Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

Mrs. Magoogin Discusses a Proposed Trip to Paris.

"Oi say, Mrs. McGlaggerty!"

"Arrah, fwhat is id, Mrs. Magoogin?"

"War ye uver in Parish, Oi dunno?"

"Is id me in Parish, Mrs. Magoogin?"

"Yis, you, Mrs. McGlaggerty. 'Twas to yersel' Oi was shpakin'."

"Me in Parish--the rale polly-boo-pancake Paris, Oi shuppose ye mane, Mrs. Magoogin?"

"Oy, the same, me frind."

"Well, Oi was never there, thanks be to gudness."

"An' no more was Oi, me frind; but Oi hope there was no harrum in axin' ye," said the Widow Magoogin. "An' how Oi kem to ax ye was jisht this, d'ye see: The Montmorincy McGues acrass th' way had a fallin' out wud aich other in the back yard two noights ago lasht Winsda', an' they med that mooch av a rooction that foor polaicemin was called in be the naybors, an' they had to shplit Micky Montmorincy McGue's nose in three halves an' opin'd a hole in his wife Cordaylia's head that ye kud pit a taycup into before they'd be quoiet an' lave the daycint payple livin' on aither soide av thim go to shleep. The polaice tuk Micky to th' shtation house an' begorrah the Joodge sint him to th' Oisland fur noinety days. Now, d'ye know fwhat the Montmorincy McGues ar' givin' out? They're tellin' ivrybody that Micky's gone over to th' Parish Uxposition be the rekusht av the King an' Queen av France, an' that he'll have a room all to himself in the palace av the Tooriloories, wud wall paper an inch thick an the walls an' oice water to wash his hands in an' a naygur to loight his poipe fur him an' howld it fwhoile he shmokes. Mrs. Montmorincy McGue throied to give me the sthiff about Micky an' the Parish Uxposition, but we hear ducks, Mrs. McGlaggerty. That's an owld gag av th' sassoi'ty folks, Mrs. McGlaggerty, to partind they're goin' to Europe fwhin they're only tin maile out in th' counthry puyin' foive dollars a waik fur boord, an' Oi'm rale sarry to know that the payple av Cherry Hill ar' takin' to id. Oi thawt Oi'd pit ye an to th' gag, Mrs. McGlaggerty, bekase wan of these byootiful blyue Danube days mebbe ye'll be hearin' that Mrs. Berdie Magoogin an' her accomplished daughther, Mrs. Arethusy Dinkelshpiel, has gone to Parish to intertain th' jook av Rockaway Cheese, an' fwhin ye do ye kin pit it down as a fact that yer frind an' naybor, the daycint widdy woman that's now shpakin' to ye, has kicked the shtuffin' out av a little banty-legged Ditchman that was wanst her son-in-law, but that talked too mooch about th' koind av poi an' cake that his ould freckle-haired mother ushed to make, thet kin no more shpake th' Inglish languidge c'reckly than a pig can say his pray'rs. Remim'er that, now, Mrs. McGlaggerty!"

JOHN J. JENNINGS.

Lived on Water.

Smudge--Dr. Tanner was not the first man who lived on water for forty days.

Fudge--No!

"Of course not."

"Who else?"

"Well, what's the matter with Noah?"

--_San Francisco News Letter._

Unpatriotic.

I always hate to tell a story out of season, but I am afraid that this one will not keep until the next Fourth of July, so here goes: A woman who lives in the western part of our city was very much disturbed by the frightful noises which accompanied the celebration this year. She was old and quite ill, and she had spent a night in tossing, waiting in vain for a silence that came not and which drove sleep out of the question. It was near sunbreak, when the noise was at its wildest, when with a groan she turned over and in despair ejaculated: "Goodness, gracious me. I wish the other side had licked!"

--_Baltimore Free Press._

She Knew the Vegetable.

Mrs. J. (severely)--John, there is a very strong odor about you.

Mr. J.--Yes--hic--my dear, I've--hic--been eating onions.

Mrs. J.--You may have the onion breath, John, but you certainly have not the onion walk.

--_Life._

The Wisdom of Babes.

Ministerial Friend (on a visit)--I wonder what makes your mamma so happy to-day? She is singing around all over the house.

Little Nell--I dess she's thought of somfin' to scold papa about when he comes home.

--_Philadelphia Record._

A Cutting Remark.

Algernon--You must not think, dearest, that because you are rich and I am poor I am anxious to marry you on account of your money.

Genevieve--Whose are you after, pa's?

--_Judge._

Their First Season.

HE.

I wonder now would she say yes?
I'd really like to make a go
Of one proposal to learn how,
And would, if only she'd say no.

SHE.

I wonder now will he propose?
I must have one before I go,
It's hard to hurt his feelings--still,
Can I say yes? Let's see--well--no.

--_Wasp._

The Rascal Responded Promptly.

Up in a certain town the grocers understand all the little tricks of the trade. A gentleman bought six pounds of sugar, and found it sadly adulterated with sand. The next day a notice was posted reading thus:

"NOTICE--I bought six pounds of sugar of a grocer in this village. From it I have taken one pound of sand. If the rascal will send me six pounds of sugar I will not expose him."

