The Ellijay courier. (Ellijay, Ga.) 1875-189?, September 08, 1881, Image 1

The Ellijay courier., September 08, 1881, Image 1

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Newspaper Page Text) rurmwiu. H l l WMWIIm. hMmkt, ' NrHHil ■>■ mpib fcfc,, iWaitlMD IkaMwhH *"* AfMilateMliMlai J* 4 *• * *'■ <4, r atand M. *• world 4 as* i *nt*MUkmmW!* thtalrika Aad arlam Jam, *•* ■aarnl irmil altfc Wnw; Y*. aid* I at<h Yor c*Aa ui pa, */ faith la (taM raauiaa auUa; ®*’ whan b t j faucjrunsin* wild, *l* ra^to*** 7 UA ** l * o * r *' 1 ’ m * t *‘ Th, *te-hll telteewa reward 1" Ok I fr m.rln*, Tou’ra cftaa an Wijad ap •max ■ doer or shatter • The little boy ~'f J uat jumps with Joy , , To fee you (erred with milk and butter. WM 4adt I ter beyond the saa. By dfty thewaand atrle adored. The motto or ay ml would bar "Tba Uk-bXI lata own rewardP* Oh, noble cod! 1 .0 To you I nod; 1 Ikni araka me end and medl-Mtrw: When toned with wine You're quite dlriue tlnto the Massachusetts natlre, OJII len Tin old and beat and fray, ■ ! With wholoeomo moral* richly stored, IIU baldly face the world and ay: ' 14 The fish-ball la it* own reward!” A STRAJXGE STORY. 1 I have : a strange, almost incredible, story to tell of an experience of my own one fearful night in the woods. Tm. agination had nothing to do with it, for • <<2' am -a dmekwoedV daughter, accus tomed to the wild sounds of the forest, the londiness, and all that is terrifying , tSa novice. My father was a good man, serving God after his own simple fashion, seeing Hiifc anff loving Him in His works. I have heard him hold forth on the provi dent ways of the beaver. “ Why 1 the littjo eritter’d starve in the cold season ft it hadn’t used its little flat tail for I hujjflintots house, and then fillin' it with inffcne 1" I have heard him tell ol HigScarAou || “ Look at that, too,” ha wotfd lay, “and the moose. Now, the caribou has to travel often a matter of twenty miles for his dinner, for he’s a dainjy 'unh and only eats the long gray ■mols'that hangs from the trees ; so God gave him snow-shoes, good as an Injun "erid make ’em, to skim over the ioe crust—while the big, heavy moose there sinks right in. His dinner is close at hand. He could live for months on an acre lot.” He could speak the loon, and its adaptation in every way te its watery home—always ending such talk with : “All God’s works are ’pon honor; there’s ho half-way with Him.” J waa the only one left of ten children. My fatter, when mourning over and missing the others, would never oom 'plaih’but only say, “They’re better off, Why, if we can’t trust the little chil dren thhf don’t know the meaning of sin, there ain't any ohanoe /or the men 1’“, And so he liveddiis quift life J-his hSirt beating close to nature’s heart, and his soul unconsciously seeking and finding nature’s God. \ My mother must have been beautiful ‘ifl her ybuth. She was a lorette Cana dienne, and her bright French spirits carried her gayly over many hard trials in her life of frequent deprivation. One rcat, overshadowing sorrow of her life as the unaccountable disappearance ol her little year-old daughter, her only childr-the yqe in lie* own bu dget, wlioin ftom the' first she loved with a peculiar tenderness. . The oliild had been left alone in her llttie birch-bark crib for a short half hour, while mother was busy at the Ipriag, * mile from home, in the midst of the woods. I, little 6-year-old, was off ih the canoe with my father, as a treat for having been especially good the day before. Father and I had a splendid time—we always did when we were away together—and, our canoe full of trout, we were coming gayly home tovrard evening, when a cold chill fell on our happiness, and my child’s heart felt a strange thrill as I read a sudden anxiety in my father’s face, whose every change I knew. His quick ear had caught the sound of mother’s voice, and, after a while, I, too, could hear a hope less moan, a dreadful, heart-broken sound. We found mother kneeling on the floor, her hand leaning on the empty if 111 !