NATURAL GAS.
BT OZIAS UIDBVatMSB.
The mistress* and Miirfliy were taking a <ln;-o;
The nmid in the kiu-lu'.'i w,IH inomlinq her hose.
The master was sleej'iugout under a tree.
When Baruli Arm's An us was bit by a th-u
That was looking about for a place whore he
Could be boring for natural gas.
The flea struck a vein that caused Amos to
spout,
It drew twenty-one of his corpuscles out;
Then triod Sarali Ami for u mile of dessert,
But carefully, so the supply uot to hurt,
Bo lit on the moutli of ihe dear little flirt,
On the seat of her nuturul gas.
It punctured the surface, it stuck in its drill,
But drew it out quick!v. but not at its will;
For the well was a guslier, and blew it in hasto
From the hole it ha I dug in the powder and
paste,
It got more than it v anted, more than a taste
Of Miss Sarah Ann's natural gas.
The gas which escaped was a rnlk in a dream,
And liftd for lta sub < •?. its object, and theme,
The kisses of divers at <1 sundry young men
Which Sarah Ann's Hps had kissed now and
then,
And seemed to lari;< ut that her Amos had been
Blow iii drilling for natural gas.
Tho joy of tho maiden beamed bright as she
spake,
Heroyes were asleep, but her soul was awake.
She thought that tho liolo which the little flea
bored
Was a kiss of her lover, lier modest young lord,
Bhe thought that at, least she hud got Amos
floored;
Ho was boring for natural gas.
A moment sly Amos regretted the day
The gas-inclined ins- ct had jumped in their way,
And then all his bashful decliufngseschewed,
His lips to her lips ho cemented and glued (
Ho fondled the beauty, her tiny ear chewed.
He was boring for natural gas.
CHICAGO, 111.
HE BEGGED FOR MERCY.
A WITNESS' STORY.
During the month of February, 1853.
Seth Damon, of Acton, instituted an
action at law against Gabriel Butter
worth, of the same town, for the re
covery of thirty thousand dollars, oJ
which he claimed that said Butter
worth had defrauded him. The circum
stances were these;
Butterwortli owned and kept the
principal store in Acton, and though
he had never been regarded as an ex
emplary gentleman, his honor in busi
ness had not been impugned. Those
who had the faculty of looking upon
the undercurrents of human actions
decided that he was a man not bound
by honor, but who understood tho laws
of self-interest too well to he guilty oi
small meannesses in business. What he
was capable of doing on a grand scale
was not mooted until the occurrence ot
which I am about lo speak.
Seth Damon had removed from Ed
eon to Acton in the fall, and had pur
chased the iron works. Shortly after
concluding tho purchase ho had a pay
ment of thirty thousand dollars to
make, and late on a Saturday after
noon he arrived from New York with
the money—part of it in bank notes
and part of it in gold. When he arrived
he found that, the parties to whom the
money was to be paid had left town,
and would not return rill Monday. Mr.
Butterwortli had the only reliable
safety-vault in town, and to Mr. But
terwortli Damon took the thirty thou
sand dollars, asking permission to lodge |
it in his vault over the Sabbath, which
permission was readily and cheerfully |
granted.
During Sunday night the people of
the villago were aroused by the alarm
of tire; and upon starring out it was
found that the alarm came from But
terworth's store, but Mr. Butterwortli
had been active. He had discovered
the tire in season, and, with the assist
ance of his boys, had put it out before
much damage had been done. Upon
looking over the premises it was found
that the lire had not only been the ev
ident work of an incendiary, but that
it bad been set in several different
places.
"How fortunate," said the owner,
"that I discovered it in season."
But very soon another discovery was
made. The safety-vault had been pro
ken open, and every dollar it had con
tained stolen away! Here was alarm
and consternation. Gabriel Butter
wortli seemed tit to go crazy.
"For myself I cure not," lie cried.
"A few hundreds were all I had in
there; but my friend hud a great
sum!"
Immediate search for the robber, or
robbers, was instituted, and word was
sent far and near to all Sheriffs and
their deputies, and to the police of the
cities.
Now it had so happened that 011
that very Sunday evening or,
I may say, Sunday night, for
it was near midnight—l, John Wat
son, had been returning from my
brother's, in Dunstable. I had left my
hired team at the stable, and 011 my
way to my boarding-house I passed tho
store of Mr. Butterwortli. 111 the
back yard of the store was a horse
trough, and, being thirsty, I stepped
around that way to get a draught of
water. As I stooped to drink at the
spout of tho fountain I saw a gleam of
light through a crevice in the shutters
of one of the store windows. Curiosity
impelled me to go and peer through;
for I wondered who could be in there
at that hour of a Sunday night. The
crevice was quite large, mado by 0
wearing away of the edges of tin
shutters where they had been caught
by tho hooks that held them bach
when open, and throught it I looked
into tho store. I looked upon the
wall within which the safety-vault was
built; and I saw the vault open, and i
saw Gabriel Butterworth at work
therein. I saw him put large packages ;
into his breast pocket, and 1 saw him |
bring out two or three small canvas j
bags, and set thorn upon the floor by j
the door that opened toward his dwell- 1
ing. As I saw him approaching this j
outer door a second time I thought lie
might come out, and 1 went away. It
was an hour afterward that 1 heard tho
alarm of lire. And it was not until tliq !
following morning that I heard of the
robbery of the safe.
