it
T5
J
1
W W ill ,-
I!-!! JffV
HE stories of battle
and raid
la the times when
our flag was
made.
Oh, let them b
often told.
And the stripes and stars we'll raise,
In token of thanks and praise
To one. in the grand old days.
Most patient and wise and bold.
In honor of truth and right.
In honor of courage and might.
And the will that makes a way,
In honor of work well done,
In honor of fame well won.
In honor of Washington,
Our fiag is floating to-day.
-Youth's Companion.
111 EKE! I do be
lieve that boy
vrjll be tbe ruin
of me. lie neVcf
knows bow to
do anything' ris'hL And now here he's
been and cut down all the maples and
fcaved the basswoods in that wood lot
in my absence, and I found the oxen
mismated, and everything was all
wrong: A boy that don't know enough
to tell the difference between soft and
ham wood won't ever amount to much,
in my opinion. 1 was so provoked that
I told him he could go to bed without
his supper. Perhaps it will teach him
a lesson. "
Old Squire Ilollon was emphatic in
his criticism of the ignorance or the
thoughtlessness that characterized the
daily doings of his farm help. To him
there was nothing excusable in such
conduct. He had taken pains to tell
the boy just what trees he wanted
felled, and it was an essential matter
to him whether the maples were cut
down or left standing in that fine new
Jot h had recently bought of Maj.
Jack man.
"I half believe the boy did it on pur
pose to bother me," he concluded, as he
sat down to his supper of hot porridges
and milk and fried doughnuts which
his wife had just placed on the table,
"Oh, no, father! John wouldn't do
that," said kind, motherly Mrs. Ilolton.
"John means to do right, but his mind
isn't on his work."
"No, that it isn't, I'll be bound," mut
tered the squire, between his mouth
f uls of w arm porridge.
"He hasn't had a mind for anything
ever since that day Gen. Washington
and his officers rode by, a month ago.
It was only the other morning, when I
supposed he was busy watering the
stock at the barn, and I happened to
open the door for something, and there
he was, marching up and down the
floor, a turkey's tail feather stuck in
his cap band and a pitchfcrk at his
.shoulder, and he a-giving off orders as
though he was a corporal- 1 almost
wish the continental army was sunk."
"Why, father'." exclaimed his wife;
"and then we should lose our liberties,
.and the battles of Lexington and Bun
ker Hill and Trenton would have to be
fought over again."
"Well, it would be better, anyway,
for John if they were farther off than
"Valley Forge," answered the squire,
testily, attacking a huge doughnut that
-was as crisp as frost.
And, overhead, in the large, open
garret where bundles of thorourhwort
and pennyroyal hung down from the
long, slanting rafters, and which was
warmed only by the heat ascending
through a ventilator from the kitchen
below, the subject of the squire's wrath
lay listening to every word.
lie was a tall, fair lad, strong and
active, with steady, gray-blue eyes and
a shock of brown wavy hsir that had a
knack of always falling into his eyes.
John Kussell was sixteen years old,
and was an orphan. Mrs. Ilolton was
his father's 6ister, and the squire, being
-without children of his own. had cheer
fully consented, when it was first sug
gested, that the fatherless boy should
-omc and live with them. He had lived
there now for three years, but he did
not take kindly to life on a farm.
The boy had an imaginative temper
ament, inherited from his mother, and
to drive the slow oxen day after day,
do the milking and all the drudgery in-cid-5-.
to a large farm, were not the
most congenial employments. He hon
estly strove to do his duty, though, and
the squire, if rough, was kind in his
way.
A shade of deep thought overspread
bis face as he heard his uncle's words,
nd two or three tears rolled down his
freckled face, which were bravely
dashed away.
"He did tell me to cut the maples."
be said to himself; "I know he did,
and, as for playing soldier, what hurt
did it do? I had turned out the cows
and done just as I do every day. I
wish I was a soldier in Washington's
army, and I will be when 1 am older,
unless we whip the l'.ritish bsfore.
