Evening Star Newspaper, October 22, 1881, Page 6

HOME MATTERS. For Dressixe Crare.—Skim milk and water, ‘with a little bit of gine in it, made scalding hot, will restore old rusty black crape. If clap and pressed dry, like fine moslin, it will look as good as new.— New Rochelle. A Goop Breaxrast Disa is made of dried beef. Slice it very thin, cook it for a few minutes in hot butter and lard mixed, stir it constantly, and when it is ali equally heated stir in as many ezgs as you can afford to use. Serve with but- tered toast. Oat-MeaL Pepprye.—Mix two ounces of fine Scotch oat-meal in a quarter of a pint of milk; add to it a pint of boiling milk; sweeten to taste, and stir over the fire for ten minutes: thea pat in two ounces of sifted bread crum! stir until the mixture is stiff: then add one of shred suet and one or two well-beat ring or grated nutmeg: ed dish and bake Cookery for Invaiids, Mary onnc Saliva and Snake Poison. Inan age when everything ts utilized, from the water-power of Niagara for electrical storage to petroleum for stimulating the growth of hair, it is not surprising that the poison of serpents should have been included in the all embracing net of what is called practical science, and sud- denly found to possessa certain useful property. ord! to the Lancet, M. Lacerda, a member of the Société de Biologie, has just discovered that the venom of the Lachesis Rhambeata pos- he power of digesting albuminous sub- s and of emulsifying fats, for all the world as though it were pancreatic juice. It certainly has no effect upon starch, but a piece of beef cut Into small pieces and placed in a capsule, with -distilled water and a few drops of the m, changed with great rapidity, became “d,and finally “broken up into a greenish liquid of a peculiar odor.” egg albumen, it was completely dissolved in twenty-four hours; while oil shakea up with dilnted poison became emulsified very shortly, and was, in fact, quite digested. A number of learned conclusions have, in con- Hooper. sequence, been drawn from these experiments. For THE Saxe of variety and to please chil- | The venom of serpents is not, it is said, now & @ren, who seem sometimes to be fascinated by on, but a pathogenic agent ‘capable iswake cack Fak sind okakel ng the ory Bie, make once a year a meat ani pa re He-ews cpeate: , ake &< nd fll it with | inst its ravages, while other parts pieces of b ooked or raw; | feason it well, a but- ter and water thickened with flour; over | t and then put in a layer of mashed po- it. Ifit is ‘0, put in | be sure and have | he pie will not be dry. Do not | crust so rich a8 to be unwholesome. Post. .ep Perrie Cansacr.—Quarter the cab- daze. lay in a wooden tray, sprinkle thickly with salt, and set in the cellar until next day; drain off the brine, wipe dry, lay In the sun twohours, and cover with cold vinezar for twelve hours: prepare the pickle by seasoning enough vinegar »bage, with equal quantities of mace, cloves, whole white peppers, a cup of rugar to every gallon of vinegar, and a tea- spoonful of celery seed for every pint; pack the cabbage in a stone jar; boil the vinegar and spices five minutes and pour on hot; cover and set away ina cool, dry place. This will be ripe useliols, in six weeks.—Cormmon Sense in te Hor Marion Harland. Picktep Seep Crcvmpers.—This fs a beanti- fal looking and finely flavored pickle, especially for tea, and few pickles are nice for tea. Take not perfectly ripe but fall grown and firm cucumbers, say three-fourths yellow, cut up into strips, after paring and taking out all the seeds, about four inches long and one inch wide; wash weil and wipe dry with a cloth; soak in weak vinegar for twenty-four hours; pour off part and add enough fresh to cover; allow one and one-half pounds of sugar and one ounce cassia buds to every quart; boil until tender; when done after cooling they are a beautiful amber color; the cassia bud is the bud of the cinnamon tree, but of much finer flavor than the cinnamon stick.—N. Y. Tribune. CuaRgLeston CocoaxvuT Sweetiss.—I never Made them with desiccated cocoanut, but use the fresh nuts. I take a full, round, meaty cocoanut and grate it; having preserved the milk, I dissolve in it a pound of sugar; be care- fal to taste the milk of the cocoanut first, for although the meat may be sound, the milk may beatrife rancid or musty; having dissolved your sugar in the milk, add about as much water to it as there was milk; boil the dissolved sugar until it isa thick syrup; whip up to a froth the | whites of four eggs, adding to this a half-pound of pulverized sugar; mix the white of the exgs with the cocoanut, and when the syrup is still hot, but not boiling. stir into it the cocoanut; have some buttered letter paper and drop a tea- spoonful of the mixture on it; if it stiffens at once in a cool place it is right; ‘then drop by the tablespoonful, flattening ft if necessary; if it ns too much add a little more sugar; put the r in pans with the cocoanut forms in it, and e at a low heat. It is rather a drying thana baking process. A little cochineal or beet-juice makes a pretty pink color—Yadis, te Live Oaks. MayoNNalse.—Squeeze the juice of one lemon and measure it with a tablespoon; use in addi- tion to it suMcient good vinegar to make four tablespoonfuls, including both; measure three- quarters of a pint of salad-oil. ‘Place in a bowl or large soup plate the yolk of one raw egg,one level teaspoonful each of salt and dry mustard, quarter of a saltspoonful of white pepper, and as much cayenne ascan be takem upon the point ofa small penknife blade; mix these in- gredients to a smooth paste with a salad spoon orfork, and then gradually add the oil, lemon Juice and vinegar, a few drops of each ata time, stirring constantiy, and first using the oil Until the mixture becomes a stiff paste; then adding sutlicient acid to thin it to the consis- tency of very thick cream, then more oil and acid alternately, until the proportions given above are used. ‘The mayonnaise should be made in a ceol place; in very hot weather the bowl which contains it may be surrounded with cracked ice, or a pieceof ice as large as an ordinary chestnut may be added to it while it is being mixed. It sometimes curdies because of heat, and some- times because the oil and acid have been un- equally used, in the latter case use the acid | more freely, in the former place it on ice to cool. SFuliet Corso. Bouaxe Corres aNd OTHER Trtxos.