I was placed in a critical position;
but I bad a duty to perform. I went
to Mr. Damon, and told him what 1
bad seen; and also gave him liberty to
call upon me for my testimony in pub
lic when lie should need it. Until 1
; should be so called upon I was to hold
my silence.
While the officers where hunting!
hither and thither, Mr. Damon kept aj
strict watch upon the movements of
Mr. Buttcrworth, and at length de
tected him in the act of depositing a
large sum of money in a hank in Buf
falo. His action immediately followed
anil Buttenvorth was arrested.
This was the way matters stood
when I was summoned to appear before
the Grand Jury at AViltonburg. 1 went
there in company with Mr. Damon,
and secured lodgings at the Kahine
House. It was a small inn, well and
comfortably kept, and frequented by
patrons of moderate means. There
were two public houses of more fash
ionable pretensions in the place.
it was on the ufternoou of Monday,
the 14til day ot February, that 1 tool;
quarters at the Sabiuo House, and
after tea I requested the landlord to
build a lire in my room, which he did,
and he also furnished me with a good
lamp. It was eight o'clock, and I sat
at the table engaged in reading, when
someone rapped upon my door. I said.
"Come in." and a young man named
Laban Slinw entered. This Sliaw 1
bad known very well as a clerk of
Gabriel Butterwortli, but I had never
been intimate with him from the fact
that I had never liked liim. Ho must
have seen the look of displeasure upon
my face, for he quickly said:
"Pardon me, Mr. Watson. I don't
mean to intrude. I have come down
to be present at tho examination to
morrow—summoned by Butterwortli's
man, of course—and 1 got here too late
to get a room with a stove in it; and,
worse still, I must take a room with
another bed in it. and with a strangei
for company. And so, may I just warm
1113' lingers and toes by your lire, and
leave my carpet bag under your bed V"
He laughed when lie spoke of the
carpetbag; hilt yet he did not know
what sort of a faculty his strange?
room-mate might have for getting up
and walking off in the night.
Of course 1 granted him his request,
and he put his carpet bag under my
bed, and then sat down by my stove
and we chatted sociably enough foi
half an hour or more without once
alluding to the business which had
brought the pair of us to Wiltonburg
His conversation was pleasant, and 1
really come to like the fellow; and J
thought to myself that I had been
prejudiced against him without cause.
At length he arose, and bade me good
night, and went away, and shortly af
terward I retired.
I had been in bed but a little while,
when another rap upon my door dis
turbed me; and to my demand of what
was wanted I received answer from
Laban Shaw. He bude me not to
light a lamp. He bad only come foi
liis nightgown. He could get it in the
dark. I arose and unlocked my door,
and his apologies were many and earn
est. He always slept, in winter, in a
flannel nightgown, aud he had thought
lessly left it in his carpet-bag. He A-ua
sorry—very sorry. He had thought to
try to sleep without it rather than dis
turb me, but bis room was cold,
and
I cut him short, and told liim there
was 110 need of further apology; and
while he fumbled over his bag, I went
to the stove to make double assurance
that the fire was all right. I offered
[ <0 light a match for him. but he said
he had got his dress and till was right.
He then went out, and I closed and
locked the door after him, and then got
back into bed.
But I was not to sleep. I had been
very sleepy when Shaw disturbed me:
but an entirely different feeling pos
sessed me now. First came a nervous
twitching in my limbs a " craw
ly " feeling. as some express
it—that sensation which induces gap
ing and yawning, but which no
amount of yawning could now subdue.
By-and-by a sense of nightmare stole
upon me; and, though perfectly awake,
a sense as of impending danger pos
sessed me. At length, so uncomforta
ble did I become in my recumbent
position, that I arose and lighted 1113'
lamp, resolved to replenish my lire,
and dress myself, and see if 1 could
read away my nervous lit.
My lamp was lighted, and as I re
turned to the bedsido for my slippers,
my attention was attracted by a string
which lav upon the carpet—a string
leading from the bed to the door. I
stooped to examine it, and found it fasl
sit both ends. I brought the lamp and
took a more careful survey. The string
was a lino silken trout line, new and
strong, one end of which disappeared
beneath the bed and the other beneath
the door. 111 my then present condi
tion I was suspicious of evil, and 1113
senses were painfully keen. Raising
the hanging edge of tho coverlet
I looked under the bed. TIII
carpet bag which Laban Shaw bad
left lay there, partly open, wit!
the silken line leading out from it
What could it mean? Had the mar
accidentally carried the end of the lint
away with his night-dress without no
ticing it? I drew the bag out from be
neath the bed, and as 1 held its jawt
apart I saw, within, a double-barreled
pistol, both hammers cocked, bright
percussion caps gleaming upon the
tubes, while the silken lino, with dou
ble end, was made fast to the triggers!
And I saw that tho muzzles of tho pis
tol barrels were inserted into the end
of an oblong box, or case, of galvan
ized iron. And I comprehended, too,
that a very slight pull upon that string
might have discharged tho pistols—
and, furthermore, that a man outside
of my door might have done that
thing!
