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 YOUNG FOLKS. JESSIE'S OFFOBTUUM. "Wickliffe"â€" raaid Mr. Stone one momuig as he looked up from the pemsal of a note he had found on his breakfast plate, and fixed hJB eyes atemly on the face of his only son â€" "Miss Hall writes me that you are late at school so frequently that she con- siders it necessary to call my attention to the fact. There is no excuse whatever for such tardiness, and if it happens again I shall punish you severely. You understand me?" "Yes, sir," answered Wickliflfe, meekly, his eyes on his plate, and his voice trembling a little. "I do try to get to school in time, father, but somehow or other- â€" " "You are generally late," finished his father, as the boy hesitated. " Well, this bad habit must be broken up, or it will be a hindrance to you all your Ufe. I hope I will not be called upon to punish you, but shall deem it my duty to do so if occasion requires." Poor Wick He found it difficult to eat his breakfast with those ominous words ring- ing in his ears. He knew by past exper- ience what was meant by punishment as in- terpreted by his father, and his appetite for the buckwheat cakes on his plate failed suddenly. He didn't look at his mother, for he knew he couldn't bear very well the loving sympathy he felt sure was in her eyes. And he did not look at Jessie for he felt equally sure she wore a look of intense satis- faction. He and Jessie had quarrelled, and had not Xken to each other for two days. It was about a blue silk umbrella with a gold knob on the handle, which had been a gift to Jessie from her father on her last birth- day. Wick had borrowed it one rainy day without asking, and had lost it. Jessie, who had a very hot temper, was extremely angry when she heard her brother's confess- ion; and the result was a quarrel, during which both had made some very unjust and unkind remarks. They didn't often quarrel. Wiok loved his sister dearly, and was slow to anger- slow about everything, in fact â€" but Jessie's sharp tongue had stung him into saying a good deal that he afterwards regretted. But he wouldn't say so while she maintained that haughty manner and sullen silence. He knew that while she was in that state no apology, however humble, would be accept- ed. Jessie had no desire to heal the breach. The loss of her umbrella rankled still, and her anger and resentment received fresh fuel from the fact that she had to carry an old cotton umbrella when she went to visit the Art Gallery with Stina Ward, whose costume was perfect in everj- detail, and who smiled faiiit'y â€" or so it seemed to sensitive Jessie â€" when the^ cotton atrocity in all its faded ugliness was raised during a brief shower. It generally hurt Jessie as much to have Wick reprimanded as to be reprimanded her- self. But this morning she was not sorry for him at all, and thought her father ought to have siiid a g7 eat deal more. "That clock in the hall is to bla-ne for Wick's being late," said Mrs. Stone when breakfast was nearly over, and \Vick was gathering up his books. "It runs a little slow. I think I had better alter the pen- dulum a trifle. " "Do not let him oflFer that as an excuse," said Mr. Stone. "I will not accept it. He can find out the time by some other clock if the one in the hall is not to be depended on." "I think I can make it run correctly," said Mrs. Stone. She went out into the hall, and Wick followed her to get his overcoat from the rack. "It will keep good time now," she said, as she raised the pendulum of the clock,, and turned the hands ahead ten minutes. "You will be able to depend on it after this, I think." "You" are always so indulgent to Wick, mother," said Jessie, when her brother had • gone, and Mr. Stone had retired to the library to read the moraing paper. "And you make so many excuses for' him. And as father says, he has a hahit of being slow, which ought to be broken while he is young. You know he is never in time for anything. " "Remember about the mote and the beam, little daughter," said Mrs. Stone. "I know some one who ought to try to curb her tem- per while young, that it may not lead her in- i to sorrow and cause her bitter regret. Score a small victory with each day, and the grand result will be gained before you are really aware of it. " Jessie flushed hotly under her mother'a I tender glance, and went up stairs feeling decidedly uncomfortable. She had deter- mined again and again to begin a war on her hot