tie his thumb up in a rag, and change
his pants.

All come to the table smiling, as though nothing had happened, and the
house-wife don't allow any of the family to have any sauce for fear they
will get broken glass into their stomachs, but the "company" is provided
for generously, and all would be well only for a remark of a little boy
who, when asked if he will have some more of the sauce, says he "don't
want no strawberries pickled in kerosene." The smiling little hostess
steals a smell of the sauce, while they are discussing politics, and
believes she does smell kerosene, and she looks at the old man kind of
spunky, when he glances at the rag on his thumb and asks if there is no
liniment in the house. The preserving of fruit in glass jars is broken
up in that house, and four dozen jars are down cellar to lay upon the
lady's mind till she gets a chance to send some of them to a charity
picnic. The glass jar fruit can business is played out unless a scheme
can be invented to get the top off.

BUTTERMILK BIBBERS.

The immense consumption of buttermilk as a drink, retailed over the bars
of saloons, has caused temperance people to rejoice. It is said that
over two thousand gallons a day are sold in Milwaukee. There is
one thing about buttermilk, in its favor, and that is, it does not
intoxicate, and it takes the place of liquor as a beverage. A man may
drink a quart of buttermilk, and while he may feel like a calf that has
been sucking, and want to stand in a fence corner and bleat, or kick up
his heels and run around a pasture, he does not become intoxicated and
throw a beer keg through a saloon window.

Another thing, buttermilk does not cause the nose to become red, and the
consumer's breath does not smell like the next day after a sangerfest.
The complexion of the nose of a buttermilk drinker assues a pale hue
which is enchanting, and while his breath may smell like a baby that has
nursed too much and got sour, the smell does not debar his entrance to a
temperance society.

AN AESTHETIC FEMALE CLUB BUSTED.

The organization of the "Cosmos" Club, of Chicago women, for the purpose
of discussing "aesthetic" business, ancient poetry and pottery ware,
calls to mind the attempt to organize such a club here in Milwaukee.
Our people here are too utterly full of business and domestic affairs
to take to the "aesthetic" very generally, and the lady from Boston
who tried to get up a class in the new wrinkle w