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BT CHAKLKS T. PAXKY. Olooolydart No tounda are hoard Hare wiutla and floods that downward pour, A ad tlniid fluting of a bird, That ilpe one lew now o'er and o'er. Before the Mn.it the bare trees lean. The ragged rlouda aall low and gray, And all the wild and wintry aoene la but one Uur of driving apray. O day uioat meet for meiuoriee, For rnunlDf ly a vacant hoarth Ou that which was and that which 1, Aud thoao who wait no more ou e.utU! And yet thla dark aud dreary day Howe brighter le-u ntlll can bring, For It ia herald of the May, A faint foretoken of the vpilng. Beneath the ceaavleaa-beatlnif rain Larth'a anowy ahroud fan dhtapittars, Aa aorrow preying on the braiu Fade in a flood of happy teara. And thua In darkneoa oft la wrought,! Through lonely daya of teara and grief, The gradual change by which ia brought To ahadowed Uvea aouie awet't rrlkT. ilcrtfmer'i Monthly. Written for the Chicago Ledger. TUE STORY OP A SKULL. By llnllet II. Hewitt. PART FIRST MURDER. In the year 1850 there stood a small, one story house among a number of wretched dwellings near the river in the town of N , in Missouri. In this, the most wretched of all the tenement houses in the vicinity, there was being enacted, on this stormy November night, a tragic scene. It was nearly 12 o'clock, and the occupants of the frout room were a young girl a girl woman of scarcely seventeen (slight and delicate but grace ful in every outline; dreased in a plain calico dress and torn shoes, but neat and clean as possible; with a face, which, though very pale and rather thin hav ing a sad and weary expression, especially in the beautiful, lustrous eyes was still very beautiful and decidedly interesting, which all combined made her seem strangely out of place in such miserable surroundings) and a haggard-looking, partially intoxicated young man, who had evidently just entered, as he was dripping wet, and a pitiable sight to be hold, lie had thrown his hat upon the floor and was seated upon the wretched apology for a bed wuich stood in the corner opposite the door. He was engaged in angry conversation with the young girl we have described; but, in order that the reader may under stand the conversation, we must pause and go back previous to the beginning of this story. The young man was Harold Wyman, a handsome, dissolute young man, and the only son of the wealthy Judge Wyman. Like all only sons of rich parents he had been " spoiled" from infancy, and when he was twenty years old he had been disowned for marry ing his mother's servant girl the pretty, graceful, artless Mabel. He had betrayed her confidence, but, as he really felt some affection for Mabel, he had yielded to her entreaties and mar ried her to save her from disgrace. In so doing, his parents considered that he had deeply disgraced them, and had disowned him. Thrown thus upon the world with out a cent, and compelled to earn his own living, when he had always lived in idleness and luxury, what little love he had felt for Mabel soon gave way to in difference. He gave himself up to de bauchery and drunkenness, and for this reason, lost situations as soon as he got them, and finally was compelled to seek work in factories. Two months after marriage their child was born, and in another month buried. Six months more passed away, during which time Harold and his too-loving wife descended to the lowest depths of poverty and misery. On this particular night she had been waiting for him to come home, sitting beside the rickety table on which a candle burned low, and thinking how much longer she would have to en dure her husband's abuse and their wretched poverty. She loved her hus band devotedly, in spite of his abuse of her and his vices, and she was wondering what there was in her power to do that would check him from utter ruin and make him a man again, when the door was heavily bumped against and the object of her thoughts had entered and jammed the rickety door shut again. She had risen as he entered, and seated herself beside him on the bed. Seeing that he was out of humor, he was al ways so, however, as he said nothing, but scowled angrily, she laid one arm across his shoulders and said gently: " I've been waiting long for you, hus band, dear. You look so tired and cross that I feel sure you have failed again to get work. But never mind, Harold, we can endure it a while longer. I have finished the dress for the lady to-night, and will take it home in the morning, and if I get more sewing we will not starve. Did you see the man who partially promised you employment yes terday?" " No I didn't," was the growled reply. " I did not try to see him. I don't want work. I was not raised to work, and don't intend to work. You were born and bred to work ; so if you want to work you can do it. I'll steal first." Takintr no notice of his cruel insult, his wife replied. ' 1 No, Harold, you were not raised to steal, so I am sure;you will not do that I would rather starve. Oh, Harold, if you would only try and not be m down hearted and reckless, we can easily get a foothold again. We will noon rise out of our poverty if you make up your mind to be a man in spite of your vices. I know and you know that you will soon ruin yourself if you do not change your habits and leave drink alone. We must make an effort to quit thin way of living I will help you all I can." " I don't care what you do, but I am not going to live this way a Hay longer," Maid he, fiercely and determinedly. 