PHILOPENA.
"What sort of gift will I take ? " *
Askfl my saucy debtor ,
"Shall she make , or buy , the thing ,
Which do I like better ? "
to mlno a little hand
Is yielded up completely ,
While the red lips try to pout
And the eyes smllo sweetly.
"Khow'stthou prifl'nerattho bar ,
( Still I hold her tightly , )
The meaning of that Grecian word ? "
' 'No , ' ' she answers lightly.
'Poena penalty ; philo love ,
According to the letter ,
And if you cannot pay the debt
I must keep the debtor.
cWould you buy your sentence off ?
Useless the endeavor ;
Yet , if you work the whole term out ,
It will take forever ! "
I.E.
ALMOST A SEPARATION.
A faint glow of a July sunrise was
reddening all the east , a delicious cool
ness pervaded the air and the robins
just wakened into consciousness sang
as if they would sing their little hearts
out. The mowers who slept "in the
barn-chamber were just vawning into
wakefulness. Farmer Efden was up
and on his way , to the milking-yard ,
and his thrifty helpmate was already
breaking golden eggs into the break
fast frying pan .
"It seems as , if Rasa was later and
later every morning , " she thought.
And hurrying to the foot of the stairs
where an odd , corkscrew-shaped little
flight of wooden steps twisted itself
up to the second story , she called
aloud , in no very musical voice :
"Rosa ! Rosa , I say ! "
There was no .answer.
Mrs. Elden ran hastily up , and enter-
tered the bed-room , where the eastern
flush was already irradiating the rough
beams with the softest pink light. To
ter amazement , the bed was empty , a
bundle of faded roses lay on the pillow ,
and a little cotton glove caught in the
wistravine that trailed luxuriantly up to
ike second story , betrayed in what
taut er the bird had flown.
"Now I am astonished ! " said Mrs.
Elden. "The child has got out of the
window again. She is off for the
county fair , where I expressly told her ,
last night , she was not to go. It's the
second time she has run away within
the month. \ \ hy , she couldn't behave
worse if she was a gypsy , and I don't
believe but what she is ! I told Joshua
that no good would ever come of adopting
- child of the Insti
inga out Foundling
tute. And 1 won't stand it very long-
mot another day ! "
Mr. Joshua Elden , coming in from
the barn-yard with two pails of foaming
milk , was met by his wife , whose lips
were compressed , and whose brow had
grown ominously dark.
"Rosa Las gone again ! " said she.
"Gone ! " repeated Mr. Elden , setting
down his pails and starting "Gone
where ? "
"How am I to know ? " said Mrs.
Elden , sharply. "To the fair I sup-
'pese. There never was such a willful
child ! "
"That wasn't right , " said Mr. Elden , .
mildly. * 'Rosa knows ' '
"Rosa knows quite enough to outwit
two old folks like us , " said Mrs. Elden.
* 'We were fools for taking her , Joshua ,
and we're fools for keeping her. It's
the last night she shall sleep under this
raoft"
"My dear , " remonstrated the farmer ,
"she's only a girl of seventeen ! "
"She's old enough to know better , "
-said Mrs. Elden , who had by this time
placed a pan of frizzling bacon upon
the fire. "I've put up with her freaks
amd follies long enough. I've talked to
> faer , and it does just about as much
.good as the wind blowing over yonder
field of timothy grass. "
"But Sarah , " said Mr. Elden , "yon
never would turn little Rosa out of
doors ? "
"Yes , I would , " said Mrs. Elden.
"There ! She's tired me to death , with
Iker wild ways ; and I shan't put up
with them no longer ! Call the men in
'to breakfast , " Joshua ; and I'm goin' into
-to fit her little room , and let it to city
boarders this summer. "
"Look here , wife , " said good Mr.
Elden "don't be too sharp with Rosa.
Remember she's young ; and p'raps
there have been times when we held
the reins pretty tight. I'd have taken
fcer to this couuty fair myself if you
iadnt said no positively. "
"And spoilea her worse than over , "
said Mrs. Elden. "No , I'm done with
her ontshe goes ! "
"But , Sarah , think again ? " urged
Mr. Elden. "What is to become of
her ? A pretty young ereatur' like that
thrown adrift upon the world ! "
v "She should have thought of that before -
fore she defied me , " said Mrs. Elden.
"I won't have her treated so rough
ly ? " said the farmer , a little curtly.