The next day five six-pound packages of sugar were left at the gentleman's residence, there being just five grocers in the village.

--_Boston Record._

(_With apologies to Scott and Pope._)

Oh, woman in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please;
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

--_Town Topics._

Reveries of the Season.

I can't seem to realize, fully,
How quickly the season has flown;
I've scarce had a day through the summer,
To rest and to be quite alone.
I've been yachting and driving and bathing,
I know every horse on the track;
And I've planned out a beautiful future,
I'm engaged to be married to Jack.

From the first of July to September,
Is not a long courtship I know;
But, then, if we wait until Christmas,
'Twill be half a twelvemonth, and so
After telling Jack "Yes," on an impulse,
I couldn't somehow take it back;
And he says we can court all our lifetime,
So I'm to be married to Jack.

He hasn't a very large fortune,
But he's handsome and brimful of life,
And he says that his prospects will brighten
With me for his own little wife.
How little I dreamed when I came here,
How settled and staid I'd go back;
Not caring for flirting or dancing,
For I'm to be married to Jack.

I thought, at the first of the season,
Of titles and money and style;
But the charm which they hold is but trifling,
When I think of his bright, tender smile.
Ah, me! when a girl loves her lover,
Of happiness there is no lack,
My heart is as light as a feather,
I'm engaged to be married to Jack.

Not So Tough as That.

Mrs. Youngwife--Well, Harry, our first dinner party will be a great success, I think. The dinner, I am sure, will be perfect.

Harry--I hope so. What's the game?

"Roast ducks with currant jelly."

"Gracious, Eleanor, the one thing I can't carve. They'll be tough, too, I'll bet."

"Oh, no, they won't. I took care not to get canvas backs."

--_Utica Observer._

She Considered it a Deliberate Insult.

When General O. O. Howard was marching down through Tennessee, General Whittlesey, late president of the Freedmen's Bank, was assistant adjutant general on his staff. Whittlesey had been a clergyman down in Maine, and was fully as strait-laced as Howard. One day Howard drove into a farm-yard from which Whittlesey was just departing. A woman and her grown daughter were standing outside the door.

"My good woman," said Howard, "will you kindly give me a drink of water?"

"No. Get out of my yard. A lot of more impident Yankees I never seed."

"But I have done nothing and said nothing out of the way, and will severely punish any of my soldiers who should say or do anything wrong."

"That sojer insulted me," said she, pointing to the retreating form of General Whittlesey. "He axed me for a drink of water and when I done give it to him he sassed me."

"But--but that is General Whittlesey, of my staff. I am sure he wouldn't be rude to any woman."

"Maw," said the girl, pulling her mother's dress, "I reckon he moughtn't have meant anything misbeholden."

"Hush; don't I know low-down blackguard talk when I hears it? He asked me 'what was the State of my nativity?'"

--_Washington Post._

"I climb to rest," sings Lucy Larwin in a recent poem. So do we, Lucy. Our sleeping apartment is on the first floor from the roof.

--_Light._

SOFTLEIGH--What is the matter with your nose?

SARDONICUS--That is a berth mark.

SOFTLEIGH--I don't remember ever seeing it before.

SARDONICUS--No: I just got it last night coming down from Minneapolis. I had an upper berth in the Pullman, and the train had a collision in Wisconsin.

--_Chicago Liar._

It often happens that when a young man is disappointed in life he commits suicide. When he is disappointed in marriage he either "grins and bears it," or gets a divorce.

--_Norristown Herald._

MR. BOWSER ON DECK ONCE MORE.

He Delivers a Lecture Upon the Carelessness of Women.

In returning from a trip down town the other week I left my shopping bag in the car, and when I mentioned the fact to Mr. Bowser and asked him to call at the street railway office and get it, he replied:

"No, ma'am, I won't! Anybody careless enough to leave an article of value in a street car deserves to lose it. Besides, you did not take the number of the car, and they would only laugh at me at the office."

"Do you take the number of every street car you ride in?" I asked.

"Certainly. Every sensible person does. Day before yesterday I came up in No. 70. I went back in No. 44. I came up to supper in No. 66. Yesterday I made my trips in Nos. 55, 61 and 38. To-day in Nos. 83, 77 and 15. The street railways contract to carry passengers--not to act as guardians for children and imbeciles."

"Mr. Bowser, other people have lost things on the street car."

"Yes--other women. You never heard of a man losing anything."

I let the matter drop there, knowing that time would sooner or later bring my revenge. It came sooner than I expected. Mr. Bowser took his dress coat down to a tailor to get a couple of new buttons sewed on, and as he returned without it, I observed:

"You are always finding fault with the procrastination of my dressmaker. Your tailor doesn't seem to be in any particular hurry."

"How?"

"Why, you were to bring that coat back with you."

"That coat! Thunder!"

Mr. Bowser turned pale and sprang out of his chair.

"Didn't lose it going down, did you?"

"I--I believe I--I----!"

"You left it on the street car when you come up?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Bowser, anybody careless enough to leave an article of value in a street car deserves to lose it. However, you took the number of the car, I presume?"

"N--no!"