But I do hope I shall be able to do some
thing for my country. If I only could
if I only could!"
He lay for a long time, his mind full
-of conflicting thoughts but at last he
sank to sleep, and forgot alike his
trials and his ambitions in the sweet
refreshing slumber of boyhood.
In the morning when he went down
stairs into the kitchen the squire spoke
to him as though nothing had hap
pened. -nd be went out and fed the
cattle as usuaL At the breakfast table
his uncle said:
"You may ride over to Googin's mill
to-day, John, and gst a load of corn
ground Mother 6a ys we are out of
meal, and I've no mind to give up my
johnny-cake in the morning. You may
take the gray mare, and while the
corn's being ground you can call on
Maj. Frye, just beyond, and ask him if
he can pay the interest due on that
note. It is two pounds and sixpence.
Don't forget now, and don't make a
blunder. I've yol the corn put up."
"All right," answered John, cheer
fully. And he went out and saddled old
Suke, the gray mare, and in half an
hour was ready to start.
"Here's some cheese and doughnuts
for your luncheon," said Mrs. Uolton,
giving him a small parcel which he
placed in his coat pocket; "and here's
a new pair of mittens that I knit for
you. You'll need them to-day, for
there is a raw cold air."
"Oh, thank you, aunt! They will
keep my hands warm as toast," replied
John, with a good deal of feeling.
"Tell Googins to take good toll, and
get back before dark if you can."
This was the squire's parting injunc
tion as this "boy of seventy-six" start
ed cn his journey to the distant grist
mill.
It was not exactly seventy-six, but it
was the 22d of February, 1T7S.
Going to mill in those days was a
different affair from what it is in this
year of grace.
John Kussell, dressed in a coarse
honr.espun, with knee-buckles and
shoo-buckles, a coon-skin cap on his
heaiJ, and wearing his thick woolen
mittens, mounted upon the staid old
farm horse, a bag of corn behind his
sadtUe and another in front of him,
presented a picture that is not likely
to have its counterpart in modern
times.
He whistled merrily as he rode for
ward through the cold February day
on his errand, for it was a pleasant
change from driving oxen and felling
trees.
Googins' mill, so called after the pro
prietor, who was a German of the name
of Elans Googins, was eight or nine
miles from Squire Holton's place, down
on French creek.
About a mile this side of the mill the
road branched, the left hand leading
on to the mill, the other taking one to
EE1D
the American encampment at Valley
Forge,- which was four Jiiles distant.
John would have liked nothing better
than to have gone to the patriot camp,
but his orders were imperative, and he
dared net spend the time, so he reined
old Suke to the left and kept on to the
milL
The miller, a short, stout German,
with a broad, good-humored face,
greeted our hero with a hearty "Goot
morning, mine young frient!"
How's business?'' asked John.
"I'eautifuL" replied Haas. "So goot
vat nefer vas."
"That is good for you. I should like
to have my grist ready by two o'clock.
Uncle says jtou must take toll enough
to pay you well."
"Yaw. M3-nheer nolton lsh von fine
man, unt I knows it," said the miller.
"Veil, I vill grind dat grist right avay
quick. Maype you vill go in unt see
Katrina unt der childrent. De leedle
ones vill pe glad to see you, I dells you,'
said the hospitable Hans.
"Thank you,'1 answered John, "but I
have an errand to do at Maj. Frye's,
and I brought a luncheon in my pocket."
"Hat Maj. Frye ish von rascal, unt
dor"t you iorgit it! Veil, I don't vant
to shpoke apoud him any more."
And, with a shrug of his thick shoul
ders. Hans pulled up the gate and set
the great wheel in motion.
John remounted and rode slowly
away from the old mill, whose pictur
esque situation was heightened by its
winter garb of white.
It was alout noon when he ap
proached the house of Maj. Frye, who
was an old militia officer and had
served in the French and Indian war.
As he rode into the yard, he was sur
prised to see two horses standing near
the door, on one of which sat a British
orderly. Before he could dismount, the
owner of the house, Maj. Frye himself,
appeared in the open doorway, usher
ing an officer in gay uniform withoat.