—I wish | it were possible to impress every cook with the | convictions I hold upen the subject of boiling, More mistakes can be made in carrying on this | Process than almost any other; things that ought not to be boiled are boiled, and things that ought to be are not. It is easyto make these mistakes; there comes a time in baking, frying or boiling When injured nature revoits and burns up. But a thing may boil until not a Yestige of its original condition remains, and Unless the water evaporates it may go on boiling for hours without reminding one by smell or smoke that it is spoiled. Nothing suffers more from this treatment than cof- fee. To make ideal cup of cof- fee—the alme inable—brown and i it is more trouble, but the result is so satisfactory that you will be | more than paid for your labors. Then have the water boiling when it is poured over the coffee. If you use the ordinary tin coffve-pot, | be e to stuf s in the nose to ce, (and, by he | fe- | ¥, do not try to u @ of these for a life- time.) Our own pot being sent to the tin shop to be repaired, we tried the experi- ment of n king in @ new tin pail with a| such coffee have we | 48 been in yse a month. extra trouble to pour bie pot for the table, but | o pay. There is nothing so nmegg. Mix the egg re pouring hot water you may economize y-litting cover, had thatsthe tin pail It is of course a litt it into a pre: nice to settle the With the ground on. If ¢ diding a s, taking great cover that which is left very ciosely. Cream adds the crowning excellence, not only to the taste, but to the good look also. There is fomething magical in the rapidity with which the dark, uninviting liquid is changed into a| lovely brown by a generous spoonful of cream. Those unfortunate beings who cannot get it miust use sealded milk in which the well-beaten white of an egg has been stirred.—N. ¥. Post. ——so= ‘The ¥sthete to the Kose. BY WILDGOOSE AFTER WALLER. From Punch ef that’s young, in health and bloom takes pride, ards have sung Of a new youth—at whose sad side Sickness jor aye abide. Small ts the worth Of Bewuty in crude charms attired, nun mirth, 1, fruitlessty desired, And wear no flush’ by hope inspired. Then die tt May tshe, ra that Death fs passing fair; May read in thee How little of Art’s praise they share Who are not sallow, sick and spare! any-Fever. er two facts are men- , that “those who are afflicted With hay-fever are so owing to the tenderness of the internal lining of the nose,” and that “in | Snuff and out } Another pecu- t in most instances it is but slightly affected by boiling; while on the other hand, if kept, it will give off bacteria after a e in interval. That itis not, however, an or- Z is shown in the fact that the “eu ” as well as the fluids which proceed ion due to the poison, cause inptoms altogether from the poison us inoculation from snake poison onducted on the principal of vac- cination from the virus of cowpox. But the most remarkable discovery of all is that it is capable of dissolving albumen, and that event- uatly it may prove an excellent digestive, if there be no internal lesions, and an agent of good rather than of evi It will be, however, a long while, we take It, before the poison of the cobra will be used instea: of pancreatic emulsion for dyspeptic patients; for, notwithstanding that Dr. Stradling, of Paris, is reported to have swallowed, last week, without any ill effects, five or six drops of the venom of that deadly snake after they had been placed on a lump of sugar, society for the most. part would hesitate before they put an enemy into their mouth which might possibly steal away But an accurate knowledge of what: the various poisons of serpents really are and what theycan effect cannot but bringabout good results. M. Gautier, the celebrated French sa- vant, has just shown, indeed, that there is not much difference after all between human saliva and the secretions from snake fangs. Taking some twenty mes of the salivary fluid and purifying it the other day, he obtained a sub- stance which, after being injected in the form of a solution under the skin of a bird, threw it into a state of coma and complete stupor, and finally killed it in if an hour. Impressed with so strange an experiment, M. Gautier went further and found that the poisonous character of saliva was not affected even when heated to a very considerable dezree, and after much careful re- search he came to the conclusion that, inasmuch as in its effects it greatly resembled the bite of the cobra, both as respects the periods of coma, excitation. convulsions and tetantic contraction, is after all only a modified form of the venom from which we fly when the hooded Indian ter- ror shows its teeth. Further experiments reveal the fact that the poisonous matter of saliva, when mixed with the ferrocyanide of potassium, produces, like cobra poison, a Prussian bine; and there is now reason to believe that the active principle of it is an alkaloid similar to the cada- veric poisons called ptomaines, which MM. Broar- del and Boulmy have isolated. There is nothin; at all unreasonable in all this. Possibly enoug! the poison which serpents conceal in the glands at the back of their fangs do aid them in the digestion of food, just in the same way as the human saliva is utilized by men; and if it is some- what degrading to think that Rabelais was right after all when he claimed a poisonous property forthe human bite, it is just as well that we should know precisely what it is the cobra injects into its victim, so as to be able eventually to counteract the effects.—Lonion Daily Telegraph. Lime-K: Clab Deliberations. “Doan’ seek to make angels of yerselves.” quietly began Brother Gardner, as the meeting opened. ‘Inde fust place dis ain no sort 0° kentry fur angels, an’ in de next place you would be mighty lonesome. De man or wo- man who becomes so sweet an’ soft an’ good dat dey expect ebery minit to rise up an’ fly doan’ take as much comfort as folks who feel dat it will bea clus shave to git inter heaven. A leetle wickedness pickles a man an’ makes him keep allde better. WhenI trade mules wid a man I prefer dat he should suspect me wid an intenshun to make an eben 25 by de opera- shun. When I deal wid a butcher I like to feel dat he will work in fo’ ounces of bone fur ebery eight ounces of meat if I doan’ watch him. I like to have de bootmaker tell me dat American cowskin am French calf, an’ I am pleased when de sto’ clerk warrants fo’ cent caliker to was! like sheet-iron. De man whoam not a leetle wicked has no chance to feel sorry; no use for prayer; no need of churches. He cannot say to a fellow-man, ‘1 wronged you—I'm sorry— shake.” “De man who neber sins makes a poor nex’ doah neighbur. De woman who keep feelin’ of her shoulders to see if wings haye started makes @ poor mother an’ a wuss house-wife. If you have neber injured a man an’ gone to him an’ axed his pardon an’ made up you doan’ know what real happiness am. If yourconscience has neber driven you to prayer you can’t feel de goodness of de Lawd. My advice to you am to be alittle wicked—not ‘nw to make men fear or hate you, but just ‘nuff to keep you con- vinced dat you must helptosupport churchesan’ pay clus atfenshun to what de preachers say or 1 be left behin’ when de purchesun starts.” Further reports were submitted regarding the torpedo chicken, lately invented in Mobile. A specimen chicken had been procured by the committee, and its workings exhibited. The invention is not as deadly as at first supposed. is loaded with four ounces of bird shot and two of powder, and placed on the roost.. When it is reached for a catch is thrown out of place, a powerful spring set in motion, and a hammer strikes and explodes a percussion cap. The shot are thrown out in every direction, and within | ten seconds after the explosion a dark figure is | seen galloping down the alley and a husky voice heard inquiring: ‘Fo’ de Lawd! but what has de white folks got hold of now?” The commit- tee closed its report as follows: “Hayin’ pushed de investigation an’ kivered all de groun’, we beg leave to be discharged from furder consid. erashun of de subject, an’ to respectfully inquar’ of our respected president: ‘Kin dis torpedo chicken be suppressed?’ If not, what shall we do? An’ we will eber pray.” ‘As to suppressin’ de inwenshun I see no way to accomplish it,” replied Brother Gardner. “As to what shall we do, I hey bin ser'usly reflectin’ fur de las’ ten minits, an’ it am my solemn be- lief dat de bes’ thing de cull'd race kin do am to cultivate a taste fur some oder sort 0’ meat.” The secretary announced a communication from the president of the Colored Board of Trade of Macon, Ga., asking what the Lime-Kiln Club thought of the general outlook for six months ahead, and Bi paper stopper in his ink bottle and replied: - k out fur de outfook. De man who has sot out to ride three or fo’ hosses from now to nex’ harvest will find hisself on foot befo’ New Yar’s. Isay to de cull’d folkses in dis kentry to pull up on deir fishlines an’ git ready tor hard times. De man who can't see high prices fur libin’ ahead mus’ be blind. Speckulators am gwine to git nipped if dey don’t look sharp, an’ fancy stocks am gwine to take an awful drap at de fust cry of alarm. When de Signal Corps runs up de red flag de prudent man ties a string to his hat. When de wheat, corn, oat, tater and fruit crop fall off one half an’ de sun sots flah to de gras in de flelds de prudent man will put his house in order to meet de comin’ pinch.” Detroit Free Pres P88. tatites Lucy Hami.ton Hoorer sends from Paris the following uncomplimentary picture of the French gentlema * His bow is a model of well-studied saluta- tion, the heels well brought together, and the body inclined at an angle of forty-five degrees. He is punctilious in the matter of calls and of cards, of birthday bouquets and New Year's bonbons. But toward the unknown female on the boulevards or in a public conveyance his behavior is simply atrocious. I have seen a well-dressed Frenchman Drees gar a a lady off one of thenarrow sidewalks that abound in the older parts of Paris to make room for himself. Ihave heard another stylish-looking Scotland hay-fever is practically unknown.” By connecting these facts a probable remedy is sug- Fotted namely. the use of snuff. That this it destroys the natural tenderness of the in- ternal lining of the nose is evident from the insensibility of the snuff-taker to doses that fa- riously irritate the nostrils that have been differ- ently educated. As Scotchmen generally are either snuif-takers themselves, or descended from snuff-takers, a direct or hereditary insen- sibility may explain their immunity from this ailiction. Not being one of its vi ictims, I ‘unable to try the experiment, which should be started a few weeks before the season com- mences; in order to the ac- spe ea nn nt accematoal A lady of Pekin, Ill., has birth to a bo on every Fourth ‘of July froth gig ath individual, with a red ribbon in his button-hole, peremptorily order an American lady at the opera who chanced to sit beside him to stop fanning, as her fan ipnnapt ome I have — during the slippery severe win- ters ‘well-dressed Tadies slip and fall on the side- walk of the boulevards, and never a hand would te sree st oe ee drt elegant loungers or a a what any , Stylish American ale often ther Gardner carefully placed a | FASHION WRINKLES, THE LATE NOVELTIES. THE LONG, loose-wristed gloves seem to be all the rage. Ompre effects are already considered greatly out of fashion. TuE most refined black dresses are brightened by touches of color. A CorsacE boquet of artificial flowers is now sent home with a new street dress in New York. Amone the “Jersey” suits are some in new mixtures, dark, olive and gold, “with a sus- picion of red.” ‘Tie Stak on last Saturday, as well as to-day, is resplendent with novelties, staple articles, silks, satins, etc., in the advertisements of the leading Washington merchants. FULL TRIPLE-PLAITED FRaIses are in vogue, made after the fashion of the ruffles seen in por- traits around the neck of Sir Walter Raleigh.” They are called “Raleigh ruffs.” HALF-FITTING PaLeToTs of plain dark cloth, more especially of a dark green tint, are very fashionable for the autumn season. They have no trimming beside large fancy buttons. Bricnt Cotorep Srrires and checks are again in favor, and those who rush after every novelty will at once appear in zebra garbs show- ing as many different hues as the ancient cos- tume worn by Joseph himself. Ciotu Dressks are still plaited to the knee, with scarf drapery or wrinkled apron above the kilt. The waist for such dresses may be either a plaited jacket or a jacket basque, with a col- lar and cuffs of velvet or plush. Pretty Nets made of silver or gold threads, and also silk nets with gold beads threaded in the meshes, are being worn once more by very oung ladies. In silk they come in shades of teown; “auburn, golden color and black, to match the shade of the hair. A DecreD novelty is the shooting jacket made of dark-colored cardinal cloth, or vigogne, which is worn upon the street over skirts of black satin, silk or cashmere. They are stylish, and also very comfortable-looking these cool autumn days, and do not appear as conspicuous as one would suppose. Very Rich and quite novel is a costume of black cloth and satin, with the tunic and the trimmings of the long basque, formed of cloth applique on satin in leaf design framed in machine eee in cord. Spanish lace and long looped bows of black satin ribbon complete the garniture of the dress. Many of the new fall round hats, and a few of the mitigated poke-bonnets, have a fall of Span- Ish lace at the edge just deep enongh to shade the eyes. This drapery is very becoming to most faces, and as the fashion gains ground and the width of the lace grows a trifle deeper veils will be quite superseded. FasHion is most prolific in her conceits this fall, and each day’s expositions illustrate new designs and odd features in styles, for, as the bonnet is susceptible of hundreds of variations and modifications, so can dress be created after numberless models, and stylish wraps are by no means confined to a limited quantity of shapes. Tue favorite decoration at present for the throat isa necklace of amber or real coral beads, both of which are in great request. Ac- cording to the ssthetic code, amber beads should be worn with the new artistic sickly greens, the deep pptusiphee blues, any of the dowdy reds, or the intensely royal purples, which they affect. INTENSELY bright colors are seen among all the late importations, and some of the new com- binations are quite alarming. If this fancy goes on unchecked, an audience of fashionable ladies in church or concert will resemble a huge bed of Dutch tulips, and the similarity will be height- ened by the newly developed taste for stripes of every possible hue. LirtLe shoulder capes, shirred in Mother Hub- bard style at the neck, accompany many dresses. Underskirts are sometimes laid in large puffs, separated by several rows of shirring. The last puff falls in a flounce, and several narrow rows of pleatings are set underneath it. The drapery with this skirt is*drawn very high at the sides, with a short apron front and a full puff at the back, from whence falls long ends. Tue N. Y. Post says: Checked and striped woolen goods, serges, vigognes, cheviot