Daily Wabash Express, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 16 August 1885 — Page 3

§i#

THE FUNNY MAN'S BABY.

The funny mail went to his desk to write He had watched all day, he would write all night £»,,, And fioith hiegpljc, so he trimmed the lhrht.

In tte

•.

room-adjoining

his baby lay,

And t»\ey said she was slowly passing away, And would die ere tho light of another day.

So he wrote, with his heart in the other room, And thought of the babe going out in the gloom To the shadowy land beyond the tomb. It was hard to write with death bo nigh, But he ground out the jokee as the hours w6nt |)yj And closed each page with a grief-bom sigh.

It was hard to write, but the world must laugh, So he penned tho rhyme and the paragraph, And even a humorous epitaph!

His pen flew, fast and the hours went on ftlll his night,,, toil was almost gone, And the east siwwed he first faint streaks of dawn.

Then he dropped his pen and raised his heed "Now the column is finished," the funny man said, And the nurqp, coming in, said, "the baby is dead." —[Boston Courier.

OH 3ST.

A LOVE STORY.

By MRS. OLiIPHANT.

CHAPTER XIX.

Next morning John packed himself up before he saw any one. He had not slept all night. It is true that the incidents of the past evening had been trifling enough—not of sufficient consequence to affect, as his sudden departure might do, the enlire complexion of his life. It was only as a climax, indeed, that Aey were of any importance at all tlfft as such they had wound him up to a point of resolution. The present state of affairs, it was evident, could not go on. Had he been a mere idle man of society, he said to himself, in whose, life this perpetual excitement might supply a painfulpleasant sensation, then it might have been possible but he could not, love as he might, wear away his existence in watching a girl's face, or waiting for such moments of her society as she might be able to give him. It was impossible better to go away where he should never see her again better to give up forevei all the joys or life, than wear out every •vestige of manliness within him in this hopeless way. He had been born to higher uses and better purposes surely, or where was the good of being born at all? Accordingly he prepared all his belongings for instant departure. Kate was still dearer to him than anything in earth or

arrange a more possible footing, that intercourse for the present must be suspended. He could, not go on. With this resolution in "iris mind he went down stairs and look-ed-jo pale, that he attracted the attention of the lady who sat next him at the breakfast table, where Kate, who was so often late, luid? not yet appeared. "I am afraid you are ill," she said. "I fear your arm pains you more than susual. I think I knew your mother, Mr. jMitford, a thousand years ago. Was not she aMiss Olive, of Burton y®®' I j-eVnember— one of the'prettirat girls I ever saw". I think—you area little like her," said this benevolent woman, with a slight hesitation. And then there was a titter at the table, in l*hich John did not feel mveh disposed to join. "Oh, no," cried Kate, who has just come in "it is not him that is like Mrs.

Mitford, but me. I allow he is Tier son, but that does not matter. I was at Fan-

ing round to accompany one to the morning-room, where broidery and the_

criticism. It did not occurJto her that [.ame at»nd. When he she herself could be the offender. fane ^as on his way back to amelford, and leaked into John's face, meaning to say a thousand things to him with her eyes, but his were blank, and made no reply. "She was prettier than you are, Kate," .said Lady Winton, with a smile. "Nay," said John, unawares. He bad TBOt meant to enter into the talk— but to to look at her standing there before him in her fresh morning dress, in all her per-

when he about to leave her, he could

a„„„ wa «be

have bent her dress.

these people.

down It seemed the only thing to I ness

cry? She gave much

the visit to Fernwood, wit

was

"When one's friends begin to discuss tations upon it before he reached his on't you think it is best to journey's end. she said. "Oh, thanks,

one's looks, don't you think withdraw?" she said. "C Madeline, for doing my duty. Itisso wretched to be late. Please, somebody, have some tea."

And then the ordinary talk came in swept this little episode out of sight. When breakfuM was over and one

S8ip went on, Wits brought back a moment by ", W»htof John standing right in her "folding out his hand. "I am

I go away," he said, in the most Jie could muster. "Good-bv. and thanks, many thanks.' cried Kate, standing

n°^azement.

v*wf•''$•*'&*•' *&£*}&&

WL«--®«i®§S 9iw T*?-^ rf» sffilffe

ruptly. "Please don't wait for me, Madeline I want to speak to Mr. Mitford. Go on, and I wjII goin you. Oh, John, what does it mean she cried,_ turning to her lover, almost without waiting until the door had closed on her companion. By this time everybody was gone, and the two were left alone in the great empty room where five minutes ago theybad been so much sound and movement. They wore standing in front of one of the deep* windows, with the light fallupon them as on a stage. He his hands again \d took hers, ihe was too much disturbed to

if is nothing," he said with a forlorn sort of smile, "except just that I must go away. Don't let that cloud' your face, dear. I can'f help mjself. I am obliged to go." "Is any one ill?" she cried "is that the reason? Oh, John, tell me! are you really obliged to go? Or is it—anything —we have done?" "No," he said, holding her hand in his. "It is all my fault. It does not matter. It is that I cannot manage this sort of life. No blame to you, my darling. Don't think I am blaming you. When I am back at my work, things will look different. I was not brought up to it like you. You must pardon me as you would pardon me for being ignorant and not knowing another language but it is best I should go away." "John!" she cried, the tears coming with a sudden rush into the wondering eyes that had been gazing at him so intently, "what have I. done?" "Nothing—nothing," he said, stooping over her hand and kissing it again and again. "There is only myself to blame. I can't take things, I suppose, as other people do, I am exacting and inconsiderate and-rr Never mind, dear, I must go away and you will not remember my faults when I am gone?" "But I never thought you had anj faults." cried Kate. '''You speak as if it were me. I have never found fault with yon, John—nor asked anything more— nor—I know I am silly. Tell me, and scold me, and forgive me. Say as papa does—-it is only Kate. I know I did not mean it. Oh, John, dear, if I beg your