'Why Harold, what do you mean?" she exclaimed, alarmed by his manner, and hardly understanding his words. " I mean just what I said," said he. "I'm going to leave this place. I've lived like a vagalond long enough." "O, husband, how happy it makes me to hear you talk like that!" she cried. "How we will strive to win our way in the world! And we can soon do it if you will only stick to your resolve to live like this no longer. We can leave here, and in another part of the world, where we will not bo known, we can take i fresh start in life and let the past be for gotten. Wilhnarly will I pro with you wherever you wish willingly and ea gerly." , . . "Well, I guess you won't, then," he answered sneeringly. " 1 ou can go where vou please, out not with me." The blood left her lips, her arm fell off his shoulders and her heart almost stopped its beating, as she exclaimed in a voice of agonized surprise: " You cannot mean to desert me, Har old? You surely cannot mean that? O, husband! say you do not mean it, un less you wish to" break my heart! " " But I do mean it! " said he, irritated to savageness by her piteous exclama tion. " D n "it, if I stay here I'll go to the devil; but if I go away and let you go the devil, I way be able to make a man of myself," Then, as he saw her stagger from him as though stunned by his word?, he went on with a sudden change to a harsher and more bitter tone of voice: "But for you I would never have been where I am. I never intended to marry you, but you coaxed and threatened me into it. 1 curse the hour when I first saw your pretty face. My parents served me as any such a fool as I was ought to have been served; I don't blame them. I was too big a fool to see that I would disgrace my parents more by marrying you than by not. It would be called a youthful indiscretion, such as is liable to happen to any young man, and I could have taken a trip away from home for a while, until the affair had blown over. But, like the fool that I was, I did not think of that then. I married vou and saved you and the child from discrace, but at what an expense! My own dis grace and ruin. The child is dead now, and there is nothing to hold us together, so I am going to leave you; you have supported yourself, so you can do it again, lou thought that by entrapping me into marriage you would at once se cure for yourself a high position in so ciety, and " "Stop!" She was standing before him, erect and haughty, and, with her bosom heaving and her face almost livid with indignant passion, she had uttered the word, lhe command was spoken in such a fierce and unnatural tone of voice, that he was in stantly checked in his insulting and bru tal taunts, and, looking up, he quailed lefore the scorning fire in her eyes. "Not one word more," she said. " Dare but add another cowardlv lie to those you have uttered, and you shall feel the rage of a wronged and insulted woman. All the love 1 have lelt lor you, and heaven knows how much that is, you have killed now forever, but nev ertheless you (shall not desert me as vou intend, tar rather would I have bad you play the part of the decent villian and never have married me, after ruin ing me by false oaths, than to have you leave me in this way, I would not have had the contempt for you that I new have, though I might have hated. I am your lawful wife and have a right to your protection and support if not your love. I cannot make you give me the last, but the first vou shall give me; you shall not cast me oft as you would a mis tress." 'I shall not. hev?" said he. mock ingly, " and who will prevent me from doing as 1 please 7 " Dare to attempt it, said she with a meaning emphasis, "and you will be likely to pass the rest of your life in prison." "Ho, ho! he cried, "what nonsense you are talking. Men are not impris oned for getting tired of their wives and leaving."" " But they are for anon ! ' He recoiled as though he had received an electric shock, and said hoarsely and nervously, as he glanced fearfully around the room in a way peculiar to criminals. "Arson! what do you know about that?" " I know," she said in a threatening whisper, " who it was that burned the factory out of revenge because he had been discharged for drunkenness. Everyone thought and thinks vet that the fire caught in some way from the furnaces; but I know who, as he passed uong the street late at night, threw into a broken window pane a burning ball of cotton saturated with alcohol or turpen tine." As he listened, his momentary terror passed away, and a mad rage took its place. When she finished, he sprang at her, exciaimiag: "Curse you, woman! you know too much. You threaten me with that, do you?" And as he spoke, he had her by the throat, and she