Evening Star Newspaper, July 24, 1881, Page 3

STROKE—LADIES WORK, ETC., - Krnosexe ror Warrs.—It is <nid that com ™mon kerosene placed on warts will remove them in a ccuple of weeks. It should be ap twice a day, and if the surface of the art is and dry it xhonid be scratched to promote | the absorption the cure. Fiat Iross.—In damp weather flat irons, un- Jess kept on the stove, are apt to gather mois- ture, get reugh, and sometimes rusty; and it is Rot well to keep them hot ali the time, for a erg 4 Feasons—they are liable te get ed off and broken, and after awhile do not retain the heat as well, and they are in the way. Af you cecasionally rub the smooth surfaces with a bit of beeswax, and then rubonapieceof cloth, they will always keep bright and smooth. If they doever happen to get wet, and so rust lay alittle fine salt upon a smooth board, and rub them over it quiekly while hot. Coup Tea.—As usuaily made, cold tea isan un- ‘wholescme drink. The tea is made in the tea- Pot, as usual, and then cooled therein, and per- haps allowed to stand in the tea-pot for many hours before being dra by this process the tannin of the tea leaves is extracted and the re- Sult is a strong decoction of tannin. To make it ‘operly, the tea should be drawn the usual leuzth of time, say tive minutes for green tea, eight minutes for Oolong tea, and fifteen minntes for Enslish breakfast; then peur it off into pitcher or other suitable yessel, allow it to be- come cool; then place it in the ice-chest. Cane oF THE ErEs.—It is well settled that the eyes are benefited by an amount of system- atic use which preserves the to mus cles and the of the cil. Ne scar is ieft alter jects within the rat people who cannot read the si acute. The wives of such debted to their household maintenance of a h than that of their hus eyes, i 5 y hem, and proper and varied em- Ployment is eminently conducive to their pre- servation and efficiency. Tue Usk or Lewoxs.—t do used generaily Iknow of nothing better as a stom- achic corrective as well as a strenzthener of the Nervous system. We all know that it is used for rheumatism, and I have no doubt is also vd for gout, if takes ularly three times a ry and at least haifa gill at a time. It can be taken inmuch or little water or no water at all. It is not unpleasant, one soon becoming accus- tomed to it, and would rather drink it than the pure water. For headaches it isthe best | eure [have ever used. It will relieve it in from | ten to fifteen minutes by a singie dose. I would | not advise jess than half a gillat a time. I | know of people who take it three times a day | asa preventive of disease, and asa refreshner in | hot weather. It quenches thirst also better | than anything else. No sugar.— Germantown Teelgr: How Mvcu to Eat.—Having tested a number | of meais in a general way, eating more or less each time, find out as nearas may be what isthe oper amount fora meal. Begin with a very | it breakfast of ordinary food, such as you | have been accustomed to, and note the number of hours you can go without feeling a want of More food. Fora very light breakfast, roll, acup ef coffee and a very-small piece of ‘Meat. three hours or less will be found the limit. | This is not offered as a rule, but as a suggestion; not think there is | | her widower, had dropped hi | Blake, who used her needle LOVE ON CRUTCHES. An Old Story ina a New Way. Persis came hopping in like a bird. “Dear, dear !” said she, presently, peering out from a cloud of silks and laces, **what shall I do for « dre: ? is Rhoda Tracy?” pamma. . she has married a widower.” Taibot laughed. , let her go, my dear; you can have Mrs. In other | wor | Blak Yh, but Rhoda is better. Only think of her leaving me and becoming somebody's second wife! For my part I wouldn't thank any man for his affections warmed over. “My little Persis, don't fret. No man will ever offer you his affections, either freshed or warmed over, you may depend on that.” “Then he needn't, and 1 shan't have to refuse | him,” retorted Persis, gaily, as she dipped, swallow like, this way and that, laying away the silks. . But there was a painful flush on her young cheeks, and a moment after she swept gracefully out of the room. Unless you looked twice you would never have divined the cause of her pecu- liar sideways motion. The gold-mounted crutch which peeped in and out of the folds of herdress was like a wand of enchantment, and, as was sald of Mile. Salle, “ail her steps were senti- ments.” When Persis was a baby her perfect beauty had well-nigh wrought her ruin. The nurse, proud of her superb little figure and greceful was accustomed, with criminal reckless- her on a broad mantel and show vay the little crea- ture had a fall which made one limb shorter than the other, famed her for life. Persis had s very little physical pain, but the morti- fication had been intense; it had given a morbid x erwise rose-colored life. ver offer you his affections, you may depend on that,” repeated she, | ing her face in a sofa-pillow. and it is true; I kne' Warner means nothi tender glances. He is as proud as Lucifer, and | Would never abide the mortification of a lame | wife. It does seem cruel! But I will not eat ; By hezrt for any man, med she, spirited- springing up and dashing of the unshed ws, “And now for the party, and a gay new dress! I'll send for Mrs. Blake forthwith. It so happened that Rhoda in flying away with Tr mantle on Mrs. and scissors like a iry straight from theland of elves. How mar. velous a dress she fashioned out of “such stuff as dreams are made of,” and how Persis floated off in it like a