"You didn't! That shows what sort of a person you are. Yesterday when I went down after baby's shoes I took car No. 111. When I returned I took car 86. When I went over to mother's I took car 56. The conductor had red hair. One horse was brown and the other black. The driver had a cast in his left eye. There were four women and five men in the car. We passed two loads of ashes, one of dirt and an ice cream wagon. The conductor wore No. 8 shoes, and was nearsighted. The street railways contract to carry passengers, Mr. Bowser, not to act as guardians for sap heads and children."

"But I'll get it at the office to-morrow," he slowly replied.

"Perhaps, but it is doubtful. As you can't remember the number of the car they will laugh at the idea, and perhaps take you for an impostor."

He glared at me like a caged animal, and made no reply, and I confess that I almost hoped he would never recover the coat. He did, however, after a couple of days, and as he brought it home he looked at me with great importance and said:

"There is the difference, Mrs. Bowser. Had you lost anything on the car it would have been lost forever. The street car people were even sending out messengers to find me and restore my property."

One day a laboring man called at the side door and asked for the loan of a spade for a few minutes, saying that he was at work near by; and he was so respectful that I hastened to accommodate him. Two days later Mr. Bowser, who was working in the back yard, wanted the spade, and I had to tell him that I lent it. As it was not to be found the natural inference was that the borrower had not returned it.

"This is a pretty state of affairs!" exclaimed Mr. Bowser when he had given up the search. "The longer some folks live the less they seem to know."

"But he looked honest."

"What of it? You had no business to lend that spade."

"I was sure he'd return it."

"Well, he didn't, and anybody of sense would have known he wouldn't. If somebody should come here and ask for the piano, I suppose you'd let it go. Mrs. Bowser, you'll never get over your countrified ways if you live to be as old as the hills. It isn't the loss of the spade so much, but it is the fact that the man thinks you are so green."

In the course of an hour I found the spade at the side steps, where the man had left it after using, but when I informed Mr. Bowser of the fact he only growled:

"He brought it back because he probably heard me making a fuss about it and was afraid of arrest."

Two days later, as Mr. Bowser sat on the front steps, a colored man came up and asked to borrow the lawn mower for a few minutes for use on the next corner.

"Certainly, my boy," replied Mr. Bowser; "you'll find it in the back yard."

When he had gone I observed that the man had a suspicious look about him and that I should not dare trust him, and Mr. Bowser turned on me with:

"What do you know about reading character? There never was a more honest man in the world. I'd trust him with every dollar I have."

In about half an hour Mr. Bowser began to get uneasy, and after waiting a few minutes longer he walked down to the corner. No black man. No lawn mower. By inquiry he learned that the borrower had loaded the mower into a handcart and hurried off. It was a clear case of confidence.

"Well?" I queried, as Mr. Bowser came back with his eyes bulging out and his hair on end.

"It's--it's gone!" he gasped.

"I expected it. The longer some folks live the less they seem to know. If somebody should come and want to borrow the furnace or the bay windows you'd let 'em go, I suppose."

"But he--he----"

"But what of it? You had no business to lend that lawn mower, Mr. Bowser. You'll never get over your countrified ways if you live----"

He would listen no further. He rushed out and sailed around the neighborhood for two hours, and next morning got the police at work, and it was three days before he would give up that he had been "hornswagled," as one of the detectives put it. Then, to add to his misery, the officer said:

"We'll keep our eyes open, but there isn't one chance in 500. After this you'd better let your wife have charge of things. That negro couldn't have bamboozed her that way."

--_Detroit Free Press._

(_With the respectful compliments of_ PLUNDER.)

SUSIE--Why don't you get married, Kittie?

KITTIE--Well, I should like to--that's a fact. But, unfortunately, I'm not yet able to support a husband.

H.

Both in Hard Luck.

This story opens on the third floor of a Harlem compartment-house.

He had been twisting around his chair trying to find words to express his undying devotion, and had already begun to hem and haw, when a voice came from the floor below:

"Miss Candlewick," it said, "I love you passionately--madly; bid me but hope, and all the dark colors of my life will change!"

This was a bonanza for the young man above.

"Miss Clara, darling," he said tremulously, "them's my sentiments."

Then another voice came from below:

"No, Mr. Goatee, I cannot bid you hope; I love another."

"And them's mine, Mr. Morris," remarked Miss Clara.

--_Harpers' Bazar._

He Got There All the Same.

There is in Lewiston at least one man whose friends never worry about his ability to take care of himself no matter where he may be.

He went to the inauguration at Washington, last month, and after hanging around in the rain for an hour and becoming thoroughly wet, he thought it would be a good plan to go up and stand under the capitol portico,--that being next best to admittance to the capitol itself, which seemed to be out of the question, as he had no ticket.

But when he tried to avail himself of this shelter, a policeman stopped him.

"Can't I stand in here out of the rain?" the Lewistonian asked, innocently.

"No," said the policeman, "not unless you have a ticket."

Our Lewiston friend stood by and exercised his wits for a few moments. Presently two men in the capitol came out and asked the policeman for checks, in order that they might get in again.

"No checks," said the officer.

"But how are we going to get in when we come back?"

"Go ahead, and I'll remember you."