For a little time my hands trembled
so that I dared not touch the infernal
contrivance; but at length I composed
myself, and went at work. First, I cut
the string with my knife; and then, as
carefully as possible, I eased down tho
liammors of the pistol, after which I
drew it from the iron case. I had just
done this when I heard a step in the
ball outside my door. Quick as thought
I sprang up, and turned the ko3 r , and
threw the door open; and before me,
revealed by the light, of my lamp,
stood Laban Shaw. He was fright
ened when ho saw me, and trembled j
like an aspen. I was stronger than lie
ut any time, and now he was as a child I
in my hands. I grasped him by the |
collar, and dragged him into my room; I
and I poiuted tho double-barreled
pistol at his breast; and I told him I !
would shoot him as I would shoot a
!tlog if lie gave me occasion.
Ho was abject and terrified. Like a
whipped cur lie crawled at my feet, |
and begged for mercy. His master !
had hired him to do it with promise of j
great reward. It had transpired that
my testimony before tho jury would be
conclusive of Butterwortli's guilt, and
Butterworth had taken this means to
get rid of mo. In his great, terror,
i the poor accomplice made a full con
fession ; and when he had told all I
I released my grasp. He begged that I
| would let him go; but I dared not—
| my duty would not allow it. I rang
my bell, and in time the hostler, who
slept in the office, answered my sum
mons. I sent him for an officer, and at
length had the satisfaction of seeing
my prisoner led safely away.
On the following day the carpet-bag
was laken before the Grand Jury and
the iron ease examined by an experi
enced chemist, assisted by an old ar- |
morer from the arsenal. It was found
to contain a fulminate of mercury,
mixed with bits of iron ; and it was tl'lo
opinion of Iw>th tho chemist and tlio
armorer that the power of the explo
sive agent, had it been ignited as it
was placed, beneath my bed, would not
only liave been sufficient to blow me to
atojns. but that it would also have lit
! orany stripped ana Hiiiverect to Irng
i ments nil of the house above it!
' And a single pull of that silken
string would have been sufficient to
this horrible end! And but for my
nervous M aking—my incubus of fore
boding the destroyer would have
come; the fatal cord would have been
touched, the mine sprung, and I should
have been launched into eternity as
upon tlie lightning's bolt!
And so Gabriel Butterworth did not
procure the destruction of my testi
mony, but through that testimony the
Grand Jury found cause for indictment
of far graver character than had at
first been anticipated, and of those
graver charges he was convicted. Seth
Damon received back the full sum he
had intrusted to the falso man's care
and shortly afterward I entered into
business with him, and to-day Seth
Damon and I are partners. Laban
Shaw came out from prison and wont
to Idaho. I have not heard of him
since. Gabriel Butterworth did not
live to serve out his full term of sen
tence.
Fled Before the Wrath to Come.
They were always very polite to each
other when they were arguing, and
when they contradicted one another
very flat it was always with a most
elaborately polite preface. They had
it the other night.
U I beg your pardon, dear, but you
really must be mistaken. It was "
"No, my sweet, you're wrong. It
was "
"Now, darling, I know bettor. Didn't
"Really, wife, you are away off, be
cause I "
"My dear John, you are mistaken,
quite mistaken."
"Well, since you know all about it,
of course I "
"It is you who know all about it. I
merely say "
"You don't know anything about it.
You're all wrong."
At this point the voices were getting
rather high, and the small kid, playing
with her doll house in the corner, sud
denly got up, pulled her little skirts
out, and said:
"I guess I'll get out of this."
And she took three great big steps
toward the door. Then father and
mother looked at her and then at each
other, and it was tco much for them.
The argument was all over.
Too High.
The new reporter, a young man
whose graduating essay, entitled, "The
Unseen Forces of Moral Philosophy,"
had been highly complimented by the
professor of botany, took a seat near
the city editor's desk. "I am delight
ed," said ho, speaking to the editor, to
think that I have so easily and with so
little delay found the work for which I
am well fitted. How do you liko my
j sketch, 'Walraven St. Borrie?'"
"It is magnificent," the editor an
swered, as he took out the manu
script. "Your diction is delightful
and your style is captivating; and in
nearly every lino there is a gentle yet
strong rebuke to the blunt and com
monplace writer."
"My dear sir," exclaimed the repor
ter, "you charm me."
"For instance," said the editor, tak
ing no notice of the reporter's enthus
iasm, "you say that Walraven located
in this portion of the country."
"Yes; do you like the way I ex
press it ?"
"I am delighted. Some writers- old
Pinkney, out there, for instance—would
have said that Walraven settled in this
part of the country."
"Yes, I soe. Ho doesn't understand
rhetoric very well, does he?"
"Oh, no; not at all. Here is another
excellent point," said tho editor, turn
ing the leaves of tho manuscript. "You
say that Walraven went to a hardware
establishment and procured a rifle."
"That's good, isn't it?"
"First-class. Old Pinkney would
have said that he went to a hardware
store and bought a rifle."
"That's because ho is orudo in his
manner of expression, isn't it?"
