Rensselaer Republican, Volume 16, Number 8, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 November 1883 — Page 6

SOONER OR LATER. (Sooner or later the storms shall beat Over my slumbers from head to feet; Sooner or later the winds will rave la the long grass Above my grave. I shall not heed them where I lie. Nothing their sounds shall signify; Nothing the headstone's fret of rain; Nothing to me the dark day’s pain. > Sooner or later the sun shall shine With tender warmth on that mound of mine; Sooner or later in summer air, Clover and violet blossom there. » I shall not feel, in that deep-laid rest. The slanting light fall over my breast, Nor even note in those hidden hours The wind-blown breath of the tossing flowers. Sooner or later the stainless snows Shall add their hush to my mute repose; Sooner or later shall slant and Shift, And heap my bed with the dueling drift Sooner or later the bee sjiall come And fill the noon with its golden hum; Sooner or later, on half-poised wing. The bluebird’s warble about me ring— Ring and chirrup, and whistle with glee. Nothing his music means tome; None of these beautiful things shall know How soundly their lover sleeps below. —Harriet P. Spofford.

WANTED— A AUGHTET.

“An actress, sir ? Never!” said Mr. Philander Greentree in a voice that made the windows rattle in their frames. ' And "Never” echoed his meek little ■wife, but in so faint a tone that it didn’t disturb in the least the fly that was sitting on one of the pretty white puffs on her dear old head. “And if you persist in being in love with the young woman, you must cease to be an inmate of my house,” shouted Mr. Greentree. “And if you marry her, by heavens! I’ll scratch you.” “Yes, we’ll be obliged to scratch you,” added the old lady as mildly as she had apoken before, looking at the same time as though it would be utterly impossible for her to scratch any one tinder any circumstances whatever. Not that they meat scratching in the common sense of the word; scratching the young man’s name from his uncle’s will was the punishment they threatened. “And I’ll never give you a penny,” thundered Uncle Philander. “Oh, William, think of that!—not even a penny,” said Aunt Tamasin. “And I’ll adopt a girl—l will, by heavens!" the old man went on, growing more and more angry every minute. “No more ungrateful boys for me. And she’ll marry to please us, and her children shall be our grandchildren.” “My dear boy, consider,” entreated the old lady. “How dreadful, how very dreadful, for us to hate strange grandchildren.” “Uncle and aunt—l suppose I must call you mother and father no longer,” said the young man, slowly and firmly —“I am truly sorry to vex you, but I have plighted my faith to Miss Fieldbrook, and I cannot and will not break it. She is, an actress, but as good and lovely a girl as ever trod the earth—sweeter and lovelier than any girl it has beenjny lot to meet. Andif you would only allow me to bring her here—” “Bring her here !” repeated his uncle, stamping about the room in his rage. Here, where your mother— l mean your aunt Tamasin—has lived in quiet, virgin—l mean quiet, holy—l mean quietness and peace, sir, for nearly half a century ? How dare you even think of juch a thing, sir ? An actress capering around these apartments! Good “’Twouldn’t be exactly right. William, you know,” said aunt Tamasin. “I never was a caperer, and at my time of life I don’t think I could get used to one. I don’t, indeed.” “Oh, you dear, funny old mother—auntie—" began Will, with a smile, but encountering his uncle's wrathful eyes and frowning brow, he grew serious again, and said: “Well, if you postively refuse to receive Eva, I suppose we must part. I am very, very thankful for all you have done for me since I was left a fatherless and motherless boy; but give up the woman I love for a thoroughly unreasonable prejudice of yours I cannot and will not. And so good-by. Uncle, will you shake hands with me?” “No, I won’t,” replied Mr. Greentree, brusquely. “Aunt, will you let me kiss you ?” “Of course I will, my dear boy,” said Mrs. Greentree, “And if you change your mind, come back to us directly. We start for Greentree Cottage in a few days, you know, and I shall keep your room ready for you there all summer.” “No, don’t, auntie, dear,” kissing her not once, but three or four times, “for i shall not change my mind, and perhaps being one of the prettiest rooms in the house, my room may be chosen by your adopted daughter. And I hope from tiie bottom of my heart that she may spend as many happy hours there as I have. Good-by. Good-by, fath—uncle.” But Uncle Philander answered not by look or word, and as the hall door closed after his nephew, he exclaimed again: “An actress! By heavens! the boy’s gone mad, and I wash my hands of him. forever.”