® ffioaning as one that could not b% comforted. The baby was gone. Haw or where we could not tell—we never knew. Weeks were spent in fce*rc4ing : fof' her, and at length, to save mother’s reason, father forced her to log cabin in the woods by the lake, where this last sorrow had *’’ ebme tfijoil her, and we went io Mon wblrved quietly for years dur ing the winter time. .The nuns of the great convent of-the Gray Sisters took charge oT my education. Mother nud I had neat little rooms in the French quarter, while father went off moose hunting fa** weary months; hat the tsuinkilirne we always spent with him. He would choose lovely spots for our - summer encampments, never on the site of the log cabin deserted after the baby’s of my 19th year. Then a great desire took possession of my mother to go once more to the old had been very delicate that wmter, ana my great, rough father de nied her nothing, I shudderwhen I think of that beautiful, direful place now—it seems as though our evil fate ' hovered about it. All the anguish I ever knew centers thera We passed one peaceful month to gether, disturbed only by distant ru mors of diphtheria, a scourge which seemed to be striding from village to vhlag?v fif' l on 1110 r ‘ T *' r . tlien nearer us on the great lake; but we never thought of its touching us, until on* ELLIJAY COURIER. w. r. c>Mßt*i CSitnr /nd Publisher; f miserable night, when father came home, languid and feverish, from one of liis numerous expeditions, snd wo read in his fsoe that tho ghastiy finger of the scourge had set its mark upon him. After the second day of anxiety about father all strength seemed to fail my delicate little mother. From the first she had despaired about him, and now I saw that, if father's life were taken, I should have to pan with them both. Her life would die with his. for sorrow forges stronger bonds even than joy, and they had suffered so much together, his love always supporting her, iliat he had become life of her life. She conld not exist alone. I struggled hand to hand, and sick at heart against what I felt to be an in exorable fate. and. on the afternoon of the eighth day, I found myself alone and almost despairing, save for the happi ness of the two I had loved best in the world. The sunset came, as I sat by the lake side, flooding my desolated world with a heavenly glory, like a sign from them to me of their new-found joy. The stars had come out, before I ven tured to return to the worr utan deserted house. I could not hope for help from any neighbor until I sought it out iflyself the next day, and I had to look forward to a night, how horrible. I did not fore see or I could not have endured it. What followed I could scarcely credit myself, if I did not bear on my hand a tangible proof in a well-defined scar; and, even now, I could not bear to write of that night’s experience, bad not my children’s laughter, and my loving hus band’s care long since banished all un natural gloom from" my life. While I had been sitting alone on the lake shore, toward the evening, I had heard a distant shot; it scarcely roused mo. A sportsman, I thought, had wan dered from his encampment on the op posite shore, and seen some game in our wildwoods, killed it, and his canoe had long since carried him away. In the gathering darkness I groped my way back through tho familiar little path, and reached my own door. I alone should pass the threshold in the future; their feet were still; the busy feet that had toiled for me, followed me, und had ])£en pvpt pearjne !J-pts Lxgoon my, rMged path alone ! HeSfiffick and over- I stopped at tne door, and, lean ing my head against? it, sobbed in un controllable despair. Tired out at length, I had grown quiet, and was about to lift the latch, when a faint moan, as of an animal in pain, and close to me, startled me ; then a death-like silence reigned. I knew I had been mistaken. I felt that I must forget myself -anil help the poor creature in distress. “It is very good for strength to know that someone needs you to be strong.” No longer hesitating I hurried into the little cabin, struck a light and went in the direction ■whence the moan had reached my ears. I thought of the shot I had heard. It was quite possible a poor wounded deer was lying in the bushes. Yes, I could now see its skin—unmistakably a fawn —spotted dun color. It lay quite still— perhaps that moan bad been its dying gasp—and so I came quite close to it, leaned over, and, paralyzed with horror, saw my mother’s faee, only young and very beautiful, as she must have looked when a girl. Deathly pale, possibly, she lay—matted hair all about her face, and clothed in doe-skin. Just then she stirred; it was not death. All wonder ceased within me, every feeling fled be fore the