'And all for a mere girlish freak ! Yon
are my wife , Sarah , and you must obey
mo in this manner. "
"I am your wife' , " said Mrs..Elden ,
setting."down the bright-blue milk
' .pricher'with such energy thac it cracked -
ed from spout to handle ; "but there are
some things in which I will not obey
.any man ! I choose that Rosa-May
shall go ! "
"And I choose that she shan't ! " said
Mr. Elden , roused into unwonted spirit.
-"We've brought her up from a baby ,
and she's just like my own child. "
"You must choose between her and
me , " said Mrs. Elden , the hard lines
around her mouth growing grimmer
and more grim. "Aunt Amanda wants
-me to come up to Uphill Farm and take
-care of her. I ain't one to depend on
anybody for my daily bread ; and she's
got money to leave. "
The hired men , as they sat at the
breakfast table , eating bacon and eggs ,
hotjohnpy-cakes ana cold-boiled beef ,
had a vague idea that something in the
household machinery was wrong.
Mr. Eldou was unwontedly silent ;
Mrs. Elden's lips were screwed up , her
cheeks flushed.
"Where's Rosa ? " Hugh Hardie ask
ed , starting around , as he bit into a huge
slice of bread and butler.
"Wo do not know , " said Mrs. Eldeu ,
"We calculate likely she's gone to
the county fair with Dr. Duganne's
daughter , " said Mr. Elden. "Girls
will be girls ! "
And then ensued another silence , un
til finally Hugh and Joseph lumbered
off to the hay-field , and the husband
and wife were left alone together once
again.
"Come , Sarah come ! We've been
husband and wife too long to quarrel
now , " said Joshua Elden kindly. "I
own little Rosa is a provoking piece ;
but she is our Rosa , after all. S'poso
we 'harness up old Gray and go after
her ? It's three years uow since you've
been to the county fair "
"And it'll be three years more before
I go again , " said Mrs. Elden. "No ; I
shall go to Aunt Amanda's and lot you
and Rosa settle things to suit your
selves : "
Mr. Elden , gnawed , hislip. atient
soul thougUfhe.wasJhis-wife'sobstina'cy !
* ' " ? * *
nettled him :
"Of all tryin' creatures , " said he , "I
do believe that a woman is the worst ! "
"It's all Rosa's fault , " said Mrs. El
den.
den."No
"No , it ain't , " stoutly maintained
the farmer. "Rosa has faults enough ;
but I won't have her falsely accused in
this case. "
"You're an unfeeling brute ! " said
Mrs. Elden.
"You're obstinate ! "
an woman re
torted her better-half.
"Very well , " said the lady. "I'm
going up stairs now to pack up my
trunk. If things have got to this pass ,
it's high time , Ileave the house. "
"Just as you please , " said Mr. Elden.
And his wife went away , too angry
to cry , and indignantly questioning her
self why she hadn't married HezeKiah
Williams , twenty-odd years ago , in
stead of bestowing her hand on Joshua
Elden.
All day long an armed neutrality per
vaded tfie low-roofed , cozy old farm
house. Mr. Elden was silent. Mrs.
Elden busied herself about her packing.
And , just at twilight , when the spicy
odor from the bed of white and crimson
clover-pinks floated in the window , a
neighbor came hurriedly along.
"There's bad news , " said he. "Jim
Cole has just come from the fair
grounds. There was a runaway team
there , and your Rosa was -knocked
down and killed. "
"Rosa ! " cried Mrs. Elden with a
gasp.
"Rosa ! " the farmer
groaned , drop-
Eing the piece of harness which he was
iboriously mending.
"They're bringing her up the street
now , " said the neighbor. "Body came
down on the afternoon train. They do
she's ! "
say dreadfully disfigured
He hurried along to meet the little
cortege , now scarcely visible down the
darkening road. Mrs. Elden ran up to
her husband , and threw her arms
around his neck.
"Joshua.she ! cried. "Oh , Joshua ,
forgive me ! I never meant it. I loved
the poor darling all the while. Oh ,
Rosa , my little JRosa ! "
"Don't fret , , wife , " huskily whispered
the farmer. "It ain't your fault. You
did all you could for her. "
He put his arm tenderly around his
wife's waist as he spoke.
"Whatever it is Sarah , " he said ,
bravely , we'U.bear it together.