temper, but nad let one opportunity after another slip by, and now, though she knew she ought to make up that quarrel with Wick, she wasn't ready to do it while her heart was so full of resentment. She had been obliged to leave school for a time on account of some affection of her eyes, and as she could neither sew nor read, time hung rather heavily on her hands, and she was able to do more thinking than she exactly liked. And of course, she could not help thinking of Wick. She remembered during that day a good many little sacrifices Wick had made for her jat different times, and how ready he had al- ways been to do favors for her. He had al- ways declared, too, that she was the pretti- est girl in town. Jessie's resentment softened a little as she recalled these things, but returned in full force when she happened to glance toward the corner in which stood the old cotton im»- brella. " No, I won't apologize to him," she mut- tered. " He deserved every word I said, and more too. The idea of his daring to take my umbrella. He might have known he would lose it." She did aot see her brother again until the next inoExdag at breakfast, and then she ^toek B« iotice«f his presence, addressing her conversation entirely to her mother. But, as Mr. Stme had takoi his break- fast at six o'clock that he might catch an «arly train,and Mrs. Stone was suffering frmn a nervous headache.'the conversation was not very animated. Wick devoted himself en- tirely to his breakfast, and was quite as care- ful not to look at his aiater as she was not to look at him. " Now, Wick, fgA off to school as 83on as possible," said Ifes. Stone as her son rose {nm tiie table. " Y«b must make it a point t« be pnmctnal aSlter this." " No danger of being late this mondl^s," said Wick, " Why, ifs only five minutes past eight lit have time to work on my dienmenalitUe." Andhe ran upstairs to get oat his tools aod the diessmen he was carvii^ as a birthday gift to a favorite uncle. Mrs. Stone wenti^tairs also, to lie down but Jessie lingered in the dining-room to water her plants and feed the canary. While she was thus engaged Jane, the cook, came in to clear the table. "I suTOose you had oar breakfast a good deal eanier than usual this morning, Jane, on account of getting some ready for Papa," said Jessie. "It's only a little after eight now." "I don't think it was any earliei:, Miss," rejoined Jane, "and if it's by the hall clock you're going, there's no telling what time it is. Last night I hit against the clock when I was going through the hall and stopped it. But I dicui'tknow it until I came down stairs again this morning, and then I set it by guess. " Jessie scarcely heard the last words. Her thoi^hts had flown to her brother. Wick was up stairs working on his chessmen, happy in the thought that he need not start for school for half an hour yet. Jessie ran quickly up to her own room and consulted the watch on her bureau. The hands pointed to twenty minutes to nine. Wick would require fifteen minutes to get to the school-house. That gave her just five minutes to think. She thought of the loss of her nice mn- brella, and recalled with a pang her feel- ings at having to carry the old cotton one when she went out with Stina Ward. And Wick had said so many hateful things She had said hateful things herself, but the loss of her imibrella gave her a certain right to say them. But suddenly there came into her mind the words her mother had said aboiit scoring a small victory every day over her temper. Here lay the opportunity to score a very great one. But would she take advantaze of it She heard Wick whistling over his work. Time was passing. She must decide at once whether to seize this opportunity or not. Another five minutes, delay, and it would be too late. Wick's punishment would be as- sured, for had not his father said he must not rely on that hall clock? "Iâ€" I will tell him," thought Jessis, some- thing like a sob escaping her lips. "I'll be stronger than my temper this once, any- how." and not giving herself time to change her mind, she ran across the hall, and threw open the door of her brother's room. "Wick," she said, "The hall clock is half an hour slow. You musn't lose a minute or you'll be late. It's a quarter of nine." Wick sprang to his feet, seized his cap, caught up his bag of books, and was off like a shot. Not a word of thanks did he utter, but nevertheless, Jessie's heart felt wonderfully light as she went back to her room. She was