Evening Star Newspaper, July 25, 1881, Page 3

HOME SSAS0NABLE stGGESTIONS—iow wrCH TO RAT— THE CARE OF THE KYES—nOW TO avorD * STEOKE—LApTES Worx, ETC., ETC. Kenosexe ror Wants.—It is Mon kerosene them in a ccup! twice a day hard and 4: the absorp: the cure. that com- placed on warts will remove of weeks. It should be applied y.and if the snrface of the wart is tion of the cil. No sear is jett after Fiat Troxs.—in damp weatherfiat irons, un- Jess kept on the stove, are apt to gather mois- ture, gei reugh, and sumet rusty; and it is Rot well to keep them hot all the time, for a many reasons—they are liable to cet ‘ed of and broken, ond after awhile do not Fetain the heat a3 well, and they are in the way. Af you occasionally rub the Smooth surfaces with a bit of beeswax, and then rubonapieceof cloth, they will always keep bright and smooth. If they do ever happen to get wet. and so rust,lay a little Ane salt upon.a smooth board, and rub over it quickly while hot. Coup Txs.—As usually made, colé tea isan un- ‘Wholescme drink. The tea is male in the tea- Pot, as usual, and then cooled therein, and pe haps allowed to stand in the t pot for many hours before being drank; by this process the tannin of the tea leaves is ex ed and the re- sult is a strong decoctic an To make it perly, the tea should be dry ath of time, say five minutes { green tea, eight minutes for Volong tea, and fitteen minutes for English breakfast; then pour it off into a Pitcher or other suitable vessel, allow it to be- Come cool; then place it in the ice-chest. Cane oy THe Eres.—It is weil settled that the eyes are benefited by an amount of sy atic use which preserves the tone of their mut nf their blood vd by the than that eyes, if one Way hurtful to th Ployment is Servation and efi Tue Usk or Lemons.—I do not think there is an hundredth part of lemon-juice used generally as its valuable qualities would seem to com- mend. I know of nothing a stom- achic corrective as well as a strengthener of th Rervous syste We all know that it is used for oy least half a gill taken inmuch or little water or no w: . and I have ne dd a Tt can bi er at all. asa preventive hot weather. It _quenche: than anything else. Teelgraph. How Mveu To Eat.—Having tested a number Of meals ina general way, eating more or less each time, find out as nearas may be what isthe thirst No sugar.— Germantown al better ry food, such as you customed to, and note the number an go without feeling a want of Fora very light breakfast, say one all piece of sund the limit. nsgsrestio ou do dur- n, take more. ak, ho We. s business the Bittle cx fore tie 1 ined, be tand be satistied, and then Pood and ter To Avor Sey- hot we: clothing ance of ev men 3 h stop “RORE, should be ould be thin al should under perspire, wh in the hot sun, th Lthey s ately drink aud copiously to afford matter for Cutaneous transpiration, and also keep the skin and clothing wet with water. Impending s ‘ be warded offby thes 3 the cessation of ira tion, the pupiis are apt to be contracted, and ; of micturition. When ion, with a weak pulse, from the cold water application, w minister stimulants. The free use of water, however, both externally and internally, By those exposed rect rays of the sun, Is the best pr ie against stn stroke, and ersand others who adopt Measure. washins their haads and fi exercise in excessively moder: drunk. with green to wea ch perspiratic a long time in We may ex- le hot ‘san, wet with water.—Dr. Ed- sTION.—Rice with in every hou inks are xiven, or doubt is better than anything, ‘and pure. er Patcuworx.—Cut strips of calico, w it is sw all the bits firmly together, end to end. then wita a short massive hook. It i ork, rather rough-looking trong: it cau be used in this state as ys . but is nicer mounted ona col- two thicknesses of cretonne, to which it is se- ured by a sort of quilting. —N. ¥. Trifune. ‘Tur Virtvss oF Borax.—The washerwomen (Of HoUsad and Belgium. so Proverbially clean and who get up their linen so beautifully white, Ure relies} borax as washing powder, instead of foda, inthe proportion of one large handfal of powder to about ten gallons of boiling water; thes save in sap nearly half. Ali of the large washing establishments adopt the sanie Plan. For laces, cambrics and lawns an extra tity of tke powder is used, and for crino- requiring to be if a strong solution Isnecessary. Borax being a neutral salt does Rot ip the slizhtest degree injure the texture of the licen. its eifect is to soften the hardest water. Cases ror Kyrrtry Goth or velvet aed ty bind t NerEpies.—Cut from pieces about ei three oii i 2 the bottom of the rasten a lit h point at ad it, and or a cord to match. A , could be made for Ask for the little rings at a . A pretty case could be made of a Cut a piece cighteen inches long, ten inches wide; turn over a piece at the left hand five and g@half inches; this makes the partin the case t fant hand fold over a piece of four inches; forws a ft: Make these two inches ry it should be scratched to promote | nm the usual | rthin flannel shirts, | or Inclosed as a padding between | the four divisions for the needles. At the ; this ‘ap to go over the ends ofthe needles. LOVE ON CRUTCHES. 