“Don’t say forever,"’ begged Aunt Tamasin. “Forever's a long time—a very long time, Philander. And, oh dear! how I shall miss him I Such a good child as he has always been ever since he came to us fifteen years ago ! Better in some things even than you. Philander; for you know you always say I,ad words when I lose my spectacles, Vhich he never did. but looked for them time and again with the patience of an angel.” And taking«ofl" said spectacles, she proceeded to lose them onee more by laying them on the back of the sofa, whence they dropped to the floor, behind it, where, with the dreadful “depravity of inanimate things.” they Remained snugly hidden, while she wept silently in her large lemon-verbena-Bcented silk handkerchief. A few days, aftpr Will Greentree bade them “good-by” the old coppie were, installed for the summer season in their comfortable country house, Greentree Cottage. And to Greentree Cottage came, before they had been there a •week, this note frdm one of their oldest and mostiniimate friends: r New York, June 20, ISB2. My Dear Tamasin and Philander—You told me you will remember, just as you were twSYinr the city, that you would like to receive into your home this summer some

I young* girl—the more friendless the better for your purpose—with a view, should she prove lovable and entertaining, to adopt her. Strange as it may appear, you had not been gdne more than two hours when I met» young girl who I think will suit you to a charm. She is pretty, of cheerful disposition, tolerably well educated, and naturally very clever; is an orphan and (her grandmother and only relative, with whom she lived, having died three weeks ago) homeless. I have Spoken to her about your wish, and she is perfectly willing—nay,’ anxious—to come to you. And I am sure her companionship will add to your happiness, and help you to forget the disobedience of your self-willed nephew. Anyhow, receive' her as a summer guest for my sake, for I loved and lost her mother; that is, she married the other chap. Faithfully yours, James Townly. Mr. Greentree’s face brightened as he read this note. “There, my dear,” he said, handing it to his wife, “Townly —he always was the best and most reliable old ehum a fellow ever had—has already found our daughter. For this girl will certainly please us, being heartily approved of by him. Pretty, clever, and cheerful.” 1 “Yes, so he says,” said his wife; “but he needn’t have called poor William bad names, for all that. And I won't give her the boy’s room. There’s so many trousers and boots and base ball and fishing things in it, that couldn’t be of the slightest use to her, and would only be in her way.” “Do : as you like about that, my dear,” rejoined Mr. Greentree, who, to tell the carded one, and anxious to have some young life in the cottage; “but see that the ropin she is to have is got ready immediately, for I shall telegraph to Townly to send her at once,” And he did. And the result of the telegram was that the very next morning Miss Zerelda Ardemann made her best courtesy to the old lady and gentleman who wanted a daughter. An never were an, elderly couple so quickly and entirely bewitched by any fair maiden as were Philander and Tamasin Greentree by this same violeteyed, golden-haired, sweet-voiced, pretty Zerelda Ardemann. And as day followed day, and week followed week, she became more and more dear to the*n. She went through the house from*morn until eve, warbling like & bird, and when evening came she sat at the old-fashioned piano and sang the quaint old English ballads that Tamasin used to sing in her youth, while Philander, brave in swallow-tail-ed, brass-buttoned blue coat turned the pages of —the- music— with gentle hand. She tripped lighly over field and meadow every day, and culled the loveliest of wild flowers, which with a grace that was her own she arranged in vases and shells, and whatever she could find to hold them, until each room looked like a fairy bower. And many a beautiful poem she repeated with rare skill in the gloaming, bringing the happy tears to the eyes of her delighted listeners. “Ah! if Will had only made her his choice!” the old lady would say to her husband at least a dozen times a day. “By heavens! if he had,” that impulsive individual would say, “he wouldn’t have waited long for my blessing.” The summer passed pleasantly, very pleasantly, away, and the advent of autumn found Mr. and Mrs. Greentree more in love than ever, if that were possible, with their charming guest. “And do you think you would like us well enough to call us father and mother, and to promise that when you give your whole heart to some one else you will not forsake us?" asked Mrs, Greentree of Zerelda one sunny September day. “I know I could—l know I do,” answered the girl, emphatically, “But I have a confession to make to you that I fear will turn you from me.” i “My dear, it inust be something very terrible to do that. But make it at {once, and have it over.. Philander! Philander 1 Zerelda has something to tell us which she fears will make us love her less. Please come and hear it.” Philander dropped the newspaper he was reading on the porch, and stepped into the dining-room through the open window. Zerelda stood in the center of the room with drooping head, but as soon as he entered she tossed back the little ringlets that tried to shade the brightness of her eyes, placed her two little hands in the lace-trimmed pockets of her dainty apron, danced lightly across to where the old couple were now seated side by side, and said, in a voice fraught with innocent cheeriness: “After all, what I have to tell isn’t so very bad. I have amused you both since I came here, haven't I ? And I can go away at once if you wish me to go.” And then, dropping gracefully on one knee, and folding her hands in pretty entreaty, she said: “Please, sir, and please, ma’am, I am an actress, and my stage name is Eva Fieldbrook. But all that your friend Mr. Townly told you about me is true.” “An actress!* exclaimed Mr. Philander Greentree. “Eva Fieldbrook!” said his wife. “Then you are the girl that Will 1—” began the old man.

