Miscellaneous.

Wairoa Bell, Volume V, Issue 192, 7 April 1893, Page 7

Miscellaneous.

Couldn’t Smell the Liquok. An old Scotch farmer was troubled with an overbearing wife, who strongly objected to liis partaking of a social glass. He was one day returning from market, and meeting his foreman in the farmyard, he called him aside and said, ‘ John, just before I left the town I gaed into the Brown Cow and had a glass an’ a sandwich. Dae ye thiuk if I was tae meet the mistress now that she wad smell it ? ’ John sniffed his master’s breath, and replied in an apologetic tone : ‘ Weel, sir, I can jest smell the san’wich.’ A Child’s Sayings.— ‘ I’ve learned a whole column of spellings and meanings,’ exclaimed Bessie. ‘ Do you understand what you have learned ? ’ asked her sister. ‘ Of course I do ; Just hear me. It begins with ‘ anarchy ’ -n-a-r c h-y, anarchy confusion, disorder, misrule.’ ‘ Before you go any further,’ said her sister, 4 put that word into a sentence,’ Bessie

thought a moment, and then said triumphantly. ‘ Did ever anyone see such an untidy place ! Sarah Jane, come in here with your broom and sweep up this anarchy.’ It Was Bound. —An Irish clergyman, riding from his home to chapel one morning, had the misfortune to lose a new cloak, which he carried attached to his saddle. Before commencing his discourse he thought well to advertise the loss of the garment, and to enlist the services of the congregation in its recovery. * Dearly beloved,’ he began, ‘ I have met with a great loss this morning, I have lost my fine new cloak. If any of you find it, 1 hope you will be so good as to bring it home to me.’ • It’s found, yer riverence,’ cried a voice from the bottom of the chapel. ‘ God bless you, my child ! ’ exclaimed the pastor with unct'on, ‘ It’s found sir,’ continued the voice ; ‘ for T kem that road this mornin’ an’ it wasn’t od it,’

Where Authorities Differed, The read mg class was standing in a stiff row upon tlie floor of an Indiana school house, and a right little fellow was drawling a paragraph about a Roman massacre. The President of the School Board was present on liis regular tour of inspection, and be pompously requested that the boy ‘ read that verse again.’ The 4 verse ’ was read again. ‘Ah ! h’m !’ said the great man in a loud voice. ‘ Why do you pronounce that word massa-ker ?’ The boy was silent. ‘lt should be pronounced massa-kre,’ continued the great man, with a patronising smile. The boy remained quiet, but the teacher finally spoke : ‘ Pardon me, sir,’ she said, * but the fault is mine if the word was mispronounced. I have taught the class to pronounce it ‘ massa-ker,’ ‘ But, why ?’ insisted the great man, as a look of surprise was followed by a look of pain upon his benign features, ‘ I believe that Webster favours that pronunciation,’ said the teacher meekly, ‘ Impossible,’ said the great man. The dictionary was brought, and the President of the School Board turned over its leaves until he found the word. Thera was a breathless silence as he lookad up, ‘ I am astonished, madam/ he said at last, ‘ that Daniel Webster should have made such a mistake as that.’ Drink, says an article, weakens the system Yes, but just think how it strengthens the breath, adds a comic paper. THE TONJUE. ‘ The boneless tongue, so small and weak, Can crush an 1 kill,’ declared the Greek. ‘ The tongue destroys a greater horde/ The Turk asserts, ‘ then does the sword/ The Persian proverb wisely saith ‘ A lengthy tongue-—an early death.’ Or sometimes take this form instead, ‘ Don’t Jet your tongue cut off your head.’ ‘ The tongue eau speak a word whose speed/ Saith the Chinese, ‘outstrips the steed.’ While Arab sages this impart, ‘ The tongue’s great storehouse is the heart,’ From Hebrew wit the maxim sprung, ‘ Though feet should slip, ne’er let the tongue.’ The sacred writer crowns the whole, ‘ Who keeps liis tongue doth keep his soul.’ DON’T STOP AT STATION DESPAIR. We must trust to the driver, most surely; Wh ~ mil i.,u> of i' l . : bofors Have made this same jo ; u ure; -. And come to that ultimate, shore And we, we will reach it in season ; And, ah what a welcome is there ! Reflect, then, how out ot all reason To stop at the station Despair. Ay, sorrows, and many a potion Of bitter, black water have we, As we journey from ocean to ocean From sea unto ultimate sea To that deep sea of seas and all silence Of passion, concern, and of care— That vast sea of Eden-set islands, Don’t stop at station Despair, Go forward, whatever may follow, Go forward, friend-led or alone : Ah me, to leap off in some hollow Or fen, in the night all unknown — Leap off like a thief ; try to hide you From angels all waiting you there. Go forward ! whatever betide you, Don’t stop at the station Despair,