vision of beauty! As fair and swe said Celia Warner, as a ‘wounded dove.” Persis caught the words, and the little morbid spot inher heart ached afresh. “No, Mr. Warner,” said she proudly, as he asked her to dan “I prefor to sit inthis w do ;,it is so pleasant to watch the crowd in mo- “Pardon me.” replied Mr. Warner, biting his moustache, and moving away with ‘a graceful flourish. “I was thoughtless to make the re- quest. And he never dreamed that his words hurt. “He forgets sometimes that [am a “wounded dove,” sighed Persis fram the window-seat; “but sooner or later he always comes to his senses.” for it makes a vast difference what you do dur- ing those three hours. A given amount of food | will go further in mannal labor than in mental Tabor, as brain work is more exhausting than hand work. The next time try a littie more, and in the conrse of a learn to j $ you will ely what you require to on your work till the hour ef the next whole eating rn ehad%nongh. Tor rey light luneh be- fore the next m Too much cannot be re- | ed. and you must pay for the indiscretion. is there must Le plain common sense. imitate the invalid who hept a pair of seales on the breakfast table to weizh his daily brewi. Eat and be satisti Food and Health. To Avor s ROKE, exercise in excessively | hot weather should be very moderate; the Clothing should be thin and loose, and an abun- j dance of eold water should be drunk. Work- | men and soldiers should understand that as Soon as they cease to perspire. while working or | marching in the hot sun, they are in danger of | sunstroke, and they should immediately drink Water freeiy aud copiously to aflord matter for Cutaneous transpiration, and also keep the skip | and clothing wet with water. Impending sun- | stroke may often be warded offby these simple Measures. Besides the cessation of tion, the pupils are apt to be contracted, and there is great frequency of micturition. When | there is marked exhaustion. with a weak pulse, | resulting trom the cold water application. we i should administer stimulants. The free use of} Water, however, both externally and internally, | By those exposed to tie direct rays of the sun, is the best lactic against sun stroke, and Iaborers or so! and others who adopt this Measure. washing their hands and faces, as wel | asdrinking copiously of water every time they | ome within reach of it, will generally enjoy | fect immuaity from sunstroke. Straw hats should be worn, ventilated at the top. and the | crown of the hat filled with green leaves or wet | It i& better to wear thin flannel shirts, | check perspiration, ong time in the hot sun, k orsleep ina heated room, and.enjoy perfect immunity from sun-stroke if we ke: our skin and clothing wet with water.—Dr. Ed- | ward C. Mann. A BSeason~aBie Sr ESTION.—Rice water, | barley water. oat meal water, with lemon and Sagar. should be ready in every house where children are. These drinks are surely better than cold tea, which ts often given, or doubtful milk. However, milkis better ‘when it is sweet and pure. Cxocurt Patcuwork.—Cut strips of calico, | muslin, silk or woolen into equal widths. Sew all the bits firmly together. end to end, then ¢rochet them with a short massive hook. It forms a slight open-work, rather rough-looking bat very strong: it can be used In this state as coverlets, etc.. but is nicer mounted ona col- ored lining, or inclosed as a a between two thicknesses of cretonne. to which it is se- @ured by a sort of quilting. —¥. ¥. Tribune. ‘Tue Virtves oF Borax.—The washerwomen of Holland and Belgium. so proverbially clean and who get up their linen so beautifully white, Use refined borax as washing powder, instead of Seda, inthe proportion of one large handful of | powder to about ten gallons of boiling | water: they say Sot (tegaark half. All of the Iarge washing establishments adopt the same Plan. For laces, cambrics and lawns an extra ap of the powder is used, and for crino- requiring to be made stiff a strong solution Isnecessary. Borax being a neutral salt does not in the slizhtest degree injure the texture of | the liven. Its effect is to soften the- hardest | water. | | I on ribbon or # cord to mat A similar case. rather smaller, could be made for @ochet hooks. Ask for the little rings at a fancy store or hardware shop. for steel knit needies could be made of erimson felt. which wili keep the needles bright; is fign and strong and very nice to work. a eighteen inches 1o1 throuzh this put g 3 f 2 < g ° FF: i Fy R ied, and then stop.— |. We may ex- | he than anything, | F; ling | the poor young lawyer could not There was one man who did not forget, and that was Ephraim Zelie. But, then, Persis did not care very much what Ephraim remembered or what he forgot. He was a worthy younz man, and si lin her girlish intolerance, “if there's one thing stupider than another your worthy young man!” He taught school, studied nd Iam not sw a general con e drawing a sound tooth. He was the most industrious of men,and the kindest of sons a widowed mothe wei his angles as acute as cliffs of eyebrow Is were horny, aud all his yer's wits ‘ing Miss Persis alone in the window seat entured to go up and add though rt thumped a ioud opposition to such w do you do, Miss Persis?” said he, offer- his honest hand, while his plain fac escaped oming ery well, Ephraim; and how are you?” re- plied < Tousing from a sad reverie. ways calls him “Ephraim,” because known him from a boy. He had lived a year at her father’s, and worked for his board while attending the academy. How Ephraim at this moment envied © other youths their nonehalance of