Now that the pavements have donned their winter coat, the man who is constitutionally tired can sit down whenever he wants to, and sometimes when he don't want to.

It is at this time of the year that the dainty-footed miss, whose head comes in sudden contact with an icy sidewalk, wishes that she were a Chicago girl.

The man who leaves home in the morning without kissing his wife may feel uncomfortable all day; but the man who forgets his ice-creepers is much more likely to feel that way, and the pain won't be in the region of the heart, either.

A fashion magazine says that tigers' claws, prettily mounted, are the prevailing fashion in cloak-clasps. We always gave the girls credit for better sense than that. If they are tigresses—angels, we mean-they're foolish, mighty foolish, to advertise it by displaying their claws in that way. But perhaps these clasps are intended only for married

women.

No matter how small the ice-crop may be, there is always enough to go round among the pavements. That's one consolation, anyhow-for surgeons.

They had just plighted their troth, and he had sealed the bargain with a kiss.

"Charley," she whispered, as she laid her velvet cheek on his shoulder, and a tender smile played about her rosy lips, "Charley, don't go yet; I cannot bear to have you leave me."

"Jemima," he exclaimed, rapturously, “dear Jemima, I won't go home till morning! And may I-may I come to see you every night?"

"Well, I hardly know," she thoughtfully replied. “You see the gas bills are so awful high, and pa says coal is going up; but I guess I can fix it!" And she was mad because he left three hours before the cock crowed.

Bronson Alcott may be a gentleman and a scholar, but we defy him or any other sage, past, present, or future, to explain why a woman's sympathies always go out to the dog -confound it!—when her husband trips over it, clutches madly at vacancy, and fetches up against the arm-chair at the other end of the room with a frown on his brow and a black and blue crescent on his shin.

You want to sell your old ulster, don't you? Well, when the little old man with a nose like a crook-necked squash comes round, name your price, and when he holds up his hands in holy horror and asks you "vedder you tink he vash a Vanderbilt," and moves toward the door, don't give in. Let him go. He'll come back, and if he backs out a second time, let him go again. The third time will fetch him, sure.

It is said that Disraeli received $50,000 from his publishers for the manuscript of " Endymion." This announcement has given birth to several thousand willing-to-be novelists, and caused a sudden boom in the waste basket business.

If Grant turns his back on the pension fund, it is hardly probable that Hayes will follow his example. The man who can make his guests drink his health in Apollinaris water, and gives a barrel of frozen apples (presented to him by a rural admirer) as a Christmas gift to an orphan asylum, is not likely to stand off and see a quarter of a million pass by without making an effort to secure it. Even if he were, Mrs. Hayes would soon bring him up to time.

Logic.- Tommy Dodd's mother baked a large cake the other day, and put it out in the yard to cool off. When she wanted to take it in it had disappeared, only a few crumbs remaining on the plate.

"Tommy," called out his mother, "who ate that cake?" "Give it up," replied Tommy; "didn't the dog do it?" "No."

“Well, I hardly know, then," he said, thoughtfully; “if the dog didn't eat it, I guess I did it myself. That's the only way I can account for it."

A gray

No Use for Tracts.-It was on South street. headed old man sat on a box in front of a second-hand clothing store. He had a seedy air about him, and his coat was worn and threadbare. His arms were folded on his breast. His head was bowed as if in grief. His bronzed and bearded face was touching in its misery. There was a dread frown on his brow, and his small gray eyes stared moodily into vacancy with an expression of unutterable woe. His lips were firmly compressed. Occasionally his head would rise and fall with a sad and dreary motion, while his white lips moved convulsively as if in prayer.

What dark thoughts were coursing through his brain? Why did he start to his feet, and strike his brow with his

down the street? Was he meditating suicide, and did he

These were the thoughts of a tall, thin, white-chokered man who had been watching him for some time, and who now stepped up to him, and said, "Be calm, my friend, be calm! Remember there is joy for the sinner that repenteth.

Here is a tract. It asks you if you want to save your soul. Read it."