Sone—"though

ardon, I don't know what I have

"You have done nothing," he cried, in -jspair. "Oh, my Kate! are you my Kate? or are you a witch coming into my arms to distract me from everything No, no, no! I must not be conquered this time. My love, it* will be best for both, of us. 1 can not go on seeing you always within my reach and always out of my reach. I would have you always like this—always here—always mine but. I can't have you and I have no strength to stand by at a^ distance and look on. Do you understand me now I shall go away so much happier because of this five minutes. Good-by." "But, John!" she cried, clinging to him, "don't go away why should you go away I will do anything you please. I will—make a change don't go and leave me. I want you to be here." "You break my heart!" he cried "but I cannot be here. What use is it to you And to me it is distraction. Kate! don't ask me to stay." "But it is of use to me," she said, with a flush on her face, and an expression unlike anything he had seen before—an uneasy look, half of shame and half of alarm. Then she turned from him a little, with a slight change of tone. "It isi a strange way of using me," she said, looking steadfastly at the carpet, "after my going to you, and all not many girls would have gone to you as I did you might stay now when I ask you—for my sake." "I will do anything in the world for your sake," he said, "but, Kate, it does you no good, you know. It is an embarrassment to you," John went on, with a half-groan escaping him, "and it is distraction to me."

Then there followed a pause. She drew her hand away from his with a little, petulant movement. She kept her eyes away from him, not meeting .hi^. vpt vere fixed upon her. Her face with a painful heat her little foot tapped the carpet. "Do you mean thatr—other things—are to be over, too?" she said and twisted her fingers together, and gazed out of the window, waiting for what he had to say.

Such a, question comes naturally to the mind ot.a lover whenever there is any fretting ijf his silken chain and accordingly it wis not novel to John's imagination—bit it struck upon his heart as if it $ad bee} a blow. "Surely not—surely notJH he aiewered, hastily "not so far as I am conctmed."

And then|hey stood again—for how long?—side ij- side, not looking at each other, waiting a chance word to separate

shawe Regis ever so long in summer.. first.&uff8he, a spoiled child, like Qr Mr. John,.tell Lady Winton she was me when she Was a girl, and I shall be like her when I am old lady. You know it is so."

And she paused a moment just beside him, with her hand on Lady Winton chair, and looked into John's pale face as he rose at her appeal. Something was wrong—Kate was not sure what. Lady Winton, perhaps, had bean annoying him •with questions, or Fred Huntley with

^^.yi-r

."^fi \V"f&Jc

Should she be able to

I or to unite thtp.

to whom everybody yielded. Or could she all in a moMbt learn that sweet philosophy of iel«&ig in her own person, which makes allihe difference between sorrow and unha|,iness? Everything— the world itself—i|med to hang in the balance for that mVaeot. Kate terminated it suddenly, .inkier own unexpected way. She turned him all at once, with the sweetness stored to her face and voice, and helc out her hand: "NeitheT shall it be far as I am concerned," she said. "Sifce you must go,

all

enough?

its pains

and pleasures, and the last vich of her hand, were things of the_paat,70hn asked himself, with a lover's ingeWy of selftorment, if this frank sweet%s

not any

you

you see

»h,ch li.J ker I young m.n m*ie Y.ry little account oi S W to 5 W

a little laugh instead, by her dismay an

fluttered and disturbed in

her I the

if she

should havs^

him go

so easily if there was not solfohing

feO-tfon of youth and sweetness, and to belkT® that anybody had ever been more I ^iton'had^saidf "I am very soriy lovely, was impossible. At that moment, I j8

relief in it? He drove himag\frantic with these questions, as he madg% way back to his poor little lodginA Mr. Crediton had looked politely influent, rather glad than otherwise, when

htt0k

his leave. "Going to leave us \[rI

fcad news. But P®"^Y

are right, and perfect quiet will be bC

Whichelo, tell him I mean to ..pened, for she gave a start, and roused come in on Saturday. I am sorry yo| His eyes, I have given us so short a visit. Good-by. (i l. PaA)itAn'o fOMH of

It was still but midday when he reached the little melancholy shabby which were his home in Camelford. place might b% supportable at night, when he came in only for rest after the day's labors, though even then it was dreary -enough but what could be thought of it in the middie of a bright

any one of the last I in and closed his door, and felt the ^here all the em- silence hem him in and incite him, and iracticinc and the put seals, as it were, to the grave had "h5,,h

he had

F^cm JgjMg

'Going away! I forth along each side of the way. cou

*°^Xappened at #anshawe he lay still and bear it?

ffltother—-or

HI," be said. "I am \e, only back to the I \iod-by."

Jhis," said Kate ab-J

Dr. Mit-1 Fernwood, his rooms looked to him like a

people who would be round her all day long, and the stir of life, and a thousand pleasant matters going on. He was weary and sick of himself, and sick of the world. Could he sit down and read a novel in the light of tljat October day —or what was he to do?

The end was that he took his portmanteau, which had not been unpacked, and threw it into a passing cab, and went off to the railway. He had not gone home since he came to his clerkship in the bank, and that was three months since. It seemed the only thing that was left for him to do now. He went back along the familiar, road with something of the feelings of a prodigal approaching his home. It seemed strange to him when the porter at the little roadside station of Fanshawe touched his cap and announced his intention of carrying Mrr John's portmanteau to the Rectory. He felt it strange that the poor fellow should remember him. Surely it was years since he had been there before.