4n Oi Story in a New Way. ar, dear! cloud of silks for # dressimak ne, prese ad laces ne to fill a yaeancy, mamma, In other she has married a widower.” Mrs. Talbot laughed. | “Weil, let her go, my dear; you can have Mrs. | Blake.” . | “Oh, 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 littie Persis, don't fret. No man willever | offer you his affections, either freshed or warmed over, you may depend on that.” “Then he needn't, and I shan't have to refase 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 aftef she swept gracefully out of the room. Unless you looked twice you | would never kaye divined the cause of her pecu- liar s motion. The sold-mounted crutch which peeped in and out of the folds of herdress was like a wa id of enchantment, and, as was ie, “all her steps were senti- hen Persis was a baby her perfect beauty had well-nigh wrought her ruin. The nurse, proud of her superb little figure and graceful poses, was accustomed, with criminal ree Ress, to perch her on a broad mantel and show her off to visi In this Way the little crea- li which mayle one limb shorter than ( lamed her for life. Persis had suffered very little physical pain, but the morti- fieation had it had given a morbid | coloring to an othe olored life. T knew it rner means nothing by his te: glances. is as proud as Lu would never abide the mortification of a lame wife. It does scem eruel! But Twill not eat | wy heert for any man,” exclaimed she, spiri zing up and dashing of th ‘And now f cand it is true Wi and | dr her widower, had dropped her mantle on Mrs. ke, who used her needle and scissors like a straight from theland of ely How mar- | velous a dres ‘such stuff a and how Persis floated ity! As fair and she fas! | he prondi; “I prefor to sit inthis ant to watch the crowd in mo- ‘ardon me,” replied Mr. Warner, biting his ; Moustache, and moving away with a graceful | flourish thoughtless to make the re- quest. nd he never dreamed that his words hurt. He forgets sometimes that Iam a ‘wounded dove,” sl; Persis from the window-seat; | “but sooner or later he always comes to his sense | There was one m: | that was Ephraim net care very 1 who did not forget, and lie. But, then, Persis did h what Ephraim remembered ot. He was a worthy young in her girlish intolerance, one thing stupider than another Sour worthy y He tauzht sch Ci bat when you al conversation tooth. He was the dest of sons es were ite his wed becoming ery well, ing fi Ephrain vn him froma bey. Hehad a year at rs, and worked for 1 ard while the academy. How Epiraim at other youths their nonchalance of manner! Here was he | standing le the =svery woman he wished most to please, but he was tongue-tied. he sat there self-possessed and beautiful. scan- ny him from head to foot, he thouzht, was not haughty in the least, but she might have placed him at his ease, and she did not eare to do i If she had once turned the con- ‘on to “‘old times,” and the weli-remem- bered incidents of that too happy year, Ephraim would have been himself in a mom vould | he ever forget the afternoon on the “basin,” and | the efforts he made to teach her how to skate. | having first modeled for the sh ker a pair of little skat Which were mismated to fit her unequal fect. How carefully he had guided | her over the m= fi v still, the had called inher timid lived is b ” sh es Persis liked him; he was ad sat ia the kitchen wh | AW: was a hard sorrows, whi I | one canse wardness i no barrier be it seemed du was tah eh ugliness a; but lat a young lady learned to ‘set nd appearances | simplicity was g from he {Ephraim never saw her now but | thought of his ungainly hands and fe and | every mole-hill of a defect loomed up like a mountain. Persis had spent years at a boarding ool forming her mind &nd manners, and though Ephraln was fully alive to ali 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 wutching him while she talked absently with Ephraim; and now, as he smiled down upon her graciously,she looked up at him with a glow in her eyes which | the poor young lawyer could not bear, He | turned on’ heel and walked away, grinding } ee resentful thought under the sole of his big oot. 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 f buried in quartz; not yet. Was it a pleasant dance, Mr. Warner?” said she, playing with the delicate fan she had just rescued froi 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: tion. Mr. Warner like to play with those blushes; it was | delightful to call them up at his bidding; such bright, shy things that even the odious crutch was forgotten, or glorified, in their rosy light. ‘0, in spite of my neglect, you were not left to play the wall-flower,” contin as had a of i it. of his little filend had long been | to pen book, ard very easy reading. | Not that Pe y any means forward and | uamaidenly: but she had not yet learned the Woman's lesson of concealing her emotions. Perhaps if there had een a trifle more of the | blindness of love athwart the young man’s vis- ion he could not. | He sincerely admired Persis: he thought li loved her, or that he should love hor if he But then that terrible erateh! Tt swung | over his head like the