At the same instant asjt.seemed , a
light footstep floated like a thistle
down , on"-the threshold ; a little figure
ran up to them , and clasped them , and
clasped them within one embrace.
"Rosa ! " they cried with a single
voice.
0 , I am so sorry so ashamed ! "
sobbed Rosa May , looking pretty and
penitent enough to melt the hardest
heart. "But Caroline Duganne over-
persuaded me. We were together , and
I didn't tenjoy a single moment of the
whole day. Mother father I never
will disobey you again. For when
those terrible "wild norses rushed by
like a whirlwind , and knocked over the
poor feeble old lady , who was standing
close beside me "
"Then it wasn't you ? " said Mrs.
Elden , who had been nervously scan
ning her adopted daughter's face for
signs of some deadly hurt.
"It would have served me right if it
had been , " said the girl , "but it wasn't.
It was old Miss Dorothy May from
Newton. Look ! They are carrying
her by now. Oh , it is so terrible so
'
terrib'le ! "
And Rosa hid her face in her hands.
Mrs. Elden took the girl tenderly into
her motherly arms.
"Rosa , " said she , "you are forgiven ,
but after this , dear , always remember
how dearly we love you , and guide
your conduct accordingly. "
And * not another word was said about
the packing of trunks. If possible ,
Joshua Elden's manner was more affec
tionate than usual toward his wife ;
Sarah , more tender and. deferential to
ward her husband. And Rosa was the
darling of both of them.
It was through her that they had bad
their first quarrel ; it was her unlooked-
for appearance that healed the deadly
rift in their hearts.
And when Mr. Elden said : "Didn't I
tell you , jarah , that little Rosa would
be benefited bv the lesson ? " his wife
answered , cordially :
You are always right , Joshua. "
FBIENDSHIP. ,
A ruddy drop of manly blood
The surging sea outweighs.
The world uncertain comes and goes ,
The lover rooted stays.
I fancied ho was fled
And , after many years ,
Glowed unexhausted kindliness ,
Like daily sunrUe there.
My careful heart was free again.
O friend , my bosom said ,
Through theo alone the sky is arched ,
Through thee the rose is red ;
All things through thee take nobler form ,
And look beyond the earth ,
The mill-round of our fate appears
A sun-path in thy worth.
Me , too , thy nobleness has taught
To master my despair ;
The fountains of my hidden life
Are through thy friendship fair.
[ Emerwon.
Hiding a Blackfish.
Cor. Philadelphia Times.
"You're the man , " said one of the
listeners , "who killed a whale single-
handed , aren't you ? " was asked of
Capt. Lish Flicker , champion fighter ,
revivalist and exhorter of all the coun
try about Booth Bay , Me.
"Well , " replied the captain , after he
had finished whistling a strain of what
is familiarly known as the "No. 2 selec
tion , " "I am about the last man to talk
about his own doin's.but _ sence you ut
a leading question jlfna 'bleeged to say
I'm the identical old man , but it wasn't
a whale , only a blackfish wuss , I calls
'em. Ye sec , afore old Grimes was
dead he and I used tew do considerable
seining , and he'd abaout all aour ready
cash salted daown in nets. One morn-
in' we'd jest got 'em aout and
old Grimes he'd gone off on some
chore , when I see somethin' big and
black risin' right in the net. Fust
thought it was a whale , then I see it
was a blackfish. I was in the dory and
the only thing in it was a bit of broken
scythe that we'd used for cleanin' fish ,
so I shoved off and in a minute was
alongside of the critter and him in wa
ter not over six foot. Growin' mad I
jest hopped aout on tow his back and
fetched him a jab and off he went , a-
runnm' high and dry ashore. I aout
with the scythe agin and fetched him
another hit , , and when he ran ashore
agin I reached daown and cut his
thro't and I got a knock side o' the
head that raised me abaout ten foot. I
landed in the blood-red
knee-deep - wa
ter head first , and when I picked my
self up I see the critter a-wallowin'
off. Grabbing the scythe I jumped on
his back and fetched him another jab ,
and that settled it. "
THE BAD EFFECTS OF UKUSUAL DIET.
"Yes , I have drunk whale's milk. A
caow whale with young kem inter Deer
Island a spell ago and a hull party of us
tried it jest to say we had. I was took
with a spell that ' night , and when I was
done heavin''ye'd never a'knowdme.
