QTIjc , crest lUpublifflji
la HMwn btbst WKBMMOAi rt
J. E. WBNK.
Omo to Bmearbaugh A Oo.'s Bnllding,
ELM STREET, - TIONBSTA, PA.
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THE COMMON LOT.
teath lovols all things in his maroh.
Nought can resist his mighty strength,
The palace nnd triumphal arch
Shall fill their shadow's length.
The rich and poor one common bed
Shall find in the nnhoiinrcd grave;
And weeds shall crown alike tho head
Of monarch and of slave.
FOllEGOiNE CONCLUSIONS,
e
" 1 think, Pamela dear, we might as
well dine ut the tablo d'hote."
"Oh, aunt, impossible!"
""Why, dear child 1"
" Imagine to yourself the people one
meets in a placo like this, l'robably
we should lind ourselves sitting next
to one of our own tradesmen."
"I think It is rather amusing to see
a little of life," remarks Mrs. Sinclair.
"I do not mind dining at a table
d'hote when I have a man of my own on
each side of me," says Pamela; "but
two women alone it is not to be
thought of! We should botli have to
sit next to some one."
"But you need not talk to your
neighbor."
" Naturally not. Hut the horror is
Bare to pass me the salt; and, on the
strength of that, try to get into conver
sation with me. lie will say it's a 'ot
day or a cold day, or the 'otel is very
full or very hempty or something
equally original. And though I should
sit upon him immediately, it's unpleas
ant to have to snub peoplo, and upsets
one's digestion."
"Let us try it for once," says Mrs.
Sinclair, persuasively. " We shall get
a much better, and a much cheaper
dinner than if we dine in our own room,
and it amuses mo to watch tho people."
"Hut who on earth is to lind an
appetite by six-thirty ?" objects Pamela,
raising her eyebrows with a dissatisfied
expression.
" We will go for a drive, and then
get a blow on tho pier, and after that
we shall, no doubt, be quite ready for
an early dinner."
"Oh, of course, if you make a point
of it! Hut I am sure it's a great mis
take. And what do you suppose Lord
Nelson would think if he saw us there
or hoard of our being there? "
" My dear child. 1 really don't see
why you should take it lor granted
that we are the only decent people in
the hotel. It Is quite on the cards that
other ladies and gentlemen may want
sea air, and chose this place as being
siiifnt nn.l liO'lltliir anA ri tr imrv far
from London."
Pamela does not answer in words,
but merely taps her parasol on the
Hour in a manner suggestive of un
belief and irritation.
She is not an unainiable young lady
in fact, no one can bo more charm
ing, or take more pains to please, than
Miss Pamela Clill'ord, when she finds
herself in congenial company; but
British instincts are powerfully de
veloped in her; she has a rooted mis
trust of unknown traveling compan
ions, and people to whom she has not
been introduced; an utter disbelief in
anything cheap; with other little in
sular prejudices which a true Briton
entertains, and is exceedingly proud of
entertaining. To her equals ( when she
is aware of their equality) she is
charming; to her inferiors her manner
is simply perfect. As her maid says,
"Though she looks rather 'aughty, she
is a most affable young lady."
Mrs. Sinclair betakes herself to don
her walking attire, and Pamela pulls
from her pocket a letter received that
morning, and reads over twice the fol
lowing passage:
.. "Melton thinks of going down to
in a day or two. I have talked
to him so much about you that he is
dying lo make your acquaintance, and
is, I believe, quite prepared to fall head
over ears in love with you. Ueinem
ber, my dear, twelve thousand a year
and a charming placo in shire !"
