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CLIPPINGS FOR THE CURIOUS. | A new fish, the cherna, belonging i to the halibut family, has made its ap- ' pearanee in the Gulf of Mexico. Children grow taller, it is said, dur- ■ ing an acute sickness, such as fever, the growth of the bones being stimu lated by the febrile condition. Americans average a daily addition to the public fortune of seven cents, which means that the United States | each day is worth $4,000,000 morel than it was the day before. An Indian paper records the death of seven shepherds in the Belgaum district from being struck by hail stones of the size of cocoanuts. A large number of animals were killed. The farthest point north ever reached by man was reached by Lieutenant Lockwood, a member of the Grcei.v expedition, who went to 83 i degrees, 24 minutes, or within 458 . miles of the Pole. The drink called “posset,” men- | tioned often by the early English i writers, was composed simply of hot I milk curdled by some strong infusion. ! This drink was held as a great luxury i and found use both as a drink and a : medicine. When Maud S. trotted a mile in 2.09 1-4 she move 1 forty feet ten and five-sixteenth inches every second. I Iler ordinary stride is seventeen feet, but, assuming it to be twenty feet, each hind foot would touch the ground at least twice every second. The \ndanian Islanders believe that their deity lives m a big stone house, and that his wife is a green shrimp. A small body of heretics as sert that the deity's wife is a red shrimp, but they are regarded as of little account, and are vigorously per secuted on general principles. We are told that the chairman of one of the agricultural societies in Germany recently put himself to the task of counting the number of ker nels of the different grains contained in one liter, 0.908 quart of dry meas ure. He found that it held 21,700 kernels of wheat, 28,000 of rye, 18,100 of barley and 12.000 of oats. Tire largest number of patents re ceived from the United States patent office in one week to one person was issued recently to a Cincinnati gentle man. The financial clerk of the pat ent office says the final fees, $520, for twenty six patents pai l by him, is the largest amount for this purpose ever paid into the office at one time. How General Sedgwick Fell, Reporting an interview with Gen eral McMahon “Gath” tells in the Cin cinnati Enguirer how General Sedg wick came to be killed at Spottsylva nia. Said General McMahon : "I went out there with him and said, •General, 1 wish you wouldn’t stay out here.’ ” “What is the matter?” said he. While we were speaking these sharp shooters' balls would come, making a noise like an insect in midsummer - something of a scream and something of a grind ng in the sound. “Why, General,” said I, “wo have lost several officers this morning. These are telescopic rifles, and they are evidently picking out the officers.” "Oh, pshaw,' said General Sedg wick, “I don't believe they could hit an elephant at that distance.” “At this moment one of those balls came scree ni ing through the air and suddenly stopned ; it stopped with a kind of lumping or thudding sound. J thought I was hit myself, and I turned to Sedgwick, and there was a smile on his face.” “Said I : “General,” and I repeated the word “General." At that moment there burst from his cheek, right un der the eye, a great spurt of blood, which fell upon my face and breast, and he turned half way and fell on me; he was a heavy man, and we both fell to the ground, myself all cov ered with his blood. I called him “General” repeatedly, telling him to speak -to hear me. I was in dreadful agony of mind, and could not believe he was dead. Although the blood con tinued to pour from his wound that smiling expression never left his lips. When he was shot I could see the men in that instant, distressed as I was, crawling up out of their rifle pits and little ramparts on their hands, looking at us from both directions. I can still see that scene of surprise, as tonishment, wonder, grief all along that blue line. We took him back through the line of battle, and then I got on my horse and rode to Grant’s headquarters. I was covered with blood, and when I went in first they thought I was wounded. Said I, “No,” interpreting what they meant. In a minute they all cried out, “Sedgwick.” I burst into tears, and sat down there and cried. Curious Compliments. As a sign of affection, kissing was unknown to the Australians, the New Zealanders, the Papuans, the Esquim aux and other races. The Polynesians and the .Malays always sit down when speaking to a superior. The inhabi tants of Mal'icolo, an island in the Pacific ocean, show their admiration fy hissing; the E quimaux pull a per son’s nose as a compliment; a ( hina man puts on his hat where we should take it off, and among the same curi ous people a coffin is c nsidere 1 as a neat and appropriate present for an aged person, especially if in bad health. @he Summerville VOL. XII. SUMMERVILLE. GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY EVENING, SEPTEMBER 2, 1885. NO. 33. The Tiro Villages. Z>ver the river on the hill Lieth a village quiet and still; Ml around it the forest trees Shiver and whisper in the breeze. 