The milk was the richest , sweetest ,
creamy stuff ye over see ; good for the
infant whale , I reckon , but no use ter
me if I was a starvin' . I have been
asked a dozen times by these doctors to
explain my feelins , and I ain't ever been
able tew do it justice. It seems I was
seasick on my port side and had a mas
ter colic tew starboard , and they was
' sides minute and '
changin' every gittin'
mixea. I never think o' the stuff with
out f allin' from grace.
"I sell a heap of tinkers tew the fac
tory , " continued the old deacon , yank
ing savagely at a dessicated-sculpin that
had been entangled in a net , . "but
mackerel is gone daown. I hev seen
the .time when the hull bay was so chock
full the fish'd be pushed aout of the
water as ye pulled along. Why , " and
here he peered around at his listeners
as if to gauge their limit , "I was settin'
in my bet off Nigger Island one 'day last
August fishin' , when i heard a kind o'
rushin' sound , and lookin up I see a
bla'ck mass o' fish comm'inter the bay ,
hoppin' and jumpin' jest like they was
tryin' to git aout o' the wet. First I
knowed a No. 1 extra lept intew my
lap , another landed on my head and
intew the bet they kem , two or three at
a time , so't I hauled in my jib and
commenced to clean 'em. But they
kept knockin' agin my hands and kem
faster , and in abaout ten minutes the
bet was half full and they commin' in
wuss and wuss. I began tew git scart ,
so I hauled in the killick , but it got
afoul in the kelp and fish , and afore I
got her clear the bet was full tew the
seats , and by the time I got it up the
oars was buried aout o' sight , and
lookin' round I see her chock tew the
gunwales and the fish aslidin' over
board , and the next minute she settled ;
never see her since. "
"But how did you get ashore ? " asked
an incredulous listener.
" " said the old "the
"Why , man , bay
was solid , and I walked ashore on the
fish. "
_
The Negro Preacher.
November Atlantic.
The negro preachers may be sharply
divided into two classes , the educated
and the uneducated , or as they phrase
it , the "larnt" and the "unlarntJ' The
former are young men who have grown
up amid the new order of things , and
who by dint of their own industry and
frugality have managed to defray part
of the cost of their limited education ,
some assistance having been afforded
by their respective churches. They
read with tolerable fluency , are slight
smatterers in theology , and write after
a fashion which , although almost whol
ly unintelligible to educated people , is ,
1 believe , Decipherable by their own
race. These young divines , though
they have higher ideals for their race ,
and" are gradually acquiring a whole
some influence over them , do not as
yet possess the sway of the older un
educated preachers. It would seem
that they have learned just enough to
make them obscure ; enough to lift
them out of sympathy with their simpleminded -
minded hearers , but not enough to give
them true breadth and insight ; and
while sticklers for polysyllablesthey fret
in grammatical traces , insomuch that
ti.oso 1-glow , the ebullient spontaneity
of the race , is entangled and smother
ed. Book lore is as yet clogs , not
pinions.
It is among the older set , if anv-
where , that we must look for the tradi
tional black orator. His originality
would more than satisfy the wildest
apostle of the unconventional. Neither
in point of rite or doctrine is he fetter
ed , scarce even guided , by rule or pre
cedent. He manufactures theology
With the nonchalance of a Jesuit , and
coins words witn the facility of a
Carlylo. He may just bo able to
flounder through a chapter of scripture ,
uncouth in gesture , barbarous in dic
tion , yet earnestness lends dignity to
his manner , and passion fuses his jargon
gen into eloquence. He may habitual
ly outrage logic and occasionally con
travene scripture , but the salient points
of his discourse are sound , and his
words go straight home to the hearts
of his hearers. ,
His power out , , of the pulpit is also
great , almost boundless. Within his
own parish he is practically priest and
pope. Excommunication itself is his
most trenchant weapon. Never was
p'apal'anathema a more potenTf bugbear
than his threat to "cut off.2' His cen
sorship of the morals and de
portment of his flock , though to
our minds insupportab.ly annoying
and humiliating , is undoubtedly
wholesome and necessary. Though
his discipline can Ijy no means
escape the charge of inconsistency , his
influence is always exerted to make
them honest and faithful men and wo
men , and to restrain the besetting sins
of the race. In many instances he re
sorts to their employers for information
touching their honesty and industry.
