\ .5“ ’.. l O M. ii" . J, ,x . V‘, A LITTLE OFF. BY JO KING. My old uncle Jake was a man For whom I’d the greatest affection, Though his mind, I am sorry to say, Was given sometimes to deflection—- That is, it was absent sometimes From the plac : where folks would expect it, It was ofin the least little bit. Although but a few would detect it. A paper he once read an hour, _ And enjoyed the news of the town, Sll‘, Ami neVer found out till the last Th it the paper was upside down, sir. His habits were tidy and neat, _ And he lathered and shaved every day. sir, But he shaved himself once with his comb And then combed his head with the razor. A friend of his knocked at the door And he answered the knock in a hurry And said that himself was not home But bad gme on a trip to Endbury. I once saw him absorbed in a book With sat'sfaction unstinted; _ He stopped in amaze when I said _ 'Twas a blank one with not a word printed. One morning he lit a cigar, . And straight went to pufilng and blowmg; He put the wrong end in his mouth And smokedit all up without Knowing. He took his girl home in the rain, And then. like a love~smitten fellow. He held over both his new cane And walked with his umbrella. When he was quite a small lad No one had a mind much vaster; One morning he saddled the cow And then drove the horse to the pasture. He once loved a beautiful girl, And vowed Mr to wed and no other, He lacked but the parents’ consent And went and—proposed to her mother. One evening he went to retire As a perfectly sober man can do; With the bootjack he pulled off his coat And blew the lamp out of the window; And then he went straightway to bed Like any intelligent fellow, But he slept with his head at the fodt And his feet snugly fixed on the pillow. Now, people who read of these facts, Might somehow be led unto thinking That my dear and revered uncle Jake Was certainly given to drinking; But such was not so ; and he died At fifty and not a month older By shooting aquail on the Wing . With the muzzle o’ the gun at his shoulder. The Get There Club. BY THE CITY-ITEMS SCRIBE. Barker’s Big Burial. “ BROTHER STRONG,” the G. L. observed, “ that was pretty strong. A man who will get up and try to make history out false, has cer- tainly got nerve. But, who next! for time is waning.” Up sprung they all. It was eVident that each one desired the honor of getting there. and that each thought he could outdo his previous effort—or efforts. There was lively work for a few moments, but at last Brother Barker got the floor. “ Fellow-liars,“ he began, “ I must make one more faint effort to et there. “ Some years ago died, and was buried.” “ Nothing very remarkable about that,” com- mented Hobson. “There wasn't, hey? I am of the opinion there was. I was buried alive." “ In that case you wasn‘t dead.” “ Mr. President,” Barker complained, “ Bro- ther Hobson is getting a little too obstreperous and obtrusive, and—" “ Beg pardon,” the G. L. interrupted, “but please say that again and say it slower.” “ I say, sir, that Hobson is getting too fresh, and I move that he be fined five cents for stat- ing the fact that if I was alive I could not be dead.” The motion was seconded. Hobson objected strongly, “ kicked hard,” as his fellow liars put it, but the motion was car- ried and he had to pass up his nickel. “ W e will see if that will keep you quiet,” Barker remarked. “ Quiet likely it will,” observed White. “ As I was about to say," Barker resumed, “ I was once buried alive. “ Were you ever buried alive, any of you? You have no idea what a horrible fate it is. To be buried dead is bad enough, but to be buried alive—horrible ! “ 1 died rather suddenly—that is to say, I died, but I didn’t die dead, and the doctor called it heart disease. “ I felt like getting up and kicking the lungs out of him, but I was unable to m0ve a finger. I couldn‘t even wave an ear or wiggle a single hair of my head. “ You can see that I was pretty far gone. “ “'ell. an undertaker was sent for, and be came and laid me out, and a few days later I was planted. “ I will not barrow up your feelings by de- scribing my own on that occasion, but will show you how I escaped. “ Two days passed, and I was lying there dreading the hour when I would return to {con- sciousness, or rather to life, then to die of suffo— cation, when there came a rap at the bottom of my coffin. “ ‘ \Vho is there?’ I demanded. “ ‘The man below,’ was the reply. You see they had put me into a grave that was. already occupied. “ ‘ What do you want?’ I asked. “ ‘ Who are you .6’ he inquired. “ I told him my name, and then I asked him if I was really dead. “ ‘ I reckon you are,’ he answered. “ ‘Are you dead?’ I asked. “ ‘ You bet I am,’ he replied; ‘ I’m only a skele- ton, now.’ “ ‘ Can you get out ?’ queried I. “ ‘ Certainly,’ said he; ‘ can’t you ?’ “ ‘No; 1 can’t move.’ “ ‘ Why, that’s strange.’ “ ‘ How is it that I haven’t heard from you before ?’ I asked. ‘ I have been here two months.’ ” “ You had been buried only two days, Brother Barker,” corrected the G. L. “Which shaws how long two days actually were to me,” Bark'er explained. “ Very well, sir, go on.” “ Well, I asked my ghostly visitor if he could- n’t help me out. “ ‘ I will try it,’ said he, and then I heard him pounding away like mad. “ The coffin was of hard wood, though, and he had to give it up. “ .‘ I can’t do it,’ he said; ‘ the wood is too hard.’ “ ‘ Have you no tools?’ I asked. it t No, I_7 73 “ Pardon me,” interrupted Short, “ but you are getting ahead too fast. You asked the fellow”wby you hadn’t heard from him before, and—— “ So I did, Brother Short. He said he had been away for a time. Said it was election time at his native place, and he had been home to slip a ballot into the box in favor of his old party. “ But, let me get on: “ ‘ No,’ he answered to my last question, ‘ no- thin but my bare hands.’ “ ear in mind that he was a skeleton, and you will understand how completely unarmed e was. “ ‘ That is too bad.’said 1. till I go home and get some.’ “‘ All right,’said he, ‘ I will.’ “ I hurried home——” “ Brother Barker,” the G. L. broke in, “ how could— But, go on, go on.” “Yes, I hurried home and got a saw and a hatchet, and coming back as soon as possible I handed them to my skeleton friend, saying: “ ‘ Now, sir, get me out as soon as you can.’ “He set to work, then, and in a short time ‘ You wait here had made a hole through the box and coffin la rge enough for me to creep through. “But, as I had not yet recovered the power of moving or speaking, l was no better off than before. “ ‘ What am I to do?’ I asked. “ ‘ Can’t you move?’ asked he. “ ‘ Not even a finger,’ said I. “ ‘ I can fix that.‘ said he. ‘ First, however.’ he added. ‘b0w are you dressed 1" “ ‘ I have got on only a sliroud,’ I replied. “ ‘ One of those things that merely cover the shoulders and breast?‘ he demanded. “ ‘ Exactly so. sir,’ I confessed. " ‘ \Vell,’ said be, ‘it will never do for you to appear in the presence of ladies in such an at- tire. It is perfectly shameful to think our friends are so mean they cannot afford to bury us decently dressed. TV sit a moment and I will see if I can find you some. clothes.’ “He was gone only a few minutes, and when he returned he brought me quite a decent-look- ing suit. ‘ ‘ Here.’ he said, ‘put on these, and then I will help you out.’ “ I dressed myself . and then I asked: “ ‘ Do you think, now, you can fix me so that I can speak and move?’ “ ‘ I think I can,’ said he, and he offered me a bottle adding: “ ‘ ere, try a drop of this.’ “ I did so, and it put new life into me at once. “ It was the best anti-death that I ever tasted. “ ‘ How do you feel now?’ my ghostly friean asked. “ ‘ Fine!’ 1 exclaimed. “ ‘ Can you move?’ he inquired. “ ‘ Yes; get hold of me and help me out,’ I answered and requested. “ He did so, and I was pulled down throu h the coffin and box into a sort of cave under t e rave. “ There stood my friend—a grinning skele- ton. “ ‘ Why,’ be exclaimed, when he saw me, ‘ you are not dead; on are only in a trance!’ “ ‘ That is what thought,’ said I, ‘but you said I was dead.’ “ ‘ Well, I was mistaken,’ said he. ‘ You know there isn’t much difference between a dead man and a man buried alive. I was buried alive, but I soon died. N 0 one hap— pened to rescue me asI have rescued you.’ “ ‘ Well,’ said I, ‘ I’m heartily obliged to you, I’m sure; perhap I can do as much for you some day. Since I am alive, now, I reckon I had better start for home.’ . “ ‘ Oh, you can’t go yet!’ exclaimed he. “ ' Why not?’ I demanded. “ ‘ You are not out of your trance yet, you know,’ he explained. ‘ You see you do not breathe.’ “ Sure enough. so I didn’t. “ ‘ Well,’ I asked, ‘ what can I do to amuse myself until I either come to or die?’ 7‘ ‘W’hy,’be cried, ‘yon are just in time for the event of the season.’ U l 1?? ' I L I 7 “ ‘ And what is the “ event of the season "2’ I inquired, innocently. “ ‘ A grand ball,’ he replied. ‘ The defuncts in this cemetery have a grand reunion once a year, and to—night is the night. You are just in time.’ “‘But,‘ I reasoned, ‘if I am not dead they may not want me there.’ “ ‘ That is all right,’ said he; ‘ you will attend as m guest.’ “ ‘ ’ery well,’ said I, ‘ anything will be better than staying here. I am with you.’ “ My skeleton friend took hold of my arm, then, and led me along a dark passage until we came to'a door. “ There he knocked. “The door was soon opened, and a flood of light poured out upon us. “ It was the ball-room. “ There were some hundreds of skeletons there, men and women of every age, and they were enjoying themselves immensely. The mu- sic had just struck up and all were dancing. their bones rattling merrily as they whirled round and round. ‘ “ I was startled at first, but my friend led me right in, and after I had got over the first shock I caught hold of one charming young skeleton and plunged right into the dance myself. “ After a. time my friend joined me, where I had seated myself upon a coflin torest a little, and he asked: “ ‘ Well. how are you enjoying yourself?’ “ ‘ First rate,’ I answered. “ ‘ Splendid, isn’t it?’ he observed. “ ‘ It is grand !’ I exclaimed. “ ‘We shall be called to supper presently,’ he remarked. “ ‘ To supper !’ I exclaimed. “ ‘ Yes, to supper. You will find we are not so slow down here.’ “ ‘ I should say not,’ I decided. “ True enough, it was not long before supper was announced, and taking my little skeleton belle by the arm I led her out into the great dining-room. “ Talk about grand lay-outs, that one just skewered the roast. It was the finest spread I ever saw. There were wines, cakes, flowers etc—especially etc.—in great abundance, and every skeleton present smiled from ear to ear at the prospect. “ smiled. too, but my smile was not so ex- panding as theirs. “Well, we fell to, and in about one hour we had made that table look sick. “ The way thOSe merry skeletons did store away cake and confections, and the .Way they disposed of glass after glass of the ripe, ruby wine were a caution. 1 had to—” “ Brother Barker,” the G. L. interrupted, “ do you not know that it would be utterly im- possible for skeletons to eat and drink? Even to imagine them moving and talking, is bad enou h.” “ - o, sir. I don’t!” exclaimed Barker. “Was- n’t I there?" “ Go on, sir.” “ Well. after the repast was over, everybody felt particularly good, and the dancing was re- sumed with redoubled vigor. “I must confess that most of those present were a little the worse for wine, and the rattling and clanking of the dry bones were almost deaf- ening. “ I felt as hilarious as any of them, and once when I swung my fair partner around in the dizzy whirl I pulled her arms OR and she went spinning away into a corner. She came back laughing, though, and let me put them in place ain. “ Some of the skeletons who were completely drunk got down under foot, and in a short time their various bones were scattered all over the floor. How they ever managed to reassume their proper articulation, I can’t imagine. As the case stood, they must have got badly mixed 3; person and gender, to a considerable num- r. “ We had a high old time until a latebour, and then the party broke up, and my friend led me back to my coffin. “ ‘ Have I got to get back in there?’ I asked. “ ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘there’s no other place for you.. You may come to life in a day or two, and if you do you can wake me up and I’ll help ou out. If not, if you finally die, then you’ll where your friends can find you.’ “ I had to submit. “ A few days later, though. I came to life,my skeleton friend assisted me to get out, and I re- turned home as well and hearty as ever, much to the surprise of my family and friends.” * LITTLE FREDDIE was undergoing the disagree- able operation of having his hair combed by his mother, and he grumbled at the maneuver. “ Why, Freddie,” said mamma, “ you ought not to make such a fuss. I don’t fuss and cry when my hair is combed.” “ Yes,” replied the youth- flul (party, “ but your hair ain’t hitched to your ea . Nat Proteges. BY ABBIE c. M’Knnvnn. NAT ancomii: awoke on New Year‘s morn- in feeling exceedingly blue—that is. blue with co d; and no wonder he did feel so, since half of his small garrct window was but fragments of panes, and the only coverin of his straw bed was an old army blanket. esidcs all this, his jacket was quite threadbare, and his one boot and one old shoe would hardly stay on his feet, and let his blue toes show through their great holes. But, Nat was only feeling blue outwardly. Inwardly there was enough fire and spirit and “ boy-steam ” for a half-dozen small chaps like He sprung up, wide awake, in an instant, jerked on his old shoe and boot—for he slept in his jacket and trousers, and was none too warm even then—and, with a cheery whistle throu h his blue lips, opened his door and ran nimb y down the dark old stairway of the Sixth story. As he reached the landing of the fifth story, he heard a backing cough—a hollow cough such as checked for an instant the light air upon his ii 3. I" Want any thing 0’ me, Miss Lizzie?" he call- ed out. “ No, Nat, thank you,” replied a sweet voice with a gentle modulation and patience that had long since won Nat’s heart. . “ I heard Nelly cough, an’ thought per’aps if I’d bring her a cough ozenge or—or somethin’, it might help her some.” The door of the room had opened now, and the slight form of the girl Could not conceal its abject overty. She did not attempt to hide it, for to at’s e es nothing was commoner: she stood so he co (1 see quite plain] the little in- valid on the cot near the old. crac ed stove. “ Good—morning, Nelly! Feelin’ any better l” he asked, cheerfully. The invalid smiled, and Nat wondered if she could be as ill as she seemed, and yet ile like - that. “ A little better, thank you. If any one throws away a posy, Nat, .you can bring me that.” “ I will!” said Nat: “ I’ll try, though the posies are not growing in the highways now.” And awa he went, pell mell down stairs, boy fashion. e was hungry and cold—yes, was half starved, for he had given'his supper to poor little Joe Dinsey, who, he knew, was a good deal hungrier than himself, and Nat never could re- fuse a friend such a favor. He slung his papers under his arm and rushed along under people’s noses and arms, catching a stray nickel now and then, for be was nimble as a cat and could dod e almost everywhere. “ I’m all right this ew Year’s Day; I tell you what, a railroad smash-up’s a lucky thin for a feller. Hillo, Country! Where you makin’ fur? Don’t expect to find yer cows here’bouts, hey i” The boy he addressed was a little fellow of some thirteen or fourteen years, clad in good, sensible clothing, but with a scared look and a certain something about his whole make—up that told Nat’s guess was correct. “ I’m not lookin for COWs, thank you,” he re plied, timidly. “ ’m afraid I’m lost. I came down to visit Uncle Jo Long. I had his address in mv pocketbook, but it’s gone.” H Whewz” whistled Nat. “ Yes,” replied the boy, flushing slightly. “ I understand you. I suppose my pocket was picked, and now whatever am I to do?” “ Go to the station an’ telegraph to yer folks.” “ But I haven't a cent, and—” “ T’Vell, you are a rum one,” laughed Nat. “ Now, I hain’t had a bite to eat since yester- day noon. an’ if I give you my mornin’s work I’ll not see a bite before to-morrer. Yer would- n’t ask a feller that, hey?” The country boy looked pitifully surprised and said, uickly: “No, in eed!” “ ’Twonldn’t do you no good of you did. ’Cause I ain’t a-goin’ to miss a dinner to-day on no ’count. But come along. Country; I’ll try an’ find a way out o’ the mess for ye. Sa yer un- cle’s name’s J 0 Long? W'ell, we‘ll 100 the old chap up. What's yer handle?” “ I don’t understand.” “ Ob, green , your name?” “ Harvey arrison, from Delpbos, Illinois.” “ A regular sucker, hey? Thought so, by um,! Hillo! What’s the row now, I won- er? Harvey started