After reading this, Pamela's spirits
revive. She is an ambitious young
lady, and perfectly aware of tho fact
that, at twenty-three years of age, it is
high time for a woman to have settled
herself in life and taken up her
definite position in the world. She
has been the victim of a violent pas
sion, which ruined the three best years
of her life; her heart has In en broken
and nearly repaired; it is like an ele
gant Sevres vase which has been shat
tered and deftly put together again; it
looks as well, but is not expected to
hold anything. Love is a word at
whose mention first a thrill of joy, and
later a spasm of agony, has been wont
to vibrate through her frame; now it
only inspires contemptuous disbelief or
smiling irony as an old tradition or
superstition, on the truth of which
some uneducated persons insist. Pam
ela's unfortunate love had for years
prevented her from receiving the ad
vances of even tho most eligible aspir
ants; now she looks back with the
deepest regret to lost opportunities,
and is firmly resolved to make up for
her criminal waste of time. And life,
as it is. is by no means agreeable to
her. Mrs. Sinclair, her aunt, is a kind
and amiable lady, but a handsome
joung woman of three-and-twenty
wants a different kind ot a compan
ionship and quite another sort ot en
touraije from that a middle-aged aunt
can give. Just now Pamela, feeling
the violent reaction of extreme dull
ess alter the fast and furious gayeties
of tho season ((which, by the way, she
bad declared liored her to death, and
she longed to get away from), is
prepared to view Lord Melton, his
twelve thousand a year, and his place
in shire witli tho greatest possible
favor. In a day or two 1
Well, she must get through tho in
tervening time tho horrible tablo
d'hote included as she may. Pamela
takes her pen and indites a graceful
little note in answer to hor friend. In
a judicious place, neither too near tho
beginning nor tho end, she writes:
" We shall bo charmed to make the
acquaintance of your friend, Lord
Melton. My aunt hopes that he will
call upon us when he arrives. I fear
he will find this place fearfully dull.
but we will try to prevent his being
too much bored."
Then Mrs. Sinclair appears, and the
two ladies start for their drive. This
recreation does not afford much solace
to Pamela. Tho fly-horse is jaded, tho
roads are dusty, every scrap of vegeta
tion is covered with a gray pall, count
less char-a-bancs, full of tho most
objectionable people, meet and pas
them every hundred yards, covering
them witti dust which penetrates into
their eyes, mouth and noses. Even
Mrs. Sinclair's good temper is tried.
On their return to the hotel there is
a crowd and bustle in tho hall; the
London train has just brought a con
tingent of guests. To Pamela tho new
arrivals seem of the most objectionable
type. One little man, in a rather loud
suit of clothes, pushes up against her,
ami, though no is profuse in his
apologies, Pamela is furious, and be
stows on him her very crushing look.
" The worst possible type of Ami
she says to her aunt, in scarcely modu
lated accents, as they walk down the
corridor to their apartments.
Half an hour later the gong sounds,
and Mrs. Sinclair and her most reluct
ant nieco betake themselves to the
dining-room. Miss Clifford has a very
imposing carriage; she walks down
the room in her stateliest manner,
neither looking to tho right nor to the
left. As she seats herself, hor attitude
and manner say, in the plainest possi
ble way: "Address mo if you dare; 1
am a lady, you aro all canille; do not
forget this, if you please, I am here by
no wish of my own, but I may divert
myself if I choose by watching your
grotesque antics." TU,e company do
not assemble all at once, but drop in
by groups; it is nearly ten minutes be
fore the head waiter gives the signal
for the banquet to commence. Pamela
glances coldly around her; her mind is
so thoroughly prejudiced that she looks
at every one and everything present
from the blackest possible point of
view. There Is a vacant seat next her,
thank heaven ! may it remain so !
and beyond that, two girls and an
elderly man. They are rattling away
to each other in the best spirits in the
world. o doubt, thinks Fam da, this
is a fashionable and delig'itf ul gather
ing to them. What is their social
status? Daughters of a shopkeeper,
probably quite girls of the period, at
all ev nts. Lower down the table is a
party of four ladies with a deaf gentle
man, at whom they a 1 roar in turn
with a loudness and volubility disgust
ing beyond measure to Miss ClilTord.
Immediately opposite her is an old
Scotchman, who abuses everything, and
bullies tho waiters in the broadest
Scotch. Pamela has taken care during
tho interval of wa ting to place tho
salt between herself and her aunt, that
no one may be able to intrude a remark
upon her through that inoffensive
medium. She has eaten a few spoon
fuls of soup, when, t her horror, 'Arry,
as sho has dubbed him, comes in, with
some little noise and bustle, and takes
the chair next her. She quietly edges
away from him, and gradually turns
herself so that her shoulder only is pre
sented to him.
