Newspaper of Chicago Daily Tribune, June 1, 1873, Page 11

Newspaper of Chicago Daily Tribune dated June 1, 1873 Page 11
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SOME NUISANCES. jt 0 w ISatutinal Slumbers Are Deranged. Street-Calls, Door-Bells, and Other Miseries. An Appeal to Mechanical Genius to Devise a Remedy. ■With the most serene self-satisfaction we as sort the especial civilization of oor age, point to onr luxuries, enumerate the variety and value of our possessions, and, with it all, are victims to a number of nuisances Which moke of the first an idle boast, and take all the comfort out of the latter. Particularly objectionable among these are BTEZET-CALLS AND DOOB-BZLLS. - If you do not go to bed with the chickens and rise with the lark,—and few people who live in the city do cither,—then you are a victim. It may be, however, that your avocations are such lh%t you are obliged to seek your pillow early, and that you also rise an hour or two after the sun puis in an appearance; then you escape, to a certain extent, a portion of the infliction. If you are an attache of a morning journal, such is rot the case. No matter how pastoral the tastes may bo of such an individual —no matter how u childlike and bland ” he is by na ture, —still, deep into the night must ho wake and work, in order that you may have at your breakfast the last murder by way of a hors d’oeuvre, the latest scandal in society for an entree, the ponderous editorial for your piece do resist ance, and little local news for a compote. He of necessity must steal from 41 garish day,” if ho •an, thoso hours which have been given up to midnight labor; sleep, to rest his weary brain and body, that again ho may provide your mental dejenner. In this day of belauded civilization, WHAT IS THE EESUL.T ? The morning twilight, is flushing with joy at the coming of Aurora, unless they had a quarrel, end she has left her good clothes somewhere over in China, and wears a dull, heavy, gray garment, weeps copiously, and is generally dis agreeable. If all is serene, however, the birds bail her advent with pleasant twitterings, and & concord of sweet sounds “ soothes the restless pulse of care.” while, forgetting your “ weak ness. l, your “ evil behavior,” you deep as peace fully as the dies and mosquitoes will permit,— sweetly as that metaphorical infant so often spoken of. if your bar has a sufficiently fine mesh, say about the consistency of rather close woven shirting: if it is thoroughly fastened down all around, so the thin, lank insects can neither crawl throngh nor under; and if yon don’t smother for lack of fresh air, why, you fancy, no doubt, that you are in the gardens of Proserpine. She who is More than the day or the morrow. The seasons that laugh or weep; For these give joy and sorrow; But thou, Proserpina, sleep. Granted, then, that ail the conditions are properly conducive, and that you are recuperat ing under the influence of the balmy restorer (warranted, like patent-medicines, “to contain nothing deleterious to the most delicate consti tution ; a babe may take it without any evil re sults, while a small portion of it is of inestima ble benefit to the strongest man is it not an outrage that such a blissful condition of things should be disturbed ? The restorer is doing its best for you, when A KK.mPifii HOWL rouses you from' your blissful vision and the recuperating process, and you spring up, wildly imagining that it is the devil insisting upon copv, and that you have no copy ready. The stars have not yet quite faded, and you are be coming conscious that your apparel, if not exactly the “airy fabric of a dream,” is by no means that * which you Wear in your office, when a second shriek pro claims the fact that it is'the vender of matutinal, hypothetical milk. You. lie down; you know what is before you. For the-next three hours your ears will he saluted - by that same hideous yelL Not the same individual. ; His howl is only one among many, and you will only hear it a few times as ho vanishes in the distance, to be succeeded by your next-door .neighbor’s milk man; then his who lives opposite; then your own; and so on until each family on the block have received the announcement,- in as many discords as there are in the tug-whistles, that their lacteal fluid awaits acceptance. You are almost frantic, and, when your oim especial pur veyor arrives, and, in addition to that unearthly howl, PULLS THF. BAfiESIEKT uuua ttatot tiounrat, and, Bridget having gone to a wake, or a wed ding the night before, from which she has not yet returned, your wife ia forced to rise, and, in the robes of ancient Greece, over which, with a lack of appreciation of the proper fitness of things, she thrown an Arab burnous, and de scends to thrust through a crack in the door a pitcher and dirty ticket, you; groan, yon say something, and then she comes' back, drops her Arab mantle,. and once more dove-eyed Peace descends upon you. For a quarter of an hour there has been neither bowl nor ring, when sud denly and furiously the bell is PULLED, WBEKCHED, AJTD TWISTED, ' as if a demo™ in agony had the knob between his fingers. Again your wife rises, and you do not open your eyes,—not so much because you know your esthetic taste would be shocked by that complicated costume, as because you are afraid you shall know you are awake; but you turn over once . more as she Voes down to admit the butcher. It is now near fv 8 o’clock, and you hope that she will see that It is her duty to close the blinds and the door, and watch for any more tradesmen or other in dividuals who seem to have a special spite against the votaries of the drowsy god,—quite oblivious of the fact that she always sits up for you at night, though you wish she wouldn’t, purely out of regard for *her health, of course, ohe evidently does not take the some view of her duty, and again returns, like the faithful wife she is, to your side. You admire fidelity in the abstract, have written sundry little moral essays upon the subject; but you consider the present practical .exposition of it better honored in the breach than in the observance. Her head has scarcely touched the pillow,—dear, patient woman!—when ANOTHEB SXAETLDfO PULL again calls her up. You wish emphatically that the boll would break, and she groans, while this time the man is kept ringing until some slight additions are made to her toilette, more in keep ing with the modem style. It is the grocer’s man come .for orders, and she will be obliged to ■ see him. Again she comes back, and you mildly suggest that she had perhaps better lie on the lounge in the .next room, although visions of muddy coffee, cold beefsteak, and overdone eggs haunt you as you make the suggestion. She is Indignant, as well she may be. “Id this what all jour protestations of affection have come to ? You might have gone down yourself, and she got up to save you trouble, and is sure she never made the least bit of noise." TTTEV SHI OBIES, and yon, unless it is a case of very recent mat rimony, make vindictive remarks, while she treats yon to a resume of that Bridget’s short comings. Then she commences to make her toilette, and, being rather a particular, woman after alh liking to look well even at breakfast, is “just doing np her back hair, when again that ob noxious bell sounds, and, with an angry jerk, ehe flings down the comb, and grasps the .bur nous, and this time leaves the door open. You tear her say, “Don’t you overcome hero again and say * dandelions,’ as long as you liveand, in a few seconds ehe re-enters with the remark. “A horrid little wretch selling dandelions I What does he suppose we want with dandeli ons ?” The poor little huckster of a half-dozen years has gone off with a dim idea that it may be & private insane asylum, and that he has had a personal . interview with one of the inmates. He will never •gain offer his dandelions at your door. This time your wife finishes her toilette, and, having talked off some of her anger, she closes the blinds, kieses yon, and goes down-stairs. Now; least, yon will