The Brookhaven leader. [volume], May 10, 1883, Image 1

About The Brookhaven leader. [volume] (Brookhaven, Miss.) 1883-1891

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VOLUME I. BROOKHAVEN, MISSISSIPPI, THURSDAY, MAY 10, 1883. NUMBER 12. .‘KlJJSirSSf.'Si.**““*•
THERE 8 SO USE IS LOOKISO
BACK.
There's no use in looking back
IVer the way that we have traveled,
, There's rfo use In going over
All our sorrows, draped In black;
What our yosterdays have brought us,
What our yesterdays have taught us.
Will be of no advantage
If we're always looking back.
There’s no use in looking back.
Every day and date recalling:
' 'Twa* her* we made good progress,
'Twa* there we left the track;
Not by constant retrospection
Will we over reach perfection;
The past Is oar* no longer.
There’s no use In looking back.
There's no use In looking back.
Be the furrow straight or crooked.
Lest we should lie dishenrtoned
And strength and courage lack;
Through paths not ala-ays pleasant
We reach the golden present;
The goal Is still before us.
There's no use in looking back.
There’s no use In looking back.
And remembering with horror
Those weary days and hours
When the soul was on the rack;
For he who wins life's prizes
From grief and gloom art res.
And early learns this lesson:
There’s no use In looking back.
We’ll never reach the mountain
If we linger In the valley;
We'll never a-ln the battle
If we never make attack;
And the foes wo put behind u*
May seek but fail to And us.
If we overcome the habit
Of forever looking back.
—Jutephine Putlnnl, in tf. T. Ledger.
*» TIT FOR TAT.”
Pretty Belle Sutherland sat before the
tire that evening with the traces of tears
on her cheeks, and bright drops still
shining in the brown eyes, that her
lover used to look so fondly into, and
call “ sweetest eyes were ever seen.”
And this same lover, now transformed j
into her liege lord and master, stood be
fore a mirror on the opposite side of
the room, tying his elaborate tie, with
an unmistakable frown on his handsome
face.
“ I must say. Belle,’’ he was saying
just then, “ I think you are extremely
foolish. Because you will not go any
where, of any evening, but are content
to bury yourself here at home with the
children, who have a good nurse to look
after them, Is no reason that I must do
the same, and what is more you needn’t
expect it. I need some relaxation of an
evening, and I am going to take it.”
‘‘You know very well, Arthur,” said
the little woman, blazing up at last,
“ that it’s not your going out that I o!>
jeet to at all. It’s the way you act
lirlinn l-oii im, mil Iki.l*,**- A f
tell me the other day that she was per
fectly astonished when she found you
were a married man, you acted so like
a single one? And didn’t Hettie Wilson
tell me that that hateful little cat of a
widow, Mrs. Ralston, declared that she
was perfectly carried away with you,
and ner every other word was some
thing Mr. Sutherland had said or done?
Didn't you dance every set with her,
night before last, while I was at home
nursing baby through the croup?”
And here the brave voice broke down
in genuine sobs.
“ That little cat of a widow, as you
call her, is the prettiest woman I have
seen in many a day, and those other
women are meddlesome gossips,” and
her husband slammed the door emphat
ically as he left the room.
Poor Belle felt as if her heart was
broken, and was rising to go to her own
room, where she could indulge her grief,
when a gentle hand was laid on her
shoulder, and she turned to face her
sister.
” Belle, will you forgive me?” she
said. * I have heard all between you
and Arthur, for I could not make you
hear me when I came in. Listen to ine.
I want you to treat your husband to a
game of ‘ tit for tat.’ ”—
“ But, Katie,”—began Belle.
‘• But me no buts,” said the girl.
" Listen to my plan, and you will see
how it will work,” and rapidly she un
folded it. “ All you have to" do, you
see, is to go to Mrs. Stetson’s party to
morrow night, and I will manage the
rest.
“ But, Katie, the children”—
“ Didn't 1 say I would come every
night and stay with them? Can’t you
trust them with me?”
At last Belle, conscious that some
thing must be done, entered eagerly into
her sister’s plans, and the next day was
spent by the two conspirators in ar
ranging a costume that should make
Mrs. Sutherland the admired of all ad
mirers. And; indeed, she was worth
turning twice to look at, as she came
sweeping into the room where her hus
band was putting the finishing touches
to his toilette. Her dress, one of the
ravishing new shades of heavy silk, fit
ting her still fine figure to perfection;
her beautiful brown hair elaborately
dressed by Katie’s deft fingers, with a
single heavy drooping rose among the
braids; and surely no eyes could be
brighter than the brown ones that
looked up at her husband, no lips red
der than the ones that smiled at him.
“Why, Belle, what does this mean?”
he said, looking at her in astonishment.
“ Oh, nothing, only I have concluded
to go with you to-night,” was the reply.