seeing murder in his eyes, struggled for her life. In an in stant she was thrown upon the floor, and in his blind rage he was choking her to death, when, with a last effort, she threw him off and sprang for the door with a shriek for help. Ere she could open the door, however, he had snatched a piece of oak board lying on the floor, and struck her a terrible blow upon the head. "Oh!" She uttered the word in a reproachful moan, staggered like a dizzy person, and sank in a heap upon the floor. As he saw her fall, his passion instant ly cooled, ana ins leatures soitenea a lit tle but only a little as he said as though half regretting the cowardly blow, and excusing it to himself: "Confound herl why couldn't she have been sensible. She ought to bee as well as I do that, though married, we are not properly mated. At any rate, she ought to have known me long enough to know better than to threaten. A threat always did madden me." Ilia counte nance hardened again as he sat upon the bed and gazed at the form of his wife lying pericctly still. Guess I mu.t have stunned her badly," he said, "as she shows no sign of coming to. I wonder how she knew I burned the factory mut have been fol lowing me. Hot-headed fool that I am. I ought to have left without letting her know it. I wonder if it would not be tho best thing I can do to leave now and get as far away from here aa possible Iwfore srw comes to her senses. I guess i that's what I had better do. Then if she wants to, Hhe can tell all she knows; ha! I what's that? blood?" He started up in surprise as he noticed a small rivulet of blood making it way from his wife's head, down across the 'slanting floor. He hastily stooped and turned her over on her side, when he noticed that the piece of board was stick ingto her head, and he had to give quite a hard wrench to tear It away. Then, with a horrified shudder, he saw about an inch of the head of a large sized spike which was driven into her head, ami from around which the blood was flow ing through the luxuriant waves of her uair. ine piece oi uoaru wun wnicn ne had struck her bad been torn out of the back part of the house for firewood, and the rusty spike sticking in it had been driven at least four inches through her skull, of course, killing her instantly. "My God! I've murdered her," was his hrst exclamation, "isow I'm sure to go to the gallows," was his next utter ance. If he felt any remorse for hi ter rible crime he did not show it. "But perhaps I can cheat the gallows if I can et a good distance from here before this is discovered. I'll try it anyway." Then he put on his hat and coat, and pausing an instant before he blew out the candle, he said: " There is nothing I can take with me ? Yes," as he noticed his violin case under the bed, the only thing he had taken from his father's house when turned out of it "my violin: I'll take it." Placing the violin case under his arm, he blew out the light, and, stepping over the dead body of his wife, fastened the door behind him and passed down the street in the pitchy darkness. lie skulked like a shadow through the streets and alleys until well out of town. South of the town several miles, he came upon the railroad track which he followed. An hour later he came upon a "crossing, where the railroad line from the north crossed the track upon which he was walking, at right angles. Here, fortu nately for him, was a steep grade up which a heavy train was slowly toiling. The train was going so very slow that he tound it an easy matter to clamber up between two of the cars with his violin. PART SECOND WILL OUT. Three days afterward Harold arrived in a small town in east Tennessee. As soon as he arrived he strolled up the principal street with his violin case in his hand, and entered a barber-shop where he intended to have his side whiskers shaved off and his hair cut short, which would almost completely change his looks. During his journey he had, we won't enquire how, ob tained five dollars, with part of which he had bought a new hat as he had lost his old one on the trip, and as the rest of his clothes were in good order, be made a good uppearance. While he was being shaved, another gentleman, who was also being shaved in the other of the two chairs of the shop, said to the barber who was shaving him: " I say, barber, do you know of any good violinist in this town, who I can get to play for us at the hall to-night? I have engaged a piano and pianist to accompany, but have not found a vio linist "Well I don't know." said the bar ber, hesitatingly. "Bob Kilev is con sidered the best catgut-scraper here, but he's out of town now. I don't really know who you could get." "That's just my luck," exclaimed the other; "but if it can't be helped, it can't; and I suppose we will have to do without music. I've told the manager often that it would pay to carry a mu sician with the company, and not have to depend upon what we can pick up at the towns we visit." At that moment the gentleman's barber had finished the left check, and turning his head to that side, began upon the right cheek just as Harold's barber had finished