manner! Here was he | standing beside the - very woman he wished most to please, but he was tongue-tied. She sat there self-possessed and beautiful. scan- ning him from head to foot, he thought, She was not faery nad in the least, but she might have placed him at his ease, and she did not care to doit. If she had once turned the con- versation to “old times,” and the well-remem- bered ineidents of that too happy year, Ephraim would have been himself ina moment. Would he ever forget the afternoon on the ‘basin,” and the efforts he made to teach her how to skate, having first modeled for the shoemaker a pair of little skates which were mismated to ait her unequal feet. How carefully he had guided her over the ice! He kept the precious red com- forter still, the “life-preserver” she had cailed it. by which she had clung to him in her timid efforts to stand upright. . In those old times Persis liked him; he was sure she did. He had sat in the jtchen whi ded at his Latin grammar—if was a hard —and her bright face been as good ag an extra lamp. She had confided to him | her childish sorrows, which generally sprang from one cause—her lameness; and he liad pitied her with all his heart. Then his awkwardness and ugliness had raised no barrier between them; but latterly it seemed different. Persis as _a young lady was much admired. She had learned to ‘set a high value on wealth and appearances; much of the childlike simplicity was gone from her character. phraim never saw her now but he thought of his ungainly hands and feet, and every mole-hill of a mountain. Persis had spent years at a boarding school forming her mind and mann and though Ephraim was fully alive to all the ac- quired elegance, he mourned for the old-time cordiality. It had got lost in the process of polish- ing. He wasrising in the world; he thought that she might see one day that he had not been laboring for nauzht: but his hope of winning her for a wife was dying a slow, hard death. While he was still stammering before her, try- ing to find words for his thoughts, Stanley War- ner approached, sparkling with the exhilaration of his dance. Persis had been watching him while she talked abeently with Ephraim; and now, as he smiled down upon her gracionsly,she looked up at him with a glow in her eyes which , He turned on his heel and walked away, grinding — resentful thought under the sole of his big rt. Persis scarcely noted that he went. Some time hence, when years of experience should soften her harsh judgments, she would learn to appreciate a lump of genuine gold, even though half buried in quartz; not yet. “Was it a mt dance, Mr. Warner?” said she, playing with the delicate fan she had just rescued from the clumsy clasp of Mr. Zelie. * Indifferently so, Miss Persis. With another lady I might mention as partner it would have been impossible to say how charming.” Persis blushed, agreeably to ex; ation. Mr. Warner like to play with those blushes; it was elightful to call them up at his biddit such right, shy things that even the odious crutch was forgotten, or glorified, in their rosy light. “So, in spite of my neglect, you were not left to play the wall-flower.” continued he, taking a seat beside her and boldly possessing himself of her little gma nota |-flower,” repeated she, timid], half withdrawing her band, haif yielding it 6 he had The heart of his little friend had long been him an open book, and yery easy readio: t that Persis was by any means forward and unmaides but’ she had not yet learned the woinan’s lesson of eoncealing “her emotion: Perhaps if there had beea a trifle more of the Diindness of love athwart the young man’s vis- | lon he could not have seen to read so clearly. He sit admired Persi he thought he loved her, or that he should love her ifhe | dared. But then that terrible erutch! It swung | over his head like the sword of Damocles. To- night he seemed for the first time to forget it. She looked so unnsually beautiful; she had such sincere affection for him; how could he | Tesiat the attraction? | “Persis,” said he, in low, thrilling tones, | “words cannot say howdear you are to me. May | Thope,” ete., ete. A commonplace love scene. Another was going on under the same roof that very evening, hot a pin’s choice between the two; but you may be sure it was ail as fresh and glorious to Persis as if the world had just been created, and she and Stanley e in it. The littte hand which layin his was not withdrawn, nor | Was there the faintest sion of indifference in the ny bent timidly on the floor. It all ended in the most orthodox manner; they left the party betrothed. As Persis passed Ephraim on the beapenbule he faltered out a hurried “Good-night,” and she | beatned down upon him so graciousty that he | walked home on a bed of roses, and never really came to his senses till Mrs. Blake dropped into tea a week afterward and said ‘charming new | friend, Persis Talbot, was golf to be marrie Now Mrs. Blake was own aunt to Ephraim. | (Think what a plebian he must have been to have a relative who took in sewing!) She was a quiet, sensible woman, who attended strictly to ber own business, and had almost pricked away her left forefinger down to the bone. What she said was usually the simple truth, and you might depend on it. ¥ “Persis Talbot, did you &: asked he, pick- +a currant out of abun with the coolest de- ition. stanley Warner; the affair is cut and ” replied the not over elezant Aunt Blake, as indifferently, her nephew thought, as if she had been alluding toa bushel of pivp ins. Mr. Zelie sat late at his desk that night, did scrib- Died a black “Ichabod” on