thought that this being what ever, whoever she was, might be saved to life. I dragged her the few stops into the house, laid her on my hemlock boughs, untouched by me since the Bickness vis ited us. Then I found a wound in the poor Creature’s side and bound it up, bathed her head, and, in the quiet, now again I felt startled at seeing my moth er’s image, young and fair, before me, and, when at length her great eyes opened, I felt it must be that sister lost to me till now, and sent back in this sad hour to take my mother’s place. I leaned forward, in an access of tender ness, to welcome her, when a look of fright, an animal-like wild terror, took possession of her face, and a ( low sort of snarl broke from her human lips. The start she gave caused a fresh flow of blood; dimness passed over her eyes. Again I stanched the wound and pre pared nourishment In case she waked. Too busied in these ways for further speculation, only with a strange weight at my heart and weariness of body, sud denly I felt the gleam of eyes watching me. Such strange eyes! No human expression about them; a stealthy look in them now. Gently as I could I ap proached her side. She trembled and tried to hide her head when I offered her my carefully-prepared food. I moved away and studiously avoided any ap pearance of watching her. Yet I waa intensely conscious of her every move ment. I could see her eying, with a wretched, famished look, a raw venison steak that had been forgotten and lay on the table eloi m beside her. Stealthi ly, like a beast, of prey, her feeble hand Ktole toward it, and in a moment she had torn it in pieces and devoured it. ELLIJAY, GA., THURSDAY. SEITKM BER 8, 1881. Horn* “"led my heart. Could this creature U. human T I sat still in the corner, whore, myself unseen, I could watch and restrain her if necessary, and •eon—weakness overcoming her after this last effort—she lay tossing in nn eafc oleeo Oh! i wu* so weary and so very onely 1 The dreadful night was almost at an end. I went to her side, threw myself on the bed beside her, and pnt my arms about her neck. Again be* wonderful eyes opened full in my face. I fixed them with my own. I caressed her, coiled her by the endearing names of old. I liesought her to bo gentle and to love mo. I told her she was my own, the only creature left for me to love and care for ! One short second it seemed os if a soul looked out of her glorious, deer eyes, then, with a groan as if aha gave the straggle over, and with that low, fearful growl again, she fastened her white teeth in my hand. Shrieking with pain, I fainted. When I came to myself, dawn was struggling? in at the window; leaf-Bhadows flickered on the floor. Fearful pain in my hand roused me at length, and a consuming thirst drove me into the woods toward the spring to allay it. I struggled through the underbrush, and there, close to the water, discerned a confused mass. There lay my poor sister, dead, her head pillowed on a wild cat of the woods, shot by the same hand, probably, that had wounded her fatally. TELLING TRUTHS. It is very important, said Coleridge, that truth should be put into its proba ble shape in order that it may be be lieved. lam often accused of ljeing a Quaker, because I seldom give a direct answer to sundry questions; but that arises from the incomplete manner in whioh they are pnt to me. lam also sometimes charged with exaggerating facts; but my accusers seem to be ig norant that truth is like an actor on the stage, who requires a little rouge to make him look natural by gaslight The samo rule applies to everything, said the dear old sophist. H you aim at a target yon have to calculate the dis tance and elevate your arrow to a cer tain angle, otherwise it falls below the mark, tip like an orator, wiio wishes tojoonvincc, must color his re cital to tlte capacity of his hearers. An intelligent preacher should, therefore, accommodate his discourse to Ids con gregation, else he disgusts instead of convinces. When Wliitefleld told a fashionable congregation, in one of his sermons, that there were infants in hell not a span long, they shuddered and believed. At all events, they received the horrible announcement in silence. But when he preached the same doctrine" to the begrimed colliers of Newcastle, their human nature rose against it, and they pelted him out of town with coals. And yet it is evident tho thing was as true one