"Assuredly. And again you say that
Walraven partook of refreshments."
"How does it strike you?"
"Way up."
"What would Pinkney have said?"
"Oh, in his vulgar way he would
have said that Walraven ate supper or
luncheon, or something of that sort."
"I wonder that he does not learn
bettor," said the reporter.
"It seems that lie should. By the
way, we cannot afford to use* this
sketch. It is too high for our readors."
"What must I do with it?"
"Bring it out in pamphlet form and
sell it on the campus."
"That's a good idea; I'll do it. Shall |
I go out now and write something V"
"No; old Pinkney is covering the
ground pretty well. You may go to
the county asylum, though."
"To write up tho abuses of tho insti
tution ?"
"No, to stay there until we send for
you. Good day."
A Sailly AHI id cil Journalist.
William Ernest Henly, editor of ;
Scott's Observer, is one of tho men j
who have had literary greatness thrust 1
upon them, and ho lias paid a fearful
physical price for his mental develop- j
ment. He began life as a laborer, un
conscious of latent intellectual power,
unversed in the primary elements of
education, and a man of dissipated j
habits. He met with a terrible acoi- |
dent, both lower limbs being crushed !
beneath a boulder, and while at tho
hospital for treatment met Robert
Louis Stevenson, who was also a pa
tient at the institution.
Then commenced the mental exist
ence which has led him from the
stages of newspaper correspondent, art
editor, and magazine contributor to
the rank of poot. His limbs are still
completely paralyzed, and lie does all
his work in an invalid ehair, out of
which towers his massive blonde head,
set on a magnificent pair of shoulders.
His conversation is brilliant, and ho
counts his friends among the cleverest
and most brilliant literary men of Lon
don
HE WAS A JOURNALIST,
| BUT PROVED A SAD FAILURE AS A
DETECTIVE-REPORTER.
Miscarriage of Bis Original Schemes for
Scooping His Rivals —He Is Now Doing
Time on a-Humorous" Paper-Bill Nye'*
Hleutli Friend.
J~ E STEHDAY
Vk V/ I saw a sad.
jj| suiii that ho had
4 l" \ Jpi boon regarded al
all-around news
paper man who
nulUli "y worked
Sr kind of d -seriptive
StriP T ill work on short no
,By . "Vli tioe, and had done
Mf il ovei ything from i
I '• from a tour
/ hour Ppooch or
tonbolu
considered agouti
~ man.
Lately ho had decided that ho would
strike out for original me hods ami thus in
crease his salary. Ho had noticed how M*el
it paid to do tho dotectiio-roport<*r stylo cl
work, and so ho thought ho would do some
of it. Ho lia i come on from an intorioi
eiiy, and other newspaper men had told
bun that to get on rapidly ho should dc
some difficult thing and then M'L ito it up
Other people had tried in New York, bul
Jailed bocuu o ihoy just tackled tho old re
jliuble stock of dim-museums, elevated rail
iroad. Castle Garden, and tho purk—iohc
ought to do some daring and dangerous
act, after which ho could write it up and gel
big pay for it.
lie tried it gently by ri ling on a street cai
all day and talking with tho d iver and con
ductor. Ho picked cut a good-nuturcd
lookiug driver and bright conductor o.i n
Broadway car and rode a 1 one attoruoon
w.th them, getting good stories from both
wuilo ho rode first on tho front and then on
tii rear of tho car. Each man told hiiu ol
the hardships of Ids position. The drivei
said that, though a young man, ho had
quite a family at homo, and that on his sal
ary he found it very diffb ult to clothe the
.little ones, to say nothing of sending them
to seiiooL His wife wus blind, having lost
;her sight from tho effects of overwork with
-her needlo at night without sufficient light,
so that the little oims were practically or
phans. He had a long, hard day's work to
ido, after which ho had to cook enough for
• the next day, and mend tho chililien's
•clothes while they wore iu bod. And yet
,the company docked him at ev ry possible
(point, and abused him if ho dared to sit
■down to drive on a dull day.
Tho conductor told a sad story of priva
tion also. He said ho had only one littlo
girl, but she was a cripple. The child had
come one day to bring his dinner to him.
.and n tho way hud boon run ovor by a
brewery wagon loaded with glucose beer
and u lut driver. Tho conductor hoard her
scream and ran to her in time to snatch her
out from under tho hind wheels, but tip
other wheels ran ovor her and injured her
spine. Now ho had to leave her at home
all day in charge of his wife's mother, who
was naralyzed on one side and an habitual
drunkard on the other.
Yes, ho said, the company docked him
for the time he was absent when he tan to
save his little girl, though he only lost one
trip. Ho was not a complaining man.hu
said, but sometimes it seemed hard. The
reporter made copious notes, and that
night made two columns ot tho story for
the Sabbath paper.
Whnn it apDcared ull the papers made
fun of him. because both the driver and
conductor of that car were reporters, who
wore also getting uatoriul for their jour
nals, and when they saw that ho was se
curing information for publication they
proceeded at a rapid rate to fill him up,
and, oven as the reporter was listening to
the smooth and tearful tale of the driver,
tho conductor was thinking up what ho also
would tell him.
