WITHERING POLITENESS.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 8, Issue 26, 29 March 1907, Page 8

WITHERING POLITENESS.

A hansom was being driven along a lead Ing thoroughlave at a pretty smart pace when another, coming from the opposite direction, ran into it with just sufficient force to lodge the head of one horse on the backol the other. The expected outburst of strong language did not take place, but the dr'ver of the hansom that had been run into sat still, and with withering politeness observed to the other driver : " When your horse has seen all he wants to see across my horse's back, perhaps he’ll kindly get down. But there’s no hurry, glad to see him and the gentleman that holds the ribbons.” THE TRICKSTER TRICKED. Some time ago a well-known and cleverworking engraver called upon a somewhat equivocal financier, and asked: ‘‘Wha think you of this ?” showing him a one hun dred franc note. —" I think it is a one hundred franc note,” came the answer.—" Well, Imade it myself."—" Send out and change it, and then we'll see,’’—The servant came back with the gold.—" Why did you not imitate a one thousand franc note while you were about it ?”—“ A one thousand franc note ? a one thousand franc note? One must have one first to imitate.”—"Very well; there is one, and lose no time,"—The engraver never made his appearance again He spent the thousand francs. The note he had shown the "gull" was as good as the one of which he had cheated him. But the financier never dared to say a word. HE’D SCOOP A LITTLE. About the time that Daniel Drew began his career, he was ap the country one day to visit some friends, and two farmers called upon him to decide a case. One had sold the other five bushels of wheat, and proposed to measure it in half a bushel, and sweep the top of the measure with a stick. The other objected, and Drew was asked to decide. " Well, legally speaking, a bushel is only a bushel,’ 1 he answered. " And can the measure be swept off ?" " 1 think it can." " What- with ?’’ " Well, if I was selling wheat I should probably use half the head of a flour barrel'' "Which edge of it ?" " Gentlemen, that is a point I cannot now decide on," sighed Daniel Drew. "If I was selling to a widow or preacher, I am certain that I should sweep the measure with the straight edge; but if 1 was selling to a man who pastures his pigs in his neighbour's corn, I’m afraid I should use the circular side, and scoop a little to boot." A WOLF ADVENTURE. It was winter, the snow two feet deep in our settlement. Wolves there were in plenty, and Johnson and myself were doing a good business trapping them. On each was a bounty of two pounds, and each skin was worth twelve shillings. One Sunday morning after Johnson had made himself ready for church he thought he would examine one of his traps set in the edge of the woods near his father's field. Putting on his heavy boots, and without gun or axe, he strolled across the field. When near the spot, the rattling of the chain by which the trap was fastened quick ened his pace ; and behold a large wolf was in the trap. Johnson saw at a glance he was slightly caught by the end of his paw. Now he soliloquized, " If I go back for the gun, he may succeed in getting free before my return," for the brute was making frantic efforts to free himself. Being a fine athlete, Johnson made a hound for'the wolf, catching him by the throat. In the meantime the uolf had cleared himself from the trap, Then came the tug-of-war in that two feet of snow The struggle was short and furious. Johnson held his death grip, sometimes on top and again underneath the brute, Loth so coveredin that it was difficult to distinguish wolf from man. The wolf at last was overcome, kicked and choked to death by his powerful antagonist. Johnson did not attend church that day, forhis Sunday clothes hung in tatters ; besides, there were some ugly scratches from the sharp claws of the now dead game. "I never will try that again, Mac," he said tome. "I thought myself a match for almost any wild animal of these woods, but this fellow was a bigger job than I reckoned on." Johnson was then hut seventeen years of age. MILITARY OBEDIENCE. The story is told in a French newspaper of Pierre Barlat, a poor labourer, who lived at Sevres, vvjth his wife, Jeanne, and licit throe children. Industrious, frugal, know ing nothing of the way to the wine shop, Pierre saved all his spare money, working harder and harder, and at last bought the tiny cottage in which they lived. It was a tiny cottage, indeed— built of stones, with tiled roof, standing amid shrubs, and covered with clematis. It always attracted the eye of the traveller, on the left, as he crossed the S6vres bridge. Pierre and Jeanne worked and scraped »nd saved until the little cottage was paid for, and made a feast when it was all done, to celebrate their ownership, A landed proprietor, to be sure, does not mind an occa sional expenditure to entertain his friends All this Pierre and Jeanne had accomplished just before the war of 1870, with Germany, broke out. The conscription fell upon Pierre, who, moreover, was an old soldier, and belonged to the Reserves. A gunner he had been, famous for his skill in hitting a mark with his shell, S evres had fallen into the hands of (he Germans, but the French guns were pounding away at them from the fort on Mont Valerien. Pierre Barlet was a gunner at that fort, and, one wintry day, was standing by his gun, when General Noel, the commander, came up, and levelled his field-glass at the Sevres Bridge. " Gunner," he said, sharply, without look Ing at Pierre. " General," answered Pierre, respectfully saluting. "Do you see the Sevres Bridge over there?” " I see it very well, sir." " And that little cottage there, at the left, in a thicket of shrubs ?" Pierre turned pale. " I see it, sir.” " It’s a nest of Prussisns. Try it with a shell, my man," Pierre turned paler still, and, in spite of the cold wind, that made the officers shivei in their greatcoats, one might have seen big drops of sweat standing out on his forehead ; but nobody noticed the gunner’s emotion He sighted his piece carefully, deliberately . then fired. The officers, with their glasses, marked the effect of the shot, after the smoke had cleared, ' Well hit, my man ! well hit i" exclaimed the General, looking at Pierre, with a smile " The cottage couldn’t have been very solid It is completely smashed.’’ He was surprised to see great tears run ning down the gunner’s cheeks. " What’s the matter, man ?" the General asked, rather rdughty, “ Pardon me, General, ’ said Pierre, re covering himself. "It was my house • everything I had in the world !"