The "sinner" turned, shook his fist in the other's face, and shouted, "Tam dose dracks! Don' you saw dot mans down de sthreet valking? I oxed him only fife dollar by dot coat, und soldt 'im for dot, und he half more als feesty in his bocket! Und you dalk apout dracks! Holy Moses!"'

The Kitchen Club.-The Milkman's Bell.-There were twenty-five of them. They were in the habit of spending their Thursdays in social intercourse, when one of their number (an illustrious descendant of a long line of kings, who had been transplanted from her native bog.by cruel fate and a steamship, and was now serving in the humble capacity of a cook), Miss Bridget Ballywhack, of Ballywhack Castle, county of Ballywhack, Ireland, conceived the idea of forming a club composed of her suffering fellow-servants. Accordingly, when her turn came, she invited her friends to a "tay party." She welcomed them in true Ballywhack style in her mistress's kitchen; and after the weekly feast of cold "mate" and biscuits, and tea sweetened with stolen sugar, Miss Ballywhack arose and gave vent to her feelings. Her idea was to form neither a religious organization nor a literary society, but rather a club for the mutual protection and entertainment of its members. She was not quite prepared, however, to unfold her plans, and so the Kitchen Club's aims and purposes will not be fired upon an expectant world until it suits Miss Ballywhack's convenience to reveal them. At the conclusion of the address, Miss Sally Grimshaw, the housemaid at No. 10, asked the indulgence of her friends while she read "a pome took from life," which she "writ," she said, after having "suffered terrible." It is highly dramatic. This is the "pome":

The streets is all quiet-

"Oh, put a quart in !"

Jest like the parlor

When that young man's a-courtin'.

"Gimme the change now!"

How the steps glisten!

Like young miss's eyes

When her beau she's a-kissin'.

II.

My pitcher is filled;

The milk's white and nice, Jest like the powder Miss puts on her face.

But I must stop musin', Though musin' is nice; And before I says "beans" I slips on the ice!

III.

O Lord! Where am I?
I must be in heaven:

I sees the stars twinklin',-
But the clock's strikin' seven !

Where are the cherrys1

In their white garmints? "Sally, come in here,

An' feed the young varmints!"

Law sakes! that's no sperrit!
That's missus a-callin';
An' those plaguy young brats
For breakfast is bawlin'.

I mus' be on earth yet,

Along with poor sinners, Or the devil has took me To cook him his dinners.

"Come into your work!

No more of your tricks !"
Ain't that my missus?

And ain't these the bricks?

I must 'a slipped down,
An' I'm almost froze;
My ears is as red

As my master's nose!
Where is the pitcher ?
I'm all in a flutter.
Lord! won't I catch it?

It's broke in the gutter!

"An' I did catch it," said Sally, folding up her manuscript; "'s if it wasn't enuff to fall down an' almos' break my neck; an' I give her a week's warnin', so I did, for I won't put up with no sass from nobody, I won't; but she med it all right agin, beggin' me to stay an' givin' me a new dress; so I give in, an' she's been's sweet as pie ever since."

Sally's "spunk" was heartily applauded, and a general discussion ensued as to the merits of the milkman.

Sarah Bilkins said that she hated the milkman because he always pounded on the front gate before she was up, and tramped all over the steps in muddy weather.

Mary Blobbs thought that milkmen were only made to worry servant-girls. They roared like fog-horns, hammered on the gate "like mad,” and always gave short measure. Eliza Barkis said that she once knew a milkman who 1 Cherubs.

used to tell a wonderful ghost-story every Monday morning, and after he had gone she was always two tickets short. Katherine Malone said that she knew only one "daycint" milkman, and he was her first cousin.

After some discussion, Miss Bridget Ballywhack proposed a vote of thanks to Sally Grimshaw for her "illegant pome," which was carried, and it was decided that it was the sense of the meeting that the milkman should be abolished.

There is no butter, howsoever tended,

But has its lock of hair;

There is no hash, how well soe'er defended, But one brass stud is there.