3ver it, sailing shadows go Jf soaring hawk, and screaming crow, \nd mountain grasses low and sweet □ row in the middle of every street. )ver the river under the hill Another village lieth still; there I see in the cloudy night ['winkling stars of household light, Pires that gleam from the smithy s door, Mists that curl on the river shore, And in the road no grasses grow For the wheels that hasten to and fro. In that village on the hill Ne’er a sound on smith or mill; I'he houses are thatched with grasses and flowers, Never a clock to tell the hours; I’he marble doors are always shut, You cannot enter in hail or hut, All the village lieth asleep, Never again to sow or reap, Never in dreams to moan or sigh, Silent and idle and low they lie. In that village under the lull When the night is starry an 1 still, Many a weary soul in prayer Looks to the other village there, And weeping and si .king longs to go Up to that home from this below, Longs to sleep in the forest wild, Whither have vanished wife and child, And hoareth praying, this answer fall “Patience! This village shall hold you all!” Every Other Saturday, Charity in Masquerade. As the phrase goes, I always feel very much put out whenever I hear the complaint: “There are no really good people, now-a-days.” One might suppose that the present time was the worst since the creation of Adam, and that his descendants, everywhere were inhuman alike. I feci inclined to reply : “It isn’t at all true, although there are knaves enough in the world, and our own country has more than its quota of rascals.’ A bad deed is quickly known everywhere, but a no ble action, one truly bravo and unsel fish, Is slowly ad vertisol. Why then should I be silent when 1 learn of a good man’s act of goodness? Let me now tell of such a deed which hap pened not long ago. It was a bright summer day in Vi enna, and the grand Prater was thronged with people in holiday at tire. Beneath the superb trees, in this noted public garden, old and young, rich and poor, strolled about and many strangers came to share in the festivi ties. Where so much cheerfulness abounds, he, too, has something to hope for, who ask’s charity’s bestowal from his fellow man ; hence a large crowd of beggars, organ-grinders and harp-players were assembled there, all seeking to earn a few coins from the passers-by. For several years there had lived in Vienna a pensioner, whose bounty irom the government was so small that it scarcely allowed him the nec essaries of life. He would not beg, so he took his violin, which his father, a Bohemian, had taught him to play, and stood under a famous old tree in the Prater, while his trained poodle sat before him with an old hat in his mouth, into which fell whatever pieces of money the people were inclined to give. On this holiday, the veteran stood there an 1 fiddled, and, as usual, the dog sat before him with the hat in his mouth, but the people passed by, and the has remained empty. Could they but once have looked at him they must have had pity. Thin white hair scarcely covered his head ; he was wrapped in a soldier’s thread bare coat. He had fought in great battles, and many a scar had he re ceived in remembrance of them. Only three fingers on the right hand held the bow. A bullet had carried off the two others, and almost at the same time another rifle ball had shattered his leg. But the holiday-makers never no ticed him, although he had bought strings for his violin with his last earnings, and was striving to play his old marches and dances with all his might. Sadly and mournfully the oid man gazed at the crowds of people, at their happy faces, and at their gay costumes. Every laugh seemed to stab him ; to-night he would have to lie down hungry on his straw bed in the garret. His poodle was better off, for he might perhaps find a bone in the street, with which he could allay his hunger. It was getting late in the afternoon The pensioner’s hopes were as near setting as the sun, for several of the people were leaving. A deep look of sadness came over his weather-beaten, scarred face. He little thought that a well-dressed gentleman was standing not far from him, who had been lis tening and looking at him with an ex pression of the deepest pity. When at last it seemed fruitless to remain, an 1 his tired fingers could no longer guide the bow, nor his leg