every blank bit of paper at hand. It was all the outward sign he ever gave of the hidden wound. His own mother observed no change in him except that he fell away from his food,” and stoed in daily need of camomile tea. Even Persis herself, ‘walking on_ thrones,” Reyer once suspected | she was trainping over a heart. The happy young creature saw in li but one shadow. and that was the shadow of her erutch. It might now be supposed to grow but, on the contrary, it rather increased. mother,” she sighed one day, ““Stanie it is all the defect I have—this lameness, I mean. ‘Does he?” remarked Mrs. Talbot, dryly, and with the set look about the lips she alw ys wore: when Stanley’s name was mentioned. “Does he? Then I suppose he is thankful for that one defect. Not being anywhere near an rel himself, he can’t wish for perfection in you.” “Oh, mamma, he knows I ain very human, indeed; it is only his way of talking,” said Per- sis, with one of her quick blushes. *T should | be glad for his sake to walk like other people. | Do you know there is a way—a terrible way—I | hardly dare to tell youn—” ** 4 terrible way to what “To walk,” Persis, the color dying out entirely, and her white lips trembling a: spoke.“ Amputation—as far as the ankl Then when the time comes, a cork -foot. You know, mamma. a cork foot walks beautifully.” “Persis Talbot! How could you conceive such a dreadful idea 2?” : “Oh, T heard of a girl once who had it done. I have seen her—Abby Harlow. pa would never detect the slightest limp. ou know, mamma, all the patent contrivances for the feet | do nogood. Imus s swing this cruel, de- testible crutch unle what she | entle Pe Has he the two natures met sometimes and struck fir I think, mamma.” said the you! shall zo to ation I spoke of. 1. a few ton and submit pat you will think He is going . War too.” There was no help forit. Persis had set her feet in the “terrible way,” and Mrs. rot, with a mother’s heart, could do no less than follow. The world knew nothing of the object ofthe journey. But Ephraim Zelie learned it from his Aunt Blake, who, unless she shut her ears, could not help hearing the warm discus- stons between mother and daughter which were incantlously carrted on in her presence. Woman- like, Mrs. Blake took sides with that “cold- blooded Warner,” who “hadn't any more feel- ing than a billet of rock maple.” She went to her nephew with the story because she knew he had friendly interest in Persis. “But if you'd never set eyes on the sweet lamb you couldn't but want to take her part,” cried she, thrusting her needle into a bit of Ss savagely as if it had been an ims ‘d, and the cloth the Mr. Warner. Ephraim set his teeth together and whittled a shinzle into the shape of a tomahawk. It would have been a waste of breath to tell Aunt Blake how he longed to rush to the rescue and save his devoted Persis from her “ard-wood” ad- iirer. “If she was going to marry a man with a soul as big as a ninepence, I think I could bear it,” groaned he inwardly. ‘Oh, little Persis, is there nobody to save you? My poor dear lamb!” Mcanwhile the traveling party of four wa: cheerful one to all appearance; and the tw lovers, living on siniles and moonbeams, seemed to forget the terror that was to come. “Tain doing it for Stanley;” this was the girl’s inar’ | conscious that when did you see Abby Harlow? Who | H ou?” r wi | certainly were not dimmed by want of sleep. 3," sald Pe have spent the shali not give up can never keep you and T must go separaye wi whole! not blame you for being wh ith his piacid blue whieh with asad em is. “I ht in thinking. I do you are; bat [ my eruteh, Stantey, aad so I pace with you. For the futur: my friend. “My sweet Persis, you have never so much Ss hinted at this before. patronage in it to “My nerves are something quite, difficulty. ly presence of the thrust from her “Persis! Miss hands extended. home, and when yulsion of feeling ward. will. He did not Boston for her s to be profoundly “You can’t help | poor Persis, stifling the sv jinhim. At that moment their old friendship | asserted its half-forgotten sw | ried back in feeling to the ith all her childish #riefs sympathetic Eph gone ‘ard, ‘worth it would never do mother and I—for “God grant it! | No idea of Persis’ meaning, but secretly | ant that she was going home, and the object of the Journey had not been accomplished. The days and regard. of me.” At last Stanley br a millstone | like mice,” which lrille bitter; top of her crutch a ved her fron me brought b d more than oni did not care for lo M thought mamm: her knitting, friends again; but exterior, like a She had grown a It took a bitt differ happy brid one da, to me even if it is “ Oh, no,” she repl: inj Were, curving, And marvelous thought. The time of trial drew near. Thus far Persis had not faltered. The next day would prove how much her stout heart could bear. od night, dearest!” said Stanley as they parted at the foot of the staircase in the hall of their hotel. “Goodnight! Don’t dream of cruel steel, ‘Dream of me and the graceful little bride I shall claim one of these days.” The old ready blush flickered on Persis’ cheek; but no smile came with it. She shuddered and drew away. Something in her lover's tone hurt her. She had heen half conscious of the same thing before; but to-night, as if she had wakened to it for the first time, ft gave her a thrill of pain. ie pillow. But the Ui Kad somehow gone out of the words. What if she were doing it for Stanley? Was that going to take away the terror and t! agony? Was there | and breadth and dey enough in his love to atone for all this? How could he