1879-09-12; Clare County Press

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VOLUME II.
CLARE, MICHIGAN, FBI»|Y, SEPTEMBER 12,' 1879.
NUMBER 19.
The  Clare   County  Press.
ISSUED EVERY FRIDAY AT
Clare, Clare County, Mich.,
—BY—
ALVARO F, GOODENOUGH.
Advertising Btatop.
The following Table of Advertising R.-ilr? has
been carefully arranged according to a plan based
on space rbqvikbd and time continuhd. Special
care is taken to set up and arranga advertisements
in .a systematic manner, thus making them more
attractive than when jumbled together,
TAUI.E OF  ADVERTISING   RATES.
i wk
a wk
4 wk 2 mos   3 mos 6 mos   x yr
x inch $x,oo
1.50
2,50
3.50
4.50
6.50
10.00
■*• in       i.50
2.35
3-75
S.=5
7.00
i.000
15.00
3 in       2.00
3.00
5.00
7,00
9.00
13-00
20.00
4 in       2.50
3-7S
6.25
8.7S
11.25
16.00
25.00
H col   3,00
4-50
7.50
10.50
13.50
19.50
30.00
J4 col   6.00
9,00
14.00
20.00
25.00
35-0O
50.00
x   col 10.00
15.00
20.00
30.00
35.00
50.00
80.00
Business Cards, 3 lines $s per year; each additional line, $1,
Legal. Notices—Rates prescribed by law.I
Local Notices—tocts. per line each insertion.
All Advertising payable quarterly in Advance,
BUSINESS CARDS.
E. D. "WHEATON.
C.W.PERRY
WHEATON & PERRY,
•tA-WVE-ftS,
CLARE,       -       -       MICH.
All businass intrusted with them will rcceiv
prompt attemion. Collections made and Real Ee
tatebought and sold. Office Maynard Block.Main St
M. II. ELDEN, "Jeweler and
dealer 111 Wall Paper, Books and Station-
cry, Sewing Machine Fixtures, etc., Clare.
GEO. W. JEFFERIES, Judge op
PiionATEand JvsTicBoy the Peace, Clare.
Special attention given to making collections. Of-
ce oh Main Street.
Q.EO. J. CUMMINS,
Attorney-at-Law and Solicitor,
Gourt House Building, Farwell, Mich.
c.
C. CASTERLIN,
Attorncy-and-Counselor-at-Law, and
Counselor & Solicitor in Chancery,
Court House Building, Farwell, Mich.
HC. DODGE, Justice of the
» Peace and Notarv Pthlic, Vernon, has
Good Farming Lands for Sale
Cheap.   Titles Perfect,
Terms Easy.
H. C. Dodge, Frwell, Mich.
/"I H. SUTHERLAND,
-'•' .Notary Public ^Insurance Airfc.
ON IMPSIOVED REAI,  ESTATE
Court House Building, Farwell.
w.
S. COOLEY,
DEALER IN
Harness, Whips, Robes, & Blankets.
The best assortment of Trunks and Traveling
bags in town, and prices the lowest.
THE BEST OP MATERIAL USED.
All work   warranted.   Repairing done  promptly
I will sell cheaper than can be bought elsewhere in Sagtnaw Valley.
■RUBEN SMITH,
NO TAB Y PUBLIC.
Real Estate and Insurance Agent.
MARK, MICH.
Particular attention paid to looking land, cstimat
Ihe pine timber, adjusting trespsasses and paying
taxes for non residents.
Manhattan Fire Insurance Company of New York
Strong and sound, with low rates,
"Ayr R. JEFFERIES,
DEALER IN
FRESH & SALT MEAT,
Fresh and Cured Fish,
Fine Groceries and General
Farm Produce.
Cheapest T E A in Town !
Casftpaidfor hides.
MAIN STREET, CLARE.
"THE  LAST KOSE OF SUMMER."
HOTELS, LIVERIES, <&c
"VTEW   FURNITURE,   NEWLY
Befitted, New Proprietor.
ST. JAMES HOTEL,
V. K. BROWN, Prop.,
MOUNT PLEASANT,   MICH.
FirstCIass Accommodations.    Good Sample Rooms
ior Agents.   Good Barn.
•OARWELL BILLIARE HALL.
