The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, July 7, 1895, Page 14

14 THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, JULY 7, 1895. | D\ - M+ CHILDHOODS=REAL e SEVEN TIMES ONE. There’s fio dew left on the disies and clover, 'here's no rain left in the heaven; ald my seven times over and over, Seven times one are seven. I am old, s0 0ld I can write a letter, My birthday lessons are done; The lambs play alw :y know no better, They are only seven times one. n! in the night I 1g s round E 1t, ah, bright! but your light is fafl- | | nothing now but a bow. | :en you safling You You Moon, have you done something wrong in heaven, That God has hidden your face? | 1 hope if you have you will soon be forgiven | And shine again in your place. O velvet bee, you're You've powdered your legs with gold! O brave marsh d yellow, Give me your mox mbine, open your folded wrapper, oves dwell, arple clapper , green bell! A ow T will 1 2 o the young ones in it— , linnet, n times one to-day. JEAN INGELOW. | A Schoolgirls’ Quarrel. | Ruth a ldith were only “‘tenderfeet” in Los Angeles, and the first day at the ' | Liz eating it, and all the girls were sitting on the benches behind her. Lizzie looked lonesome, so lonesome, mamma! And pretty soon the girls began to make fun of her and say, ‘Isn’t she a cute little thing!” and ‘Don’t you admire that cloak? “Of course it was not a pretty cloak, but it was a warm one, and it was plenty good enough, I think. “‘Poor Lizzie felt awiul bad, and she hung down her head a little, and we knew she was crying, even if we could only see her back. First we tried to make Jennie and the girls stop, and then Edith and I looked at each other, and we both got up at the same time and went up to Lizzie. We sat down on the bench, one on each side of her, and we commenced to make some little silly jokes, and to talk to her just as if we didn’t know she was crying, or any- thing was the matter. She didn’t talk about it, either, but pretty soon she began to talk, too, and she told us a whole lot of things about herself, and how glad she was to get a chance to come to school, and what a cute baby she had to take care of, and what a kind lady she was working for. “We stayed with her till the bell rang, so she wouldn’t think about her old cloak and think nobody liked her; and so we didn’t know till recess that all the girls were mad at us. Jennie said we couldn’t come to her house, nor even to her church, { and she wasn’t going to try to teach us to be little Chri. kept bad company Vhen I remember how much prettier Lizzie looked when we talked to her and how glad she was not to be all alone any more I don’t feel quite so bad, and—why, s any more, because we A DAUNTLESS FerooTs SAILORE MAN. public school was a little trying, even with | one’s sister to share the inspection. The | boys and girls do st so at a newcomer, you know, taking account of every detail of one’s appearance, from bair-ribbons to shoe-strings, and not infrequently making comments of a distressingly personal na- | ture. i : cliques of the schoolgirls gathered | in corners with their heads close together 1 sed our young friends in whis- | The s ried tolook unconscivus, and | I am afraid they did not succeed very well. | The ordeal was a severe one, as plenty of | you can understand. I certainly hope that do not know very well how oiten are, and how rude. The more sensitive and well-bred the new- the more does he or she shrink from being the observed of all observers, when it is perfectly evident that ihe star- | ingis for assigning to the victim of it his | social status in the school. | Happily in this case the rudeness was | not too lone prolonged and presently | Ruth and Edith were “taken up” by the most exclu: ive setof girls in the school. Jennie Morgan invited them to come to | Sunday-school with her, and when she found = them presentable she insisted that tk must always come with | her and t she should come for them in | her carriage each hux;daK morning. Mrs. | Morgan left her card for Ruth and Edith’s | mother too, and altogether m going on fineiy. Jennie was a hionable little missionary, and she at once set her- self to work to bring her new friends into | the fold of her own particular Sunday- | school. She invited them to tea. She talked se- riously with them regarding what she called their souls. In the end she tried to induce them to sign a pledge which she brought from her | Sunday-school, and which was a sort of | blank contract with voluminous specifica- | tions