cloth and limousine are the most fashionable mater- ials for autumn walking costumes, which are invariably made with short round skirts, either laid in very broad, box plaits from belt to toe, or with three straight flounces put on in hollow plaits. In the latter case a wide scarf is draped over the skirt and knotted loosely, low on the left side. One of the prettiest ways of making a suit for a miss is to have the skirt plaited, and the waist with a satin point in the color of the suit. The back and front of the waist are gathered. Over the skirt fall small paniers. The long sleeves are drawn in around the shoulders and v1 and are left loose in between. For little 2 years of age the short skirts are ted and have no paniers. The trimmings consist mostly of gathers and satin ribbon bows. rich “cordelieres,” and tags willbe more used fortrimmings than ever before. iter cloaks and redingotes have rich brande- bourgs passementerie appliques. During the autumn season there will be worna number of long redingotes of broche odds in the colors of the dress. As, for example,a skirt of satin nx in changeable colors, such as pur- ple and green, the lower part consisting of seven harrow puifings, falling rather loose, and sep- arated by reddish silk lace. A Very SvrraBe Styte for a short woolen or silk skirt is to have the lower part trimmed with two closely plaited flounces, the upper one being somewhat the deeper. About as high as the knee is a drapery taken across, forming nat- ural plaits, and terminating in the back ina kind of scarf with fringed ends. It is very slightly draped. ‘The waist has a small, short basque and a shawl-shaped drapery with a puffing in the back. The revers aré arranged over a coarse piece of goods to make them sit out instead of falling flat. Lapizs who have India, Paisley or other hand- some shawls are making them fashionable and wearable by turning them into Portia or Mother Hubbard cloaks, trimmed with a bordering of fur. Ifthe center of theshawl is marked by a pattern, this should be included in the shirrings Just below the shoulders. The short, wide sleeves are made from the ends of the shawl. Witha little taste and good arrangement these shawls can be converted into wraps exactly re- sembling those which are said to come from In- dia, for which a fabulous sum is asked. INDEPENDENT Coats, to be worn over skirts of black or dark colors, are still seen in great variety. They present the same leading fea- tures—a closely fitting shape which outlines the figure, high neck and tight coat sleeves. The materials of which ener are made are brocaded yelvet, striped moire, plush or cloth. Plain black satin or silk coats will also be a desirable me- dium between the very expensive and the very plain styles. ‘These coats havecuffs, pocketsand deep, rounding collar of yelyet, and are also adorned with handsome buttons of steel, faceted Jet or those of silk fastened by cords or’ frogs. OF THE PHILADELPHIA openings the Press says: The suits shown at recent openings ex- hibit but few new features except in the materials ef which they are made. Dark, rich colors are the rule, black evidently being the favorite, and the carnival of color which we were bidden to expect is still in abeyance. There are many gay trimmings, but even in these the colors are so blended that they are not loud, while the preference is decidedly for monotone suits in dark browns, olives, bro! dark greens, blues that are almost biack, and feds of the darkest hues. Skirts are narrow as to the foundation and bouffant as to the draperies, and even for evening dresses are frequently made short, while no demi-trains are worn for walking or for ordinary occasions. peal Daisienatie gle Mr. Nye on His Travels. At Grand Island the other day, says Mr. Nye, @ passenger found three flies in his tea at the eating-house. He called the waiter to him and said: “You are in error about me. You evi- dently think I am traveling ina putting ona ol riding tied to ote Ay. Give tng cup to that to one fly. ive this cup man at the corer table. He is a director of the road, and is entitled to three files in his & dead cockroach between his pancakes. I can- not travel second class and usurp the rights of logical mustard befc pated oo fe a5 fore mantine pranes where { ean Teach them. want to w one at the head ally to attract his attention.” ‘The Clock Disease. From the New York Times. It is natural that a man should take a warm interest in his watch; that he shouid palliate or deny its faults, and ascribe to it an accuracy which it rarely possesses. This regard for ones own watch is essentially the same mas country. Aman is a patriot not because his native land is better than any other land, but because it is his native land. He loves his watch not because it is necessarily a good watch, but because it is his personal perty. Which passion is the stronger—iove of country or love of watch—only a bold man would ven- ture to decide. The habit of wearing a watch has its disad- vantages, though they are of no conse- quence. Ifa man has areally feh he is apt to exhibit his pride in a rather oppressive way, and to become unpleasantly self-righteous. He invariably convinces ‘himself that the accu- Tracy of his watch ig something that is greatly to his lit, and that it renders him morally better than other men. By some curious Pe cess he comes to consider the accuracy of his watch as one of his own moral qualities, rank- ing at least as highashonesty or veracity. Thus, he never replies, when asked what is the time, “My watch says that it is 9 o'clock,” or what- ever the hour may be, but hisinvariable answer is, “Iam 9 o'clock.” There can be no doubt that the watch owner really looks upon his watch as one of hisbodily organs, and he resents any im- putation that may be made upon it as testily as he would resent the suggestion that his lungs are diseased or that his liver is out of order. These results of watch-wearing are trivial in comparison with the painful and sometimes ter- rible results that follow too great familiarity with clocks. The existence of a well-defined disease, named by its discoverer, Dr. Charles T. Mendax, ‘‘morbus .” has recently been demonstrated, and its origin and nature thor- oughly defined. It seems strange that the watch should be comparatively harmleas in its effects, while a clock, which is a machine of essentially the same nature, should produce a painful and dangerous disease, but we are compelled to yield to the force of Dr. Mendax’s reasoning, and to admit the deleterious influence of clocks. The first symptom of the clock disease is a de- sire on the part of the patient to provide him- self with an unneccessary quantity of clocks. It will not do to say that the disease originates in an excess of clocks, for the first symptom manifests itself prior to the buying by the pa- tient of his second clock, and his sul juent Poigality in _elocks is pasty symptomatic. isually he buys three or four clocks within the first six months of his attack, and within a year he provides every room in his house with its especial clock. Thus far the one symptom which has manifested itself is regarded by all who know the afflicted man as harm- legs, or, at worst, merely as a piece of childish extravagance. When, however, he