Giving vent to his joy in a loud, long laugh, he yelled at the top of his voice, 'Whoopee! Whisky only twenty-five cents a gallon! Some chance for a poor man now. Hooray!" A GOOD one is told in Kentucky on General Garfield-the Colonel Garfield who developed Tom Marshall's running ability so handsomely. received the news by telegraph just fifteen minutes before he was dead." WHOSOEVER has been in Vicksburg has stopped at the Washington, and whosoever has stopped there remembers mine host-a pleasant, well-fed man, who puts his hand familiarly on your shoulder and calls you "Colonel" before you have been five minutes his guest. At the head of his table he shines stands up and calls his bill of fare-calls it out loud and strong. "Here's some elegant roast-beef; roastbeef rare, roast-beef done to a turn! Boiled mutton just arrived! Bring along that leg of veal! Mashed potatoes, mashed turnips!-how about that lettuce ?" and so on, morning, noon, and night. Garfield was a Methodist minister, and was once preaching in a rough neighborhood in the mount-conspicuous. Departing from the beaten track, he ains, where ministers were always insulted and interrupted, and sometimes driven away. In the midst of the exercises one of these "lewd fellows of the baser sort" came in and commenced a disturbance. Garfield took no notice of him, and proceeded with his discourse; but the fellow grew outrageous, and Garfield stopped; his patience had been gradually departing, and was now clean gone. "Brethren," said he, "I think if old Job was here he would certainly thrash that fellow, and thrash him soundly; but inasmuch as he is not here I am going to do it myself;" and he jumped into the chap before he knew what was coming, and beat him until he "hollered." Then, taking him by the shoulders, he jammed him into a seat, with "There, sit there, you scoundrel, until I get through!" and he marched back into the pulpit and finished his sermon in quiet. The story is good enough to be true, and very likely it is, for the General has not gotten over that sort of thing to this day. SOUTHERN hospitality, slightly overdone, is thus set forth by a gentleman who experienced it: He says the custom originated with him in Jackson, the capital of the State, where he once went to keep a fashionable hotel. Many of the "Members" boarded with him, and managed to make some use of such innovations as napkins and silver forks, but a printed bill of fare was "too many" for themthey could not read; and so he stood up and read it himself. It proved to be a "good thing," and he has stuck to it ever since. AN old contributor writes to the Drawer: At the time the Welland Canal was about to be enlarged I found myself in St. Catherine, Canada West, and, in company with a large number of contractors from all parts of the country, stopped at the St. Catherine Hotel. One evening quite a spirited argument arose among us which State could claim the most beautiful valleys. I, as a Yorker, of course claimed the premium for my State, and named the Genesee Valley as ranking first. Others had their favorites; but a Pennsylvanian insisted that the Wyoming Valley stood unrivaled, and after talking a long time, wound up with this clencher: "One day," said he, "I was in a hotel in the Valley when an Englishman came in, and said he had come all the way from Philadelphia to see the beauties of the valley, had read Campbell's poem, etc., with other descriptions, and really expected to see something extra, but was sadly disappointed-could see no beauty-all a humbug, etc., etc. I couldn't stand it any longer, and so I said, 'Stranger, if you will permit me to blindfold you, and will jump into my wagon, I'll take you up on "Prospect Rock," where, after you have looked about you, if you don't allow it beats any thing you ever saw before, you can stay in this village as long as you wish to at my expense.' "I was invited by a planter back of Natchez to visit him, and I accepted. He was a man of large wealth and lavish notions. Immediately on my arrival he detailed a servant to wait on me, who was indefatigable in his attentions, and tormented me nearly to death. He followed me on the lawn, through the garden, over the grounds, stuck to me in my room, and slept on the rug at my door. To hand a glass of water, reach my hat, untie my shoes, he was always present. I half awoke after my first night's rest and lay in a dreamy, delicious state, soothed by the stillness and the fresh odors that came in at the window. I did not open my eyes, but was somehow conscious of a presence. I turned my face to the pillow for another doze, but soon fully aroused myself, and there, at my bed-side, three-fourths asleep, with his woolly head bobbing and nodding, stood the darkey, with his hands out holding my pants, all opened and spread ready for me to put my legs into! My implied helplessness was a great insult, but the absurdity of the posture "He considered the offer generous, and immeand the line of service were too much for my grav-diately put it in execution. When we arrived at ity. Nevertheless, having once learned a proverb about the Romans, I put out my feet