as to the sort of Christianity they | were going to practice for. the rest of their | natural lives. | Everything seemed to be going on beaun- tifully, and 1t must be admitted that the | “new girls” (they were very little girls, so ray forgive them) were very well pleased indeed with the rides in Jennie’s carriage, and the prestige which Jennie’s friendship | gave them at school. And then, suddenly, something happened. Ruth came home heart-broken, and sobbed out all her woes in mamma’s sympathetic arms. ‘‘Jennie won't speak to me any more! “She isn’t going to take me to her Sun- day-school once more. “And none of the girls that Jennie plays with will play with us, and some of the other girls we don’t like, and we're. just as lonesome as we can be, and I wish we could go back where everybody knows us | and we know evervhody.” Tt took a long time for the story to come out, for the Iittle girls had lost sight of the canse of the calamity, so great was their rief. L don’t think we did anything bad or mean, mamma, orif we did we didn’t do it on purpose,” came at last. “You see, it was this way, Do you re- member about a poor girl I told you of | named Lizzie Brown? Well, she is bigger and older than most of the scholars in our room, but she can’t help it. It’s because she is so figor she can’t come to_school all the time because she has to work. “I suppose she has no father, or if she has one be isn’t good for anything, so of course I couldn’t ask her about bim and make her feel bad. “But anyway her mother is a poor, poor woman that wears cotton gloves and came to school to see her one day and they two talked togetber in the hall and they kissed each other and then they talked and cried and I felt so sorry I wanted to cry a little too. “Well, Lizzie works for a lady that is good to her now, and lets her come to school. Of course her clothes are not very | pretty, and she is ashamed, because she is 50 big. “N%ne of the girls talk to her at all; but | Edith and I did, because she is a good girl | and studies hard, 2nd never does anything the least bit naughty or rude. “She brings her lunch in a basket, and it is not a very good lunch, And to-day she sat on one of the front benches in the yard tters were . mamma, are you so sorry we didfit that you are crying, t00?” Truth to tell, there were some tearsin Mrs. Mamma’s éyes. But can you be quite sure that they came there because she was so sorry for the social mistakes of her small daughters? DiNan SHADD. Some Great Men to the Children. Carlyle once askgd an Edinburgh student what he was studying for. The youth re- plied that he had not quite made up his mind. There was a sudden flash of the old Scotchman’s a sudden palling down of the shaggy eyebrows and the stern face grew sterner as he said: “The man with- out a purpose is like a ship without a rudder; a waif, a nothing, a no man. Have a purpose in life if it is only to kill, e and sell oxen well, but have a pur- pose, and having it, throw such strength of mind and muscle into your work as God has given you.” Mr. William D. Howells wrote a letter to the school children of Jefferson, Ohio, his ive village. In it he said: “A good critics will tell you that writing nventing, put I know better than that. It is only remembering. By and by you will all be authors, or rather you will real- ize that you have been authors as you set down for the printed page, or your own fireside circle, the history of your life. I hope that history will be for each of you a true and sweet and good one, without harm for any living soul in it, and with help for all who come to know it. Reflect that you are making your book now in words and deeds. Be true, in order that you may get the truth from other men’s books. and not be hurt by what is false and evil in them. Literature is life, and a clean couscience is the best criticism.” Charles Lamb was the wittiest and mer- riest of men, and nothing survives of him that is not bright and sparkling, *‘And Fray. Mr. Lamb, how do you like children?"’ asked a good, foolish body who had wearied everybody with singing the praises of babies. ““B-b-boiled, ma’am,” stuttered Lamb. | And the lady was duly astonished and shocked. “My lads,”” said Napoleon, ‘“you must not fear death;’ when soldiers brave death they drive him into the ranks of the ene- my.” And again, he said to his physician: “Believe me, we had better leave off all these remedies; life is a fortress which neither you nor I know anything about. Why throw obstacles in the way of its defense? Its own means are superior to all the apparatus of your laboratories. Medicine is a collection of uncertain pre- scriptions, the results of which, taken col- lectively, are more fatal than useful to mankind. Water, air and cleanliness are the chief articles in my pharmacopeia.’” “Thus if you are a scholar,” writes Em- erson, “be that. The same law hoids for you as for the laborer. The shoemaker makes a good shoe because he does noth- ing else. Let the stucent mind his own charge. . “No way has ever been found for mak- ing heroism easy, even for the scholar. Labor, iron labor, is for him. Read the performances of’ Bentley, of Gibbon, of nvier, St. Hilaire, Laplace. ‘He can toil terribl}',' said Cecil of Sir Walter Raleigh. These few words sting and lash us when we are frivolous. Tet us get out of the way of their blows by making them true of ourselves. There is'so much to be done that we ought to begin quickly to bestir ourselves. Nature, when she adds diffi- culty, adds brains,’” Dorothy and Dolly. Anybody don’t care much about a ole doll when anybody is taking their vacation to grandma's house, so you musn’t ’spect to be taken air of nowdays, Mrs. Dolly. An’ anyway, wouldn't your mamma look pretty silly sittin’ down an’ playin’ with you when she has got her hair cutted off an’ wears overalls, an’ can have fun all the time if she wants to? Yesterday week, I guess it was, my really mamma said for me to behave like a little lady, an’ not get my dresses dirty, and to be tryin’ for to sew an’ to keep quite. An’, then, they got into it for me to hurry up an’ come to this place, an’ my papa is comed along, an’ my mamma is a-comin’, my papa says, after she gets all through helpin’ to make a whole lot of poor little childrens sick about the Fourth of July. Not anybody would like to stay where the Fourth of July is, I guess, if they could go to their grandma’s house, where every=- thing is lovely and beautiful. 1f you could get some overalls. dolly, you could have fun ali the time just like me. But I guess you is made too much like ladies, an’ maybe their legsis wobbly just like yours, an’ some of them is just only sticks, with pretty heads stuck onto the top of them an’ awfly awfly nice silk sleeves an’ things fixed onto them so nice an’ so nice that nobody can’t hardly tell that they ain’t meat all over. I just guess I know somethin’ about folks what I dian’t ever ‘member about before. Dollies grows up into ladies an’ meat babies grows up into mans! An’ when woman's rides onto bicycles an’ has fun thev aint no really ladies at all, they is just only meat babies growd up, an’ they ain’t hardly no different from girls an’ boysan’ mans. I know pretty well that nobody couldn’t never teach a meat baby forto be a dolly, an’ I don’t guess anybody’s dolly could be maked into a really baby ’cept God came down his own self an’ tended toit. I tried pretty much to wake you up intoa baby dolly, an’ I scolded you, an’ slapted you an’ stuck your TFoot in the. fire an’ soaked ~you into the baf tub. But you never did nothin’ but smile an look the same ole silly, an’ they just only painted your ole cheeks again an’ made you some new dresses, an’ the,y thinked you was awful lovely. I didn’t think so much, but I pretended I did, ’cause if I didn’t love you I couldn’t love nuthin’, an’ it’s better to love a ole make- believe than not to love nobody. But if you could have turned into a really bab; dolly! You could come out to play wit! me with some cute little overalls onto you, an’ you could climb trees an’ eat cherries, an’ hear the birds sing, and sometimes find their nests an’ peek in. You could ride onto loads of hay, an’ nobody wouldn't say tain’t no place for little girls. ou could see the trees a-wavin’, an’ the sky so pretty overhead, an’ maybe, dolly, just maybe, you could have a little black pig named after you, just like I are got! You could feed the ducks most every min- ute, so they’'d get fat for a dinner, an’ you could hunt eggs an’ pull the naughty ole hens what wants to set off from their nests every single time they tried for to do it. I better go an’ see about that right now, dolly, an’ I'll sit you up on this chair, dolly, an’ spread your nice silk skirt all out pretty way, an’ you can stay here an’ look at the bureautill I can’t think of nuthin’ to do but tend to you some more. For Younger Readers. While everybody is raving about the novels of Beatrice Harraden, it is a shame that nobody has written a wise review, not even what the critics call ‘‘a roast,” of the charming little story which that same young lady has written for children. “Things Will Take a Turn’’ is the cheery title of a book that is bright and cheery on every page, and will be sure to bring plenty of smiles to chase away a ten- der tear or two over the passing troubles of “Childie” and her beloved granddad. These two lived in a shabby old second- hand-book store, and granddad did not know how to make money. His neighbors thought him a silly old man and they told him so. “He hasread too much,” they said. “Of course he is silly !”’ That was their way of looking at the mat- ter; but they were ignorant folks, and knew more about Dutch cheeses and tinned sardines than about books. Through =all these troubles, and many more, Poglly Parrott goes on saying brave- ly, “Things will take a turn! Things will take a turn!” And so at last they do,and somebod. comes along who does not think grand- dad’s lore is ‘‘silliness.”” All the way through the book are scattered the prettiest illustrations possible, done by F. H. Bacon. They will surely add to the pleas- ure ot the boys and girls who are fortunate enough to get hold of the book. Frances Hodgson Burnett’s latest book “Piccino and Other Stories,” tells among the rest “How Fauntleroy Really Oc- curred.” ‘‘He had been clever enough to disguise himself as a baby, when he first came,” she explains, “‘a quite new baby in violet powder, and a bald head and a florid com- plexion. * * * But beneath this dis- guise there he lurked, the small individual who, seven years later—apparently quite artle: nd unconsciously—presented bis smiling, ingenuous little face to the big world, and was smiled back upon by it— Little Lord Fauntleroy.” For those strong-minded young- persons who do not care to trifle with stories I have just struck a mine of interesting books, not quite new all of them, but all of them too little known. First of all, there is Frederick Schwatka’s book about “The Children of the Cold,” so interesting that even a boy might read it all the way through without once suspecting that he was being stuffed with solid information on every single page of the book. “And now as the Eskimo dogs have been men- tioned,” we read, “‘you boys who have a favorite Carlo or Nero at home will want to know about these Arctic dogs; asking what I mean by plenty to eat uns whether, like your own favorites, they get three meals a day and any number of inter- mediate lunches. No doubt you will think they should get ever “so much more - on account of their hard work in drawing the sledges through the snow. Yet, bard as it may seem, the Eskimo dog never gets fed oftener than every other day, and generally about every third day, I once had 2 team of nineteen fat Eskimo dogs that went or seven days between meals for three consecutive weeks before they reached their journey’s end and good food; and, although they all looked very thin, and were no doubt very weak, none of them died, and yet they had been trav- eling and dragging a heavy sledge fora great part of the time.” Charles Frederick Holder's books for children are both entertaining and instruc- tive. “Living Lights,” “Marvels of Ani- mal Life” and ‘“fhe Frozen Dragon’’ are stories or studies of natural history, ar- ranged for boys and girls. “Home Life on an Ostrich Farm,” by Annie Martin, is a wonderful book about South Africa, intended for young people, bméluite good enough for any wise gray ead. Edward Grey has earned the gratitude of children of all ages for his books about Japan, “The Wonderful City of Tokio’ and several others. ’ Philosophy of Babyland. “Why, Bobby dear, have you hurt your- self?” Bobby—Nope, not now, but I burnt my fingers on the Fourth of July and I couldn’t stop to cry about it then. Auntie—What is it you are embroidering in that tidy for grandma? Little Nellie—The good die young.—Chi- cago Inter Ocean. A good little girl could not keep her anger even when she was teased. Because she was so gentle the older children im- posed upon her, and one day the little girl rushed to her mother, and, leaning up against her, exclaimed: **Oh, mamma, do help me to keep mad at Helen all day! I can't do it by myself.” —The Outlook. . Meyerbeer's little daughter after watch- ing for a long time the gambols of some ragged children in the street turned sadl from the window and said with pathetic resignation: “It'sa great mi une to have genteel parents." A little girl’s father has a round bald spot. Kissing him at bedtime not lon, ago she said: “Stoop down, popsy. wLan't to kiss the spot where the lining shows. The greatest difficulty in estimating the Zl:&lith ‘;‘b t’.lu!l]UJ,)imtdt E{A&l lie:‘ in gmx- ining the value of the personal pro) 3 which constitutes a ver,ypl:omidal"l’l)!