“That Will—” Repeated the old lady. “That Will—.the same,” replied Zerelda, demurely, still kneeling. Please forgive me for beixg that girl.” Put Mr. Greentree, without another from his chair and tore out of the room. Ze.relda sprang to her feet. “I’d better begin packing at onee,” she said, with userious face. “I’m sorj-y to havp vexed him so much. But indeed it wasn’t my scheme at all. Mr. Townly and Will made it up between them. They thought that if you knew me you w ould-—” “And We do,” interrupted the old lady, laying her hand lightly on her arm to detain her. “Don’t yon do anything in haste, my dear. You don’t unstand Mr. Greentree as well as I do. Sometimes when he seems most angry be is most pleased. I'm sure Jie don’t want you to go away.” “Of course he don’t. Who said he did?” asked the old gentleman, entering the room hastily again. I’ve just sent a telegram to Will telling him important business calls him here. That's Another name for you, my dear—important business. Not as pretty as either of the others, but well find a fourth before we get through that will suit you bbst of all—Zerelda Greentree. How do you like that ?” -

“And I shan’t have grandchildren the least bit strange after all,” said Aunt Tamasin, a bright smile lighting up her dear good bld. face.— Harper's Weekly.

Out of Money.

To be out of money iq a country where scarcely a native, much less a foreigner, can find anythihg to do to get his bread, is a serious matter, as the reader can judge. Bayard Taylor in his young and enterprising days went through Europe living “front hand “to moifth,” and occasionally he found himself in such a dilemma. Some readers will remem|>er his story of his predicament at Lyons, when a letter (long waited for) came, with money in it to replenish his empty pocket, but with fourteen sous postage due on it! and he was forced to contrive a stratagem to borrow a franc of his landlady before he could get the letter. He relates another incidents of similar straits, in the city of Florence, while his two traveling companions were gone to Leghorn to procure the much-needed cash upon a banker’s draft: “They were to be absent three or four days, and had left me money enough to live on in the meantime, but the next morning our bill for washing came in, and consumed nearly the whole of it. I had about four crazie (three cents) a dayTeftYor~rny meals, and by spending one of these for bread and the remain-; der for ripe figs (of which one crazie will purchase fifteen or twenty), and roasted chestnuts, I managed to make a diminutive breakfast and dinner, but was careful not to take much exercise, on account of the increase of hunger. ; As it happened, my friends remained two days longer than I had expected/ and the last two crazie I had were expended for one day’s provisions. I then decided to try the next day without anything, and actually felt a curiosity to know what one’s sensation would be on experiencing two or three days of starvation. I knew that if the feeling should become insupportable, I could easily walk out to the mountain of Fiesole, where a fine fig-orchard shades the old Roman amphitheater, 37But tlje experiment was broken off at its commencement by the arrival of the absent ones, in the middle of the following night. Such is the weakness of human nature, that on finding I should not want for breakfast. I arose from bed and ate the two or three remaining figs, which by astrong exertion I had saved from the scanty allowance of the day. _____

The Sunday-School Picnic.