"May I trouble you for the salt?"
ho says, in a loud, cheerful voice.
Here is a contingency on winch
Pamela had not reckoned.
She hands it to him in a manner
which might freeze the marrow in the
bones of a man endowed with suscepti
bility. " Thanks," he says, quite unabashed.
" I'll put it between us here, so that 1
shall not have to trouble you again."
Pamela edges still f urtlier away from
him, and is about to take refuge in
conversation with her aunt, but, to her
disgust, perceives that lady to be talking
affably, and even in an interested
manner, with her next neighbor.
'Arry eats his soup with apparent
relish, and having wiped his mouth and
pulled his mustache, gives a good,
exhaustive look at Pamela, of which
sho is perfectly and indignantly con
scious. " Hotel se?ms pretty full," he ob
serves to her shoulder.
Pamela effects not to hear. Tho
impertinent little snob lans a trille
nearer to Iter and reiterateyus remark
Something must be done to stop this
Miss Clifford replies glacially, "i am
net aware," and bestows at the same
time a glance upon him which her Eton
eousm is wont to describe as "a regn
lar Vere de Verer."
For a moment 'Arry appears to be
crushed, but after a short pause Pamela
hears him inquire if she has been here
long. There is only one thing to be
done, and she does it. Deliberately
she interrupts her aunt in the fufl
swing of conversation, and compels
that lady to enter into a dialogue ot tin
baldest and mot fictitious character
with herself. This time 'Arry takes
the hint and devotes himself to ouo of
the girls of the period on hip rigid,
who, nothing lofh, gives him evry
encouragement; and the pair are soon
laughing and talking with abandon
which, though permissible in tho circles
in which Mis Clifford moves, is unre
deemed vulgarity here. She is filled
with a sense of indignation against
her aunt for bringing her into contact
with such people, lhankful indeed is
she when the penance is over. Wh'n
they retire to their sitting-room Mrs.
Sinclair indulges in a nap, and Pamela
sits on the balcony and looks out at the
sea, and listens to the strains of the
town band which is performing in
lront or. the hotel. At this moment
the two "girls of the perd" passed
the window; 'Arry is walking between
them, and they are all laughing and
talking boisterously. Really tho man
ners oE this class of persons are too
revolting!
Next morning, after breakfast, as it
is a hot sunshiny morning, Mrs. Sinclair
proposes that they shall take their
books and sit in the hotel garden.
Pamela complies, and for a little while
t hey are fortunate in having it to them
selves. But presently in come the girls
of the period and 'Arry, each with a
racquet. Alter some little conversation
they turn to Pamela and ask if she will
make a fourth. Miss Clifford declines
freezingly. So they play without her,
and seem perfectly happy.
Mrs. Sinclair comes to tho conclusion
that there is very little amusement to
be got out of driving. She will have a
bath chair. What will Pamela do?
Pamela will take her maid and stroll
into the town. But finding that her
maid has a headache she, being as we
have said, a considerate young lady,
elects to leave her at home, and pro
ceeds for her walk alone. There is no
one here who knows her, or whose
opinion she values in the smallest
degree. When sho arrives at the sea
shore she regrets having come unat
tended. There is a regular rabble by
the sands; a horrid jumble of dirty
children, tawdry women, cads of the
lowest order, donkeys and boys, barrows
)iled with shrimps and whelks.. Were
it not that she wants to buy something
in the town she would turn back at
once. Her commission executed, she
retraces her steps. The crowd by the
sea was thicker than ever; she has some
dilllculty in threading her way through
it. Suddenly a half-drunken lout
pushes up against her, to her intense
disgust. But in a moment he is thrust
away, and a very good-looking and
gentleman-like young man is bending
over her and hoping she is not hurt or
frightened. She is trembling a little
with anger and disgust, but recovers
herself in a moment and thanks him
for his intervention. May ho see her
safely through the crowd? It will be
most kind of him. We seldom know
tho value of a thing until we miss it,
and Pamela feels it is delightful to bo
in the society of one of her own order
again.