day as another. THE OLD HIGHLAND CHIEFTAIN*. No men were .prouder of their rank and descent. Not a few of them were educated in France or England, and had once been in the habit of mixing in a society from which they seemed to be hopelessly banished. Impoverished and disappointed, thrown bock upon their own diminished resources, the petty mon archs and tyrants of all they surveyed, they lost their slight culture, and their failings grew into vices. With many of the outward signs of native high-breed ing, the Highland chief grew more and more narrow-minded, as he lived on, year after year, in a contracting circle of ideas, striving to interest himself in his shooting, fishing and cattle-breed ing. Ho wo s imitated in all respects by his tenants and kinsmen according to their lights. Bat the smaller man, while dutifully submissive to his chief, showed his inborn haughtiness still more objectionably; and, as he had known nothing of the world beyond his native -wilds, was more absolutely wed ded to his antiquated prejudices. One and all were lavish in their hospitality, though their opportunities of practicing it were less fnequent than they could have desired; for the visits of strangers were few and far between, at a time when admiration of the beauties of na ture was still a taste of the future. As for Highland festivities, when they did come off, they took the form of hard drinking—necessarily such talk as there was turned on topics that were strictly local; so that, even when the guest chaneed to be a man of ideas, he did little to enlighten the darkness of his hosts. — Blackwood’s Magazine ; a ladt in Austin sent her oolored servant, Matildy, to the grocery store to get a loaf of bread for breakfast. Matildy got back pretty soon with the bread, and as the lady of the house took it she remarked : “ This is nice, fresh bread. It is warm yet from the oven.” “ Dat ain’t what make* it hot," intemrpted Matildy. “ What does make it warm ?’> “ I put de bread under my arm and ran Hie whole way from de bakery. Dat’s wind, warmed it up so.” The bread got (-•s-l before the lady did when she heard this explanation. OVR JVVRXILKS. / With I Ytop ■ Ora-m-Up. Oh. laW 11 M crown- p. And nobody obuld say, i 1 No, n yob can't do ■ .i.d-ao," J. ‘lf nod, yds may." vwn-apVwtted to bo good Safora they bad tbstr fcin v , A great deal that te going on, I guaaa, would not be dona. Oh, I wlah I waa a grown-op. Then I’d play with bag/sr boys. And apand a hundred dollar* For nothing elaa but ton. I'd give the fellowa all a hat, a knife and kite and baft; I’d alt up late, and emretvm Wouldn't go to bed at A. Ob, I with I waa a grown-up, , I’d woar my very beat, With long gold chain a-dtngUnf Across my stiff white \tst; With big top-boots so heavy I could wsdo out anyw .are f With a gold watch In my pocket, And a olose shave on tij hair. Oh, I wish I was grown-’ip. As tall as my papa, I’d have a pistol and a cane, And marry Maggie Carr. I’d have a party every night— How joliy ifVould seem! I’d have a house of cltrrh oaka And a lawn of lemon bream. Oh, I wlah I waa a grown-up, I’d have a stunning jaaht, And eat at the first table While the beefsteak w hot; I’d go right In the parlor, No matter who was tsars; f and have a span of horstey' And keep a dancing t*,-. But, then, I ain’t a gtotti-np, I’m a boy that ties to telr.d, With a little blua-obe^kHkproa, And my tmusera ogfiHtel&d; And the women cnmegjjy kiss me. And call me “ little difcr;” And I shan’t he a grow >-up In many a long yeabflK Youth’t Companion. The King and t'i Page. A pleasant story is told of the old King Frederiok the Or#at of Prussia, Once when he rang Ida Itell for his page to come and wait on him, there was no answer. He rang again, and still there was no answer. So ft* went out into V * the ante-chamber, and there he found his page fast asleep, fhe step of the King does not awaken ljam, so soundly is he asleep. A letter staking out of the boy’s pocket catches tie King’s eye, and he is curious enoqgf isr> take it out and rejfl it. Not any more honorable that f for a than any ijLc.else. ■ Bitf*/lfcouto 1)6 afraid or ashamed of the-' curiosity, for it was a letter irom ibid poor mother, thanking him for tending her his wages, and praying (lod to reward his kindness and attention. After reading it the King went softly back to his chamber, took a bag of money, and with the letter slipped it into