sword of Damecies. To- night he seemed for the first time to forget it. She looked so unusually beautiful; she had | sueh sincera affection for him; how could he | resist the attraction? said he, in low, thrilling tones, “words cannot say how dear you are to ine. May T hope,” ete., ete. A commonplace love scene. Another was going on under the same roof that yery evening, and not a pin’s choice between the two; but you may be sure it was all as fresh and glorious to Persis as if the world had Just been created, and she and Stanley were alone in it. The little hand which layin his was not withdrawn, nor ‘was there the faintest sign of indifference in the eyes bent timidly on the floor. It all ended in the most orthodox menner; they left the party betrothed. As Persis passed Ephraim on the stairway, he faltered out a hurried “Good-night,” ana she beamed down upon him so graciously that he walked home on a bed of roses, and never really, came to his senses till Mra. e dropped into a. week afterward and said her charming new | nd, Persis Talbot, was going to be married. Now Mrs. Blake was own aunt to Ephraim. (Think what a pean he must have been to have a relative who teok in sewing!) She was a quiet, sensible woman, who to her own business, and had almost pricked away her left forefinger down tothe bone. What she said was usually the ‘simple truth, and you might depend on it. Ephraim’s heart stood still. “Persis Talbot, did you say ing a currant out of a bun with liberation. “Yes, to Stanley Warner; the affair is cut and dried.” replied the not over elezant Aunt Blake, as indifferently, her nephew thought, as if she had been alluding toa bushel of Pipa. Mr. Zelie sat late at his desk that night, #id scrib- bled a black “Ichabod” on eyery 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. stood in daily need of camomile tea. Even Persis herself, “walking on thrones,” never once suspected she was tramping over a heart. The happy young creature saw in life | but one shadow, and that was the shadow of her crutch. It might now be supposed to grow ss: but, on the contrary, it rather increased. “Oh, mother,” she sighed one day, “stanley itis all the defect I have—this lameness, I mean.” ‘Does he?” remarked Mrs. Talbot, dry! with the set look about the lips she alway when Stanley's name was mentioned. “Does he? Then I'suppose he is thankful for that one defect. Not beihg anywhere near an angel himself, he can't wish for perfection in you.” “Oh, mamma, he knows I am very human, | indeed; it is only his way of talking,” said Per- | six, with one of her quick blus “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 you — “A tel “To walk, attended strictly asked he, pick- the coolest de- the color dying out | entirely, and her white lips trembling as she | spoke. © Amputation—as far as the ankle. 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 ?” Dh, I heard of a girl once who had it done. IT have seen her—Abby Harlow. You would 1 detect the slightest limp. You know, mamma, all the patent contrivances for the feet do no good. I must always swing this eruel, de- testible crut ” you see Abby Harlow? Who last weelt, mamma, when I went ds nut toxether ith a spring ht of he w elect did not s and as the ati ti eyes 1 5 jon rose in both pair of orbs, steel in her composition as w the two natures met someti f . a few » to Boston and submit aid the youn to the ope Her voic eet, but there was my daughter.” am so sory, mamma: bat you will think better of it. Papa has consented. He is going with me, and—and—Mr. Warner too,” There Was no help for it. Persis had set her feet in tha “terrible way,” iY d Mrs. Talbot, with a mother’s heart, could do no 1 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 could not help hearing the warm discus- sions hetween mother and daughter which were ineautiously carried 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 Persia. “But if you'd never set eyes on the sweet ab you couldn't but want to take her part,” ed She, thrusting her needie into a bit ¢ i sifithad been an imaginary cloth the unfeeling breast of poi Mr. Warner. Ephraim set his teeth to: vk. It would eo il Aunt Blake w he longed to rush to the rescue and save 5 devoted Persis from her ‘hard-woud” ad- “If she was going to marry a man with a soul us t aninepence, I think I could bear * groaned he inwardly. ‘Oh, little Persis, ure nobody to save you? My poor dear while the trayeli party of four was a cheerful one to all appearance; and the two lovers, living on smiles and moonbeaina, seemed to t the terror that was to e. “Tam doing it for Stanley,” this was the girl's thought. The time of trial drew near. Thus far Persis had uot faltered. The next day would prove how tiuch her stout heart could bear. “Good night, dearest!” said Stanley as they lave seen to read so clearly. | y }as hinted at this before, 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 T shall claim one of these days.” The old ready blush flickered on Persia’ cheek; but no smile came with it. She shuddered and drew away. Something in her lover's tone hurt her. She had been half conscious of the same thing before; but to-night, as if she had wakened to it for the first time, it gave her a thrill of in. bag am doing it forStanley,” thoughtshe, as her head sought the Ww. But the m: somehow gone out of the wortls. What if she were doing it for Stanley? Was that going to take away the terror and the agony? Was there length and breadth and th 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 certainly had not oppose! 