He walks with her almost to the
door of the hotel, and Pamela feels a
growing impression that the man beside
her is none olhr than Melton himself.
His air, his dress everything bespeaks
breeding and culture. On tho cliff
they pass 'Arry and the two girls of
the period. It seems to Pamela as
though they are whispering and laugh
ing about her and her companion, and
she passes them with her head well in
the air.
She finds Mrs. Sinclair in their sit
ting-room, and with a heightened
color and unusual animation of man
ner proceeds to recount her little ad
venture. " I have a positive conviction
that it was Lord Melton," she says,
radiantly. "If so, he will soon find
out who we are, aud will come and
call perhaps at once."
On the chance Miss Clifford remains
in for the rest of the afternoon, but no
visitor appears. The two ladies have
a lukewarm and indifferent dinner in
their own apartment, Pamela having
utterly refused to appear again at the
tablo d'hote. She cannot stand any
more of 'Arry and those dreadful girls.
They spend rather a dull evening.
Mrs. Sinclair, who likes a good dinner
ami has not had it, is somewhat peevish.
The following morning Pamela
receives budgets of letters, and stays
in to answer some of them. About
noon sho goes to look for her aunt in
tho hotel garden. To her horror she
finds her seated between the two girls
of the period, in the most animated
conversation. Sho would fain retire,
but her aunt makes a beckoning
gesture. Pamela stiffens her back and
comes haughtily lorward.
Mv dear Pamela" exclaims Mrs
Sinclair, " I have made tho most de
lightful discovery. Let mo introduce
Miss and Miss Augusta . Their
dear mother, Lady Cecilia, and I were
at school together, and bosun mends.
I have been telling them how very
dull and bore I von were.
Pamela fe;ds a severe shock. She
cannot prevent tho color coining to
her cheeks at the remembrance ol
her verdict on these girls, who are look
ing at her in the most smiling and
good-natured way, though there is an
arch twinkle in their eyes. But she
assumes her plcasantest manner, and
soon they are all chatting away on tho
friendliest terms, and finding that they
have a hundred mutual friends; after
a time the girls become quite conli
dential. " It's rather a bore there are no men
here, isn't it?" says tho younger.
"Xow that dear, jolly little .Melton is
gone I don't know what we shall do."
Pamela feels as if iced water had
poured down her bek.
"Melton!" she stammers.
" Yes. You know ho sat next to
you at dinner the night befote bust, and
you snubbed him so beautifully. He
was ' dreadfully cut up, because he
came hero on purpose to make your
acquaintance, and, as he said, you
wouldn't have him at any price."
Pamela never felt so small in the
whole course of her life.
" But he told us," proceeds the young
lady, laughing gayly, "to try and make
your acquaintance, if it was only to
tell you. for heaven's sake, not to be
seen walking with that man you were
walking with yesterday. He was
kicked out of Nice for card-sharping,
and was formerly valet to one of
Melton's friends."
A mist c:mo before Pamela's eyes;
she is reduced to miserable, abject,
humiliated silence. Being, however, a
woman of the world trained to conceal
her emotion, she soon regains her out
ward composure, and talks gayly as if
she had not received one of the severest
blows she ever had in her hie. Later
on she has leisure to rellect that fore
gone conclusions are rather a mistake
London World.
Sharks.
A volume could be written about
the habits and traits of the tropical
sharks, says a Nassau (West Indies)
correspondent or tne ew l one even
ing Post. In the teeming fish-life of
those tepid waters they find abundant
food, all tho moro easily captured be
cause of the transparency of the sea.