“Will I do?” J
“Yes, but the children,” he said,
slowly.
“Oh, nonsense,” she said, shrugging
her shoulders. “ It’s all foolishness my
staying with them every night when
they have such a good nurse. Come?
are you not ready?”
They were greeted with numerous ex
clamations of delight, as they entered
the already crowded room. But Mr.
Sutherland soon found it was not his
presence that had called them forth,
out that of his wife, who soon found
herself the center of an admiring circle;
while her husband soon found nimself,
to use an expressive slang phrase, “no
where.” Not even the entrance of his
charmer, the widow, could help him
out, for she of course had an anxiety to
see Mr. Sutherland’s wife, and was soon
Standing at her side, having been intro
duced by their “mutual friend,” Mrs.
Stetson. And Belle, now thoroughly
entering into the spirit of the thing, was
smiling down at her, from her few
superior inches of height, and talking in
her most charming way, while she
mentally decided that the widow was
“not a bit pretty after all; green eyes
and red hair! Pah! That sue should
even be Jealous of that creature.” And
the widow, in a secret rage,* was won
dering how on earth some women
kept that wonderful bloom on
their cheeks that was no plainly
not rouge, and how they kept the dark
circles from under their eyes.
Belle could have told her, if she had
eared, that it was early hours and a
dear conscience, the tender caresses of
little children, and all the sweet de
lights of home, that did these things for
her. And Mr. Sutherland, standing a
little to one side, and looking at the
two, could not help comparing them,
and wondering how he could ever have
thought the widow pretty, when he
hail so much fairer a type of beauty at
his own lire-side. Just then two gen
tlemen entered, one whom he knew, and
one a stranger, and paused almost at
his elbow.
“ By Jove!” said the stranger, a very
handsome man with the uniform anil
epaulettes of an officer of the United
States Army, “who is that lady by Mrs.
Stetson?”
“What,” said his companion, “ the
little one in white? That is our belle,
Mrs. Ralston.”
“No. no!” said the officer, impatient
ly. “Not that little washed-out creat
ure, but the other, that lovely woman
on the right. Come and introduce me
immediately.”
And the next moment Arthur had
the pleasure of hearing the handsome
Colonel Ingerton introtfuecd to his wife,
and offer his arm for a promenade.
Why was it, although he joined the
widow soon after, and played the de
voted, as usual, all the evening, that
the flirtation had lost its zest? Surely
Mr. Sutherland was not very far gone,
for that one evening was almost his
cure. But when it went on this way for
two weeks, and every' evening he saw
the handsome Colonel bending over his
wife or clasping her in a waltz, it is no
wonder that when one evening Belle
entered the room, she found him in her
old position before the fire, his head
sunk moodily on his breast.
“Why are you not ready, Arthur?”
she saiil lightly, pausing before him.
“The carriage is waiting.
“I am not going,” he said, without
lifting his head to look at her.
“But why?” she said, buttoning liei
glove, and trying to speak in a careless,
steady voice, though her heart, was on
her lips and the quick tears in her eyes,
ai she saw his desponding attitude.
“Why?” he said, at last, raising his
stormy blue eyes to meet her. “Do you
suppose it is any pleasure to me,madam,
to go to these parties and see you, even
ing after evening, all devotion to anoth
er man beside your husband and giving
him not a word or glance?”
It had been her cue, then, to answer
him lightly and scornfully, as he had so
often done her, but her woman's heart
failed her, and much to the disgust of
Kattie, she threw herself at his feet and
sobbed out:
"O, Arthur! I can't stand it any
longer. It's all a joke, made up be
tween us to break you from flirting.
Colonel Ingerton belongs to Katie.
They have been engaged for years anil
she told him how to act, and, O dear, I
am so sorry if you ere really angry with
me!”
Then, of course, he raised her and for
gave her, and Katie, from her hiding
place behind the curtain, shook her
dimpled list at them. He was not pun
ished half enough she thought. But the
lesson sufficed for his perfect cure, ami
that was all Belle wanted.
“After this, we will stay at home to
gether, darling,” he said that night.
“No, no!” cried Belle, who had also
learned a lesson. “I have been silly
and selfish. We will divide the time.
Three nights out of the week I will go
with you, and three you shall stay with
me and the children."
And that was the way it ended.—Bal
lou's Monthly. '
Fashion Notes.
n i .11 i •_1 _ .i •___i
vi uii Aiuva ivu'i avi|iuiia hi v
most as profusely used as ever; pearl
or mother-of-pearl sequins hanging in
lattice-work of silk cords or pendant
from strands of chenille fringes arc
among the most effective ornaments on
white or pale-hued evening dresses.