"You may trust me, sir,' the m-ijur
was sayinjr. "There will be no mis
take. The general ii to be here at
eight precisely, this evening. It will
b your fault if you don't secure him."
Then, seeing the newcomer, he hes
itated, and, as his countenance changed,
he whispered something to his English
visitor, who, with a slight inclination
of the head, muttered the one word:
"Kemember!" and then hurriedly re
mounted his horse and rode away with
his orderly.
"Well. vouniT 6ir. I am glad to see
you," said the major, with well-feigned
cordiality, addressing John. "I know
the errand you have come for. and have
got the money. So lead your horse
into the barn and come in. I have
reckoned up the interest on the squire's
note, and it is two pounds and four
pence," he remarked, as they entered
the house,
"Uncle called it two pounds and six
pence," said John, "and he told me to
collect it."
"Oh, that jsn't much difference! 1
guess it's ail right, anyhow. I don't
know as I should have had the money
if I hadn't just sold some fat cattle to
the British. They offered me a little,
more than the Americans wouldt and.
I let them go."
"I wouldn't have done it'." declared
John, with emphasis.
"1 hated to. But. you see, I knew
the squire would be after the. money.
It was due yesterday, and he's as reg
ular as the sun. Besides. I am going
to let Washington have a yoke of fat
oxen to-night. It's his birthday, and
the commander in chief is going to
make a feast for the patriots. He is
coming himself to-night to get them,
as he wishes to surprise them."
John felt all his nerves tingle with a
sudden thought. Was this man a
traitor, and had he bargained with the
British to betray Washington?
The suspicion was strong in his mind,
but he said nothing as the major paid
over the money in brand new English
pieces.
"You may sign this receipt," said
Frye, as he took a folded paper from
his pocket, tore it in two, and scribbled
a few lines on one of the pieces.
The boy looked over what had been
written, and wrote his name s.s re
quested. The silver pieces he carefully
stowed awaj in the inside pocket of his
woolen spenser. and after Suke had
eaten her generous foddering of hay he
started on his way back to the milL
His grist was ground and waiting for
him, but, beforhe loaded the bags, he
looked once more to see that his money
was all right.
As he pulled it from his pocket, a
piece of torn paper fluttered to the
ground. It was the companion piece
THAT, BIB ! '
of that on which the major had writ
ten the receipt, and. John had put it in
his pocket with the silver.
He stooped to pick it up, and as he
did so his quick eye caught a name,
writen in a bold.' clear hand, that was
famous just then throughout the Amer
ican colonies.
With a swiftly-beating heart and a
flushed brow, he glanced over ths few
lines that preceded the autograph. The
first part of the letter was on the piece
on which he had receipted for the mon
ey, but there was enough to make his
young blood thrill in his veins. This
is what he read:
" received. If you mean business. I
think the plan can be successfully carried out.
My aii-de-camp. Maj. Singleton, will ride
over to-morrow to st-e yon arrange the de
tails of the capture. He will pay iuto your
hands naif of the money you ask bfty pounds.
If we succeed in our enterprise and capture
the general, the rest shall be paid you down.
You may trust Maj Singleton as you would
myself.
"I have the honor to be. yours, for peace and
unity. Gen. Willaam Howe.
"To Maj. Daniel Frye."
It was all clear as sunlight to John
in a moment. Maj. Frye vas a traitor,
and the plot m which he was engaged
was nothing less than the seizure of
the commander in chief.
There was no time to be lost. Wash
ington must be warned, and he was the
one to do it.
"What time of day is it?" he asked
the miller.
Hans pulled out a big silver watch,
"Vel, it pe tree minutes past two
o'clock." he said.
"All right! Now, you take this money
and keep it till I call for it. 1 am not
going home wiih the grist at least,
not just yet. Good-by!"
The next "moment he was on the back
of old Suke and galloping down the
road at a wild speed.
