SHOOTING THE RAPIDS.
Reading edition
to shoot the rapids simple sammy heard 'twas very brave, so down behind the house he went and shot into the wave.
FROM THE SEASHORE.
NEW USE FOR A SAND HOLE.
Bobbie (who has been digging in the sand for an hour). "Mollie, come here and look at the beautiful hole I've dug!"
Mollie. "My! ain't it lovely! If you'll give it to me I'll take it home with me, and use it for a scrap-basket."
LOST.
"Hi, mamma! come here!" cried Willie; "see this funny insect."
"That's what they call a sand-fiddler," said his mother.
"Poor little bug," said Willie, looking all around him. "I guess he's lost his fiddle."
HARD TO TAKE.
"Well, Tommie, I saw you go into the tin-type-man's place this morning."
"Yes; but I'd oughter known better. It didn't take. I don't ever get took. When I was waxinated it didn't take either."
A LITTLE GIRL'S VIEW.
"Hoh!" cried little Janie, as the photographer came down to take a picture of the ocean. "He'll never get a picture of the ocean. It don't never stand still long enough."
A TERRIBLE CHANGE.
After Polly had been at the seashore for a week she ran in to her mother weeping.
"Oh, mamma! mamma!" she cried, holding up her brown little hand. "I'm a-turnin' into a 'ittle darky goyl!"
A FISH STORY.
There is an old darky who can be found any day perched on such freight as may rest on the platform of the little station at S—— up in Maine. He has a cheerful word for every one that will greet him, and was never known to lose his good-humor except on one occasion. One morning he was as usual perched on a bale of straw, but instead of whittling at a piece of stick, a habit of his, he sat with his face in his hands, gazing mournfully out over the little lake that stretched away among the hills. It was then I noticed that his nose had assumed enormous proportions, almost shutting out his eyes.
"Why, Ike, what's the matter with your nose?"
He shook his head sadly, and inquired if I had a little "baccy." I handed him some, and waited for an explanation about his nose.
"I's neber gwan ter fish no mo', sah—no, sah! neber no mo'; 'cause dat's whar I's got dat nose, youse see."
"How did it happen, Ike? Tell us; perhaps we can fix you up."
"See dat little neck er-runnin' out past de big mountain ober dar? Well, round dat neck dere's a cove, and dere's as fine er trout stream runs in dere as dey has 'bout dis place. Ise was er-fishin' dere de oder day, when Ise seed er big one flittin' by a rock dat's dere. Ise thrashed dat spot by de hour, and dat trout he done come an' look at de fly, an' den—yes, sah, den dat trout laugh at me an' swim 'way. I's tried eberyt'ing to ketch him, but 'twa'n't any use. Den Ise grew er-thinkin'. What he do 'round dat stone all de time? So Ise rested very quiet and watched dat stone. Pretty soon Ise see er bee hummin' 'round close to de water and near de stone, and Ise see de trout make er leap fer him.
"Dat settled it; Ise knew what ter ketch 'im wid. Ise just caught er bee an' put de hook in between de wings, where it wouldn't hurt him. Den Ise casted. Yah, yah!—he! he! Dat trout he made one leap an' he had de bee; but de fight was awful. He done paid no 'tention ter me, but he an' de bee wuz er-havin' it out—and how dey did fight! Ise got him on de bank at last, and dere's whar my trouble came in. Ise opened his mouth ter get de hook out, when out flew dat bee, and he wuz mad. Yes, sah, he just been er-waitin' fer me, Ise know, an' he landed plumb on my nose. Youse see de result. But dat's only part ob it. De trout he swelled up de same way. He wuz five pounds when Ise first ketched him, but when he was done swellin' he was too heavy ter carry home."
We silently left Ike to continue his mournful contemplation of the lake.
JACK'S PROBLEM.
Jack (mystified). "Papa, there's one thing I don't understand kerzactly."
Papa. "Well, what is that?"
Jack. "I dig a hole here on the beach, and a wave comes along and washes over it, and goes back again. Then I find the hole all filled up with sand. I thought the ocean was made of water, but it seems to me it's nothin' but sand."
NO STOPPING-PLACE.
Strange Little Girl (at Long Branch). "Where are you stoppin'?"
Little Boy. "We ain't. We're all the time a-movin'."