EDITOR'S WALLET.

Otago Witness, Issue 1853, 27 May 1887, Page 34

EDITOR'S WALLET.

A JAMBED MAN.,

You have seen people who seemed to ache all over to make some one unhappy 1 Just such an old curmudgeon was on the train the otter .day when it stopped at St. Tti bums, and a bridal couple entered our car. We all knew it was a bridal couple, because there were friends down to' see 'em off, and the bride and groom stood there and received the congratulations .for four or five.minutes. The bride looked a bit older than the groom, and the minute the old curmudgeon- noticed, this he slid over and planked .himself .in the seat ahead of them, and after a minute or two turned and said : " Beg pardon, but oan you tell me whose funeral that was back there ? " ■ " Why, there was no funeral 1 " exclaimed t the bride in answer. " O, I thought there was," he said in a dry, sarcastic way, and he pretended to read his paper for three or four minutes before turning again with : , - " Are you taking your son. to the seashore, ma'am 1" . " No, sir. This is my husband ! " ; "O,it is 2 I'd never have, suspected it I " - Then he went on for a quarter of an hour, telling about a farm he owned in Canada, and then suddenly inquired : "Young man, I'd like to have you and your, aunt go and see the farm and make me an offer for it." The bridal couple turned white and red and let go of hands for a moment, while the old curmudgeon changed the subject and began to talk about Niagara Falls. . • "Ever there 1 " he asked. Both shook their heads. " I'd advise you to stop off if you have time. It's a grand sight. I suppose, though, you want to arrive at Buffalo at the same time with the body. What did he die of, Ma'am ? " " I don't, understand you 1 " she stammered in a painful way. " O, beg, pardon, I somehow got it into my head that you had been to a funeral, or were going to one, or some such thing 1 ".. , He then related the .particulars of a smash-up on the road in which he had an '•arm broken and his wife was killed, and added: " The case is in court yet, but I've lost my marriage certificate and can't prove she was my wife and don't expect to get any damages. I think I understood you to say, ma'am, that you had been married H years." "0, no ! no ! sir ! " " Beg pardon, but perhaps it is only nine or 10. What I was going to say' was that you ought to sacredly preserve the certificate. I suppose you have it with you?" t ' ■ Bride and groom looked at each other in consternation. The document hadn,'t been thought of in their hurry and happiness. "Was reading of a case the other day," placidly continued the old wretch, " where a hotelkeeper had a couple sent to prison for two years because they could not show a marriage certificate." The bride turned so red that it seemed as if she would, suffocate, and the groom so white that his ears looked like new blotting pads. That was the last straw. Five or six of us had been holding an indignation meeting a few seats back, and our delegate, who had whipped his seventh man in the prizering, now went forward and whispered in the curmudgeon's left ear : " Say, mister man, you let that cuple alone or I'll break your neck'l The thing has been carried far enough ! " " Certainly, certainly," said old meanness, as he got up. " Excuse me, ma'am, and you, bub, and if you should have any trouble with the corpse in Buffalo, don't fail " The delegate choked him off there and took him to the last seat in the car and jarnbed him down and warned him to stay jambed, and such looks of relief as stole over the faces of that bridal couple I never expect to see again on , earth. — M. Quad, in the Detroit Free Press. BUD. One cold day in December a year ago, a gentleman stopped on the corner of Griswold and Congress streets, and beckoned to a small boot-black who was loitering near.. The boy immediately responded and soon, had one foot on his box and was polishing away for I dear life. The gentleman ' had just lunched at Howard's, and was feeling very comfortable in his inner man. His fur- trimmed coat buttoned closely about his neck kept him warm, and his gloved hands were thrust deep in luxurious pockets. Looking down on the scrap of humanity at his feet he felt a sudden thrill of benevolence.