Then monthly , on a stated Saturday ,
they are rigidly required to assemble
and give an account of themselves. As
the negroes possess almost a morbid
local attachment , they are exceeding
loath to transfer their membership ,
when in quest of employment they
move to a distances and in many in
stances this monthly attendance in
volves a tramp of forty miles or more.
But no excuse is taken , and upon
failure to attend for three consecutive
mouths they are unhesitatingly cut off.
It is at these meetings that all rumors
touching the morals and deportment of
each member are rigidly investigated ,
and the culprits summarily , though
from our standpoint indiscriminately ,
punished ; the same penalty six
mouths' suspension being inilicled for
dancing and for theft , for v.-d.-lllliness
and for-unchastity.
Brother Gardner on the Working-
man.
Detroit Krec Press.
"How does your" club stan' on de
workingman queshun ? "
Brother Gardner read these lines
from a letter on his , desk , and , after
looking around upon his > audience , re
plied :
"Who am de workingman ? He am a
machinist , carpenter- painter , glazier ,
car-builder , molder , wood-sawyer , or
white-washer. He works for "wages.
De amount of-wages am determined by
de need-of. -servicesp-ny de price of
what ho helps to make , by de demand
fur it , and byde profits his employer
makes. A contractor km no iro' pay a
carpenter § 4 a day dan de carpenter
kin pay seventy-five cents a pound fur
butter. De law of supply an' demand
doan' fix de rate of wages altogether.
A man kin be wulh only a sartin sum at
auy craft. Workingmen realize dis as
well as philosophers. De workingman
has jivst as fa'f a show as de merchant.
Supply an' demand regulate prices , an'
goods are wuth only-so ' 'much to any
consumer.
' 'I has no tears to shed oberwhat am
termed de condishun of de laborin'
classes. De boy who sots out to larn a
trade betters himself instead of sacri-
ficin' anytbin' . De man who am
airnin' § 2 a day ought to lib in a $2-a-
day style. If he kin aim mo' let him
spend mo' . If he can't let him be sat
isfied. Deaiverage workin' man libs
in a comfortable cottage and has it
comfortably furnished. His condishun ,
as dey call it , am robust health , sound
sleep , plenty to eat , a good fire , chil
dren in school an' an'
, a pipe a news
paper arter supper. .De workin' man
has no business buyin' what he cannot
afford.
"An' what has popped up in de last
score o' y'ars to make de laborin' man
discontented ? I tell ye , my frens , it
am de sperit o' false pride dat am play-
in' de ole boy wid de man who has to
work fur his money. He wants to ap
pear better off dan he railly is. He
wants a house better dan he kin afford.
His daughter mus' have a.n organ or
pianner , nis son w'ar fine cloze , an' his
wife walk out in garments nebber in
tended fur her. It takes mo' dan goin'
wages to keep up dis false show. . I
doan believe dar am one workin'man in
fifty who am satisfied to lib widin his
income. If de man was satisfied his
wife wouldn't be. It has got so dat
de daughter of a laborin' man am
ashamed of de fack. It has got so dat
2fals consider it adisgrace to do house
work. It has got so dat sons of labor-
in' men want to spend money fast , an'
sunthin has got to drap. When de
daughter of a whitewasher an' de wife
of a wood-sawyer mus' have fur-lined
cloaks de condishun of de laborin'
classes am sunthin' dat no one man kin
tackle. Let us purceed to purceedin's. "
Care makes a man old before his
time.
* I
City Versus Country.
November Atlantic.
I have heard good people declaim . *
against the social life of cities as if there
were really something criminal in a
fondness for dinner parties , receptions
and balls , and a high degree of virtue j
in abstaining from such pleasures by _ J
those who could not have them if they
would. I have had considerable expe
rience of life in rural towns , and so far
as it informs me I am willing to main
tain that life in them is no more earn
est , dignified with worthy interests and ( I
aims , than life in cities , but merely a
less busy and a duller thing. The friv- jj
olous city girl's day is filled with en-
gagemeuts from morning to night ? J
with shopping , paying and receiving I
visits , driving in the park , and theatre i
or ball-going in the evening. Her mind
is taken up with these things to the ex *
clusion of anything like intellectual occupation -
cupation for novel-reading does not '
come under that head. She is absorbed
in pleasure-seeking in all its various
kinds. The frivolous country girl has
more time on her hands , but docs she
do anything better wtth it ? She , too ,
seeks her pleasures , as many as are to
be had , and sighs that there are no
more of them. She shops and pays calls ,
and plays tennis in the afternoon in
stead of driving on the avenue ; wishes
there were a dauce.for the evening'but
since there is not stays at homo and
does some fancy-work , finishes hct
novel , or chats with soinn intimate who
"drops in" on her.Vhat real differ-
'enc'e in her character is made by the
fact that she" has had but one party to *
attend during the'wgek , where the oth
er girl has had 'Six ? I * worldliness
worse because it is on a larger scale ?