has bought all clocks thathis house will readily hold, the virulence of the disease rapidly increases. The unfortunate man soon begins to try to make all his clocks keep exact time. Of course, this is impossible, but in his diseased state he does not recognize the impossibility. He fancies that if he sets the parlor clock back a little, and puts the hands of the spare-room clock forward, and shortens the pendulum of the dining-room clock, he can secure unanimity among them. His constant failures do not dis- courage him, but only induce him to give more time and attention to his clocks. He is con- stantly sending this or that clock to the watch- maker’s to be cleaned, and he spends hours in wandering from room to room testing his clocks, and trying to regulate them. In this vain pursuit he neglects his business and de- prives himeelf of sleep. His temper next be- gins to suffer. He becomes irritable and will tolerate on the part of his family or friends no allusions to the bad qualities of any of his clocks. No matter in what hé may be engaged, the striking of a clock will instantly cause him tojump up and run to regulate a delinquent time piece. The day comes when either the miserable man sinks into a profound melancholy and takes to his bed, never again to leave it, or his friends are compelled to remove him asa hopeless lunatic to an insane asylum. Such is the clock disease. It is induced, ac- cording to Dr. Mendax, by the regular and mon- otonous ticking of the ordinary clock. This sound exercises a peculiar and injurious infiu- ence upon the nerves, and through the nerves ren the brain. Thus, while the clock disease often produces hopeless insanity, it is not pri- marily a brain disease. but belongs to that great family of nervous diseases which are the curse of our country and the despair of doctors. ‘The remedy is, of course, the complete isolation of the patient from clocks, and a course of medi- cal ti ent adapted to soothe and strengthen the nerves, It is probuble that in its early stages the disease can be cured by skillful treat- ment, but when once the patient has bought half a dozen clocks and lived fora month or two in their presence, his radical cure is very nearly hopeless. —— Dancing the Csardas. Tt must have been nearly 9 o’clock, a late hour for so rural a spot, when the gypsies, after a silence of some minntes, began playing a slow, melancholy air, which I instantly recognized— from the peculiar rhythm—to be Hunzarian. Pair by pair the dancers approached the band, until a dense ring was formed close to the mu: For a Csardas only two people are neces: althongh, as in a waltz, it may be hundreds. The gent waist by placing a hand on either side, while her hand: on his shoulders, so that they front each other, and I am told that the rules of the dance compel them to look each other in the face. They began moving to and fro in slow time to a wild and melancholy air, the peculiarity of the movement being that th dancers every now and then interrupt minuet by asudden milk-maid’s curtse: can give no other name to the curious little bob two steps. This et movement very much astonished always heard the Csardas spoken of ng almost savage in its wildness, and these people might have been on their way to a funeral for aught of animation they evinced. The instruments of the gypsies all seemed to be bewailing their fate in chorus; the cymbalom trembled with emotion, the face of the leader of the band was so long that I thought he was meditating an unusually appalling suicide. But before I knew it, the music had changed and the fun grew fast_and furious. The previous step, or something very like it, was con- tinued. only sixteen times as fast, so that the dancers did nothing but bob up and down like corks on a stormy sea. They still held each other, and never moved from the place where they had taken their stand, for a Csardas must be danced on as small a space of ground as pos- sible. Now I understood that one must be a born Hungarian to dance the Csardas; for I caught sight of Erzsi, and bya slight move- ment was able to watch her evolutions; and I came to the eonclusion that an Englishwoman of her rank would as soon think of dancing the Csardas, as it ought to be danced, as of dancing a ballet. Her partner held her little waist on either side, and every now and then twisted or rolled her to and fro between his hands, and then changed or threw her from one arm to the other, her hands being meanwhile upon his shoulders, and she looking straight into his eyes with a pair of the loye- liest orbs that ever bewildered a man’s senses. They had already been dancing at least for half an hour, and the bobbing up and down had lapsed into a kind of continual tremulous movement, but the excitement seemed to in- crease. rzsi’s er held her with one hand, and waved his hand above his head with a shout, caught her in both hands, and whirled her wildly round and round, let her go, and putting his two hands to his head, (with the gesture, as I thought, of a man going mad,) executed a wonderful double shufile with his feet, and then began to whirl round and round like a dervish, she doing the same, till with one accord they stopped, and seemed to fling themselves into each other’s arms again. Imagine these manceuyres executed continually by a dozen couples all dancing so close to each other that they fre- quently touched, and, above, all so close to the gypsies that a stumble or a fall would haye of eight or nine ow small room; the dancers, a among the spectatore—and then heat. The thinnest members of the community looked as if they had spent a month in & vapor bath; but the more robust |ppeared as though cart ; Just gone over them, so me h down atthe moi ios_ hung. at gave them a ludicro — Ne icrously forlorn appearance.. a ay SME: > 0 LE Mrs. Staples was boastful of her crime when it into jail for the, murder of her husband at iw Sew Meier acne Human He in a cell, as she believed, the dead man came to oe and: tured to rs im Enginnd and America. From the London Spectator. Within the last twenty-one years three Amer- ican Presidents have attracted English attention to such a degree that their histories, their char- acters and their faces have been as familiar in this country as those of any cabinet ministers. Englishmen know Mr. Lincoln, Gen. Grant and Gen. Garfield as they know Sir Robert Peel, Lord Clyde or Mr. Forster. Not one of the three has been a man of fortune, or has, indeed, possessed anything like a competence, while two have died poor men. Mr. Lincoln, until his election, lived upon his earnings asa lawyer; and when he died, after six years ot the presi- dency, he lett his widow so little that a subscrip- tion was raised for her by his friends, and an ap- plication was made to Congress for’ a pension. Gen. Grant, when he was called to active service, was far from sperous—had, indeed, postin d anything except his income from a small business—and though he has received large gifts and has enjoyed the highest salary given in the Union for eight years, he has still to supplement his pension by work as chairman of corporations. Gen. Garfield when he was found to_be possessed of £5,000, consisting chiefly of a farm, probably over-valued, of 120 acres, which he cultivated himself; out