MISCELLANEOUS.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1875, 26 February 1880, Page 3

MISCELLANEOUS.

Eirst drunkard—“ Come along home—you’ve drunk enough.” Second drunkard—“No, I haven’t. I may have drunk too much sometimes, but I’ve never drunk enough.” Sbnatob Shakos once dined with a literary club in New York. At the table he quoted from history, and a little man at hie right joined issue on the question. Sharon waxed a trifle warm, and insinuated that his opponent might be a clever sort of a man, but history wasn’t his forte. After dinner, Sharon remarked to a friend, “Who is that little cuss over there who disputes my dates ?” “ Bancroft, the historian.” That father understands human nature who said—“ If you want your boy to stay at home, don’t bear foo hard on the grindstone when he turns the crank,”

A country correspondent sends us the following soul-harrowing conundrum : —Why do pigs thrive better on sour milk than they do on sweet ? And the answer is—Because they get more of it.—“ Lockport Union.” “ The Lord loveth a cheerful giver ” ; but there’s no use chucking a copper cent, into the contribution box loud enough to make the folks on the back seat think the communion service has tumbled off the altar.

The touching sentiment, “Our First in Heaven,” appeared after an obituary notice in a Philadelphia paper the other day, and the father of the child came into the_ office hopping mad. It was the third death in the family, and he desired to know of the clerk where he supposed the other two had gone. A Jersey man was once thrown one hundred and fifty feet by an express train, when he picked himself up, looked around for his hat and remarked, “ Well, if I don’t find that hat I’ll make the company pay for it.” The day before a Turkish girl is married she is taken to the bath of her lady friends, and lumps of sugar are broken over her head as a forecast of the sweets of matrimony. A year or so afterwards her husband breaks the whole sugar-bowl over her head. Pedestrian (who has dropped halt-a-crown in front of “the Blind”)': “Why, you confounded humbug, you’re not blind!” Beggar: “ Not I, sir! If the card says I am, they must have given me the wrong one. I’m deaf and dumb!”

The hard times have induced a spirit of economy in America. A Brooklyn young lady recently observed to her parent at the breakfast table, “Papa, I really don’t think we need a fire in the parlor ; I get along just as well without it.” “ Well, my dear, you must have it comfortable for callers.” “O, that makes no difference, papa; there’s only one whom I care for, and he’s got an ulster big enough for both of us.” “ What is nobler than a man wrestling his bread from the stubborn soil by the sweat of his brow ?” asks a philosopher. We don’t recall anything nobler at this moment, but we know what is a great deal more popular—hiring some other fellow to do it, while you sit on the fence and superintend him. The following is from a book of stories of the American war:—Our regiment was charging up a side hill, raked fore and aft with batteries and sharpshooters. One fellow near me dropped on his hands and knees and crawled on in that position toward the enemy, when the colonel caught him in the rear with the flat of his sabre. “ Get up, you darned fool, do you think you are cavalry ?”

A Stjbb Cube.—An unhappy young wife on the West Side writes to know what she can do to get rid of a husband who persists in loving her in spite of continued rebuffs, and wants information as to what she can do to make him consent to a separation. If the lady will join the South Side Cooking Club, and then steer the old man against some mince pies of her own manufacture, we know a man who will'bet money that the husband will be prepared to pack up on the following morning. —“Chicago Tribune.”