éN it‘:ym a letter from granma, an’ it was writed | of our National wealth, IoyLs oF TtHE [FIELD. BY A NATURALIST AT LARGE. HOMES AND HOUSES. Lying here in the shade of my favorite liveoak tree my ears have been smitten all the afternoon by the sounds of hammer and saw -and the occasional clashing-of timbers. I know what all the racket means.. Down below me on the hillside my neighbor the farmer is building him a house. He has been considering this step for years—what time he has been living in a temporary structure,u ntil now that his long journey is drawing to a close, he has actually begun the erection of his dwell- ing. What a queer bungle we make of this life of ours—always getting ready to live it and never actually beginning until we are at the point of laying it down. We are all of us busy from morning until night plan- ning the wonderful houses we shall build in the years to come—pretentious shelters that we erect to hide our own deficiencies! And with what resounding hammerings and sawings, rasping and filing and drag- ging to and fro of timbers do we set about it. If we were wiser we should make less noise about it. We should have less to say about our building, for in pointof fact, whether our building be large or small, not one in a thousand of us can put up his own. 8 But what a deal of fuss we do find neces- sary, when at last our ehelters are con- a score or more of ants behind it this time and two of them took the luckless object now covered with dust and dirt, and rolled it over nine inches away from theen- trance. What became of the ambitious collector I do not know. She did not find the burr again, I am sure. Perhaps she was a_virtuoso in clover-burrs, to whom the prickly objects were what blue china or first editions or Chinese idols are to us. My neighbor’s new house is to be an ambitious structure. It stands upon a rounded hill, ana from its many windows he will command a view of three cities, the majestic bay and the Golden Gate. It will be a glorious outlook—if only there is an inlook as well. Ah, itis a glorious thing, the inlook of a home. I got a glimpse through one once, and I shall never forget it. It was one glorious midsummer after- noon. I wason a trip over the hills, and, hungry and tired, I stopped for shelterand lodging at the only house within a radius of some miles. It was a mere shanty—a little whitewashed, two-roomed structure among the redwoods. But I was made welcome, was promised a bed, and was given a delicious supper. As 1 sat discuss- ing it in the little kitchen, my hostess hovering about me, her husband entered, bearing an armful of wood. He was a tall, gaunt, red-haired man, with a freckled face. The back of his neck was burned with the sun and crossed and recrossed with a_network of deep wrinkles. He threw the wood with a Jerk into the wood- box, making a deal of dust and litter on the floor. When he had gone out his wife A J g}afl}mfi;‘mnummmu \m\\z\\i\n‘.fi g [From an original sketch by a “Cal THE LIZZARD BECOMES FRIENDLY. artist.] trived—when their squares and rectangles | are all'in line, shutting out, each one, as | many as possible of the circles and curves in_ which nature delights—to keep our- selves comfortable within these shelters of | lately, a tiny blue | lizard has made it his habit to climb to the | window-ledge of my cabin herein the hills, | 2nd, basking in the sun, to watch me at the | daily task of washing my dishes. The operation seems to him full of the most | vital interest. He watches me intently, | turning his head from side to side, never | mkingfilis bright eyes off me. When I am through he goes olf, and I doubt not he’ entertains Mme. Lizard by the hour with his accounts of the doings of the queer mammoth creature that is forever and aye washing up, picking up, sweeping up and | casting out the litter and dirt and disorder | of its own making. I watched a pair of house-finches buitd- ing a nest recently. They worked silently and swiftly, bringing little twigs and sticks down from the thistie-bed by the creek, yonder, hairs that the horses had left on fences and trees, a few strands of manilla rope, untwisted, with infinite pains and cleverness, from the clothesline. When the nest was quite completed, as I thought, the litile hen began to put in the finishin, touches. She gotinto it, and turned