FARWELL, MICH.
FINEST-CIGARS,
Pure Wines, Liquors, A les, Beer, Porter, Cider, Etc.
Those desiring a pure article are invited to onll.
HENRY  NEWTON.
QUMMERS & NEWTON,
Proprietors of the
FARWELL   LIVERY.
FORSES & CARRIAGES
TO  LET.
Parties conveyed everywhere .in  this
section and vicinity.
jG-S-Terms reasonable.
"TPAGLE HOTEL,
Coral, Montcalm Co., Mich.
A. FRED GOODENOUGH, Prop.
A Temperance House.
This Is a new house, neatly furnished, convenient
to the trains, with good accommodations at reason-
tble prices.
OOOQ  UYERV ATTACHED.
On the romantlo shore ofLako "Lucerne;
Beneath my window aro some garden walks,
Where now tho autumn frosts the foliage bnra,
And hardy dahlias bla.ken on their stalks;
But, many-leaved and fresh and fragrant, "blows
Ono solitary flower—a perfeot rose.
Tills, full of crimson life as if It had
No thought of death, I've watched, day after day,
While deep in snqws the Rigi-Knlin was clad,
And deep tho snows in clefts of Pilate lay —
Grim mount I above the clouds whoso sharp-drawn
peaks
Havo long presaged iho storm—and now it breaks,
Like ships at sea, Bt.Gotbard's summits strain,
And toward Teil's chapel all the storied scene
Is dashed, with slanted streaks of miBty rain;
There's not a spot of color or of sheen
In tho dull landscape save that lonely rose —
Leaden the sky, and gray the vory snows I
With all of blushes and all fragrance rife,
Love's fragile banner to the gale unfurled
Bloom bravely on!   Yes, live thy littlo life,
0 rose 1   I would not pluck thoo for the world.
'Tworo sentimental folly that would shed
Thy sentient loaves to strew yon sodden bed.
"I am the type of the truo poet's thought;
1 am tho type of the truo lover's heart"—
rhose words in melody of perfumes wroueht,
Like notes of music did tho flower impart—
"In gray-hairot age my youth is fresh; I bloom
TJp to the 'ice and blackness' of the tomb.
'Thou in flesh, and in my petals I,
Are BhadowBi but a soul is mine and thine,
I am ■„ vision and a prophecy I
And that whioh makes tho poet's thought divine,
And love a subtler revelation still,
Is far more real than yon rock-ribbed hill.
A few short days, or hours, and I am gone,
But, lingering here, last of a happy race,
Into my bosom all thou lookest on
I gather up—but clothed in summer's grace;
And I shall hang forever in thy mind,
A mystic roso, immortally refined.
"Yes. those, my perfumes 6hod shall hit thy sense
With spiritual power when I am dust.
Perchance the last survivor, raons hence,
Of men shall be a poet, and his trust,
Tbe perfect flower of manhood, shall resign,
As I, tho perfect rose, to love divine."
—Wm. aibsnn, in Harper's Magazine,
AUNT POLLi'S MISTAKE.
BY LYDIA *6". HINMAN.
Aunt Polly was always a woman of
nor word, and prided herself upon it.
She had been an ambitious girl, and
married well-to-do. She made Deacon
Hawley a good wife—that is, when she
had her own way, which was most always. She was the business head of
ho firm, after the first yeur of struggle,
and when, a few years after the deacon
died, he left her a rich widow and childless, she tried several of lier nieces and
nephews—one at a time—to live with
her; but, coming of the same family,
and inheriting the same "spunk," as
Aunt Polly termed it, they veithex ran
k^itytsr^he s6at:.lh'^*6ffi8.''•t•~J^«•-?;*,'• *
" Suddenly John Raymond was killed,
and in six months his weakly wife followed him, leaving a 3-year-old boy an
orphan in the depths of poverty. John
Raymond was known to be the a lover
of Aunt Polly's in her younger days.
Some said they were parted by a quarrel ; others, that he was too slow for her
ambitious nature. However it was, she
married the deacon, and, a few years
after, he married a weak, dependent
woman, suited to his easy-going nature.