of his salary as President he had effected an insurance for £5,000 more, but even with that addition the whole property left behind him wasonly £10,000. The facts are interesting, for two reasons. They show that the pursuit of politics in America, even when the politician is successful, is not, for an honest man, a paying profession; and that ca- reers are really open in the United States, not only to the lowly born, but to | the poor. They are not, it is true, quite open to citizens, though that is the boast of the country, repeated on every Fourth of July, with the en- tire assent of all who hear it. It would be quite impossible for a mulatto to reach the pres- idency, if his descent were known, and exces- sively difficult either for a Catholic or a man of avowed atheistic opinions. We will not go the length of saying that neither of the latter could be elected, for the Catholic might be a success- ful soldier, and the Free-thinker an Admiral Farragut; but no convention not carried away, as in the case of Mr. Lincoln’s second elec- tion, .by an irresistible popular demand, would’ ever dream of proposing either of them for the popular vote. The Catho- lic would be suspected, and the atheist disliked, nearly tour-fifths of all American Pro- testants being, if not orthodox in theology, at least convinced supernaturalists, so convinced as to retain a distinct dislike for men of nega- tive opinions. Still, the obstacles to rising of- fered by low birth and want of means have, in the Uni States, been very thoroughly swept away. It is hardly possible to go below a log cabin in a swamp, and out of such a log cabin, withont education, or money, or anything but himself, came General Garfield, who, as a lad of sixteen, could not write, and as a mature man beguiled the tedium of camp-lfe by annotations on a pocket “Horace.” That a man so situated could, without the favor of any patron and without accumulating wealth, rise to the very top. isa sufficient proof that any man without n blood and not a convinced Cath- olic can attain any political position in the United States. It is not quite so in Europe, outside France, and we rather doubt if in Eng- land the tendency is toward that perfect equal- ity. It may be attained in France, where the charm of birth as a political factor is entirely dead, and the only possible dictator is the son of a small grocer at Cahors, and the actual president was a peasant, where a Protestant, a Jew, or a Catholic has an equal chance of the ministry, and where candidates affect poverty as a recommendation. In England, however, the equality is still far toseek. A trace of color probably would not hinder a man much, or low birth, if he were not ashamed of it—though the latter weights him heavily, the popular feeling and the popu- lar reason not being quite in accord; but he must not be a Catholic; and in politics he needs money at every step of his career. He ot, to begin with, either dispense with education or get a good one without much outlay. To enter any profession will cost a lad £500, and if the profession is guarded by competition, double that sum, the result of “throwing open” ap- pointments having been to give a practical monopoly of them to Irishmen, Scotchmen, and such few Englishmen as are trained by very skilful and extremely expensive methods. The Englishman is so slow and, as a lad, so hostile to instruction that, but for a very costly system of education, the public service would be filled exclusively with Irishmen. To enter politics, again, in this country is to give up any gainful professsion, except the bar, which others cannot practice for you, and to pay heavy direct fines for entrance into Parliament. Statesinen have tried for a good many years to keep down elec- tion e: , but they have either not been , or have been baflied, and the out- much what it was. A contest is oc- easionally cheap, but the man who stands for a county without £6,000to waste—Lord Clif- ton says the agents sneered at £2.500—or for a burrough if he cannot readily find £1,000, must have a great deal of self-confidence, and be able, besides, to put down applicants for subscriptions’ with some determination. “A Dissenter from Quakerism,” says Judge Haliburton somewhere, “must have a stiflish upper lip;” but his obstinacy is weakness, com- pared with that required of a candidate who refuses to pay the bills incurred by his agent zainst his orders. No plea but bankruptcy w shield him. The grand difference, however— 1, @ popular man or a necessary man ‘ed_by subscription—is the neces- London after election. A very ‘g f American politicians live ou their salaries. There is no more pressure on them in Washington to live expensively than there is on Irish members in London; their salaries are not illiberal, mileage being taken ount, in that country of magniticent dis- and they haye, we ‘presume, that fear- lessness of the peci future which, more than any other peculiarity, differentiates Amer- icans from Europeans. In England, the mem- ber cannot live without money of his own at all, as there is no salary for him to receive, and practically, If a very poor man and married, finds the position nearly intolerable. More or Jess, in spite of character and ability, and even success, if he had not £1,200 a year from some source or other,the rich distrust him,the poor de- spise him, and he is hampered at every turn. With only £250 a year and a house to keep up, his nerve would break down under the cab diffi- culty, and the worry of knowing that a dissolu- tion, which even well-to-do members feel keen- ly, might be fatal to him. His popularity is slightly less, the subscriptions have fallen of, and the agents begin to suggest that he might be more successful in another borongh. We do not care to quote names, but an excellent Mem- ber, Mr. Waldegrave Leslie, aman of high birth, fair means, and great personal popularity, pub- lished to the world that he retired from Parlia- ment for that reason, and no other; and every election dismisses less conspicuous persons, with nothing but want of means eS them, to oblivion. There is no other road fn England to political success than Parliament; and when, therefore, Englishmen boast that careers are as open here as in America, they should add the qualification that careers are as open outside the political world. Our premier must have more than £200 a year. The Briton does not ask that his sehereseaave should be rich—that is a calumny—but he asks that he should be in- dependent, and, if married, keep a house. He must, in short, have an income equivalent to pe interest of four times Gen. Garfield's for- 2. There is very little chance, indeed, that this state of things Will be altered speedily. Men are becoming decidedly more manly about money, and in presence of the great fortunes everywhere about themselves poor, even very poor, with a quite novel nonchalance. Society, indeed, is so rich tl if you have not large isis you may as pet for social pur- Bow have none; while, for the past five years, it has been the men of position who have had most of pecuniary difficulty. Neverthel under a change of opinion, which it is most dif- ficult to trace, the old democratic demand for the payment ‘of members has died away, and the Fae of laying the cost of