The Portland daily press., 1879-05-27
A Batch of Stories.

The "Causeur" of the Boston Transcript is
an entertaining story-teller, and ought to be a
delightful companion at dinner, or at any 9TH
er time when one feels like talking or listen
ing. The latest Causerie has these among 9TH
er things to say:
More than twenty-five years ago little boy,
not yet in his teens, took his first lesson in the
art and mystery" of printing from gentle
man in middle life, who explained how the
case was arranged and why, and practically
exemplified the process of "setting up'' type.
This, my boy" he said in a serious tone, yet
with kind smile, as he placed his hand on
the lever of an old-fashioned Franklin hand
press, sis the most powerful weapon known.
In the hands of bad men it is dangerous in
the hands of good men it can work miracles.
We hope to abolish Slavery cith it," That boy
was Causeur-that man was William Lloyd
Garrison.
1t is a fact that has been noticed and COM
mented upon, time out OF mind, that many
husbands neglect those little attentions and
marks of affection of which they were so Law
lsh during courtship. OF course there must
be reason for custom which, though repre-
hensible in the abstract, has the sanction of all
but universal practice, and it becomes the
duty OF the philosopher to inquire into and ex-
pound it, Perhaps it is best illustrated by an
anecdote which was told Causeur by a
friend, whose wife, by the way, manifested
her displeasure in very decided terms while he
was relating it. 1t seems that on Columbus
avenue there dwell welded pair who were
made one last fall. No knight of old was
ever more devoted to his ''faire layde'' than
was the husband during the honeymoon and the
moon that followed it, but ere the third moon
had waned the young wife noted-or thought
she noted, no doubt it was fancy-a change.
AS time passed on it became still more appar-
ent. Her husband was loving, of course, but
somehow there was a lack of the old ardor,
there was falling off in the old demonstra-
tiveness. This troubled her, and woman-like,
she was quick to conclude that his love had
cooled. One evening, after thinking the mat
ter over all day, she broke out with 'you don't
love me any more" "What makes you think
so?" he asked in business like way scarcely
lifting his eyes from the book he was reading.
Because" she sobbed, "you never pet me any
more, and you are not half so attentive as
you used to be-" And then she broke down
into regular cry The husband saw that
something must be done. Laying aside his
book and regretfully relinquishing his cigar
man does hate to be disturbed when once set
tied for the evening-he went to his weeping
wife, and led her to the window. my DEAR
he said, do you see that horse car coming up
tho avens,e9's ssI do sho sobbed and do
you see that man running to catch it?'' eyes
dear, what Of it?' "And do you see that he Is
straining every nerve, that he is shouting to
the conductor at the top of his voice, and doing
Il
the wife, whose curiosity was aroused, "but
what on earth has that to do" zone mo
ment, my dear. Look again. Do yon observe
that he has caught the car, and that he is no
longer running, but is probably quietly seated
inside, taking rest? He has got through
shouting and running, because he has caught
the car. Now, my dear, at this point he
kissed away her tears-''it is just so with me-
IhaUe caught the carr And with that the
self-satisfied monster led his wife back to her
seat on the sofa, and silently resumed his easy
chair, cigar and book.
In an out-of-the-way town in New Hamp-
shire lives an eccentric old farmer named
Greeley-an own cousin of the lamented Hor-
ace, by the way,-who found his cellar stairs
hard to climb ON account of the height of the
steps. After careful consideration, he hit up-
on the device of mailing piece of two-inch
plank on each, in order, as he said, to ''bring
'em nearer together" and contended that he
noticed 'a leette fetch of improvement"