Transparent muslins are shown with '
strawberries, raspberries, laurel and ar
butus blossoms, carnations, sweet-briar
roses and moss-buds in groups scattered
on a colored ground. Usually this back- ■
ground is of a pale tint, a very delicate ;
tea rose or primrose yellow being a fa- |
vorite color; but these bright-hued
fruits and flowers look very well against
backgrounds of dark olive or brown.
Embroidery on silk gauze continues
to be used as an elegant trimming to
plain and brocaded silk grenadines or
gauzes. A charming dress of this kind
is composed of narrow ruffles of silk
embroidered gauze of a pale pink hue,
the corsage reaching far below the hips,
being of pale pink ottoman silk,trimmed
about the square neck and upon the
edges of the elbow sleeves with the em
broidered gauze. A wide gauze scarf,
richly embroidered, is draped so as to
conceal the joining of the silk corsage
to the gauze skirts. A black gauze
toilet, embroidered very elaborately in
silk, and a further garniture of jet
beads, with black ottoman silk jersey
bodice, also embroidered to match, is
made up in a similar manner.
Some of the new patterns in straw
lace bonnets are almost as intricate and
delicate as Guipure lace designs. These '
bonnets are light, airy, and very at
tractive. Their garnitures are cor
respondingly light and ethereal. Soft
tinted silk mulls and gauzes are used,
as well as wreaths of fine flowers
mingled with delicate vines. A pretty
little French bonnet in the “Olivia*’
shape of cream-colored straw lace, ex
exhibited this week, is lined with pink
ish mauve faille, and trimmed outside
with a wreath of heliotrope blossoms
and a cluster of crushed roses set at
the left side. The last row of lace at
the edge of the brim is studded with
tiny mock pearl and heliotrope beads,
and the scarf strings, of cream-colored
lace, are dotted with the same bead
work, giving a rich effect to the appear
ance of the bonnet.—N. T. Post.
IP—The subscriptions raised in Great
Britain after calamities are often aston
ishingly large. That for the relief of
the families of the 167 fishermen who
perished in 1882, off Eyemouth, amounts
to over 9260,000.
The Obstacle* t<* Marriage!
Of course all society is interested in
the marriage question. Though mar
riage involves serious responsibilities to
all parties directly concerned, yet our
forefathers generally met the question
with resolution and courage. Fifty
years ago every young man and woman
got married, or if now and then one
failed or neglected his high social duty,
the term “old bachelor” or "old maid”
was applied in derision. Nothing but
the lack of all personal attraction was
supposed to interfere with a woman's
opportunity for a “settlement in life,”
while the man who chose to live singly
was looked upon as a curmudgeon or a
crank, unworthy of public respect.
This prejudice against old bachelors
and old maids has been transmitted
even to this generation, though either
those whp from necessity or choice arc
wearing \i are given a higher place in
public esteem than their predecessors,
it being admitted that there is ample
excuse in many instances for preferring
the condition of single blessedness.
The earnest and industrious young
man would like a wife, hut what is he
going to do with her? The young
woman in his own station lias been
brought up to despise labor; she has ac
quired a smattering of what are called
accomplishments; she has an ardent
fondness for dress and society; and he
realizes that to him marriage with the
woman of his choice would only cause a
swelling of his expenses, to answer the
demands of fashion alone, to an amount
equal to or exceeding his income, and
he therefore postpones the matter as
one that he actually dreads and is
afraid to undertake. If he succeeds in
his vocation, he rises out of his station
to a higher one in soeiety, and the
woman of his earlier choice is left be
hind with all her accomplishments and
cultivated tastes. If he is unsuccessful
he either becomes despondent and a
victim of vicious habits, or, having in
creased in wisdom, he steps down the
social ladder and takes a wife from
the ranks of those who have
learned the lesson of industry from
their necessities and are earning their
own living. With such a wife, con
tented in tlie sphere of home, and not
ambitious to shine in social life, the
poorest young man, if industrious and
sober, will be able to “get along.”
There are thousands of such couples in
every part of the country, who to
gether have solved the ridiile of suc
cess by steady industry, economy and
perseverance, and thus, in spite of lack
.r _i.1 .— d n..„nmni:al,
ments, "are able to look down upon
many who once counted themselves
their superiors. It is true that they
sometimes are annoyed by being classed
as “ shoddy,” but this they can endure
so long as they have the consciousness
that their prosperity has been honestly
earned and is all paid for. And they
date the beginning of it all to a wise
choice in marriage, and, in consequence,
they are happier and more contented
together than if they had begun by try
ing to meet all the exactions of society
and in consequence remaining the
victims of grinding poverty.