his right cheek, and turning his face to the right began upon the left. Then as the occupants of the two chairs faced each other Harold said: "Did I understand you to say just now, sir, you wanted a good violinist? " " Yes," said the other, " I am the ad vance agent for Nellie Ellis' Comedy Company, which plays here to-nght and to-morrow night, and I want to find a violinist to furnl-h the music for us; do you know where I can find one?" " I am at your service," said Harold, "I consider myself a first-class violinist. I am a stranger here having arrived only an hour ago and, as I am lookiug out for something to do, I would like to play for you. I think I could fill your bill." "Then you are the very man I've been wanting to see," said the advance agent, " and, if you would just as leave, when you are shaved, we will go up to the hall together. Can you play duets with a piano?" " Yes." "Then I will have the lady I have en gaged come up to the hall this afternoon, and you can practice together for to night." Harold was naturally a musician, and a violinist of decided skill, and furnished excellent music that evening. and the next. After the performance was over on the second night, the manager and advance agent had a talk together, and they proposed to Hurold that he should become an actor. He would receive a small salary, and would have to take small parts, and furnish the music. Should he develop any decided talent for the profession, he would be given every chance to rise as rapidly as he could. Would he go? Nothing could F lease Harold better lor several reasons, lehad always, from early boyhood, had a fancy, almost a passion, for the stage, and he felt sure he could act small parts successfully. Besides, traveling with a theatrical company under an assumed name, he had but little fear of the gal lows. His crime would never find him out, and he might yet rise to wealth and fame. He soon made a bargain with the manager, and when the troupe left the next morning, Harold went with them as Cecil Basye, the name which he had assumed. In a very short time Cecil developed f reat talent for acting, and, as he soon earned to like the business, he studied incessantly, and put his whole energies into the profession. We cannot follow him through all his varied adventures for the next four year?, during which time he traveled with different compa nies all over the United State?, steadily advancing in the profession, until we find him, five years after he loft N , playing the leading parU in a large, ii rat-class dramatic company. He had risen to the height of his ambition; for he was famous, and his name adorned the fences and bill-boards in colored letters of very largo size. He was most cele brated in the great Shakcsperian charac ter, such aa Itonieo, Othello, Hamlet and others, being especially great in Hamlet. In November, iust five years after Harold Wyman murdered his wife the Weatherby Dramatic Combination with the " iruowned and teerless' tragedian, Cecil Basye, upjrted by the "largest and hnent dramatic company now traveling," visited the town of N for "positively one night only. ' 1 he play tnat night was to be Hamlet the title-role by the "eminent and unap proachable tragedian, Cecil Basye, with the " beautiful and finished actress, and gem of the dramatic stage " Miss lVarl White, in her great creation of " Ophe lia" the other characters by fourteen of the best artists in the profession. this was the first time that Cecil Basye had visited the town since he left it "as Harold Wyman, and he would not have visited it now if he could have persuaded the manager to skip the town. How ever, he had but little fear of being de tected, although, doubtless, his parents and many of his former friends and acquaintance would be in the audience. He was much changed in appearance in consequence of a recent serious illness inducedby too severe study and the exhausting labor of the parts he acted, lie could disguise his voice and felt sure he would not be recognized unless he was too careless. Now, since he could hardly help it, he was rather glad that he was to visit N , for he wanted to see the place again ; to see if his parents still lived there, and find out how and when his wife had been found; by whom she was buried, and what was thought about the crime; whether it had blown over, or whether it was still fresh in the remembrance of the citizens. He had a great curiosity to know the various theories which must have been advanced at the time, respecting the cause of the crime, and to find out whether search had been made for him, as, of course, when he was found to be missing, no one couk! have doubted but that he had murdered his wife. With these objects in view, on the morning the company arrived, he " fell in" with a number of persons, for he was a great hand at making friends and acquaintances, and in the course of general couversation, artfully and un concernedly made inquiries. He found out that Judge yman still lived there an honored and respected old gentle man, but that his wife had died of a broken heart some four years ago, in con sequence