The Lewiston man heard this and needed no other hint. He retreated for a short time, then threw his coat back, tripped his hat rakishly on the back of his head and started on a run for the entrance, as though intending to brush right by the policeman.

"Hi!" said the officer, putting up his billy--"Where are you going?"

"Going in."

"Where's your ticket?"

"Ticket! Good gracious, you wouldn't give me any! You said you'd remember."

"Oh, yes! yes, yes! Pass right in."

And in he went.

The same gentleman once made a sixty days' tour of Europe for a sum less than a hundred dollars, passage included.

--_Lewiston Journal._

The Shah has left Paris for Baden. If all the stories are true the Shah is rather a bad 'un himself.

--_Chicago Herald._

THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE NEVER DID RUN SMOOTH.

Willing to Pay in Trade.

"There are some funny things in law, and lawyers meet with some funny cases once in a while," said Representative Kelly, of Lackawanna. "A man who is somewhat distinguished in criminal annals as an expert pickpocket once asked a friend of mine to take a case for him.

"'Where's your money?' inquired my friend.

"'I haven't got any,' was the reply, 'but if you'll promise to do the business for me I'll go out and get a watch for you in five minutes.'"

--_Pittsburgh Dispatch._

Here Again.

Now gay young men
And maidens fair
To ocean's shores
In crowds repair.
And on the sands
And hillsides green,
By day and night
In pairs are seen.
Or at the hops--
'Tis very plain
That flirting time
Is here again.

--_Boston Courier._

A Substitute.

A lady who is opposed to corporeal punishment visited a school at the North End where the rod was being applied. Before going away she said a few words to the offender, and asked him to come and see her on a certain evening, promising that her daughter should sing and play to him. He said he would come, and at the appointed time a boy dressed in his best was ushered into her parlor, and for an hour or more his kind entertainers devoted themselves to his enjoyment. Afterwards the older lady took him one side and began to speak of the importance of good behavior and obedience to rules, when she was interrupted with: "Oh, I ain't that fellar! He gin me ten cents to cum, instid er him!"

--_Boston Transcript._

Wrong Train.

A little boy, fond of "playing conductor," arranged the dining room chairs in line and called in his one passenger, a lady of serious mind, to know at what place she wished to stop.

"The station nearest heaven, my dear," she answered.

"Oh, you're on ee yong t'ain, lady--you're on ee yong t'ain!"

--_Detroit Tribune._

An Unreliable Symptom.

Chicagoan (decisively)--I feel it in my bones that Chicago is going to have the fair.

New Yorker--I should advise you to see a physician. I know a man who felt something in his bones, and it turned out to be rheumatism.

V. S.

A Financial Solomon.

Gontran--But you are surely mad! How can you think of borrowing money on those terms and from people of that stamp?

Holske--My dear fellow, better go to a scamp who lends you money at 15 percent than to an honest man who refuses you at 5.

--_Le Figaro._

Four Too Many.

Chicago Woman--I want a marriage license. My fiance is too busy to come himself.

Clerk of Court--Yes, ma'am (glancing at calendar). Let me see, this is the 10th, isn't it?

Chicago Woman--Why, how perfectly absurd of you! This is only my sixth.

--_Minneapolis Tribune._

Too Much of a Denial.

Wiggins--You're rather too old to take in as an office-boy. You must have lived pretty fast to be at the bottom of the ladder at your age.

Applicant--No indeed, sir. I'm just as slow as I ever was while a boy.

--_Life._

A Puzzled Celt.

A class in a San Francisco art school was recently startled by the sudden appearance in its midst of a dilapidated Irishman who, with tears in his eyes begged for enough money to get him a "bite." The first impulse of the presiding genius was to request him to move on, but his picturesque qualities suggested that he be given a chance to earn his supper by sitting as a model.

"Sit down," said the instructor, kindly. "If you will permit these young ladies to paint you we will pay you four bits. What do you say?"

"Av Oi'll let 'em wha-at?" replied the beggar, with a puzzled look on his face.

"Paint you. Paint you. It won't take very long."

"Bedad, Oi want th' foor bits bad enough," he returned, after a moment's reflection, "an' Oi'll be viry gla-ad t' let th' young ladies paint me av ye'll tell me how'll Oi'll git the paint arf me afterwar-rds."

--_Harpers' Magazine._

A Suitable Adviser.

Simpson (to friend who is lamenting the conduct of his son)--You should speak to him with firmness, and remind him of his duties.

Father--He pays no attention to what I say. He listens only to the advice of fools. I wish you would speak to him!

--_San Francisco Wasp._

Broke In.

Araminta--You put your arm around my waist so gracefully, George.

George--I have had lots of practice. I was a street car conductor five years.

--_Epoch._

Dog Days.

Kind Lady (to tramp)--That coat you have on is pretty well worn out, isn't it?

Tramp--Yes, madame, I fear it has gone to the dogs.

--_Clothier and Furnisher._

Although people do not like a tumble, they generally appreciate a fall in the mountains.

--_Boston Gazette._

There is no experience more heavily fraught with deep ghastly lonesomeness than that of being shaved by a deaf-and-dumb barber.

--_Washington Star._

MRS. GABB--What is the matter with my husband?

DOCTOR--Nothing, except that he needs change. I prescribe opiates and rest.