rounc | and round, pressing her soft, feathered | breast against every bit of the lining, smoothing out all the rough places, shap- | ing and packing it firmly, strengthening and compacting the walls by the actual | impact of her loving little mother’'s heart. Then with her bill she picked down from her own breast, and tucked it into all the crevices, wherever she could make it stay, | and went all over 1t again, smoothing it | against her breast. Ah, but that was true home-making-—there could be nodoubt but | that those cunning birdlings would be | warm. We might be pardoned our elaborate Queen Anne fronts and what some one has called our Mary Ann rear walls and areas, if we put half as much real heart and per- sonality into the interiors as that little bird put into her nest. But if we do not often put heart and love and h\)fie and tender- ness into our homes we make up for it by the assortment of other things that we carry in. It is wonderful the abundance of things the human curio manages to collect about himeelf. There is no other creature except the ant that is so given as we are to the collecting of things. There is something painfully human, when you come to con- sider it. about the shelters ourlittle friends the ants rear. I sat for over an hour this morning and contemplated one of them. The ants were of the carpenter variety, and it was evident that they were con- structing a village in the sand under a sheltering stone. There was a long stream of toilers going back and forth carrying building material. One huge fellow came staggering under a redwood beam over half an inch long, others carried bits of straw, heads of fox-grass and tiny twigs. These were all carried in at one opening, while from another issued a constant stream of workers carrying little stones, which they had loosened from the interior and were casting out. Their strength was marvelous. I saw two of them bring “dp and roll away a stone as large as a good- sized pea. By and by along came an ant rolling, tuggine, pushing and dragging a great clover-burr. With infinite toil she took it to the entrance and dragged it in. Less than a minute later there was a great scramble and rush, a scattering of dust from before the entrance, and up came that clover-burr, pushed by half-a-dozen energetic ants, who carried it an inch or two from the entrance and left it. At their heels came a very dusty ant and who at once laid hold upon the burr and dragged it back. She disappeared with it into the nest, and almost immediately there was another upheaval and burr, ant and_all were again hurled forth. Then the ants gathered about that unlucky toiler, and I am sure they must have been expostulating with her. Two of them remained with her for a minute or more, feeling her over with their an- tenne. She must have been incorrigible, however, for no sooner were they gone than she rushed upon that clover-burr and dll;x:sged it back. she must have been very tired, for she rolled over with it several times before she reached the entrance and disappeared with it inside. I had not, counted ten before up it came again, with brushed up the dirt, saying apologetically tome: ‘Men are so trifling about doing anything about a house right.” She seemed a little put out and to re- store good feeling I praised the cup from which I was drinking my tea. She blushed with pleasure. They had not been mar- ried long, she told me, and the cup and saucer were a wedding present. In sheer | idleness 1 asked how long she had been married. ‘‘Oh, not nine years. So, little house-finch up there on your Yécng,” was the reply. ‘‘Only nest, yours 1s not, after all, the only house shaped and softened and compacted by loving heartbeats. I rested well that night, on a cot in the little hut, where nine years with_ that red-haired, freckled-faced man who was “so trifling about doing anything about the house right” had seemed ‘to his hard-working wife only a little while. [NOTE.