It follows that there is an enormous
development of shark-life, both as to
number and specie as compared with
more temperate ocean climes. In his
relations with the fishermen the shark
is a vile marplot. You may be glee
fully hauling in fish after fish, and
congratulating yourself on an hour or
two of sport. Suddenly, just as you
have started a four-pounder upward,
you see a gleaming white flash. Pull
rapidly as you will, but you will pull
in vain. Thirty feet more of line, it
may be, are drawn in. when the hook
seems to strike a rock. Perhaps the
check is but momentary; then, on
drawing in, you find only tho head of
a handsome fish whose body has gone
into .Mr. Shark s maw. But more likely
you have put too much strain upon the
line, and in that case the shark, fearing
the escape of the prey, has bolted
hook, fish and sinker, so that only
the severed line comes back. The
negro fishermen, with the aid of their
water-glasses, have been able to make
a thorough study of the habits of these
pirates ot the deep, and give the shark
a high character for cunning. As
these negroes aver, a shark will some
times follow a boat lor a mile until it
comes to anchor. Then, lying in tho
shadow of some subaqueous rock, so as
not to frighten the fish from biting,
the shrewd fellow will dart out tho
instant a hooked victim begins tho
ascent. With a hungry shark around,
not more than one out of three hooked
fish ever reaches the rail; and there is
proportionate and vexatious loss of
hooks and sinkers. Alter his novel
fishing is ended, the shark rids himself
of these impediments by rubbing his
nose and lips against projecting rocks.
Sharks of the moderate size of ten
or twelve feet may sometimes be
caught with a rope and huge hook
hung to a chain. But even then they
have a clever way of following up the
line, turning on the back, and by a
side snap of the teeth cutting the cord
as cleanly as with a knife. Tho
larger and fiercer species of tropical
shark, from twenty-live to thirty feet
long, have never been caught here by
line, and tho negroes tell wondrous
tales as to the chain hooks and huge
cords broken in tackling the big fel
lows. We have had lately here an
illustration of their voracity. A negro
sailor had caught one day an ordinary
shark ten feet in length and weighing
some 250 pounds, lie left tho crea
ture over night on a line attached to
his boat. The next morning only the
head was found. It had been severed
from the body by a single clean cut
just behind the gills. As a rule, when
once the sharks get actively at work
around the lines tho legitimate sport
ends for that anchorage in fifteen or
twenty minute', as the lish fly to the
rocks for protection. But sometimes
the fishermen, tying together a bottle
and piece of iron, drop it down on a
cord attached to the boat. The rise
and fall of the craft on tho waves keep
up a constant tinkling below, and, as
water is a go d sound conductor, tho
sharks flee in terror. A ray of sun
light cast downward thr ugh the water
glass often lias a similar effect.
Chiari, tho pathologist, who has
been made professor at Prague, is a
man thirty years old, who has already
made over 8,000 post-mortem examina
tions. At a recnt supper given in
his honor, one of the speakers said he
could not wish for any greater hap
piness than being post-mortemed if
one many use the expression by his
friend Chiari.
Our lives aro like some complicated
machine, working on one side of a wall,
and delivering the finished fabric on
the other. We cannot cross tho bar
rier and see the end. The work is in
our hands tho completion is not.
Canary colored diamonds aro much
sought alter a', present, as indeed are
all curiously colored stones. Pink
diamonds are another of the l'a-Uiou of
the moment.
THE PROSPECTS OF TACOMA.
BAIT rSAJTCISCO'S SUPREMACY EH-.
D ANGERED.
A Plnee Which In Mkolv to Become the
(rentest City on the I'nrlflc cmstlla
Position and Industrie.
A correspondent at Tacoma. on
Paget Sound, Washington Territory,
says: The near approa -h of the com
pletion of the Northern Pacific rail
road has given a new impetus to busi
ness in this new city, which is the
western terminus of the road. As long
ago as September, 1873, Tacoma was
selected by the directors of the road as
the terminus on the Pacific by formal
resolution, which was confirmed by the
filing of maps in tho interior depart
ment at Washington, on wlrch the
land grants to tho road are bas d. Tho
selection was made only aftr the
most careful surveys of 100 miles on
l'uget sound, and Tacoma was agreed
upon chiefly because of its excellent
harbor, which is one of the finest in
the world. A natural barrier protects
ships from the winds of the sea, and
tho Great Eastern could lie alongside
the piera of the Northern Pacific Kail
road company, and there would be
Beveral fathoms of water under-her
keel. This great advantage in safe
water communication over other
points was sullicient to have
made Tacoma a leading port, but
there" are other reasons why the North
ern Pacific company did wisely in
making it the western terminus. It is
at the end of the Puyallup valley, a
rich agricultural region which, sparsely
settled as it is, does a large business
with the outside world, Sixty farm
ers raised hops last year on an average
of ten acres each, and they sent to
market over 1,000,000 pounds, which
netted them $100,000. The great
wheat valleys of the Stuck and White
rivers are closely connected with
Tacoma, and are destined to support a
large agricultural population, whose
products will be loaded direct on ships
from the elevators here. Tho whole
region of country north, smith aud
eist is heavily timbered, and alrealy
the whir of the circular saw is heard in
the virgin forest, and the products of
the mills are shipped to porls in various
parts of the world.