The problem of marrying wisely is no
less one of embarrassment to young
women than young men. They see
those whom they would like to admire
becoming addicted to fast habits—
drinking, smoking, gambling; owning
and driving fast horses, spending theii
incomes at the opera or its equivalents,
despising honest industry, seeking posi
tions which permit the wearing of good
clothes and save the hands from soiling,
but allow no incomes sufficient for the
support of a family. Such young men,
in the language of a lady who has stud
ied the social problem for the benefit oi
the younger persons of her sex, “are not
worth marrying.” She might have
added that It would be dangerous to
... Al_non.lltion m nine.
ried life is the assurance of a sufficient in
come for a comfortable support. The
young couple trained to work and with a
firm determination to continue working,
whatever society may think, need have
t-o misgivings upon this point, for the
income will be sure to come. But if
one member of the marriage firm de
spises work and is ambitious of social
distinction, there will be failure and
misery, and this will be aggravated all
the more if both are troubled with the
same aspirations. A working young
man can not afford to marry a fashion
able young woman unless she is able to
bring him the income of an inheritance
of from $25,000 to $100,000. And no
young woman can afford to marry a
young man “of the world,” because,
whatever may be his wealth and how
ever safely it may be secured, his per
sonal habits and tastes will in the end
bring a kind and degree of misery for
which no money can compensate.—
Woonsocket (It. I.) Patriot.
A Talk With a Dude.
At high noon a youth emerged from
the Brunswick and stood for a moment
in the brilliant blaze of the April sun
listlessly buttoning his gloves. He was
languid, somber and inert.
Up and down Fifth avenue stages
rumbled and roared, and carriages
whirled. The doors of the hotel
slammed incessantly, brightly dressed
women tripped by, men strode briskly
to and fro, laughing nurse-maids led
groups of frolicsome children to the
park, and even the cabmen whistled
and sang as they went about their work.
It was a cheerful scene.
The youth did not seem interested in
anything. Men who passed glanced at
him somewhat contemptuously, or with
palpable sneers; women looked admir
ingly
He was narrow chested, and his legs
were lank and wavering. On bis head
was a bell-crowned English beaver, with
a mourning band two inches wide, and
around his neck he wore a collar of pre
posterous height. A drab covert coat,
such as Englishmen wear when riding to
a “meet,” was buttoned closely about
his far from robust figure. The gar
ment was so short that the ends of his
spike-tailed coat fell far below it, pro
ducing a weird and eerie effect. His
trousers were so tight that the uneven
contour of his legs inspired pity, and
bis feet were soueezed into long and
narrow shoes. Over bis breast dangled
a siugle glass, and he wore English dog
skin gloves, the color of ripe brick dust.
He held a silver-tipped ran® under hi*
arm, and stood with one foot far in ad
vance of the other. His hat was tipped
back on his head, his hair brushed for
ward at the sides, and he displayed evi
dences of a vapid mustache, but the
most noticeable thing about him was
the expression of his face. He meant
to appear haughty. Instead he looked
insolent.
He was a dude.
Presently another youth swung around
the corner. He was the counterpart of
the first, and their attire was precisely
similar, even to the brick-dust gloves.
They approached each other solemly,
and then the new-comer drawled:
*• How are you, my brave boy?”
“Eh? Oh, I cawn’tsavas Pm too
brisk, don’t chew know? I'm freakish
to-do v.”
“You look a bit queer.”
“Yaas, I’ve been in the eating-house
here trying to worry down a bit of a
chop with some some shandygaff. How
are you?”
“Oh, I'm fine, you know. I took a
tub this mawning, then tooled me new
cart up the avenue, and had a good ap
petoit for breakfast.”
“ Kathah decent fun.”
“Yaas.”
“ See you at the cluh later.”
Upon which the new-comer, with a
face expressive of great exhaustion,
ambled away. The first youth still
stood in front of the hotel and gazed
indifferently about him. For a long
time he stood there, while the Sun re
porter remained in the background re
garding him with reverential awe, and
reflecting that the dude was the only
thing in all the world that had not been
interviewed. A little time passed and
then
“I beg your pardon,” said the re
porter.
“’Ow?” asked the youth, slowly.
“I beg your pardon.”
“Oh, said the youth, and after glan
cing casually at the reporter he con
tinued placidly: “I don’t remember to
have met you.”
“No,” said the reporter, thoughtfully,
while the youth gazed upon him with
immense contempt, “but I wish to ask
yon a question or two about a matter of
great importance.”
“Oh, you don’t say! Rather an art
ful idea," I’m sure. What did you wish
to ask about?”
“The dude,”
The youth started, glanced sharply at
the reporter for an instant, and then re
sumed the air of indifference as he said,
“Well?”
im're is a wiuespreau ruuiui uuw u
town that a cat chased a dude up Fifth
avenue yesterday at sundown.”
“Oh, I say.” said the youth, with a
tranquil smile, "It's quite too bad,
don't chew know, to put it upon the—
er—aw—dude, y’kuow, loike that. The
dude’s not hnwf as bad as painted!
Chased by a cat—Haw!”
“No truth in it at all?”