let her suffer so? Ah, there was the sting! Not that he had suaded or even ad- vised her; but then he certeinly had not opposed the undertaking. He had let her see clearly that he should be gratified if she had the fortitude to bear it, And why? Because then he could claim a “graceful bride” Not a “wounded dove.” Not woman who faltered in her gait, bak one who walked among other women as their peer. And this was the way he‘loved her! The man for whom she had already to sacrifice so much! Persis could not sleep. “Her soul kept up too much light Under her eyes for the night.” Next morning she knocked betimes at her mother’s door. “« What is it, my daughter ?” “When does the early train leave, mamma? I think I will go home.” “Why, Persis, this is the day—” “On which I have come to im: senses.” “What do you mean, child z i it 4 i 5 3 i i iHE iM bl | it fork the Persis, that young tly." touch of Mr. Simple heart he had this mad anes: fart ou iven up 5 “it that if pae praying for.” His innocence scratch! At first, as was ‘weather, How hot and h have had a vision of what real love is, “Poor child.” replied “Mr. Warner, indal, “as if [had ever advised, as if I wished—” But the girl had fled. Out of the room, out of the house, pes: Just ‘then, te | man she‘had determined to | home this morning. i I cannot tell you what—which | happy; but it is all for the best Ephraim, and | one of these days I shall gee it so.” dreary ones for Persis. have borne the surgeon's kni warm regrets of Stanley, who felt that gallantry | demanded him to pursue her for a certain length | of time with protestations of his undiminished Persis and Mr. all alike,” she said. But somehow when F tined and rejoiced. so at Jast the “worth: warded for his years of hope! er experien nee between gold and tinsel, hopping up to her hu: y and stroking his rugged eyebrow unfeeling breast of| her slender hand; but now-a-da Ephraim, a lump of the gen’ ank you,” laughed Ephraim, Your ne e fresh air e walk in t d talk The tone was kind, but there was just enouzh | itate Persis aud confirm her in her new resolve. as firm 23 stecl. Ch, Stanley, nd it is quite different from yours !" Perais’ voice quivered, and words came with | ut heart. Gasping a little for breath, but otherwise composed and quiet, she at the end of the corridor, near an open door, and casually glanced out at the street.. In doing so her eye fell upon a familiar face. she turned suddenly away, but not before she | had been observed. and Persist” cried an eager voice, and Ephraim Zelie rushed up the stairs with both She had not thought of seine a friend from ho came forward and greeted her with such unusual warmth of manner, a re- swept over her, the fearful calmness gaye way, and she sobbed like a child. “Dear Persis, if 1 could only do anything for you,” said Ephraim, hanging over her tenderly, and in his earnestness fo tting to bea He never doubted she was weeping at thought of the outrageous suffering before her, and he could have fonght his dastardly rival with a zood i} t tell her that he had come to | ke, just to learn how it fared with her; much less would he haye had her know that he slept as little last night as herself, and was now on his way to the errand; to beg him to have p | “If there were onty something I con!d do for you,” repeated Mr. Zelie in an aony, not daring |. to speak more explicity, for be was supposed rgeon's on a fool’ yand stay his knife morant of the whole affair. Me, you can't help me den wish to confide she was car- ears when she had to this awk- ‘aim, But no, to tell him what she was suffering now; pride forbade. “We ‘have ‘been here at a few day Some = has oceurred. makes me un- jaculated Mr. Zelie, 4 ‘ult- weeks which followed were She could far better than the luke- “No,” replied Persis firmly, and feeling more | and more that she was in the right, ~ | make it possible for you torepent and be ashamed will no made a final bow and with- drew, a little relieved, perhaps, to find his per- sistence all in vain. charming creature, but- he had all along been nis ‘feelings had betrayed him ‘ash engazement. is was certainly a Ala around a could trip & hat was the way he loved me,” s nd she cai @ lost e lover ve,” s the wind in that quarter?” and went on dewurely with Zelie had grown to be fast it was a long time before Persis understood the nature of their friendship orcame to any knowledge of the deep love which lay concealed beneath Ephraim’s rough ure fountain underground. ittle distrustful. “Ben were v young man” ine ore lovks good ed in quartz, if you mean half bur —— Transfer in the Tannel, lied, with a smile so entranc- When he-ventured to ask if the seat were en- waged, That the hurry and worry ef business commo- n for the time being, entirely essuaged. Oh, that chin with its dimple and wonderful fairness, he'd ne'er seon its match, Z And Eucd grestly enhanced by a bit of court plaster. thought was concealing a natural, they talked of the ow sultry the day that had Then spoke of the last showy wedding of fash- How enormous amassed, the fortune the groom had The next thing in order, of course, was the tun- n Sec) t oe When You Can Strip the Bark from a Tree. A notion prevails among tree men that if on the longest day of the year, June 21, the bark darkness of Egypt—whatever that rhe Tam doing it for Stanley,” thoughtshe, as her | AP4 (Ne, Yete black patch, when they merged head sought th ih belies come la her chin to his. izzie B. Walling. of a tree is entirely peeled off no ce pt be imme- done. the tree, but that @ new bark diately grow thereon. A gentleman in one of the central