MRS. GABB--Shall I give him the opiates at once?

DOCTOR--Oh, the opiates are not for him; they are for you.

--_Once a Week._

The fact that diamonds are rapidly increasing in price is pleasing news to the Glass Trust.

--_N. Y. World._

Bucket-shops are so called, apparently, because they carry in a pail the same goods which the bigger exchanges carry in hogsheads.

--_Albany Times._

The Firm Schoolmistress.

Firm Schoolmarm--You children must behave yourselves. I'll go wild if you don't. Jimmie Smith, stop cutting that desk. (Jimmie does not stop.) I'll put your knife in the fire if you don't. Never mind; I am going to write a note to your father.

Jimmie--Don't care if you do.

Schoolmarm--Don't talk to me that way. Put up that knife this very instant, or I'll box your ears. (Starts towards him.) Never mind, sir (taking her seat), I'm going to tell your mother.

Jimmie--Don't care if you do.

Schoolmarm--Don't you talk to me that way. Never mind, sir, I'm going to keep you in after school. Will Brown, you must not eat in school. Willie, Willie Brown. Never mind, sir. I'm going to tell your father.

Willie--Ain't got no father.

Schoolmarm--Well, I'll tell your mother.

Willie--Ho, she won't do nothin' but scold me.

Schoolmarm--Then I'll whip you myself. Bobbie Guns, go out and get me a switch.

Bob--Bill might hit me after school.

Schoolmarm--I never saw the like in my life. If you all don't stop making such a noise my head will split open. All of you, except Jimmie Smith, may go now. Jimmie, don't you go out of this house. Jimmie, Jimmie. Well, then, go on, you good-for-nothing thing. No, I won't kiss you. Go on away, I won't. Well, then (kissing him), I'll kiss you this once. Don't you put your dirty little arms around my neck. Oh, look, you have mussed my hair. You little rascal (hugging him), I can't help loving you.

--_Liverpool Post._

At the London Law Courts.

Mike (pointing to the patriot O'Brien)--Ah! there's a man who Balfour would like to imprison for life if he only dared.

Pat--Imprison for life, d'ye say? Sure, man, 'twould be no use at all. For O'Brien would die long before such a brutal sintince could come to an end.

Mike--Ah, me bhoy! Faith, and I believe ye're right!

--_N. Y. World._

The Pensive Maiden.

Pretty little darling
Gazing 'cross the sea,
Wonder what the tenor
Of her thoughts may be;
Wonder if she ever
Gives a thought to me!

Bright as sparkling dewdrop
Glistening on a rose,
Sweeter far than any
Pretty flower that blows;
Madly do I love her--
Wonder if she knows!

Ere the voyage is over
I would fain declare
That I love her dearly,
With a wild despair;
Wonder if she'll love me!
Wonder if she'll care!

SHELLMAN.

Our Cunning Kids.

A city child, wandering over a farm-yard with its father, was greatly frightened at the sight of a good-sized gobbler.

"Why, my boy, you don't mean to say that you're afraid of a turkey, when you ate one only yesterday."

"Yes, pa, but this one isn't cooked."

--_Judge._

Some returned Boomers who failed to get claims in the Oklahoma territory are said to be anxious that Col. Ingersoll shall go out to Guthrie and modify his views as to the non-existence of Hades.

--_Munsey's Weekly._

He Was.

Parson (to candidate for Sunday school)--Have you been christened, my boy?

Boy--Yes, shir. Got marks in three plaishes on my left arm!

--_Punch._

HE WAS ONERY BUT INNOCENT.

No Evidence to Convict Thomas of Stealing the Hog.

When I reached Lester's Crossroads it was to find the score or so of people comprising the hamlet very much excited, and their numbers had been re-enforced by a dozen or more farmers, who had come in on mules and in ox carts. I got accommodations at Jeffers', and in a few minutes Mrs. Jeffers had posted me as to the cause of the excitement.

"Thar's gwine to be the powerfulest lawsuit nobody ever hearn tell of," she explained. "Thar's gwine ter be as many as ten witnesses, and the lawyers will gab, and the squar' will boss everybody, and it will be the excitingest time we ever had. I'm so glad you got yere in time!"

The squar' who lived a mile out of the hamlet took dinner with us, also the lawyers, both of whom had made a ride of fifteen miles in the interest of their respective clients. The squar' was on his dignity, and the lawyers were looked up to with all the reverence and respect due the president of the United States. School was dismissed that the trial might take place in the school-house, and when we all found seats the place was packed. When the case was stated Thomas Andrews, a "squat farmer," was charged with having stolen, killed and converted to his own use one hog belonging to and the lawful property of William Ainsworth, another "squat farmer." The squar' opened his own court as follows:

"Here ye and look yere! This court ar' now open fur bizness, and it's agin the law to fuss or trifle. Them negroes and all others is warned to be powerful quiet, and if ary purson be in contempt he will get the full extent of the law. Hank Stovin, kick that ar big dog of your'n outer doors."

The prosecutor then charged the prisoner with having, between the 5th and the 20th of the month, stolen, killed and eaten, in whole or in part one hog belonging to the plaintiff, and described as black and white, 2 years old, weight 115 to 120 pounds, and in good health and fair condition.