back in terror at the rough men who came out of a cellar, fighting with long knives. But; Nat pressed forward eagerly. “No, on don’t!” he cried, nimbly knocking one of t e knives out on the sidewalk. “ He’s too little an’ too drunk: let him alone! There, you Harvey, grab that knifel” Harvey obeyed and snatched it up and sprung out of the drunken brute’s way, just as his new friend cried out: “ The cops! the cops! cut !” The country boy did not understand, and but diml comprehended his trouble, when the b1 y knife was taken out of his hand by a policeman. “ Well, my young knave, you are rather small and slight to be in such a brawl. There’s one man dead in the cellar. Who killed him?” “ I don’t know,” began poor. frightened Har- vey. “I was only coming alon —” “ Coming along, fiddle-de—dee! Likely lie. How came this bloody knife in your band ?” “ I picked it up where it fell.” “Take him along; don't bother. He’ll have to tell in the Police Court all about it.” And thus it was Harvey Harrison was locked up in a station cell, along with three of the worst rou he of the city—Harvey, who was known at elphos as the best boy in the whole district. the pride of his fond old mother and fatlmr’s heart, and the prospective heir of a thousand acres of as fine land as the Sucker State could boast. Poor, unlucky Harvey! In the mean time Nat had shot out of sight so nick the “ cops ” only caught sight of a pair of ying heels; and who could recognize them even if they did belong to a boot and a shoe, going at such wonderful speed? “Oh, my eye! Oh, dear, dear, I’ll die! Oh, ghat’ poor little greeny! Ain’t he in a nice xi After laughing until exhausted, Nat counted his pennies and went in search of dinner. But, it was hard work hungry as be was, to swallow his good soup without laughing and chokii. . “ Won’t this be a fine story to tell Nilly? hHopw they’ll laugh about poor Country, he, be, e But. Nat was careful to save ten cents for some fruit for the poor invalid. “ I don’t see a posy, an’ I know what she needs. Lor’, I’d go ’tbout my supper many times to give her somethin’ good." “ Come in! Nat, is that you? Oh, Natl how kind on are! You rob yourself.” “ e? ho, ho! Rob myself, not much! I had dinner at one o’ the best restaurants in city. But, oh, my, girls, I’ve got the rumest story to tell you, ever you heard !” Nat sat down and told the whole scrape. from his first meeting with Harvey up to his flight. Told it all truthfully and in his own graphic style; but, strange to say, the girls did not laugh as be expected, and at its close the invalid had buried her face in her hands with: “ Ob, Nat! how could you?” “ Could I what i” in amazement. “ Desert him like that.” “ Why, he was nothin’ but a country greeny, anyhow. He got in the mess: let him git out; that’s in style." “ Did 3 get in the mess, Nat?" The elder girl asked the question, bending low over her sewing. Nat hung his head and pouted as near as he knew how. .The girl continued softly: “ We used to live in the country, Nat. Oh, it is so lovely—even in winter it is lovely to me. You wouldn’t care to treat Nelly or I as you did that poor, little boy.” l " Well. he hadn‘t any business a—losin’ of his money an’ a-bein‘ sich a goose.” ‘- I’ll tell you what, Nat, you must find where this poor little fellow is, and go to the judge ; and tell all you know.” “Me go to a judge? . e ? You don’t mean it, Miss Lizzie. Why, I’d jump in the river first.” “ l liav'n't the least doubt, because, if on jumped in the river, you would swim out ike a duck. and you stand in mortal terror of a judge. I'll tel you what, Nat. I’ll go with you, and you have really nothing to fear. We’ll both go to the. Police Court, to-morrow. and I‘ll vouch for your good character, and we’ll set our little friend free, and perhaps help him nd his uncle." To Nat, tellin his story in court was a totally different affair fgrom rehearsing it to the girls in their little room. He felt once as if he must “cut and run,” but the patient face of Miss Lizzie smiled upon him encouragingly. and the dark, heavy eyes of Harvey Harrison glowed in a way that warmed his heart as his friend pro- ceeded. Nat stood the questioning bravely, and the 'udge nodded as it quite satisfied, yet