bear him, he sat down on a stone, supporting his head oq his hands, and shed a few bitter tears, The gentleman, leaning against the ; trunk of a tree, had seen how the ' wounded hand had wiped the veteran’s tears away, so that the eye of the world might see no trace of them. It seemed as if the tears had touched the . stranger's heart, for he hastily step ped forth, and giving the old man a gold coin said, “Lend me your violin for a moment.” The poor soldier looked up in speechless gratitude at I the gentleman, whose German was as j awkward as his own fiddle-playing. ; Nevertheless, he understood him, and : gave him his violin. It was not such a very poor one, but the fiddler played j it badly. The gentleman tuned it as ■ \ true as a boll, and said, “Now my good ; fellow, you take your money, and I will play.” Then ho began to play so I beautifully that the tiddler looked at his violin with curiosity, and thought j it never could be the same instrument j for the tone seemed to pierce through j the soul, and the music to roll out like | pearls. It seemed at times as if angels’ voices were rejoicing, and then as if ieep tones of sorrow came out of it, which so moved the heart that all eyes filled with tears. And now the people remained stand ing looking at the gentleman, and lis- I toning to the wonderful music ; every J one saw how he was playing for the I poor man, but no one knew' him. The j audience grew larger and larger ; even | the carriages of the richer people j stopped, and every one discovered what was the intention of the for eigner, and gave liberally. Gold, sil ver and copper fell into the hat, ac cording as the giver felt disposed. The poodle began to growl ; was it | from pleasure or anger? He could I hold the hat no longer, so heavy had it become. "Empty it, old man I” cried one of the spectators, “It will soon be full again.” The old man did so, and sure enough ho had to empty it again once more into his bag, in which ho usually put his violin. The stranger stood there with beaming eyes, and played so that bravoes rang out one after the other. Every one was charmed. At last the violin broke out into thn splendid air of the song, "God Preserve the Em peror.” All hats and caps were im mediately removed ; for the Austrians loved their Emperor Francis with all | their hearts, as he truly deserved ; and the enthusiasm of the people reached such a height that they all suddenly began to sing. The violinist played until the song was ended ; then he i placed the violin in the pensioner’s : lap, and before the old man could say a word of thanks he was gone. “Who was that?” cried the people, A gentleman stepped forward and said “I know him well, he is the accomplished violinist Alexander Boucher, who has been employing liis art in the service of charity. Let us never forget his noble example.” He then held his hat, and again the money poured into it for the benefit of the old pensioner. Every one gave, and when the gentleman had emptied this money into the p or man’s bag, he cried, “Three cheers for Boucher !” “Three cheers!” cried the crowd, and the pensioner folded his hands anil ’ prayed that choicest benisons might , descend upon the home of his amiable ' patron. Vagaries of the Insane. A lunatic at the Morris Plains Asy lum was mute for five years. Even the physicians thought he had lost the power of speech. One day he caught i two of his fingers in a washing-ma- I chine, and they were horribly mangled. I To the astonishment of every body I who heard him he exclaimed: “By the great and jumping Moses, a devil is better than an inventor.” That was three years ago, and he has not spoken since. Another patient, a boy in the same institution, is a lightning calcu lator. The most intricate problems are solved by him in fractions of a minute. The boy believes that his i head is filled with little blocks with figures upon them, and that they in stantly fall into different positions and ; work out the problems. He thinks ! his brain. In fact, is a multiplication table. Ills insanity seems pardonable, for only a few sane men can compete with him as a mathematician. Every day he soaks his head in water to pre vent the blocks from rattling, and oc casionally he begs for oil to put into his ears so that the imaginary squares will slip upon each other more easily. —if orristown Jersey man. Phenomenon Explained. Westerner—“ Yes, siree; it’s true too. The grounds on which Virginia i City stands has moved thirty inches I since ’75.” Stranger—“ Well, 1 suppose it’s all right, but it doesn’t seem possible.” “Os course it’s all right. I’ve got the measurements to prove it.” “How do you account for the pheno menon ?” “Well, I don’t know. It always was | a go-ahead place.’’ Call. Sam Patch’s Last Leap. A correspondent of the Cincinnati Commercial Gazette, who describes himself as an eye witness of Sam Patch’s last two jumps, writes as fol . lows : “Sam Patch, the famous ca teract leaper, who assorted that ‘some things could be done as well as others,’ took his ‘Final, eternal and life’s fatal leap,’ as a local poet expressed it at I the time, on a gloomy day in Novem | her in the year 1829. lie had ‘jumped’ ; the Genesee Falls at Rochester, their natural height, a week before, and was induced by the gamblers and roughs who were managing and living ' oil him to repeat the feat on the fatal occasion. They erected a sort of scaf fold on the jutting rock whence he had I taken his departure on the previous I occasion, making it 25 feet above the ! rock, or 120 feet in all from the scaf j fold floor to tlie surface of the river |at the foot of the falls. Ascending to i the scaffold with some difficulty, con- I siderably inebriated, and by a steep ladder, the unfortunate demonstrator straightened up with a jerk, bowed awkwardly on all sides to the witness ing thousands, then pushed a pet bear oft he had with him, and instantly i leaped forward himself. His person j ‘canted over’ on the left side, and ■ struck the water forcibly, no doubt I bruising him and forcing the breath from his body. Nothing more was j seen of him till the next March, when his corpse was discovered among some bushes at the mouth of the river, seven miles below, very much muti lated, but recognizable by a handker chief tied around the body. Patch, | beginning on the schooner yard-arms lat Patterson, N. J., was a special leaper for 20 years or more, jumped from amazing heights at Niagara thrice before he tried the Genesee rap ids, and challenged the inspection of admiring thousands to the realities of his feats. If yet living he would be about 90 years of age, but who knows if he had not tackled John Alcohol, his bear, and a great leap at one and the same time he might not be jump ing yet.?” General Butler Toboggans. When I first went to Washington, the western approach to the Capitol, before the pending “improvements” were commenced, was through a lino I old park, the heavy foliage of which in spring concealed much of the Capi tol from view. The approach then lei up two steep parallel terraces, j which extended the whole length of ; the building. The pages, in winter i time, took advantage of these declivi j ties for coasting. Instead of sleds, • however, they used certain large paste ( board envelope-boxes, which they ob tained from the folding-rooms. One day, the terraces and park grounds were covered with a thick, hard coat of sleet; so the envelope-box es were brought out, and the lively tabogganing began. In the midst of the sport. General Benjamin F. Butler, accompanied by a few other represen tatives, camo along, and stopped on the parapet to witness the fun. As he seemed to enjoy the sight, one of the pages asked Idm if he would tai; . a ride. After a brief deliberation, the General remarked: “Well, 1 think I will." In a moment a box was placed at his disposal near the edge of the para pet, or upper terrace. In this, with considerable difficulty, the portly rep resentative ensconced himself, and ; soon he stated that he was “ready.” At the word, the pages gave him a vigorous shove, and down ho went with lightning swiftness, to the great delight of the assembled spectators. As with increased momentum he j struck the second terrace, the box i parted, and with terrific speed, he fin ished the trip, "all by himself." And I he was still going when lost in the dis tance of the park!— St. Nicholas. A Prominent Preacher’s Boyhood. In a lecture entitled “From Anvil to Pulpit” Rev. Robert Collyer says: “My father had $4.50 a week to keep his family on, and we got along with surprising regularity. I was the eld est of the family of children, and was always glad of that. At that time provisions were not nearly so cheap as I now; there were no cheap schools, and the schools were not very common, and such as they were you had to pay for i them. Yet that good mother made that income stand good enough foralL We lived on oatmeal and milk in plen ty, with just a bit of meat when we could get hold of it; a mug o f tea and white bread on Sundays, brown bread the rest of the time. My mother would make soup on Sundays, aud would say to us boys, ’Now, boys, he who drinks the most soup shall have the most meat.’ We would drink as much as we could carry: then she would say, ‘Well, you can’t eat any more; we will save the meat until to morrow.’ With such a training as this it is no wonder that I hardly know ! what you mean by indigestion.” A MINER’S QUEER STORY. ( How He Obtained the Name I of “Pocket-book Sam.” 1 s A Jenny’s Appetite for Greenbacks Nearly , s Results in a Lynching. ________ t An old Colorado miner told a party ' of listeners, among whom was a New J York Sun correspondent, the follow- e ing story of how he came to be called • "Pocket-book Sam.” *■ “When I came to Colorado some a eighteen years ago, I went first of all 1 to Fairplay, in Park county. It was I a pretty rough place then, and 1 was f well enough pleased to go up to Alma, 1 where an excitement was just begin- 1 ning. My partner at that time was a J man named Steve Cutter. It was well ' on in winter when we went, but we 1 hadn't been there very long when one * day, as I was w’orking my way round a * ridge on Mount Lincoln, I came across 1 an outcrop that looked too good in my 1 eye to let it pass. Steve had a look at I it the next day, and laughed at me as ! a tenderfoot for paying attention to such a showing. 1 had faith enough, however, to go to work at it, though the snow was very deep. Before the end of January there was as pretty a show of mineral as man could wish. 1 had got about twenty feet under the grass roots by that time, and it would have done your heart good to see how Steve, and, in fact, almost every one in camp, changed their tune about the Russia. “I determined to take a jack load of ore over to Fairplay to see if I couldn’t interest moneyed men in the property. I went to Mr. Birge, who was the principal merchant at the time, and he lent me a jenny to pack my ore, and at the same time asked me to get $1,200 for him at the bank and bring it over. I agreed readily enough, and 1 started out. I made one grand mistake here. I hadn’t the Russia recorded yet. The only thing to show who the owners were was the location stake at the mouth of the shaft, giving half and half to me and Steve. If I had taken the trouble to record the certificate while in Fairplay, half would have been mine in spite of anybody. As it was, if I were out of the way Steve could get the whole mine by simply rubbing my name off the stake. But I trusted him too fully to think of such a thing. “I left my ore to have assays made, got tlie money in the shape of a roll of bills, and started back through a heavy storm of wet snow. By the time I reached the cabin at Alma it had cleared off and a bright sun was shin ing, but I was wet through. I laid my coat in the sun to dry, and on top of it spread the bills, for they were damp. 1 then went to get something to eat. Steve was outside smoking, and the jenny was picking up what it . could find near the cabin. On coining out I went to my coat, and to my hor ' ror the money was gone. At first I thcught Steve was trying toplay a * trick on me, lint Im assured mo that j he hadn’t seen the money; that either it had blown away or else the jenny had eaten it. There wasn’t a breath j of wind stirring, so I finally concluded it had gone down the jenny’s throat. “I went over to Birge’s and told him I’d lost his money, and the whole story. He didn’t seem inclined to believe it, but said little at the time. I went to I bed pretty early that night, feeling . tired. I had hardly got asleep when a j gang of fellows with Birge at their t head, broke into the cabin. Almost t before I could speak they had a rope round my neck and the other end over 9 abeam in the roof. The rope tight c ened, and a fellow called out that I hail just five minutes to give up the money j or die. Good God! I was so choked 1 could hardly breathe, 1 don’t know what 1 did. I tried to tell them I hadn’t the money, that it was realiy lost, but they only jerked the rope I and told me to hurry up or they ; would string me. 1 broke into a cold 5 sweat. I fell on my knees and begged j and prayed for life. Those few min . ute were years tome, and 1 had given j up all hope, when I heard Birge’s , voice: 9 “Let the critter go, boys; -let’s lead ] him out of town like tlie thief he is, 1 with a rope round his nec;, and if he p ever comes back we’ll hang him.’ 3 “ ‘Go on with the hanging,’ yelled . half a dozen; we don’t want any - thieves in Alma.’ a “ ‘No; I lost the money, audit’s my 1 say,’ replied Birge. I “After a lot of talk they let me down and I breathed again. Then I they led me out of town. I made ) tracks, you can believe. I stopped in 3 Boulder. When I had been there 3 about three weeks, one night Birge a and three miners came to my board r ing house. Birge walked up to me, ■ and said lie, ‘Sam, shake old boy; we’v -3 got the money all safe. We treate l r you like a. dog, and we’ve come t apologize.’ “I could hardly trust my ears, but j they soon told the story. The very ( next day after I’d been led out of Al- t ma, my partner Steve was caught in a f snow slide while going up to the Rus- 1 sin, probably to take off my name. He I lived long enough th be brought to town and to make a confession. While I was inside the cabin the jenny, snuffing round for something to eat, had very innocently protruded < her tongue and taken into her mouth ( the whole $1200.' Steve happened to ( see her just as she was about swallow- j ing her valuable rations, ran to her, ] put his hand in her mouth, seized the ( greenbacks and brought them out. He , then hid them, with the almost fatal result to me that I have described, i lie pointed out where he had hidden I it, and Birge got his money. I was i brought back to Alma iu triumph, and i they gave me a pocketbook with a cool thousand in it to make up. But I 1 wouldn’t go through such another 1 time for twice a thousand. After that they called me Pocket-book Sam. I sold the Russia for $30,000, and that was the beginning of my fortune.” Feelings of an Opium Smoker. “I don’t deny I’m an opium smoker,” he said, “for several reasons, the main one being that my looks, the color of my skin and my wasted form would tell any observer different. It’s a ter rible thing, and in the course of a few years will kill me, but as 1 haven’t got any thing particular to live for, am alone in the world and like to en joy myself, I don’t know but what I’m doing just what most of the world is doing, or trying to do—enjoy my self. It’s a wonderful satisfaction to be able to lie alongside of a bamboo pipe, have somebody cook your ‘dope,’ smoke your fill of the drug, and know that you are tree from the desire to gain a name for yourself in this world, and that you couldn’t get rich if you tried, ‘so there’s no use in trying.’ But it’s ruin to the man or woman who once gets the ‘habit.’ Don’t you know what tlie ‘habit’ is? Well, I'll tell you: It is a craving to smoke opi um. it’s worse a good deal than the whiskey habit. When the feeling comes upon you, you’ve got to smoke; when that feeling comes upon you for the first time, you know that you are a ‘fiend;’ you might just as well give up all hopes of ever amounting to any thing, for they will only make your life miserable, and at last die out, only to haunt you now and then when you get the blues and curse the day you ever put a pipe to your mouth. Wiiat is the‘habit’ like? Well, 1 couldn’t exactly tell you, for it comes upon peo ple in different ways. I get it twice and sometimes three times a day. When it comes upon me the perspira tion stands out on tny face and fore head in great big drops. If I do not obey tlie summons of my master my bones begin to ache, until at last 1 am forced to go. I drag myself along up to a ‘joint’ I generally go to, and in twenty minutes I am at peace witli myself and the world again. A half dozen ‘pills’ have cured my ‘habit.’ and a half-dozen more have charged my system full enough to last me six hours. At the end of that time lam summoned again, the same perform ance is gone through, the same enjoy ment and satisfaction are experienced, and here I am, an opium smoker, a person who lives for nothing else in God’s w'orld but to smoke opium. Would you believe it? Well, it’s tho case with just one thousand other men in this town no older than myself, and I ain’t twenty-eight yet.”— San Fran cisco Chronicle. A Woman’s Way. “Did you ever notice how a woman takes the cork out of a bottle?” “No, I think not. Did you?” “Yes.” “How does she do it?” “Why, she nails it with her teeth, bites it off, and then gets mad and breaks the bottle. If she don’t do it that way, she takes a knife and prods and pries around the stopper till she cuts her finger, and then, when the blood begins to run and her Dutch gets up, she throws the knife across the room, shoves the cork into the bot tle, spanks the first young one she gets her hand on, and then sits down and takes a good cry.”— Chicago Ledger. Why She Felt Acquainted. It is in no sense a part of an Amer ican minister’s duty to act as social sponsor for ambitious nobodies, or to introduce at court people who do not know how to behave when they get ■ there. A once too easily persuaded minister yielded to the teasing of one of his countrywomen and presented her at the court of one of the Conti nental nations. The Queen received her most kindly, but judge of the min- ■ ister’s horror when, to her Majesty’s i kindly welcome, the American woman replied: “I really feel as if I had known you a long time, you know we go to the same chiropodist III” Boston j BiMolin. LADIES’ COLUMN. Reautlful at Four Score. And old lady over eighty years of age, and who was once a great beauty, died icce’.itly in Paris, leaving alter her a d nry in which she endeavors to show up the alleged vanity of women. From the age of twenty to thirty she spent three hours a day at her toilet, which foots up for the period one year ninety-one days aud six hours employed in dressing her hair, powdering her cheeks and painting her lips. From thirty to fifty the toilet labors amounted to five hours a day, the extra hours