And this feeling grew as John walked slowly along the quiet country road that led to his home. Everything, he passed was associated with thoughts which were as much over and gone as if they had happened in a different existence. He had walked along by the hedgerows pondering a thousand things, but scarcely one that had any reference to, any relation with, his present life. He had been a dreamer, planning high things for the welfare of the world he had been a reformer, rousing, sometimes tenderly, sometimes violently, the indifferent country from its slumbers sometimes even retiring to the prose of things he had tried to -realize the details of a clergyman's work, »nd to fit himself into them, and ask himself how he should perform them. BqJ never, in all these questionings, had he thought ot himself as a banker's clerk—a man working for money alone, and the hope of money. It was so strange that he cud not know what to make of it. As he went on, the other John, his former self, seemed to go with him—and which was the real man, and which, the phanton, he could not tell. All the quiet country lifted prevailing hands, and laid hold on him as he went home. It looked so natural—and he, what was he? But the country, too, had changed as if in a dream. He had left it in full blaze of

June, and now it was October, with the leaves in autumn glory, the fields reaped, the brown stubble everywhere, and now and then in the clear blue air the crack of a sportsman's gun. All these things

had borne a different aspect once to John. He too had been a little of a sportsman, as was natural but the dog and the gun did not harmonize with the figure of a banker's clerk. The women on the road, who stared at him, and courtesied to him with a smile of recognition, confused him, he could not tell why. It was so strange that everybody should recognize him—hte who did not recognize himself.

And as he approached the rectory, a vague sense that something must have happened there came over him. It was only three days since he had received a letter from his mother full of those cheerful details which it cost her, though he did not know it, so much labor and pain to write. He tried to remind himself of all the pleasant every-day gossip, and picture of things serene and unchangeable which she had sent him but still the nearer he drew and the more familiar everything became, the more he felt that something must have happened. He went in by the little garden gate, which opened noiselessly, and made his way., through the shrubbery,* to satisfy himself that no cloud of calamity .had fallen upon the house. It was a warm, genial autumn day, very still, and somewhat pathetic, but almost as balmy as summer. And the drawing room window stood wide open, as it had done through all those wonderful June days when John's life had come to its climax. The lilies had vanished that stood up in great pyramids against the buttresses even their tall green -stalks were gone, cut down to the ground and there were no except here and there a pale "monthly one, or a half nipped, hatl-open bud. John paused,under the acacia-tree where he had so often placed Kate's chair, and which-waf. now littering all the lawn round about with its leaflets—to gain a glimpse, before he entered, of what was going on within. The dear, tender mother! to whom he had been everything—all her heart ..had to rest on.

What had she to recompense her for all the tender patience, all the care and labor she took upon herself for the sake of her Saviour and fellow creatures! Her son, who had taken things for granted all this time as sons do, opened his eyes suddenly as he stood peeping in like a stranger, and began to understand her life. God never made a better, purer woman she had livejl fifty years doing and not evil to every soul around her, and what had she in return A husband, who thought she was a very good sort, of ignorant, foolish little woman on the whole, and very useful-in the parish, and handy to keep off all interruptions and annoyances and a son who had gone away and abandoned her at the first chance—disappointed all her hopes, left her alone, doubly alone, in the world. "It is her hour for the school, the dearest little mother," he said to himself,with the tears coming to his eyes "she never fails, though we al1 fail her but even as the words formed in his mind he "pWfccived that the room into which he was gazing was not empty. There she sat, thrown buck into a chair her work was lying on the floor at her feet but John had never seen such an air of weariness and lassitude in his mother before. He recognized the gown she ha'd on, the basket of work on the table, all the still life around her but her lie could not recognize. She had her hands crossed loosely in her lap, l#id together with a passive indifference that went to his heart. Could she be asleep? but she was not asleep for after a while one of the hands went softly up te her cheek, and something was brushed off, which could only be a tear. He could scarcely restrain the cry that came to his lips but at that moment the door, which he could not see, must have

was

I am coming, Lizzie,'r John, heard her •tswer ill a spiritless, weary tone and she rose and put away her work, and up her white shawl, which was lying

on\e

sudden change, the sweet looks, the

back of a chh/ir. She liKed white

a.a\ettv

bright colors about her, the soul. They became her, and were like Itself. But when she had wrapped herself

shawl,

man came

bu"ed

himself. Full day

and nothing to do, and a little room to walk about in, four paces from one side to the other and suburban street to look out upon, with blinds drawn over the dows, and plants shutting out and an

win

the air.

organ-grinding

melancholy music

which was as famil-

iar to tn,n as her own face,-his mother gave fcyiong weary sigh, and sat down ag^ as if she could -not make up her :nd

move. He had

crept quitejLge to the window by this time, moy^ bey0nd expression by the with tears in his eyes, and npunction in his heart, taatter now?" she said to

sight of li unspeakabli "What does herself, dres much alone and not mei'j stepped into mother. st had risen out a great cry and fell upon neck—that wa*? her arms, littlV'. him as he tc^fe not have cared the passion oU a, "Mother,

She had come to be so thought was spoken ought. When John a moment after, his 'at him as if he and then gave

ough the house Fell upon his ression—reaching she was, up to her and would died then, in

John said, ij chair and her hands }?fp. Jb4 been so fo^W *0^ i#0Vmj\\ not res

place of rest, where he could go and hide himself and be at peace. But as soon as he had entered them, it *as Fernwood that grew lovely in the distance, where Kate was, where there were blessed

trembling,"

iderly into her de her, taking not have but I could

I saw you

oth*Yc('

.Mitford now and it

m$m

a surprise. There—I don't in the least mean to cry it is only foolishness. And oh, my poor John, your arm!" "It is nothing," he said "it is almost well. Never mind it. I am a dreadful guy, tote sure. Is that what you are looking at, mamma mia?" In his wan face and fire-scorched hair she had not known her child. "Oh, John, that you could think so," she said, in her earnest maUer-of-fact way. "My own boy! as if I should not have known you anywhere, whatever you had done to yourself. It was not that. John, my dear?"- |f|fj "What, mother?" ®sSs__ "I was looking to see if you were happy, my-- dearest, dearest boy. Don't be angry with me. As long as you are happy I don't mind—what happens— tome."

