen per cent.—Multiply by number of days, and divide by 24. Eighteen per cent.—Multiply by number of days, separate right-hand figures, and divide'by 2. Twenty per cent.—Multiply by number of days, and divide by 18.

Among a lot of modern proverbs sent to a London newspaper were these: “It's a poor musi ian who can’t blow his own trumpet;” “The want of money is the root of much evil;” “If you would know a man’s character, follow him home;” “Only whisper scandal and its echo is heard by all.’'

HUMOR.

Walton’s “Life of Hooker.” Is this another name for le&ak Walton’s “Complete Angler?”— Punch. “Thebe’s nothing like leather,” but the bottom crust of the railway refresh-ment-room pie resembles it somewhat. A scientist asserts that a bee can only sting once in two minutes. We would respectfully submit that this is often enough. A young lady who was blamed for allowing her glove to be discovered in a young man’s pocket, stated that she had no hand in it. A baby bom during a terrible storm was named Cyclonia. Its father says the appellation is a misnomer; a cyclone doesn’t howl every night. Society in London is all disturbed by the question whether a lady should recognize a-gentleman while he is having his boots blacked on a street comer. Because a youngster can draw a pipe, he isn’t a draughtsman any more than he is a farmer, because he is engaged in sowing wild oats. —Carl Pretzel’s Weekly. “Can a man be hanged twice?” asks the New York Tribune. This maybe a mooted question; but some men deserve to be hanged twice- and each time fatally.— New York lHal. “There is nothing impossible to the determined spirit,” says a philospher. Evidently that philosopher never tried to reach up behind his shoulder to get hold of the end of a broken suspendfer. Look out for the girl who throwster whole soul into a pair of slippers—for the bachelor parson. It might not be uppermost in her mind, but we will suggest that perhaps heel take it better if she lets a shoemaker put the sole in. —Carl Pretzel’B Weekly. “Never eat and drink at the same time” is the advice given by a Munioh servant to fat people who wish to reduce their bulk. This appears to be an underhand blow aimed at one of the noblest of our American institutions—the barroom free lunch.— Boston Globe. If there is anything that will make a man cordially hate himself, it is when he takes a walk of about a mile to the postoffice to find that he has left his keys at home, and then on going home after them, to find on opening the box that the only thing in it is a card notifying him that his box-rent is due. “No, my friend,” remarked a solemnvisaged individual when invited to kiss the wine-cup; “I drink nothing but water. Water is the best drink ever given toman.” “Very true,” replied the other, watching the bubbles in his glass; “but isn’t it rather selfish for a man always to be wanting the best?” A New York man, who married a wife with a bad temper, and who lives in the ninth story of an apartment house, was heard to remark: “I used to believe that the read to perdition was downward, but I don’t think so any more. On the contrary, the higher up I go the nearer I get to the hot place.— Texas Siftings. “Are you fond of rowing, Miss Smithers ?” Miss Smithers is a Bqston girl, and the twain were out in a boat. “O, very fond of it, indeed. T think it is such lovely exercise.” “Have you rowed very much this season ?” “Yes,” Miss Smithers replied, with a little cultured cough behind her hand, “I have ridden a groat deal.”— New York Sun. “Do you keep this same—er—costume all through the play ?” asked a young man of a pretty ballet girl in red tights behind the scenes the other night. “Oh, no! In the next act lam entirely disguised. You wouldn’t recognize me.” „How do you alter your appearance ?” “I wear blue tights in that act.”— New York Graphic.

Hostess (to gentleman her husband has brought home to dinner) —“How well you speak English, Mr. —, —.” Mr. (not understanding)—“Yes; I ought to. ” Hostess—“ But you Speak remarkably well.” Mr. : “I ought to. I have lived here all my life. In fact, I was born in New York.” Hotsess—“Why, how strange! lam shre my husband told me that you were a Bohemian.” THE ACOBN AND THE BOV. A bright, thoughtful boy, one summer day Planted an acorn and went his way. Both grew as boys and acorns oan. Till one was a tree, the other a man. Now mark the reward: Along comes the man. And the tree shelters him, as an oak r tree' tytn. But why stays ho there In the moonlight dim? He stole a line horse, and was hung to a limb! —Boston Globe. LINES TO MY SPRING OVERCOAT. Thou fickle thing! Oh, I could smite thee with a tongue of brass, But words are dumb and so—bullet It pass! For thou art only false as other men, I hate thee now as T did love thee then. Early last spring. Why, false one, see! Thou once wast warm enough for any clfpie; And mark, how short ago was that sweet time — In August last, when sunstrokes filled the sky. And for the lack of other coat i wore * Thou smothered’st met And now? The breath Of chill November makes me wish thee warm; Dead leaves in shivering eddies ’round me swarm : Thou art as cold as frigid Greenland’s bhowb. And every one who sees thee laughs and knows I'll freeze to death. —Robert Burdette.

A Delicate Question.

One afternoon, as the Hon. W. C. Raines, a lawyer well known in Western New York, was traveling over the Central, he was approached by the conductor, who was one of his innumerable friends, and who announced that he wanted his advice on a rather delicate matter. “Well, what is it?” said the lawyer. “Well, Mr. Baines, the fact is, there’s a big two-fisted fellow forward lh the smoker that won’t pay his fare.” “Well?” “Well, what I want to ask you is: Had I better let him ride free of take a lioking ?”— Brake’s Magazine.

M. Charcot describes an hysterical patient who slept uninterruptedly for fifty-four days. The noise of a gong beaten violently at her bedside was upperceived, yet she was able to eat and drink, and all the functions connoted with nutrition were performed without difficulty. The awakening was spontaneous, and found the patient in good health. Bhe did not know she had been unconscious for nearly eight weeks.