Rensselaer Republican, Volume 16, Number 6, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 October 1883 — Page 2

GOOD-BY OR HOWDY-DO. — Say good-by or howdy-do— WhM’a the odds betwixt the two? Ck min'—goik'—every day— SSWORMSCi. Than their weight in solid sold, ■ettasKSwsr - ”" Hnwdv-da, and then good-by— Mixes jestlike Isogh and cry; Deaths and births, and worst and best. Tangled their contrarfest ; Ev’ry jinglin’ weddin’ bell Skeertn' up some funeral knell— Here’s mv song and there’s your sigh— Howdy-do, and then good-by! Bay good-by or howdy-do— Jest the same to me and you; Taint worth while to make no fuss, ’Cause the job’s put up on us 1 Somone’s runnin' this concern That’s got nothin' else to learn— If he’s willin we'll pull through. Sav good-by or howdy-do? ->I. W. Riley.

THE PROFESSOR’S STORY.

BY J. M. WHITMAN.

Taking tea one evening with an old acquaintance, now professor in a New England college, the conversation recalled some of the friends of our younger days, and he surprised me with this remark: “A woman’s sympathies lie nearer her heart than her love, unless her love is born of them.” But he surprised me more by the story he told to prove it. I guess it was seven years, he said, that our chair of astronomy remained vacant. You knew of Dr. Mendon. It was justly that the world finally gave him fame. Well, after his death the trustees were at loss to fill his place. A weak man would have been insufferable there. Do you remember his family ? Charming wife and daughter. They spent several years abroad after his death, and when they returned, notwithstanding that the widow still wore mourn-, ing, the number of our little social events was doubled. The daughter had a string of young millionaires after her constantly. Female society, perhaps you know, wasn’t unlimited, and it was with a foundation of truth that the fellows grimly joked about calling on the girls their fathers had courted before them. Charlotte Merdon was as fascinating a girl as her mother had been, so said the old folks, and it was to her that young Prof. Lutz quoted from Horace, “Oh daughter, more beautiful than thy beautiful mother!" when he brought down on himself the ridicule of the mountain-day party. Yes, she could have had her pick from a dozen very rich boys, and I think she would have taken it, too, if she hadn’t discov-’ ered that her mother was trying to influence her in their favor. At the senior party that year Charlotte held her court, as she did everywhere. She was surrounded, I remember, by the rich fellows of Charlie Elliott’s set. Elliott was happy that night. Charlotte had been unusually gracious and her mother had made her favor clearer than ever.

Over near the door sat the last man to be expected at a President’s party, Brent Seymour. He was senior the year before, and taking post graduate study at the observatory Merdon had built shortly before his death—a town boy, who supported his mother and worked his way through college, not often seen in society, and his ill-fitting clothes and embarrassed manner attested it. Elliott, looking around the room for a subject for his next brilliant remark to Miss Merdon, caught sight of Mm, . “Ed,” said he, turning to his chum, “I tell you what will be great sport. Bring Seymour Tip and formally present him to Miss Merdon. It will confuse him. He won’t know what to do, and there’ll be a deuce of a scene.” The chum complied and in a moment had the reluctant Seymour by the arm. The scene that followed must have been all that Elliott desired. For a moment the poor student stood before the belle. It was not unlike the tableau of the beggar and the princess. Her easy attitude contrasted strangely with his painful awkwardness. Elliott had not miscalculated. The effect was immediate. All eyes were turned toward the couple, and a smile went around. Charlotte Merdon saw it, and her cheeks flamed. She had divined the heartless joke. To the surprise of those about her she begged Seymour to be abated—insisted that he should be seated. Then she tried to draw him into the conversation. But it was impossibles Embarrassment seemed to have driven his wits away. Only one remark he ventured. Glancing at a portrait on the wall, he stammered out, “That’s a good picture of the President.” The portrait was one taken thirty years beforehand was anything but a good likeness of the President as he then appeared. The unfortunate remark caused another smile. Elliott was delighted. His joke was a splendid success. Poor Seymour twisted about in his chair and hung his head. His discomfiture was complete.

