EDITOR'S WALLET.

Otago Witness, Issue 1880, 2 December 1887, Page 35

EDITOR'S WALLET.

How He Could Help Him.

A disconsolate-looking negro stood leaning againt a telegraph pole. His hat lay on the ground, and he had, in abstractedly raking his heel against the curbstone, pulled off one of his shoes. Bootblacks threw mud on him, and newspaper boys shouted at him ; but he heeded them not. Occasionally he would butt the telegraph pole, in imitation of an enraged goat, and then he would mutter in censure of something that seemed to be disturbing him. A benevolent old fellow, a man who wore the perpetual smile of wellcultivated social hypocrisy, approached the negro and said : "My dear man, don't butt your head against the pole that way. You will surely hurt yourself." "Who's doin' dis yere?" the negro replied, giving the white man a slowly-winking look of contempt. "You are, of course, but " " Whose head is I usin' ? " " Yours; but I wouldn't do it if " " Anybody axed yer ter butt yer head ergin de tellygraph pole ? "

" Of course not." "Well, den, I doan see why yer needs to oneasy yerse'f so." " I see that you do not understand me," said the white man. " You seemed to be in trouble, and I merely wanted to help you out ; so, come now and tell me what troubles

you. lam known as a helper of people who are in trouble." " Glad ter meet yer, den." "I am pleased to hear you say so. What

has gone wrong 1 " "Why, sah, I hab jes' skivered I'se de bigges' fool ever seed in my life." Again he butted the pole.

" Hold on, you will surely injure yourself at that rate. Why do you think that your are such a fool 1 "

"Wall, sah, I come up ter town dis mawnin', an' I had a counterfeit fi' dollar bill an' er sho nuff fi' dollar bill in my pocket. I wuz sorter follerin' er lady dat I wants ter marry. Dis lady ken pick up mo' cotton in er day than mos' anybody, an' I jes' nachully lubbed her, I did, but she sorter hung fire 'bout mairin' me caze she 'lowed dat I couldn' erford ter suppo't her. Wall, while we wuz standin' on de street er talking', 'long come one dese orgin grinders an' passed roun' his hat. Thinks I, 'Mr Phillips, dis is yer time ter show dat yer ken erford ter sport dis yere fine lady. Take out dat fi' dollar an' gin it ter dat rascally furen generman.' I tuck out de bill, showed it ter de lady, an' drapped it in de feller's hat. •My greshus er live, 1 sez she, • whut yer do dat fur? Wy, man, I won't marry er pusson dat would fling money erway like dat. Go on erway from me.' I seed den dat sich er plan ez dat wouldn' work, an' edgin' up ter her I sez — ' Honey, I done dat jes' fur er zample — jest er show how some fool men

flings money erway. Dat bill wuz counterfeit, honey. Doan yer see V sez I, ez I drawed out the udder bill, an' bless de Lawd, I almos' drapped right dar, fur I had dun gin de feller de good money. I put out after him, I did, an' w'en I cotch up wid him I sez — ' Look yere, my frien', in dat

lifctle bizness erfa'r we had jes' now dar wuz er mistake. De bill I gin yer ain't good, an' ez I doan wanter git yer in trouble fur passin' counterfeit money, w'y gin me dat bill, an' I'll gin yer dis yere good un.' He sorter shot one eye an' gunter grind out one dem tunes dat da buries folks wid. * Hurry up, gennerman,' sez I. He sorter sbet de udder eye an' kep' on wid his grabeyard tune. ' Gimme dat money, ur yer gwine git

hur 1 -. right yere,' sez I, He stopped grindin' hia tune, looked at me wid bofe eyes wide open an' tole me e£ I didn't go on erway he would cut me in two, an' knowin' dat de blame raskal would do it I did go erway ; so, now, 'vinced dat I'se too big erfoolterbe let run roun' loose, I thinks dat de bes' plan is fur me ter butt my -head open right yere ergin dis pole." The white man turned away. " Say, hole on," cried the negro. " Gwine erway an' leab er pusson ter kil hisse'f in sich er manner ez dis yere ?" " I have some business on hand. I thought at first that you might be in real trouble and that I could help you." 11 Hoi' on dar, I tells yer. Fine way ter treat er man. Come flirtin' wid his 'fections dis er way an' den leab him in sicher lurch ez dis yere." " Why, I don't see how I can do anything for you." " Didn' you say jes' now dat ycr wanted ter hep me outen my trouble 1" " Yes, but " " An' didn' I gin yer my conferdence an' 'fections 1" " Well " " Wall, nothin'. Promised ter hep me, an' now I wants yer ter do it." " How can I help you ?" " Look yere, man, ez yer dun los all yer knowledge 1 Yer ken hep me by griben me fi' dollars, dats how. Hoi' on dar, I tells yer. Lif er man up on er featherbed an' den fling him down in de briars ? Stop dat, white man, mister ! Blame raskal dun beat me outen fi' dollars, what makes ten dat I'se lose dis day. Ten dollars an' a fine lady dun gone. Neber mine. Ketch yer out on de road sometime an' make yer think ole Satan flung er cut-froat mortgage down on yer sho' 'miff. Go on, fur yer ain't got much mo' slack ter yer rope." — Arkansaw Traveller. She. The more we study She the more we don't understand how it is that She is able to twist us around her little finger whenever she feels like it. But She is. For whom is it that in childhood's happy days we fight with a boy three sizes larger than ourselves, and get so severely punished' that we can't sit up for a week 1 Why, for She; and She only laughs at us for our pains ! Who is it that devours all our spare change in the shape of caramels, and calls for more — and gets them too 1 She ! For whom do we linger at the stage door with lOdol bouquets, to purchase which we have to endure a fortnight's martyrdom at free lunch counters ? She. Who is it that at the Tailroad restaurant deals out the soul-destroying sandwich and the death-dealing doughnut, 'Tis She every