and let the pants be drawn up over them, just as my mother used to do when I was a baby." "A FEW days since the Sacramento (California) Daily Union mentioned the fact that a telegram had been received in San Francisco from Boston by Mr. -, stating that his father had died exactly at 11 A.M. of that date. The dispatch was received at '10.45' A.M., thus beating time a quarter of an hour. I was reading the paragraph to an Irish friend as an evidence of the wonderful speed that could be accomplished with so long a line. In a few minutes after I heard him repeating the news in his own language thus: A man died in Boston the other morning, and his son, in San Francisco, the rock I placed him so that all the beauty could be seen at a glance, and then took off the bandage. For a moment he stood, and then folding his arms upon his breast gave himself up to the enchanting scene. I let him alone for half an hour, when, feeling curious to know what he thought about it, I touched him on his arm, and said, "Well, stranger, what do you think about it?' "Think?' said he. 'Do you suppose that Satan ever showed the Saviour this spot?' "I was satisfied, and told him so." As this answer capped the climax, the rest of us subsided. THE REV. Mr. Darter is a country merchant in a certain neighborhood in Cherokee, Georgia. He is also a local Methodist preacher, and sometimes offi ciates in the absence of the regular minister. The church at which Mr. Darter worships is distant from his store about a mile, and the services are usually performed on some day during the week, the Methodist circuit riders being unable to fill all their appointments on the Sabbath. On a certain pleasant day a New York drummer called at Brother Darter's store to sell him a bill of goods, or for some other purpose. It happened to be a meeting-day, and the merchant was absent. Having nothing else to do, the New Yorker concluded to stroll over toward the church. The day was a warm one-nothing unusual in that latitude even in winter-and the churchdoors were all open. The circuit preacher had not arrived, and Brother Darter was filling his pulpit. He happened to be descanting on the wiles of the devil when our New York friend reached the church. He described the great adversary of mankind as a terrible-looking monster, "going about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he might devour." Just at this moment the New Yorker walked in. No razor had come near his face for many a day, and his beard and mustache were long and heavy. His morning's ride and subsequent walk in the heat and dust had left him in any thing but a tidy condition. His style of dress and of wearing the beard were altogether new in that region, and his appearance created a sensation. Sitting about the centre of the church were a couple of country damsels, who were as much astonished and terrified at the strange appearance as was Hamlet at his father's ghost. Brother Darter paused in his discourse; every body seemed to hold their breath; and "you might have heard a pin drop." Just at this moment one of the damsels whispered to the other, but loud enough to be heard all over the church, "Nancy, Brother Darter's been a-talkin' about the Old One, and thar he is!" "THE Rev. Mr. B- of the Presbyterian Church, is, unfortunately, very bald, and has been since quite a young man. Early in his ministry he was traveling in Indiana, and in passing from Indianapolis to Logansport, over the old Michigan road,' was weather-bound several days at the little village of Michigan Town. The inhabitants finding out he was a minister, begged for a sermon, to which of course he assented. The largest room that could be secured was the bar-room. There he preached to a crowded house,' using the bar for his pulpit. Owing, perhaps, to the novelty of the circumstances, the sermon was a success; the audience were delighted, and some of them were disposed to be complimentary. Among them, an old woman, an emigrant from Virginia; but whether one of the F. F. V.'s or not I can not say. Coming up to him, her good old withered face beaming with delight, she exclaimed, 'Oh, Mr. B, I was so delighted with your sermon! It is so seldom we hear good preaching here. The last preacher we had I did not like at all; he wore his hair so long. The fact is, Mr. B, I do not like to hear a preacher with any more hair on his head than you have!" "SOME forty years ago, a Massachusetts pedagogue found his way into a border town in Vermont to keep a winter school. Methodist preachers had just found their way to that section also, and figured in the public view as new and curious characters. In the absence of barbers, our schoolmaster had to depend on some of the damsels of the border as hair-dressers. One day, after a sharp operation of the kind, he asked an old lady what she thought of his appearance. She threw up her hands in astonishment as she exclaimed, 'Like the very diabol! I should think you were a Methodist minister!"" "A JOCKEY Country merchant was trafficking one day with a rustic mountaineer purchasing hay-rakes in exchange for goods. Of course the merchant's prices were what are called barter prices. Our rustic had need of a new hat, and inquired the price of one from a case just opened, from New York. Only five dollars,' said the merchant. Isn't that rather dear?' said the customer. 