She Ought to give Them a Monument.-An exchange contains an account of a recent encounter between Queen Victoria and a live newspaper reporter. While she was lunching out-doors with the Princess Beatrice and a few attendants, she was surrounded by eight reporters, who planted themselves near the table, and kept staring at her in spite of a hint to leave from the princess, and would not go until one of the attendants threatened to kick them out. Now, that's nothing. That's higher grade journalism. Those reporters probably wanted to find out if the queen ate with her knife and wiped her mouth with her sleeve, or perhaps they were waiting to be invited. Here in America they wouldn't have waited. A Herald reporter would have walked right up to the queen, winked at the princess, raised his hat, and said: "Beg pardon, Vic. Sorry to interrupt you, but it can't be helped. I represent the Herald, you know, and I want to get your views on the Irish agitation question. Spit 'em right out! Perhaps you'd better finish eating first. I just had my dinner, but I guess I'll pitch in to keep you company. Oh, no thanks! We newspaper men, you know, often put ourselves out to accommodate people. Waiter, one beer! Can I help you to the cheese, Vic?" And that ungodly reporter would have stowed away enough food to start a free-lunch counter, and pumped the queen drier than a salt mackerel. Clearly, Victoria ought to give those English reporters a monument.

There is no orchard, howsoever tended,
But has a tree stripped bare;
There is no sugar-barrel, howe'er defended,
But one small boy is there.

Ohio. There is a period in the life of every man when it appears to be all up with him. His money is gone. His good luck has deserted him. His friends have given him the cold shoulder, and his girl has gone back on him and plighted her troth with a bald-headed man in the soap-boiling business. Then he locks himself up in his room, with a bottle of laudanum in one hand and a seven-shooter in the other, and tosses up for first choice. This is all wrong. He ought to present that revolver to an Irish landlord, give the laudanum to some fellow's mother-in-law, and say it's Hop Bitters, and move into Ohio.

Let him move into Ohio, and if he has any earthly use for poison or lead inside of six months, we'll eat our helmet. We once knew a man who kept a dairy. He did a thriving

business, sold oceans and oceans of milk, and made lots of money. He awoke one morning, and found himself not famous, but water-logged. His pump had run dry! He was in despair. He sent for a plumber and well-digger, and had a well dug. But there was no water. He spent his last cent in boring for water, but it was of no use; and when ruin stared him in the face a friend advised him to move into Ohio. He did so. In three weeks he became acquainted with the governor's private secretary. Through him he got to know the governor. The governor procured for him contracts for supplying milk to all the State institutions. When election time came he "fixed" things in his ward, victory perched on his banner, and then he waited on the governor and presented his claim. In a month he got a government clerkship. Then he cast his eye on a fat sinecure in the Treasury Department, held by a Pennsylvania man. He expressed a longing for that office to a friend of the President. Presto, change! and it was done. The Pennsylvania man was removed for "incompatibility," and the Ohio man was put in his place. And now they talk of creating a new cabinet office for the sole benefit of that Buckeye granger.

Whenever you feel like giving up, put away your evil thoughts and move into Ohio. You'll never regret it. We would move there ourselves, only-yes-ah-that is to saywe're a Democrat, that's all,-a red-hot-never-say-die-comeup-to-the-scratch-every-time-and-get-knocked-down-again Democrat! Confound the luck!

There is no concert, howsoe'er defended,
But one dead-head is there;
There is no village, howsoever tended,
But has its own church fair.

A Lesson in English.-What queer blunders these foreigners make! A German woman living on Tenth street had a severe attack of cramps the other day, and a doctor was called in. He gave her some ginger to relieve the pain. Next day he called again, and said:

"Well, Mrs. Bummenschlager, how do you feel to-day?" Fust-straighdt, doctor," was the reply; "shoost so goot als never vas!"

"Do you feel any pain ?" he asked.

"Vell, I'fe god a leedle pain in my sthummick, but it don't hurd me!"

The grin on that doctor's face sprouted into a guffaw when the door closed behind him, and burst all the buttons off his coat by the time he reached the street.