It was a seven days' talk, when Aunt
Polly took John Raymond's boy home
to her fireside, and did for him as if he
was her son. Whether it was because
she really had an affection for the boy,
or because little John inherited both
his father's easy-going nature and his
mother's weakness, no one knew; but
she "got along" with the boy, and
brought him up in tbe way lie should
go, to the age of manhood, and felt
quite as proud of him as if ho had been
her own. Although she intended him
to have her property, she was very ambitious for him; and, though she had
never mentioned it, she had her mind
made up as to who John's wife should
be.
Millie Williams was a relative of
Aunt Polly's, an orphan, and lived
with an aunt in the home Millie's father
left her (Millie).
John and Millie had been playmates
through childhood, and thought a great
deal 01 eaoh other; and, as Millie had a
farm well stooked and a little sum on
interest, Aunt Polly was content to
think it was so. John and Millie were
together a great deal, and many wise
ones nodded their heads in their direction, and 'wondered if it "was settled "
between them. But tho pretty music
teacher's little finger was more to John
than Millie and all her possessions, and,
as for Millie, the young Dr. Austen who
lived in the city of Lincoln, fifty miles
away, thought he knew where her heart
belonged. But John, the great coward,
though the little music teacher blushed
every time she caught the great fond
look in his eyes, said no word, well
aware that had Aunt Polly known what
lay in his heart there would have been
trouble for him. And Millie, sensible
girl, chose to let her doctor work his
own way in the world, "to see the stuff
he was made of." "He is smart and
his father well-to-do," she said, "but I
never could marry a man who did not
make the best use of his gifts." Brave
Millie 1 if there were only more sensible
women, how much better off the world
would be.
But Aunt Polly began to think things
had gone far enough. She was getting
old, and John ought to have some one
lo "care for him," and perhaps this ad-
vi-e would apply to herself as well. She
had "sot down her foot" innumerable
times before John, that no pretty-faced
girl, with airy graces and fine ways, who
only cared for nice clothes and plenty
of ease, should step into her shoes. She
must handle the kitchen kettles as well
as play the piano, and John, though he
continued to glance into the music
teacher's eyes and accompany htr home
from church on the sly, and held her
hand longer than was needful at parting, never had dared to lisp his love.
One morning AuntPolly said: "John,
I have been thinking you plight to-get
married. I am getting old, and I want
to see a good wife at your table." '■
"Yes, mother," said John, meekly,
but very much surprised.
"Ihave been -watching you, John,
unknown to you," continued Aunt
Polly, "and have some idea in whioh
direction your eyes have turned, and
think with a little training she might
do. She must pickle tripe, and knit
stookingp, as well as make tidies, fop I
won't have any fine lady moping around
my house," Aunt Polly said for the
thousandnth time. "Have you ever
thought seriously of her John?"
" I—yes—no. Well, once or twice,
perhaps. I was afxTaid"—and, John
faltered. t ,
" Tou were afraid she would not suit
me.   Was that it, John? "
" Yes, mother,"
" And wouldn't you marry any one I
didn't like, John?"
" I don't know.   I think not, mother."
"You have always been a good boy,
John, and you will never regret it. You
may ask her as soon as you please, and
we will see if she can't be trained into
making you happy;" never once thinking it possible the lady in question, or.
any other, could have any objection to
John, or tho training that was to result
in his happiness. And, John, bless you I
he was as happy now as- he could be,
with the greatest barrier to his winning'
his sweetheart broken. And, as for her
house-keeping qualities, if she had set
before him, then, a dish of fried sole'
leather, he wouldn't have known it from
the best tripe he ever tasted.
Aunt Polly, after this, dropped in to
see Millie quite often of an afternoon,
What put that into your
mfc Millie,
id?".
** Then who, John Raymond, have you
-ed-to be youi; wifQ ?"
•> % " Why, Jennie Jones,, the little music
her, of course. You said you had
ticed my partiality for her, and gave
u? consent to my asking her. Don't
uremember, mother?" ...
^!'0h, good Lordl" remarked .Aunt
fgi'Ify, *wnioh was, bythe way, the most
^"becoming remark she made about the
•-{-fair.