Nut and arvey were detained until a telegram was sent to a far—away Illinois town. and a startled old father sent back a prompt answer, and hurried away on the first train, for that “treacherous, awful city.” “ It is all right, boys,” said the judge; “you are free. But Harvey Harrison’s father is on his way here, and his son is to go to this ad- dress and await his coming.” “ You come also," whispered Harvey to Nat; “I want father to see you. You’ve been so kind.” é‘LTwasn’t me, ’twas her! Thank her. I’m 0 . But, with a deal of trouble, Nat and his friends were ferreted out by the delighted old father, who actually stumbled up all those five flights of stairs to their poor little room. “ Goodness! children, what a bole—and a sick child here, too! How awful! Come away! Bundle up all your clothes and come along! Guess there’s room enough on the farm for a dozen of you. I’ll not forget soon what you did for my son.” ' “ He means it Nat," whispered Harvey. “It will cure the litt e irl; coax them to come!” How it happene nobody hardly knew, only in less than a da Nat, dressed,[as he termed it, “fit to kill,” an the two pale sisters were whir- ling away from the great noisy city, over roll. ing prairies, with a new light in their eyes and a soft color in their faces. “ Here we are, home ! T telegra bed mother all about you. Think the place is; enough, hey? Some twenty rooms, I guess. Reckon you can get your breath now. for this is ome.” And so it proved to them-a home, a haven, a heaven. Soon the girls grew so strong and helpful that “ mother ” was quite set aside in her management of the house, and so learned to love the City waits that they were as dear to her as her own flesh and blood. And Nat? Well, he was everywhere on that big farm, looking after things with so sharp an eye and so helpful a hand, that Farmer Harri- son soon began to turn to him for every kind of assistance: and, ere another New Year came, Nat and Harvey were almost literally masters—— much to the old gentleman's delight and com- fort. The boys were inseparable friends; and, as Farmer Harrison declares, they shall be part- ners in running the great farm, as soon as they are a little older;tbere is every prospect of a life-long attachment—in which, it is surmised, the happy girls will share in a we that will give them a life interest in the dear o dhome. The Professor’_s_“ lntlhiatiuns.” BY 'rou r. MORGAN. DESIRING to spring upon the public a histr of the rise and fall of the Mound Builders, Pro . Humboldt Mellick penetrated the eastern por— , tion of Arkansas. Uncle Rufus \‘Vhite accom- panied him. ‘ The professor was not enjoying himself, to any great extent. All day long they had rid— den in a drizzle of rain, through the stronghold of ague and apathy. The mule which the wise man bestrode was not an easy riding animal, and the professor was morally certain that he would not be able to sit down with any degree of comfort for some time to come. Then, too, both were hungry. Some time after dark, they came upon a cabin among the paw-paws. Old Rufus gave a shout that brought a moppj head to the door, which the owner of the hen opened a little we . “ How do you do, sir?” saluted Prof. . ellick, politely. " Middlin‘. swered. “ If you can provide us with refreshments and shelter, on shall be liberally remunerated,” said the pro essor. “ Which?” “ I say your recompense shall be generous if you will allow us to partake of your hospi- tality.” 6‘ w, “ Sez,” broke in old Rufus, “ dat he’ll pay yer fer rub an’ a bed.” “ a], w’y didn’t he say so?” “ lVell, shall we leave our horses and come in?” inquired Prof. Mellick. “ Ef ye come in a tall, I reckon you’ll bafter leave yer bosses. Kain’t bev ye ridin’ ’cm in the house.” “ Come, come, man—” “ Kain’t come ’thout gittin’ wet." “ Have done with this bickering! Shall we come in?” “ No law to fo’ce ye to." “ Oh, don’t waste time with these miserable quibbles. We are almost tired to death.” “ Must ’a’ rid middlin’ fur.” “ Once for all, can we come in?” “ Reckon the door’s wide ’nufl’ fer ye: so come in outen the wet. The ole woman’ll bustle ye up a snack.” They soon were in the cabin, and while await- ing the promised “ snack,” Prof. Mellick’s eyes fglllifipon a small, smooth