Miss Merdon took a deliberate look •t the picture, and did not smile. “Yes,” she said “it is called a very good likeness of him just after graduation. Have you seen the President’s flowers, Mr. Seymour? Let me show them to you. Bising, and excusing herself, the led the young man into the greenhouse, adjoining the parlor. “The devil!” said Elliott. “I didn’t look for anything like that.” Seymour, rescued in this way from his trying ordeal, hardly knew what to say or do. He felt as if a millstone had been taken from his neck. The pain and the manner of relief worked strangely on his sensitive nature. He felt that he was in great debt* to his companion. He wanted to kiss the hem of her garment. He wanted to cry. He knew he was feeling and acting like a fool. He expected that he should make a greater fool of himself than in the parlor. But some way he didn't care. He had lost all fear of the beautiful girl. Her act of mercy had brought her nearer than years of acquaintance could. He talked rapidly of the flowers, for he knew of them, and Charlotte listened —listened wondering why she caren to listen, little thinking that her sympathy had brought the awkward student nearer than he would have been had she known him half her

lifetime and never seen him in pain So when he pointecLout to her the observatory where he worked, the queer-ly-shaped building that showedits dark outlines in the moonlight, just oyer the campus on the hill, she wondered what it was that prompted her to beg him to take her there, to exact, a premise from him that, on the very next evening, he would conduct lier through the building, that had been built after her father’s orders. She persuaded herself that it was a desire to see some manuscripts of her father which Seymour told her had been left thOre. Perhaps it was. ." Notwithstanding her mother’s mild remonstrance, the next evening found her with Brent Seymour in the telescope room of the observatory. The roof had been let down and she was watching the stars. “I wonder if father often studied them from this room,” she said. , “Whenever the sky was clear.” “I wonder if he can see them now.” “No, I think that through some one of them he is looking at us.” Far from science and astronomy, far, very far, from his scholarly stand-point, the man’s childish reply had taken him, but it had carried him nearer the heart of the girl than he dreamed. Mrs. Merdon’s disapproval of her daughter’s visit to the observatory with Seymour broadened into anger as his calls were repeated, and repeated often. An intimacy grew between the young people that, even to themselves, they did not undertake to explain. The girl’s friendship had opened a new world to the hard-worked student. Had he known more of life, he would have known that he was falling in love. Over the ether a secret.was stealing as steadily as comes over us the morning. A month had passed sfnee the senior party. The two sat together in the telescope room. She seemed to be studying the stars. -“And do you remember,” she was asking, “that, that evening, you thought through some one of them father was looking at us?” “Yes.”

“Do you suppose lie can see us now ?” “Yes,” (in a surprised way.) “Then” (hesitatingly) “do you think he is glad—is glad to see us together ?” “Won’t you” (the voice was very husky)-—“won’t you answer for me ?” “Yes,” she said, in a voice clear as a harp chord, “I know he is.” Seymour wondered if_his senses were giving way. He hardly knew what followed. He meant to ask—he tried to ask if she didn’t think her father would be glad to see them always together. Somehow that seemed long and heavy and he couldn’t make the words come. He had a choking sensation in his throat and his eyes were blinded with tears. He felt just as he had in the greenhouse the night of the senior party. He wanted to kiss the hem of her garment. *He felt that he was in debt to her and falling deeper in debt every moment. He knew he was making a fool of himself, but he didn’t Care. He was the happiest feol that moment in God’s happy world. “You are just as much mine,” she said at last, her hands resting upon his head, which some way br other had found a place in her lap—“you are just as milch mine as if I had not done all the wooing myself.” The Merdon mansion had never seen such a storm as followed Charlotte’s avowal of her betrothal. Her mother insisted that she would never consent, never in the world, and the girl who had always honored, her wishes above everything else was in distress. “But you did not marry a rich man yourself, mother; why should you want me to?” she urged. “I married a man who was great—whom everybody knew; why, if you were to marry the man, whoever he is, who will fill his chair, I should be happy forever, but this fellow,—and her indignation overpowering her, she left the room. It was late in the evening when Charlotte stole upstairs. Passing her mother’s room she saw that the door was partially open. She knew what it meant. Women, even among themselves, make their reconciliations gracefully, gradually. She pushed the door wide open, as her mother had intended She should, and went in. The lady sat by her writing table; her head rested on her hand, and she was evidently sleeping. A little pile of letters lay before her, a picture before them. Tearshad dropped upon the letters, and the picture showed the stains of tears. Charlotte looked at the picture closely. The face was familiar. Suuely she had seen it before. But where? She could not place it among her acquaintances. Whose face was it ? She started. A broken, uncertain voice seemed to say: “That’s a good picture of the President.” Her lover’s awkward remark at the party, the portrait on the wall, the picture that her mother cried over. It was all clear, very clear, and she didn’t care to read the open letter by the picture.