#»Fhe end of it all was that AuntPolly
■ftjlled upon John's music teacher", but
pfcetherit was because Jennie was a
TM*agon, or because Aunt Polly couldn't
telp herself, as she always prided her-
*"' on her'word, no one ever knew;
__   Jennie was accepted without a crit-
ffciBKL from Aunt Polly, though she pos-
Jjfeflsed nothing in the world but a ten-
>r heart, nor was she given the prom-
fd training Aunt Polly thought so
mducive to John's happiness; and, as
.fitting finale to every true story, they
ived as happily as mortals usually do in
Sib world.
"Oanville Wis.
e Startling "Experience of  Gen. Bouton—
Good Use  of a  Pistol.
LFrom tho Colton (Cal.) Semi-Tropic.-)
Reports of the adventure of Gen.
outon with highwaymen near San
.Jacinto have been coming in for some
,d»3*B, but the General himself has now
.arrived. Gen. Bouton was Chief of
"Artillery under Gen. Sherman, who
kipeaks of him as having a record as an
Jritillery_oflicer    unsurpassed  in   the
and watched her closely.    She offered^*   £e was, engagedLin forty-two
A HIGHWAY ADVENTURE.
many suggestions to Millie and gave her;
idea of things in general, and was for *
ever talking about John, what hei
thought, said,' and liked, until Millie;,
tired of John's name, and I am afraid,
was rude enough to -wish Aunt Polly!
would stay at home and attend to?"
her own affairs, though she said noth|
ing, thinking Aunt Polly childisl|
and queer.
One day John awkwardly stammerei
out his happiness to Aunt Polly.   H
had told his love and been acceptei
but "the day" had not been appoint
yet.   The next afternoon  Aunt Pol
went over to see Millie, and after a *whi|3
asked: r-"'.-~JiX
"When are you
farm, Millie?"
"Why, I have never thought of leaving it at all. This is my father's home
and mine always," Millie said, surprised.
"Oh, you know, that can't be. You
will leave it for a husband some day."
Millie looked at her Aunt Mary reproachfully, as if she had been telling
tales, and said deoidedly:
"I intend my husband, if I ever get
one, to settle here, Aunt Polly."
Aunt Polly looked severely at Millie,
and not a little alarmed.
"Her John come here to live and
leave her 1" She said, decisively, "Millie,
we may as .well understand each other.
There are several things about you not
tended to make you future husband
happy. You are selfish and much too
independent. You have had your own
way until you don't care for any opinion
but your own. You are neither a careful nor saving housekeeper. You can
embroider finely, but I doubt if you
could mend a pair of socks neatly. You
play the piano and draw well, but you
have yet to handle the skillet carefully.
As for living here that is all nonsense.
A wife goes with her husband; besides
John would never consent to such an
arrangement, even if I would."
All this time Millie's eyes opened
wide, as she gazed in astonishment at
Aunt Polly, thinking she had suddenly
gone insane, and when she closed Millie
said with spirit:
"Well, Aunt Polly, if my future husband is not satisfied with me, he is
privileged to look elsewhere for a wife.
Has he been complaining to you? And,
pray, why may I not have iny own way,
and follow my own opinion? I do not
think it my duty to consult his wishes
and opinions, from the size of my shoes
to the twist of my hair. As for socks
and skillets, you wouldn't have me beg
in the streets for socks to darn, or go
out as a servant girl to learn to handle
a Bkillet properly, would you? But,
Aunt Polly, I don't understand why
John is dragged in every three seconds.
I don't see what you and John have to
do with my living where and doing as I
please. By your conversa tion, I should
think you meant John to marry me."
"Millie Williams, have you been encouraging John just for the sake of
flattering your vanity, and intend to
refuse him at this late hour?"
"I never encouraged John at all. We
are like brother and sister, and I don't
believe he cares for mo in any other
way."
"And ean you sit there and say that,
when John told me this morning you
had consented to be his wife ?"
" Aunt Polly! Why, I never consented to any such thing. John never asked
me, and I never could marry him if he
had, for I have been engaged to Dr.
Austen for a year. There is some mistake."
Aunt Polly stared at Millie a moment, then caught up her bonnet and
hurriedly disappeared down the path.
She entered the sitting-room of her
home, where John was reading, and
asked, breathlessly:
"John, didn't you tell me that Millie
Williams promised to marry you?"