counties of the state, having on his preinises an old and worthtess apple tree which the experiment, alt he had intended to cut —o the tree would live. June he stripped the surprise the leaves but grew right alo ing a fine new bark. termined to try little ae that Accordingly, on the 31 bark entirely off, and to his of the tree even did not wilt, nz, and the tree is now grow- It ts explained that about sap'of the tree does not though ‘he the | . A FLUSH AXD A STRAWGRT. ] | Deacon Stiderbacks Experience with Whiskey | Poker. | From the Boston Star, | Deacon Stia | eards, waich he whatever piace may be submitted for the old fashioned brimscone factory, bat he likes to | play “authors.” and indalzes ia that mild diss | Important matters coanected wil con Magruder’s grocery. James Bowers, had devised a gam? of whiskey poker to played with the traly zood and ii thors” cards; so he purchased ap them along to the nextconference oa the prop- in Deacon Magruder’ evening. | was interrupted by James Bowers m: | Teadily assented, and, after playing a while, James voted the game dull and unfolded some | ideas about making it more knew the two deacons were whol | the national game of draw, and he | them the relative value of pai The deacons and James deait the hands, and explained that the five cards turned down on the table =! | the * hand and that, the | the ege had | for the “wide and passing the own ff the community i idows and fatheriess, hy his reputation by picking up the “wid Deacon Mazruder drew “Evangeline” to low.” snapped up of Seven Gal deacons had fonr points and James only tw: pack ti and Deacon Magruder stood pat and knocked. | down his hand, one | Lamps of Architectur back aeerly picked up. ave laying down | Hommo Quit Rit the s and at sthe Hold on. can beat the you?” ety “Napoleon’ the boss hand out.” ‘s, that’s what I call it. y fool knows a fool, Deacon Sliderbac uh ight.” . becanse it Ba pat, and you fille: | grader, about that card table; glasses of cider in his own store, it | was shown up. | time, though, if you give in beaten.” “ Do you me: emotion. ‘ion should —— “Didn't I'see you deal the Venice” to yourself offthe bottom of the pack, and never say anything about it?” + You're a liar!” igaloot.” | store, tipped over a gallon.of molass | wallowed around in cighbors came in, 0 sack, Deacon ‘ doubled up ina bushel. basket, with his arms hanging outside, and his le: pointing up toward the salt codfish hi | from the rafters and both were glaring saya: ing hard for wind, while James Bow on the counter chokin r havige gathered up_ the deck over the floor. ———— Talking Birds. | From the Leisure Four. only birds that “talk. his ‘alents on to giv not in any sense be considered as a song. have known a hooded crow to say “* owner—not the hoodie’s papa, but his master’ The starling talks very even the human votce, tolerable degree of accuracy. The mocking bird, too, so well known in some the songs of nearly-all his feathered neighbors. sion of value from that circumstance. nations of the human voice. A accustomed to hear its mistress, an invalid, say, | Sing that again!” up, and was soon able to repeat, but its educa- tion made no further progress, and no additional song. it is wholly incorreet to: ing isever attached by has a pions aversion to ORS upon as fhe passes to ition in the bosom of kis family when he can't & good excuse for remaining down town. t the charel often compel him to stay oat late in consuita- it is not that! It is that you are willing to let | tion with the other deacons, and upon tho. me do it! Don’t you talk to me of love! I | casions the spiritaa! condition of the be: heathen is discussed in the back room of Dea- a worldly young man: but a very entertaining and lively companion, takes part ia these discussions | once ina while. Mr. Bowers isa discreet younz James readin the paper that an Elmira man | agation of the faith amoag the Esquimaux, held | back room, on Saturday Deacon Sliderback and Deacoa Ma- grader held aa argument about the amount of | saying grace an Esquimaux could absorb; which ng Soine flippant remark about bear's grease, and suz- | | gestinga same of authors. The two deacons nm Stiderback held | ail pack discarded, | ys 2” which was | |, to pair with “The House | the hands of. Th around twice, hibited two pairs. Cooper | ji} james had three Hawthornes, giving | jij Deacon Sliderback a point for the lowest hand. The game went along all right until each of eo | being agreed that the man getting five points first would be stuck for the drinks. It was Deacon Sliderback’s deal, and he passed the ames, who cut the “Stones of Venice” for the bottom card, taking a sly glance at it as he did so. The deacon tossed around the cards, while James picked up the “widow” and threw | f the cards being “Seven | “which Deacon Slider- ‘ou got?” said Deacon Magru- L’ | vluntness. edin Deacon Sliderback, “I You say it’s a straigit, don't What haye you remarked i down you haye, and I hit, then; mine’s a flush, and it beats wasn’t going to say anything, Deacon Ma- you dropped under the | it when a member of the church stoops to such athing to get out of setting up his three as time he I won't mention it outside this toaccuse me of cheating, Dea- iderback?” said Magruder, in a tone of iiThat's about the size of it, I am pained to ay, sir, and it grieyes me that a professor of ‘ou dry up, you old fraud!” yelled Ma- “Stones of “You're another, you dumbfounded old mul- Then they clinched and fought all over ke an he contents of an upset t * ting on the floor with Zz with u ards and seattered a genuine poker