John laid his head down on his mother's lap. How often he had done it!—as a child, as a lad, as a man— sometimes after those soft reproofs which were like caresses—sometimes in penitence, when he had been rebellious even to her but never before as now, that her eyes might not read his heaft. He did it by instinct, having no time to think but in the moment that followed thought came, and he saw that he must put a Drave face on it, and not betray himself. So he raised his head again, and met her eyes with a smile, believing, man as he was, that he could cheat her with that simulation of gladness which went no further than his lips. "What could I be but happy?" he said "but not to see you looking so pale, and trembling like this, my pretty mamma. You are too pretty to-day— too pink and too white and too brighteyed. What do you mean by it? It must be put a stop to, now I have come home." "What does that mean?" she asked, with tremulous eagerness. He was not happy he might deceive all the world, she said to herself, but he could not deceive his mother. He was not happy, but he did not mean her to know it, and she would not betray her knowledge. So she only trembled a little more, and smiled pathetically upon him, and kissed hia forehead, and shed back the hair from it with her soft nervous hand. "Coming home has such a sound to me. It used to mean the long nice holidays and once I thought it meant something more but now—" "Now it means a week or two," he said "not much, but still we can make a great deal out of it. And the first thing must be to look aiter your health, mother. This will never do." "My health will mend now," she said, with a smile and then, afraid to have been supposed to consent to the fact that her health had need of mending—"I mean I never was better, John. I am only a little—nervous-ybecauBe of the sunrise the first thing is to make you ,y your holiday, my own boy." "Yes," he said, with a curious smile. Enjoy his holiday!—which was the escape of a man beaten from the field on -which he had failed in his first encounter with fate. But I will not let her know that, said John to himself. And I must not show him that I see it, was the reflection, of his mother, This was Eow they met ain after the great parting which looked le the crisis oi their lives.

To be continued in Ihe Sunday Express.]

OSCAR WILDE'S BABY.

The Apostle of jEstheticlgm is a Happy Father and Husband. Jennie June's Letter.

On our way home we stopped to pay our respects to Lady Wilde, whose small house in Mayfair was crowded with wellknown personages. Oscar was-there, but not his wife. Oscar is the proud and happy father of a son, who is not, J^bwever, to bear his famous first name the patronymic of the little stranger has not yet been decided upon. Mr. Oscar Wilde has improved in appearance, dropped his peculiarities of dress, was easy, cordial and natural in manner he looked like what he undoubtedly is, a very happy man. His brother "Will" is taller even than Oscar, and very solid and sensible looking. Both seem devoted to their mother, who is more .eccentric in appearance than Oscar-himself in his most eccentric days. She is tall, or taller, than either of her sons, wears her hair long" and dressed with ribbons, and on this occasion a dress in the early English or "Dolly Varden" style, with a profusion of which was far from unbecoming. She iS credited with much ability, and certainly writes well on a variety of subjects. She receives in rooms that are so darkened by curtains (red and old gold) as to render it at first difficult to discern objects. Afterwards the living objects appear in relief and more like animated silhouettes.

Hard Times in Japan.

Japan Herald. The country is embarrassed from end to end. A decrease in the farmers' rents is said to be contemplated by the cabinet as almost imperative, but then with a view of makitfg up a portion of the defi-* ciency which such a remission would create, soy and cakes are threatened with the hand of the tax gatherei. In the native papers paragraphs meet the eye. in which whole villiages are reputed to be reduced to destitution, and the Hochi Shimbun declares that "the paupers wandering about Toko are now numbered by thousands." Of the sad state of affairs in the country districts some idea may be formed from a statement published in the last issue of the Jiji Shimpo to the effect that by fecent investigations the ar rivals of men who have come to the metrspolis as jinrikisha coolies during the last few months have reached 8,000, which go to swell the redundant number of those engaged in that precarious occupation for a livelihood. Additional evidence is afforded of the pressure of poverty by the numbers, far in excess of requirements, offering to. emigrate to Honolulu and to Yesso, which latter, from the severity and duration of its winter, does not'recommend itself to the inhabitants of the main island.

Plucky Young Mather.

New Haven Register. Professor Mather, of Yale, has his family at North Stoninghtoa for the summer, Among them is a bright little boy only 11 years of age. Monday afternoon he was the only occupant of the mail coach as it pulled up at the post office to make its delivery. The driver leaped off and carried the pouches in, and the horses were left unattended. At that moment a bicyclist shot by with such velocity as to startle the animals, and in a moment they were off at a break-neck-pace, going out of the village. The great vehiele rocked from side to side, and for the moment supreme excitement reigned among the agers, who could see the white-faced boy inside as it flew by. He made no outcry. The horses had run about half a mile, when the little fellow was seen crawling out of the door of the stage to the box of the •whicle. It was a perilous act, and had he fallen he would very likely have been crushed under the flying wheels. As soon as he secured his position on the box he grasped the reins, and, bracing himself, succeeded in pulling on the bits so hard that the horses we finally conquered. It wis a hard fignt, however, and the team was nearly a mile from the village before he succeeded in his undertaking.

To exterminate bed-bugs, dissolve alum in water and apply to the bedstead with a feather. Be careful not to touch the pai^t or varnish.

THE HAT WITH THE CORONET.