be able to sleep. You are just dropping into unconsciousness, when a cautions opening of the door, ' . WHICH SQUEAKS, OF COUBSE, juda burglarious entrance makes you peep through your half-closed lids. Only the wife for her necktie, which die has forgotten. You shut Tour eyes tight and she, fancying that she has Oeen so qoiet in her movements as not to have Disturbed you, looks repentant and glides out, waving the door ajar, lest closing it might wake you. Another ring, and then—two women’s jowes pitched at upper 6, and talking in 6-8 ailegio con spirito. Bridget has returned, and is explaining, while Bridget’s mistress is complaining. “ why, oh why, v.hen Evo sinned, - was she not cursed with dumbness ? ” is your half-uttered query. *• Can that bo Anna Ma ria’s SWEET VOICE, that sounded so like the cooing of a dove before she became Mrs. Journalist ?” Even ho, dear friend; and, if you sigli for your bachelor, quar ters, where, after the night’s labors and imbib ings, you slept so soundly that nothing but an earthquake or cyclone would have aroused you, do you not suppose that she also thinks regret fully of her little bower; whore servants and tradesmen were mamma’s or the housekeeper’s affair, and her solo cause of trouble ' was the usual slight, loving reproof sno heard daily for being late to breakfast ? The door being ajar, and you being either too lazy, too mad, or too hopeful to close it, you hear all the rest of the callers. The rag-and-bottle man; the woman with poultry for sole ; the woman with vege tables ; the man with a patent flour-sifter; the child for cold pieces ; the grocer’s boy, this time with the groceries; the post-man; the ice-man; • AND SO OX, AD nWINITTU; while your ears are also regaled by melodious street-scenes, including every merchantable ar ticle that flan bo hawked about, from pie-apples to straw: and every tinkers* trade, from “Glass put in” to “ Old umbrellas, to mend. Tin ware to mend,” “ Wash-tubs to mend,” and oo on. Yon have tried since daybreak to get that nap, about as unsuccessfully as it was possible for you to do; sovou rise, are cross to Anna Maria,- tell her sho'had better discharge Bridget; and then go down town, and write effusively upon our great and glorious country and its wonderful civilization. How can you, after such fin experience ? Whore are THE MECHANICAL GENIUSES of the country ? - Who is the man who will im mortalize himself by inventing an electric signal which can shock Bridget into consciousness of a party waiting at the lower-door, and, in case of tho Bridgotino element being wanting, can bo transferred to your wife, and noiselessly an nounce the fact ? Whore is the Pneumatic-tun nel man, who shall arrange a series of tubular conveyances, by which tne butcher’s boy may send the meat and vegetables straight to their proper place in tho refrigerator, the ice-man convey his commodity in similar manner, the post-man send the letters to your bedside, ditto the carrier with the morning paper, and each and all of the necessary articles which are re quired to keep the household and the vital ma chinery in motion thus bo quietly conveyed to their proper places, and your sleep left undisturb ed ? As for the hawkers, and the organ-grinders, and such people who do make early morning hideous with their shrieks, is there no means of abating them? Could they not be restricted to a limited number of hours in which to try their musical voices ? COULDN’T GILMORE at least engage them for the Jubilee-week, and, in the meantime, let some philanthropic lover of his sex, some Cruolty-to-Humans Society, de cide upon removing or restricting them ? Do not boast of civilization while it is impossible to sleep just because door-bells and street-calls are a nuisance. When a proper degree of quiet prevails, when all the business of life is carried on smoothly and noiselessly as all tho sewing machines work (vide advertisemsnts), then you may have arrived at that state which the gentle savage, tho Modoc in the lava-bed, already enjoys,—an immu nity from unearthly matutinal sounds unless provoked by themselves, and then only an occasional rifle-crack. It is a question for SCHOOLS, PHILOSOPHERS, AND PHILANTHROPISTS. We speak of the schools first, because, although we have placarded on our basement-door, “No calls answered until after 10 a. in.,” it doesn’t make any difference, and we think perhaps the schools ore to blame, as it is evident these peo ple cannot read. It isn’t of the least use to woo the balmy restorer unless other conditions can be equalized and the matter made a possibility. Give ns the silent electric annunciator, tho household pneumatic-goods conveyancer, tho appropriation by Gilmore of the peripatetic musicians, and the proper circumscription of the street-peddlers, then shall we indeed bo happy, and not feel that we are wasting breath when we urge: Come, Nature’s sweet restorer, balmy Sleep I TO MY LITTLE DAUGHTER, DAISY. My Daisy sweet, my baby girl, With silken tress and eyes of blue. My love's first pledge, affection’s pearl, I dedicate this lay to yon. My darling Daisy, pretty flower, Unfolding in thy life’s first spring, "While hope can cheer or love hath power. My heartstrings still shall round thee cling. Thy little namesake of the field In unassuming beauty blows. Its simple sweetness scarce revealed. So meek and modestly it grows; And thou, my child, my baby-treasure, Will that sweet flower resemble thee When through the years thy steps shall measure Tho paths of life's dark mystery 7 Wilt thou, my pretty bud, expand In growing sweetness day by day, While peace and love with ftdry wand Shed Heaven's incense round thy way 7 Wilt thou, exempt from core or sorrow, Enjoy a length of cloudless years. And all thy future’s coming morrow Bring thee no freight of woes or tears 7 ‘ With tireless feet and joyous breast, wut thou through now’ry pastures stray, in all thy hopes and wishes blest, Safe pass thy girlhood’s years away 7 And will thy prime’s unwritten story A fair and faultless record show; Thy evening son’s declining glory As brilliant as thy morning’s glow 7 ■When age shall trace thy mother’s brow, And bid her halting footsteps stay. With gentle, patient care wilt thou Her fond solicitude repay ? When death shall still these pulses’ motion, Wilt thou, my darling one, be near. With lore’s compassionate devotion, My lingering parting soul to cheer ? Such is thy mother’s ■wish and prayer; Bui ah! perchance it may not be, — Those sanguine hopes, my Daisy, fair. Be never realized to me;. But still may kindly Heaven bless thee, On thee its choicest gifts bestow 1 May dark misfortune ne’er distress thee, Wherever, darling, thou may’st go, What One Industrious, Faithful Ca nine Can Accomplish in Three hours* From the Detroit Free Press, For many weeks past Hiram Ripley, a team ster living on Fort street, below the Railroad bridge, had been thinking he ought to have a good watch-dog around the house and barn, as his wife is muen of tbc time alone, and as bad boys frequently raid his barn for old junk. So, the other day, when a farmer came along with a big brindle dog under his wagon and wanted to sell Him for $5, Ripley criti cised tbo canine, inquired as to his merits, and said it was a trade. He tied the dog up in the woodshed, fed him bountifully, and be went into the country after a load of potatoes with a light heart, believing that no human be ing could come fooling around his house and livelong. He was gone over night, and it was afternoon Friday before he returned home. He drove up to the bam and went in by the stable door to throw open the big doors. He had just got on to the main floor when a buzz-saw began ripping up and down liis left leg. Ho thought It was a buzz-saw, but it wasn’t; it was that watch dog of his. Mrs. Ripley, desiring to go off to a relative’s, had turned the dog into the ham, and he was watching, as was his business, Ripley yelled: “Oh! hokey to saltpeter," as he felt the grinding at his leg, and he made a long skip into a comer, and faced about and saw the dog. The old canine deliberately picked the woollen and .flesh out of his teeth, and was then ready for business. His eyes were fixed on Ripley’s lower vest button, his stump tall stood up straight, and his fore legs had an uneasy motion, as if they wanted to reach out after something. “ Nice old fellow!" began Ripley, thinking to beguile the dog; “good doggy—nice doggy— don’t you know me ?’ r The dog seemed to have heard the voice before, and he sat down and lost a little of his fierce look. This encouraged Ripley, and he started to go out, but he had taken but a few steps when the dog took half a yard from the back of his cost and brought away a piece of flesh. Ripley fell over the peck measure, and the dog took another mouthful, but did not pur sue to the comer. “Obi jewhittaker to Jerusalem I” groaned the dog-buyer as he leaned np against a barrel and saw the dog calmly ruminating over the last mouthful. . . The canine eat up again and smacked his lips, and uttered a growl which reverberated around the bam like thunder. He closed one eye and peered at Ripley with the other, and then, moved his paws around with that reckless, uneasy manner before mentioned. Ripley began yelling for help, but be hadn’t yelled more than three times before the dog checked him with a look that spoke volumes. Then he wont at the beguiling business again. " Here, Tiger,” he called, snapping his fingers, “nice Tiger—best dog in Detroit—poor old doggy.” Tiger uttered a whine and beat Ben Butler’s Dream on the floor with his stump narrative, while a tear of tender love stole into each eye. The thing was all right now, gud Riple? started out again, keeping his the Chicago Daily tribune: Sunday, june i, isn back behind him. Ho had half crossed the floor when he felt buzz-saws, and red-hot' irons, and pitch-forks jabbing him all over. Ho went up and camo down, turned handsprings and jumped from the trapeze, and in a moment was back in his corner and the old dog was sit ting up as before. Ripley couldn’t sit clown, and ho didn't feel like r standing up. and so he leaned up against the 'barrel-and rcckleably abused and iusulted the dog. He called him an old loafer, a “ring” thief, a back-salary stealer, a carpet-bagger, and a Mormon, and then wont on and abused every one of the canine relatives, back to the great grandfather. . At length, after being a prisoner for nearly three home, some boys discovered the maos situation. By his direction, they went for a grocer, .who keeps a revolver, and the grocer came and released the prisoner by shooting the dog. Ripley came up to town to. have his wounds dressed, and they numbered twenty-three differ ent bites, and wore impartially distributed over a largo extent of territory. However, there’s nothing like keeping a family watch-dog. AN OLD-TIME TRAGEDY. A Bridegroom murdered by the Bride’s Brother—Thoßride Stabs Mcrself and Falls Bead on Her Husband’s Body—The Assassin Strang Cp to a Neighboring- Tree. A writer in tbeHhiontovm (Pa.} Geniua of Liberty contributes the following article: ‘ The following scrap of unwritten history, re-; ferring to the southern part of this township, wo have gathered from the most authentic source, and give it to your readers with the thought that it may prove new to most of them: In the olden times there lived..near to the village of Arlington, now called Masohtown, a family by the name of Collins.- This family had for neighbors and tenants a family named Bad cliff. These families both resided on what was .known, in that time, as the Hollins tract of land, .their houses being only separated by a narrow stream known in these days as Fisher’s Creek. These two families were by natural inclination, education, and in all their tastes as widely opposite as the poles. The Collins family were of French descent. and had inherited all the polish, politeness, and. hauteur that have ever , characterized that people. The Badcliffa were of Teutonic origin. Frugality, honesty, and in dustry were the German elements that still cling to them. Both families were engaged in the honorable pursuit of tilling the soil for a liveli hood. The children of both families wero bud ding into womanhood and manhood at the time the events we aro about to record took place. Ellen, the name of Miss Collins, and the heroine of this tradition, was a beautiful blonde, tall, slender, comely, and queenly in her appearance, with beautiful golden tresses that .hung carelessly and fascinatingly over a bust well rounded, and as white as alabaster. Ellen, like most heroines, was possessed of a pair of bright and beautiful gray eyes and a pretty mouth. It is not marvel ous that Cupid/s dart, charged with gracious smiles, shaped by such a mouth and aimed by such eyes, should have gone home to the soul and pierced through and through the susceptible heart of young Henry Badcliff. Henry, our in formant states, was.of. medium height, strong frame, very dark complexion, but manly in his appearance. These two young persons appear to havo represented the two extremes of nature —the one being very light and the other very dark—but this difference in personal appearance only served to make their attachment reciprocal and stronger; for their love for each other, as every circumstance connected with the tragedy proves, was of the purest and most exalted nature. This love, which has been glowing with tha utmost ardor, had entirely escaped the notice of the parents of either party for over a year, although they had their frequent places of tivsting. Thus ample time had been given for what, at one time, might have been thought* a mere attachment or regard for each other to ripen into the strongest infatuation. Notwith standing the remonstrances of her parents and tho threats of her brother Edward, Ellen re mained true to her love, and when asked by Henry to be his wife she quietly consented, and the bargain was sealed by Henry impressing an affectionate kiss on the dimpled cheek of Ellon, and tho young couple vowed to Heaven that they should be one or die in the attempt. Tho princi pal objection of the Collinses to young B&dcliff was, that he was not rich in worldly goods, but his habits of industry and sobriety should have compensated for all this; but it seems not, for they very reluctantly consented to bare tho wedding, at tho home mansion, after remon strances, threats, and every appliance known in snch casoa bad been exhausted. After the usual delays incident to such occasions, the day fixed for the celebration of the nuptials arrived, and a beautiful day it was—one of those bright, cheery May mornings when all of God’s creatures, birds, flowers, and everything, appear to be con spiring to render mortal beings happy. About 10 o’clock a, m. of the eventful day, the Bev. Mason, together with the members of both families, except her brother Edward, who was teaching school in New Geneva, wore assembled in the home parlor nervously awaiting tho ap pearance of the happy couple. They did not wait long. It was but a moment until their quick footsteps were heard descending the stairs, and, entering the parlor with light hearts full or hope for tho future, the reverend gentleman proceeded at once to perform the marriage cere mony. When about half through with the cere mony her brother Edward, who bad got tho news of the wedding, rushed into the parlor with lightning speed, and Uio ferocity of «■ demon depicted In every feature, pistol in hand, aimed at the head of Henry. The ball took effect in tho left temple, and the unfortunate young man foil dead at the feet of his half-inode bride. - Quick as thought. Ellen, who appears to have had a presentiment of the fe&rfol ending of things, ’and true to her lover, drew ft dagger from her bosom she had concealed for that purpose, plunged it into her heart, and fell a lifeless corpse across the dead body of her intended husband. It is hardly necessary to state that a tragedy’ of such proportions caused the greatest excitement in the neighborhood. It was but afew moments until tho news spread from house to house, and the neighbors flocked to the scene of carnage.