It is a glad picnic party. The Sun-day-school had gone out into the leafy forest. The dark object in the heavens, 800 miles wide and 8,000 miles wide, is a cloud. It got to the woods as soon as the picnic, and is there yet. Under the great oak you can see the dinner. The large winter-proof mound in middle of the table sullenly laughing at the storm is a fruit cake. The teacher of the infant class made it herself for the little ones. But the storm saved them. See, the lightning struck the cake. It will never strike anything else. There stands the cake, without a dent, and under the table, shattered and blighted, lies the thunderbolt * Under the cedar tree is a dying dog. He got in the way and the superintendent felled him to the earth with one blow of a biscuit. The tall figure wrapped in the ghostly ’ drapery of a water-soaked linen-duster, leading the way to the cars, is the teacher of the young ladies’ Bible-class. His influence with that class is gone forever. The young ladies will never be able to look at him again without thinking how he looked on this occasion. Up in the hickory tree you see a grief-stricken face peering down. It is the superintendent, He climbed up there to fix the swing, and before they could throw him the rope the storm came up and the picnic adjourned sine die and sine mora. And he is waiting for the last straggler to disappear becomes he comes down. He has officiated at Sunday-school picnics often enough to know better than slide down a sheelbark hickory tree before an audience. The man with an umbrella under his arm is the treasurer. He is getting drenched, but he does not raise his umbrella. He knows there is a name paihted in the inside-of it, but for the life of him he cannot remembei; whose name it is. He is watching hig chance to give the umbrella to q stranger.— Burling ton Haivkeye.

Canada’s Magnificent Territory.

“In regard to the steady and spontaneous growth of the northwest territory, not in Manitoba alone, but all along the line of the Canada Pacific railway, it can only be said to be beyond precedent in the history of the world The soil is inexaustible. Last year over 30,000 emigrants from Ontario and the States settled on the free grants of lane riven to actual settlers. These pioneers took over $10,000,000 into that section and expended this money in the devel opment of farm lands. There are, to my personal knowledge, extensive coal districts in the valley of the Saskatchewan and at Edmonton, though as yet almost entirely undeveloped. Ah, it is a magnificient country, and the coming century will.see it the home of millions of free, prosperous and enlightened people.” ■ “But is not the climate very severe in the far northwest?” “Not in comparison with the climate of the Atlantic coast. As you move westward upon the Pacific slope, warm southern winds sweep over those boundless plains from April to October, and vegitation is so rapid as to be almost tropical in its luxuriance. I have seen abundant crops of wheat, oats, and barley harvested in less that four month After seed-sowing. In the Manitoba region, as you well know, the. climate Changes very rapidly, and the short but severe winter there experienced has been the only obstacle to its settlement. Yet, for all that, the city of Winnipeg has sprung into a prosperous condition, and is now the leading city of southern, British, America.— Cor. Chicago Heraid. ■ • It is said that ex-Governor Blackburn,’of Kentucky, intends to found an institution in Louisville for the cure of inebriates and opium-eaters.

FIRST BATTLE OF BULL RUN.