of a crime committed by their only son. This hon had murdered wife whom he had married against his parents' wishes. But he could not learn particulars. So from one person and another he learned during the day all he wished to know, and though he recog nized many old faces upon the street, none of them recognized him. 1 his re moved from his mind all fear of appear ing upon the stage that night. .Late in the afternoon he learned from a saloon keeper, whom he had drawn into conver sation upon the subject, that the dead body of his wife had been discovered the morning after he (Harold or Cecil) left, by the lady who called for the dress hi wife had made for her. Her husband was found to be mining, and there was no doubt but that he had murdered her. He found out that his father had given her a decent burial, and that detectives had hunted for the murderer lor some time, but without success. We should now inform our reader that Cecil Basye was deeply in love with the leading lady of the company, and that she returned his affection. In the six months that they had played together. thev had become devotedly attached to each other and were to be married at the close of the season. The next season they would, Cecil intended, start out with a company of their own. This lady, Miss Pearl White, was a very beau tiful little lady, educated ahd refined to a degree seldom found m actresses. An orphan when a child, she had been raised in luxury and fashion by a wealthy uncle. At the age of sixteen, after the death of her uncle, which occurred soon after a financial disaster which brought him to poverty, ?he had found herself alone upon the world, and rather than accept the aid of distant relatives, she took the advice of an actress who was a friend of hers, and adopted the stage. For a number of years she had devoted herself to her profession, and escaping the dangers and temptations of an actress life, had steadily advanced. Cecil Basye was the first man she had ever loved, and she loved him devotedly. That night Cecil, dressed as Hamlet, was standing in the wings, waiting for the curtain to rise. He was thinking: "After to-night I need never fear that my crime will find me out. I am fa mous, and when, with my sweet pearl as my wile, l can travel witn a eom- )any of my own; then will my cup of lappiness be full. I can make my fortune and enjoy life. The world is wide and never will I enter this town again. My name and all I was and did here when I lived here, I'll forget for ever if I can. 0, I curse it! I wish we had not come to this town; it has re vived what I had almost made myself forget, and I feet strangely to-night in spite of myself. 1 will be glad when this season is ended, so I can take a good long rest. The doctor said when I was hick that I was working too hard; that excited myself too much by plaving the parts I do, and that if I did not soon take a rest, the strain on my mental and nervous system would break me down, and perhaps impair my intellect. That must be what ails me to-night. I am weak, and imagine I feel a kind of nerv ous presentiment of some undefinable danger. Bali ! brandy is w hat I want to keep me up." The curtain went up and the play be gan. Cecil acted the grief-crazed Hamlet as faithfully and as grandly as he ever had, but the members of the company noticed that he seemed very nervous and excited, and, what was very unusual, drank brandy between the scenes. in the fifth act of the Liv. wherp Hamlet plays with the skulls thrown up by the two clowns digging a grave, and cracks his dismal jokes about them, Cecil's acting was perfect. in answer to J lamlct s question, "How ng will a man lie i' earth ere he rot?" the first clown was sayim iial '.ilcrc's a skull now hath Iain you v the earth thrce-and-twenty y Jfamkl" Whose wa It? ears i Ut Cloum "A whoreson mad fellow's it was: Whose do you think it was? i 7awW-" Nay. 1 know not." . I 1 Clown "A pestilence on him for a mad rogue ! he poured a flAgon of linen ish wine on my head once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick'a skull, tho king's jester." , , JamUt " This?" (Tales the tlvlt.) Ut Clown " E'en that" Hamlet Alas, poor Yorickl I knew him Horatio; a pillow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy; he hath borno one on his back a thousand times! and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung thoclipH, that I have kissed, I know not how oft." "Great God! my wife's skull!" he shrieked the next instant, as, while ex amining the skull, some dirt fell out of it, and ne saw a long rusty spike sticking through the back part of it. He was so wrapt in his acting that he had not noticed that the skuik were not the same that had been used before, but when ho suddenly recognized the skull an that of his murdered wife's, the shock wan so great, that, losing all presence of mind, he shrieked out the words with such hor ror that the audience waa terrified. "The gallows! the gallows at last!" he shouted, and fell in a lit to the floor of the stage. The curtain instantly dropped; the manager bobbed out before it a minute later and explained that