“Whoy, I’d lay a quid to a bob any
toime that it’s a pure guy,” said the
youth, with some animation; “and I’ll
tell you what,” he continued, “the—
aw—dude, don’t chew know, is wretch
edly misunderstood.”
“ What is a dude?”
“A dude,” answered the youth,
slowly, “is a gentleman. A cad can
never be a dude. He must not be in
trade, but must have money. I dare
say there are hides who have very little
money, but then they have blood,
v’know. But the point of the thing is
that the dude is the embodiment—er—
of the—ah—triumph of the gentleman
over the cad. You take what was once
known as a swell, or a fop, or a dandy,
and it was never absolutely necessary
for him to be a gentleman. The pet,
particular god of swelldom was Beau
! Brummel, don’t chew know, and yet he
! was not a gentleman according to our
I English acceptation of the term. Still,
m: BiMiiMtru IUC * IUKO Ui »* aiv.o.
Would he not have been quite as
effective as a dude?”
“By no means,” said the youth,
hastily. “Don’t chew see? He was
gorgeous and over-dressed, while we—
er—that is, the dude—is the acme of
propriety and good taste. He wore loud
colors, padded shoulders, corsets, wigs,
snuff box, and unlimited jewelry, while
the dude wears no other than a ring,
and invariably dresses in dark and quiet
colors.”
"Is there any fun in being a dude?”
“To the vulgaw a dude is not im
pressive. The gorgeous swell took the
eve. The women worshipped him for
the richness of his dress and the waitahs
in eating houses were overpowered;
but the dude is essentially negative.
He is not a spectacle; he is a quiet, self
contained gentleman. He is relined,
and he is distinguished from common
people by his manners. In England
we have a landed aristocracy; in
America the aristocarts are popular
ly know'n as dudes, y’know. A
fellah dressed properly and walking
quietly on the Strand or in Pell Mell is
known simply as an English gentle
men; but when he appears in the same
attire on Fifth av’noo he at once be
comes a dude.”
“ May I ask how long you have been
away from England?”
“I—aw—cawn’t say; the fact is I
have nevah been in England.”
“Ah! good day,” accenting the
“good.”
“Good doy,” accenting the “doy.”—
if. Y. Sun.
As to the Postal Card.
It is a good rule never to use a postal
card for any message which could not
with propriety be shouted across the
street. There*are many matters to be
communicated from one human being
to another, which are nobody’s busi
ness outside of those who do the com
municating. It does not necessarily
follow that these things are always
secrets, or that they are anything to be
ashamed of. But there is a sanctity and
a degree of decorum in a sealed letter
which never can pertain to the open
card. The card is easy, hasty an a of
little trouble to write. But" for the
message of affection, the neighborly
greeting, the exchange of social fellow
ship or the conveying of important in
formation, let u* enjoy the ola-fashloned
sealed letter.—Philadelphia Press.
—The females outnumber the males
in Alabama by 17,247.
Oar Concert.
There is one good thing about Sue. if
she is a girl; she is real charitable, and
is all the time getting people to give
money to missionaries and things. She
collected momahundred dollars from
ever so many people last year, ami sent
it to a society, and her name was in all
the papers as “Miss Susan Brown," the
young lady that gave a hundred dollars
to a noble cause, and may cithers go and
do likewise.
About a motnh ago she began to get up
a concert for a noble object, I forget
what the object was. for Sue didn't
make up her mind about it until a day
or two before the concert; but what
ever it was, it didn’t get much money.
Sue was to sing in the concert, and
Mr. Travers was to sing, and father was
to read something, and the Sunday
school was to sing, and the brass band
was to play lots ot things. Mr. Travers
was real good about it, and attended to
engaging the brass band, and getting
the tickets printed.
We've got a tirst-rate band. You
just ought to hear it once. I'm going
to join it some day and play on the
drum; that is, if they don't find out
about the mistake I made with the
music.
When Mr. Travers went to see the
leader of the band to settle what music
was to be played at the concert he let
me go with him. The man \\jls awfully
polite, and he showed Mr. Travers great
stacks of music for him to select from.
After a while he proposed to goand see
a man somewheres who played in the
bancl, and they left me to wait until
the}- came back.
I had nothing to do, so I looked at
the music. The notes were all made
with a pen and ink, and pretty bad they
were. I should have been ashamed if I
had made them. Just to prove that I
could have done it better than the man
who did do it, 1 took a pen am ink and
tried it. I made beautiful notes, and as
a great many of the pieces of music
weren’t half full of notes, I just tilled in
the place's where there weren't any
notes. I don't know how long Mr.
