train** stopped at the station, an old gentleman with a cheerful countenance stepped out on the platform, and inhaling the fresh air enthusiastically exclaimed, “Isn’t this invigorating?” “No, sir, it’s Auchterarder,” replied the conscientious porter. The cheerful old gentleman went back to his seat in the carriage.
The Man Who Struck Him.—“Show me the man who struck O’Docherty,” shouted a pugnacious little Irishman at an election; “show me the man who struck O’Docherty, and I’ll—” “I am the man who struck O’Docherty,” said a big, brawny fellow, stepping to the front; “and what have you to say about it?” “Och, sure,” answered the small one, suddenly collapsing, “and didn’t you do it well!”
Mr. John Owens, who lately died at Jackson, aged 114, was in some respects a remarkable man. He blushingly admitted that he had used whisky since he was ten years old, and had chewed tobacco and smoked, more or less, for one hundred and three years, but he never claimed that he had seen Washington.
Wherever Minerva, the Goddess of Wisdom, presides, or Pomona, or Ceres require book work to be done, there will be found the school and office furniture made by Gilbert & Moore. It is universally acknowledged to be the best that is made in this or any other State. If once used, no other desks, stools, forms, garden seats, etc., will ever meet with any favour. Their patent school desk, with seat attached, is the most perfect thing we ever saw, and is as strong as it is neat.
A Yankee editor has just had his family reinforced, whereupon he indulges in the following poetic outburst:—
The philosopher’s stone has not yet been discovered, but modern science has found out a means by which the energy of youth can be imparted to those