In the afternoon the editor told him that
he would not do. "You ought to know
better than that." ho said. "You have made
us a subject of mirth, for the other papers
have got their stories direct Jrom the
driver aud tho conductor of tho same car,
and the worst of it is that they tell all
about how they loaded you up with prop
erty facts and low. course falsehoods. You
ought to know better than to show your
note-book, anyway, unless you want to bo
done up. Now, go and act at once, and do
something creditable, or go uway and
never come back any more. I am sick and
tired of people who have no originality of
thought. \N hy do you not load a life or
shame or murder somo one, and write It up
for us?"
Tho reporter said ho would do tho host,
he could. He begun by taking a drink at
a place where you can got a cooktail. a
fresh egg. and a bowl of bread and milk,
with music and a shave, for ton cents.
When wo stop to consider ihat t le cost of
I
BEING TAKEN IN BY ANOTHER REPORTER.
the bread, milk, egg, mieij, etc., is all
Hakou out of the quality of the cocktail wo
int once arrive at tho conclusion that the
'liquor Is of un inferior quality.
He drank another and then decided tc
I gradually work his May over to tho Ine
briates' Homo, where ho had hoard there
wus very poor food for tho inmates and a
good Hold for nowapuocr work, 110 took
another Attorney street cocktail and a
•breath of air. and soon lot off a veil which
awoke a police somnambulist, ('loaded to
madness by thus being aroused iu tho mid
dle of tho afternoon, tho policeman hit the
report r a sickening blow on the head and
took him to the station.
On tho following day tho reporter tried
to write it up as far as ho had gone, but his
head hurt him so that lie gave it up. f iho
other papers. hoMOver, ha-1 real good ac
counts of tho incident, giving his name
n d also his stating that he was a reporter
who had made an u-s of himself by i
viewing two other reporters on a street
car, and filled the columns of the press
with horror ovor an imaginary tale of woo,
well calculated to injure the street-car lino.
So he d d not try to intervi w the Ine
briates' Homo at all. He just stayed for a
few days at a littlo inebriate's homo of his
own, and tried to make his wifo believe
M hat he told her about tho origin of the
trouble.
He hired out then for a day or two as as
sistant to a tinner, and went with him to
assist him in putting a tin patch on tho
country seat of a wealthy man. Here he got
to thinking onoo more of his old work and
also of the great field for usefulness in the
detective line. First ho thought ho would
try it us a stowaway, but he only tried ont
vessel and found that another pupoi had a
representative there, and one .aowiwuy
was really all that tho vossol would accom
modate.
Then It occurred to him to got smuggled
Into a dissecting class. He hail heard that
the classes in anatomy at. ono of the big col
leges were very much depraved, and that
they played base-ball with the heart of a
subject, and when thov went to lunch. In
order to prevont fellow students from swip
ing their pipes and chewing tobacco, many
of thorn concealed these articles during the
lunch hour in tho thorax of said subject.
He decided, thoreloro, that, ghastly as tho
subject wa, ho would havo to do it. After
a good deal of delay he got permission as a
friend only to visit a dissecting 100 m as a
young visiting physician from Philadelphia.
I He desired to reveal the true horrors oi the
I dissecting room with his treuohaut pen and
cnuß nrtnjn a namo ana a salary wiucn
would rattlo along down the corridors ot
time.
He asked if ho might be permitted to seo
tho gentleman uoon whom tho class pro
posed to elucidate and Mas given permis
sion to visit tho room prior to the hour of
demonstration, "if he would agree not to
carry anything away."
8 Ho went nervously into the place by hira
elf in order to get his courage up. Also
t j make u few notes. He saw something
that looked like a person concealed under
a covering evidently doing tho sir John
Moore act. The reporter with Ms fatal
no 1 e-book wont up to the table, and. won
dering whether ho would soe a mangled
criminal or a fair young Peri, ho gently
lifted the sheet.
It was a young man.
There was nothing at nil shocking about
lis appearance. He looked as if he might
be slumbering. Una could almost fancy
that ho breathed.
Pretty soon a la-go flv buzzed around for
a moment and alighted on the white, hand-
A LiriiiT OOBPIE
some nose. The corpso stood it as long as
it could, and then brushed him off.
The reporter felt faint. He tottered and
fell over against tho table. It tipped up a
little, and the remains slid ofT at tho side.
Boeing the note-book, the remains said:
"Mister, are you a roporter?"
"Yes, sir," said the sad man.
"Well, shake, if you please. So am I. It
struck me that It would bo a good idea to
get at the insido of the traffic iu dissecting
uoods and raw material for demonstration.
I concluded to work it up and give it to
tho public. 1 arranged tho matter so that
I could be "snatched," and I guess I must
have overslept myself. Tho thing wasn't
what you could cull a success, however,
although I have got enough notes to make
a good story, but I have just found out,
when It was too late, that another medical
college surprised one of the reporters of
the evening papers, so he'll scoop me at
one o'clock on a story I had lor to-morrow
morning."
The sad reporter said thai ho went home
to the office and asked for an assignment.
"I have none for you." said the citv' -ditor,
as lie put a column storv in the boiler and
boiled it down to half a stickful; "wu have
none."