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 a woman who faltered in her gait, but one who walked among other women as their peer. And this was the way heZloyed her! The man for whom she had already to sacrifice so much! Persis could not sleep. “ Her soi! kept up teo much light Under her eybs for the might. Next morning she knocked betimes at her mother’s door. “* What is it, my daughter ?” ‘*When does the early train leave, mamma? I ca ued he, taking a seat beside her and boldly possessing himself of her little ha and. “No, not a wail-flower,” repeated she, timid! A halt are her hand, half yielding it clasp. “It geems to me, Persis, that hovers about you very persistent! Wameretone andit tanlios ‘arner’s the of Persis. = young lawyer in Mr. Fa bed heart think I will go home.” “Why, Persis, this is the day—” “On which I have come to my senses. “What do you mean, child ish I hope you had given up this mad scheme; but I that Is for. ENo, mamma i have given i up; not all; nor half. I give up also who is willing to let me suffer. Mrs, Talbot caught her looking at her with his placid blue eyes which certainly were not dimmed by want of sleep. oe said Persis with asad emphasis. “1 nt the whole night in thinking. I do e you for a be eer : not give up my crutch, Stanley, and so never een ghee with you. For the future and I must go separate ways, my friend.” My sweet Persis, you have never so much n Your nei are in the fresh air and talk shaken. Let us walk this over a little.” The tone was kind. but there was just enough patronage in it to irritate Persis and confina her in her new resolve. ** My nerves are eg firm as steel. Oh, Stanley, it is not that! Itis that you are willing to let me do it! Don't you talk to me of love! T have had a vision of what real love is, and it is something quite, quite different from yours!” Persts’ voice quivered, and words came with dificult; "Poor ehild.” replied Mfr. Warner, indalent- | ly; ‘as if I had ever advised, as if I wished—” But the girl had fled. Out of the room, out of the house, anywhere just then, to escape the presence of the man she’ had determined to thrust from her heart: Gasping a little for breath, but otherwise composed and quiet, she stopped at the end of the corridor, near ah open door, and casually glanced out at the street. In doing so her eye fell upon a familiar face, and she turned suddenly away, but not before she had been observed. “Persis! Miss Persis!" cried an eager voice, and Ephraim Zelie rushed up the stairs with both. hands extended. Bhe had not thonght of sesing a friend from home, and when he came forward and greeted her with such unusual warmth of manner, a re- vulsion of feeling swept over her, the fearful calmness gaye way, and she sobbed like a child. “Dear Persis, if I could only do anything for you,” sald Ephraim, hanging over her tenderly, and in his earnestness forgetting to be aw! ward. He never doubted she was weeping at thought of the outrageous suffering before her, and he could have fought his dastardly rival witha will. He did not tell her that he had come to Boston for her sake, just to learn how it fared with her; much less would he haye had her know that he slept as littie last night as herself, and was now on his way to the surgeon’s on a fool’s errand; to beg him to have pi nd stay his knife. if there were only something I cou!d do for you,” repeated Mr. Zelie in an agony, not daring to speak more explicity, for he was supposed to be profoundly ignorant of the whole affair. “Yon can’t help me, you can't help me,” said poor Persis, stifling sudden wish to confide inhim. Atthat moment their old friendship asserted its half-forgotten sway; she was car- ried back in feeling to the years when she had gone with all her childish griefs te this awk- ward, “worthy,” sympathetic Ephraim, But no, it would never do to tell him what she was suffering now; pride forbade. She only said: “We have been here at Boston—father, mother and 1—for a few days. We are going home this morning. Something has oceurred— T cannot tell you what—which makes me “un- happy; but it is all for the best Ephraim, and one of these days I shall see it so.” “God grant it!” ejaculated Mr. Zelle, having no idea of Persis’ meaning, but secretly exult- ant that she was going home, and the object of the journey had not been accomplished_ The days and weeks which followed were dreary ones for Persis. She could far better have borne the surgeot mn’ demanded him to pursue her for a certain length of time with protestations of his undiminished regard. “No,” replied Persis firmly, and feeling more and more that she was in the right, “I will not make it possible foryou torepent and be ashamed of me.” At last Stanley made a final bow and with- drew, a little relleved, perhaps, to find his per- sistence all in vain.’ Persis was certainly a ing creature, but he had all along been ‘ious that his feelings had bet into a resh engagement. A lame rather a millstone around a man’s neck, as she had the good_ sense to perceive. He married six months afterward a fair girl with “Tittle feet like mice,” which could trip faultlessly through | 8° a quadrilie. “That was the way he loyed me,” said Pers! bitterly; and she caressed the worn gold at t top of her crutch as if that enchanted wand had saved her from a broken heart. Time brought back the lost roses to her che and more than one lover @ to sue; but * did not care for love.” = M ulbot watched her daughter anxiously. ed one day to see her we lisht, ising young mn he will make his mark in the world,” said she slyly; “but look, Persis, how awkward he is.” © Yes, mamma,” was the quick reply; © but for mny part I am tired of elegance; I consider @wk- wardness so refreshing.” “Ah hat Blows the wind in that quarter?” thought mamma, and went on demurely with her knitting, Persis and Mr. Zelie had grown to be fast friends again; but 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 exterior, like a pure fountain underground. She had grown a little distrustful. ‘Men were all alike,” she said. But somehow when Ephraim tined and rejoiced. She bel nM so at last the “worthy young aS re- warded for his years of hopeless constancy. It took a bitter experience to teach ime the difference between gold and tinsel,” sald the happy bride, hopping up to her husband’s chair one day and stroking his ragged eyebrows with her slender hand; but now-a-days I must say, Ephraim, a lump of the genuine ore looks good to me even if it is half buried in quartz.” “Thank you,” laughed Ephraim, “if you mean spoke she lis- eens a me! ao —-s. Transfer in the Tunnel, “Oh, no,” she replied, with a smile so entrane- in; i | When he yentured to ask if the seat were en- gaged, That ae hurry and worry of business commo- ion. 2 Vere, for the time being, entirely assuaged, Oh, that chin with its dimple and wonderful curving, And marvelous fairness, he'd no’er seen its match, And ‘twas greatly enhanced bya bit of court plaster— His innocence thought was concealing a scratch! a e At first, as was natural, they talked of the weather, H.. hot ahd how sultry the day that had passed, Then spoke’ of the last showy wedding of fash- mn, How. enormous the fortune the groom had amassed, ‘The next thing in oréer, of course, was the tun- ni wie darkness of Egypt—whatever that is And the little black patch, when they merged into oe ge Had its position from her chin to his, ~ —Liazie B. Walling, +0 When You Can Strip the Bark from a Tree. Anotion prevails among tree men that if on the longest day of the year, June 21, the bark of a tree is entirely peeled off no at Bebe be done te the tree, but that a new bark imme- diately grow thereon. A gentleman in one of the central counties of the state, having on his premises an old and worthless apple tree which he had intended to ent dor determined to. try the experiment, although. re had little faith that the tree would live. acorn ely, on the 21st of June he stripped the bark entirely off and to his surprise the leaves of the tree even did not wilt, but grew right along, and’ the tree is now gro’ ing a fine new bark. It is explained that about that time in June the sap of the tree does not lie immediately next to the bark, but is confined in a delicate inner bark that forms. Thus peel- ing the bark off at the time does not deprive the tree of the sap.—Elmira Free Press. eee A SIGNIFICANT movement is going on in Eng- land to promotethé eration of young women whose chances for happy..and useful lives at home are small. The excess of the ps ood ag yu lation, on an average of been computed at half a;million, anda pro- tion of this excess would be welcomed In the Echo lish colonies. it the ‘obstacle to extata in the knife than the luke; | warm regrets of Stanley, who felt that gallantry | A FLASH AND A STRAIGHT. | Deacon Stiderback's Exper with Whiskey | From ths Boston Star, 7 Deacon Sliderback has a pious aversion to cards, waich he looks upon as free passes to | whatever pines may be stibmitted for the old- | fashioned brimacone factory, but he likes to | | play “authors,” aud indulges in that mild dissi- | pation ia the bosom of his family when he can't | | find a good exease for remaining down town. | | Important matters connected with the ehureh | often compel him to stay out late In consuita- | tlon witi the other deacons, aad upon these oo | casions the spiritnal condition ofthe bentghted | | heathen is discussed in the back roo of Dea- | con Magrader’s grocery. Jamea Bow | Worldly young man: but a very entertaining and | lively companion, takes part inthese discussions | | once In a while. Mr. Bowers isa discreet young | James read in the paper that an Elmira man had devised a game of whi poker to be played with the traly zood and harmless *‘au- thors” cards; so he purchased a pack and took them along to the nexteonference on the prop- agation ofthe faith among the Esquimaux, heid in Deaeon Magruder’s back room, on Saturday evening. Deacon Sliderback and Deacon Ma- gruder held an