Incidents of a Memorable Fight—The Death of Mrs. Judith Henry. The plateau on which the battle was fought on the 21st of July, 1864, says a late writter, had long been the peaceful home of a number of families, among whom were Mrs. Judith Henry, James Robinson, the Chinns, and two or three more. The family of Mrs Henry consisted of herself, a daughter. Miss Elleii, and two sons, only one of the sons being .then at home with his infant family. Miss Ellen Henry is still living, an amiable and courteous lady of the reaj Virginia type, and, though upwards of 60 years of age, there is something almost ethereal in her form and manner which plainly tells the visitor that in her youth she was a lovely woman. She is an intellectual woman, well informed in all that goes to make up the American lady, and has been for many years the social center of the neighborhood. At the time of the battle her mother was 85 years of age and an invalid in bed, not aide to be removal from the house, and it was around Mrs. Henry’s house that the fury of the first fight raged hottest all the long summen day. Then, close to Mrs. Henry’s door, fell the Confederate General Bee and Colonels Bartow and Fisher; right in her doorway Griffin's battery was lost and retaken three times in a hand-to-hand fight, every one of the gunners being killed at the guns before it was given up. No pen can describe the frenzied madness of the scenes there enacted, as regiment after regiment came to the support of the guns, determined never to yield them to the Federals. Tyler and Heintzelman and Hunter, with their divisions, were in the fight from daylight till 4 o’clock in the afternoon. Men went forward in the intense heat of noon to grapple for half an hour with the foe, when their places would be filled by others, and they would fall back into the shade and die of mere exhaustion, their tongues protruding and their faces black as charcoal. The young, the brave and the good of our country lay in their blood on the field, while wounded horses galloped madly over them, screaming with terror and mad with pain. The bands were scattered about the field, some attending to the wounded, others seeking to hide in the thickets from the storm of shot and shell which was raging all around. Thus the hours wore on. Here were nearly 30,000 men toiling in the work of butchery, while the Sabbath day was passing and their friends at home were engaged in the worship of God. Miss Ellen Henry never once left the bedside of her aged mother, though the house was pierced by hundreds of bullets, and in her anxiety for her parent all fears of her own safety seem to have been lost. The house was situated on the high level of the field, and Griffin’s battery was near it, carrying death and destruction into the Confederate ranks. This was the center of the fight, and on this devoted battery was concentrated the fire of the Confederate artillery, as well as the attention of both armies, This, indeed, was the key to the whole position, and when this was lost the battle was irretrievably lost. More than 600 men lay dead at 3 o’clock on a square of two acres of ground. It was an open field, and a square, hand-to-hand, well-contested, stand-up fight. Mrs. Judith Henry was killed in her bed by a shell which burst in the room and mangled her most dreadfully. Her laughter and son both escaped unharmed almost at her side. The house, which was almost a ruin, has since been torn down and rebuilt. The grave of Mrs. Henry, on the west side of the card, with the monument in front of lhe house, gives the place a sad and desolate appearance. The rough headstone has been removed, and a tombstone with this inscription placed where she is buried: The grave of our dear Mother, Judith Henry. Killed near this spot by the explosion of shells in her dwelling during the battle on the 21st of July, 1861. When killed she was in her 85th year and confined to her bed by Infirmities of age. She was the daughter of Louden Carter, Sr., and was born within a mile of this place. Her husband, Dr. Isaac Henry, was a surgeon in the United States Navy, on board the frigate Constellation, commanded by Commodore Truxton, one of the six captains appointed by Washington in the organization of the navy, 1794. This Estimable ladv, who had spent here a long life, illustrated by the graces that adorn the meek Christian, was now bed-ridden. There she lay amid the horrid din, and no less than three of the missiles of death that scoured through her chamber inflicted wounds upon her. It seems a strange dispensation of Providence that one whose life, so gentle and secluded, should have found her end amid such a storm of human possions, and that the humble abode which had witnessed her quiet pilgrimage should have been shattered over her dying bed. Yet, amid such terrors heaven vindicated its laws. When the combatants had retired the aged suffer was still altfe, and she lived long enough to say that her mind was tranquil and that she died in peace—a peace that the roar of battle and the presence of death panoplied in all his terrors had not disturbed.

Retorts.

A cat and an Irishman are always ready. If puss falls from any height, she lands on her feet, and Pat never sees a word coming that he does not “counter” it with a better one. “What are you building there?” asked a stranger in London of an Irishman mortar in front of Cardinal Manning’s Pro-Cathedral. “A church, yer honor.” “Oh! a church? Of what denomination?” “Of no denomination at all, yer honor; its the holy Roman Catholic church.” “I’m very sorry to hear it.” “ Yes sir, that’s what the devil says, answered Pat, as he resumed his work.“I’ll not give you anything 'but I’ll lend you a sliilling,” said a gentleman to an Irishman who hail just driven him to the station. “Ah thin, may yer honor live till I paqr ye," was the quick answer. A beggar woman, with a mass of red jair, was soliciting aims from a stagecoach full of passengers. Some rude

• person called out then, “Foxy head, foxy head !” “May ye never see the dyer” she retorted. “Go to the devil!” shouted the irrate passenger, as another woman persistently aked for a penny. “Ah; thin, it's a long journey yer honor is sending us; may be ye’re going to give us something to pay our expenses on the road.”

An English Ghost Story.