A Queer Street Scene In London on the Evening of theJPrineess Beatrice's Wedding. V'-

London letter. It was getting near the witching honr, and Leicester square, Haymarket, and Tichborne street were crowded with carriages and cabs carrying home from the theaters quite as many people as would balance the population of an influential constituency. The noise was clangorous or muffled as the horses' hoofs and the chariots' wheels rattled on the stones or skated on the asphalt. Now and then there was a collision, and

Then he suddenly*got into a furious rage, and, though alone by his heap, began to.hit furiously right and left in the space, as if engaged in a life and death meeting." Now and then he would stop, and begin to speak and gestieulate like a man possessed of good arguments. The blood running from his wound had reddened his shirt and white tie. I had never seen anything so ghastly. The man was apparently not conscious at all of the presence of the increasing crowd, attracted by his" antics. He was explaining that he had just come from the marriage of the Princess Beatrice, at which he had assisted at the special request of the queen, who, he was prepared to say, ought to be proud" to be compared to a washerwoman, and his rage overtaking him again, he stretched out his two arms at full length a.nd began to shake them as if they had g' '.d of an adversary's head. After a while he released his invisible to*, but gave a tremendous kick in the same direction, as if to finish the job. Then .he chilled the mob to their very bones by uttering an inexpressible cry of anguish and jumping all the time as .if a flood or an army of rats or dogs were after him. He needs havee been an uncommon gymnast at some time or other of his life, for his bounces would have deserved applause in a circus.

A policeman at last appeared and advised him to go home. For an instant he vaguely listened to him as if emerging from a dream. Then he rushed into his arms, as long-separated Frenchmen do on meeting again, and it required a second constable to unhook him from the first. As he was perfectly incapable, they both took him to the police station, wheie he submitted to hydropathic treatment.

In his hat, which we picked up afterward, was a coronet.

Coffee Stronger and Tea Growing Weaker. Our statistics of foreign comii«rce for the last five years throw some interesting light on the tea and coffee consumption of the people. We are consuming more coffee and less tea year by year. Thus, in 1881 we used 79,130,000 pounds of tea, or 1.64 pounds per capita, while in 1885 we used only 66,372,000 pounds, or 1.16 per capita. In other words, with 6,000,000 more population now than five yeap ago, we are consuming 12,700,000 pounds less tea. With coffee the showing is just the other way. Five years ago we consumed 423,276,000 pounds, or 8.33 per capita, while now we are consuming 539,264,000 pounds per annum, or 9.46 per about one a£d a

capita—an increase of quarter pounds per capita. In the United Kingdom (Great

THE EXPBB88, TEEKE HAUTE, SUNDAY, AUGUST 16,1885, 8

rival whips

would suddenly expatiate in most impressive oratory on their respective lack of dexterity. Policemen were in the middle of all the wild run as calm and selfpossessed as prebendaries in their stalls, vet sometimes apparently as sure of never having to make another beat as if they were half way through a mangling machine.

On the sidewalk walkers, loungers, steady women hurrying home after'work, sinful creatures hastening in the streets, staggering guardsmen, open-mouthed for-, eigners, tardy newsvenders, early traffickers, men with a home and wretches without one, young people wfio ought to have been long in bed, sick ones who ought nerer to have left it, beaming pick-pockets and dejected ones, good souls bound on some pious work of redemption, &fd*Siflister mariners on the watch to lay" their nets, intercrossed and jostled like ants or bees at their busiest time.

Scott's oyster rooms in Coventry street had almost exhausted its stock of lobsters, and the staff was looking as apprehensive as Wellington's at Waterloo, before Blucher's arrival. At the tavern around the corner the crisis was at its height. Neither could you get in nor could you get out. Human stockades stopped up the entrances. As I was trying the second one in Great Windmill street a white-cravated tippler, looking like a second magistrate after a desperate chase, was flung out of it by mere human pressure acting as a disciplined spring. He whisked past me and fell right in the middle of a heap of rubbish close to a building in process of erection. "Capital shot-!" exclaimed a sporting character, alluding t* the manner in which the singular missile had made a center in the heap and a hole in itself. The tippler's head was bleeding|profusely when picked up, but had not regained its sober senses. "Don't want claret," said he, as he staggered up, wiping the blood from his face. "I ordered whisky, you fool!"

Britain

V«n ln/twAooa *o in

and Ireland) the increase is in the consumption of tea and the decrease'in coffee —the tea having increased from 158,570,000 pounds to 175,097,000 pounds, from 18B0 to 1884, while the coffee increased in the same time from 32,569,000 to only 33,000,000, the per capita falling oft from 96 to f% It will be observed that while it takes less than one pound of coffee a jear for the average Britain, the average American requires nine and a half pounds but when it comes to tea the Britain consumes four pounds to the American's one.

The American Grocer finds an explanation of the increased consumption of coffee and the decreased consumption of tea in this country in the roasting process adopted by grocers, which saves families the main trouble in preparing coffee for use. The* introduction of the harsh Japan tea has at the same time lowered the standard of this beverage, and that may have something to do with the decreasing favor it meets with. In the United Kingdom, where only the fragrant China and India teas are imported, the consumption steadily increases.

A Genuine Mind Cure.

Hartford Times. A ladv at the South End was enjoying a visit from her mother, who had been stricken with paralysis, some years previ ous. As soon as she arrived at her daughter's home she stipulated that she must sleep down stairs, as' her health would not permit her climb up stairs. The man of the house, like a dutiful son in-law,'gave up his bed below and went up stairs himself. Finally a severe storm broke out, and the lightning and thunder were terrific. The lady of the house, a little timid, thought she would light the gas in the dining room. As she had done so and turned to go back to the bedroom she was startled to see the face of a rough-look eg man peering at her from one of the piazza windows. The woman, clad in her night clothes, was chained with fear for *nly an instant, and then, without uttering a sound, she fled up stairs to awaken her husband. In the meantime the old lady, her mother, heard her daughters bare feet swiftly pattering across the fjpor, heading for the stairway, and intuitively feeling that something was wrong, and entirely forgetting her own condition, sprang from the bed and fainy flew after her daughter. She reached the stairway, and, in spite of her paralytic

infirmities, which she had so carefully noised for yearft,~found herself rushing up stairs. Her daughter heard the steps behind her, and supposed that the man she had seen on the piazza had broken in and was jrarsuing her. Not jjr an instant did she imagine that her invalid and paralytic mower could move so rapidly. This added to her -fright and increased her pace. She rushed up -to her husband's bedside, shouting "Save me! Save me J" and, looking round, saw—her invalid mother. "Why, mother, is this you? I thought yon couldn't walk up-staira." "I thought I couldn't but I never tried before."