argument about the amount of saving grace an Esquimaux could absorb; which was interrupted by James Bowers maki flippant remark 20 | gestinga game of authors. The two deacons | readily assented, and, after playing a while, James voted the game dull and unfolded some ideas about making it more interesting. knew the two deacons were wholly ignorant. of the national game of draw, and he explained to them the relative value of pairs, two pairs, and |so0 on. The deacons seem eateh on very | readily, and azreed to piay for cider to make tiie | game interes James dealt the hands, and explained that the five cards turned down on the table constituted | the “widow” hand and that, the man i the age had theprivileze of exchanging his han¢ for the “widow,” or knocking and passing the | privilege to the next. Deacon Sliderback held | | the age, and being known in the community as | d fatherless, he sus tained his reputation by picking up the “widow Deacon Magruder drew ‘Evanyeline” to from the hand that Deacoa Sliderback discarded, and laid down the “Marble Fann,” which was | of Seven Gables.” They drew around twic when Deacon Sliderback knocked, and they al stood their hands and showed down. Deacon, Magruder held a Longfellow full on Dickens. Deacon Sliderback exhibited two pairs. Cooper up, and James had three Hawthornes, giving Deacon Sliderback a point for the lowest hand. The game went along all right until each of the deacons had four points and James only two, it 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 pack to James, who cut the “Stones of Venice” for the bottom card, taking a sly glance at s he did so. The deacon tossed around the cards, and Dencon Magruder stood pat and knocke | while James picked up the “widow” and t down his hand, one of the cards bein Lamps of Architecture,” which Deacon Slider- back agerly picked up. “What have you got?” said Deacon Magru- der to Mr. Bowers. “Two small pairs, “Thackeray” and “George Elliott.’” replied James, showing down “Pen- dennis,” “Vanity Fair,” “Daniel Deronda,” and “Romola.” Magrader, laying Hommo Quit Ri To | the Sea,” apd “Napoleon the Little, hat’Sthe boss hand out.” “Hold on,” chipped in Deacon Sliderback, “I }ean beat that. You say | you?” “Well, I've go Deacon Sliderba remarked ing down ‘own of nd than my Hugo str responded Slide flush, and th; any straight in the de * Don't call me a | I've played poker as mu | sa us you have, aud I aight.” Ma- grud you dropped under the table; but when a member of the chureli stoops to such athing to cet out of setting up his three glasses of cider in his own store, it was time he | was shown up. I won't mention it outside this | time, though, if you give in beaten.” * Do you mean to accuse me of cheating, Dea- con Sliderback?” said Magruder, in a tone of | suppressed emotion. “That's about the size of it, I am pained to sir, and it grieves ne that a professor of, reliizion should——” “Oh, you dry up, you old fraud!” yelled Ma- gruder, “Didn't [see you deal the “Ston Venice” to yourself off the bottom of the pack, never say ai and thing about it?” | 1 fill | diy. snapped up by Bowers to pair with “The House | | Ie The Med King of Abyssinian. From ‘‘Col. Gordon in Central Africa.” The king is rapidly crowing wad. the noses of those who taki dl the lips of The other day aman went to salute Ras Aloula. In satating him, his tebacco- box dropped out. Ras Aloula struck him with his sword, and his people flatshed him. The king is hated more than Theodore was. Cruel toa degree, he does not, however, the feet aud bands of peop He puts out th ears. Several caine to ie |methis. [remonstrated with the ki is edict forcing men to become Curistians fr alman. He said. the | remonstrated about the t, but it was of no use. No one can travel without the king's order, if he Is a foreigner. You | bay nothing without the King’s order; no Will shelter you without his order, —in { ho more conipiete despotisia could exist. He cuts of | those who smoke. It cannot last; for the king will go on from one madness to another. Orders were given that no one was to approach ime; nor was 1 to speak to an: The officer who conducted me to the ku the second in command to Aloula, met uncle and cousin. In chains, nd durst not ask why they were chained. The king is a man of some 45 years, a sour, ill- favored looking b © looks you in the face, but when you look away he giares at |you [ke a tiger. “He never siniles; his look, | Riways chans! one of thorough suspicion Hated and hating a! ean imarine no more unhappy man. Avaricions above all his people, who do not — lac idea of a tree port is that Il arrive from the powers of Europe for hia th he will rep! You know Ih bat I never met with than these. Ali the gre ypt, and the He is of the arisees—drunk gyernight, a dawn he is up reading the Psalm&. He never would a prayer-mecting, and would asa portmanteau, if he were He —his but, 1 should say. is letter to the khe- his: ngs are in Lord; as the rivers of water, Ismail, the m as He willeth, vt ver go near him; it is perfectly-useless.” Hi has one legitimate son, Ras Arya Salam, and one legitimate. Two sons of Theodore are with him. Poor Alamayou! Lam very sorry that