Keeping the Secret.-There is a man living on Twelfth street named McSorley. McSorley has a wife. He is always making an ass of himself. Some say he made an ass of himself when he married her. Her birthday falls on the 1st of March, and, wishing to surprise her, McSorley bought a handsome ring for her. Last night he said to her : “My dear, did Jane tell you that I intended to give you a ring for a birthday present?"

from Canada almost to the Gulf of Mexico, and affects in the most marked manner the whole physical geography of North America. There was a time, geologically not very distant, when the ocean occupied the vast valley of the Mississippi, reaching almost to the North Polar Sea; when, through this ocean, instead of across the Atlantic, the Gulf stream made its way; when the west coast of Europe was covered by glaciers, and when the reindeer was one of the most common quadrupeds of southern France and the vine-clad valleys of the Garonne and its tributaries. The Appalachian chain, not so lofty perhaps at that time, formed the backbone of a smaller America; but all the general features of the country existed then as they do now, and while the gently-sloping and low-lying plains on the eastern side were rich prairie-land, feeding countless herds of buffalo and deer, the higher valleys and plains of the West were less accessible, and were intersected by deep ravines, resembling on a smaller scale the celebrated cañons of the Colorado. The gradual rising of the whole continent has now converted the ocean floor into a vast fertile valley; but the cañons still exist, and penetrate far within the mountain range, forming at present a means of communication from East to West, and connecting the Atlantic with the great West.

The valleys of Virginia and the land adjacent are destined to play a great part in the future history of America. Where there are great stores of coal and iron near together and accessible, it is impossible that there should not be manufactures, and the great centres of manufacture cannot be without great political importance.

There is everything to induce immigration, and especially that of mechanics, to occupy this district, although at present the population is still somewhat limited. The white inhabitants a few years ago were decidedly the least energetic and the worst provided for of all the people in the State, and even now there is still a good deal of poverty, but, as the property changes hands, the quality of the owners improves. But this is most applicable, to the population west of the Blue Ridge. In the Valley of Virginia, and other parts of the Old Dominion, there is and always has been a more active and prosperous people. Slavery as an institution had its redeeming features in this State, but its abolition will ultimately prove a great and lasting benefit. It will raise the char

acter of the white laboring classes, and remove from them the stigma of poverty, bitterly felt by the poorer white families when all the land belonged to a few large holders, who, however, were little the better for their lands and the slaves that belonged to them. The war has left little bitterness behind, and another generation will obliterate all traces of it. It only needs that the sections should thoroughly understand each other to bring about that entire restoration of mutual confidences which shall aid in the development and improvement of the country's vast resources. That an active prejudice exists in the Northern States against the South and its people is still asserted, but it is simply an assumed prejudice, based upon political grounds. That this prejudice is mighty in its influence for evil on the nation, and that by it and through it the conditions of the country are largely disquieted, is, alas! only too evident. Much of it is fomented and kept alive for ends ulterior to the common weal, and the real interests of the nation are kept out of sight in keeping it alive. Much, too, if not all of it, is due mainly to wrong information concerning the facts existing in a large portion of the South.

We are pleased to note, however, that during the past few years this prejudice has been steadily growing less and less with the influx of Northern men and Northern enterprise. Fair-minded men, men of enlarged and unprejudiced views, have visited all parts of the South, and studied closely its social and commercial interests, and in all cases return highly impressed with the courteous treatment and hearty welcome received at the hands of its people. And why should it be otherwise? The South very well comprehends its needs, and readily understands that it is only through Northern capital and Northern enterprise that it can expect to develop its vast and unlimited resources. Knowing this, it is to its interest to welcome with courteous hospitality the elements which shall aid in its true development, either by settlement or the investment of capital, or indirectly through the removal of that prejudice which heretofore has proved a bar to its advancement.

Personally, we have never felt prejudiced against the South, because we deemed the aristocracy of race, founded upon its peculiar institutions, as the result of a cause entirely beyond its control. Inherited by its people, it could only be divested by some violent disruption or a voluntary aban