putting the top drawer of her bureau m order at twelve o'clock, and was so busy that she did not hear the door open* and turned with a start when she became conscious that some one was standing beside her^turned to have a pair of arms thrown about her, and to hear her brother say "Jessie, I didn't have time to thank you this morning for what you did. It was aw- fully good of youâ€" and after I'd lost your umbrella, too It was real noble of you. And I'm going to buy you another imibrella this very day. I felt awfully about losing that um- brella, andâ€" why, Jessie, are you crying"" Yes, strange to say, Jessie was crying. And she refused to say why. She only begged \yick in a very broken voice â€" after kissing himâ€" to go out, and let her be by herself. And Wick went, looking very much puz- zled. But he noticed one thing â€" from that day dated Jessie's ability to control her temper. â€" (Ladies' Home Journal. To be Loved One Must be Good. Merely to do good is not enough to get love one must be good. It is wonderful how some people do endless good, and yet none cares for them. Dorcas was not a machine, actively good because actively wound up. People do not weep such tears as fell when she died for loss of a sewin" machine, useful though such might be, aiTd working for nothing. Nor was she a woman with a mission â€" bustling, important, loud- voiced useful and needed such may be re- spected, but not quite loved. Nor was she a patroness, looking down on those upon whom she showers her benefits. Those who work like Dorcas do not work for mechanical duty, nor for fuss or fame, nor for thanks. It is little likely that thanks were given her. People would sayâ€" "She has nothing else to do." "She has no family to look after." ' 'She has plenty of time on her hands. " ' 'It's almost a kindness to take her sewing. " "She had sooner work than not." Exactly that was it. She was nothing more than a kindly, humble-hearted, womanly soul, that feared God and loved men, and did good in solid ways one whose life made other Women glad that she was bom. What more would you have her be Are you sure you under- stand what that was She became ill. She did not tell how ill she felt but lay lone and sick. She would not burden others with her pain, and to die she did not fear. Her neighbours found it out, and nursed her tenderly but she died. Then there was nothing to do but reverently to lay her out to put dowers on her breast and in her hands it was all the kindness they could do now. How they wished they had done more when she was alive. Then they thought what to do next. When one is dead there is so little you can do, and yet you want to do so much. It is wonderful how much good your neighbours know to tell of you when you are dead, and how much evil while you are still alive. We die and are not much missed. The world rolls on yet none ia quite unwept, unnoticed. There are two sets of people who will mourn. There are those who loved you, and found their joy in ministering to you a mother, a lover good or bad you may have been, but they will weep over your grave. Or, in heaven, they smile in smiles or tears they love. And there are those you loved; on whose souls are the marks of your kindness, warmth, help and cheer they will miss you. TThe late Professor Elmslie. That Joke Again. " Four hundred and twenty-two," yelled the elveator boy. " What ia " asked the passenger. "Yon are You are the fonr bandied and twenty-second man to itA me Ain week if my life in't faQ of ape and dowiu. Ask it' again. I like it." l^OneS'siPictiiiel^kB. There was dnoe a little .boy who had been blind from the first day of his birth. He longed vainly to see the beautiful flowers and birds, of which his mother told him; but alas all around him was dark. One night he ha4 a most beautiful dream. He saw an angel hovering about his room, who present- ly stuped to liie side of lus little bed and said smilingly: "I have here a lovely picture book,"which I show to good children at night while they are asleep. Would you also like toseeit?' "Alas dear angel," replied the little one, weeping, "you must certainly have made a mistake. I am only the poor blind boy, who cannot see anjrthing, not even your beauti- ful pictures." The angel dried the'boy's tears and said, "You can certainly see them as plainly as you now see me, and on that account often visit blind children, so that they can see in dreams what they otherwise would never catch a glimpse of." The heavenly