'I never sold one for less!' said the sharp merchant. "The clerk in the store put his head to the ear of the writer, who was listening to the negotiation, and whispered, ' He never sold one at all!' The case was bought at auction in New York for one dollar a piece." OUR Episcopal Bishop for the Northwest enjoys a good joke occasionally, and he relates the following: One Sabbath he was preaching in a log-cabin to one of our Western congregations, up in the hyperborean regions of lat. 42° N., and gave out a hymn, of which the fourth verse was to be omitted. The Bishop was his own choir, and sang the hymn, passing from the third to the fifth stanza. No sooner had he commenced the fifth than a stentorian voice sung out from the other end of the room, “Sa-ay, mister, you've skipped a verse there!" THOUGH it is very common to reproach old bachelors with their celibacy, and to pity old maids as if "single blessedness" were a misfortune, yet many married people have seen fit to offer apologies for having entered into what some profane wag has called the "holy bands of padlock." One man says he married to get a housekeeper; another to get rid of bad company. Many women declare that they get married for the sake of a home; few acknowledge that their motive was to get a husband. Goethe averred that he got married in order to be "respectable." John Wilkes said he took a wife "to please his friends." Wycherly, who espoused his house-maid, said he did it "to spite his relations." A widow, who married a second husband, said she wanted somebody to condole with her for the loss of her first. Another because she thought a wedding would "amuse the children." Another to get rid of incessant importunity from a crowd of suitors. Old maids who get married invariably assure their friends that they thought they could be "more useful" as wives than spinsters. Nevertheless, we are of opinion that nine-tenths of all persons who marry, whether widows or widowers, virgins or bachelors, do so for the sake of "getting married." But here is a side-view of the same matter in an anecdote: A country laird, at his death, left his property in equal shares to his two sons, who continued to live very amicably together for many years. At length one said to the other, "Tam, we're getting auld now; you'll tak' a wife, and when I dee you'll get my share of the grund." "Na, John, you're the youngest and maist active; you'll tak' a wife, and when I dee you'll get my share." "Od, Tam,” said John, "that's just the way wi' you; when there's ony fash or trouble, not a thing you'll do at a'." A GOOD story is told in Lockhart's Life of Sir Walter Scott of a dinner-party where a pack of literary lions were fed and pitted one against the oth er. my boy," says Uncle Reuben, "how long could you do it?" "Why, till I starved to death!" said Ide. Uncle Reuben says that he never got such a shot before. "THE army swore terribly in Flanders!' said my Uncle Toby, and probably in no case is an army wholly free from this vice. My paternal grandfather was in the Army of the Revolution, in rank a captain, and was personally acquainted with the ccl Scott was king of the board, but the rest were the miller (Uncle Reuben), he says, “Uncle Reub, in league to humble him. Poets and poetry were, I can eat that meal faster than you grind it." "Ah, the topics of the table, and Coleridge repeated some of his own pieces, which were praised to the skies. Scott joined in these eulogies as cordially as any body, until in his turn he was called on to repeat some of his own. He declined, but said he would repeat a little copy of verses he had met with in a provincial newspaper, and which seemed to him almost as good as any thing they had been listening to with so much pleasure. He repeated the stanzas of "Fire, Famine, and Slaughter." The applauses that ensued were faint. Then came slight criti-ebrated Polish General, Kosciusko. In a skirmish cisms, from which Scott defended the unknown author. At last a more bitter antagonist opened, and fastening upon one line cried, "This, at least, is absolute nonsense." Scott denied the charge, the critic persisted, till Coleridge, out of all patience, exclaimed, "For mercy's sake let Mr. Scott alone, I wrote the poem." So much for criticism. If these wits had heard the verses from Mr. Coleridge as his own, they would have praised them sky high. FROM Nebraska City a friend writes to the Drawer: "I have a niece out here, aged five years, whose father (like all other fathers) thinks his own just a little the smartest youngster there is going. One day, while visiting at my brother's house during his absence, Minnie cut some caper, for which I reproved her. She turned around, and, with no little asperity, replied. "You sha'n't scold me. You ain't my papa, and don't understand my constitution.' with the enemy, on one occasion, the General could not make his men obey properly the orders he gave them; whether they