Is scandal about the last elopement in
fashionable society more demoralizing
than gossip about one's next-door
neighbor's son and the attention he is j
paying to Miss So-and-.So ? The virtue ' ,
of minding ; one's own-business is not t ,
more commonly * practiced in rural { /
places than in larger ones. I know of
city girls who mingle with their pleas
ures an active care for the ooor and |
sick , spending as much thought and f
time in charitable work as those who , lt
living in country places , have less de
mand upon their leisure. It is sad to
see a man or woman spending life in * *
thoughtless gayety : to me , it is equally
sad to see one wasting it in simple , neg
atively virtuous insanity. I know ccr- u
tain worthy persons , the mure sight of l |
whom is depressing beyond words. The. / , ' ]
vacancy of their mind oppresses i
mo a ? a suspension in a strain of music j
distresses the car ; the dullness of their
undeveloped scr.sibilitus , the. contrac
tion of the mental and .spiritir.il space w
they are shut up in , r.ffects me us a |
positive pain. If it wer an external ij
necessity that compelled to this way of /
existence , the. case woidd be hard
enough ; but being , as I know it is , the
result of choice and habit , and that ,
again , the outcome of sluggish temper- {
amert and minds deprived of proper
stimulus , the pity of it is so much the
greater. Sometimes such people do
suffer from this species of self-starva
tion , yet without knowing it , or at least
without comprehension of the true
cause of their dull unrest. Perhaps it
is just such a one , of all persons , whom
3'ou will hear speaking iu disparage- >
inent of "fashionable" society. In the
name of reason , one exclaims internally - J
ly , is it not better at least to enjoy one's I
self than to make an absolute nothing
of one's life ? To be'pleased with tnfles '
is at least no crimi ? , but you would
make it a virtue to be pleased with
nothing.
"
"a'
A Gentlewoman's Real Dress.
Clara Belle , in Cincinnati Enquirer.
The dress of the real gentlewoman ,
the truly refined and sensible of her
sex , is never in the .height of fashion.
The first study of such a woman is to
seek the becoming ; her second thought
the good , and her last what is merely
fashionable. She cleverly adapts the
fashion to herself. She will not stoop
to make herself a mere figure for the
modiste to hang her wares on. She has
a law in her own mind , Jiigher than the
law of fashion. She wears many nice
things , but probably the most becom
ing of them have been fashioned by her
own taste , frequently finished , perhaps , (
by her own deft-fingers , or at least she (
has carefully superintended their manu
facture. Many an envious neighbor <
may have glanced at her tasteful toil
ets , cynically observing : "Her poor
husband working so hard and she
spending his earnings in French frib-
beries. " All this while her costorae is
rarely rich , never very costly , often not
even new , for the genuine gentlewoman
remembers the "bread-winner" and
home-maker , the husband who toils.
But whatever she wears is prettily
made , and never decked with gaudy
tinsel , trumpery lace and sham jewels.
"
All is fresh and simple , good of their " *
kind , collars , cuffs , frills and gloves
alike faultless. After all , there is no
great art in her fashions or in her ma- '
terials. Her secret consists in ker
knowing the three great unities of
dress her own station , her own age
and her own good points. Above all , " '
she takes care that her plainest and
cheapest dress shall be well cut. She
need not be beautiful nor even accom
plished , but we will answer for her be
ing even tempered , sensible , and that
very rare jewel in the present fast going
days , a "perfect lady , " a "gentle- '
woman" in its fullest and best sense.
In California prune culture is ?
success. Each tree bears abouylOO
pounds of prunes , worth about 14 cents ,
per pound.
A stitch in Time must make the old
chap feel sew-sew. [ New York Journal - ' I
nal- '
Not leveled by love The rank of an
onion. [ New York Journal. t '