visitor then sat down on the bed, opened a large, beautiful book and showed the boy many of the pictures. The blind child shouted for joy, for he could see all of them quite distinctly, and he found the flowers and birds and all other things m the book much more beautiful than he had actually supposed them to be. The kind angel also told him many of the stories and thus added greatly to the child's pleas- ure. When they had looked at half of the book the angel rose and said "Now I must go back to heaven, for it will soon be morning. To-morrow night I will come again and you shall then see the rest of the pictures." With these words he vanished, and dark- ness once again surrounded the child. When the mother came to her boy the next morn- ing, he told all about the angel with his wonderful picture book. She, however,' spoke sadly, saying "My poor boy, you are ill, and must remain in your little bed to-day." He was perfectly willing to do so, for he felt very tired. He lay quite still, smiling now and then to himself, when he remem- bered the angel's promise to visit him that night. When evening came it brought the angel the mother, however, who watched by the child's bed, could not see him nor hear him not even when he told her boy the pretty stories; but she trembled and grew anxious at the shortness of her boy's breath. When the blind child had seen the last picture, he begged " Oh, dear angel, do come again as soon as ever you can and show me some more of your beautiful pictures. You surely have more than One picture book. " The angel replied " I have many, many far more beautiful and I will show them all to you, but they are up above; in heaven, and I dare not bring them down to earth. If you are willing to come with me, I may show them to you and tell you all about them." " I should like to come, so much," replied the poor child, " but I must first ask my mother and tell her where I am going. Come, do come to-morrow evening and fetch me. " The angel promised. When the boy awoke he begged his mother to let him go to heaven so that he could see all the angel's lovely pictures. The mother wept bitterly and did not want to part with him, but he begged so long and so earnestly that she finally gave her consent. When night came the angel entered the room for the third time, looking far lovelier and sweeter than ever before. He kissed the little one on both eyes, and said "Now look at your dear mother and bid her fare- well." The blind boy looked round, recognized his mother, whom he had never seen before, and smiled upon her lovingly. The angel then clasped him in his arms, and flew with him up to the morning star to meet the rising sun. Florence K. R. Wade. WBAI AH IHDIAV GAS STiJID. The iienic TMataetat irse« with a â- alf The Office of Sorrow. The most important of all the conditions affecting the spiritual development of man- kind has been sorrow. In death, the common lot of all, even the rich and the strong have beheld the despoil- er of all then- vain shows. Against the in- evitable calamities which shatter or dissolve the works of man's handâ€" earthquake and tempest and floodâ€" no humap power has availed. These lessons of nature, who is no respecter of classes or persons, as to the frailty of all human power and possession, have profoundly impressed all hearts. Loss has led to precious gain. But the greatest of human sufferings those which imbitter all life, have been of human infliction. The situation of the great majority of mankind in ancient times -those of which we have any definite record â€"was one of abject \*Tetchedness. Arcady existed only in the poet's fancy. In a state of barbarism men's wants were few and sim- ple, but their passions were violent, and for the weak there was no security. Every de- sirable garden on the earth was a bait to the rapacity of conquest, the arena of inva- sion followmg on invasion, like the waves of a himgry sea. Civilization, on the other hand, was organized selfishness, and its peace was, for the great body of the peo- ple, a level desolation. Their lot was one of humiliating drudgery, of depressmg, hope- less poverty. *^ But it was especially unto the poor that the Gospel of the Eternal Word was preached. To such the voice of God comes nearer, because it is more willine ly and gladly heard. The broken heart open there is no pride to close the way there- unto. An angel whispers in the ear of every slave, and upon him who hath nothing all heaven waits. ° Sorrow, too, lies