Within ten miles of the city, and
from that to thirty miles distant, is the
most extensive field of bituminous coal
west of the Kocky mountains. A
number of mines have already been
opened, and coal-bunkers of great
capacity have been built by tho rail
road company. As an illustration of
the amount of this business, it may be
said that the Central Pacific Railroad
company, which owns much coal land,
has made arrangements to ship two
hundred tons per dgy from Tacoma by
a fleet of new coliier steamers to San
Francisuo.
Everything now points to the fact
that within ten years Tacoma will be
the San Francisco of the Northern
Pacific coast, the great exporting depot
and manufacturing center of tho vast
region north of California. Her com
merce and manufactures will find their
way to market by the sea, but the city
will be closely identified with the rail
road development in Oregon and Wash
ington, and the great larming region
stretched away to the north, which is
as yet almost uninhabited.
Her unequaled position and relat ions,
and the two lines of railroad, from the
south and the east, will make Tacoma
the local metropolis of an area of terri
tory larger than that which includes
Chicago, Buffalo, New York, Philadel
phia, Baltimore, Louisville and St.
Louis, and back to Chicago. Nationally
it will be the entrepot and outport for
the trade with Japan and China, to
which Tacoma is GOO miles nearer than
San Francisco is.
The climate and situation of the
town are all that could be desired. In
1S82 the lowest temperature was
twenty-one degrees Fahrenheit in Feb
ruary, and the highest was seventy
eight degrees in June. Snow fell eleven
times in January, February and March,
but generally disappeared on the same
day. Frosts occurred five times in
April and twice in May. Tho rainfall
amounted to 44.54 inches during tho
year. The city is situated on what was
called Commencement bay, Puget's
sound, and is built on grounds ascend
ing, by successive steps or plateaus,
three hundred feet above the water,
affording a most excellent opportunity
for drainage. From tho main street
the view of the sound, a beautiful
sheet of water, is a grand one.
Puget sound is a ravishingly beauti
ful archipelago. There is not so love
ly a body of water on tho earth.
Tourists by tens of thousands wili go
yearly to Tacoma, to sail on this pur
ple sea, through islands ever green
with lir trees, the purple sea but
tressed on the west by tho snow peakf
of the Olympian range, and Beatrice
on the east by tho slumbering volcano,
Tacoma, 14.500 feet high, a pyramid,
of eternal ice and snow. There is not
in all America such a superb specta'de
as this Know mountain. And alone of
American mountains it holds in its
heart a glacier, as grand and impress,
ive as that of Mount Blank. Tho
population has grown since 18ti,
when the city was settled, to more
than four thousand, and its streets
give evidence of that thrift which is
common in the West, but which is
hardly known in the older towns of
tho East. The people, have, handsome
churches, water-works, gas-works, and
all the conveniences of older place.
YEARS AFTER.
I knoir he years have rolled across thy grata
Till it has grown a plot of level grass
All summer does its grejn luxuriance wave
In silken shimmer ou thy breast, alas !
And all the winter it is lost to sight
Beneath a winding-sheet of chilly white.
I know the previous rtame I loved to much
Is heard no more the haunU of men
among;
The tree thou plantedst has outgrown thy
touch,
Aud sing to alien ears its murmuring song.