“My poor, dear mother!" she thought, as, without awakening her, she glided to her pwn room, carrying the greatest secret of her lifetime, save one. It was after midnight when Mrs. Merdon awoke. She had hoped her daughter w ould come in. She wanted to tell her that she was no longer angry. She had been carried back over parts of her own life and she wanted to tell Charlotte that after all she must follow the voice of her heart, that her own experience had taught her so. She w r as almost ready to confess to her that although she had married a man who was great, whom everybody knew, she—no, no, no, she could not tell her daughter that. Very slowly she put away the letters and the picture, saying: “Yes, I loved him then, and, God forgive me, I have loved him ever since.” t At noon the next day a servant brought a note to the president’s study: “Charlotte E. Merdon requests the pleasure of a few moments’ private conversation.” “I wonder what Addie ■ Mather's daughter wants of me,” thought the old bachelor as he passed down into the reception room. “How the girl brings her to my mind!” In a dignified way that even surprised herself, Charlotte began: “I understand that the trustees have pvon you the appointing power regarding the

professorship which my father’s death made vacant,” e , “Yes.” “Have you made any provision yet ?’ “No.” • “I have a candidate to present.” “What—you? A candidate! Whc is it?” • , , “Brent Sevmoiir.” Charlotte's intimacy with Seymoui was not unknown to the President, but this astounded him. “It is impossible,”he said; “I do not see how you can ask it—how you can think it.” “Would you not do much to bring you to one you loved?” she asked, boldly. A peculiar light came into the gray eves behind the steel bowed spectacles. “Yes.” “How much?” “Anything.” “Would you give a professorship ?” The peculiar light increased. It was almost a blaze. “Yes.” “Will you give me this professorship if I bring you to one you love?” The gray eyes were now fairly a flame. She was understood. He sprang to his feet. Age seemed to fall from him like a scale. “Girl, what do you mean?” he shoufed.

“That she loves you all the time,” There was a base-ball match on the college grounds, but it was not the topic of the afternoon. A report that Brent Seymour had been appointed to the chair of astronomy had sent half the college to his house to congratulate him. They could not begin to get inside, so he stood in the yard and shook hands with them one by one. In the early evening a passing student saw an unusual visitor go up the path to the Merdon mansion. It was the gray-haired President. Mrs. Merdon opened the door herself, and the student couldn’t help seeing the look oi astonishment on her face, and that she tottered as she stepped back into the hall; couldn’t help hearing, in tones that he will never forget, two exclamations, “Addiel” Frank!” and the door closed; When Seymour and Charlotte camq in from their evening walk they heard voices in the sitting room, and Seymour was speechless with astonishment as he recognizcd the President’s voice: .“l am glad that you rejected me once, for my joy is made wonderful by years of darkness.” —Catching her lover’s hand Charlotte stepped with him into the room. “Mother,” she said, “if you haven’t got too much happiness already,”— looking at the venerable man who did not release the hand he was holding—“remember you promised to be happy forever if I should marry the man who will fill my father’s chair. Let me present him.”

My host ceased. His story was evidently done, and as he drew back from the table he said: “The only thing ficticious is the name I have given the poor student.” “But,” I asked, “did Charlotte ever tell her mother of the visit she made to her chamber when she was asleep at her writing-desk.” “You may ask,” he said, smiling. “She sits at the head of the table.” Absorbed in the story, I had not noticed that my hostess was concealing her blushes behind the tea urn. Springfield (Mass.) Republican.

A Millionaire Administration Proposed.

For President—John W. Mackay (worth $18,000,000) of Nevada. For Vice President Ex-Senator Henry A. Tabor ($10,000,000), of Colorado. With the accompanying cabinet: Secretary of State —Robert G. Ingersoll ($8,000,000 —after another Star Route trial.) Secretary of the Treasury—William H. Vanderbilt ($200,000,000). Secretary of the Interior—Charles Delmonico ($2,500,000 macroni on hand included). Secretary of War—O’Donovan Rossa ($7,000,000 —including Irish skirmishing fund). Secrettiry of War—William B. Astor ($18,000,000), Attornev General David Dudley Field ($22,000,000). Postmaster General Jay Gould ($50,000,000) —with the further title of Inspector s>f Postal Telegraphy, y The minor executive positions filled with men whose incomes are all the way from $500,000 to $1,000,000.