"Why, mother, I didn't say anything
"b-ittles, and never lost a gun. He tells
■of his tliriUing experience on the moun-
.iain-top at San Gorgonia in the following-way:
** The General and J. 0. Collins, his
jpartner, started from San  Gorgonia for
their ranch at San Jaointo in a light
wagon.   About three miles   out,   and
j-wlien on the top of the grade on the
»S.ew road leading to San Jacinto, three
tnen suddenly rose  out of the brush,
'■which at that place grows close to the
J-fiadside, and, two presenting revolvers
Hid pne a saotgun, cried "Haiti"   The
jfeiani waa stopped, when they were or-
jpered to .give tip their arms.   They both
promptly answered that they had no
x 't        i*" •*#*■£''< Although. e«ch..,ot thgmuJhmfkMxec
going to leave taef^rin hj» ^^ unkn^n^f'&S
other. Upon getting out of the wagon,
lieces of chain were produced, and
their hanjls wero chained behind
tlem, and six-foot chains were
placed about eaoh of their necks.
This jewelry was made from the chain
tsed about the "Straw-carrier of a
hreshing machine. The links are made
of a heavy wire bent into shape but not
welded, and when they were placed upon
the prisoners the links were pressed
down with a pair of shoemaker's pincers. Collins was chained to the wheel
of his wagon, -with the chain about his
neck. The man carrying the shotgun
was handed a pistol by the other, who,
taking hold of the chain about the General's neck, said, "come on," while the
armed man fell in the rear with his gun
about a foot from Bouton's back. The
third man'had meanwhile been unhitching the horses, and, taking them ahead
a short distance, tied them to some
bushes.
All this time—and the time was not
nearly so lon-j as it takes to tell it—the
General had been iurtively feeling along
the slack of the chain on "his hands trying to find a link that was not entirely
closed. His touch, which must have
been intensified by the tight place in
which he was placed, suddenly found a
link partly open. He dropped the
other link down, and, with the slight
leverage whioh this afforded, pried
open the little opening upon which his
life depended. Keeping his hands in
the same position he then parted the
skirts of his coat and put his hand upon
the pistol; whioh was a self-cocker of
the " bull-dog " pattern. They had not
yet gone more than thirty paces, and
had just turned out of the road
into the brush when the General ac-
comphshad this, and it was just at this
time that tho man in the rear noticed
his movements and cried, "Halt!" At
this Gen. Bouton whipped out his pistol, and, half turning, fired at the man
in the rear, who fell. Quick as thought,
he whirled and bored a hole through
the one in front. He then ran to release Collins, when the third man came
running toward the wagon from where
he had tied the horses. Bouton, thinking his purpose was to shoot
Collins, waited until he < passed the
rear of the wagon, ' when he
blazed away and dropped him.
It took but a moment to jerk the chain
apart which was about Collins' neck,
and to free his hands. Then, hitching
up their team, they drove like wildfire
to the office of Justice Kennedy, some
nine miles distant, with the parted
chains still dangling from their wrists
and neoks, where they at once told their
story. With the aid of a file they were
relieved of their jewelry, and as soon
as day Tu'oke a posse started back, to the
scene of the tragedy.
Near by they found where three
horses had been tied and two masks
on the ground. Taking up the trail of
the horses they found, about a half mile
further on, the body of John Wakefield,
Who had dismounted, unsaddled hi-<
horse, turned him- loose, and then
lain down and died. He was found
to have been shot in the right side, the
ball lodging just beneath the skin of
the back. On Wednesday a man named
Covington- went to his home, near El
Cbsoo, immediately after the shooting,
with a flesh "wound in the thigh, where
he stated to his friends that they did
not intend to murder Gen. Bouton, but
only wanted to compel him to sign an
order on his wife for $5,000, and intended to keep him as a hostage until it was
paid.       .    ,
Historical  Sun Darkening!?..
In 536, 567, and 626 we find mention
of long periods of diminished sunlight.
Schnurrer records that in 733, a year
after the Saracens had been driven
back beyond the Pyrenees, consequent
on their defeat at Tours, "the sun darkened in an alarming manner on Aug.
19; there appeared to be no eclipse by
the moon, but rather an interruption
from meteoric substance." There was
an eclipse of the sun, annular, but
nearly total, on the morning of Aug.