- there to find the assassin motionless as a post and unable to .move from the presence of his victims. The sight, of the dead bodies, especially . Ellen, naturally pale, now-xendered more beauti ful andmarblerlike by loss of blood, so enraged and maddened the neighbors that, m their great baste for the blood of Edward, they took him to the nearest sapling, where his body was strung up and left to feed and fatten the ravens of the forest. Ellen and Henry were tenderly cared for by friends, and their bodies encircled with a wreath of flowers and roses, and' placed in one grave together. , ~ This tragedy, which has hardly a parallel m the history of any country, is said to have occurred within half *milo of the now prosperous village of Masontown. 0. T. Reporters’ Rights. From the Louisville (Sy.) Evening Herald, May 22. A number of tho loading newspapers of the country have made unfavorable comments on the exclusion of the Times reporter from a church in Chicago, From a cursory review of tho matter prepared for the Sunday Times hy the excluded reporter, in “Walks Among tho Churches,” we think that be might rejoice in getting off as easily as he did, or in other words, saving tho day and tho place, ho ought to havo been kicked out and then kicked again after he got out for being on the street. Indeed, we think such a reporter, or the men who. employ him, should bo Kicked for being anywhere. If the same sort of series of scurrilous articles had been published about any other class of men, or societies, than .ministers and their churches, the fellow would not have had a whole hide for a single week. Yet Sabbath after Sab bath, for months, the moat low, vile, and filthy ‘ stories have disgraced the columns of the Fun day Times about the churches, low gossips mag nified, the eccentricities of ministers caricatured, the personal appearance of loading members exaggerated, the ladies slandered, and all in such tone and spirit as to make the impression upon the unthinking that the churches are nests pf vile hypocrisy and crime. No more disgraceful or disreputable articles ever appeared in any police gazette that ever fell under our eye. The public sentiment of Chicago entirely ap proves the action of the church that so mildly excluded him from writing his vile diatribes during the hour of public worship, ia the pres ence of aIL . Tli© Umbarcll Story# From the Few York Tribune • It Is related that on one occasion an old lady crossing the Desert of Sahara in the middle of the day, alone and unattended, with the excep tion of an nmbarell, was followed—there being no policeman in sight—by a fierce and vengeful tiger, or some such dreadful animal—it may have been a rhinoceros or chimpanzee— is immaterial. The animal was about to spring upon her—if it was the kind of an animal that springs, which we forgot about—when, _ with groat presence of mind, she opened her mnbareu sudden and unexpected-like right in his face and eyes, just as you may have seen a middle-aged woman hurst out of a dry goods store sometimes with an nmbarell in front of her, which she opens into the face of some gentlemanly-appearing person who isn’t expecting her. The wild beast was so exasperated that ne turned round and went away. Since then old ladies crossing the Desert of Sahara habitually cany umbrellas, whatever the weather probabilities are. WHAT GAFvIE OF THE-FiRE. - Uncle Dashaway rode over to Daisy Lodge in his trim little carryall. Aunt Hannah was sick, he said ; had been ailing for a week, and she wanted mo. “ But what shall I do with my guest,” I asked, “standing out there in the sunshine, ankle-deep in red clover ?” ; “ Your guest! I didn’t know you had one.” “Yes, my. old friend, Blanche Heath; don’t you remember her ?” “ Blanche Heath ? I think I do,” he said, hes itatingly, a curious, amused expression in his face, and the color came to his cheek; “that wild little thing who rode Deacon Hide’s horse that tim*—oh, yes, yes.” “ But, Uncle Dash, that was ten years ago,” I said; “she was wild then, rather. Wo 1, you see I can’t leave her, andl can’t send her homo.” “Bring her to the. parsonage; you' must come, you know; Hannah has sot her heart upon It.” - I shook my head. Blanche' had been' my visitor only for two days, and 1 had invited her for a month.. ‘Would she go to the parsonage ? would she remember ?—and here I laughed to myself. .“ I suppose I must,” I.said. at last; “ and I’ll see what I can do with Blanche.” “All light; Vm off to town. At half-past 3 sharp”—he took out his great moon-facod, sil ver watch—“ I’ll bo.back, be ready pray don’t keep me waiting.’* I went into the house in some little trepi dation. Would Blanche accompany mo? To leave her by herself was out of the question; There had been, a time—at least I had fancied so—when a word, a look, from Uncle Dash had set her pulses bounding, but I r feared she bad never been a favorite of. tho rector. He had only seen, tho wild, thoughtless girl, who sat under his ministrations because it was the thing to attend ohurch and behave decorously while there. She vexed him with her merry, thought less ways: her ready laugh and gay attire were distasteful to him: the laugh, because it was so often out of place; tho dress, because he was a man of sober notions, but I sometimes thought ho liked her witching dark eyes, and innocent, expressive face. It seemed he did remember her ride on the deacon’s horse, a slow, stupid animal, too old for active work. Blanche had caught him once in the deacon’s pasture ; and, after dressing his ears, mane, and tail in the most ridiculous fashion, with bunches of grass and flowers, and long rings of pine-shavings, she had sprang upon his back, herself m fantastic attire, a long red scarf tied about shoulders- and waist, her brother’s straw hat. on her head, and urged the creature into a trot. Old Bosinante became frightened at last, it put speed in his lean bones; he; began to run, and sue clang to him,-terrined and screaming, until tho beast stopped short, right in front of tho rector’s study-window. Of comae, .the whole household was there to see, and it was a scene for a painter. . Poor Blanche came home crying with vexation, and declaring that she hated ministers of all sorts, they never make any kind of allowance for the fun in one’s nature ; in fine, she was so thoroughly mortified that she did not go inside the church door for weeks. As 1 entered the sunny little parlor, smiling over the recollection, Blanche turned round with a questioning glance. How the golden gleams rippled all over her hair—that fine red-brown one rarely sees save In old paintings—and her eyes were sweeter and graver than before! Twenty-eight was more beautiful than 18. 44 If I were a man I should fall in love with you this minute," I said, going toward her and kissing her on the forehead. • 44 If you wore a man, I don’t think you’d kiss me that way,” she answered, laughing, 44 but who was it you were talking with ?” 44 Uncle Dash.” A rosy flush crept along her cheeks. 44 Oh,” she said, saucily, 44 the Rev. Dashaway Morrifield; I have good cause to recollect him, he doubtless, considered me the one black sheep in his flock.” 44 1 don’t believe it,” I said, quietlv. 44 Oh, but he did, and I don't wonder at it either, when I look back. Do you remember the day he found my Sunday-school exercise, and what I bad written on the back ? I do to*this day, it was: 4 Dash, Dasher. Dashed, Dashover, Dashunder, Dashaway Herrifleld.’ Upon my word, I saw the oomers of his mouth curl when ho read it, black as bo looked—but what business had he with such a ridiculous name ? I know he almost hated me for it; in fact, I hated myself, for I had set the whole class in a. giggle, and you couldn’t go a dozen steps after that, any day in the week, but you would hear some hateful boy rattling it over at the top of his lungs. Oh, I don’t blame him in the least for disliking mo; lam sure I have thoroughly despised my self for it ever since. "Why didn T t he come in i ” 44 He was in a huny, my dear. I spoke of you, and he remembered you ” —I could hardly speak for laughing—- 4 4 in connection with Dea con Hide’s horse. 41 Oh, my goodness 1 yea, of course he remem bered that. ,p For a moment Blanche looked disconcerted; the soft flush mounted to her temples, and she pulled her thread earnestly till it broke. ,' A ,