“Viper Man and Woman.”

At Gaudalajara, says a Mexican paper, there exists an individual having a scaly skin exactly like that of a viper, even to the green color. He has, besides, the viper habit of changing or shedding his skin every year. The skin come off in a single piece, and not, as might be supposed, in parts. On the man’s hand there is not a single hair. A sister of this man, who died some time ago, manifested the same phenomenon, and toward the close of her life began slowly to grow’ blind, owning to the viper’s skin encroaching on the eyes to such an extent that she could only see through a narrow aperture at each eye. The same thing is now happening to the brother. He can scarcely see any object, and the head presents the repulsive aspect of a viper. In Cuaulta these unhappy beings have been known as the “viper man and woman,” and the phenomenon is attributed tc the fact that their mother ate an excess of viper’s meat to cure a disease of the blood. In Cuba it is a common practice for people to eat viper’s flesh as a remedy for blood diseases. A novel and pretty ceremony, not without its moral value, has been borrowed from France Iwa London priest. Father Nugee, of a charitable religious mission, has crowned with roses, in the Crystal Palace, a poor sewing girl for conspicuous virtue. The damsel thus distinguished is selected by a council of matrons who are in a position to know her life. The London Telegraph, in speaking of the occasion, says that Father Nugee did not exaggerate when he said that the miserable existence of I the sewing" machine girl was a neces- | sary surrender of health as the price of | virtuous industry.

THE NATIONAL GAME.

A Story Which Proves It's a Fable by the Introduction of a City Editor Ignorant of Base-Hall. [Brooklyn Eagle.' “We are having remarkably cool weather fox thistime of year,” saida slim little gentleman, entering the city editor’s office, and settling himself in a chair. “Yeh,” said the city editor, diving into a pile of manuscript before him and ringing vigorously for the office boy. “I never remember to have seen such very cool weather in summer before,” said the slim . party, curling one length ly limb about the other, and settling himself more comfortably in his chair. “No,” ejaculated the city editor, giving another tug at the bell, and once more getting down to work. “I have lived in this part of the world all my life,” said the youth. “But this weather beats me. Now, four summers ago you will remember. I believe it was four summers ago. Yes, it’ was four summers ago. Do you remember that summer?” “N 9 said the city editor, grabbing up a quantity of f resh copy ami'hastily running over it. “Well, that summer I remember it was hot enough—” “What is the nature of your business with me, anyway ?” cried the city editor, throwing down a great bundle of manifold copy and glaring at his visitor. “Can’t you see that this is the busiest time of the day with us? The paper will go to press in twenty minutes, and you must ex —” “Pretty lively work bringing out a paper, isn’t it?” said the young man, pulling out a cigarette and proceeding to leisurely light up. “My grandfather was Tn the newspaper business, and I came near going into—” “Young man, I will give you just five minutes to come to the point,” said the city editor.

“Oh, yes, of course, ejaculated the youth, puffing a wreath of smoke toward the tufted latin ceiling. “I just dropped in to inquire how the baseball match came out yesterday afternoon. Speaking of base-ball reminds me of a little story. I suppose you are pretty well up in the history of baseball?” . “The base-ball editor is out,” cried The city editor. “Why don’t your paper take more interest in base-ball?” asked the youth. “Now I think if you would cut down, say the religious news, and give us . more base-ball you would make a homerun for your paper. I suppose, of course, you have heard of our club?” “Never,” said the city editor. “I tell you the base-ball man is—” “Never heard of our club! Why, it is the crack nine among the amateurs,” f|.id the youth, pulling out a slip of pa“per. “Just throw' yOur optics over the s»ore. That’s a sample of the way we—” “Don’t know a thing about scores,” shouted the city editor. “Come, I think it’s about time you skipped. Call again when the base-ball man is in. I tell youi I am terribly busy.” “You don’t think you could tell me anything about that yesterday, then!” “No! no! no!" cried the city editor, jumping to his feet, “look over yesterday’s paper.” “But it isn’t in your paper,” said the youth, setting himself more comfortably in his chair. “Now, there is where you get left. If you’d only throw' out, say an editorial or two, and make more room for base —” But at this n-.oment the youth had a pressing engagement in the lower office, and vanished through the door, still grasping the score of his last match in his fist.