Parrots, starlings and jackdaws are not the Birds not possessed of native power of melody are usually gifted with very varied abilities of articulation. A hooded crow, for instance, can produce an astonishing variety of complex noises from his throat, and y lack cultivation to enable him tterance to words; but his natura! lan- guage fs the very reverse of melodious, and can- Papa!” with vat correctness, and what is more remarkable, ey invariably Siilied the name to its proper ly indeed to fellows, but he is one of the best mimics we have, imitating the notes of other birds. and with great accuracy. Mazpies also can be taught to articulate with a parts of the United States, has no natural melody of his own, but he contrives to copy ina most faithful manner Curiously enough, the only cases I have known of talking canaries have occurred in the west of England, but am not able to draw any conclu- Itmay be a mere coincidence, or there may possibly be a certain family of canaries settled in, the west country, whose peculiar gift it is to imitate, with a fair amount of accuracy, the various into- was owned by a lady in Weston-super-Mare was | 0u conclusion of its song, “Oh, 5 { words were acquired. The short sentence was never uttered save after a brilliant burst of | The Mad King of Abyssinia. rom jordion in Central Africa. The is rapidly crowine mad. » noses of Hi ¢ cuts of | went to him, his toba Ras Aloula strnek salute Ras Al box dropped ° rgapstrey! He said they wished it strated about the tobae se. No one can if he is a forel You buy nothing without the King’s onder; no 0 will shelter you w Mis order, —in no more coniplete desy could exist. not last; for the king will go on from one madness to another. Orders were sven that no one was to approach me; nor was I to speak to any. The officer who conducted. me to the king, the second in command to Aloula, met his uncle and cousin. in chains, | and durst not ask why they were chained. The man of some 45 years, a sour, ill- king bel He never looks you in look away he of thorow, ail, I man.’ Avar all his people, who do — not lity, his idea of a free port is th steamers will arrive from the powers of Europe with pr r him, to sending a letter with the ny bi thi - v Tha’ er met with amor The peasantry a says he can beat united £ hating unhappy and no more but Im He is of th drunk ov eading the Psalins. a pray i never would he were @ would mi: have a Bibl He | sat my opening his ‘Ile I know, and indeed knew, that 1 provoking him while in his power nt on the verse, “The hearts of kines are in the Lord; as the rivers of water, He turneth them as He wiileth.” 1 khedlve, knew the king well. He s ever go near him; it is perfectly use one legitimate son, Ras Arya Salam, ‘itimate. Two sons of Theodore are with Jamayou! Ty that he His name was known ‘in ail the land, and the people thought that our government | would send him here. : sees Sa The Real Iago, EY RICHARD GRANT WHITE. Tago was a young man, only twenty-eight years old,—the youngest of all the men who figure in the tragedy, excepting, possibly, Rod- |erigo. He says of himself that he has looked upon the world for four times seven years. Brave, and a good soldier. he was also of that order of ability which lifts a man speedily above his fellows. His manners and his guise were of a dashing military sort; and his manner had a corresponding bluntness, tempered at times by tact to a warm-hearted edusiveness,— by the very tact which prompted ti div sumed, wes consciously adopted. ertheiess, | he had littie malice in his composition; and un- E good reason he would rather se In a todo harm to any or rone out of his w upon a worm, been no bat years; there is no memory or record of him. The elder Booth’s Iago was an admirable perform- anee, almost wonderful in its force and keeping. I saw It in my boyhood just as this great actor was staggering off the stage; and nothing equal to it have I ever seen except Rachel's per- formances. But it was the simple, rep- resentation of a hardeved, crafty villain, a mon- ster of hate and of cruelty. The climax of the whole performance was in the Parthian look which Jago, as he was borne off wounded and in bonds, gave Othello,—a Gorgon stare, in which hate seemed both petrified and petrify- ing. It was frightful. Edwin Booth's concep- tion of the character, although not so clear and stron; finer, more delicate, and more com- <0 is not externally a mere hard- in, but a super-subtle Venetian, who fiendis plans with a dexterous of touch and sfhooth sinuosity of move- nt that sugyest the tran: aS We Say of a sna’ their hideous look because ny malignancy of expre: sion. But even Edwin Booth’s lago, although mueh finer and more nearly consistent with it- self and with the f a n to the annals of the stage, Kespeare drew, and whose lineaments, moral and physi et before the reader. The citlef ca tion and habit | life—to men_ into to regard them individually as the em- | bodiment of some one passion, or motive, or | type of character. Iago is a crafty hypocrit nd therefore the stage has sought to set before us his hypocrisy and_ his craft in such a manner embodied, and he is nothing else. Now the truth is that the em! of such a simple combination of moral baseness and mental sub- z ——_—_-e-______ Shrinkage and Swellage. Detroit Free Press. “I tell you, sah, dis partnership bizness am powful resky,” said the old man as he nibbled a green onion at the Central Market. “‘Las’'month I went into partnership wid Caesar White in de ut bizness. He furnished de roaster an’ I uzht de peanuts, an’ we was to whack up on profits. Dat Cwsar