"Mine Gott, dot poy ish crazy!" ex
claimed Hani, as he stood in the door
way, his hands in his pockets, gazing
after the retreating figure. "1 pi's it
hup, ef he hain't gone stark mad. Dot
vas all!"
Meanwhile John rode on, without a
halt, till he reached the American
camp. He inquired of a sentinel for
Washington's headquarters, and an
orderly was dispatched to conduct him
to the Fotts house.
That was two miles further on, and
it was nearly four o'clock when John
and his escort arrived there.
He was ushered by the orderly into
a room where three or four officers sat
at a table, one of whom rose and
turned his attention to the newcomer.
"You wanted to see me, my lad? I
am the commander in chief."
John gazed for a moment with silent
awe at that majestic presence, with th
grave, w.orn, anxious face, before he
could answer. He then placed in the
general's hand the piece of paper he
had found.
'Head that, sir," h said.
"Where did you get this?" asked
Washington, after he had read the lines.
John told his story in a straightfor
ward manner that vouched for his hon
esty, and when he had concluded Wash
ington turned to his officers and said,
sorrowfully:
"Alas! who would have thought it?
Whom shall we trust?"
He asked John a few more questions
of minor importance, which were
answered reaaiiy, iin he said:
"My lad, the intelligence 3ou have
brought me is of the greatest impor
tance and value. Probably your
thoughtful action has been the means
of saving my life and perhaps the liber
ties of the colonies. What can I do for
you?"
"Make me a soldier," was John's
answer, as he thought of his one ambi
tion. The pater patria looked gravely at
the slender boyish figure and earnest
face of the speaker, but did not smile.
"You are hardly old enough for the
rough life of a sClditr. but I would like
you to care for my horses. I need a
boy for that. Will you come?"
"If uncle and aunt will only let me,1,
replied John, so pleased that he could
scarcely refrain from turning a somer
sault even before that augut presence.
"You may come to-morrow, then,
and here is your salary for the first
quarter."
Washington placed in his hands a
couple of gold pieces. John thanked
him as well as he was able.
"Be assured, my brave boy," said
Washington, as he accompanied him to
the door, "that the service you have
this day performed will not be forgotten-
I tremble when I think what
might have befallen our country if it
had not been for your fortunate dis
covery and intelligent action. I was
going to visit that man's house to
night, and he, like Judas, had bar
gained to betray me to my enemies for
a few paltry pieces of silver and gold.
Washington thanks you now; in the
future he will do more."
And he bowed him out of the door.
It was quite dark when John re
turned to the mill, where the wonder
ing Hans was waiting for him. Before
he was half way home he met the
squire, who had become anxious at his
protracted absence.
John explained this satisfactorily,
and there never was a man more Bur
prised than was Squire Ilolton when
his nephew related all the adventures
of the day. The next morning he ac
companied the lad to Washington's
headquarters, and saw him nter upon
his new duties.
Before the war was over. John Kus
sell was a bona fide soldier. He did
good service at Yorktown, and won the
commendation of Washingtcn for dash
and courage. In after j'ea'S he be
came a Virginia planter, and was a
welcome visitor at Mt. Vernon as long
as Washington lived. The 2id day of
February was always observed by him
with peculiar solemnity and good
cheer. Fred M. Colby, in Golden Days.
WISE AND GOOD AND GREAT.
Thomas Jefferson's Tribute to the
Char-
cter of Oeorc Washington.
The best character of George Wash
ington that ever has been drawn was
penned by Thomas Jefferson in 1814.
Jefferson, as the reader may remember,
differed from President Washington
on all the leading political issues of
his second term, and there was for
some years the coolness between them
which naturally arises from political
differences during periods of excite
ment. But Washington had then been
dead fourteen years, and Jefferson was
an old man, living in retirement at his
seat in Virginia. The passions of 17U8
were extinct in the boscm of the great
democrat; and it was then that, in a
private letter to one of his New York
friends, he put on record his deliberate
judgment of Washington, which, h
says: "I would vouch at the judgment
seat of God, having been formed on an
acquaintance of thirty years."