election on con- stituencies id scarcely an earnest advocate. Any constituency can ay, its member, but only one does it, openly least; while the cry for state payment has ceased to be heard at public meetings, and would certainly be rejected by an English plebiscite. ‘Two Ways of Putting a Case. “You will havea beautifal day, my dear,” said Mrs. Hope. as she looked admiringly first at her son Dick, as he was driving up to the door in anew buggy, then at her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Hope, whose honeymoon was at its full. Tam go glad!” saidthe young wife. “What lovely weather we have had ever since I came here! not at all what some of my friends pre- dicted when they said we ought to spead our honeymoon in the east.” Dick Hope at that moment sprang out of his buggy lighuly, and galiantly extended a hand to his wife. “Nonsense!” exclaimed Mary Hope. “I am not such a helpless creature that [can't get in myself,” and she stepped lightly into the buggy with a merry laugh. Oid Mr. Hope, coming down from the stables at fhat moment; ey he horse, buggy and harness (Dick had expended seven hundred lars on the turn-out), then stood patting the horse's neck kindly. He was an admirer of fi 2, and his judgment was sought far ‘on all points of horse‘lesh. “There's fine metal the “1 know it,” sdid Diek, pre “Cheap at) four hut “Have you tried her ye * 1 think she is good fortwo-twenty-one with- an effort.” “Why, isn’t that a fast horse, Dick?” asked iosity Was aroused. have them out here faster than that. “Itis fast.” said his father. think it impossible, but we've got so far on that there's no telling what's in a horse. I like this Hess very much. If it was anybody else's, “Come, now, what would you give, father?” said Dick, bantering! “It's all in the family, so I'm saved a hun- dred dollars, at least. “A hundred more would’nt buy her, father. Just say to anybody that covets my new mare I won't take a cent less than #700. Why, she goes like the wind.” ‘That reminds me, Dick; you'd best take the road round by Drake's.” “* And lose a good half-hour,” said Dick. ‘‘That’s a long way round, father,” said the elder Mrs. Hope. “You take my advice.” said her husband. “I mean coming back. It doesn't matter going. If it should blow, you'll find it safest.” Dick, who was adjusting a strap, looked off east and west, smiled in a satisfied w: served. don't see any sii “Nor I,” said his father, anything about that wind here. I’ll never for- get the sweep I got twenty years ago coming over Pringle’s Flat.” “That's where we are going, isn’t it, Dick?” Mrs, Dick Hope looked the least trifle anxious as she turned to her husband. ‘Was it so bad, Mr. Hope?” “Bad! Bad's no name for it. Why it blew my wagon as far as from here to the barn, blew the horses off their feet, tore up trees, and lodged me against a rock and saved my life.” Ailes must have been terrible,” said Mary lope. “Don't let him frighten you,” said Dick, smilingly; “lightning never strikes twice in the same place. I'm all right you see. The only time I was blown away was when I went East for you. Are we all ready now? Basket in, mother?” Mrs. Hope nodded gaily, Dick lifted the reins lightly, and away the new buggy with its happy occupants sped over the prairie. It was early morning. The fingers of the dawn stretched upward, dissolving the shadowy mist that hung over the prairie, and the line of woodland that lay away off to the west like j the fringe of a neatly cut garment. The young wife inhaled the perfumes exhaled froin the flowers, filling the atmosphere with rich odors. There were lines upon lines of variegated tints above the horizon. Such a sunrise Mary ae 98 had never looked upon except among the mountains. There tints of crimson, amber and gold, and all white pillars rolled majestically— alaces more magnificent and stately than the fuman mind could conceive. How grand!” she said, as Dick looked smil- ingly at her. As the red and golden glories stretched above the horizon, a light breeze sprang up, fanning Mary Hope's cheeks, caressing her hair lightiy, and sighing through the thin shelvage of trees that Dick’s father had planted along the road- way before Dick was born. The god of duy wheeled his chariot aloft, radiating, as ouly the Summer sun can, the rarest tints of amber, crimson and gold, until the purple glories, roll ing aloft like great billows, gradually arched themselves into the resemblance of a gateway, through which Mary Hope caught, in fanc; glimpses of the celestial city. She did no speak, but sat perfectiy quiet, drinking in the beauties of the most beautiful morning Dick Hope had ever witnessed in the west. ‘There is Pringle’s Flat,” said Dick, suddenly pointing ahead. “Surely we haye not come seven miles yet, How far is that ahead?” the smart hunters from the when they shoot and miss their game. tmosphere a “It’s a small place” said his wife, as she looked forward to Pringle’s Flat, lying a little below them. Beyond it there was a ribbon of molten gold, made by the sun's slan’ rays falling upon the river, ‘And that is the river. ” “We'll be there in twenty minutes,” said Dick, “when I want to introduce you to some of the nicest people in_ this end of the stat The people Dick refe to received the young couple in a manner that made Mary Hope’s cheeks glow with gratification. Her husband was universally adimired—as fine a specimen of his kind as was ever produced West of Pringle’s Flat. The bride, during the two hours they remained in the town, created a rip- ple oftalk. There was something about Dick and his wife that made people turn and look at them. When they drove away, a score of coe waved good wishes and tossed kisses after m. ‘Now forDan’s Rock,” said Dick,as he gave his mare the rein, and cast abackward glance at Pringle’s Flat. - ‘Pretty, isn’t “Pretty!” said his wife, ‘Why, Dick, it’s lovely! See the light on the church windows; it looks as though it really were on fire. The houses are so pretty, too. “Tam glad you like it. Thatreminds me; do he aoe house above the church, to the left?” “Tt looks charming—the prettiest house there. “Glad you like it.” “Why, Dick?” “It’s yours. I bought it before I went east for you. We'll look inside of it when we re- turn, if we have time.” That was Dick Hope’s way. The drive to Dan’s Rock occupled an hour. “Now for a trial ofyour strength,” said Dick, as he tied his horse to a tree at the base of the great rock and assisted his wife to the ground where they were to lunch. “* Must I climb up there, Dick?” “That's the program—what we came ont for to-aay. You've heardso much of the view from Dan’s Rock that you want to see it for yourself. Do you know you remind mewof Par- thenia fetching water from the spring?” “Parthenia tamed her husband, didn’t she Dick? I’m glad your mother saved me this trouble.’ This was the lunch Mary Hope often recalled in after = Dick isted in forcing, kinds of dainties upon her, “Irish fashion,” as she said afterward. It was the first time she had ever had him all to herself in the glad day, with no curious eves to peer on them, and she straits that he gadly ove quits as be pet sucl its e Iy as he pu ae out of his eyes and viewed his tormen- en they slowly mounted the heap called Dan’s Rock. Sucha view! A sweep of fort! miles in one direction, east, and almost as grand a view in the west. Dick sat down and handed his wife the glass: “Do you see that hill away off there?” * t it a curious shape?” “That's where the wind comes from, They manufacture it up there.” “ What do you “We want to see all that can be seen, don't ac Poem Dick. y all means,” answered his wife, as she tied her hat Ioosol; , and prepared for the drive home. “But didnt your father tell you to go hoi Drake's?” The other is the better road.” eee know best, Dick.” k's mare went at a slapping pace. “She smells oats,” said Dick. sas Pretty, isn’t it?” “There is not a leaf stirring one would think. It looks so restfui over there! It might Gonertedt village.” ges “It does look unusnally quiet, now t! notice it. But then thissun is terrible, See t you can find our house over there, Mary.” There was a long silence, then ‘she giecfally pointed out the house, and there was another long silence, broken by Mrs. Hope saying sud- us sound T hear?” L hear nothing fairly clear Dan's Rock ting rapidly. Sud- broagtt her upon ed intently. His were keen tan bis, w the air. At that instant Mary's hand ¢! ‘hed his arm t ‘dout, “Oh, Dick, what is that back She was looking back with horror yes and pale lips. Dick turned. A cloud like a black wall was rushing down upon them; it seemed to Dj eyes as black as ink. An awful fear possessed | him.” There was a hush, a stiliness in ti | 88 chilling as the cloud behind them. “G long!” he exclaimed desperately, cutting the are flereely with his whip, The mare shot out like an arrow, and that moment another sound smote upon sound that was like a crash mare plunged, reared, onward course. Her 0 over her. But one thonght animated Dick Hope as he ch his wife with bis right arm, while he held fast to the reins with his left hand, shutting his teeth like a vise. The thought was, “Pray God that we reach the river bottom.” The earth under their feet. A sound like the rush of a million locomotives defened them. Dick Hope turned instinctively and clasped his young wife in his arms. He did not see the mare; he saw nothing but his wife's face, and something in it struck terror to his heart. His own was as wpe Age | at that mo- ment as his young wife's wi she turned her last appealing look on bim and moved her Mpa. His one prayer was that they might die gether. Dick felt himself lifted up and flung like a flash through the air. oe toned ed byes id be dm wi pray ‘in the river with his wife close beside him. Dick sat up and spoke to his wife, but she did Then he put his hand up involun- tarily, in a weak, helpless wai Tae river luckily where gi! fell was so shoal that it did not cover them. There was blood on his face; he could not see; his eyes were full of sand. He strack himself in despair, and again erasplng are his wife. said ina hoarse voice, “You dead, Mary?” Whether it was the water from the river that dashed into his face, or the gush of tears that came into his eyes, Dick does not know to this day, but suddenly his eyes became clear, and be could see his wife lying with her face next him, and the water washing her long hair over her breast. He tifted her He felt her han her cheeks. Then «uddenly he summoned his remaining strength for one supreme eifort, and dragged rather than carried her upto the dry shelving beach under the bluff. Mary slowly opened her eyes and looked at ber lus- nd. Dick saw the tears coursing down her check. “Don't—don't Mary,” he said, “T can't help it. I'am not crying with pain or grief; it is because you are living—because we are both spared.” Dick's strength returned to him. He stood up and looked about him. Until that moment he did not know that he was coatless and with- out vest or shirt; he was naked. He pressed his eves with his hands and looked down upon himself like one awakening froma dream. He looked at his wife still sitting with her face cov- ered with her hands. Mary, we are almost naked. There is noth- ing on 1 d_your dress isin ribbons.” He | looked up down the river in a helpless way, still pressing his hand to his head. t see any sign of the horse and buggy.” Then he eyes at the bluff back of ticm. ‘Come, » up on the bank.” He had to carry her. “It's the horrible fright, dear Dick, Tl soon get over "she said when he set her down om the level ground. “expected as much,” said Dick, speaking more to him than to his wife. “Nothing— nothing man ever made could stand against that storm.” ‘Oh, Dick,” she exclaimed, “there is nothing lert of the t t a house. I only sée @ heap here and t hing like falling chimneys and smo! “That's the end of Pringle’s Flat, Mary.” He looked over the prairie—back to the | fringe of trees that skirted a portion ofthe road the base of Dan's k buta little while since. He could not re ize the place he had | looked on a hundred times, The trees had dis- peared; they had been awept from the face of | the earth. Then he shaded his eyes with his hands and looked across to where Pringie’s Flat had stood in all the pride of a new western town. Dick Hope suddeply knelt by his wife's side, still holding her hand, say ‘Let us pray ‘Among those who witnessed the awe-inspir- ing tornado that swept Pringle’s Flat until not one stone stood upon another, killing or maim- ing all living creatures in its’ path, none have such vivid recollections as Dick Hope and his wife. When they refer to their experience on that terrible day, they speak in # low ton whstandlng in the presence —Lippincotl’s Magazine. —_——<-o-—___ Industries of Sweden and Norway. Although in Norway and Sweden there are many mines and mills, most of the people gain their living either out of the soil or the sea. The farmer in either country is a marvel of industry and thrift; he would live upon what an American farmer wastes, and live more comfortably than our rarming’ population do, as arule. The amount of labor performed at the special dairy-farms, to which cattle are driven in summer, generally by girls, would horrify a western maiden; but the Swedish and Nor- wegian girls thrive on it, enjoying rare good health, and consequent happiness. Still more exacting isthe home care of cattie in winter, when much of the food must be specially pre- pared. On some soil that bere would be con- demned as good for nothing, fair crops are grown and harvested in the short summer, while in the southern provinces the yield is equal to that of model farms in America. The maritime statistics of the two countries, and of Norway in particular, are simply stag- gering. Last year more than a thousand Nor- wegian vessels entered the port of New York, and seven times as many were busy elsewhere. More than sixty thousand sailors man these ves- sels, and yet Norwegian sailors are numerous in of the roagh land at the now, and the mare was t . driver's firm ha the dead. are prepared for market, are determined by him; but the officer's duties seem to pally in prevent liquor is sold at fishing stations, and yet the men, who are directly in the path of all the “American weather” that crosses the Atlant arearemarkably healthy and vigorous fellows; wear ‘Zood clothes, too, w! not done by fishermen in general. To their ab- stemiousness must be attributed the lack of strife; during a long visit the author saw n in i the H st iEe i i il i ix HE