Travers and the leader of the band were
gone, but I was so busy that I did not
miss them, and when i heard them com
ing I sat up as cpiiet as possible, and
never said anything about what I had
done, because we never should praise
ourselves and seem to be proud of our
own work.
a sny mm a uc»n
meant to <lo any harm. All I meant to
do was to improve the music that the
man who wrote it had been too lazy to
iinish. Why, in some of those pieces of
music there were places three or four
inches long without a single note, and
you can't tell me that was right. But I
sometimes think there is no use in try
ing to help people as I tried to help our
brass band. People are never grateful,
and they always manage to blame a
boy, no matter how good he is. I shall
try, however, not to give way to these
feelings, but to keep on doing right no
matter what happens.
The next night we had the concert,
or at any rate we tried to have it. The
Town-hall was full of people, and Sue
said it did seem hard that so much
money as the people had paid to come
to the concert should all have to go to
charity when she really needed a new
seal-skin coat. The performance was
to begin with a song by Sue, and the
band was to play just like a piano
while she was singing. The song was
all about being so weary and longing so
hard to die, and Sue was singing it Tike
anything, when all of a sudden the man
with a big drum hit it a most awful
bang, and nearly frightened everybody
to death.
reopie laugnea out 1011a, ana sue
could hardly go on with her song. But
she took a fresh start, and got along
pretty well till the big drum Droke out
again, and the man hammered away
at it till the leader went And took his
drum-stick away from him. The peo
ple just howled and yelled, and Sue
burst out crying and went right oft the
stage and longed to die in real earnest.
When things got a little bit quiet, and
the man who played the drum had
made it up with the leader, the band
began to play something on its own ac
count. It began all right, but it didn’t
finish the way it meant to finish. First
one player and then another would
blow a loud note in the wrong place,
and the leader would hammer on his
music-stand, and the people would
laugh themselves 'most sick. After a
while the band came to a place where
the trombones seemed to get crazy, and
the leader just jumped up and knocked
the trombone-player down with a big
horn that he snatched from another
man. Then somebody hit the leader
with a cornet and knocked him into the
big drum, and there was the awfulest
fight you ever saw till somebody turned
out the gas.
There wasn’t any more concert that
night, and the people all got their
money back, and now Mr. Travers and
the leader of the baud have offered a
reward for "the person whom aliciously
altered the music”—that’s what the
notice says. But I wasn’t malicious,
and I do hope nobody will find out I
did it, though I mean to tell father
about it as soon as he gets over having
his nose pretty near broke by trying to
interfere between the trombone-player
and the man with the French horn.—
“Jimmy Brown," iu Harper's Young
People.
Not So Very Crazy.
Mose Schaumburg had loaned Sam
Bingtom seven hundred dollars. As
Mose had not seen Sam on the streets of
Austin for several days, it occurred to
him to call at Sam's house and find out
how he was coming on. He did not see
Sam, but Mrs. Bingtom was at home
She looked very sad, and had black
rings around her eves.
‘*1 am in great distress Mr. Schaum
burg.”
"Vat vash de matter?”
"Mr. Bingtom has lost his mind, and
has been taken oat into the country.”
“Did he leave dot money mit you
to pay dot note what comes due next
week?”
"O, no, Mr. Schaumburg, he is not
crazy enough to do that. He has not
lost his reasoning faculties entirely.”—
Texas Siftings.
PERSONAL A YD LITERARY.
—Paris is successfully stereotyping
her book* on celluloid instead of type
metal.
—John T. Perry, one of the editors
of the Cincinnati Commerrial-Gazette,
lives and does his writing in Exeter,
N. H.
—The property of the late Alexander
H. Stephens is valued at #12.000. Mr.
Stephens was in public life for over
forty years.
—There are ten ex-Governors now in
the Senate, namely: Anthony, Brown,
Colquitt, Coke, Cullom, Garland,
Groome, Hampton, Harris and Hawley.
—Robert Toombs' granddaughter,
who refused #100,000 rather than give
up her lover, is in the condition of the
person who eats her cake and has it
too, as her grandfather has now re
stored her to favor.
—Dr. S. I. Prime, after a vacation of
twenty years, has resumed his place as
editor of Harper s Drawer. Lovers of
old stories and other antiquaries will
heartily welcome him back. He will
begin where lie left off.
—Josephine Gallmeyer, the German
actress, who is making a starring tour
in this country, is able to write interest
ingly about what she sties. She sends
two letters a week to a Vienna news
pajier, and gets fifty dollars apiece for
them.
—George Alfred Townsend lives in
Twenty-third street, New York, and
makes twenty thousand dollars a year
writing about people just as he pleases.
Nevertheless he is described as “digni
fied and unobtrusive.” We all change
as we grow old.
—A Western preacher, whose con
gregation had begun to fall tiff some
what, had it intimated that he would
discuss a family scandal the following
Sunday morning. As a consequence
the church was crowded. The minis
ter’s subject was Adam and Eve.
—Bishop Peck, who tips the beam at
three hundred or thereabouts, was at
one Jime attending conference where
the supply of beds was not equal to the
demann. The Bishop, after being in
troduced to the party who was to share
his couch, eyed him all over, and said:
“So you are to be my bed-fellow, eh?