Then the man of the house went below to reconnoitre as to the visitor on the piazza, and grandma crawled into bed. She always went upstairs to sleep after that.'

Asqnad of fifteen gypsies had tal(en possession of the piazza to shelter them from the storm, and the gentleman, not having the heart to turn them out until the rain was over, allowed them -to re-

MATCHED BUT NOT MATED.

TBe

Sorrowful Wife of the Pri«w5« ''of Wales Is Bald and Ugly. New York Sun.

"How can thfe Princess of Wales regard this Pall Mall Gazette scandal, in which her husband is said to be involved?" was the interrogation an ac--quaintancr of mine put to an English gentleman now at the Hoffman house. "I imagine it makes no outward difference, but privately she must feel it poignantly," was the reply. ''Our people have long regarded the princess as an unhappy woman and a broken- heatted wife.

Her sweet face and gentle waysliave endeared her to us all, but she nevtir smiles. Her pale features are a mask that hide every feeling." "What is the cause of such chronic dejection?" I interrupted. "I have heard, of course, that her early married years were far from happy but I thought all that was outlived, and that her family had solaced and cheered her." "So they dp but there are things a woman never can forget—wrongs that sink into the heart. Wales and Alexrandra were badly matched, and that's a fact. And how she has aged. Why, she's pad and imitation. all over. That must vex Jier, too to be compelled to stand comparison by the side* oi scores of famous beauties, with the consciousness that society knows she is bald and wears a wig—one of fifty she has in her collection that her fine neck is disfigured with ireradicable sores, which her high collar hides that her joints^re full or rheumatism, and that not even her artistically huilt cork heal can conceal the limp that has becouie historic. Poor ladyl She had enough troubles before these new disclosures."

A Dog That Understands..

Boston Beoord. There is a Newfoundland dog of the Historian's acquaintance, Lion by name, who gives daily proof of his coinprehension of what is said to him. A lady called on his mistress the other day. During her call Lion came in rather slyly, laid down on the carpet and went to sleep. The conversation ran on, and' the visitor said finally: "What a handsome Newfoundland you have!"

Lion opened one eye. "Yes," said his mistress, "he' is a very good dog. and takes excellent care of the children.'

Lion opened the other 'eye and waved his tail complacently to and fro along the carpet. "When the baby goes out he always goes with her and I feel perfectly sure then that no harm can come to her," his mistress went on.

Lion's tail thumped-up and down violently on the carpet. "And he is so gentle to them all, and such a playmate and companion to them, that we ^piild not take a thousand dollers for him."

Lion's tail now went up and down, to and fro and round and round with great and undisguised glee. "But," said his mistress, "Lion has one serious fault."

Total subsidence of Lion's tail, together with the appearance of an expressson of great concern on his face. "He will come in here with his dirty feet and lie down on the carpet, when I have told him time and again that he musn't do it."

Here Lion arose with an air of the utmost dejection and humiliation and slunk out of the room, with his lately exhuberant tail totally crestfallen.

Fishing by a Hen.

West Chester Village Record. Joseph T. Favinger, of Lawrenceville, East Coventry township, is .the owner of a Plymouth Bock hen which is possessed of the peculiar trait of seeking in the water for a portion of its livelihood, Pigeon Creek empties into the Schuylkill river at Mr. Favinger!s machine

just after furnishing the power for that industry, and before doing so flows over a shallow, pebbly bottomed bed in which numerous minnows are all the time to be

Lately the hen referred to, which

probably first discovered the spot in seek ing a place for water, has. gotten in the habit of visiting this place daily and spending some time in wading about the shallow water and catching live minnows, which, as it catches them in its bill, carries them to shore and after peeking them until they make no more movement swallows them whole. The hen's method of catching the fish is to go in among a school of the small fish and drive them toward a spot where the water is so shal low that they are scarfcely ableV swim, when it will plunge in among them and is almost certain j®^apturing one at each effort

All Bets Oft

Detroit Free Press. A few days ago, idler a couple of esteemed citizens, who are close neigl bors, had arranged to pass a few days with their families at a lake in Oakland county, one of tnem offered to wager a box of cigars that he

WQuld

catch the

largest fish. The wager was promptly taken, and next day one of the gentlemen put in an appearance at fish stand on the market and said to the dealer:' "Have you got afresh pickerel weighing about fifteen pounds? "I have, sir." "Well, I want you to put him on ice and ship him to me at Lake. I propose to catch him on a hook out there." "Very well, sir. I think I'll ship the two together." *. "The two?" "Yes, sir. Mr. (mentioning the other esteemed citizen) was here anhour ago. and bought one weighing twenty pounds! It will take less ice to.pack the two in the same box"!"

The fish were paid for, bnt the bet was declared off. Otherwise a Neble Nose. Whitehall Review.

A correspondent writes: "I have been doing a deal *. of traveling by coach in Scotland, and I think I heard what I may call 'a. good thing.' A worthy Soot was pressing his snuff-box upon a fellow-pas-senger, who in his turn seemingly did not look as if he liked the looks of the mull or its contents. Bent on refusing the offer, at last the passenger politely remarket that he did not take snuff. The Scot eyed him for a moment,'and then, looking him full in the face, remarked. 'Mon, that's a peety, aa ye hae sae accommodation."

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TAKING IT COOL AMID FLAMES

A Man In a Fireproof Suit Kata Heal In a Burning House. New York Herald.