stone, reposing on a s e . “ Hah, a nodule!” he cried. “ A which 2'” “ A nodule. You know——” “ No, I don’t. Don’t kn0w nnthin’ ’bout no nod Jule er nod Sary. But that’s the lightest stone you ever handled. Don’t weigh more’n half w’at it orter.” “ So I see,” remarked Professor Mellick, tak- ing the stone from the shelf; “as I said, it is a nodule. What do you suppose is inside of it?” “Nuthin’. Hit’s a stone. Stones don’t bev nutbin’ in ’em." “ Not enerall , but this one has.” “ Say it has? “ Yes. Inside of this a rently solid stone, is a hollow of considera I: size. lt contains several crystals. Some are loose and some are attached to the interior of the stone.” “ I’m gwine to see ’bout that. Buck, gimme the hammer.” A blow broke the nodule open, and revealed the interior almost as Professor Mellick had de~ scribed it. The native regarded the fractured nodule with open-mouthed wonder. “ Wal. if that don’t beat in sister’s cats, as the feller said. Blame it all! k at that. ole woman. Hit was jest as he done said. Say, stranger. how’d ye know what was inside uv that stone?” “ By the surface indications.” “ Say you did f” “ Yes, sir. By carefully reading the surface, I was enabled to tell exactly what was in the interior.” “Say you was?” . “ Yes, sir. The man of scieuCe reads the sur- face in‘dications as one would printed words, How’s yerse’f?” the bead an- and they reveal the character of the irterit r in l the same manner that the words in a printed i book reveal the character of the interior of the book.” 3 The squatter arose and produced from a cup. ; board a large “ hunk ” of cheese and a square of j corn bread, and placed them before the wise , man and old Rufus. 2 “Ole woman's a-fryin’ some middlin’ out in ’ the lean—to. Mebby this yer’ll sorter stay yer stummicks till the other truck’s did.” , Old Rufus did but little eating, and regards d the food with growing suspicion, but Proft-SSor Mellick, happy in having found a listener, ram- bled on in his monologue and partook heartily. “ Yes, the surface indications are infallible guides to the contents of—" r “ Perfessah,” remarked old Rufus, sorrowful- ly, “ dey’s skippers in dis yer’ cheese.” “_ Skippers! Bless my soul!” cried Professor Mellick. “ Skippers— why, 1—” “ Yes, an’ de ’3 roach-bugs in de bread." Professor Me lick turned angrily to the bot t. “ What do you mean,” he demanded, “ by giv; ing us such food? It teems with animal life!" “ Wal, I ’lowed you could sorter tell by the surface indications w’at was on the inside uv the grub—sorter read hit like a hook, ye know." “ You are a fool!” angrily cried Professor Mellick. “Same to you,” drawled the host, without the least show of anger. The wise man was pacified by the appearance of the fried side—meat and hot corn pone, that the “ ole woman ” brought in at that moment. When the time for retiring came, the squatte r ordered Buck to show the guests to their resting- place. It was the only vacant bed in the hi. use, and nearly filled the little room in the loft. It was shortly after midnight when Prof. Mel~ lick began to squirm uneasily. He felt a sharp in in his foot. Half awake, he drew up his cot, and immediately thrust it down again. Instantly be was attacked by the sharp pain in several places. . Not yet fully awake, he struck out with his fist and nearly broke the innocent nose of Uncle Rufus “'bitc, who was peacefully sleeping be- side him. — The latter started up, thinking that same one was trying to assassinate him by beating him to death. Prof. Mellick uttered a yell and rolled against him. The old darky was sure that he had the midnight assassin in his grasp. and be be an to belabor the wise man unmercnfully. ver they rolled on the bed, the professor fighting for his life, as he believed, and Old Ru- fus endeavorin to obtain revenge for his bruis- ed nose. The s arp pains began to attack both of them with redoub ed vigor, and they yelled and rolled about like a choking dog. Off from the bed they went and landed on thelloor. With a thump that near] caused Prof. Mellick to swallow his tongue. here was an angry buzzing in the air. The squatter, candle in band, came hurrying up the ladder into the loft. “ “'hicb whupped?” he asked. I’Vitb suspicion rankliug