"His integrity." says Mr. Jefferson, "was
most pure, his justice the most Inflexible Inavs
ever known; no motives of interest or consan
truinity, of Iricndsmp or hatred, being ab'e to
bias lis decision. He.s. indeed, in every sense
of the ords. a wise, a cood and a great man.
His trmp'.T was naturally irritable and high
toned: but reflection and resolution had obtained
a tirm and habitual asc endency over it. If ever
however, it broke its bounds, he was most tra
mendous in his wrath. In his expenses he waj
honorable, but exact: liberal in contributions
to whatever promised utility, but frowning and
unyielding on ali visionary projects, and ail un
worthy calls on his charity. His heart was no;
warm in its anections: but he exactly calcu
lated every man's value, and cave hiia a solid
esteem proportioned to it His person, you
know, was line, his stature exactly what one
would wish: his depirtment easy, erect and no
ble: ths best horseman of his age, and the most
graceful figure that could be seen on horse
back."
Header, here you have the true Wash
ington. I have become, from necessity,
extremely familiar with his works, his
actions, the political conflicts that
raged about him, and the attitude ol
the man toward friend and foe. Koon
ing him thus intimately, I feel th.
literal truth of Mr. Jefferson's la--guage
when he says: "He was, in
every sense of the words, a wise, a
good and a great man," With regard
to Washington, we may abandon with
out any fear tlat, more familiar knowl
edge will modify our opinion or lessen,
the warmth of our esteem. Jane
Parton. in N. Y. Ledger.
SHATTERED IDOLS.
A Lonlnlanlan Savs Andrew Jarkann Old
Not Win the Itattle of Kew Orleans.
"Gen. Jackson," said as elderly gen
tleman who resides in Jsew Orleans
and is well known there, "did not win
the battle of New Orleans. He did not
create the ambuscade into which Gen.
Pakenham led his British troops with
buch fatal result. That great victory
was really won, as the cotton-bale
breastworks were really conceived and
executed, by one of the greatest sol
diers of his or any other time."
To say that this remark, made tem
perately and without any show of feel
ing or prejudice, caused quite a sensa
tion among those who heard it yester
day in the St. James hotel would be
putting it mildly.
"On whose authority," asked one of
the gentlemen present, "do you ven
ture to deny on Gen. Jackson's proud
est anniversary that he won the great
victory celebrated to-day?"
"Whal I say is this," resumed the
Louisiaiiian, "the cotton breastwork
which checked the British and resultud
in their practical demolition while
they tried in vain to scale it and ur
mouni it was not originated or con
structed by Gen, Andrew Jackson,
who has for so long enjoyed the credit
of it and th? consequent laudation of
most of his countrymen."
"I repeat," said the other, "on whose
authority do 3-ou make such a tre
mendous statement?"
The gentleman from New Orleans re
plied: "On the authority of the owner of
the cotton bales out of which the
breastworks were constructed."
The others present looked with pro
found interest at the Louisianian. He
went on: "It is no matter of mere
hearsay evidence, gentlemen. The im
pugnment of Gen. Jackson's title to the
credit exists in print, and, though the
story was published over his own name
by the very rich and influential Creole
gentleman who supplied the cotton and
though numlers of his cotemporaries
really sustained his story, there has
never been a denial of the imputation
that the laurels of the battle of New
Orleans belonged not to Gen. Jackson,
but to one of the greatest soldiers of
modern times."
"Who," with one voice inquired all
the reet, "was this unknown and un
honored soldier?"
"He was Marshal Moreau, one of Na
poleon's favorite and greatest lieuten
ants. He was one of the greatest en
gineers the world ever produced, and
he controled all the work of that arm
of the French army under the emperor
himself. Until they quarreled Napoleon
had more regard and respect for Moreau
than any of his marshals. It was this
man who devised, arranged, and exe
cuted the battle of New Orleans Mar
shal Moreau."
There was another short spell of in
credulous silence. Some smiled, others
testified.their open unbelief by shaking
their heads. The Louisianian was
evidently irritated.