near true repentance even as the broken becomes readUy the con- trite heart; pnde has no place in its chasten- ed and subdued mood. The soul, weary of stn^gle and its own discontent, recieves the Divme voice and is comforted. Even one's Ignorance may help him here, in this soft unrMutmg attitude, making him more read- ily the recipient of the Divine wisdom, more pliant to the counsels of the Spirit of Love. Worn Out " Before taking this place I want to ask about the healthfalness of it. Is there much malana here?" " WeU, there has been a good deal of it, bat I reckcm hy tiu« time me and my wife mast have used it all op." An IsiiiiafttunL " L^t oa ooniidcr the tliit "An right, m wait ant â€"to-morrow,! rVt I soberly. » [yon are ready To show what an Indian can stand when he has to, I may tell of an incident whichhap- fBned daring the winter I was with them, oward evening on a very cold winter day, when it was snowing just a little and drift- ing a good deal, an Indian came to the log house with a jug half full of whiskey and with his rifle. I imagine that the jug had been entirely full of whisky when he started, and by the time he got to the house he was in rather a jolly condition. The jug and the rifle were taken away from him, and he was orderod to get to his wigwam as soon as he could before darkness came on. He left, and was supposed to have gone to the camp, but early next morning his. sqnaw appeared at the house and said ne hadnot come home that night, and, as the night was very cold, she hadbeenanxiousabouthim. Then the search beran. He was found in one of the sheds near the bam under a heap of drifted snow, and the chances are that the snow that was above him had helped to save his life. The search- ers for the Indian had gone in different direc- tions,, and it was his own squaw who, with true Indian instinct, had tracked him out, and she was alone when she found him. Ap- parently the Indian was a frozen corpse. She tumbled him out of his snow bank and pull- ed off his blankets and dragged him down to the creek, whereadeep hole was cut in the ice for the purpose of watering the cattle. Lay- ing the Indian out on the snow, she took the pan that was beside the ice hole, and, filling it repeatedly dashed pailful af te.r pailful of ice water over the body of the Indian. By the time the other unsuccessful searchers had re- turned she had her old man thawed out and seated by the fire wrapped up in blankets. There is no question that if he had been found by the others, and taken into the house frozen as he was he would have died. VICTIM OFAEABIDDOG. Mr. Beeard Chaliu HlBiteirHand and Foot Before Coins Mad. James Beoard, of Smithfield, 111., was bit- ten two years ago by a rabid dog. A madstone was applied, and he was pronounced cured. Some days ago a hound went mad near Cuba, and ran amuck through the country, biting stock and other animals. ' â-  Before its journey was ended it had bitten James Beoard and two other persons. The dog passed on and appeared at Bushnell, in Mc Dough country, where it caused much ter- ror. Beoard and the other two victims went immediatel}' to Denver and applied the mad- stone. It adhered tenaciously in each case, especially that of Beoard, to whom seve; al ap- plications were made. The men returned home satisfied that the danger was passed. Beoard, however, decided to protect his family against any possible evil results and chained himself hand and foot, so that if he went mad he could injure no one. His friends were inclined to ridicule his precautions, but he remained firm. Two days ago Beoard be- gan to show evidence of hydrophobia. His friends and family became alarmed, and in his last sane moments Beoard begged that he might be more securely guarded, so that no harm might come to his loved ones. The man's sufferings became terrible. He raved constantly of the myriad of dogs that were jumping at him. The sight of water threw the sufferer into spasms. Then came intervals of barking and yelping and snap- ping at anythigin sight. Death relieved Beo- ard the other evening. The other two menare in an agony of fear. The authorities have issued an order that all dogs in the township must be killed. Mysterious Mtuic. It was late one evening in September, 1875, that I first heard the mysterious music of Pascagoula. An old fisherman called me from the house where I then was to come down on the river bank and "hear the spirits smging under water." Full of eager curiosity