He was followed by the other lawyer who denied the charge in toto, and intimated that he would prove a conspiracy to down the defendant, to the injury of his name and fame as an honest citizen of the commonwealth. The plaintiff was put on the stand, and when told to go ahead he said:

"I know that he 'un stole my hog, and I wanter see him sent to prison."

"Why do you suspect him of stealing the hog?"

"Hain't he shiftless and onery?"

"Is that why you suspected him?"

"It ar'. And I know the hog went over his way the last I seed of him."

The plaintiff hadn't made out much, but he had a witness who swore that he ate fresh pork at Andrews' cabin on the 12th. He also saw hog bristles and hoofs on the ground near the cabin.

"You declare that on your oath, do you?"

"Sartin, I've got to tell it as it was, though Tom and I hev always jiggered (got along) without a word."

A second witness swore that he called at Andrews' cabin on the 15th and the wife had fresh pork in a kettle. He asked if Tom had been killing and she seemed confused and did not reply. That was the case for the prosecution. It looked slim in one sense, and yet everybody knew that Andrews was a shiftless, suspicious character not above hog stealing. When the opposing counsel got hold of the plaintiff he asked:

"Was this hog ranging the country?"

"Yes, he was loosely about and around."

"Went where he pleased, didn't he?"

"Reckon he did."

"Well, how do you know he is dead? How far have you hunted for him?"

"Three miles."

"But he may be alive and well and four miles away."

"Couldn't be. Tom Andrews killed him."

"That's only your suspicion. Can you swear that that hog isn't home this very minute?"

"Mebbe he ar', but I shan't dun giv in."

The witness who had sworn to eating pork at Andrews' table was asked:

"Can you tell pork from a two-year-old hog from pig meat?"

"No, sah."

"Dare you swear that the meat you ate that day wasn't coon or bear meat?"

"Reckon 'twas pork."

"Yes, you reckon, but do you know it was?"

"Dasn't dun sw'ar any harder, sah."

The second witness was also tangled up on cross-examination, and then Andrews was put on the stand.

"Tom, did you ever see this hog in question?" asked his lawyer.

"Lawd, no!"

"How long since you had any fresh pork at your house?"

"Almost before the wah, sah."

"What meat did Miner eat there that day?"

"Coon, sah."

"What about those bristles and hoofs he says he saw?"

Tom produced a small package and opened it and displayed the four feet of a coon and a handful of hair. He admitted on cross-examination that he was onery, but he claimed to be honest.

"Mrs. Andrews," asked the lawyer when she was called, "do you remember when Jackson called about the quilt frames?"

"'Deed, I do."

"Were you cooking meat?"

"Sartain, I was."

"Fresh pork?"

"No, sah--'possum."

"Were you confused?"

"Lawd save ye, but I was never dun confused in all my life."

The case wasn't very strong in a legal sense against Andrews, but after it had been submitted his Honor called up all his dignity and commanded:

"You thar! Tom Andrews, stand up!"

Tom arose.

"Prisoner," continued the judge, "you stole that air hog suah's shooting! It's jist like you. You killed it and converted it to your own use. I'm jist as satisfied of that as I ar' that you took coons outen my trap last winter. However, they hain't proved it down fine and I've got to turn ye loose. Ar' yer ears wide open, Tom?"

"'Deed they is allus so."

"Then you skitter (listen) to what I'm going to say. Justice is arter you. She hit your trail way back ten years ago, and she's followin' right along. She moves slow but suah. She's gittin very clus to your vest buckle, and when she reaches out fur ye it will be good-by, Tom Andrews. You kin go loose, but it's only fur a leedle while. Justice is givin' ye mo' rope so that the bringin' up will be harder. Git out of yere and lumber yer carcass off hum, and if I was the plaintiff I'd cut across lots and meet ye down by the creek and lick the value of that hog outer yer wrinkled hide. Court stands a-journed."

--_Detroit Free Press._

TRAVIS--What! going into the Adirondacks without a guide?

DESMITH--Of course. Do you suppose a man who has trotted around Boston for five years is going to lose his way in the Adirondacks? Not much!

--_Burlington Free Press._

There is a demand among theatrical people for "protection for American actors." How would an egg-intercepting screen at the front of the stage do?

--_Philadelphia Times._

Not in His Line.

"Oh, dry up!" shouted somebody in the crowd to the intoxicated individual in the middle who was trying to make a campaign speech.

"Gen'l'men," said the speaker, stopping short in his harangue and looking about with an injured and insulted air, "I dunno what I've ever (hic) done to make you wish (hic) that I should ever (hic) come (hic) to such an awful end!"

--_Somerville Journal._

Outwitted.

As Rich, the harlequin, was one evening returning home from the playhouse in a hackney coach, he ordered the coachman to drive him to the Sun, then a famous tavern in Clare Market. Just as the coach passed one of the windows of the tavern, Rich, who perceived it to be open, dexterously threw himself out of the coach window into the room. The coachman, who saw nothing of this transaction, drew up, descended from his box, opened the coach door, and let down the step: then taking off his hat, he waited for some time, expecting his fare to alight; but at length, looking into the coach, and seeing it empty, he bestowed a few hearty curses on the rascal who had cheated him, remounted his box, turned about, and was driving back to the stand, when Rich, who had watched his chance, threw himself into the coach, looked out, asked the fellow where in all the world he was driving, and desired him to turn again. The coachman, almost petrified with fear, instantly obeyed, and once more drew up to the door of the tavern. Rich now got out; and, after reproaching the fellow with stupidity, tendered him his money.