. ** That was the one thing I didn t care to bo perpetuated in anybody’s recollection,” she said in a low voice. 44 1 never like to think of it, nor of the look he gave me that night. But it was so ridiculous! Old Rattlobones in the moon light, whisking his decorations as if delighted at having brought retribution upon my devoted head. I, with that hideous straw hat dangling over my shoulders, my curls flying, and every body in tho house at the windowlooking at me. I was in such a rage I and old Grace the cock called me a little heathen. Anne, did you over hear of the old minister who was rebuked for levity ? He said he hoped he loved tho Lord, he thought he did, hut he was afraid the funny part of his nature had never been converted. That’s my case, precisely. What a ridiculous time it was I and your uncle—well, no matter what he said; I'haven’t forgotten, though per haps he has. However, it settled me for a time, didn’t it?” - iAI _ 44 1 think fou were somewhat more settled after that," I said, laughing at her quaint por trayal; “ but I have an invitation for you, and from Uncle Dash, too.’’ “An invitation ?” ■ “Yes, you are to go to the parsonage with me; Aunt Hannah is sick.” • -■ “And why am I asked there ?” “Why, Aunt Hannah needs me, and I’m not going to leave you here.” Igo to the parsonage I" Indeed X will not; I’ll stay and keep house by myself.” “You whftll do no such thing, that’s decided; -you must go with me; I alwayshad my way with .you, and fm not going to give up now; besides, Unde Dash bade mo bring you, and I have al ways obeyed him as if he .were my father.” “I’dlike to see myself obeying!” she said, with aepiceof the old spirit; “it’s no use, Anne—X won’t go.” Her cheeks crimsoned, and she began to sew as if her life depended upon the completion of the work in hand. As for me, I cuddled down beside her, and put my arm about her neck, and coaxed her till she gave reluctant consent; and we went up-stairs together to put away the few things we needed in traveling-satchels. “We can come over to Daisy Lodge easily enough when we need anything more, I said, pressing down the top of an old cedar chest where I kept what little silver I had. M “ I shall need something very soon, then, said Blanche. ** I’m not going to stay at the Earsonage to be haunted by the ghost of old •eacon Hide’s horse.” She laughed, but her cheeks were aflame, and her lips trembled. How was Ito know that, down deep in her trunk, in a dainty crimson case, smiled the lineaments of my handsome uncle, and that the miniature was painted from memory, she not having seen him in all those ten years ? At Z we were ready, all but our bats and shawls. I could see that Blanche was ill at eaae as she sat knitting on the faded green lounge — she was never idle. . “It’s a ridiculous notion,” she said, half petu lantly, “ when I could take care of myself so well in this sunshiny little place.” “But I want you for company,” I pleaded. “ Every moment of leisure I get I shall fly Id you. Uncle Dash is always head over ears m his books; he loves that old study so well that I am persuaded he never will look for a wife; and there are so many fine women in the parish waiting and ready.” “ That’s always the cry, * so many waiting and ready.*” she answered, her lips curling; “and Just think of the gossips, whit will they say r Anne Horrifield, I won’t go!” “ Yea you will,” said I, quietly, “ because you have promised, and we are ready—there s the 'carryall, and only a quarter past 3. Uncle Dash is more than punctual.” Blanche rose and turned hastily from me. She was putting her work away when Uncle Dash opened the front-door; and, at that men ment, with her slender figure, brown eyes and curls, she looked so like a girl of 18, as she met my glance, that I was startled. “I?or pity’s sake, Anne—”* The sentence was never finished; for the door opened, and there stood Uncle Dash, as straight and handsome as ever, nil'll lilt} biuuc iuuq biuiiv uyuu »u^/u< His brown face flashed a little. . " * “I haidiy need to bo introduced,” ho said, with alacrity, and hia eyea lingered on her beau tiful face.' “ Oh, no, you had cause enough to remember me,” she answered, airily, giving him her hand, her cheeks like blush-roses. “And I have not forgotten—your sermons.” His eyes danced for a moment, and then he looked grave again. -1 fancied he thought of the moonlight ride, and the deacon’s crippled horse with hia caudal decorations; but he said noth ing more, and presently we were snugly stowed away in the cheerful little carriage. The drive was a delightful one; fields nch with grain, the wayside flowers, and the trees, just turning from blossom to fruit, . basked drowsily in the - red sunshine. Every little cottage on the was a picture with its low, sloping roof, and vines of Virginia creeper, and fragrant, yellow-dotted honey suckle. The bees were very busy rocking on slender sprays, or flitting from honey to dew. The distant homes showed white against the living wall of green hill-sides—away off beyond field, elope, and river,. the purple. top of Wam pum Mountain blended with, the faint, ruiet-like azure of the summer sky, across which floated millions of drifting, snow-white clouds. Nowand then a yellow-haired child made a pretty bit of color against the dark opening of hall or room ; sometimes a rustic maiden stood among the flowers, smiling bashfully as she recognized the rector. “ Nothing seems altered along this sleepy old road,” said Blanche, softly; andl could see that her thoughts were busy with, the past,—“at least nothing but the people. I suppose that pretty young woman we Just passed; In tho bright yellow dress, was a little thing m short frocks when I went away,—what lovely eyes she had!” .. . “ Yes, that was Tilly Morton; she was a slip of a girl, only 9, when you left the village.. Slio is 19 now, and a wife. “ How old it makes me feel!” murmured Blanche. “ Yes, you look old,” I answered, demurely. “I should take you to be almost 20 if I didn’t know you.” “ Hush! I won’t have any of your flattery Just as Tm beginning to fancy myself improv ing, too; there’s Miss Hoxie’s little red house by the mill-stream, and’ the bit of a wooden bridge.” “Miss Hoxio is dead,” I responded; “left all her money to Bessie Trowbridge. Bessie is older than yon, very rich, and people say," I whisper ed, “ that she worships the very shadow of ” I nodded toward Uncle Dash. 1 was not prepared for the look that came into the face of my friend. She crimsoned, bit her Up, caught nervously at the ribbon that confined her hat, and I thought, as I turned away, my confusion almost equal to her own, that there were tears in her eyes. We were silent after that, and Uncle Dash pointed out the new mill, the recently-built steeple, and the various im provements. When we arrived at the parsonage, he helped us out of the carriage, and, with the words, “Take her into the parlor, Anne," led the horse by a side-path to the bam. We stopped a moment in the brown, old fashioned porch, to praise the roses hanging in great clusters from trellis and pillar; then we went into the wide, cool hall, filled with the odor of the honeysuckle that clung to tho garden-walls. “Nothing is changed,” half-laughed, half sighed Blanche/ looking at the solid furniture and all its sombre surroundings. “ Oh, dear, how things do need lightening up! Anne, Daisy Dodge is paradise to this. How I wish you would let me stay there! Its cosy little rooms just suited me. Dm going back.” “ Not to-day, my dear; so try and be content ed,” I said. “ Make yourself as happy as possi ble, while I go up and see Aunt Hannah.” “ Yes, Til read a cheerful chapter in the 4 Book of Martyrs,*” she rejoined. Aunt F«nnfl.b was very ill. I saw that at a fiance. She scarcely lifted her languid eyes as went toward her. She was a little woman, and tho drapery of the great easy-chair almost hid her from sight. After a languid welcome, she said: “ I thought I heard another voice.” 