The lattice-rose forgets thy tendance sweet;
The air thy laughter, and the sod thy feet.
Through the dear wood where grew thy vio
lets, Lies the worn track of travel, toil and
trade;
And steam's iinprisone.l demon fumes and '
frets,
With shrieks that scare the wild bird from
the shade
Mills vex the lazy stream, and on its shore
The timid harebell swings its chimes no more.
But yet even yet if I, grown changed and
old.
Should lift my eyes at opening of the door,
And see again thy fair head's waving gold,
And meet thy dear eyes' tender smile once
more, , '"
rhese years of parting like a breath would
seem,
Lnd I should sav, " I knew it was a dream !"
Elizabeth Akers, in the Century.
HUMOR OF THE DAY.
It's better to have loved some girl.
It matters not how small,
Xhan to have lo'nt lpv' giddy whirl,
And missed both sltorv and tall.
A Polish novelist has written 590
stories. No one ever thought so many
Btbries could be put on one pole.
Picayune.
lie : " Good-bye, Miss Smith, Pin
sorry I have to leave so soon." She :
" I'm very sorry, too ; but still, ' part
ing i3 such sweet sorrow.' " Harvard
Lamjanon.
"Now is the time to subscribe,"
said the editor, as he . led his wealthy ,
bride to the marriage register and
shoved a pen into her trembling hand.
New York Neics.
When Mrs. F. asked for a new bon
net, Fogg promptly refused. "A man
and wife are one,'" he said, "and it is a
duty to practice self-denial upon all
possible occasions."
Wendell Phillips hopes that the day
will come when no man will amoke on
the streets. The day will certainly
come. It will be hero as soon as there
are no men and no streets.
In Italy a cabman is only permitted
to charge" fifteen cents an hour. But,
then, the traveler usually pays him a
dollar to cancel the contract after
riding ten minutes. Hawkeye.
Canada claims owls so big that they
attack men. This Canada fiction was
probably started by sjme woman to
keep her husband home at night.
Philadelphia Chronicle-Herald.
'What fools the girl3 are to marry!"
said a single lady of mature year..
" Very true," replied her married
friend, " but that is the only w ry you
can bring them to their senses." Mo
ton Transcript.
A lecturer, discoursing on the sub
ject of "Health," inquired : " What
use can a man make of his time while
waiting for a doctor ?" Before he
could begin his answer to his own in
quiry, some one in the audience crieo
out : "He can make his will." Wain.
They tell of a boy in the South whose .
feet are so hot that they will heat a
bucket of water in ten minutes. He
is probably a son of the niaii who can
make a tub of water boil by merely
inserting his nose in it. Beth cases
are remarkable. Norristowi Herald.
A visitor in the country seeing a
very old peasant woman dozing at her
cottage dor asks a little boy of six or
seven, who happens to be playing near
by, how old she is. "I can't say, sir,"
replies tho child, politely, "but she
must be very old. She has been here
over since I can remember."
A New York woman has been
awarded f 5,000 damages in a suit
against a dentist, who broke her jaw
bone while extracting a tooth. Thr
award for damages is not too heavy.
A broken jaw-bone is a serious thing
to a woman particularly to a married
woman. MiddhtO'tm Transcript.
A novel mode of advertising for
wife has been adopted by an inhab
itant of an English provincial town
A photograph of the gentleman is
placed in tho window of a shopkeeper
and underneath is the following no
tice: "Wanted, a female companion
to the above. Apply at this otlice."
George Eliot wants to know wnat
furniture can give such finish to a
room as a tender woman's face. We
will tell you, George a grand piano,
an ebonized screen on which is em
broidered an old. gold stork eating a
sky-blue Chinaman, ar.d a line old
table covered with an epicurean
feast. Puck.
A short time ago, at a school in the
north of England, during a lesson on
the animal kingdom, the teacher put
the following question. " Can any
boy name to me, an animal of tho
order indentata; that is, a front tooth
toothless animal '(" A b y, whose
face beamed with pleasure at the pros
pect of a good mark, replied : " I can."
"Well, what is the animal " "My
grandmother 1" replied the boy, ii
great glee.