"No, God bless your honor," said the coachman; "my master has ordered me to take no money to-night."

"Pshaw!" said Rich; "your master's a fool; here's a shilling for yourself."

"No, no," said the coachman, who by that time had remounted his box, "that won't do; I know you too well, for all your shoes--and so, Mr. Devil, for once you're outwitted."

--_Birmingham Post._

The Reason.

Why are very young sailors like condiments?

Because they are little salts for sea-sons.

--_Ocean._

A Sense of Safety.

I asked my own class of boys and girls if they always said their prayers night and morning. Most replied that they did, but one small child said she only said her prayers in the morning. "Indeed, and how is that?" I inquired. "I should think you would need God's care more at night than in the daytime. Why don't you say your prayers at night?"

"'Cause I always sleep in the middle," was the quick reply.

--_Pittsburgh Press._

New England Courtship as it Was and Is.

Scene--Salem, 1660.

Priscilla Puritannica--Yes, Master Virtuous Ebenezer Smith, I love you.

Virtuous Ebenezer--Oh, you sweet girl.

Pris. Pur.--Now, do not be too voluptuous, Master Virtuous Ebenezer Smith, and do not call me sweet.

Virt. Eb--I will try.

They engage in silent prayer.

* * * * *

In Boston, 1889.

Victor Emanuel Smythe--Darling, kiss me.

Priscillesca Powderpuff--I should like to, but oh, Vicky, God sees everything!

Vic. Em. Sm.--Well, turn the light down.

(Priscilla turns it out.)

Chorus--Yum, yum, yum!

--_To-Day._

Trotters' Rival.

"I'll do it," he repeated, grinding his teeth and showing the whites of his eyes.

"Nonsense!" said Matilda. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself for threatening such wickedness--and besides, you don't mean it. Go along!"

"Ha, ha!" exclaimed William Trotters, in a hollow voice. "Ha, ha!"

"You give me the creeps when you laugh like that," said Matilda; "and all the way to Gravesend you grumbled--when you weren't seasick. That is pretty lover, to go and be bilious on a pleasure trip!"

"It was the iron that had entered into my soul, Matilda," remarked Trotters, solemnly.

"It disagreed with you, whatever it was," said Matilda, tossing her pretty head and turning up her nose. "And when another gentleman--a stranger--was attentive, and took care of me, instead of being grateful, you went on like a mad bull, and talked about having his gore."

"Either his or my own," groaned Trotters. "Oh, woman! why art thou thus?"

"You wouldn't want to marry us if we weren't, would you, gaby?" snapped Matilda. "Give me that nasty thing, there, do!" She pointed to Trotters' breast pocket, which, as far as could be seen by the light of the street-lamp near them, looked bulky.

"Never!" said Trotters, recoiling.

"It'll go off one of these days, I know it will," sobbed Matilda, "and then you'll be sorry."

A smile illumined Trotters' visage. Nobody knew better than himself that the deadly weapon wasn't loaded. He had bought it of a marine store dealer, cleaned and polished it--it was a five-chambered revolver--and clicked the trigger three or four times to make sure; but even that made him nervous.

"She's really frightened!" he said, as he walked away.

An irresistible impulse came over him to frighten her a little more. He went back. He peeped over the garden gate. The house stood dark and silent. Everybody had gone to bed. He would steal round into the back garden and throw a little gravel up at Matilda's window. That would bring her down.

The onion and cabbage beds rose right up to the house wall. In the soft mould his footsteps fell silent. Ha! what was that? Jealousy! Wrath! Revenge!

A male figure stood in the center of the onion-bed. Its hat was cocked on one side, its gaze uplifted to Matilda's window. One arm was stretched out in an attitude of supplication. A bush rustled as Trotters stole warily behind him. Matilda's window opened. Matilda's voice queried, "Is that you, dear?" It was too much. Trotters drew the fatal pistol and clapped it to his rival's ear.

"Stir a step and you're a dead man!" he hissed, trying to steady his shaking hand. Too late! There was a flash--a terrible explosion! The stranger fell prone, and lay motionless on the ground.

Trotters was unaware that his cousin Jack, who was in the Carabineers, had expressed much curiosity regarding the weapon Trotters carried with such jealous solicitude, and, being of a larksome disposition, had surreptitiously gained possession of the revolver, placed a blank cartridge in each of the barrels, and returned it to the pocket of the unsuspecting Trotters, or he might have behaved differently. But no, he felt that in his passionate jealousy he had committed a deadly crime, and sent to his last account an innocent man. 'Twas too much. Trotters shrieked aloud in terror, and then fainted.

Matilda flew down to him with her hair in curl-papers. They found him lying cold and motionless beside the garden scarecrow!

--_Ally Sloper's Half Holiday._

Everything in Its Place.