am a bad man, an’ doan’ you forgit it. If 1 hadn't bin on de watch fur him I'd bin cleaned out sky-high. What sort of a game d ose he tried to play on me?” No one could guess, and, finishing the rest of his onion, the old man continued: “Well, sah, when we come to roas’ dem pea- nuts dat Cesar wanted me to believe dat de Shrinkage ofisot all my sheer in de biznes, an’ he ordered me to get away from dat roaster an Hine if bat [| For that, although not exactly as- | Seen upon the stage for the last two hundred | gter will begin on the —W. E. Sheridan opened in San Francisco | this week. Charlotte Thompson will join tim THE COMING SEABON September play it under ti — Another sat My be ready new Chicago th has a very imposin actress, is in New al hat she and both act — Sam'lof Pow onger and then Toth theaters wi Mr. F season already with week Fourteenth Street The probably be kept on th AMUSEMENTS IN WASHING» w i has nearly filled the zements y has rewritten Bartley and Lilian ¢ Clark wil tle of A Dangerous Woman, i “ty stery is to be pug It is entitied Ruth, ap ea by Mes. 8. Evers t August 15. auine Colored Minstrels safled They are sixty-three tn — Wallack’s new theater in New York will before Ni, er ag front. rssing rapidly. Miss Fanny Addison, » well-known English York and it is sald to be probe her sister, Carlotta Addison, running at Haverley's New York. It will stage for a month er will be closed for WUTE NEXT Season. we is stil the th Tirelre Jolly Bochelors in the title of @ > oper to be produced in Boston by John A. Stevens. — John T. Raymond closed his season at Den- i Tt is now sa! Wagner Trii toe it set him nie Hauck troupe, and has be Majesty's, Campanin Don Jose.” Dot uneg te the first performa the soprano role. —Mana, phia, has closed a | probable, judging | next fall. She is to | se in; | through t Mendum’s ¥ the world The m & new Ture: Baron Bodor Orezy. T lis vaeation extends to Bep- ens ta Boston. at Her Majesty's, and pects to induce Wagner himself it wer not that the author of han hates the sea, perhaps Haye hu hag, be een sineinge 1 OV The “Michacla” is —of all per- Swit, whe new figures as elt; promised is ri \ anvedk ce, and Miss Juch isto sing + Mendum, of the Arch, Phitadel- contract with Anna Dickinson, and if that lady comes to time, which isn't very from the past, she will appear » play in Aurelian and a Crown Thorns, and Mr. Mendum hopes te be able te W.'E. Sheridan to support her. Accord- contract, Miss Dickinson’ is to star ntry One of the objects of Mr. and is to arrange for her | appearance there next spring. | Mlle. Rhea, whom H. J. Sargent ts going |to bring over here next fall to play Modjeska’s roles in English, is a very bright and well-edue cated French actress, who has made some repu- | tation at St. Petersburg, but her recent attempt to play in English in London was not a success. She essayed Much Ado About Nothing for one afternoon only and it was generally said that she might have inade a pretty good *Beutrice” if | she had known th e language. Possibly she may | learn to speak English before November. | —Mrs. Burnett. . of Washington, assisted by Mr. Gillette, is converting two of her stones into a play, whieh will probably be presented at the opening of the next regular season of the Madison Square Theater, New York. —Max Strakosgh will open his next opera season here as usual and then go te New Or- leans, where he expects to and to remain t * gone to pieces. 1 to him. — The Honion-1. wed. — The er on pen in December De Bea rster ise weeks, je says that G eos open at the Park, N , in September, in their wonderful Journey in Switee critics gx agree that Rubenstein’s 1 Demonio, which has been pro duced at Covent € own direction, character, it is more ar jardem under the composer's js strangely destitute of dramatic Though writ! within the past few rtithe ventional and seme ni of a semi-Orie rinking al character, — Kate Claxton will have an entirely new | company next season. | later. genuine hit with © ton Museum. ‘The Plan Adopted Detroit Free Press. | When a boy’s hair time to cut it, and The boy doesn't w: | ever had a speak who thought the t | part with enough hair to stuif a sofa pillow. | They must be coerced, and kind There is no use In fooling around about it. Booth's The- — Nat Goodwin is reported to have mage a Cinderella at School, in the Bes» —__—$<o.—___. CUTTING 4 BOYS HAIR, by “3. Quad” with Distine Success, has become long and and scraggy, and fall of urrs and feathers, it is the inevitable must be faced. ‘ant it cut, of course. Noone ing acquaintance with a boy ime had arrived when he could | promises are thrown method. I let_ my boys | when I ical, have just been | ran about nnd | “Come out here and make ready!” | Tnever take any chances on a boy. | old chair i begin work. bolted to the floor, aud then I bolt the melts beak wee ek oor oft in his neither nor @ soft gag ‘ mouth to prevent & neighborhood alarm. and ‘he th IT fix him so he can move toward cutting a Soy’s hair is to put inten minutes of hard work | with acurry comb. If he hasn't been bi Any attempt to screw driver, damage his Su five minutes, and after being able to then takes an began on. of his ears his head is altered. my boy, and has ski him over and identify him as the same His neck bas grown longer, loose over two or three years this tool an average boy of his capil y substance. hurry tne job will result in verlooking a lot of shingle iails, the ee ae ‘or something ‘which may hat. My average is Y have only two pe see that he has a sealp. ten minutes to £ iy F and the When I son of z & e z i 5 eR eed | HH