being consecrated to cover ing up the tracks of time, including the obliteration of crows’ feet and other necessary filling in and grading. Time, four years and forty days. After fifty her efforts had to be redoubled. To the last she resisted the effects of time. CI iengo Herald. How Tadics should Ride. The horsewoman should sit so that the weight of the body falls exactly in the centre of the saddle, without heavily bearing on the stirrup, able to grasp the upright pommel with the right knee, and press against the “hunting horn” with her left knee, yet not exerting any mus cular action for that purpose. For this end the stirrun leather must be neither too long nor too short. The ideal of a fine horsewoman is to be erect without being rigid, square to the front and, until quite at home in the saddle, look ing religiously between her horse’s ears. The shoulders must, therefore, be square, but thrown back a little so as to expand the chest and make a hollow waist, “such as is observed in waltzing,” but always flexible. On the flexibility of the person above the waist and on the firm ness below all the grace of equestrianism —all the safety depends. Nervousness makes both men and women poke their heads forward—a stupid trick In a man, unpardonable in a woman. A lady should bend like a willow in a storm, al ways returning to an easy yet nearly up right position. This seat should be ac quired while the lady’s horse is led, first by hand, then with a leading stick and finally with a luncheon rein, which will give room for cantering in circles. But where the pupil is encumbered with reins, a whip and directions for guiding her horse she may be excused for forget ing all about her seat or her position. The arms down to the elbows should hang loosely near, but not fixed to tha sides, and the bands, in the absence ol reins, may rest in front of the waist.— Plalailelphia Timet. Fashion INotew. Double skirts are seen on new dresses. Lace parasols in all colors are seldom lined. Old-fashioned sprigged muslins are in style again. Thin veilings make the prettiest ol summer dresses. White nun’s veiling remains in favor as nice dresses for misses. Wedgewood designs in table ware are again popular and in much demand in this country. Poppy red and blue serge jackets will be worn on morning walks with muslin and cotton dresses. The little drawn muslin hats, which were formerly only worn by children, are worn by ladies as garden hats this sea son. Tunics, polonaises and every kind of drapery used for figured materials are equally adapted for flowered lawns and cambrics. Jetted zouave jackets, very short and beaded in small designs, are worn over waists of house dresses of black silk, satin or surah. Pretty white muslin and linen lawn dresses for misses are made with a titled basque that is worn with a belt of velvet ribbon that has a bow on tlie side. A tucked sKirt is in good style for oft, thin woolens, and should be made in lengthwise tucks for older ladies mid in horizontal tucks for young ladies and misses. A Popular Mexican Resort Santa Anita, the first village on the Viga beyond the city of Mexico, writes a correspondent to the San Francisco Chronicle, is the universal rallying point on Sundays for both natives and sight seers from the capital. There is always a fiesta at Santa Anita, and there the. In dians are eternally dancing, singing and pulque-drinking. On arriving at this village the first business of everybody is to secure a wreath of poppies and corn flowers, which the women wear upon their tangled hair and the men upon their sombreros—though perhaps the human form divine thus beautifully crowned may bo but partially covered with scant and dirty rags. Lovely wreaths sell for a madeo (six cents) apiece, and the woman, young or old, who is not wreathed before the day is over is either deep in disgrace or hope lessly out of fashion. This native love of flowers is a direct heritage from the swarthy founder of these floating gar -1 dens. History tells us that the most 1 valuable gift which Montezuma present ed to the Spanish ambas ador of his court was accompanied by a bouquet; and a strange anomaly it must have <eemed, this love of the beautiful com bined with their blood-curdling religion. ’ Baron Von Humboldt remarked upon it ' centuries afterward. To-day those who 1 sit in the market places must embower 1 themselves in gieen branches garlanded ’ with flowers, while even prosaic pulque I barrels are wreathed with roses, and • mugs and pitchers similarly bedecked I The poorest village church has its floor strewn with blossoms, and fresh bou i qiiets are arranged upon all the altars i before service begins. The babe at its christening,the child at its confirmation, , the bride at her wedding, the corpse in its coffin, are alike adorned.