Architectural Upholsterer--And how do you think of having the library furnished, Mr. Gasbuhm?

Mr. Gasbuhm--Why, I want a pool table in it, and a sideboard, of course; a couple of card tables and a lay out for the chess club, and what little whim whams and frenzies you want to make it look well.

"And about the book shelves; will you----"

"Oh, shoot the book shelves; put the books in the boys' rooms; they're going to school; I don't want books stuck under my nose when I'm busy enjoying myself."

--_Brooklyn Eagle._

MAKING A HIT.

A Consolation.

Smiley Basker--Yes, I'm going to get married at last, but it's mighty risky, mighty risky.

Van Riper--Well, don't worry; you can't do worse than your wife, anyway. Who is she?

--_Munsey's Weekly._

It Was Perfumed.

First Cadet--Did you ever smell powder?

Second Cadet--Yes?

"Where?"

"On a Vassar girl."

--_San Francisco Argus._

Quite Sure.

Stranger--Did a pedestrian pass this way a few minutes ago? Granger--No, sor. I've been right outer this tater patch more'n a nower, and notter blamed thing has passed 'cept one solitary man, an' he was tramping 'erlong on foot.

--_Time._

Only a Matter of Form.

"Mr. Kajones," said young Springbyle, clearing his throat, "I have called to ask permission to pay my addresses to your daughter."

"Which one, Julius?" inquired Mr. Kajones.

"Miss Maria, sir."

The father looked fixedly at the young man. "What are your prospects in life, Julius?" he said.

"To tell you the truth, sir," acknowledged young Springbyle, "I have no prospects worth mentioning. I am in moderate circumstances and have no resources except a knowledge of my business, good health and steady habits."

"Just so, Julius," mused the father. "Your income, I dare say, is----"

"About $1,200 a year."

"And on this, my young friend, you would expect to support yourself and a young woman who has lived in a home where she has never been used to anything like privation, or even judicious economy?"

"It does seem presumptuous for me to think of it," faltered the youth, "and as I see it does not meet with your approval I will say no more about it and ask your pardon for----"

"Stay, Julius!" exclaimed Mr. Kajones, somewhat hastily. "I only asked you those questions as a matter of form. If you want Maria, my boy, you can have her!" And he shook the young man warmly by the hand.

Mr. Kajones, it may be proper to state, has eight unmarried daughters besides Maria.

--_Chicago Tribune._

Weighed Down.

Joe--Gus looks crushed, as if he had something heavy on his mind.

Jack--A thought, perchance.

--_Time._

Quite a Different Thing.

Old Gent--Little boy, I am sorry to see you smoking a cigarette.

Little Boy--I ain't smoking it. I'm keeping it alight for another feller what's gone on an errand.

--_Boston Courier._

A Negro Who Doesn't Like Chicago Manners.

Yates, an old negro, sought the Mayor of Chicago. "What can I do for you?" the mayor asked.

"Wall, sah, I doan' know 'bout dat, but I come yere to see ef I kain't git jestice somehow."

"What's the matter?"

"'Nuff de matter ter make er man pizen, dat's whut. I moved up yere from the South 'caze I didn't think I wuz enjoyin' all my rights down dar----"

"I see. They interfered with your right to vote."

"Oh, no, sah; da let me vote all I wanted ter. Nices' people 'bout dat I eber seed. Jes' let me stan' up an' vote right erlong, but den da didn't count my vote."

"And you wanted to come to a place where your vote counted?"

"Yes, sah."

"Well, what is the trouble?"

"'Leckshun troubles."

"Don't you believe your vote was counted?"

"Oh, yes, I know it was."

"Then what have you to complain of."

"W'y, sah, I hadn't mo'n voted 'fo' er blame p'liceman came up, he did, an' lammed me ober de head."

"What were you doing?"

"Nothin' er tall; jes' standin' dar."

"Didn't he tell you to move on?"

"Yes, sah, but whut bizness was it o' his'n? I wan't foolin' wid him."

"What did you say when he told you to move on?"

"Didn't say nothin'. Jis' sorter shuck my head, an' den he come er hittin' me wid dat stick. Dat ain't no way ter ack--no way ter do w'en er man is 'habin' hisse'f."

"I'm very sorry----"

"You ain't ha'f as sorry ez I is, sah. Jis' look at dis yer lump on my head. I'd ruther not hab my vote counted den ter pay so dear fur it. Ef da hatter hit me to make my vote count w'y, den, I'd ruther they would fling it outen de box. Dat's er mighty cuis way ter do business. Crack er man's skull ter make his vote count. Doan't want no more votes counted in dis town."

--_Arkansaw Traveler._

A Pittsburgh doctor says he can diagnose ailments by examining a single hair of the patient. Two young men, as a joke, took him a hair from a bay horse. The doctor gravely wrote a prescription, and said his fee was $25, as the case was precarious. They were staggered, but paid the fee, and after they got out laughed all the way to the apothecary's. The latter took the prescription and read in amazement: "One bushel of oats, four quarts of water, stir well, and give three times a day, and turn the animal out to grass!" Then the jokers stopped laughing.

--_Denver News._

Undertakers are gravely opposed to cremation.--_Boston Gazette._ Are they in urn est?