Well, when I sleep alone I’m crowded.”
—Indianajwlts Journal.
—in. rrancis m. nye saw tne name
of Dr. Frances A. Nye, of Harlem, in ,
the Medical Register about a year ago. i
Thinking she might be a relative, he of)- '
tained an introduction to her. A com
parison of family histories revealed that
they were not related. A year’s ac- !
ijuaintance proved that the coincidence i
of names and professions was also
united with a coincidence of dispositions, j
Recently they were married. The bride j
graduated at the New England Medical
College twelve years ago.—N. V. Times.
—Rev. J. S. Swift, who died at Wilton,
Me., a few days ago, was one of the oldest
journalists in that State, and probably
the most enthusiastic. In his youth he
purchased “for a song” a small font
of worn-out brevier type which had
been pied in a Bath newspaper office.
He sorted it, arranged it in a case of
his own construction, made a wooden
chase of some tin rules, engraved a
heading on a block of wood with a
jack-knife, and, with a worn-out cheese
press, printed a seven by nine weekly
paper, called the Harpswell Banner.
He continued this publication for six
months, and then secured a position in
a regular newspaper office. He, was
actively engaged in journalism for
nearly fifty years.
HUMOROUS.
— 1 ne iHim oi me auiiuai. 1 uu wisu
cattle would grow larger,” sighed the
St. Louis belle; “my shoes pinch my
feet.”
—The sailor is very much like his
ship. When either go ashore they are
very liable to get broken up.—Philadel
phia Chronicle.
—Liberal landlord. “What are you
doing in my back-yard?” Irish tramp
(engaged in mending his clothes.) “I
was jist a gatherin’ in me rints, sorr!”
—Ella (five years old, who has
broken a window) — “ Papa, dear,
don’t beat me; subtract it rather from
my marriage dowry.”—Fliegcnde Blat
ter.
—“ I really "was puzzled what to do for
the best,” said our own Mrs. Rams
botham. “I was quite ‘on the corns
of a duenna,’ as the saying is.”—N. Y.
Journal.
—“Investigator” wants to know
what is good for cabbage-worms. Bless
your heart, man, cabbages, of course.
A. good, plump cabbage will last several
worms a week.
—A five-year old, who went to school
for the first time, came home at noon
and said to his mother: “Mamma, I
don’t think that teacher knows much.”
“Why not, my dear?” “Why, she
kept asking questions all the time. She
asked where the Mississippi River was.”
—Chicago Tribune.
—The pawnbroker takes unusual in
terest in his business. The mariner who
casts the sounding lead has great depth
of feeling. No matter how high-priced
roses may be, they can always _ be
benight for a scent. It is astonishing
how modest an empty pocket-book is.
It shrinks from publicity.—-Book
Keeper.
—“There’s something about your
daughter,” Mr. Wanghop said reflec
tively—“there’s something about your
daughter-” “Yes,” said old Mr.
Thistlepod, “there is; I had noticed it
myself. It comes every night at eight
o’clock, and it doesn’t get away usually
till about eleven o'clock. And some of
these evenings I am going to lift it all
the way from the front parlor to the
side gate and see what there’s in it.”
—Enquirer: You wish to set Mr.
Suaggs and his next door neighbor to
fighting. Easy enough. Some dark
night just take a load of ashes and
oyster cans and dump them in Snugs'
back yard. He’ll lay it to his neighbor
and sling 'em over the fence. Tha
neighbor 11 be madder than a candidate
for office beaten bv one vote, and will
sling'em back. then things will hum;
law suits, pulled noses and bloody beads
will result, and you can sit back and see
the fun_Jf. Y Post.
Temperance.
THE OI.T) MAS'S OATH.
Get out your Ink, 'Squire, paper and pen—
Get them out quick, for I'm Just from the
den—
Just from the hell that ruined my life,
I logeared my rhlldren. and killed my wife.
Write It down quick and accordin' to law.
So there will be not a break nor a flaw.
Pledges I've given, but they will not stick:
Get out your Ink snd write it down, quick.
Say that he kicked me, to-night, from hie
door—
Kicked me, as often he's kicked me before,
Tellln' me then to go home to my shed.
Where my poor children were crying for bread.
Place that In capitals, as large as you can,
Kor that was the hardest kick from the man
Who had boon robbln' me until he had got
Every last dime from the miserable sot.
Start, then, another clause, 'Squire, and tell
How I flrst wandered away to this hell.
Well you remember me. Squire, the time
When I thought drinking a horrible crime:
When my good angel was a part of my soul—
Ere I first cast her away for the bowl;
How she, too tender a flower to stay
Istng with a drunkard, soon withered away.