would not, or whether they did not understand his broken English does not appear, but he became very angry, and railed and swore at them most terribly in his own tongue, of which they understood not a word, and consequently it made no impression. Seeing this, the General suddenly turned his horse and rode furiously up to my grandfather, saying, 'Captain G―, do come and curse them in English!' The old gentleman did not say whether or no he complied with the General's request. "Another incident my grandfather often related, of which he was a witness. It was on an oppressively warm June morning that he, in company with a brother officer of the Continental army, Captain Pope, were journeying on horseback across the State of New Jersey, on their way to Massachusetts, on a furlough, when they were hailed every now and then by the farmers on the way, to inquire for news from the army, telegraphs and railroads not being then in use. They passed a barn on the side of the road in which they saw a man swingling flax. Seeing the travelers he ran out to the bars in front of the barn, calling after them to hear the news. The officers rode up to the bars and communicated whatever of news they had, and then fell into conversation with him about his farm. Every thing seemed out of "A YEAR ago we had a little miss with us, the nine-year-old daughter of one of our ex-Governors, who is now at the head of one of the Keystone regiments. The Governor was much given to punning, and when about home always charged his good things to Bettie. The following may show that attributing good things to her was not always out of place. A number of us were in the cabin of a steamboat, lying at our levee, when a party of Paw-repair, the buildings and fences going to decay, and nee Indians came on board. Some of the passengers wanted to see them dance, and made the request, to which the aborigines assented. Before dancing, however, one of them, who could speak a little English, thinking he had better be paid in advance, went among the passengers, holding his hand and demanding Two bits! Two bits! Two bits!' Being avaricious, he continued it long after a number of quarters had been dropped in his hand, and until he entirely exhausted the patience of Bettie, who exclaimed, 'Well, I wouldn't give him two bits, for I don't believe he can dance one bit!" QUITE a number of years ago there lived in the town of G, Androscoggin County, Maine, a man by the name of L. He was farmer, stage-driver, and hotel-keeper, and was blessed with a large family of boys. Among them was the hero of our yarn. Ide was the name that he was best known by. He was lean, long, lank, and scrawny. Always on hand to run of errands and do chores generally. One very hot day in July Ide was sent off about three miles to a mill with a large lot of grain to be ground. Unluckily for him there was quite a quantity in before he got there, so that it was late in the afternoon before the miller got to work upon Ide's lot. The water was low, consequently the millstones revolved rather slowly. Ide was hungry, and his inner man got uproarious, and looking up to And a fine field of corn on the opposite side of the way "LITTLE DUNCAN often asks some odd questions. The other evening, as he was sitting out on the piazza with his mother, he gazed intently up at the sky for a few moments, and turning to her, asked, Ma, ain't the stars God's eyes? I saw them a-blinkin'.'" THAT was hard on young physic; but this is better: A doctor lately informed his friends in a large company that he had been eight days in the country. "Yes," said one of the party," it has been announced in the Times." "Ah!" said the doctor, stretching his neck importantly, "pray, in what terms?" A SAILOR taking a walk in a field, perceived a bull advancing toward him, evidently with no good intentions. "Helm a lee, mess-mate!" he cried, at the top of his voice; "helm a lee!" The bull, not comprehending his injunction, leveled him with the ground. "There, you stupid!" said the tar, as he raised up-more in sorrow than in anger-on his el-"Why, as well as I can remember, in the followbow, "didn't I tell you you'd run foul ?" A FEW years since there resided in Utica several medical students, one of whom inquired of a mechanic what he was making. "A bell-wheel for the court-house," answered the workman. "Ah!" asked the student, "are we to have two bells in the village? I should think one would answer every purpose at present." "You are right," replied the other; "but when you young doctors commence the practice, one bell will not do all the tolling!" ing: There were last week seventy-seven interments less than the week before!'" BOB F had long been paying the most devoted attentions to a young lady whose father had what is popularly known as the "rocks," when his attentions suddenly ceased, and of course every one was anxious to know the cause. Bob explained: "You see, I knew she was rich, and I didn't think a bit the less of her for that; but, the truth of the matter is, she turned out to be a nay-Bob !" Young Timkins.THERE'S A SIGN FOR YOU, MY BOY. ME AND YOU WILL DO A SMASHING BUSINESS." |