14; it is mentioned in the Saxon
Chronicle, which tells us "the sun's
disk was like a black shield." Tho near
coincidence of dates suggests in this
case a connection between the darkness and the eclipse. In 934, according
to a Portuguete historian, the sun lost
its ordinary light for several months,
and this is followed by the doubtful
statement that an opening in the sky
seemed to take place, with many flashes
of lightning, and the full blaze of sunshine was suddenly restored. In 1091,
on Sept. 29, not 21, as given in some of
the translations of Humboldt's "Cosmos,"
Schnurrer relates that there was a darkening of the sun which lasted three
hours, after which it had a peculiar
color, which occasioned great alarm.
In another place we read: "Fuit
eclipsis Solis II. Kal. Octob.fere ires
horas: Sol circa meridiem dire ni-
grescebat;" there was no visible eclipse
at this time, and the November eclipse
was central only in the southern parts
of the earth. A century later, or in
June, 1191, according to Sohnurrer, the
sun was again darkened, with certain
attendant effects upon nature. Here
the cause is easily found; on June 23
there was a total eclipse, in which the
moon's shadow traversed the continent
of Europe from Holland to the Crimea;
the eclipse was total in this country between the coasts of Cumberland and
Yorkshire. Erman refers to a
sun-darkening on Feb. 12, 1106,
which was accompanied by me-
*TOM, and -we^yej-kd. in the opmet^
ographies that on' the JtEh',*6r, 'ac'oordinif'
to others, on the 5th, of February in
this year, a star was seen from the third
to the ninth hour of the day, which was
distant from the sun "only a foot and a
half." Matthew Paris and Matthew of
Westminster term this star a comet,
and we take it to have been the same
which, later in the same month, was
observed in China under the sign
Pisces, and which, at one time, was supposed to have been identical with the
great comet of 1680; this body, however, would not appear to have been
sufficiently near the earth as, even on
j the assumption of a denser constitution
than usual with comets, to account for
I a diminution of the solar rays, by its
j intervention. On the last day of February, 1206, according to a Spanish
writer, there was complete darkness for
six hours. In 1241, "fi-^e months after
the Mongol battle of Leignitz," the sun
was obscured, and the darkness became
so great that the stars were seen at the
ninth hour about Michaelmas. In this
case, again, the darkness referred to was
undoubtedly due to the total eclipse on
Oct. 6, of which Prof. Schiaparelli has
collected a full account from the Italian
writers. Lastly, in 1547, from April 23-
25, Kepler relates on the authority of
Gemma, "the sun appeared as though
suffused with blood, end many stars
were visible at noon-day." Sohnurrer
thought this phenomenon was what the
Germans call a "Hohenrauch," notwithstanding the visibility of the stars.
From the above brief summary of what
have been considered abnormal sun-
darkenings, We see that in several cases
the diminution of the light has been
due to the ordinary effects of a total
eclipse, while it is clear that there are
no grounds in the historical evidence
for any prediction of a period of darkness. The nervous in these matters,
and it would really appear that such
exist, may take consolation therefrom.
- -J. B. Hind, in Nature.
A. SINGIVK glass of kum.
BY W. H, OOI-IELD.
Lott  Physical Sensibility.
In the curious histories of malingering, which we receive from the medical
officers of our prisons and public services, many instances of self-inflicted
injuries occur wnioh might doubtless
be traced to the existence of a low
standard of physical sensibility. A remarkable instance came under my own
observation, many years ago, in quite a
young child, which makes it all the
more striking, as infancy is very intolerant of pain. A little pauper girl presented herself one morning in the
surgery of a country doctor and lisped
out a request to have a decayed tooth
extracted. The tooth, which, for a
child, was large and firmly fixed, was
taken out without the smallest expression of suffering on the part of the
child, and a penny was given her for being so brave. The next morning the
little thing reappeared and asked to
have another tooth out, this time pointing to a perfectly sound one. and it
seems probable that she would have
consented to the forcible extraction of
the whole set at a penny per tooth.—
Contemporary Review,
"JuBt one glass of rum—
What can the danger be?
Just one glass of rum
Oh never fear for me.
"A single glass of rpm—
Oh, yes, I'm coming now:
. ■    •   A single sflaBS of mm—
I must be gone, I trow.
"A second glass of rum—
One'B not enough for me;
A second glass of rum-
It helps my nerves, yon soe.