"Very well." said the reporter with a sob.
"If you have no assignment for me 1 will
go home, and with tho aid of my creditors
I will make one myself."
Ho is now doing time on a funny paper.
AMFItICAN FABLES.
THE WHALE AND THE CRAB.
€■■ jn yi WHALE was one day
\ * Vv I IsM'imming near tlie
fr 0 riivV Bssi shore and chanced to
f\vyA. rdh Isee a crab walking
laround near the bank.
"I wish," said the
whale, "that I could
walk on the ground
like you can."
"You arc a sucker," answered the
crab. "If you were to get out here
some Chicago man Mould catch you
and turn you into butterine."
MORAL.
You bad better stay where you are.
THE MULE AND THE FENCE.
A mule one day tried to jump ovor a
barb wire fence, but he did not jump
high enough.
"Bee here," he exclaimed angrily, as
he took an inventory of his injuries,
"what do you mean by tearing such
great holes in my hide ? There are at
least seventeen different wounds on
me near tho equator. Have you no
conscience V"
"Reckon not," answered tho fence, as
it picked some mule hair out of its
teeth, "but I have barbs, as you doubt
less found out. You jumped onto me.
and now you may blame yourself."
MORAL.
Court-plaster and arnica will fix the
mule up all right, and ho will try to
jump the fence again."
THE SHEEP AND THE TARIFF.
"I notice," said a thoughtful man to
a sheep, "that you are still raising wool
on your back."
"Yes, indeed," Mas tho answer, "and
why not?"
"Because the tariff has lowered so
there is no money in wool. I should
think you would quit raising it."
"I do not raise wool for money," said
the sheep, as he picked a cockle burr
out of his tail. "I raise wool because
when the wind next winter is LloM'ing
through my whiskers, I shall need an
overcoat. You may get warm in dis
cussing the tariff, but I em not built
that way."
MORAL.
It is a good thing to attend strictly
to one's business.— Chicago Ledger.
Quick Work.
The cut of his coat always betrays an
American who lias just returned front
Euroj>e. No matter M'liat elso lio may
or may not buy while ho is in England,
our fellow-conntryiuaii always makes
it a point to lay m a supply of clothes
when ho readies London/ They al-
M-ays seem to be so very much cheaper
there. You go about among the shops
"pricing" things, and you find an En
glish tailor charging $25 for a suit of
clothes for which a New York tailor
Mould charge SSO, using tho same ma
terial. Tho same difference is observed
in tho price of nearly every article of
clothing—hats,overcoats, gloves, shirts,
flannels, etc.—and the temptation to
buy is too strong to bo resisted. One
thing which always astonishes the
American who orders clothes in Lon
don is the tremendous rapidity with
M'hich they are made. You have your
measure taken in the morning, and a
pair of trousers is delivered at your
hotel before dinner time. Two or three
suits can be made in twenty-four hours,
and an overcoat in a day and a half. It
would almost seem as if tho various
parts of the garments flew together,
and in some tailoring establishments
they actually advertise to make clothes
"while you wait."
He Silenced the Crowd.
A number of persons Mere talking
about telescopes, and each professed
to have looked through the "biggest in
the world." One after another told
of tho powerful effect of the respective
telescopes.
At last a quiet man said, mildly, "I
once looked through a telescope. I
don't know as it M as the largest in tho
world. I hope it wasn't. But it
brought the moon so near that we
could see tho man in it gesticulating;
and crying out, 'Don't shoot! Don't
shoot!' The old fellow thought it was a
big cannon that wo were pointing at
him."
The quiet man then subsided, and so
did the rest of them.
LETTERS FROM TIIE CORNERS.
NECK on NOTHIN' HAIA. )
KILKENNY COBNKRH, 18U9. F
GZ> a naR. EDITUR: EH I
Jlwns a sayiu in my
/^SS^^WIr D 8 to go
W Jl lo!: e with us. I
wK warn't overly tio
'iu °" en ses i° m ®'
v " 0 ° ° I> o r '
never Jad
no axperience, but I tell you Willam
Henery air ouo in a thousan, an I ort
to no.
Good laws! I slie'd think she ort,
fur she hes lied fore partners an is a
lookin around right smart fur number
ilve, an ef I were to die she'd try lier
best to ketch Willam Henery, but
thank fortune, I'm pretty tolable
lielthy an there liuiut no will tier of fore
men a goin to take my place rite off
—no, not enyways soon, they won't.
So when she were there reddy to go
long, I was a leetle mite cool, not
clear cold and liotty, but jest moderate
cool-like.
I were a leetle bit nervy fur feer
the keers would run offen the track,
or sumpthin else desperit ud happen.
I want no ways cumfertible at furst,
an when I seen Willam Ilenery a
talkin to a cupple of slick lookin
strangers I was afeard hed git into
sum sort of a scrape.
An he did.
Sally hid uotised the strangers to,
an she hunched me au whispers:
"Salto's alive, Hester Ann, ain't
them to men Mr. Scooper is a talkin to
jest to heviugly fur enny thing; an
look, they air acumming over this way.