—The writer of “Idyls of the Fleld” gives notice :Jym the series is concinded with the present SUMMER HOUREBOATS. Floating Villas That Are Comfortable, Inexpensive and Pieturesque. The next best thingto building a sum- mer cottage is to build a houseboat. To be sure the boat may cost almost as much as the cottage, but then it has this great advantage inits favor, that it can be moved about at will. SOME UNDENIABLE ADVANTAGES. Aboard a boat if you find yourself in the neighborhood of malaria. mosquitoes and unpleasant neighbors, you give the com- mand to move on to another and more desirable (¥lnrler, or you can spend the winters in Florida waters, as the Lorillards do on their houseboat, and the summers on the St. Lawrence. Itis among the Thousand Islands that the houseboat flourishes in all the glory of fresh paint, gay awnings, pretty cretonnes, lace curtains, hammocks, rugs, banjos, afternoon teas and moonlight fetes, to say nothing of the boxes of brilliant flowers, which make many of the decks a blaze of brilliant color, rivaling, one might think, the famous hanging gardens of the Median Princess at Babylon. A CARE-FREE EXISTENCE. Life on a houseboat is essentially one of pleasure, a butterfly existence. in which straw hats and yellow shoes, boating flan- nels and pretty gowns play a not unimpor- tant part, and are, as it were, the outward and visible sign that business and its at- tendant cares have been laid aside for the time being. . Tn the evening there is always the boat- ing when, if fortunate enough to secure the right companion, what can be more charming than to pull upstream to where the river flows, quietly smimg its own song, past green banks and under leafy trees. Thereare the luncheons, too, dovelunch- eous in sky blue or sea green, and the visits to other houseboats, the teas and the small talk and the music, which has charms even when squeezed from a gasping concertina or twanged from a banjo. REGULATING EXPENSES. If one has not yet acquired a houseboat, nor had one thrust upon him, there are two methods by which “the long-felt want” can be supplied. A company has lately been formed for building this craft, and for a consideration —$1800 to $2000—one can become possessed of a houseboat all one’s own, to have and to hold for years or forever. The other way to become possessed of a boat—but only temporarily—which may be mere desirable on some accounts, is to rent one, say for a month. For a party of eight or ten it is a most inexpensive way of get- ting a pleasant outing. On the St. Lawrence houseboats rent for about $10 a day; this, divided among eight or ten people, amounts to a mere_trifle, which one would willingly give in excharige for the rare fun of house- oating. The $10 pays for the boat, which is fully furnished, and for the services of a master. The housekeeping and other expenses are not included. The duty of the master is to look after the boat and keep it clean and tidy and wait on the party if he has any spare time. In addition, a man or maid servant is quite necessary. THE BOAT AND FURNISHINGS. The houseboat is a shallow scow so far as the shape of the hull goes, nearly square at bow and stern and surmounted by a more or less sightly structure in the nature of a house. There is & main deck which affords living accommodations; above this is the hurricane deck, generous in its propor- tions; it is covered overhead with an awning, as it is the general reception and Jiving and lounging Toom. The dimensions of the average house- boat are about 60 feet long by 18 feet wide. There is a saloon, dining-room, kitchen, staterooms with double beds, store and servants’ rooms, reirigerator and cooking- stove, in fact, all the comforts of a home, together with a filter, which is absolutely indispensable. An oil-stove, too, is a great convenience, and, of course, a chafing- dish. : The necessary accompaniment of house- | there. boating, in which, indeed, lies much of the pleasure of the outing, is boating. One can use every sort of_river boat, from an electric launch to an Indian canoehbut the greatest excitement of all is to be ad out of a punt. A punt is a craft, as some one wisely says, that requires craftiness. It is a boat in which to feel foolish—in fa?t, at first you can’t regulate your move- ments at all. You live in a perfectly blissful unctelrtinty of what is going to happen nex lgssvever, in time one learns the ‘art and then the punt is always as gayly decorated as the houseboat, with white marguerites at bow and stern, and yellow silk cushions. TWO FAIR HOUSEBOATERS. Two New York girls, the Misses May and Ella Dewey, are the happy: owners of a charming houseboat; the Idler they call it, and it is in commission all summer. isa white and yellow craft with grecty lace curtains at the windows, tied back with yellow ribbons. All along the edige of the Toof are flower boxes painted yellow, full of flowers, alternating with big yellow pots, also filed with plants “all a-blowin’ and a-growin’.” Apropos_to_the color for a houseboat, one all white is too suggestive of a hali- painted house before the color