in his heart, Old Rufus turned down the bed-clothes. A num— ber of mud wasps’ nests met his view. The in— habitants were buzzing angrily about. “ Now, sir !” cried l’rof. Mellick, in great wrath. “ Explain, if you can, your reasons for gill/tng us into that bed, where we were liable be stung to death if we disturbed the wasps! It is infamous!" “ Say hitls!” “Yes, 1 say it is! It is infamous! Outrage- ous! Why did you do it?” ‘ ‘ You orter to know they was there. ’Lowed if yex'antcd to go to bed with the mud—doub- ers, h wa'n’t none uv my fun’ral.” “Ought to have known they were there! How?” “Orter knowed by the surface indications. You kin tell so pow'ful much, that-a—way. Hole on! Wherc’ye goin’?” ‘ “Going to leave this infernal place just as goon” as I can don my clothes! Come on, Ru- us. Five minutes later, awise man, nearly choked with rage, rode away in the darkness. accom- panied by a colored man, who grinned in spite of himse f. “Never see’d sich a blamed ijiot,” muttered the squatter. “ Shoots off his mouth ’bout surface indications, but w’en a body says two words ’bout hit to him, he flies right offen the handle as brash as you please.” Telephone Echoes. \ WHAT is that which nobody wants, and no- oody likes to Inset—A lawsuit. “ I’LL take the responsibility,” as J enks said when he held out his arm for the baby. ON seeing a house being whitewashed, a small boy of three wanted to know if it was going to be shaved. 'A IAN went into a trance the other da , and did not come out of it- until the gmo ector went away. “ SE}: the corn-curing hero comes” is the way in which a traveling chiropodist recently pla- carded a Western town. “ AH, parson, I wish I could take my gold With me,“ said a dying man to his fistor. “ It might melt,” was the consoling answer. ON the wedding-journey—-He (sentimentally) —“ Darling, do you love me better than your firsthusband ?” She—“Certainly. He’s dead!” JUDGE (to prisoner)——“ Your statement does not agree wit the evidence of the last witness.” Prisoner—“ I don’t wonder. than I am.” HERE is a corker. “ TVbat is the difference between 20 pennyweights and the bulletin- board?” “ One is an ounce and the other an- nounces?” Aw-w; somebody told you. A CONTRIBUTOR to 9. Troy paper recently sent in an article headed “Ringing Noises.” The bright compositor set it up, “ Running Noses,” the proof-reader let it go, and still lives. “ RICHES take unto themselves wings and fl away,” said the teacher. “ “'hat kind of riches is meant?” And the smart boy at the foot of the hclass said he “ reckoned they must be os- ric es. . “ GERTY, did I show you this engagement ring of emeralds and diamonds that Charlie Brown gave me?” “ Oh, I baVe seen it before!” “ Seen it before?” “ Yes. I was engaged to him at the beginning of July.” In a story of the courtship of a lovi cou le after all had been arran ed and managers figed up, the narrator says: “ ere their lips came together, and the report which followed was like pulling a horse’s hoof out of the mire.” A GENTLRMAN telegra he to a hotel-keeper: “Will arrive at ten- Six dinners.” When the party arrived at t e hotel they found themselves confronted by thirty-six covers. The Boniface had read: “Will arrive at ten. Thirty-six dinners.” ' Dn. Homilies, on bein asked when the train- ing of a child should 'n, replied, “ A hun~ dred (years before it is born.” Unborn parents shoul remember this and commence in time. There would be fewer dudes and Anarchists in existence one hundred years hence. TRUE, my son, half a loaf is better than none, but then, it is just as true that a whole loaf is better than a half, and also, two or three loaves are better than one. While you are after bread, a: is just as well to for a basket full; you us increase ver our chances o ting the half loaf.y m y y t get- AT the burning of a provision store recently the crowd helped themselves freely. One man asped a huge cheese as his share ‘of the plun- er. Rising up with it, he found himself face to face with a policeman, and with admirable presence of mind put the plunder into the ofli- cer’s arms, saying: “ You had better take care of that, policeman, or somebody will be walking off with it.” He’s a bigger liar ( u-‘ ‘1‘). . \c owl} \5‘“ I ,4 at.