X feel tliet I hev met my fate! Is my
hat on strait, an dew I look jest sad au
sorrel ful enough fur one tliet hes ben
resently bereeved ?" ses she, all of a
twitter. I tole her she looked all right
es fur es I cood see, and then Willam
Henery he kim up an ses ho, tickleder
an a little dog stuffed with taller;
"Hester Ann, I'll bet you kaint tell
me who them two fellers is."
I looked the men caiuly in the eye,
an I see thet they were dressed fit to
kill, an I see thet I didn't know 'em,
neither. At first I tliot one of 'em
might bo Lemuel Martin, but I see his
eyes wus black, while Lem's wus gray.
"No," ses I; "I don't no 'es I've ever
seen neither one of 'em."
"Well, thare old frens 'o yourn,
though you havn't seen 'em sence they
were ohilder. This one is Sam Mur
phy, an' this ouo is Lomul Martin." I
coodn't make it seem nateral, but I
didn't like to say nothin' es long es
Sally and Willam Honery wus so tnk
up with 'iin.
Well, purty soon Lemnl says: "Well,
Mr. Scooper, les hev a little game of
guess," ses he, "like button-botton,"
an he takes out three little boxes and
a button, an' continues: "Now, I'll
put this button in one of these boxes
an' the rest of you kin guess which ono
it's in, an' the one thet guesses it may
hev a five dollar gold piece," an he laid
one down.
"I'll bet $5 I kin tell," ses Sam.
"An so'll I," ses Willam Henery,
though I tred on his toe an shuk my
head at him.
"Mo too," ses Sally, a simperin; au
when they guessed why Willam Hen
ery he gessed it au then Lem sed hed
bet twenty an they bet twenty all
aroun an me a trampin Willam Hen
erv's toe an a shakin my hed at the
widder. Well they didnt nobuddy
gess it thot time, an I jest rose up an
collered Lem, an ses I: "Drap that
mutiny!" an he drapped it. "Now," ses
I sturnly, a shakin him, "you haint no
more Lemul Martiu than I be an you
no it. You git!"
An ye got.
Yes, Mister Editur, ho went as fast
as he cood an Willam Henery an the
Widder Hoggs wus purty thankful I
wus thare.
I reed the papers, I do.
Well, an wo got to Matilda Ara
bellas that nite. So no more at pres
ent. HESTER ANN SCOOPER.
Dogs of High Degree.
J ERILY, it is better
to be n rich man's
(log than a poor
B ijffN K man's child, as far
as care and creat
ure oomforts go,
mIKEkW ttlu * * 8 l )r °bahle
there is more
f money spent upon
fine dogs in this
* country than would
rear and educate ten thousand chil
dren. The dog is a noble animal and
doubtless the most intelligent of any,
and possessed of much reasoning pow
er, but dogs could dispense with some
of the good things which fall to their
lot and be the better off for it; for in
stance, gold, silver and jeweled collars,
and satin and velvet and embroidered
baskets, cushions, and blankets.
The style in dogs changes every six
months for fashionable women, and
just now the caprice runs toward black
poodles, shaved in fantastic manner.
This is the best kind of dogs to teach
tricks, as they have a well-developed
sense of humor, and this is the kind ol
a dog that always wears the white ruf
fle and plays clown in dog circuses,
and they generally manage to kee}> up
a circus wherever thoy are.
When men keep dogs it is done eith
er from love of sport of some kind in
which a dog is indispensable, or from
loneliness, or lack of human sympathy,
or downright cynicism, and a dog is a
quiet, unobtrusive companion, true and
faithful, and above all in perfect har
mony with all his master's moods with
out a jarring note.
A woman keeps dogs for different
reasons. For sport, if inclined that
way; for fashion's sake, to make herself
remarkable among the women, as a
sort of shield against love-making on
the part of her admirers, and as a sort
of living object, a cross between a doll
and a live baby, on which to expend
her exuberant affection and her nat
ural llow of endearing terms. A woman
finds a dog an excellent foil, and a
caress or a slap often turns an em
barrassing situation into harmless
channels.
Wants More Honesty.
A negro policeman in a southern city
called on the mayor and said:
"Yo' honor, things ain't gwine along
ter suit me."
"What's the matter?"
W y, dar ain't ernuff honesty iu dis
yero 'munity ter suit mo."
It s not a policeman's duty to look
for honesty, but for dishonesty. If
everybody were honest we might as
well disband the force."
"Yas. aah, dat'a so, but still I do
like ter see er man make some little
attempt ter be honorable. Fer in
steuce, my 'sperience las' night. I
wa'n't treated p'litely den, I ken tell
you dat right now."
"How were you treated?"
"Shameful sail. I wuz oil duty out
yonder iu de park, close ter do little
lake where its sich er heavy fine fur er
pus son to fish in. It must hub been
putty nigh midnight when I seed a
man pullin' out catfish. I slipped up
an nailed degeuerman 'fore he knowed
I wuz in de neighborhood. - ' Mussy,
how he did beg! He tole me dat he
wuz er man o mighty fine fanibly an'
dat it would mighty nigh kill his folks
ter know dat he had been 'rested fur
stealiu' fish.
" 'L)at doau make no diffunce wid de
law,' savs I.