is put on. Pink isn’t half bad, nor even green. In- deed, a houseboat all done in green and white from the paint to the teacups, is charming to a degree, with a little dash of pink introduced here and there. ne of the most expensive of house- boats is that belonging to Mr. George Pull- man. Itisalmostas richly furnished as his cottage, “Castle Rest,” on the St. Lawrence. He calls it his nautical villa, for want of a better name. A picturesque name for one’s houseboat is quite an _important consideration. Nydia, River God, Bohemia and Amaryllis are fairly appropriate. Arcady might suit one's fancy, or Hiawatha, while Merrivale is not bad, nor Mavis. These are both names of very swell boats, indeed, so0 are Reve d’Or and Summerholme. ~Ye ‘Waspe is the name in which one boat re- joices, while Princess and Swallow are chosen for others. DiNa CROSSWAYS, e ——— The Senator Who Ate Too Much, A little group was chatting at the Ebbitt, and the name of a prominent statesman who had retired last March, after eighteen years’ continuous service in the Senates, came up for discussion. Some one won dered why he had voluntarily quit office; as it was the general understanding tha! he could have had another term in the Sen- ate had he signified his desire to remain He was a man of massive frame and seemed to be in perfect health, but Colonel Dick Bright, sergeant-at-arms of the Senate, volunteered the information that the ex-Senator from —— was not half as robust as he looked, and in fact that his poor health was the prime cause of his quitting public life. “When a man gets to be along about three score and upward,” said Colonel Bright, “he must exercise a Rood bit of care as to his mode of living. Now, Sena- tor Blank was of huge bulk and a terrible eater. I think he ensily\fot away with about twice as much food as an average man. That would have been all right if he had taken any exercise subsequent to his_hearty indulgence at tbe table. If he had made pilgrimages to Woodmont in quest of the elusive bass, after the fushion of Colonel Sterrett, Senator Dubois and myself, all would have gone well with him. The exercise would have kept him well, and he could have stayed in the Senate as long as Thomas Benton. “Yes, I am a pretty healthy individual, myself, and feel as good as I did twenty years ago. [ attributeit to a frugal way of iving, for often my entire dinner consists of a piece of _hot cornbread, some country molasses and three or four glasses of but- termilk. Let me recommend that as a summer diet par excellence.””—Washing- ton Post. ——————— Nest in a Church Clock. A curious incident has just occurred at Birchington Parish Church, immortalized in the “Ingoldsby Legends.” In com- memoration of the Queen’s jubilee a clock with a skeleton face was placed in the church tower. The other day the clock unaccountably swgped, and upon inspec- tion it was found that a house sparrow had built its nest between the projecting VIII and IX so firmly as to prevent the clock from working. The nest was promptly re- moved, only to be rebuilta day ortwo later in the same unique position. Once more the face has been cleared and the opportu- nity taken to regild the figures. The spar- rows so far have not made another attempt to build there.—Westminster Gazette. NEW TO-DAY. WHY SHOULD IT NOT B It has been stated again and again that DR. HENLEY’S Celery, Beef and Iron is the only PERFECT combination of these three grand tonics and stim- And as the Celery used is not excelled in the world ; as the beef ex- tract is unequaled ; as the iron is the most beneficial for the purpose ; and asa lifetime of a great specialist was spent in accurately blending these elements, is it strange that it always does UNMIXED GOOD ? Of course it is mot. Day by day there is evidence of the marvelous cures that have been made in diseases PECULIAR TO WOMEN, and often A SINGLE CASE has worked But if you are a member of the stronger sex and suffer from any of the diseases mentioned below, there is plain advice for youand it is ALL GOOD. ulants. wonders. E TRUE? GRAND MEDICINE FINE FELLOWS LIKE THIS ARE USED TO OBTAIN BEEF EXTRACT. CONSUMPTION Is curable if you take Dr. Henley’s Celery, Beef and Iron. KIDNEY TROUBLES INSOMNIA remedy. May be got rid of by taking this wonderful Will turn to sound sleep if you take Celery, Beef and Iron regularly. NERVOUS DEBILITY “THE BLUES” e e s L SR Al Permanently cured if you persevere and take this grand preparation. Will give way if you take Henley’s Cel Beef and Iron every day. 4 ol )