The breed of ghosts appear to be not quite extinct in England yet. Seldom, however, has one of these shadowy visitants the hardihood to expose itself to such unobstructed and point-blank investigations as did the phantom which introduced itself the other day to Mr. C - G , the son of the well-known Admiral C G . One day at the beginning of this month Mr. C——G—— was going to call on the Duke of R--- at B--- castle, and he probably did not trouble his head much about things hereafter, when he found himself at a small country station, seme miles from his destination, with no vehicle to get him over the muddy country lanes in between. After worrying around a bit, however, he succeeded in hiring a trap—-a common-place dogcart enough, with nothing ghostly about it—and a horse that looked as if with good management might hang together in this life for a few weeks yet. Not a man could be found who would accompany him to look after the beast; so, having done grumbling, Mr. C G took the reins himself and started for B-- castle. Nor was there anything to suggest ghosts in the drive there; and the Duke of R-- was as real and fleshy as a well-conducted Duke ought to be. So far, then, the odds seemed all against a ghost finding room to come into the day’s events. When Mr. C— G--- , however, had got half-way back to the station he passed a pond by the roadside which he had not noticed on his way. Turning round to look at it, he was astonished to find that there was another man on the trap, sitting back to back to himself- The stranger was to all appearances a farm laborer, dressed in corduroy and red neck-cloth. Mr. C---G--- at once concluded that his companion had been sent after him by the inn-keeper from whom, he had hired the trap ; but what puzzled him was how and where a stout farm laborer in hobnailed boots could have climed up without his feeling it. The shortest way to settle this was to ask him; but, unfortunately the intruder paid no attention to the question, and seemed quite unconscious of anything when Mr. C---G--- shouted commonplaces on the weather at the top of his voice. Nothing remained, therefore, but to whip up the dilapidated horse and while away the rest of the journey with cursing the innkeeper who could find no better man to send him than a deaf and dumb farm laborer. On arriving at the inn Mr. C--- G---- handed the reins back to the stranger and walked into the house. Meeting the landlord his first remark was naturally on the sort of man the other had seen fit to send after him. “What man?” was the reply; “I sent no man after you.” “Surely you did,” said Mr. C---G--- , “a man in corduroy, with a red scarf round his neck.” “Good God, sir” returned the other, “that man was drowned an hour ago, and is up-stairs now!” “Nonsense. He is on your trap now; come and see.” However, he was not in the trap; that was empty. So Mr. C--- G---- followed the landlord up-stairs, and there on a bed lay his companion of the dog-cart, —cordury, red neck-cloth and all—-j dead. He had been found drowned half an hour before Mr. C— — G—passed, in the very pond close by he had taken his seat in the and had apparently availed himself of the first passing vehicle to get a lift to the place where his body lay!

Old Clocks.

The old brass clocks went only thirty hours, and were set in motion by a weight attached to a chain which passed over a sheave having spikes in. the groove which caught in links of the chain and required to be drawn up every day. There was a counterpoise at the other end of the chain, and sometimes a single weight was contrived to serve both the going and the striking parts, and there was occasionally an alarm. On the introduction of the long pendulum, clocks seemed to have assumed a different character. Catgut was substituted for the chain, and barrels were introduced on which the catgut was wound up, and, a greater length of line being employed, clocks were made to go for eight days instead of thirty hours, and a chime of bells playing every quarter of an hour was often added; the weights and long pendulum hung down, and, as there was danger of their action being interfered with, tall -wooden cases were made to protect them, on the top of which the movement was placed. This was probably the origin and date of the tall, upright clock cases, which were often made of ornamental woods and enriched with fine marquetry. We have one in mind, an early marquetry case, made in 1690, by Thomas Tom-, pion, with a beautiful set of chimes and it is an admirable timekeeper! though it has only the original iron wire for the pendulum rod; and simi- ; lar instances are numerous. The earlier cases are made of oak and walnut, the mahogany cases being of the following century, when the wood was introduced. The brass “button and pillar” clocks seem to have gone out of use about this time, and probably few were made at the end of the seventeenth century.

At the Dentist’s.

“Doctor, you have pulled out all the good teeth and left the bad ones?" “ That’s so, but I have a reason for it. There is always plenty of time to take out the bad ones. As for the others, they would have finished by becoming bad and would have given you trouble. A false set will never bother you—and besides, it’s fashionable to have them ; they don’t wear anything else nowadays!”—French Paper. '

PITH AND POINT.