the pocket of the bov. Again going to his chamber he rang the boll loud enough to arouse the sleep er, who immediately answered its sum mons. “Yon have been fast asleep,” said the King. Frightened and confused, the poor boy put his hand into his pocket, and what to find but a bag of money ? He took it out, and, looking up to the King, burst into tears. “What is the matter?” asked the King. “Ah, sire,” cried the poor fellow, throwing himself on bis knees before Frederick, “ somebody is trying to ruin me. I know nothing about this money which I have just found in my pocket” “My young friend,” said the King, “God takes different ways of helping us. Send the money to your mother. Salute her from me, and tell her I will take good care of both her and you.”— Christian Weekly. Eugenio Mauricio Dengremonf . I wish that ail the children in the world might get together some beautiful Juno day, and then there certainly could be nothing more charming for them than that they should all be still for a while, and listen to the wonderful violin-play ing of Eugenio Mauricio Dengremonf the child-artist Let me tell you what I know of him: Ho was bom Marcli 19, 1866, at Rio Janeiro, Brazil, ilis father, having other boys, as well as girls, and being a musician in moderate circumstances, had no idea of making musicians of his chil dren, and did not dream that the son born to him this day was so gifted. But, at the age of 4, Mauricio asked his papa to teach him to play the violin. This his father did not feel inclined to do. He was himself a violin-player in the theater orchestra, and felt the life of an ordinary musician an uncertain one and not desirable for his son; but, the child never gave up the idea of being a vio linist, and would leave his play at any time to stand near his father and eagerly watch his practice. At last, in 1872, when the boy was 6 years old, his father removed to Monte video, where he played again in the theater orchestra, whither the boy usual ly accompanied him. Here Mauricio begged so earnestly to study the violin that his father, taking him at his word, decided to gratify him, and said; “ Well, my boy, if yon begin to study the violin, yon will hare to carry the business through.” “ I shall do so, Pa|ia,” said the boy ; and his lessons begar. Ho was so small I and so ranch in earnest I and his father spent hours llending over the tiny figure, and guid ing the boy’s little arm in the lmwiug. And now take notice, all boys and girls who “would so much love to play well, but cau’t bear to practice. ” Great as this child’s natural gifts are, he, at first, practiced three and four hours faithfully every day. To bo gifted, no doubt, makes the work easier, but a certain amount of real drudgery must be dono one who succeeds in any art, no mat ter how gifted he may be. After four months’ study, Mnurieio ‘fcould play the scales—and in thirds, also (quite difficult on tho violin) —as well and as rapidly as his father; and, be sides, he played so remarkably that his father discovered him to bo really a genius, as his name indicate and, and so ho faithfully and strictly attended to the boy’s teaching. After fourteen mouths’ study, tho father decided to allow the boy to givo his first concert, but tearing lest his son might not have the Helf-control necessary for a successful public performance, he took him to a little town—Paysander— up the river, to make trial The oonoert at Paysander entirely satisfied the father of the boy’s nerve and self-command, and, returning to Montevideo, bo gave bis first concert there to benefit tho unfortunate victims of a railroad accident. Here Ills play ing created a great excitement, and, after that, every appearance of his in üblic concerts was an ovation. Since this modest beginning in the South Ameriean town, tho boy lias been petted and flattered by all Europe, al though he was singularly unspoiled, both Bon and father being of a generous nature. But I like to think of him, in childish grace and beauty, beginnw his musical career with this kindly decU He seems to mo capable of doing such a thing nobly. After the.concert at Montevideo, and a grand concert at Rio Janeiro, he left liis brothers and sisters, and his mother —whose personal beauty he inherits— and went with liis father to try liis fort une hi the Old World. Ho first went to Lisbon ; thence to Madrid, where ho played before tin King, and