Assumption.

“One man,” said an Irishman,ventilating his Democratic notions, “is'as good as another and a great deal better.” Pat had the root of the matter in him, though he did give a one-sided strain -to the fundamental principle of the Republic—“ All men are created free and equal.” He would have found an appreciative sympathizer in the poet Bryant, who was such a sturdy Democrat in principle that he would never accept for himself any other standard of voting than that which his Maker would apply. Mr. Bryant often received in his house titled personages from abr< >ad, who came to pay their respects to the distinguished poet. But on these occasions no difference of manner showed that he was impressed by the social rank of his guests. Mr. Bigelow, who was associated with the poet in the editorial management of the Evening Post, tells an anecdote which illustrates the sturdy Democracy of the man. He says; “I was once his guest at Rolyn with a of some distinction, who at the close of the first repast after our arrival, presumed upon the privilege accorded to persons of his rank at home to rise first and dismiss the table. “Mr. Bryant joined me on our way to the parlor, and, with an expression of undisguised astonishment, asked me, “Did you see that?” I replied that I did, and, with a view of extenuating that gentleman’s offence as much as I could, said that he evidently thought he was exercising only one of the recognized prerogatives of his order. “ ‘Well,” he saifl, ‘he will have no opportunity of repeating it here,’ and he was as good as his word, for during the remainder of our sojourn, no one was left in doubt whose prerogative it was in that house to dismiss the table.”

Reckoned It Was.

A blaze in the babin of a resident of “Kaintuck” called out the engines, and after them came the Fire Marshal to investigate and report. “Do you know how it caught?” he asked of the householder. ' “Well, sah, I reckon it was what dem big folkses calls sponfus cqmbustibus.” “You mean spontaneous combustion." “Dat’s ’zactly what I means, sah. Yes, sah, I reckon it was dat.” “What makes you think so?” -7* Well, in de fust place, I sent de gal up in de garret to fin’ prfole bates. In denex’ place she took a candle. In de las’ place she upsot ,de candle ’mong a lot o* newsapers an’ cum shmnin’ down de ladder wid her eyes as big as tur-

nips an’ tole me dat de cabin was all afire. Yes, Bah, I reckon it was spontaneous combustion, an’ soon’s we gii de furnicher back in Ize gwine to lick'dal gal till she can’t holler! She ortef knowed dat spontaneous combustion was sunthin’ dat couldn’t be fooled wid.”— Detroit Free Press.

A Heart Like a Baby.

“Dot vhas der troubles mit .ine—l vhas too tender-hearted,” replied Carl Diinder as a policeman warned him that he would have a case against him for having his saloon open after hours. “You see,” he continued as he wiped off his bar, “if I vhas all closedbop, mit my boots off nnd ready for bed, somepody goes rap! rap! on der door. I think it vhas against der law, but like enpugh it vhas my brudder Henry, who lifs in Buffalo, und so I opens der door. Who you think it vhas? “I can’t guess.” “It vhas a bpleecemans! He looks allaroundt, vhalksin softly like cats, und says that he vhas in such awful pains dot he must have some whisky or die. I can’t help dot I vhas porn mit a heart like a baby. I don’t like to see dot man die, und I gif him some whisky und he tells me he vhill pay oop vheq he cuts der coupons off his bonds. You see how it vhas?” “Yes.” “Vhell, der next time I vhas all glosed oop somepody goes uap! rap! on der door. I tinks it vhas my wife’s sister, -who lives in Mt. Glemmens, und I vhas a brute if I doan’ let her come in. Vhen I opens der door who vhas it ?” “I don’t know.” “It vhas an aidermans! He shlips softly in urid drops on a shair, und says to me: ‘Carl, I vhas played oudt. I make more ash ten speeches in der Gouncil to-night, und I vhas all exhausted till I can’t shtand oop. For der sake ov my innocent children gif me some peer!’ Vhell, dot vhas me mit my tender heart again, und I draw him a quart of peer und he drink him oop und tells me to put in the annual estimate next spring. Could you plame me for dot?” “No, but you must obey the law.” “Oxactly, but some odder time I hear a rap! rap! on der door, und I tinks it vhas my poy Shon, w'ho vhas oudt on a i farm mit his uncle. Shon vhas a good i poy, und I like to see him, und I opens der door. Who you tinks dot vhas ?” “John!” “Not some previous. It vhas a barty mit a big Klug hat on, und he carries a big cane, und he looks solemn. He vhants whisky straight, und vhen I tells him dot der law catch me oop, he pounds on der table mit his Cane und calls oudt, ‘Hang der law! Vhy, I was der man who makes all der laws in Detroit!”Vhell, dot makes my heart ; tender again, und he’drinks his whisky ! up and tells me dot I shall send my bill : to der Transportation Company. Can I help dot?” “You’ll have to help it.” “Vhell, one more time I turn eaferypody oudt and lock oop der doors, und shlip into bedt. I vhas dreaming like thudder vhen somepody rattles on my door und calls me to get oop. Maype it vhas my frendt, Capt. Gross, who runs avhay from his vise in Buffalo. If so, I likes to see him. I open der door and.who you tihk it vhas!” “Your grandfather.” “Not quide, my frendt. It vhas a man mit a silk hat und a gold-headed cane und a pig stomach, und he says he vhas a doctor who must has some whisky to keep off der shmall-pox. Dot appeals to my heart, und vhat can I do ? I tell you. I like to obey der law und shut oop my place, but if you come some- i dimes und find der back door open und . some men at der tables, you shust re . members not it vhas glub-night, und dot ve drink some buttermilk, und discuss old dimes in Shermany.”— De'roit Free Press,