44 Yes, aunt,” 1 replied; “my friend, Blanche Heath, was at my house on a visit, so I brought her with me.” 44 Good gracious. Anno! that honied Heath girl I” cried Aunt Hannah, her little yellow face puckering in a hundred wrinkles, and the bor ders of her cap shaking with sudden indignation. 44 1 did hope sne’d never come back. She ain’t a going to stay, I trust ? You know I never could bearhor.” 4 4 She must stay as long as I do. Aunty,” I said, quietly. 44 Of course; you always do have your way. hut I tell you what, FU get well in a hurry. It don’t suit my notions to have her here, a young, wild thing, and your uncle a single man. Ob, I understand it all—tho designing creature I" 44 Now, don’t you worry a bit, Aunt Hannah,” said I, determined not to he annoyed. 44 Blanche is quite sure of being an old maid, and I don’t fhinif Uncle Dash wul ever trouble himself to ask any woman to have him. Besides, Blanche is even now too young and too pretty to bo cooped up forever in this old-fashioned place.” “Humph! you mean it’s too good for her, or you ought to. I don’t forget her tricks, or the trouble she brought on folks, calling the rector names, riding wild horses, and dressing like a circus-woman, the hussy I However, as I said afore, you will have your way; only there’ll bo a talk; you know what a place this is for gossip .and back she sank helplessly, adding, queru lously, 44 Do make mo some gruel. I’m starv ing, and I can’t eat a thing that Grace cooks.” Poor old Grace! she had outlived her useful ness, and Uncle Dash would not for a moment hear of changing her for a more competent cook; but in this matter I was as helpless as ahe, for gruel was something I could not make. Custards, and pies, and broad, and all sorts of ordinary cooking, I could manage, but not gruel, so I hurried down stairs to Blanche. She was an adept in prepara tions of that kind, for she had lived years with an invalid aunt; so, at my request, she went into Hie kitchen and donned one of Aunt Han nah’s white aprons, turned her sleeves over tho fair round arms, and went to work. She stood over the fire, stirring in the oatmeal, when Un cle Dash came into the kitchen for some paste, and stopped short at sight of her. 44 Anne has put me into harness.” she said, ' laughing and blushing. I was loosing at him, and was conscious of a quicker beating of the heart, a strange,* suppressed triumph at the ex pression of his oyes. 44 What does it mean ? ” I said to myself. I looked back at her; her glance was fixed up on the white mass she was so busily stirring. 44 1 see,” said Uncle Dash, resuming his usual manner— 4 4 useful occupation; " took down his paste-bottle and went out. 44 What could it mean ? ” I said to myself again, energetically, for I was puzzled. 44 Just like all the laughed Blanche, a little contemptuous fling m her manner; 44 if a woman is only useful 1 ” 44 1 hope you don’t think we were bom merely to be ornamental, my dear ? ” said I. 44 1 don’t know—perhaps,” she answered pet tishly; 44 there— tho gruel is made.” I carried it up to Aunt Hannah in the best china bowl. It was 44 delightful; just the flavor exactly; just what she had been wanting so long. What a treasure I was! and now she was sure she should get well, for nothing bad tasted like that gruel. Why, where did you learn how, my dear—you were never sick or with sick peo ple?” She was at the last spoonful now, so I gath ered courage to say, as I took the bowl and turned away, that I never made a dish of eatable gruel in my life—that Blanche Heath made it. Her face relapsed into wrinkles. 44 Wouldn’t a touched a mouthful if Pd known it,” said Aunt Hannah, with a disgusted air; whereupon, in my small way, and with dne def erence to her superior wisdom, I gave her a lec ture upon the sin of prejudice, and almost won her over to think well of my favorite. At the tea-table that evening Blanche looked charming—not girlish, but youthful; and the gentleness of her manner would, I was sure, make a pleasant impression upon Uncle Dash. 1 missed tho wit and sparkle of her conversation, and it was evident she felt herself in the pres ence of one who had misunderstood her, and was perpetually on* her guard. Only once she alluded to some little incident that lighted his whole face with hardly* suppressed merriment, and I was almost certain he was thinking of. 44 Dash, Dasher,” etc., but he said nothing, and Blanche looked as if she wished herself away. 44 1 shall only stay till to-morrow,” she said, as we left the table together, “Don’t try to keep me ; if you do, PU run off and go home.” 44 Very well; we’ll see when to-morrow comes,” was my reply. . , Grace, the old cook, came up for oraors after tea. “Tm rot past usefulness jit, Aunt Anne,” aha said to me, “ though my grnel dont auit.” “ Now, Grace!” exclaimed Aunt Hannah, with a reproachful glance. “Law, Miaa Humor, don’t mind me,” whim pered Grace, who idolized her mistress, “I'm past 80, you know.” She went closer to the bedside, and looked wistfully down into the little care-worn face. “I kissed ye often when ye were a little one,” she said, a strange, yearning look in her eyea. “Kies mo now, Grace; jnat fancy I’m a littlo one again,” said Aunt Hannah. The old woman hent lower, touched Aunt MMUWXU u tVIOUMU ntiu UM , _ r «. y left tho room. At the door she turned back. “The Lord ha’ mercy onna all!” she said solemnly, and was gone. “ I shouldn’t wonder,** said Aunt Hannah, in a low voice, “ if Grace was going to die.” I sat up late that night reading, while Aunt Hannah slept. Tho nouse was very still, as houses in the country are. I heard Uncle Dash lode up the house—he always carried tho key to his study. Twelve o’clock struck; Aunt Hannah still slept. I fell into a doze by the side of the bed. How long I had been asleep X cannot tell, but I was rudely wakened. I had to shake you, dear,” said Aunt Han nah; “ there’s trouble—l heard a frightful scream; "What shall wo do ?” •. I sprang up; the cxy was repeated; it was the voice of Blanche. “My dear, there’s an unusual light; it*s not the moon—it’s fire!” screamed Aunt Han nah, sitting bolt upright. “The Lord have merer onus! and wo so far from the town.” 1 new into tho hall. Tho atmosphere was stifling; - Presently Blanche met me, nearly dressed, her eyes wild and glittering. “It’s on the study-floor!” she gasped, “all that wing is on Are; it has just broken out iu my room. Don’t for the love of Heaven open the door! it will feed the flame. The smoko made* mo etupid. If I hadn’t hoard Grace! O Anne, poor old Grace!” sho sobbed. “What shall we do? how shall wo get your aunt out? and where is your uncle? O Anna 1 his sleepiug-room is on the study-floor, and wo have not heard him yet. Surely if he had escaped he would have warned os. Hark! hear the flames roar! God help us I Quick, Anne, we must take your aunt down before tho fire gets through. omy God I. what a night! ” We hurried into my aunt’s room nearly fran tic, Blanche shouting “Fire!” all the way. It seemed to mo as if they most hear it at the town when her voice sounded loud and shrill from the open window.. We helped poor, be wildered Aunt, Hannah down-stairs, the Are. following us, undid tho faatfeninga of the par lor-windows, and were soon outside. * “O! Anne can nothing be saved? must the dear old house go ?” cried Blanche, white with terror. “And poor old Grace, burned to death, and your uncle ” —she caught her breath. _ I flew round to the wing where the study was, half delirious with apprehension. The 'awful, horrible sight! The whole interior of that part of the bouse was a mass of whirling red flame. Where, indeed, was my uncle? He would not have gone for nolp, leaving us in danger. I was almost paralyzed with dread—it had all come so suddenly. Aunt Hannah clung to me half faint ing, moaning her brother’s name. At that moment the clang of the church bell smote upon the