received no end of honors and decorations; and from tliero to Paris, where lie gave Ten'concerts. Think Of it—sdAn’dfy' 10 yc:rrs old ! From this time—W7d- i -‘hu lwid private! lessons from Leonard, in Paris. These lessons hardly would have occupied more than a year, if given without a break, but they extended over a longer period, during whioh ho traveled over idl Eu rope, excepting Russia and Italy. Everywhere ho met with great success. Such is a meager history of this won derful boy’s ohild-life—-enough, how ever, to give us hope of a glorious man hood for him, for Matu’ieio is not An i un natural ly-precocious child—a forced hot • house blossom—hut a healthy, fun loving, boyish hoy, with buoyant ani mal spirit, and as ready for wholesome, fun as for earnest study; aud, withal, certainly much more of a child tlinp the average American hoy of liis age. But, then, when his face is quiet, the violin under his cliiu, and his bow in motion, he is again something strangely above us—a true musical genius.— St. Nicholas. THE USE OE WEALTH. There are thousands of rich men who are not skinflints, who have tho reputa tion of being so, because they have nev er been known to have done any special good with their money. A man wlio is worth $60,000 can do more to make him self loved and respected by all with whom ho comes in contact by tho judi cious expenditure of SI,OOO in charity than by giving the whole $50,000 after he is dead. It seems as though it would be mighty small consolation to a million aire to leave money to some charitable purpose after death, and be so confound ed dead that he couldn’t see tho smiles of happiness that his generosity had created. Suppose a millionaire who has never had a kind word said of him except by fawning hypocrites, who hope to get some of his money, should lay cut a beautiful park, worth $1,000,000. and throw it open free to all, with walks, drives, lakes, shade and everything. Don’t you suppose, if he took a drive through it himself and saw thousands of people having a good time, and all look ing their love and respect for him, that his hcait wonld be warmed up and that his days would be lengthened? Wouldn’t every look of thanks be worth SI,OOO to the man who had so much money that it made him round-shouldered? Wouldn’t he have more pleasure than he wonld in cutting oil coupons with a lawn-mower ? — Peck's Milwaukee Sun, THE aIEEEUEIfCE. Mic wanted to know the other day if we could tell the difference between a dromedary and the author of the “ Gal ley Slave.” While we were computing the multifarious differences there might be he took shelter behind the well-top and shouted: “ Because one’s all camel and the other’s only Bartley Campbell.” Yonkers Gazette. Logic helps us to strip off the out ward disguises of things, and to behold and judge of them in their own nature. HUBSCKII'IIdiV \’| li \r I XT FA OiY f L.TiO |i*r Annum i ’/Is. VI. ".AW, ,)2, GEN. EARTSUEE’S STORIES. “ When I was a cadet,” said he, “ I was one rainy day on sentinel duty, when Gen. Scott, who was visiting the Point, came by, wrapjied in a great military cloak and carrying a huge umbrella. See ing me pacing np and down in the rain, the old gentleman’s kind heart induced him to stop and say to me, * Young gent leman, you will catch cold out in the wet. Come under my umbrella, and walk with me up to headquarters, when I will have yon excused.’ I marched by liis side in fear and trembling, and, to my great relief, was not reprimanded by the commandant. ” Again he told us: “ 1 was once ordered to the front to take part in a forward movement under Gen. Shields. Shields, he it known, had unquestionably kissed the blarney-stone. I arrived with my regiment in the evening, and at once re ported at. the General’s tent. Thero were a number of Colonelssittingandstanding about the tout; and when I went in Gen. Shields eiune forward to meet me, and, putting his hand up to his mouth, whispered in my ear, ‘l’m glad to seo you h to,’ emphasizing tho you in a complimentary manner. Presently an other Colonel arrived and came in. when Shields stepped up to him and wont through the same motion. Then another ’rived with the samo result. When w - wore all dismissed, with or ders to report noxt morning nt daybreak, wo bid the General good-flight and walked outside together. When we were out of ear-shot, said l, ‘Gentlemen, l think I can tell each one of you what Gen. Shields whispered to him.’ ‘Wlmt? what’? asked they all. ‘Why,’said I, ‘ho silLtfrty said, 1 1 tun glad to sec you hero.’ Every Colonol bowed assent. Gen. 'Shields bad politely and politicly ad dressed to each one of us the samo grat ifying formula, bnt next day wo fought none Hie worse for that, although an oc casional smile would break out.” Again lio said : “I was ono timo dis cussing in Washington with Gen. Sheri dan tha real value of brevet rank. I argued that brevets should be limited to a very few. Sheridan contested that thay ought to be generously bostowed for meritorious services. We were in dulging in a glass of punoli together. I took up Sheridan’s gloss of. rightly com pounded punch and-pour odjdiks contents into tho water-pitcher. Trie re,’ J ex claimed, ‘ I have illustrated the value of a liberal system of brevets. Drink your punch 1’” HEARING Ills Olt'S EUNERAL SER MON. It is doubtless pleasant for a man to read his own obituary, especially if it is a first-class notice. Such cases have happened, owing to tlio man being re ported dead when ho was living. Some years ago a man listened to his own funeral sermon, no lived in Houthbury, Ct., and was known as an inveterate joker. “Old Sim,” as he was called, was a stanch friend of Lorenzo Dow, a wan dering preacher, noted for liiseccentrici tiss and popular eloquence. Old Sim—his namo was Simeon Mitch ell—determined to have a funeral, a monument, and a sermon from Dow. He made his arrangements, and then made believe die. Ho was laid out in the old style—a copper’ cent on each eye, a handsome shroud and a mahog any coffin. Tho meeting-house bell tolled as the procession solemnly marched to tho burying-ground. The coffin was depos ited by the side of the newly-erected tombstone, and Lorenzo Dow preached such a funeral sermon as had never been hoard before. It was witty, pathetic, severe and complimentary. Old Sim, lying in his coffin, heard his* character dissected by an unsparing hand. His virtues were praised and his faults severely denounced. The “mourn ers” laughed and cried. Probably a more truthful sermon was never preached in that old burying-ground. When Dow had finished, Old'Sim rose np, declared himself satisfied, and ordered all, preacher and “mourners,” to return to his house. It was the strange freak of an eccen tric man and of a more eccentrio preach er. It just suited Dow, who was fond of creating a sensation. It must, how ever, be said, in justioe to the preacher’s memory, that he, generally, so used his “sensations” that the people were ben efited by them. Tin? question what degree of heat ) necessary to destroy trichinae in swine’s flesh is of importance. A G?rnsan ex pert says that if the pieces put into a pot to boil are large, trichina in the middle are not certain to be killed by such de gree of cooking as they are usually sub jected to. As long as meat retains the pink color known as “rare ” it has been insufficiently cooked to destroy the par asites. Smoking and pickling the meat are of no use whatever. Mas. Fennell says her minister’s sermons are “ a little obscure, but,” she says, “ I do love to sit and watch tho lineages of his face 1” War should you uevnr put a bib on a child who has a |mxji appetite ? It will be sure to go again it his stomach. JtLRA SASTRUtB. Tn English sparrow- ** Ham I driv en all the other birds fit* this town ? Well, I should twitter." Said tho. General to the Major, “ What is your rank, sir ? ” and the Major re plied, "lam# Major, General.” Wsr moors fur Orlmas—fete dsH(Ma<s Bva; On fashion’s atrsate va find am, And thay osar “ Old Ortmss’s anal,* All battoaa&Am Lahiud ’sas. “ Somethino to eat?” Tramp— “ Yes’m. Bnt I don’t want no quail, ’cause it’s been awful hard with ’em this winter, and they have had to feed on all sorts of piaen berries.” A wish father to his son— “ Now, John, I do not object to your being a fool and an idiot. Be a fool and t n idiot if you want to, but what I do not wish you to do is to let everybody know it.” A omm-cest stamp for a circalatre, A ou*-oen* stamp for s newspspair*, A tbreeosnt stamp for a waled lcttalre, All licked on the right comaire— Lick, brothers lick, lick with csire, On the right-hand side, not everywbalrs. Unless you want the Postmwtaire To make things hot and cuss snd swsire. " With neatness,” he remarked, as he shot down hill on a bob-sled, “ and dis patch,” ho