North Carolina Tobacco.

In North Carolina, where the tobacco is employed almost exclusively for chewing, smoking in pipes and cigarettes, the planters strive to produce a bright, lemon-colored leaf, it being the most highly prized and commanding the highest prices. A large portion of the tobacco grown in North Carolina is cured by artificial heat. .Log. tobacco barns, fifteen or twenty feet square, closely plastered, are Used. Heat is admitted to the barns by a system of flues, and is regulated by a thermometer. By this arrangement the crop is quickly prepared for market. The proper regulation of heat in these barnes, with other causes, are instrumental in producing the “bright” leaf for which the State is noted. This bright leaf is emplbyed for the outside wrapper on fine plug tobacco. The first grade of color is termed “lemon” and the t second“mahogany,” from which it shades doirz? or/bnary colors.

Greek and Latin.

President Robinson, of Brown University, writes in his report to the corporation : “Years and years of closest study are given to other tongues, both ancient and modern, tongues which only a fraction of educated men are expected to use «in after life, while only incidental and comparatively superficial attention is given to that mother tongue which all are compelled to use in speech or in writing every day of their lives, and on a skillful use of which with many depend to no small degree their success or failure in life. The fact cannot be disguished that many an excellent Latin and Greek scholar writes wretched English, while admirable English is written by inany who know neither Latin nor Greek.

Sympathy.

It is not beauty, nor cleverness, nor style that attracts one human heart to another. It is that indescribable magnet called sympathy. When the ancient augurs looked each other in the eye, they smiled. When sympathy look sympathy in the eye, the gates of heaven open. In fact my idea of heaven is an asSemby of congenial spirits, where every soul appreciates the other soul.— Kate Field. Mb Keel, of Detroit, in writing to Castle Garden for a wife, is careful to say: “A red hair pirson need not

HUMOR.

Gknuinb self-denial—Saying “Not at Our infant industries—cradle manufactories. A man’s mind is like his bed. It must be made bp occasionally. If you think nobody cares for you in this cold worl<J, just try to learn to play the fiddle or the piano in a populous neighborhood. A WAHNIN'. De man what 'pends on de rooster fer ter crow An’ wake 'lm up 'arly In de mawnin’, May sometime fin’ dat de rooster Is no mo’, But wus stolen sev’al 'ours fore de dawnin', —Gaorgia Major. Medical professor to raw student: “Where is the glottis?” “I don’t know* sir. I think you put it on the shelf in the dissecting-room with the rest of your surgical instruments. “Don’t pull|me around so,” said the thief to the policemen, “I have a felon upon my finger!” “ And I have my finger upon a felon,” remarked the policeman, with a sardonic smile. Many of the cannons that were used during the war are now standing muzzle down as posts for national cemetery fences. Having done their work, they now stand as sentinels for the dead. It is announced that one of the greatest pianists of the world has lately been confined in a lunatic asylum. And still people wonder at the increase in the number of lunatics among common people who are only obliged to listen to the joyous notes of the piano.— GeorgePeck. An Indiana town brings forth the champion old man. It is said that he is nearly 80 years old, and that he is very fond of skating, and skates as nimbly as a boy. But when a local paper says that he takes down his violin and plays until far into the night, it causes people to wonder how he has been permitted to live so long.— Peck’s Sun. A bachelor and a spinster who had been schoolmated in youth and Were about the same age met in after years, and the lady chancing to remark that, “men live a great deal faster than women,” the bachelor replied: “Yes, Maria; the last time we met we were each 24 years old; now I'm over TO, and I hear you haven’t reached 30 yet.” They never met again.