Place that in capitals. Squire, and let
Just a few tear-drops each capital wet ;
For these eyes, blood-shot, have long ceased
to shed
Tears for the livin’, or tears for the dead.
Start there another clause, ’Squire, and say
How I threw home, friends and kindred feway;
How I flrst neared, then stood on the brink,
Pleadin" and cursin' and rryin' for drink;
How friends would rescue me, but to return
flack to that hell that In me still would burn.
Until my ruin was finished—complete,
Makin’ me lower than hogs on the street.
Write it all down, and f’ll sign It and swear
By my sweet angel, so Heavenly fair;
By my true God, whom I’ve oft cursed tc
scorn;
fly my poor children, f've left so forlorn;
By ray dear mother, who died at my birth;
By all that's in Heaven or here upon earth.
I will be true to my oath and my God
Until they bury me under the sod.
—G. IT. Clark in Miami Urlmet.
w m -
Progress of Temperance Principles.
We note with great satisfaction tho
decided progress of Terui>eranee prin
ciples in many parts of the country.
The plans of action differ, but all tend
in one direction, the diminution of the
liquor traffic. High-priced licenses are
advocated here and elsewhere. This,
says the Mail and Express, “ reduces
the number of groggeries to a minimum,
and at the same time discourages the
sale of rum without license, since it
gives the holders of license a pecuniary
motive to prevent illegal competition.
If a license cost $1,000 or $1,500 in
New York the rum shops might soon be
reduced to one for every- 500 of popula
tion, and the clandestine dealers would
be less numerous than at present, be
cause the licensed dealers would com
bine to drive them out of the business. ”
In the State of Georgia the Local
Option law is said to be working well.
This is a thoroughly democratic meas
ure. It allows the voters in a definite
district to determine, by a majority,
whether or not liqnor may be sold. A
law of that kind keeps the subject in con
stant agitation, anil the more it is dis
cussed the more clearly it appears that
the traffic is hostile to the welfare of
the community.
Some Arkansas peoplo were very
much surprised the other day to see a
man convicted and fined two hundred
dollars under the “Special Liquor
law,’’ which forbids rum-selling within
two miles of an academy. This is a pe
culiar feature. “Within two miles of
any church” is another provision. We
would like to see such a law in this part
of the country. But they must be get
ting ahead of us in Arkansas if they
protect their schools so effectually as to
forbid the sale of liquor within two miles
of one.
In Arkansas the new law enables the
majority of the adult inhabitants, male
and female, by petition to secure Pro
hibition within two miles of any church
or school, except in cities of the first and
second class. It allows native wines.
Ohio submits two propositions for the
votes of the people at the next State
election:
a. me viruriai Awciuuij uiov uj
law provide for levying special taxes or
assessments on thp traffic in intoxicating
liquors, and shall by law provide against
the evils resulting therefrom.”
2. “The manufacture and traffic in in
toxicating liquors in this State to be used
as a beverage is forever prohibited.”
“ Electors desiring to vote in favor of
the first proposition shall have on their
ballots the words: ‘Taxation of liquor
traffic, Yes,’ and the electors desiring
to vote in favor of the second proposi
tion shall have on their ballots the
words: ‘Prohibition, Yes.’ ”
Under a Local-Option act passed by
the Legislature of Alabama, Prohibition,
at an election held February 28, was
carried in Calhoun County in that State
by twelve hundred majority.—N. Y.
Observer.
I CAN NO BETTER ILLUSTRATE the
heart work of a missionary, and give
you a glimpse into home anil street life
than by relating to you briefly a part of
one afternoon's experience. I often see
the little ones carrying home beer
under father's or mother's orders,
while we are clothing them and teach
ing them the awful sin of using it. 1
have seen the old mother take the bottle
from son or husband who had purchased
it for her, but I never realized there was
such a depth of depravity among the
children until this afternoon of which I
speak. Not far from where the brew
eries are doing their terrible and de
moralizing work I met a group of boys
and girls. They gathered around me
until there was a great crowd, and I
tried to talk with them. They were
reeking with the fumes of tobacco and
liquor, and all the while the boys and
girls were wrestling, pushing ana using
rough slang. A little fellow about
seven came up, and they cried out to
him: “Jim, you was drunk as a fool last
night.” Then Jim's brother pat in an
appearance, staggering under the influ
ence of drink. Last Saturday I found
nearly eveiy one of the girls in the sew
ing school.— Mrs. Alexander Cooper. »»
Chicago Union Signal.
The Recorder of Dublin said re
cently: “I have been for a whole week
trying cases such as no Christian Judge
ought to have to try—cases of outrage
ana violence. I marked the evidence
in every single case, and every one of
them began in the saloon.”
“Brained by a Beer Bottle” is tih.
bead-line of a Monday morning's paper
u it chronicles om, only one of the
cruel misdeeds of the open Sunday
saloons.—Chicago Union S*gnaL