he isdead. His name was known “in all the land, and tie people thought that our government would send him here. —— +e ______ The Real Ingo. CY RICHARD GRANT WHITE. Tazo was a young man, only twenty-eight ears old,—the youngest of all the men w are in the tragedy, excepting, possibly, Red- says of himself that he has looked upon the world for four times seven y and a good soldier, he was also of that 1 of ability which lifts a man speedily above his fellows. | a dashing military sort; and his manner had a | corresponding biuntness, tempered at tine | x His manners and his guise were of | MUSICAL AND DRAMATIO, MIE COMING SEASON AMUSEMENTS IN WASHING To, — Toth theaters will open In this city the las ber. Mr. Ford has nearly dled the iready with engagements, scly has rewritten Bartley od Lilian Cleves Chark will le of A Deagerows: Woman, City story Is to be pat It ts entitied Ruth, es ttea by Mra, R. Evers her Salt 1 at August 15. colored Minstrels sailed They are sixty-three in aud they are to make a tour around the Wallack’s new theater in New York wil I ready before November. Haverly's ro th resaing rapidly. IS Miss Fanny Addison, a well-known English actress, is in New York and it ts said to be probe sible that she and ber sister, Carlotta Addison, j may both act ther xt sea | —Sam'lof F still running at Haverley’s | Fourt Street Ti w York, It will pbably be kept on t org a a month F and then the theater will be closed for repa The Titer u ors is the title of @ | new comic opera to. b duced in Boston by John A season at Den- extends to Sep. n na is to give the Majesty's, and’ or himself author of erhaps Hav cht. whea he ope: nreed to of all per- the first peric the soprano role | —Manager Mendam, f the Arch, Philadel. phia, has closed a contract with Anna Dickinson, and if that lady cor » time, which isn't wery adving from the past. she will appear yin Aurelian and a Crome Mendum b secure W. E. dan to sayy Accard- ing to the contract, Miss Dickinson isto star through the ceuntry. One of the objects of Mr. | Mendum’s visit to England is to arrange for her | appearance there next spring. —Mdile. Rhea, whom H. J. Sargent is going to bring over here next full to play Modjeska’s sin English, isa very bright and well-edus eated French actress, who has made some repa- | tation at . but her recent attempt to play in E London was not a snocess. he essayed Much Ado Aleut Nothing tor one afternoon only and it was vaily said that she might bave tn: eit learn to speak F: —Mrs. Burnett, of Washington, assisted by Mr. ¢ is converting two of her stomes [by tact to a warm-hearted — effusiveness,— by tke: wey, which prompted the Madison Square Theater, New York. bluntness, For that, although not exactly as: | — Max Strakosd@h will a ae lenmed: ‘ son here as usual and then go to New Or eS where he expects to open in December | less fur some good re | than injure those arot liked by all, se and did not at tir: no i nelination to do would not 1h vone out of his upon a worm, been no b: It is needless tos seen upon the stasy years; the Bon ance, alr pt out of in lite. that no sach I for the last t is no Memory oF record Of h's Iago was an st zo has been hundred him. Th and keeping. Tsaw it in jus is reat actor was stazzering off the staze; and nothing equal to it have I ever seen except Rachel's pe: formances. But it was the simple, strong rep- resentation of a hardened, crafty villain, a mon- ster of hate and of eruelty. The climax of the Whole performance was in the Parthian look which lazo, as he was borne off wounded and i nds, gave Othello. | whieh i jing. It was fi tion of t Gor: m stare, in You're a liar “You're another, you dumbfounded old mnt- | Uzaloot.” | | Then they clinched and fought all over the | store, tipped over a gallon,of molasses, ant | wallowed around in the contents ef an upset | | flour barrel, and when the neizhb. Deacon Magruder was sitting oT WwW his back nst_2 potato sack. Deacon Sil- kK was doubled up in a bushel. basket, rns hanging outside, | pointing up toward the salt co | from the rafters and both were 2 nd pufting hard for wind, while Jar rds and er the floor. tered a genuine poker et Talking Birds. From the Leisure Four. Parrots, starlinzs and jackdaws are not the only birds that “talk.” native power of meiody are usually gifted with very varied abilities of articulation. A hooded variety of complex noises from his throat, and alents only lack cultivation to enable him to give utterance to words; but his natural ian- guage is the very reverse of melodious, and can- not in any sense be considered as son I have known a hooded crow to say “ Papa!’ “With age correctness, and what is more remarkable, Invariably applied the mame to its prop owner—not the hoodie’s papa, but his master The starling talks very roughly indeed to his fellows, but he is one of the best mimics we have, imitating the notes of other birds, and even the human voice, with great Magpies also can be taught to tolerable degree of accuracy. The mocking bird, ‘too, so well known in some parts of the United States, has no natural melody of his own, but he contrives to copy ina most faithful manner the songs of nearly all his feathered neighbors. Cari |, the only cases I have known of talking canaries have occurred in the west of England, but I am not able to draw a“, conclu- sion of value from that circumstance. It may 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- nations of the human voice. A canary which was owned by a lady in Weston-super-Mare was Birds not possessed of | crow, for Instance, can prodnee an astonishing | A plans with a dexterous sinuosity of move ra And in h . burn the venom of his sont look sah set before the geucral failure to i habit of the st bit net unknown men real and individually as the em- to classes, jlifte—to — divid }to regard — them bodiment of s type of charac and there us his hypocris: that ne one y ix ac » has som s his craft in such a manner ‘yin combination are Iago. The best the moderna stage is hypocrisy and craft us embodied, and he is nothing else. mn truth is that the embosi combination of moral baseness and mental sub- tlety was not in Shakespeare’s mind, and is a quite impossible agent and element of the con- fusion and disaster of the tragedy.—August At lan ——— 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 Csesar White in de peanut bizness. He furnished de roaster an’ I ught de peanuts, an’ we was to whack up on profits. Dat Casar 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’ye ‘spouse he tried ty 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 Cwsar wanted me to believe dat de shrinkage offsot all my sheer in de acenstomed to hear its raistress, an invalid, say, ou clusion of its song, “Oh, beauty, beauty! Sing that again!" These words the bird picked p, and was soon able to repeat, but its educa- tion made no further progress, and no additional words were acquired. The short sentence was never uttered save after a brilliant song. Tris wholly incorrect to sup) ing is ever attached “by tall words or short sentences as Ing birds to such he ordered me to get away from home.” “And you went to law?” “No, sab! I got an ins “bout dat time, an’ I poured de whole into a barrel 0° water. In five minits dem uts had swelled all my capital back an’ gin me a six shillin’ claim on de roaster besides, an’ de way Ciesar gin me three dollars to dissolve partnership au’ git out beat any hoss race you eber saw!” mirable perform- | e | nt of such a simple. pd to ren une to piece to him. —The He Septembe erland. Rubenstei duced at Cove Ss he need te be snuurebes, drinking ‘Oriental character. — Kate Claxton will have an «atively new * iu Booth’s The of Octobe ed in Si Pranciseo Charlotte Thompson will join him this week. later, Nat Goodwin is reported to have made@ genuine hit with Cinderella at Scwol, in the Bas» ton Museum. a CUTTING A BOY'S TAR. The Plan Adopted by “3. Quad” with Distie guished Success, Detroit Free Press. There is no use in fooling aronnd about i | When a boy’s hair has become long and bleached, and serag) «1 feathers, it fa time to cut it, and the inevitable must be faced. The bey doesn't want it cut. of course. No one ever had a spe: uaintance with a bey who thought the t! art with enong They must promises a method. 1 let my boys ran abort so long, and then, when T day, I thrown away. Coercion is the only eoted i carry my point or die try- 1, You can get ready to have “Next week?” o, he shears, mt you draw blood?” “If you Went cut my hair, TM and coal to fast all winter, 1 go to beat ut when. and Tw al bake read) “Col out here | [never take any chances ona boy. I have an | old chair bolted to the floor, and then | bolt the bey to the chair. I fix him so he can move neither hand nor foot, put a soft gaz in his mouth to prevent a neighborhood alarm, and i begin work. The first step toward cutting a j v's hair is to put inten minutes of hard work | with acurry comb. If he hasn't been runnit loose over two or three years this tool w be found sufficient to rake out the searis, buttons and articles previonsly tioned. A basket is placed behind the chair for them to drop into, and they can be decorated with fancy pictures aud made to serve ax parlor orna- ments. When a boy's hair is ready for the shears brace your feet and shear away. Shear front, back, top and side without reference to lines or angies. The object is to remove hair. uldn't know how it got there je has had his head in closet, lars, garrets, barns, fence corners, barrels, boxes, and all sorts of nooks, and such extra at~ tachments are no surprise to him. No one should be less than belt an hour rob- bing an average boy of his capillary any attempt to hurry the job will result in overlooking a lot of stiin screw driver, ors iz wi damage his Sunday hat. My average ix | five minutes, and T have only two minutes after being able to see that he has ascatp. It then takes an additional ten minutes to look began on. s grown longer, the sie of his ears increased, and the whole his head is altered. When I feel sure itis my boy, and not the son of some we has skulked inon me, I brash him off with an old broom, crack his head three er four | draw the bolts and remove the gag, hold the door open for him to shoot back yard. [am a loving father on all when I cut a boy's hair The boy if youasked him. I cel sil rf £ HE it