"One more glass 6f rum—
Why, man, it's only three;
One more glass of rum,
It makes me feel bo free,
"Anothor glaBS of rum—
My nerves havo grown steady
Another ftlass of rum.
And then I'll be ready,"   *   *
A glass of boiling rilm
*?rom out tbe seething pot;
A gists of boiling rum
To satisfy the sot.
"JuBt ono glass of rum,"
The maniac's raving cry
"Just one glass of rum,
Oh give it or I die."
A single glass of rum
Has done its mission well;
A single glass of rum
Hue sent a soul to hell.
Belle Hive, IU.
PITn AND POINT.
Sib Henry Bessemer has, in his time,
taken out 160 patents.
A woman with two heads has just arrived from Europe. Eight bonnets a
year—only think of it 1
Some say, "Eail, gentle spring I" but
we prefer that it should reign less violently. —Yonkers Gazette.
The beauty of a man's parting his
hair in the middle is that it gives both
ears an equal chance to flap.
Which is oddest, the man who asks a
question or the man who answers? The
man who asks, because he's the querist.
Mauy leads her little lamb
Around by silken tether—
She calls her little lambkin "Hot"
Because it is a wether.
Faith is described by a scientist as
"an emotion clinging to the high things."
Might as well call it a trapeze performance.
There is a man who says he has not
slept for fifteen years, and that he lies
and thinks all night. We can vouch
for his lying, if for no other part of his
story.—Exchange.
The New   Orleans   Picayune  saya
that old age needs an easy-chair and »
•jMr otwlippers.,<«Tessr tknd-^o-atltEee^ '-fe:
a pair of knees and only one slipper.—
New York Herald.
Doctors say that the tears a man
sheds when he takes a mouthful of
mustard by mistake for a potato are as
genuine as the tears shed by a man because his uncle is dead.—Detroit Free
Press. ,
"John, did you take the note* to Mr.
Jones?" "Yes, but I don't think he
can read it." "Why so, John?" "Because he is blind, sir. While I was in
the room he asked me twice where my
hat was, and it was on my head all the
time."
A certain young lady, who was
little behind in her summer o utfit, Bur
prised her parents the other day by
asking why she was unlike George
Washington. When they gave it up,
she told them —because she had no little hat yet.
A professor, examining a student
on the Bible history, asked him why
Moses was buried in such a secret place
that the Israelites could not find him.
The youth replied that it was for fear
they would dig up his body and stuff it.
This youngster was the son of a showman.
A good lady who, on the death of her
husband, married his brother, has a
portrait of the former hanging in her
dining-room. One day a visitor, remarking on the painting, asked: "Is
that a member of your family?" "Oh,
that's my poor brother-in-law," was the
ingenuous reply.
"Luckiest man I ever knew—everything succeeds with him. He had only
to say what he wanted, and he got it.
Why, confound it, I was walking with
him one day—tlie very last day of hia
life—and he said to me: ' When I die,
I want to die suddenly.' Got run over
that very night, by hokey! Ever see
such luck?"
"How came these holei? in your elbows?" said the widow Smith to the irrepressible small boy. "Oh, mother, I
hid behind the sofa when little Jack
Horner was sayin' to our Jule that he'd
take her, even if you had to be throw n
in; and he didn't know I was there, and
so T held in and laughed in my sleeves
tiU I bust 'em."
One of the yellow-fever convalescents
in Memphis, the Avalanche relates,
took supper at the Peabody, the other
night. He got outside of a plate of
milk toast, half a chicken, a pint of
fried potatoes, a cup of coffee and a
glass of mik. "You have a good appetite, Charley," said his neighbor.
"Yes," he responded, with a sigh; "but
my doctor won't let me eat anything."
The mother of two sons, twins, met, a
contemporory relates, one of the
brothers in a field, one morning.
" Which of you two boys am I speaking
to?" asked the mother? "Why do
you ask ? " inquired the lad, prudently.
" Because, if it is your brother, I will
box his ears." " It iB not my brother,
it is I." " Then your brother is wearing your coat, for yours had a hole in
it." " No, mother, I am wearing my
own coat"- "Good heavens,!'* cried
the motiier, looking at him intently,
" you swte^-aur brother, after all!"