time. If it were He we would slay him on the spot and glory in the deed. Who accepts oar hard-earned gold on the pretence of being a first-class cook, and then broils our steak in a frying pan and boils our coffee an hour? She. Who is it that accepts our theatre tickets, our Bdoi suppers, our bouquets, and our devotion, and then goes off and marries another fellow 1 She—and for this we ought to forgive her a good deal ! Who, we ask, is it that when we employ her as type-writer spells summer with one m and February with only one r, and yet escapes without censure? It is She. Ah, yes— it is She ! The Crimson Scarf, American dudes have taken to wearing crimson scarves round their waists. This is how Tit-Bits relates the result in one case: — Eobert wore a crimson scarf Coming through the rye ; There was Farmer Brown's young bull Stsndiug idly by. Header, you have guessed the rest ; Drop a silent tear. " Dead, by gosh," said Farmer Brown— " That makes three this year." Cool Hands. The coolness of London thieves while engaged in stealing, and their tact in avoiding a surprise, are illustrated by many anecdotes. The landlord of an hotel met, as he started to go up his own stairs, a man coming down backwards, with a feather bed on his shoulders. " What have you there ?" asked the landlord." " A bed for you, sir," answered the man. " Nonsense ; it is not for me ! I have not ordered any bed." 11 No. 2 Dash Square, sir." " Ah, I thought so ! It's next door." , The man turned, and bore the bed off before the eyes of the landlord, who did not discover his loss until too late. The proprietor of another hotel was robbed one day in f!he most barefaced manner. A man with a paper cap on his head, and a white apron round his body, made his appearance in the coffee roornj where many guests were lunching. Looking intently at the clock which hung over tho mantelpiece, he said, as if speaking to himself, but so as to be heard by the waiter : " I have had more trouble with that clock than I ever had with one before." Then turning to the waiter, he went on : " Send ' Boots ' here with the steps that I may take that clock down, and I will try once more to put it right." I The unsuspecting waiter told "Boots," who brought the steps. The man mounted, removed the clock, came down, and said to the waiter : " Tell Mr W that I am busy, and that he must not expect to see his clook back very soon." It is, perhaps, needless to say that it never came back. Saved from Death by a Bird. The Greek Emperor Basilius had condemned his son Leo to death on the false accusation of a couple of trusted courtiers that he had formed a plot against the life of his father. The Empress in her sorrow and anguish tried her utmost to melt her husband's heart, but in vain. On the day before the execution she sat surrounded by her ladies, bemoaning her son's dreadful fate. A favourite parrot, -which occupied a cage in the Empress' apartment, was removed by her orders to a lonely spot in the grounds of the palace, because she could not endure its chattering and screeching in her grief and despair. Not long afterwards the Emperor entered the park and seated himself on a bench. He had not been sitting long when he heard a plaintive voice uttering the words : "Oh ! Leo, my son, my son ! " The Emperor started up and listened, and again the voice was heard to say : " Oh ! Leo, my son, my son ! " followed by a heart-rending cry. It was the parrot, which had heard its unhappy mistress repeat nothing but these words during the last few weeks. Deeply affected, the Emperor hastened back to the palace, and immediately ordered his son to be set at liberty. Not long afterwards the matter was cleared up and Leo's innocence established. -Buch fur Allc. He Wanted Company. "Want to sell that mule 1" asked a quietlooking man on the sidewalk. " Yes ; but I'll be honest with you, mister, I don't think you want him : he's an awful kicker." " Is he a full- jewelled, thorough-going, firstclass kicker. "You bet." " Well, name your figure ; I'll take him." " Great Scott, mister. What do you want of him?" " Company. I'm a football player, and I don't want to feel lonesome this summer."