I readily obeyed the summons, and if what I heard cannot be properly called music it was certainly mysterious. From out of the waters of the river, apparently some forty feet from its shelving liank, rose a roaring, murmuring sound, which gradually increased in strength and volume until It had reached its height, when it as slowly descended. It never advanced or receded, but seemed always m the same spot and, though I re- mained there some time, it never ceased, but contmued to rise and fall in the manner that I have indicated above. The reader may obtain a better idea of the music if he ^11 place his ear against a telegraph pole, the timber of which, acting as a sounding board for wires that are played upon by tht wmd gives forth a strange, tremulous sound that is an exact counterpart of the music of Pascagoula"â€" with this difference, however, that, whereas the music of the ^res IS very wavering and tremulous, that of the water rises and falls with a steady English Savings Banks. The English savings bank8re institutions for the purpose of receiving smaU deposits of money and investing them for the benefit of depositors at compound interest. Ihey are generally managed by benevolent persons that seek no remuneration for their services. In connection with the savings banks and as auxUiaries to them are pefany banks. An ordinanr savings bank wUlnot receive a deposit of less tan 1 shilling. Ihe penny banks receive amounts trarn^l ^nny to 10 shillings, and when the amount I^^^J^ ' *?=°'^* """t transfer- red to the savmgs bank. In 1885 there were iil£^i"*y ^°^* "" Liverpool, with 17,492 depositors th^ amounts transferred to rhe ^^i^^ ^le*" ^^^ " »^* year bJng £56,122 and the amount remaiidng in thf ^^^. *° ""' ^^Snfporito„ The Fizst Hies of Spring. ^* J5Sg,^ "' "^^^ to the air ^read his ^hn«!^" '^8«'^g the weather MffliL Zzr^ growmg the weaUier h2 ^T^^l^^'i.*' "»'»»« *»»»wod oat. He met. andthey flew off togetter. .^^^" ^l "Mt on forage intent, id Aepeonletkere pres«it1 soS. '^i^r •^•"^^ '«'^. T°» pJ^^konae they went on fi And Get oa to Uie biJd heiidfld nan. Latest FromEi Stanley's Latest Oonquert^.^ peal to BuBsia Seethe 8,^ rages-Eussia and K*'*»»L ger's Latest. "^^S^J Stanley has made a new anH quest, a marriage having beT " «*. tween him and Miss DorothvV^l*. lady IS well known, not onlv "^^ I to the world at large, asaeVi has for some years past bee„ ,^^ S^ tege of Baroness Burdett Cout^'**'P^ at her house, nearly foura„r'?*"»ii ago, that Stanley met Um Ten! Stanley has declaimed, timJT"" that his mission in life was ' -lfceWe'^3 '^^thJ r^"ftSO first ' •J^*«gO steerage i,l.-?*^e ship talk to women. Fromlh'St*""'*^ presented to hU future bride bv tK i,** ** 1 he seemed to find in the Jeitr?! Tennant's society that haven'If is now rarely his. AN OLD EN-GAC;E.Mext. It will no doubt benewU/. ,v England and America to hi A^^ol days before Stanley depar^L' ^^ mission to find Emin pisha h* " W»«i Miss Tennant a,ul was dukj! ""^^ to Baroness liu-dett ^ZlTS\^^ dozen near hieiids were inf. "^* "^J engagement, butallwetTswoiS °" est secrecy until such tim? 7. .i '"« should deem it fit to make th.Tr ^^' '°^'" pubUc. How welM£X"'^«?»' friends have kept their trust ml P^ from the fact tfat nej^t^l^'f" passed and not one word has es^fe esa'n^^dSstetSSl^S^^ the outages upon RussirSSS The remonstrance is signed by 2^^ mcluding members of the Hou^o? and House of Commons, liUratem\n Lordi artb iim- remonstrance are also in favor of senll communication to the government suS mg the propriety of its addressing the f^\ government through the usual diploSi channels on the subject of theontrageT Mr. Gladstone has written a letter in cm nection with this matter in which hesavi that the government of Russia will be i-^'i fied m returning any note sent toitii^re gard to the treatment of tlie exiles witbi communication calling the attention of fe British government to the "brutal sWhter of Irish people" at Mitchellstown so" time ago. It is semi-officially stated that the report of 3,n estrangement between Russia ari France is untrue. On the contrary, it ii pointed out that the permission recently ac- corded to the French government to organiie an exhibition at Moscow, and the officiil dinner given by Baron Von Mohrenheun, the Russian Amlwssador at Paris, in lioaor of President Cfrnot, prove tlwt the eiit'i-' between the two countries is undisturbed. This understanding, it is further stated is based not upon ephemeral and artificial