"If I were in New Orleans," he said,
"I could show you, among published
evidence, a book entitled 'Fifty Yeas
in Both Hemispheres.' It was written
by Victo Nolte. Victor Nolte was th
man who owned the cotton bales used
in constructing the breastwork which
the picked redcoats of Pakenham were
annihilated in trying to carry. It is a
chatty book of reminiscences and
diarylike personal notes. When it was
written all those involved were con
temporaries of the writer. He does
not try to promulgate a striking, not
to say startling, discovery.
"He merely relates, as if he were
stating the details of a generally
known and undisputed fact, how
Moreau thought out the plan of the
breastworks; how a demand was made
upon himself (Nolte) for the invaluable
bales; how he gladly complied with tie
request of his compatriot, the marshal
and how that favorite engineer of the
great Napoleon himself constr-aeted
the breastworks, after conferring with
Jackson and obtaining his consent, and
how, finall3he directed the strategy of
the day.
"Another thing." said the Louisi
anian. "You have believed all alons
that the defense of the breastworks,
the slaughter of the British and ths
killing of Gen. Pakenham were accom
plished by Kentucky riflemen. Noth
ing of the kind, according to Nolte,
who naturally had an acute personal
interest in the battle fought on both
sides of his fortification of cotton
bales,
"He says that the sharpshooters of
Jackson's army consisted not of men
from Kentuck3 but of pirates from
Barataria. enjoing a fcort of amnesty
for their loyal services to the young re
public It was a brip-ade of Lafitte's
men who came in from the pulf to re
inforce Jackson's small but gallant
host. They were insubordinate, and
gave a great deal of trouble, but they
fought with the intrepidity and thor
oughness of so manj- demigods.
"If you will take thn trouble," con
cluded the man frort Louisiana, "to
hunt up the real story of the battle of
New Orleans and wJU read Victor
Nolte's 'Fifty Years in Both Hemi
spheres,' and then finally go down to
New Orleans and make the acquaint
ance of some of the old people in the
French quarter, in order to get ac
quainted with the stories bequeathed
to them by their fathers and grand
fathers, you will, to put it mildly, be
somewhat surprised." N. Y. Sun,
UiHOOverv.
JenKins (reading) At last they have
found something that will make a
wr iman keep a secret.
His Wife What is it?
Jenkins Chloroform. Jndge,
CordiaL
ne What about those new ieighbort
you called on to-daj'?
She Well, they said they had coma
to this village to avoid society and beg
fed me to call often. Judge.
A Man r His Word.
"Old Brown is dead."
"I'm iot surprised. More than forty
years ago ha told a girl that if she r.
fused him he would die and she did rfs
fusa b;ca." Truth
PERSONAL AND LITERARY.
Miss Francis E. Willard suggests a
Christian theater, one conducted, as
she says, in such a way that religioua
papers could advertise and recommend
it, to which a young1 girl might be
taken without fear of anything on the
stag that would bring a blush to her
cheek.
Prof. Milligaa, who died at Edin
burg, was one of the most distinguished
ecclesiastics in Scotland. He held the
chair of Biblical criticism in Aberdeen
university for nearly forty years, and
since the beginning of lSfi he had
been the principal clerk of the general
assembly.
The works of Quintillian w-re re
vived by being discovered under a heap
of rubbish in an Italian monastery.
Those of Tacitus were found in a mon
astery in Westphalia, where they were
being used as fuel by the cook. The
original manuscript of Justinian's pan
dects was found in a cellar in a little
town in Calabria.
The London "Athenaeum" says:
"Lord Tennyson, who is at Farring
ford, engaged upon the memoir of his
father, wishes to borrow all letters of
the late laureate which are not mere
formal notes written in the third .r.
son. And as soon as he 'Jiais c0pied
such letters as may b-.ntrustej to n;m
he will return tlem to the ien(jers."