A man in a helmet suit set fire to a house at Oak Point last evening, and. going amid the flames cooked a steak on a burning window-stilly and sprinkling it with red pepper, ate it without a sneeze. Thirty gallons of petroleum had been

sprinkled over the inside of the building, and when this ignited the heat became so intense as to drive the spectators away into the shade. There were, no terrors in this for the encased individual, however, for he threw away his dishes and seating himself upon a crackling stool opened a bottle of wine, and, lighting a cigar, drank and smoked until his table, stool and wine aad cigar wore all consumed. There was an opening in the face of (he helmet through which the inner man was refreshed, and. after these diversions the opening was- closed, and with a yawn the man lay upon the floor, with a seething log for a pillow and proceeded to take a nap. But there was too much excitement outside to allow of quiet) undisturbed slumber, and arising with a petulant air the would-be sleeper seized a firebrand and darted forth to drive his tormentors away. When the crowd was dispersed the house was in ashes, and the man had taken off his fireproof dress to talk to a Herald reporter. "My name is G. M. Ahlstom," he said, and I've come to America from Stockholm, Sweden, to make a. little money. This suit I wear was invented by myself, and while it will stand against flames that would melt a brass casting, I don't pretend to claim for it any practical purpose. It is merely for exnibition as a means of drawing crowds. The outside of the suit is made of mole's skin and the inside is of rubber. This hose you see filled the scannels between the two parts of the suit with water and made the outside proof against fire and kept me cool. There was an air -hose within the water hose which supplied me with breath, and forcing its way through holes in the face plate kept the flames from jny eyee so-1 could see. I have remained in hotter places than this for an hour, but the men at 'my air pumps didn't like to work and I had to be brief."

Mr. Ahlstrom was candid to a degree, and he said that his suit could be of no use to the fire department, as no man could live to be rescued where the suit would be necessary. He said that he had indented the suit at the time of afire in Stockholm in 1875, where forty people were burned to death for lack of sumcient life-saving appliances in the fire department. He had made exhibitions before 80,000 people in Alexandria palace, London, and before 40,000 people and_ the empress and crovpi prince of Austria at Vienna. He once owned the steamer Express, made a fortune upon her and lost his money bv the failure of the Union Generate in Paris two years ago. His exhibition last evening was private. The house was built for the occasion and was the size of an ordinary log cabin.

Kitchen Wrinkles.

Housekeeper.

Be economical. Clean castor bottles with shot. Wash the hair in cold sage tea. To brighten and clean old alpaca wash in coffee.

To remove ink stains soak in sour milk over night. To brighten carpets sprinkle with salt before sweeping.

When cooking beans add one-hall teaspoon of saleratus. Mix stove polish with vinegar and a teaspoonful of sugar. ....

To polish a stove rub. with a newspaper instead of a brush. To remove tea stains from cups and saucers scour with ashes.

To remove mildew, soak in buttermilk and spread on grass in the sun. For burns apply flour, wet wirfi cold water, as it quickly gives relief.

When sponge cake becomes dry it is nice to cut in thin slices and toast. If the oven is too hot when baking place a small dish of cold water in it.

If nutmegs are good, when pricked with a piD, oil will instantly ooze out. To -prevent* mustard plasters from blistering, mix with the white of an egg.

To clean furniture that is not varnished rub with a cloth wet with kerosene.

To brighten or blean silver or nickelplated ware, rub with a woolen cloth and flour.

When there is a crack in the stove it can be mended -by mining ashes and salt with water.

Water in which borax is dissolved is food for the hair, and also to whiten the :ace and hands.

To make paper stick to a wall that has been whitewashed, wash in vinegar or saleratus water.

When clothes are scorched remove the stain by placing the garment where the sun can shine on it.

Starched shirts will iron easier if you let them dry after starching, so you will have to sprinkle them before ironing. •The wings of turkeys, geese and chickens are good to wash and clean windows, hs they leave no dust or lint, as Cloth.

To brighten the inside of coffee'or tea-pot, fill with water, add a small piece of soap and let it boil about forty-five minutes.

To remove grease from wall-paper, lay several folds of blotting paper on the spot and hold a hot iron near it until the grease is absorbed.

Maxey Cobb and His New Trainer, Providence Journal. "I gave Maxey Cobb a trial heat in 2:19 this morning," saW "Jimmy" Dustin at Nwragansett Pamfyesterday afternoon, "and that is as fast as I shall drive him during the warm weather. I jogged him the first mile in 2:26, and that is about the pace I shall drive him .till September. 1 work him on the road, hitched to a skeleton, during the early part of the day, so as to keep him in physical trim, and the exercise will do him good, as he needs careful and systematic training to bring him into fighting condition. He was in no condition to meet Phallas, as is well known, and I shall not hurry to match h'm with any of the fast flyers until fall at least. Then, if the stallion shows the speed I am confident of, possibly Mr. Connfield may match him against Phallas again for $2,500, or pit him against some eqnally fast trotter. Then, again, I am desirous of hitching ui Maxey and Neta Medium in doubl team, and probably in a few weeks I shall Work them with the intention of beating their record of 2:15}. Thev make a splendid working pair, and with the track in prime condition and good weather I can make the circuit in 2:12 or 2:13

'A First-Rate Horae Story. Spirit of the Timet"Pilgrim," who picks up many a good story in the course of his perambulations writes from Chicago: "One morning not IoUg ago I sat on the steps of the club-house and listened to the entertaining chat of the -owners and drivers. Part of it I will tell you. One of the party, who is usually a very quiet man, edged up to me and said: 'I'll tell yon a good story about Anderson and his pacer, Argyle. ''I braced my feet firmly., and with both ears wide open, lest I

fie.'