dip- lomatic combinations, but upon the per- manent necessity for assuring a European equilibritim â€" a necessity that has been proved more plainly than ever before hy the war- like speeches of Emperor William at Koc- igsberg. General Boulanger has written a ter from the Island of Jersey in which he says that he no longer desires ahy iutermediary between himself and his supporters, and k therefore dissolves the Boulangist National Committee. The Boulangist journals pub- lish the letter without making any coni- ment on it. A Single Stitch. One stitch dropped as the weaver drove His nimble shuttle to and fro, In and out, beneath, above. Till the pattern seems to bud and grow- As if the fairies had helping been, And the one stitch dropped pulled the nest stitch out, And a weak place grew in the fabric stoat, And the perfect pattern was marred for lye By the oiie small stitch that was dropped that day. One small life in (iod's great plan How futile it seems as the ages roll. Do what it may or strive what it can To alter the sweep of the infinite whole. A single stitch in an endless web, A drop in the ocean's flow and ebb. But the pattern is rent where the stitci is lost, J i -, Or marred where the tangled threads nave crosspd, J And each life that fails of the true intent Mars the perfect plan that its Master meant. SUSAS COOLIDCE. Precious Little- Mamma (who is stirring up a caj^*'**^ to her little boy of five summersl-loimni, run over to the corner grocery and get bottle of extract of lemon. Now hurry • Tommyâ€" I will not have to pay»f ' will I, mamma? rttunnt To be sure you will. Precious litti gets in this world without pa)i'g Why, mamma, you said God gave mi^ you. Silence. meekly Then mamma kisses her boyj«7 "" ^^ and says " So he did, dear but you ^^ precious little then. Now run.^or ni „ wiU not be Ught if it stands much long« â-  KotHisFadt. ^^^ Indignant Drummerâ€" I 'jp!' y°Lin« »' •ix times to wake me up thu m" ^^ t seven. Here it is ten o'clock. •^"J yon wake me up sooner Hotel-poMierâ€" I did wake yon np boss, oidy you .- didn't hear me. How Shall we be Brown^Do you believe in hang»8 vanishment for crime noaiti" Robinson-Yes. I think it ^^ iaflaenoe ia the mmteasionot "^^i Brown-Hnmph! li»^TJ^I^ hM more of a neok^tive inflnence. k5 J- sa^dy Hoo| pofi^, 200 hams r as»«»« 'yj tons of K^'toWes, 3,60(| io^^^" T-Sb of cheese, IP^'^nS of dried fr«it. IrSlemons, 20 cases I ' Wt in seasonâ€" lef^y^L oi ketehu; rirSlSOcansof f Jmilt, "tiBued ?^v and ice-cream, hS^ served at a. r^ytonsoficeav great storerooms cc^l. freused^ily- The Iwn oi day. Thej Ser House rolkfor, I toe Thirty eight-po telad and 100 pound^ I each day; also] 'Vht barrels of coi htm^ed tins of fancy Jay in the storeroo Sds of wine and pi ^which is left when sL thousand bottles c bottles of mineral wi wine., and more or dmnk inside of six da huge floating hotel, som on board, but ni Two hundred pounds nlied bv the steamshi One of the odd sig double-decked Inmar arrival of the "quees hounds" is the great which are being assc stewards. Here is tl trip Napkins, b,^m sheets, 3,600 piUovv 16,200, and dozens oi panes. Although the requires four large carry the wash to t steam laundry in Jei a week it will be b; the linen rooms, wl regular linen keeper done aboard. Many have their washing â-  the greater number 1 pooL General Col. Brewi of the Inman line, courtesy have mad ocean travellers for is the man who ma Col. Brewster is a 1 among steamship city of Paris does s Birds Dm At the season of the conditions of 1 vitality is at its ma is then that the pr dancing antics, aei pears greatest, and highest perfection. birds, but even am ceptions. The lov pleasurable to ther in which keenly habitually express^ ly with variations ity of the feeling. males arrive before er have they recoi their journey than turous singing t since the females pairing time is p« their singing mere flowing gladness. is vocal" not piily the true songsters piercing cries, shi drummings, boo pings â€" every sou species express tl lie the parrot, t ful voices in sere do no other" â€" t Wh«i courtshiii the effect of inci I»erformance, giv and brilliance to grace to the gesi Hudson, in Cnj t» Tis now the baj ripe The poet of the The Lord of J^! town To see if Fortu The sea-side be bed and The calm awak -in checks anc dude Copies focth, a Kow sitjb tb _. glee, yociferously g Hatln 'scaped t Is 'eaUed "by jniOe. Indeed, the w day When dates May^ White sash aariin or lac hnrt, are the