"Den he shifted his tactics. 'Look
yere, podner,' says he, 'l'll give you five
dollars ef you'll let me off dis time.'
Dat made me think er little. 'I kin,'
thinks I, 'make five dollars fur de city
an' keep down er scanT at de same
time.'
u ' Giinmy de money,' says I.
'Here,' ho said, handin' me er bill.
It s ten—give me five.' I jest had five
dollars in my pocket an' I gin it to him
an he didn't lose no time in hustlin'
erway frum dar. I sauntered on up ter
er lamp-post an' thought dat 1 better
look at de bill ter see ef it wuz counter
feit, an' bless my life, dat triflin' gener
man had done gin me or one dollar bill:
an' sail, I'se out fo' dollars, an' I wants
ter know whut de city gwine ter do
erboutit."
"The city will take action in the
matter."
"Thank you, sail. Gwine gin me
back my ton dollars, is you ?"
"No, going to remove you from the
force."
"Whut I Jest because I lost fo' dol
lars ?"
"No, because you disgraced your po
sition."
" Wa'n't me dat disgraced de position.
It wuz dat rascal dat wa'n't honest.
Man come lose fo' dollars o' his own
money, tryin' ter make five dollars fur
de city, an' deu gits bounced. Dar
ain't no gratitude in dis country, sail,"
"Take off that star."
"Look yere, of you'll jest let me keop
on bein' er policeman you needn't gin
me de fo' dollars. You needn't put
yourse'f ter no trouble on my er
count er tall, an' I neber will mention
de fo' dollars."
"Take off that star and get out of
here!"
"Dar it goes. Man tries his bes' ter
do right, an' folks comes er liingin'
trouble iu his road. Neber seed de like.
1 ain't gwine be so hones' atter dis.
Folks dat has any dealin's wid me hab
got ter take dar chances from dis time
on, I ken tell you dat."— Arkansaw
Traveler.
Brave Surgeons.
The coolest courage in time of war
is not always shown by the officer or
soldier. The surgeon and ambulance
nurse carry on their work of saving
life as undismayed iu the midst of shot
and shell as the men whose work it is
to tako it.
An anecdote is often told by the sea
faring folk who live on the shores of
Buzzard's Bay, of a certain Dr. Eben
czer Swift, who wont from among tliem
to serve in the Mexican war. He was
Surgeon in Gen. Kearney's division un
der Gen. Scott through all the battles
of the campaign.
During the battle of Molino del Rey,
he was so busily occupied with the
wounded that he did not perceive thai
the American lines had fallen back,
and that ho was left exposed to a rak
ing fire from the enemy.
Gen. Worth, passing, ordered him
sharply to fall buck, adding: "You
uro drawing the fire from Chapul
tepec."
The busy Doctor glnnced up at the
clouds of smoke and dust, and an
swered, absently:
"In a moment, sir. After another
amputation."
A similar story is told of three
American surgeons who volunteered
their services to the Russian army
during the war of the Crimea. They
soon were disgusted with the poverty
and the savage butcheries on both
sides; but in every battle they were in
the thickest of the fight, dragging out
the wounded and uiding thorn, al
though they were repeatedly warned
to fall back to the surgeons' tents in
the rear.
During the final battle before Scbas
topol, the Russian officers were in
censed nt seeing these young fellows
busy nt their work iu the most exposed
part of the field. An orderly was sent
to tliom with an angry message. He
galloped up, and, with a volley of
oaths, demanded, as from the com
manding officer, "what they were there
for?"
One of tliem, covered with blood,
looked up with a smile.
"Toll the General." said he "that wa
are here to remind the world of civiliz
ation in the midst of this brutality."
He Was Consoled.
A Now-Y'orker who met a Kansas
man atone of the hotels the other day
heaved a sigh us he said:
"I was in your town two years ago,
and that piece of property w : est of the
railroad station was offered to me for
$30,000."
"Yes."
"I hear that it was sold last year for
$75,000."
"It was."
"What short-sighted people some of
of us are. Had 1 bought at $30,000 I
could now probably sell for SIOO,OOO.
Think of that."
"My dear friend, let me console you.
This piece of property can be bought
to-day for $15,000. The boom has
passed."— New York Sun.
I'roflts ef Street Beggars.
A pinched and gray old woman sat
at the corner of Thirty-fourth street
and Park avenue the other night grind
ing an unmusical music box. Few
persons passed the corner, and I said
to my companion, a resident of tho
neighborhood: "Surely she can't make
a living from alms on this cornerV*
"Yes, she can," was the reply. "Her
predecessor died a few years ago, leav
ing behind $5,500 in hard cash, and
she had enjoyed a cosy home from her
oarnings for many years. Street beg
gars in New York have no standing in
the eye of the law, I believe, and I
should not bo surprised if tho police,
who thrive on every form of illegality,
exact blood money from tho shiver
ing wretches who live upon the bounty
of the sentimental."— New York Star.
NEW YOUR journalism is at a very*
low ebb when it gives columns to soma
"King of the Dudeß," as it has done.
Yet it oneers at tho "rural" newspaper.
Germany's army last year cost $121,-
061.000.