"Christmas- is coming, Tommy," he remarked in an unctuous voice; "what can I do for you?" • " Did you make Krismis," asked the small urchin, plying the brush with a will. " Well, no, exactly," answered the customer, eyeing the object at his feet clcselyto see if he was in earnest: "but because it is Christmas I'd like to be of some use to you." " Yer can't do nothin' for me," said the infant coolly. "But there's Bud. If you was a minister you could help him lots." " Who is Bud, and where is he ? " ". Bud is jest . Bud ! 'Taint nobody s business as 'I knows on who he is, but he s a lying' in the kids' 'ospital wid a broken leg, an' he's my pard when he aint there." " How did he break his leg ?" n •' He was runned over by some fokes brush, brush— "as didn't"— brush, brusn, brush—" hey harts. 'Cause they never stopped nor seed him took care on. It's the city wot did it, at the sick 'ospital for kids. " And you think I could do something tor him?" said the gentleman interrogatively, as he fished in his pocket for a dime. " we u, I'll sec if what you say is true, and try toiieip Bud, as you call him." • , " He's such a little feller," continued tne scrap leaning itself*against a post, and cresting its small feet; "he ain't big an stroi^ like me, Bud ain't. And his mother s»' Died a month ago. And it breaks a f eller an

op to lose his mother. That's what ails me. You jes' tell him Patsy sent yer, and say Patsy's doin' well with the biz. Fu3'-rate well, mister ! " A half-hour later the gentleman was at Harper's Hospital and was ushered into the children's ward. The little ones lying there looked at him with a grave stare, but evinced no curiosity in their pale faces. They were too sick. Bud was asleep. Bud was very ill, the nurse said. He lay sunk low in the bed, with the pulleys and surgical apparatus for broken limbs strapped above him. He was white and pinched and scarcely breathed at all. The caller, unused to scenes like these, sat down without removing his fur cap, or turning down the heavy collar of his coat. He looked over the pretty neat ward, and read some of its pathetic history. A small weak voice recalled his wondering regard. •" Be you Santa Olaus 1" It was Bud who had awakened. " I expect I am Santa Claus," humouring the sick child ; " now what shall I bring you to-night, when I come with my sleigh and reindeer?" " You can't do nothin' for me," answered Bnd in the very words his partner had used, " 'cause I'm to goin' hey my Krismas wid mother — the doctor telled me ; an' there'll be a big Krismas tree, and lots of toys and things. But I've got a pard; me an' him wus in business when they hurt me— Oh, dear!" He coughed for a long time and a profuse perspiration broke out on his cold forehead. " I ain't sorry," he said at last. Take care of Patsy an' tell him Bud ain't sorry to go to ihe'ven. I heres them — singin' somewe're — •like it was meetin' — shine yer boots, sir? Fy it's Krismas a'reddy— there the spendidest tree, an' there's — Mother ! " The nurse turned the sheet back reverently over the dead child's face, and the gentleman who sat there took his cap off, and bowed his head with reverence for one greater than he. That was a year ago. Patsy has a home and friends now and goes to school, and up at the Children's Hospital is a bed permanently endowed for the benefit of strays and waifs who may be picked up maimed or helpless in the streets. And it is a memorial office, dedicated to no saint, but to a little unselfish street orphan who once occupied it, and whose name was Bud. — By Mrs. M. L. Kayne, in Detroit Free Press. MAX-lIIMS, MAX-HERS, AND MAX-ITS; OR, ROCHE-FOU-CAULE AND ROCHE-FOU-HOT. A jealous woman is sure to be a selfish one, for she thinks a great deal more of the pain she is suffering than she does of her husband's pleasure. Flattery is like a bad half-crown — it will pass very well among fools, but sensible people, although perhaps forced to come in contact with it, will have as little to do with it" as possible. Old maids are like undiscovered gold mines — they have not yet been made use of because no one has discovered their value. A practical joker is like an indifferent diamond — he is obliged to have a foil in order to show himself off. Spiteful actions are like pieces of orange peel — if we scatter them about, they are just as likely to trip us up as anyone else. When a man writes about women, he generally harps about their weaknesses; when a women writes about men, she usually picks out their wickednesses to dilate upon. Men preach about love, while women practise it. No man is utterly bad and useless ; even W. E. G. can cut down a tree very well. Nobody would imagine, from the different roads pursued, that we were all striving for the same goal — viz., happiness. No human being has a right to judge another by the consequences of his actions, otherwise how fearfully condemned would ! that poor wretch be who first invented money. — Judy. A TRAGIC ADVENTURE. A young merchant of Magdeburg got himself into a sad .'scrape last New Year's Eve. He had accepted invitations to six family gatherings, which he attended in succession, reserving for his last visit the honse of a married couple, to whose eldest daughter, Anna, act 17, he had formed a secret attachment. Having offered sundry libations to Bacchus at the various calling-places, in shape of grog, punch, wine, and beer, he arrived at his final destination to put it mildly, in rather high spirits. How he got home that night he does not remember. But when he called next day to present his New Year's congratulations he found his Anna in tears, and was shown by the sternvisaged mamma into the adjoining room, where she informed him that it was higlily desirable that he should discontinue his visits for the future. He left the house in a state of utter bewilderment and quite unconscious wherein he had offended. A letter from the young lady subsequently apprised him that he had himself let the cat out of the bag. On that eventful night he had mistaken the mother for the daughter, taking her into a quiet corner, where he put his arms round her and called her " my sweet Anna." The affair has since become known in the town, and the poor young fellow is now greeted everywhere with the words "My sweet Anna!" — MagdeburgerG-eneral-anzeiger. TUB SUGAR BROKER'S POETRY. The late J. T. Fields, while he was an active partner in the publishing firm of Tickner and Fields, was waited upon one morning by a young gentleman — a sugar Merchant— who had poetical aspirations. The young man complained that his manuscript poems had been rejected by the firm, a »d he desired to know the reason why, inasmuch as all of his friends had heard the yetses read, and declared them to be an invaluable accession to literature. " Our reader decides that," said Mr Fields, his blandest tones.