Mr. Basye had been suddenly taken very ill, and that it would be impossible to go on with the play, and in considerable confusion the audience emptied out of the hall. Cecil Basye was a raving lunatic from that hour. The doctors Raid that his in tellect had undoubtedly been impaired for some time past, and that the shock had rendered him hopelessly insane. In his mad ravings that night, he- told everything, and the next day the story was upon everyone's lips. The property man oi' the troupe having forgotten to pack the skulls at the last town, and not being able to find any in N , had, with the aid of several boys, visited the grave-yard about dusk in the evening, and dug up several. A number of graves had been made ujwn the side of a hill. and a landslide had partially unearthed them, which made it an easy mat ter to dig up the remains. Harold Wyman was placed in an asylum, by his father, where he soon afterwnrds died. In snite of his crime. Pearl White, when she heard of his death, shed tears of real sorrow for him. Thus always murder will out. Tender Beminlscences. Three score and ten is not a very green old age if, as astronomers assert, the Ceriod of time in which this earth will e inhabited is a minute to eternity of its actual existence. And vet some people forget that they were ever young. lhere she stood, the apple of their eyes, trembling with suppressed weeps. Their frowns deepened as the mother wiped her glasses preparatory to reading a letter found in the girl's pocket. It began: "Angel of my Existence." 'Vhat! howled the male parent. " You don't mean to say it begins liko that. Oh! that a child of mine should correspond with but pray proceed my dear." "Hem! existence spelled with 'a,' too," proceeded the motet. "hy, the lunatic cau t spell!" chipped in the old man. " It i impossible for mo to describe the joy with which your presence has filled me. "Then why. docs he attempt it, ass? But pray don't let me interrupt you. Goon, go on, let joy be unconfined." " 1 have spent the whole night in think ing of you" (that's picturesque, any way,) "and in bitterly deriding the obstinate besotted old whelp who will not consent to our union. "Oh, let me get at him. Whelp. Is thy servant a toad, that he should le thus spoken of?" "But lheodorus, my dear, inter rupted his other half. " 1 es, yes, one moment : I was about to observe that the hand that could ien uch words would not hesitate to scalp his most cherished relative." "Thcodorus, I didn't see this over the leaf." ''Eh! let me see, hum: ' Yours, with all the love of my heart Theodorus. May 10, 1S35.' Why, bless ray eyes, it's one ot my letter! (sensation.) " les, papa," chimed in the "Olive Branch." " I found it in the closet ves terday only you wouldn't let me sneak 1" "lou may go to the park, mv child. iiemi we've made a nice mess of it." les, love. Isext time we will look at the date first." A Spring That Flows Only lu Drought. The Portsmouth, N. H.. Chronicle of the lGth inst., says: "On the farm of Mr. Daniel Cook, which is in one corner oi muery, Me., close up to the xork and Eliot boundary lines, is an inter mittent spring, which is not only a mot eccentric natural curiosity, but a very great convenience t its owner. IU ex- stence was unknown to Mr. Cook (or any one else in the neiglilorhood) until one of the parched summers of five or six year ago, at which time all the springs, swamp holes, etc., in the cattle pastures dried up, and the aniinal.4 had to l 1 .1 i ucu riven quite a uisiance twice a u.ijr u gci water, une evening, on turning iur attle out of the pasture in which they i ad been feeding during the day into the one in wnicn tnc jnicrmiucui. m's is situated, on their way to water, the thirsty creatures utterly disgusted tho lmv who had them in charge by deserting the path and running to a dis tant part of the pasture, in spite of the I oy's vigorous use of language anu stones. Following them up, the boy was aston ished to find them engaged in drinking heavily at a spring which was discharg ing a goodly amount oi water, umwmcu he had never heard of before. This lasted until the advent of wet weather in the autumn, when it disappeared and lid not again show itself until the fol lowing summer, which was alno a dry one. since men it nas tu whwhku uj the farmer, not so much on account of its odd jvrformancc as because of its iiApfulness: and h' ban found that when ever a drought becomes so severe that all other springs in the vicinity fail, this one commences business, and keeps it up until rain enough falls to start the other springs at work, when it immediately knocks off." A CO.VTIIAMT. T UEOBtiE L. CATLIJI. A luckleM wight, from duagfon rrat Ptwml forth. JIU gUnon all hope l))?fl4. II itghtd and ruried bU wrftihN fair. al4 he I itolo loaf of trd." A wealthy man went rtdlog by, With coHchmao. footman and pontlllUn A merry twinkle in hi eye. "Ah," quoth he, ' i aioie a niiuion - Am lurk W ally. WIT AND HUMOtt. To lard-ma kerb If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Hkns' Slang. " I'll lay for you." Jionlon Commercial Bulletin. A red-heaped girl described