Young man, don’t swear. Swearing never was good for a sore finger. It never cured the rheumatism nor helped to draw a prize in a lottery. It isn’t recommeded for liver complaint. It isn’t sure against lightning, sewing machine agents, nor any of the ills which beset people through life. There is no occasion for swearing outside of a newspaper office, where it is useful in proof-reading and indispensably necessary in getting formes to press. It has been known, also, to materially assist the editor in looking over the paper after it is printed. But otherwise it is a very foolish and wicked habit. “ And things are not what they were,” ought to have sung the Psalmist of Life. I should think not, indeed ! That a lady should be able to obtain a divorce by calling for her husband’s letters directed to his club, and ruthlessly handed over by the hall-porter, is shocking, indeed, on the face of it. A friend of mine, some years ago, confined by illness to the house, asked his lately married wife to call at ’s for his letters. The then hallporter, one of the politest of men, expressed his extreme regret that it was against the rules of the club to give up members’ letters without written authority. “ But I am his wife!” exclaimed the astonished lady, “ Very sorry, madam; no doubt you are; but so many ladies call here who say the same thing and whom wo don’t know!” replied the diplomatic official. My friend never divulged what occurred between him and his bride when she returned home; but he looked gloomy for weeks afterwards. Seeing a Man Home.—l picked Simmons up pretty near dead drunk, and taok him home. When I got to his house, as I thought, I shook him a bit, and said, “ Here you are.” “Right,” said he, and gave a big bang at the knocker. Up went a window. “ Who’s there ?” so screamed a woman. “ I have brought the old man home,” said I. “ All right,” she cried, and came to the door. She immediately seized hold of Simmons, and gave him such a shaking that his teeth seemed to rattle in his head. “ Who are you shaking of?” says he. “ Goodness'gracious,” cried the woman, “ that is not my husband’s voice.” I struck a match, and she found she had been shaking the wrong man. “ There,” said the woman furiously, “ I’ve been sitting up here expecting my husband home drunk, and now I’ve wasted my strength on a stranger.” “Don’t ho live here?” said I. “No,” said the woman, “he don’t.” “ What made you knock ? ” said Ito Simmons. “ Knock,” said ne, “you told mo to.” “I thought you lived here,” said I. “Glad I don’t,” said he. I suppose he was thinking of the shaking he’d had. At last I found where he did live, and got him home. Mrs Simmons was sitting up for him. As soon as ever we knocked, out she came. “Oh ! ” says she, “ you’re the wretch as makes my poor husband drunk, are you ? ” and she caught me a slap across the face. I’ve never seen a drunken man home since.—“ Cope’s Tobacco Plant.” When friends send us copies of papers that contain something they wish us particularly to see, they will do us a favor to mark that which they desire to bring to our attention. We have before now received unmarked copies of papers, and spent time in looking them through to find the why or the wherefore of their being sent, only to wonder in the end what it could be they were sent for. Likely as not some day somebody on his dying bed will leave a bequest of half a million dollars in our favor, and we shall never know of it because the third person will be so thoughtless as to send us an unmarked newspaper containing the information. —“ Rome bentinel.” It may perhaps interest school boys to know that Professor Knapp, of Germany, has invented a new process of tanning without the use of bark. The thickest hides, ho claims, can be tanned by his process within seventy-two hours. Teachers, however, will probably stick to the old method. They can’t tan hides now without blubber, but it doesn’t take ’em anything like seventy-two hours to accomplish the job. If Professor Knapp’s process of tanning were to be introduced into our schools pupils would find a copy book concealed beneath their garments, where it would do the most good, a hollow mockery. The old way is preferable—to the boy.—“ Norristown Herald.” The “ Burlington Hawkeye ” says : —Three or four pretty good men, pastors of Massachusett’s churches preferred, are wanted to go down the Grand River Divide and talk pleasantly to the Uto Indians about the pleasures of peace and the tranquil enjoyments of domestic life. Good salary and short hours. Hair restoratives for sale at this office in pints and quarts. A gentleman, not extremely given to piety, was dismayed by being asked to say grace at a strange table. To refuse and explain would be embarrassing ; to comply would be equally so. He chose the latter, and started off briskly enough with “ Oh, Lord, bless this table—” Just here, being unused to the to the business, he nearly broke down, but, by a gigantic effort he pulled through with “World without end. Yours respectfully, Amen,”

Mark Twain says—“ I have seen slower people than I am, and more deliberate people than I am, and even quieter, and more listless, and lazier people than I am. But they were dead.” Queen Victoria had a alight cold. The “ Cincinnati Enquirer ” advised her to soak her head, and the “Norristown Herald ” to soak her feet. Her Majesty can always depend on getting good advice from this country. “ The young wife grabbed the griddle cakes From their place on the glowing stove ; And her thoughts went back a twelvemonth since. When Augustus was telling his love. How he vowed that earth had never held A treasure so rare as his pet; And that after the wedding he’d toil for her As never a man toiled yet. * But that was a year ago,’ she said, As the griddle cakes fell on a plate ; ‘And now the ornery, stump-nosed cuss Won’t get up to put coal on the grate.’ " One of the moat effective supper-table ornaments at the Belmont ball was an allegory representing Grant receiving the scroll of fame from Victory at the door of the Temple of Liberty. And yet a San Jose editor went home full of Roederer, softshell crabs, mashed ice and things, and referred to it as “ a humorous composition, depicting a ticketseller keeping dead-heads out of a circus with a ten-pin.” Faragraphers all remind us We may make our jokes sublime, And by stealing keep beside us Cords of copy all the time. —“ Cincinnati Star.” Copy that perhaps another Racking his poor head in vain. May appropriate, sans credit, And, forthwith, take heart again. —“Boston Journal of Commerce.” But some have this consolation, That, so brilliant is their wit. Every clipper in the nation Willingly would father it. —“ New York Telegram.” Consolation ! Out upon it! Every man who long would live, Must with pencil nicely sharpened Every item credit give. The proposal of French engineers to carry a tunnel through Mont Blanc, instead of the Simplon, is receiving considerable attention in Switzerland. The estimated outlay would only be 75 million francs, while by the Simplon route the cost would be no less than 136 million francs.