Wonder what George Marson is doing over here riding muleback. He passed by here Sunday with his two-story collar on and with both hands in his pocket up to his elbows, with his feet lying between the mule’s ears. He had his shoes shined and he did not want to get them soiled. His mule was so small that his feet would drag.—Sequatchie (Tennessee) News.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
Don’t sneak in at a ball game. Up at Salina last week a fellow borrowed a boat, crossed the river, got his feet wet and muddy, climbed up the bank, tore a five-dollar pair of pants on the underbrush, got poison-ivy all over his face, slipped up to the game in the park from the rear—all this but to find out that no admission was charged to the game.—Marquette (Kansas) Tribune.
THE WORM TURNS.
The lady (?) who yesterday called the attention of another to our patched breeches, whereat they both laughed so heartily, is informed that a new pair will be purchased when her husband’s bill is settled. It has been due nearly a year. Don’t criticise a printer’s dress too closely while you are wearing silks with money due him. Tell your husband to send us twenty dollars and seventy-three cents, and save the cost of an entire suit.—Swainsboro Forest.
THE KIND OF DOG IT WAS.
The following notice has been published in a northern Peninsula paper by a French-Canadian:
“Loosed. One dawg. Been loose him bout three weeks. Him white dawg almost white with him tail cut off close next to her body. Anybody find her bring him to me. I belong to him and shall give good rewards for the same. Black spot on him nose about size fifty cents or dollar piece, Canada money or United States all the same. For yours truly with anxious, Felix Carno, hind side of Methody Church about three blocks in the house up-stairs with green painting.”—Exchange.
Van Nesten and the Burglar.
By W. S. ROGERS.