herself as a glorified blonde. ( ' The drop curtain is so called because, the gentlemen go out for a drop while it is down. A man never uses his thumb nail for a screw-driver but once. Oil City Der rick. The difference between a pig and a j)orcupine is that one usca a jn and the other a quill. What will the harvest bee? Get him up the leg of your pantaloons and you'll mighty soon find out. Derrick. The farmer, as he gazes over the mar ket report and notices another drop in pork, wonders if there isn't a way to re monetize hogs. Keokuk, Iowa. " Can you tell me, Sor-r, wher-re Mistress Mur-r-phy lives?" "Which Mrs. Murphy?" "The one who died last noight, Sor-r!" A8TONI8HED ENGLISHMAN " Hof course there's a hel. W'at would the halphabet be without a hel?" Iiotton. Jraveler. It has been discovered that the best way to prevent apples from rotting i to put them in a warm, dry cellar, and let a family of fifteen children have free access to them every day. " Young politician " writes to ask " w the ship of state a three master?" No, sonny. W ith uarl Schurz reaching alter the master s position it looks more like a foreign after. Hawkeye. " Diffidence is hard to overcome," wrote the fcchool-girl, in her composition. Ah, yes; so it is, but the man with a corn under another fellow's heel must and will howl. The Danbury New observes that a great many young men who " swore off" on New ear's day are manifesting an inclination to say, " ell, we ve got but one life to live, anyway." A philosophical observer remarks' that babies which are found are gener ally the children of women who have been lost. " I LIVE in Julia's eyes, said an affected dandy in Colman's hearing. " I don't wonder at it, replied George, " since I observed she had a sty in them when 1 saw her last." A gentleman, visiting an Irixhman, observed a monster pig strutting about the house, and aked how they got " such brute up those two stairs?" "JVlay it plawj yer honor," said Taddy, " it was. never down to b tuk up." A native pf Newcastle was asked by a gentleman lately to purchase some poison for him at a neighboring chemist's for the purpose of destroying a dog. " Na, na. said he, " if aa ask for poison, the man'll mebbies think aa's gan to droon mysel ' !" " Pay the bill? " said a gentleman who is well known to collectors a the prince of proerastinators. " I should be happy to do so; but this damp weather has. caused my money drawer to swell, and I can't get at my funds. Come the first dry day." " Wring out tho oM," mv Ti'tinyaon; We wonder loo he ipentu Tne tld, old Hhirt, that wctk on wf-ek fcH) oft wrung out la Ixxa. If o, we nay ring in the new," Nor eok our ho to cozen, King in the newest and the lt, And let it be a down. Yoner' Gaattte. Ten dimes make one dollar," said the schoolmaster. "Now, go on, sir Ten dollars make one what? " " They make one mighty glad these times," replied the boy, and the teacher, who hadn't got hi last month's salary yet. concluded that tho loy was about right. N. Y. Com. Ado. Hard times Principal "What are the firm's requirements, Mr. Screwgy?" Head clerk "Horse wants four new shoos, sir." Principal Sthat all? . Hum! Write for tenders to three or four of the principal houses shoes to be delivered at our works state utmost credit and how much in cash they'll allow for the old ones! J! "Punch. He was so drunk he could not walk,' could scarcely move, and only partially, articulate. A friend of his came up and upbraided him. "If I were in our place," s.iid the friend, " I'd go out in the woods and hang myself." If (hie) you were in my place, how (hie) the deuce (hie) would you get to(hic) the woods?" was the squelching inquiry. , . , , ' A Bangor gentleman contributes, to the WhUf of that town a little 6tory of one oi his children, wnom inoy nave sought to teach to be polite. " We had,", he writes. " tork steak for dinner, the other day, when an old friend, whom the little folks had never seen, dropped in. Of this our six-year-old is very fond and as we helped our friend the littlo fellow st)oke up. "It's very hard to sit here and seo the largest pieces of lean .jo in to a strangers plate." , , "Fact l" said the man with the green necktie and the deep cuffs, who had just roared and sworn at the waiters. for daring to bring him a bit of com bread with his muffins. "Fact is, I'm not used to that sort of thing at home. and I won't want it poked at me at a hotel, where I pay far what I get." This was at Ashtabula. The previous morn ing he had breakfasted at home, and im agined that nothing could be nicer than new liver, and bits fried over from last night's supper. Some anonymous individual an nounces that the people of tho United States use daily eight tons of paper col lars. We do not understand this. The man with the paper collar is an outcast from society. He is never seen on the street or in the parlor. What,, then, does he do with all the paper eollarnf Does he cat them? Is it possible that there is growing up among the youth of this vast country a morbid appetite a mad craving for paper collars as an article of diet? This thing must be look ed into. Puck.