'The mania for adulteration is so great that you can’t buy a pound of sand and be sure that it is not half sugar. “Did the child die under suspicions circumstances ?” asked the coroner of a witness. “No, sir, it did not. It died under the back porch. A little singular that passengers are not permitted to converse with the man at the wheel, notwithstanding he is a spokesman of the ship.— Boston Transcript. “I have a bright prospect before me,” | said the loafer. .“You always will have,” remarked Fogg; “I don’t think you will ever catch up to it.”— Boston Transcript. A young blood, afflicted with a horrible stutter, enters an English pharmacy. “I wa-wa-want,” says he, “some p-p-p-pills of ip-ip-ip-ip—” “Hurrah !” cries the impatient clerk, and the blood flies. “I declare I” exclaimed Mrs. Tidnice “I never saw a girl like our Sarah Jane. I worked almost two hull days on her new bathin dress, and don’t you think, she got it wringin’ wet the fust time she put it on!” Elderly philanthropist; to small boy, who is vainly striving to pull a doorbell—above- his—reach: — “Let me help you, my little man.” (Pulls the bell.) Small boy—“ Now you had better run, or we’ll both get a licking !” John Quincy Adams made it a rule to be on time to a minute, and in this way he lost hundreds of valuable hours waiting for other people. A man who has been waited for is always more welcome.— Detroit Free Press. An exchange sighs for the good old says when they “blew a horn for dinner.” The exchange earn have all that diet it wants, but for us- a little iced tea, chicken and vegetables fit the complexion better.— -Carl Pretzel's Weekly. There are some girls so awfully nicethat they will not dance with a fellow in a ball-room if his hair sticks up on the back of his head. The same girl may be seen at the age of 31 looking in seven different directions for a husband. Father to his from-the-university-back-returning-son—“Well, thou hast, of course, no debts?” Son-—“ Three thousand marks." Father—“ What! 3,000 marks?” Son—“ Well, art thounet proud that thy son so great a credit bath?" - Translated from the Omnibus. “I don’t want no rubbish, no fine sentiments, if you please,” said the widow who was asked what kind of an epitaph she desired for her late husband’s tombstone. “Let.it be simple. Something like this: ‘William Johnson, aged 75 years. The good die young.’” “Alligators,” writes Dr. Henshall to the Forest and Stream, “may be partially tamed.” This statement cannot induce us to attempt the domestications of alligators, however. It is the part that cannot be tamed that would likely to chew you up sometime when you’renot looking. “By Jove!” exclaimed Adolphus, stroking the capilliary suggestions on his superior lip, “the fellows say that a mustache hides the expression of a fellow’s face, and they’re all going toshave before taking part in our theatricals.” “How fortunate!” was the sympathetic reply of Julia, “you won’t have to shave, will you?”

BIRTH-MARKS. Born in Boston, Too-much brains; Born in New York, — =- All for gains; Born In Hartford, All for races; Born in St. Louis, Famed for heat; Born in Chicago, The world to beat; Go to the bad, sure Born in Indianapolis, ■ ' ~— Past water-cure; Born in Richmond, Handsome, you bet; Born in Whitehall, Handsomer yet; Born in New Orleans, Never backs out; Born in Cincinnati, Often flooded out; Born in Philadelphia, Proud of one’s birth; Born in Yonkers, Owns all the earth; Born in Fall River, Bound to advance; Born in Memphis, glance; Born in Peoria, Rich as a Jew; —---—-—<- Born in Buffalo, Will beat one’s way-through; Born in Detroit. Is A Number One, Born In Providence, . Loves a good pun; Born in the land of the sunny clime, Will ne’er lack “taffy” at any time. —Chicago Telegram.

A Burlington Society Note.

Miss Honora Daubigne has just completed a portrait of her father in oil., It would have looked more like the old gentleman, and would have smelled infinitely more like him, had she worked the portrait in whisky. Still, as a work of art, it is a very valuable painting. Thirteen dollars’ worth of tube-colors were used in its construction, and the frame alone cost $45. The hair wart on Mr. Daubigne’s cheek is omitted in the portrait, and the right ear, which was bit off in a fight down at the red bridge ten years ago, has been restored by the magical touch of the accomplished artist. The nose of the subject, also, has been toned down, being treated in pale lakes, instead of vermillion. To get at the true soulfulness, the tout ensemble, the immortal intellectual chiaro oscuro of Daubigne’s nose, it would have to be treated in the lake of brimstone, if there is such a color. As a work of art, however, the portrait is one of which our city may well be proud. It can be recognized by a glance at the name of the subject, which was neatly lettered on the frame by Stepladder, the sign painter.

Refuses to Pay.

The Philadelphia patent medicine man who agreed to pay $256 to have an advertisement of liis nostrum painted on the rgreat pyramid of Cheops, in Egypt, now-refuses to settle with the man who did the job, and a lawsuit will be the result. A clergyman who, nearly five years ago, was paid $10,000 a year by a Brooklyn .church, is loafing around the seashore of the Connecticut coast, habitually drunk.