E. Borter, an lowa editor, was in Austin last week. He had a very rubicund sac suggestive of a eissipated life. As” he was walking up the street, a, gentleman remarked: “That fellow is so highly colored that he reminds me of a chromo.” “He reminds me more of an engraving than a chromo/’ remarked a bystander. “How so?” “Well, you see, an engraving always has a glass in front of it, and a chromo hasn’t.”— Texas Siftings. Now' the scientists tell us that the concentric rings in a tree are no guide whatever to the tree’s age; that a section of the trunk may show thirty rings when the tree is only 8 years old. There you go again. By-and*-by, when you go to buy a cow and stand appalled at seeing forty-six rings on each horn, the man will pull a copy of “Origin of Species” on you and swear by all that is scientific that that cow is a heifer, only 13 months old come next June. “Mamma,” said little Johnny, “do you know what I wapt for my next birthday present?” “No, my son, what is it?” “I want you to die so that I can get a new mamma.” “Why, Johnny, I thought you loved me.” “So I do, mamma, but you like Fido, and you won’t let me tie a tin kettle to his tail. Now, if I had a new mamma, perhaps she would hate dogs, and then she would let me amuse ,myself playing with poor Fido. I want to put him in the cistern to see how long he can swim.”— Texas Siftings. A hater of tobacco asked an old .negro woman, the fumes of whose pipe were annowing him, if she thought she was a Christian. “Yes, brudder, I ’specs I is.” “Do you believe in the Bible?” “Yes, brudder.” Do you know that there is a passage in the Scripture which says that nothing unclean shall inherit the Kingdom of Heaven?” “Yes, I’ve heard it.” “Well. Chloe, you smoke; and you cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven, because there is nothing so unclean as the breath of the smoker. What do you say to that?” “Why, J •spects to leave my breff behind when I go dur.”— Boston Globe. '■ A young man at a social party was vehemently urged to sing a song. He replied that he would first tell a story,, and then, if they still presisted in their '(demand, he would endeavor to execute a song. When a boy, he said, he took lessons in singing, and one Sunday jnorning he went up into the garret tn alone. While in full cry he '/was suddenly sent for by the old gentleman. “This is pretty conduct!” said; .the father, “pretty employment for the .son of pious parents to be sawing boards in the garret on Sunday morning, loud [enough to be heard by all the neighbors. Sit down and take you book.” The young man was unanimously excused! ffrom singing the proposed song.

A Walking Skeleton.

i Abraham Crites, of Crites Mountain, Braxton county, W. Va., has been growing thin for a long time and is now a 'regular living skeleton. Before his affliction he was a large man, weighing jaboutlßopounds. His weight at this Hfnie will not exceed forty pounds. His ■disease is a wasting one, as he declines £n flesh. At this time he might be •teamed a walking skeleton. His thigh ican be easily spanned by an ordinary ■hand. His arms and the rest of his person are equally afflicted, the whole presenting a ghastly and unnatural sight. When lying on his back in bed Mr. Crites’ back-bone can be plainly felt by pressing one’s hand on his stomach His kidneys can also be felt with the hand. With all this terrible burden he can walk, sometimes being able to walk out of the house. i • b J enny Lind still wears her h air as she used to do, her eyes are as blue as* fever, pnd she has the old trick of resting her I clasped hands on her knees; no likeness i has ever given any idea the seraphio sweetness and elevation of her countenance. She is a great favorite with the English royal family, and the Princess Helena passes much time wgh her. ' In 1882 Montana produced gold and silver to the amount of $6,920,000.