groaned the next day, point ing to a 15-ccnt strip of court-plaster on liis nasal appendage and classical fore head. A young lady and her father were looking at a druggist, who was very nicely balancing the delicate little scales on which the prescription -was being weighed. “ How precise I how fine ! how little 1” said the girl. “ Yes,” said the father, “ but ho will not do so with tho bill" Im the spring the maiden’s fancy Turns to thoughts of making hay—- With a matrimonial view she Fllrteth much and play a croquet; But the young man does not tumble, And, with mercenary view, He consideis that it’s cheaper To pay board for one than two. “My love for you is like that glow ing fire,” said Adolphus, as he blinked at the burning anthracite and then at tho object of hi* affections. “ What a grato foil,” alio murmured, and the spark got quite worm trying to think how she spelled tho sentence. In the Senate Chamber at Washing ton, the Chaplain offered the. Lord’s prayer. When he hod finished, Dool mey leaned over to Josonby, and re marked: “He stole that prayer, and I’ll bet a * boodle ’ on it, for I heard the same ideas expressed in Enreka at a fu neral over two years ago.” A Dutchman in Albany went out to liis milkman in tho street with a dish in each hand, instead of one as usual. The dispenser of attenuated milk asked him if he wished to fill both vessels ? The Dutchman replied, suiting the action to tho word, “Dis is for de miliuk, and dis for do water—and I will mix dem so as to shnto mine self.” “Yes,” said the witness, “I remem ber tho defendant’s mother crying on the occasion referred' to. She writ weeping . with her left eye—the only one she has —and the tear were rnnning down her right cheek.” "What!” exclaimed the Judge, “ how conld that bo ?” “ Please, your Honor,” said tho witness, “she was awfully oroBS-eyed.” A TmimniNO exhibition of nerve waa furnished by a Cincinnati house-painter Homo time ago. Wo quote from the Commercial of that city: Bernard Koehler and Fritz Ilisgon began paint ing a large house at Betts street and Central aveuuo. Three o’clock in the uf tomoon found them close up under the eaves of tho house, and sixty-five feet from tho ground. They had just fin ished the surface within reach, and had started to lower tho scaffold a few feet. When the required distance had been reoched, Hisgen callod to his partner to hang on to the rope until ho (Hisgen) tied his own, when he would come over and perform a like service for him. Hisgen hod just completed his own knot, when Koehler cried out; “Come over quick; I can’t hold it.” Hisgen, as quickly as possible, started across the aerial bridge, but had not gone two steps when he saw tho man let go his hold, and felt the ladder give way beneath his feet. Ab he began the fall, in the energy of desperation he, with both hands, grasped the al most-smooth top of the fourth-story window cornice and there hung in the air, a distance of sixty feet from the pavoment. He then gave an exhibition of nerve that terrified every ono who saw it. Placing the toe of one ltoot against the window frame he gave liis body a slight pendulum motion away from the house. A second push gave him a better impetus, and as he swung on the return toward the window he re leased his hold and went crashing through the gloss safely to the floor of tho fourth-story room, from whenee he immediately looked out through the aperture he had made to see what had become of his companion. Koehler had not been quite so fortunate. As he went shooting through the air he caught tbe hanging rope with both hands and less ened his speed all the way down at the expense of all the cuticle of his palms, which waa burned off by the friction. He landed in a sitting posture on the sidewalk, and was taken to the hospital with a pair of very sore hips. A little 3-year-old busied herself on Sunday in looking at the pictures in the Bible, and the one representing the drowning erf Pharaoh, his horse* and chariots, captivated him to snoh an ex tent that he at once begaa ta play horse with his sister. ‘* Way," said his mother, “Johnny shouldn’t play horse on Sun day ! ” “Well there’s a horse in the Bible,” was the reply, and that seemed to settle it. The disgusted man who for the first time tasted caviare puckered his mouth and pronounced it to be “decomposed liirdaliot so weak that the cook couldn’t tire a hole through the bread.”