, " Then I would like to see the reader.": Always the personification of "amiability itself, the publisher conducted the young sugar merchant upstairs to the reader. That personage sat at a desk heaped up high with manuscript. He carefully read a few passages of the manuscript, and then dropped them into a basket at his side. Occasionally he became more than ordinarily interested, and in that case placed the package inside his desk. "Why he goes through them just as I sample sugar," exclaimed the would-be-poet, in great amazement. "That is because he is as familiar with literary wares as you are with sugar," rejoined Mr Fields. "I am satisfied," said the merchant, "let us go," The young bard gave up the writing of verses, but he acquired a large fortune in sugar. I DER VATER MILL. I reads about de vafcer mill dot Jruns der life-long day, - ■ i Und how der vater dond coom pack vhen vonce id I flows avay ; Und off der mill shitream dob glides on so peacefully uud shtill, ' Budt don't vas putting in more work on dot same vater mill, Der boet says, 'vas beddher dot *you holdfc dis broverb fast, " Der mill id don'd vould grind some more mit vater dofc vas past." Dot boera id vas peautif ul to read aboudt ; dot's so 1 Budt eef dofc vater vasn't past how could dot mill vheel go ? Und vhy make droubla mit dot mill vhen id vaa been inclined To dake each obbortunidy dot'ts gifen id to grind ? Und vhen vder ater cooras along in quandldies so vast, Id lets some oder Jmlll dake oupTder vater dot yes past. Dhen der boet shange der subject, und] he dells us vonce again : " Der sickle neffer more shall reap der!yellow, garnered grain." Veil, vonce vas blenfcy, aind't id ? Id vouldn't been so nice To hat dot sickle reaping oup der same grain ofer tvice ! Vhy, vofc's der use off cutting oup der grass already mown ? Id vas pest, mine moder dold me, to let veil enough alone. " Der summer vinds r«fife no more, leaves etrewn o'er earth and man." Veil, who vants to refife dhem ? Dhere vas blendy more again ! Der summer vinds dhey shtep righdt ,'oup in goot time to brepare Dhose Wants und trees for oder leaves ; dhere soon vas creen vones dhere. Shust bear dis adverb on your mindts, mine friendts, und hold id fast : Der new leaves don'd vas been aroundt undil der oldt vas past. Dhen neffer mindt der leaves dot's dead ; der grain dot's in der bin : Dhey both off dhem haf had dheir day, und shust vas gathered in. Und neffer mindt der vater vhen id once goes droo der mill ; Ids york vas done ! Dhere's blentymore dot vaits, id's blace to fill. Let each yon dake dis moral, vrom der.king down to der peasint ; Don'd mind'fc der vater dot vas past, budt der vater dot vas present. — Charles Follen Adams, in Chicago Inter-Ocean.