Labouchere's "Truth" (London)
gives the following recipe for making
a modern English literary celebrity:
"Half educate a vain youth at, Oxford;
let his hair grow; dip him into erotic
French literature; add one idea, chop
it small; log-roll the whole; give a
grotesque name; then serve up as a .
rival to Milton, Sheridan and Shakes
peare." A portion of Cicero's treatise "Ou
Glory" was recovered from the works
of l'etrus Alcyonius, a Roman physi
cian. The book had been bequeathed
to a convent and was stolen by Al
cyonius, who used all he could in his
own works and destroyed the original.
The passages he stole, however, were
so much better than his own writings
suspicion was at once roused and the
theft detected. j
Miss Lucy Garnett is given a pen
sion of five hundred dollars a year by
the British government in recognition
of her literary merit and to enable her
to prosecute hr researches in oriental
folklore. Miss Margaret Stokes also
receives five hundred dollars for her
researches into early Christian art and
archeology in Ireland, and Mrs. Cash
el Hoey two hundred and fifty dollars
for her novels.
Senator Turpie's method of aiding
his constituents to get office was shown
recently in Washington when he wa
requested by an applicant to go to one
of the departments and look after his
appointment. "I have, no carriage,"
Faid Senator Turpie. "and I don't in
tend to walk." "I will get the carriage
for you," said the officeseeker. And
he soon placed one at the senator's dis
posal. To the surprise of the noosier
officeseeker Senator Turpie climbed in
to the carriage and closed the door,
leaving the ofiiceseeker standing out
side. When the latter attempted to
get into the carriage Senator Turpie
said sharply: "I won't go unless I caa
go alone."
HUMOROUS.
The milk of human kindness is nol
all cream Galveston News.
Jillson says he has noticed that the
human hog isnearly always pigheaded.
Buffalo Courier.
"I guess Plunkit's father must have
died and left him an enormous for
tune." "How do you know?" "Well,
I've seen the plumbers up at his house
twice." Inter-Ocean.
She "Should you die. are you op
posed to m v remarrving?" He "No."
She "Why not?" lie "Why should I
be solicitous about the welfare of a fel
low I'll never know?' Life.
"I am really at a loss," said the young
minister, "to know why you did not
like my last sermon. Didn't you con
sider my arguments sound?" "Yes."
she replied; "exclusively." Washing
ton Star.
The Sage "In choosing a wife,
young man, you must not look for
beauty alone." Youth "Of course
not. It is the other kind of a girl that
one may expect to find alone." Indian
apolis Journal
Citizen "Well, you have nice
weather, winter pasture, not too much
rain, and stock is thriving; what have
you to complain of this winter?" Far
mer '(promptly) "Aw, the wheat, the
wheat! Not enough snow:" Cleveland
Plaindealer.
In the garden of a certain noble
man's country house there happened to
be fixed up at different spots painted
boards with this request: "Please do
not pick the flowers without leave."
Some wag got a paint brush and added
an "s" to the last word.
"Yes," said Gibley, "it came pretty
near being a wedding between Miss
Bly and me; but she said there was one
thing I lacked. I asked her what that
one thing was, and she said: 'Don't ask
me; you'll call me mercenary.' So I
didn't press her." Boston Transcript.
"I always suspected that cashier,''
said a member of the board of direc
tors. "Maybe he'll turn up," said an
other. "You can't always judge a
man by his appearance?" "No. But
in a case like this it is pretty safe to.
judge him by his disappearance,"
Washington Star.
He was a fine doctor there was no
denying that but sometimes he said
things that made people wonder. A
patient with a fever recently com
plained of thirst, and he said to her:
"Well, quench it. You can drink water,
or tea, or most auything, so long- as it'a
a liquid." Harper's Bazar.
-CoL Brown," remarked a chappie,
"is the finest after-dinner speaker X
know of " "Why," said his friend, in.
some astonishment, "I nerer heard ha
had any ability in that direction ab
alL" "Well, he has; Tve dined with
him several times at various places,
and after dinner he always says:
That's all. right, lay boy; I'll pay fot;
it.'" Detroit Froa Press.