night. “They know it now I” cried Blanche. “ Too late! too late 1 Hear tho Are roar! Ob, what pitiless demons the flames aro I and see how the sparks and brands are falling! . Carry your aunt to tho field yonder; poor soul, all is lost!” Aunt Hannah at these words seemed suddenly to lose what little strength sho hod; between ns, Blanche and I bore her out of danger and laid her upon the ground. . - “ This is too dreadful 1” moaned Blanche, whoso great tearless eyes were strained and bloodshot. “ See, how tho people are coming. How it lights their faces up!” she added, shud dering. “ They can’t save anything—the whole house is in flames—see them work i can’t we do something, Anne ? I shall go mad if I don’t. Oh Anne, where is he?” “ Don’t, Blanche,” I said, shuddering, and bid my face. “I will, I will talk about him, now that he is gone; I will say he was the dearest, best, most noble creature God ever made. Oh Anne, Anne, only God knows how I loved him!” and, with a cry that embodied all the bitter agony of her soul, she fell into my arms sobbing and moan ing. “Anne, let me take her,” said a voice that sent shudder and thrill through every vein of my heart. I turned; there stood the rector, and Aunt Hannah was sobbing like a child. “Blanche, he is hero I” I cried, joyfully; “lookup, dear, he is saved I” but she did not hear mo, she had fainted quite away; so I placed her in his arms, and he hold her close to his heart, his lashes wet, his lips quivering as from the fulness of his heart, he gave thanks to God, and he told me, holding her still till more help came, how he had left the parsonage stealthily somewhere near the hour of midnight, and gone over to the church-study to look for some missing papers; how, after a long search, he liad found them, and then the whim took him to write, and ho wrote till the clock in the tower struck 1; and then he left the church for home, and when he had gone a few steps he saw the fire, and thought it was in the direction of the parsonage.; that he ran back long enough to give the fire-alarm and then hurried home. “ Did yon hear what Blanche said?” I whis pered. I had no need to ask; his face was a revelation. I learned then that he had loved her always—had straggled in vain to overcome the lovo which, to him, seemed almost sin, be cause, apparently, she was so different from his ideal—so vain and worldly, so far away in heart and mind. Oh, how little he had known of the sweetness, strength, and purity of the merry and tm e-heart ed girl 1 Aunt Hannah was carried to Daisy Lodge ; Blance recovered sufficiently to walk there, lean ing upon the arm of Undo Dash. There’s another parsonage now, and Aunt TTurmnh, who is an invalid still, stays at Daisy Lodge with mo. She is very fond of Blanche, and tells everybody, who will listen, that her brother has found a prize in his wife. “But who would ever have thought,’’ she adds,. 44 that a girl so full of mischief would make such an excellent woman ?”— Appleton's Journal, A Jewish Ceremony* It is from the Jewish World that we learn the particulars of a very curious ceremony called 44 The Burying of the Law,” which lately took flace in the Spanish synagogue of Jerusalem, t happens once every eight or ten years, and is accompanied by the following circumstances: There is in the 44 Talmud Torah” synagogue a subterranean cave, wherein every old leaf tom out from the Holy Book, every old worn-out Bible, Gemara, and phylactery is deposited by all the Jewish inhabitants of Jerusalem of every Hinhag. After eight or ten years, when the cave is full, these old papers and book are brought out and made up into' bales. This done, the Jews begin to assemble at a given time in the afternoon. A kosher , or faultless, Sepher Torah, richly ornamented, and jeweled, is brought by the Cach&zn Baahi, and carried by him, and the other rabbis in turn at the head of the procession ; he is followed by the other rabbis; next come the bales, about seventy or eighty in number, each carried by a Jew; and then the rest of the people. The pro cession slowly winds its way out of the Zion gate for some distance along the city wall, and then descends into the Valley of Jehoshaphat, where the burial-ground is situated. Here is a very deep well, where the bales are finally thrown, amid the singing of the joyous crowd. —Once a Week . Extraordinary Frauds In England* The death of John Henry. Skyrme, a solicitor in extensive practice at Boss, Herefordshire, has caused great excitement in that locality. After about twenty-four hours of occasional frightful convulsions, ho died. In two days ho was buried, and the town, out of respect, partly cioned all shops. All tno officials of the town followed his corpse to the grave. He was clerk to the Com missioners, Lieutenant of the volunteers, etc., etc., and every honor was paid to his memory. Laudatory notices appeared in the two local newspapers, with marks of mourning. Ho was supposed to bo a rich man, holding more house property in and around the town than any other person ; as well as a fine landed estate near the town, and a large one near Uek, in Monmouth shire, called Court St. Lawrence. Scarcely had the grave been closed, however, before a strange revulsion of feeling ran through tho town. People began to find they were victims of fraud, forgeries turned up at once of an astounding character—sham mortgages, sup pression of deeds, sales of property previously mortgaged, involving ruin to numerous families. A lady of Hereford let him have £1,700 to in vest, and that has been embezzled. A gentle man of Hereford let him have every pound he was worth to place on mortgage; he has deeds, but they represent only a forgery. A brother attorney in tho town is victimized by another sham mortgage. A lady bought a house, and it belongs to a builder; be suppressed one set of deeds and supplied another. The extent of the frauds can only be guessed at present. He has an overdaawn banking account of £20.000, and be owes large sums in Gloucester. Tho tradesmen of Boss are all more or loss involved. His credit was good for any amount, and now it appears that there will pot be a penny dividend for any one. It ia scarcely possible to adequately describe the excitement and pain and disappointment which has been caused in the town. Tho late Mr. Skyrme was one of tho most respected in tho place—open handed and open-hearted, generous to fault, ac cessible and pleasant, without pretension or pride; living apparently within his means, with a young wife and a baby, and all appeorod hap piness and prosperity. Many shook them heads at his wide building and other speculations, hut as to fraud no one dreamt about it. - It appears he mad© a will the day ho took ill; and the symp toms of his sudden illness, the fact that that day he bad been to meet exasperated creditors in uwuvwivi) w..» mwj w m *uigCl y tunas come to light, point \q poison as tho probable cause of death. A PICTURE Once, morn by morn, when snowy mountains flamed With sadden shafts of light that shot a flood Into the rale like fiery arrows aimed At nigh: from mighty battlements, there stood. Upon a clilT high-limned against Mount Hood, A matchless boll fresh forth from sable' wold. And standing so seemed grander 'gainst the wood Than winged bull that stood with tips of gold Beside the brazen gates of Babylon of old. A time he tossed the dewy turf, and then Stretched forth his wrinkled neck, and long and load Be called above the far abodes of men. Until his breath became a curling cloud And wreathed about bis neck a misty shroud. Ho then; as sudden as he came, passed on With lifted head, majestic and most proud; ’ And lone as night, in deepest wood withdrawn. He roamed in silent rage until another dawn. What drove tho hermit from the village herd— What cross of love, what cold neglect of kind. Or scorn of unpretending worth had stirred The stubborn blood and drove him forth to find A fellowship in mountain-cloud and wind— I ofttzme wondered much; and often thought The beast betrayed a royal monarch’s mind, . To lift aboTe the low