Uy, would loee any

thing, I patiently waited the coming of the storm. #""f ,f 'You must know, continued ihe orator, 'that Argyle has shown some pretty slick work, and was' considered by his party as a sure winner, and was backed right well in the pook The big, ungainly New Hoge jailed him to the mast in an easy shape, though Argyle was second. Well, when the second paee was pntnpon the boards, two days* afterward, Argyle was drawn. That was funny to me, so I

i'ust

saw Anderson about it. It would lave killed you to have heard him talk. 'You want to know why I drew my horse,' said he,' and I'll tell you.- During that fast heat the other day, just as we were at the three-quarter pole, and going a 2:12 clip, I said to the young man driving that black gelding, 'We are going some, my boy.' That young fellow looked at me over the wheel, as cool as yon ever saw ice, and answered: 'Oh! no, we ain't. When I turn this whip around in my hand and give him the butt then we'll be going

Couldn't Beat the Widow. Peck's Sun. A Pennsylvania man, being very sick with no hopes of recovery, made his wife promise to have his remains cremated instead 'of planted. He died, and the weeping widow caried out his wish, although much against her inclination, as she was. amply able to havo a first-class funeral. It will take a long time to reconcile most people to the idea of having the dear departed incinerated in fact, it can never Tbecome really popular.

Then she resumed: "Gold

some.' Now, when a country lad can unconcernedly give me that sort of talk a red-hot race, and beat me at that^l hav*\ had enough of him and won't start against him.' And be didn't, either."'

In'due time the manager of the reducing furnace called on the widow with a handsome little ebony casket containing the residum of what had once been her John, and handed it to her with the bill, which was $50. The widow raised the coyer, gazed long and soxrowfnlly at the dust, dropped a pearly tear from each eye thereon, then took a crochet needle and carefully poked around in the ashes. "I hale to mention the subject," said she, "but business is business. Not very I long previous to Mr. B.'s death he had a full upper set of teeth put in on gold plate. There was about $15 worth of gold by actual weight, as he weighed the ."i set and allowed for the weight of the teeth, just out of curiosity, to see if the dentist told the truth, you know. 9e also had on a heavy gold ring of nati re Colorado gold, which was worth as bi llion $7 or $8. In my deep affliction 1 neglected ki remove eittor $f articles, and nMhlirtrH8^Xfl and she tapped the casket wl chet needle.

Jtade-

structible by fire, and you must have found it in the shape of a nugget in ycmr retort. Whj- "ou have not returned it to me I do not ~w but if you wish to keep it, you must credit it on this bill, when I'll pay you the balance."*

The blast-furnace man flushed'a little, and replied something about perquisites, and it being customary to return onfy the ashes of the deceased, when he was interrupted with: "Perquisites nothing! You should have put the gold in the casket end tly&spared me the disagreeable tas)c of ing itay rights. Not a cent5Vill I-pay you until you credit the gold at !uu market rates on the bill. And more than^ that, if you refuse, I shall not hesitate to'** let people know what treatment they may expect if they have themselves consigned to your crematory." And she arose and placed the casket on the clockshelf^ saying as she did so: "Go I would fain be alone for awhile with my dust."

The discomfited man departed, muttering to him&elf, "Awful sharp woman) Wno'd have supposed she'd think of the •late and ring at such a time? Ah, well, '11 never try to beat a woman again— especially'one with black eyes."

Broke His Back in a "Pig Wrestle." Springfield Globe-Be public. Moses Wilson and a companion, while waiting for a threshing machine, thought to indulge themselves in some diversion, and amuse the usual collection.of country people who had gathered for the purpose of threshing the wheat crop. YFIfeon»*»_ his companion cliallenged«ach other for a "pig wrestle," which is thus aMCnKJi The contestante lie down head*to head oa the ground, ^nd at a given signal spring and catch each other the winner is the one who succeeds in turning his antagonist over him as they lie on the ground. Mr. Wilson's opponent proved to be too Strong for him, and, in the great strain exerted, his (Wilson's) back was. broken just below .the shoulders. He is now paralyzed below the fracture, and is wholly unconscious of any feeling below the shoulders.

'.% Essential to a Dinner Party. Forney's Progress. When you give a dinner, it is necessary to do more than merely order it from the caterer, and then be on hand at the stated time. A Bqffstlfi gentleman has arrived, by sad expefi j_ssuit this conclusion. He had the tabte /v*£fty covers, and at big cost, but not 41P came to the feast. He was as malv Mazes, and puzzled himself almost crazy ^VPg to guess what he had don.e that such' an indignity should be put upon him. As he was going to bed that night he happened to Vapen his secrdtarv, and there were all the invitations. Not one had been sent out.

*4A

Spanning From Italy to Sicily. J4? Boston Transcript. The project of a tunnel under the straits of Messina, to connect Sicily with Italy is an enterprise which has long received the attention oi engineers, and been recommended by scientific experts. Recently, however, a Piedmontese company has come forward with a counter project for a bridge, an enterprise^ which, •*. it is remarked, will, if ever carried out, constitute as remarkable a work of the kind as there is in the world. According to the pnblished statement, the width of the strait, at its narrowest point, is about two miles, but owing to the great depth of the water—more than 500 feet—on thia. line, the phjjectore propose to lo ateti£_ bridge where it would have a hagfn of about two miles and a half.^

The plan of this gigantic structure involves four piers, connected by spans of five-eighths of a mile in length, the two shore'arches having half the span of the three central ones.

A Woman's Love./

Philadelphia Call. Young Perkins—Ethel, in a few short days I will be far, far away.

Ethel (languidly)—How far? Young P. (desperately)—I know not— thousands of miles, perhaps.. To-morrow night I shall leave this house, perhaps forever.

Ethel (wi&interest)—What's the matterwith to-night?

Deaf Mutes and Education. There are in the world 397 institutions for the education of deaf mutes. Ger-

many has ninety of these, France sixtvseven, Great Britain forty-six and the United States thirty-eight. Becent careful estimates place the number oi these unfortunates at 800,000.

It is rumored that Mary Anderson is engaged to a young business man of Kentucky, who "was a lover beftmvgltoe went on the stage, and that they-Will soon be married and "settle down."

i'W li

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