herd’s common lot, And make thszn hear him still when they had fain forgot. - —Joaquin Miller, in (he “ Overland ” for June, n unlOH. Utilizing Nature’s forces—Teaching swallows to skim milk. —A cynio describes marriage as an altar on which man lays his wallet ana woman her affec tions. —Little girl at the breakfast table— 1 * Mamma, this is very old butter, —I’ve found a gray b*ir in —Should a pickpocket. attempt to steal your watch, toll him you have no time to spare. . —Sediments make good emigrants. They are sure to settle. . How can a man see the point of a joke when be is the butt? ■ . —ln correcting children, we should appeal to the intellect before resorting to the other ex treme. —A now street scholar has put on paper tho fact that he would “ rather be a little girl and obey his mother than be a dog and obey the moon.” —Tipkins aroused his wife from & sound sleep the other night, saying ho had seen a ghost in the shape of an ass. “Oh. let me sleep,” was the reply of the into dame, “ and don’t bo frightened at your own shadow.” —Next boy—What is the Capital of Louisiana? Boy—lt hasn’t got none; the Kellogg fellara have stolen it all. —New Orleans Herald. —The wonder of science at Cambridge, Mass., hitherto unremarked—A Gas is tho philosopher there. —A medical writer says the healthiest position to lay in is with the head to the north. People who own hens should bear thin foot in mind. —Little Girl—“ Oh, Mr. Beeswing, is the paint you color your nose with the same as that mamma colors her cheeks with T 9 Mr. B. and mamma enjoy themselves. —A lady went out ‘with her little girl and boy, purchased the latter a rubber balloon; which es caped him and went op in the air. The seeing tears in his eyes, said : “Nevermind, Neddy; when yon die and go to Heaven yen'll get it.” —People who are always wishing for some* thing new should try neuralgia. - —* ‘ls Mike McGloakey in the ranks ?” asked the Commander-in-Chief, as the army stood in line of battle. “ Hero, Gineral,” said MiV« stepping forward. “Then let the engagement begin, ” said the General. That is the way Mike tolls the stoir. . . . . —What did the spider do when ho came out of the ark ? He took a fly and went home. —Not long since, at Sunday-school, the teacher, after trying hard to impress on the minds of s class of small boys the sin of Sabbath-breaking, asked, “Is Sunday better than any other day ?” When the smallest boy in the class answered promptly, “Youbet your boots it is,” theanp ewer seemed satisfactory. —“ How is it,” asked an enthusiastic English nobleman of a Polish refugee of high rank, “ that you regard your country's misfortunes with such stoical indifference ?” “ I have mar ried a Russian lady, and am doing my best to make her miserable.” —Shooting in Decatur County, Ind., must be nearly over for the season, A paper there says: “Milt Bryan went gunning the other day, and returned home after a twenty-four hour ramble, with 0 squirrels, 0 doves, 0 larks, 1 grasshopper and a ham sandwich.” —One of the fruit-dealers of Portland caught an urchin stealing nuts, andproceeded to'exe cute condign punishment. The boy begged to be released, because be bad just been vaccinated from a fresh cow. “ What baa that to do with it ?” shouted the infuriated fruit-dealer. “ She was a hooking cow, and it got into my blood,” was the whimpering reply. —An Elm street boy, while under the painful hallucination that bo was a Modoc, buried a pin headed arrow in his father's leg, on Saturday, very much to the surprise of that individual. The old gentleman recovered sufficiently, how ever, to impress this scion with the belief that he had actually sat on a lava-bed. * —Some years ago a lot of fellows got out on a -little time, when one of the number was taken to the lock-up. The next morning the young rn*r> sent for a friond to got him out, as be did not care to have his father know of bis incarcera tion. The friend arrived, whan the following conversation ensued: “ Ed, how did von coma here?” “I camo by two majorit* v It barf taken three policemen to lock tho feuow rrp. —A man out West who married a haa invented a device to cure her of “ eternally * E raising her former husband. Whenever aha egins to descant on his noble qualities, this in genious No. 2 merely says: “Poor. <*ear man I; How I wish he had not died I” and the lady im mediately begins to think of something else ta talk about. —ln time to catch it—(Scene: Bailway tion, some distance from town. Time, 11 Vm y Jones, who has promised the wife of his ‘oosozxr that he will return home * early that evening—■< What time does the next train start for London T. Porter, playfully—Tou’re in capital time, sir; n<x occasion to - hurry, sir; 8 o’clock to-morrow morning I—Punch. —ls tobacco injurious? This question, it Is claimed by the anti-tobacconists, has been set* tied at Hartford, Conn., where a hogshead of \ the weed rolled from the dray and broke the' teamster’s leg. —An exchange tells ua that 41 The ladies of Ironton, Mo., have united to discourage th« practice of smoking in church.” They won’tletf us smoke in railroad cars, nor in street cars, non, in private parlors, nor in theatres, and now they; want to stop ns from smoking in church. Tho* thing is becoming really alarming. —A gentleman at Aodersonvilio practices med icine, sella coffins, and preaches the gospeL Ha is trying to secure the position of sexton, when: he will pat up a sign that will read: 44 Persona killed, provided with wooden overcoats, preached over, and planted with neatness by the under-* signed. Patronize home industry.” —Boarder (revilingly)— 14 Madam, I never can' sever this steak in the world.” Landlady (rev erently)— 1 14 What God hath joined together, let not man pat asunder.” . f —The young men are becoming every day more discourteous, so the girls say.. They take their dogs instead of their lady friends out riding now-a-days. There are advantages about &' dog as a riding companion, we must admit. Her doesn’t take up much room. He doesnVmaka' remarks when horses are acting inamanner which requires your whole attention, and get enraged because yon don’t answer him. He don’t weari long veils and streaming ribbons to get into’ your eyes every time the wind blows. Ha doesn’t grab at the reins every time your horse shies or stumbles, and. moreover, ’‘nu" don’t expect him home at ban-past 5, —Twenty years ago the son of a .widowed: mother was an uneducated and half-cared for youth. He went into a store as an errand-boy, saved up his money, worked bard every day, lim ited himself to but few amusements, principally; fishing and seven-up, which he indulged in on’ Sunday, so not to injnre his employer, and he is now worth $260,000. His mother enjoys a lux urious home, with every wont attended to. and the young ia now in Europe, waiting for tho to blow over.— Danbury A'etr a. —A little school-girl in Danbury has lately had her dinner stolen.. No clue could bo obtained of the thief, although it was sought with team. Finally a mild plan was bit upon. A tempting doughnut with a filling of Cayenne pepper was placed in her pail, and the result watched. Before noon a little boy was seen at the pumo v working it in a lively manner. It seemed as If he had nod two hundred pairs of arms he could, have used them. The fire was put out, how ever, and enough of the structure saved to taka across the knee for a few minutes. —A Frenchman has discovered a method of taming and removing bees, and securing honey by tapping on the aides and top of the hivea. We remember trying that method in youthful years, before we had heard of the Frenchman. We tapped on a hive belonging to an old farmer one night, and the bees came oat first-rate, but we did not care to stay to remove the honey somehow.’ 1c seemed to us as tbnnVh almost any place in the world would be desirable when, compared to the vicinity of that hive. In thia experiment, as in the one conducted by the Frenchman, the bees possessed all their usual activity and vigor. So did we.— Vtica JBerald, 11

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