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-try *^=owRF Hz fe&' if V }T>:f |%i \y '■Bsi i» \{ ; '-■ : DlUJ^v&'J A c*jXf { %J s£ .<c$ ATWn Hi :Jt» .«& TAMING OF A GIRL BY HENRY GRlVILLE. Translated from the French, ‘‘or the “Sunny Soutlt," BY PROF. OH AS. F. GAILJIARD. XIX. Winter was coming to an end; the series of marriages that generally follow Christmas had taken'place as usual; Lent was near, and Dosia was now wearing long dresses. That event, long expected by her as a very imp ortant one, left her almost indifferent. She had a few times looked behind her at the silk waves of her train undulating on the carpet, but she had not felt that triumph, that pride which she had an ticipated. In fact, her first long dress had been a deception. Other thoughts had occupied her mind. ‘You may say what you please, but she was more interesting before,’ sighed Mourief one day, while seated near the Princess on a low arm-chair, j so low that his chin rested on the handle of his i sword. ‘it was the good time, then, was it not?’ sarcas- [ ticnlly said the Princess. In spite of the young man’s passionate denials j Sophie continued : ‘Are you not sorry not to have married her?’ | •Ah ! Princess,’ said Mourief, reproachfully. Sophie kept on. ‘It may not be too late yet.’ Pierre kept silent. He was playing with the golden tassel of his sword, striking with it the metallic scabbard. The silence was long enough to be embarrassing. Sophie became nervous and crumpled a newspaper she held in her hand. ‘Well! you do not answer,’ she said. ‘I thought,’ he said, in very low tones, ‘ that it was only for Dosia to tease wickedly poor mortals.’ lie coughed as to clear up his throat, but did not succeed. The Princess looked at the floor, and Mourief continued : •1 dont know why you speak to me so. It seems to me I have never done anything that could lead to the conclusion that I love Dosia.’ •Oh! that you did not!’ exclaimed Sophie, laughing this time. Her nervous and staccato laughter ceased sud denly. Pierre had kept serious, and the golden tassel was yet striking the steel scabbard. ‘I shall never marry,’ he said, ‘for I consider a marriage without love as the most wicked act a man may be guilty of.’ ‘You are very severe,’ commenced the Princess, but she had not courage to go any farther. ’The most wicked and the most stupid against himself, for the punishment follows it immediat ely and without fail.’ ‘But, said Sophie, blushing, ‘do you believe your heart is forever out arrow ?’ Pierre rose. ‘I cannot be too grateful for such generosity,’ said Pierre, bowing. ‘Oh !’ she added, shaking her head, ‘it is not on your account. Althongh Sophie never told me a word of it, l noticed that she is dissatisfied when I tease you.’ Pierre tried to read his cousin’s eyes, those mischievous and at the same time friendly eyes, that always said a hundred things at once, but before he could utter a word she had turned round and was gone. They danced as they dance only in Saint- Petersburg, with a vigor and a persistency that renders them forgetful of the rest of this world. Poluies aniEuropean equilibrium is of little import ance for a Russian, when ha is twenty years old and has a good tapeur. About midnight, the Princess ordered the sup per to be served up. It was the first time that she had a ball at her house, and—as she pleas antly said—it was probably the last, hut Dosia was well deserving of it on the occasion of the eighteenth anniversary of her birthday. ‘Yes, ladies and gentlemen,’ said Dosia, when at the table, ‘to-day I am eighteen years old. I ac knowledge that it does not look much like it, but it is so anyhow, and I have beeorne so wise that the Princess Sophie was thinking of putting me under a globe with golden frame, and placing it in thecenlerof t ie parlor, as a permanent model for whimsical girls to look at and learn that they must never despair. I am becoming now a serious person, and I have taken the resolution to devote j myself to good.’ She glanced to her cousin, who was looking at ; her in amazement. ‘Thus far I have been a sort of butterfly, I am ; now turning silk-worm, always the wrong way,but 1 one cannot change his nature.’ I Raising her rosy crystal cup, she added ; ‘To my metamorphosis!’ j Amid merry laugntershe drank a few drops of | Champaign, and turned toward Plato. Her faee j assumed an expression of timididy and seemed to I inquire if she had not gone too far. A smite fr ocn | the young man put her at ease; she resumed her j gayety and all returned to the dancing-room. Mourief danced a quadrille with the Princess, ! but how to speak with the incessant motion and : among such a gathering of long trains ? The object j he had in view was a serious one, not to be treated lightly. He contented himself by admiring the graceful elegance of the woman who might become his wife. At this thought his heart throbbed, and still when the Princess’ hand touched his, he was perfectly calm. His happiness was far above those earthly emotions. ‘I heard, too, that you cannot pay it.’ ‘Excuse me, Princess, between now and to morrow I hope to find the necessary money for it,’ Pierre answered, in a calm voice. ‘Are you sure of it ?’ ‘Oueis never sure of anything,’ he said, looking at the carpet. ‘Are you aware that you shall be discharged if you dont pay ?’ ‘Very likely,’ answered Mourief, with a coolness that surprised th». Princess. ‘This prospect seems to have nothing disagree able for you’ she said with a tint of haughtiness. He made a gesture that could mean, ‘dont be un easy,’ as well as ‘I dont care.’ Sophie looked at him attentively. ‘Mr. Mourief,’ she said softly, ‘you have caused me a great sorrow.’ Pierre bowed very low and kissed with respect the folds of her dress. ‘I had such a high opinion of you, I was keeping you so far above others, in my mind ! And you have beeu seen in a house She could not find any proper adjective, and the young man did not give her the time to do it. Bounding on his feet, he cried out ; ‘Who said so ? He is a liar ! This is an infamy !’ Sophie breathed twice with difficulty, and, whiter than her cambric collar, she fainted in her arm chair, [to bf, continued.] A GRAdlLIlSS ZEALOT. How an Kn^lisli Church Parson Objected to a Funeral Service Over an Unl>a|>tize<i In fant* Waiting for a Woman to ‘Get Ready. xx. A few days later, in the afternoon, Piato ent ered in a hurry his sister’s house and, asked her to go with him in her private studio—a room in which Dosia never used to enter. ‘What is the matter?’ asked Sophie, with anxiety. ‘Nothing concerning U3 directly, but something that may disturb our habits, if the news is true.’ ‘Is that ail?’ said Sophie, already more at ease. ‘When I say our habits. I mean some society in tercourses which are hard to break. This is the thing. I heard this morning that Mourief had of reach of Cupid’s f been gambling with an unscrupulous sharper, in a house—well!—a bad house—and he has lost, on his word, a considerable sum. •The woman I love,’ he said,‘is one I cannot! Sophie grew pale and seated herself in an arm- pretend to marry; still her image will guard me ! chair. She took her handkerchief, passed it twice for ever from doing wrong. I prefer to live alone j upon her lips; then joined her hands together on and keep unsoiled a heart that I gave her entirely j her knees and kept silent, and without hope.’ j Plato was not expecting hope Pierre bowed very low before the Princess, and made a step towards the door. One second Sophie hesitated, then she rose and with the dignity of a queen she extended her ha»,i ■lie who thinks so may be mistaking the depth and duration of his sentiment, but Pierre looked at her. She continued in a firm voice : ■But if he is not mistaken, if he has roally given his heart completely and without hope, there is not a woman on earth who should not be proud of and grateful for such a devotion.’ Mourief was still looking at her, abashed and dazzled. •You are very young to speak of eternal vow*, she added with a smile that seemed a sun- ray on her beautiful grave face. ‘But if the tribul- | ations of this life do not discourage you if you 1 are really what you seem to be, you can ’aspire to ! any woman.’ She had drawn her hand from his, and bowiu^ to him she entered her private room ° j Pierre found himself in the street, unconscious j 0l the way he had come out of the house. He ' expecting such emotion. He drew near his sister and took her hand. He was | about to ask a question which delicicy restrained upon his tongue when she said simply, raising her honest.evesAoward her brother’?' — ‘Pardon me, sister, I ought, to have kept that news from youe, to have inquire about it, to ’ ‘Who reported it to you ?’ ‘Our colonel. Had he not been sure of it, he would have not said a word. He sent for me this morning and asked me—being Mourief’s friend— to do all in my power to avoid a scandal. The sum is so large that Pierre cmnot pay it imme diately. The question is to obtain a delay. We do not admit in the regiment that a debt contracted upon one’s word remain unpaid. Had it not been in consideration of his good conduct, Mourief should have been already discharged.’ ‘When did this misfortune take place?’ ‘Four or five days ago. It was, I believe, last Wednesday.’ ‘Wednesday? He was here with us; it was then after midnight, after he left us. Plato, there must be some mistake, it is impossible !’ I said so too, at first, but when saw the was trying to understand what had happened ! note, signed by his own hand ’ refusing to believe in his remembrance. ’ j Sophie dropped her hea l and close •It is impossible,’ said he to himself, “she is not ! though to shut out a painful dream. But, ‘she is not then, she would d her eyes as Are you a man ? If so, you have probably had the pleasure of waiting for a woman to ‘get rea dy’ to go somewhere. G3tting ready is a migh ty operation for a woman to perforin. It has al ways been so; but in these days of complicated costumes and inn umerable appendages of the toilet, it is a stupendous undertaking. You are infatuated with Miss B. You invite her to rids behind your span of grays. l'ou are wise enoagh to know that all women, or most of them, like a fine turn-out, and would much sooner be made love to by a man who owns a nice team than by one who takes his airings in horse cars or om nibuses. You set the time at 3p. ru. She asks sweet ly if you could not just as well come at 4. Of coarse she would like to go earlier, but she doubts if she can get ready, uni of course, as you are not married to her, you are only too happy to do just as she wants you to. After marriage, as the French say, ‘we changeall that,’ and when monsieur bids her madame must be ready, or she is left behind. At precisely 4 the next day, you drive to Mis3 B’s gate with a grand flourish. It looks old fo gy isk to be walking with your horses up to a hitching post and you have been showing your animals the whip a few blocks back. They are stirred up by it and toss their heads and paw up papa B’s concrete, and snap at the shrubbery in a vicious way and assure you equinely that they had just as soon not wait for a woman to get ready. Yon think at first you won’t hitch them, for surely she is ready, bat remembering former experiences with those of liar sex, you change your mind and give a small boy ten cents to have an eye to them. Y'ou ring the bell and are ad mitted, and the small boy engages in marble playing with another small boy, and trusts the horses to Provideaca. j ‘Is Miss B ready ?’ you blandly ask the maid servant. She doesn’t know, she’ll inquire. You stand first on one foot and then on the other and stare at the hat-tree and pull up your new style col lar, which ought to stand up, but whieh has de veloped an obstinate tendency to lop down, and you wonder wnere on earth that servant has gone to inquire, and you run out to see your horses and administer soma sharp words to your small . ■ r 30 Mbnnihx I'D nogo the minute your back is turnea. By the time you get into the house again,Mrs. B is coming down the stairs in a toilet made in evident haste. She is cordial and invites you into the parlor, and says Maria will be down in a moment, and she is so sorry to have kept you waiting. From above stairs you can hear the sound of the notes of preparation. Much treading back and forth, opening of closet doors, shutting of drawers, scolding of the maid, in suppressed tones, and liveliness generally. If you could look into Maria's chamber you would be in despair. Her ‘crimps’ are not tak- [Loy<Vs London Weekly.\ The Rev. George Drury, rector of Claydon-cum- Akenham, Suffolk, whose name has frequently been before the public, not only refused on the 23d lilt, to bury the child of a Baptist parishioner, lie- cause it was unliaptlzed, which of course t lie rubric justified him in doing, but entered into a most unseemly wrangle with Mr. Tozier, a dissenting minister <>(' Ipswich, who was performing a service outside the churchyard, the point being that Mr. Drury desired the service to be said after the child hail been placed in the grave. The rector frequent ly interfered with this objection, and Die clnircb- ward^n, Mr. Gooding, ami Mr. Tozier begged him to be quiet, as the service could not last many minutes. The following conversation then ensued: Incuinbant: ‘‘Don't toll me to be quiet: T have a duty to perform and I shall do it. I must teach my parishioners that these proceedings are wrong.” Mr. Tozier moved slightly towards Mr. Drury and said: “I respect you as a gentleman, and I would not willingly offend your religious convictions or your conscientious scruples, but do let me beg of you t- '-e quiet for a few minutes." Incumbent: “Whub.ius that to do with it?’’ Mr. Tozier: “I supposed you were a gentleman, a Christian and a minister of Christ.” Incumbent: “I don't see what religious convictions or scruples lias to do with it,.” Mr. Tozier: “I have no wish to hold a | discussion, and I appeal to your manhood, and I you not tp torture the feelings of these poor [ at a time like this.’’ Incumbent: ‘‘That nonsense; manhood and feeling have nothing whatever to do with it. Your proceedings arc al together wrong, and I must teach my parishioners that I cannot sanction them.” Mr. Tozier: “Well, sir, r thought if you were not a gentleman ora I Christian, you might possibly lie a man. I am sor- j ry to have been mistaken.” Incumbent: I sup pose you call that Christian?'’ Mr. Tozier: “Very, j and for that reason 1 fear you are incapable of up- ; predating it. You have a very priestly garb, and i [ suppose you take that as equivalent to being one, | but you are destitute of tne spirit of your Master, | and you have not even a spark of humanity in \ you,’<>r you would not becapableof this comment." Incumbent: “I do not see what humanity lias to do With it. That child (pointing to tlie codin on the ground with his umbrella) lias not been bap tized, and it is, therefore, not a Christian, and I object, to its being buried as such." The secret of Drury’s interference was now dis closed, and it produced an instantaneous effect up on Mr. Tozier. As quick as thought tie drew him self up to his full height—close upon six feet—I brought his rigiit arm dangerously near to Mr. Drury's head, an<l with his eyes flashing tire, and J his voice trembling with emotion, said: “if it ' were not for harrowing the feelings of these poor! people I would very soon silence your brutal speech. Though decked in the garb of a priest, and holding tire oilice of a minister, you are a disgrace to humanity.” Closed for Eighteen Centuries. Opera SSoiiiSV in tlieOJri AmpUUIira Ire in i*diiij»eii. A somewhat startling announcement recently appeared in a Naples paper, to the effect that ‘the theatre of Pompeii, after having been closed for eighteen centuries, and b eing fully repaired, will soon bo opened by Signor Luigni with a performance of ‘La Figlia del Reggimento.' The new manager at the same time bespoke the STAGE DOTS. A sale of poor Montigue’s effects (stage ward robe included) brought not quite three thous and dollars to bis widowed mother. Many act ors attended the sale and bought coats veBts, pictures, books, keepsakes from ladies, etc., as souvenirs of ‘poor, dear Monty.’ He was well beloved by the professional fraternity. There is talk of erecting a memorial stained-glass win dow for him at the ‘Little Church around the Corner,’of which he was a regular at endant. Olive Logan tells the storv that the handsome voung actor was secretly betrothed to an Lari s daughter in England, and that when the news reached her at a party she swooned away. ^.Modj-iska is soon to give the public a chance to) criticise her iu the hackneyed yet difficult balcony scene of Juliet. And apropos of Juliet, the divine Neilson will be back here in January witd now costumes tad fresh parts . She is en gaged at Wallack’s. Mile. Aitnee is looked for despite her ‘last farewell to America.’ The sprightly, naughty little onera bolt fib knows that she is better ap preciated here than else where. Offenbach has sunbed her cruelly lately. He has ignored her entirely in his request that Le Grande Duchisse , () plg i be put on the stage in Paris (where it has, un- s all til now, been forbidden ever since the Frauce- Prussian War) and has given the title role to Paoia Marie. Well, charming little Aimee is not so young as she was, and can afford to re tire on her laurels and money and give the prom inent place to young and lovely singers like Pa oia Marie. That sterling actress Rose Eytinge is now playing in Oliver Twist at the Broadway theatre. The last act is said to be written by Charlts Read, and is dramatic and effective, especially in the episode of Nancy’s death. Miss Eytinge is exceedingly strong at this point, yet she does not shock the beholder by an exhibition of ultra realism—a protruding tongue, dis tended eyeballs and other minutie which make up the stock of blood and thunder actresses. The Road to Ruin is being played in New York with Miss Genevieve Rogers (whom we Southerners know well) as Sophie, who pleases with her tenderness and want of affectation, but is told by the critics to cultivate hor manner and voice. Mr.jJOoghlan plays young Dornton with much warmth and spirit. A Good Employment for Women. The coming season does not promise to be a v ry gay one, though business has revived. Middle-class people, especially, find in the shrinkage of income that they have all they can do to preserve that respectability of appear ance which stands between them and the loss of social caste or position. Under the?9 cir cumstances, retrenchment has been a necessity, yet where to retrench was the question. ‘I will tell you,’ said one bright young mar ried woman to her husband. •! will dismiss favor of the public, which had so generously j Katie—she is hardly of any use—and take Tot ‘How much?’ she a skedafter asi!euce. ‘Fiftythousand dollars.’ Sophie rose and began walking up and down the room. After a moment she took her brother’s arm a more positive hope? But what | and they walked together for a long time, hunting t! the Princess had a a coquette, and still! permit me to On the next evening, Mourief went to Sophie’ Could he see her privately ? Could he <r et a more ! detinue answer, r ••• - a disappointment. the Princess had a numerous j for a solution to the difficult problem before and gay company. j them, but were unsuccessful. At last Sophie res- , ’ 1 ta T™ r > ^d by a footman, entered the ' unied her chair, ouse as ne did.. j ‘Brother,’ she said, ‘I cannot believe such a . eeting I lato in the antechamber Mourief ask- ! tale. Pierre is not a gambler—he would have not C -’ sorr r™'y : i risked what he could not pay—he is not a hyp- at is the matter here?’ j ocrite; yesterday and the day before his face was t is t e anuiversary of your cousin’s birthday ’ ! as true as usual.’ swered Smirnf *T v* you was coming t 0 I never thought ’ in a way answered Sourof, ‘I thought compliment her.’ •Not at all!’ exclaimed Pierre, of it. I was not coming for that ‘What was it for, then ?’ asked Sourof that caused the Lieutenant to blush ‘I was coming for . that is—, yea I came “;•« *»« ? i L;. Acs, we will, if you permit it.’ ‘ihen I will go for a bouquet, I cannot come here on such an occasion with empty hands ’ Dosia s face appeared at the door, and her mis chievous eyes pierced those of Mourief who was pulling on his cloak. who was ‘My cousin has forgotten my birthday, I per- ive, she said, ‘and he is coin* a f, PP J’ LI cei boss, my favorite. 7 p . - IS going after some bon- Dring me some marrons places, they are smiled! a SilVer ^ h ’ She disappeared. Pl at0 Mar, ons places. She does it on purpose she knows very well that there cannot be a single one left in town by this time. I will have to order teady/ nd ^ UUUl miJni S^ before they get unfor ffinafe went off. Twenty' minutes later he came back triumphant, holding in his hands some marrons places and a laro-e bouquet destined to make up for his negligence. q nresent ‘V U,C ° US ^’’ Said Dosia - receiving his here Thev f SI T me; but eve rjbody spoils me fhe op J s h j?Lr Qd #Ut U , makes better. Just tne opposite of anyone else, is it not?’ know whaUo P anstS. 8UCh manner8 ’ did not youAead me ’ haJn,t 7°“ ? Y °“ have m . and —heat—somewhere else,’ added Ire much'concerned'fl n ° UCeJ late * that Y ° u mured Ve pfe°r l i 0 IUde t' i made that diseovery ?’ mur mured Pterre, who would have gladly boxed easy 1 *' 1 kept il . to 1 m y self ’ dont be un- would ou.'t a I eTen pro “ lsed the Princess that I would quit teasing you. ‘Yesterday he seemed preoccupied.’ ‘I acknowledge that; but his preoccupation was | not that of a man who has lost one-fourth of his J fortune aud must have it in cash in tweaty-four 1 hours. Send him tome.’ ‘To you ! What is your intention ?’ ‘First, to know the truth; then ve shall do what we can, or rather what duty commands.’ Piato looked at her. ‘You sometimes call me Wisdom; have confid ence once more in my wisdom,’ she added, with a sad smile, ‘I shall do nothing wrong.’ Plato kissed her sister and went off. He had some trouble in finding Mourief, who, according to his servant’s answer to Plato, had been out almost all day. At hist he met him in the Morskaia, mounted upon his best tiotter. He stopped him and asked him to dismount. ‘Sister wants to see you,’ said he abruptly. Mourief grew pale and was evidently troubled. ‘What for?'he murmured. ‘It is none of my business. Go and see her ins tantly, and when you shall be through with her come to see me; the Colonel wants me to tell you something ’ Pierre summoned all his energy, his face ex pressed only an unfliuching resolution. ‘Better that way,’ said he; ‘any how, my inten tion was to have a talk with you.' ‘I will wait for you at my house.’ ‘I shall soon be there.’ Mourief hurried up to see the Princess. He was a man of quick decision, and always faced difficult situations. Sophie received him in her private room, which he never had entered before. Day was declining, and only one lamp was on the table. He was struck with the paleness of the Princess, who, he thought, was ignorant of that affair. But it was too late to back out. ‘Have a seat, sir,’said Sophie, without exiend- ding her hand to him. He obeyed. ‘I shall be frank, ’ she said, ‘I have been told you have lost a considerable sum gambling.’ Mourief bowed in assent. on down, her boots are unbuttoned, her pull- back’s elastic cords are out of gear and the maid is fixing them; she can’t find her bracelets; one cuff pin is missing; she has put arnica on her handkerchief by mistake, thinking it Jockey Club; there i3 a button off her basque from hur ried buttoning, and oh, dear! dear! where is her lemon kids and her parasol, and her lace scarf and that coral neck chain and a shawl and a white lace vail and a dc^an other necessary ar ticles ? She has hurried so her face is all in a blaze and she is sure she looks like a washerwoman, and she seizes the powder puif aud dabs a little chalk on her forehead and hopes it won't be seen as she is going out to ride with a man and not with a woman. Woman always see such things, and speak about them to other women, and pat on an air of righteousness and innocence, and wonder how Christian ladies can powder their faces. But the corner apothecary could, if he chose, unfold a tale of small boys or girls coming in after sun set, to get a box of iilly white ‘for a woman as sent for it.’ ‘Oh, consistency!’ Ail unconscious of the trials which beset your charming Maria, you are striving to do the agreeable to Mrs S.,with the sound of your hor ses pawing up that sidewalk in your ears, and you know the old man is particular about his grounds; and directly j’ou hear something snap, and rash out to find that one of vonr spirited aags has broken ofl'a fence picket and is trying his best on another, by way of dessert. Will she ever get ready ? You go to tell Mrs. B. that your horses are so restive you must stand by them, and you retire to the sidewalk, painfully conscious that across the street, in that big tenement house, half a dozen children and young people, and as many more idle loafers, are watching you and laugh ing at your predicament, and telling each other that that is the chap ‘that is trying to court Maria B., and she's had nine fellers already and every one of ’em went back on her.’ You consult your watch, 5 o’clock! Y’ou feel inclined to swear a little, but early piety forbids, and you try to possess your soul in patience. The door opens. She comes, radiant and smil ing, in the loveliest of new costumes, pinned back so tight that she creeps toward you like a snail, and you mentally wonder how she is ever going to step high enough to get into the car riage; and her hat is so becoming and her black lace scarf increases the whiteness of her neck so much, and she tells you so sweetly that you feel infinitely obliged to her for doing it, and feel for the moment, as if the highest and most su preme delight of existence could be found only in waiting for her to ‘get ready. 1 —Kate Thorn in the Xeio York Weekly. To fry fish.—Slit the fish down the back; season with pepper and salt, and dost it with fioar, then fry it in a little salt pork drippings and batter, in a dripping pan or on a cake grid dle; or cat the fish into squares; season well and dip each one into egg, then in fine cracker crumbs, and immerse the pieces in boiling patronized his predecessor, Marcus Quintus Martins; and assured it that there w is no reison to fear a repetition of tne deplorable accident by which that enterprising impresario had lost his vocation, and his audience their lives. It is, of course, quite possible to give a perfor mance in the hoary old amphitheatre where the people of Pooapeii had crowded to witness a contest of gladiators, when the showers of Vesuvian lava-dust overcame them. The edifice was so well preserved by the lava that, having now been excavated, it is still almost intact; and the modern Neapolitans may a3 easily throng upon its long, semicircular rows of stone seats as did the contemporaries of Sallust, Pliny, and Domede. As we think of the old theatre of Pompeii once more alive with a throng of pleasure-seekers, attired for the most part in vojlu Jij UI»^V4. tiDilOLliGC7diA»v< ^ * v t y -\At%f LDdutiUlD of our time, with here and there an oasis of brilliant color afforded by the showy dress of a Neapolitan peasant, we cannot help conjuring up the last scene witnessed there iu the olden time; the white, looped up togas and the nar row fillets of the patricians, Domede iu his sandals aud with hi3 big gold rings, and the rows of dark-eyed,dissolute matrons and daugh ters, iu their waistlass robes aud daintily coifed tresses. The Schoolmaster Abroad An English writer has been sharply criticis ing the management of the London public schools, known as the ‘Board Schools, and pro duces the following as a specimen of the writ ten examinations of soma of the scholars : ‘Where is Turkey?’ ‘Turkey is the capital of Norfolk.’ ‘Where is Turin ?’ Tureen is the cappittal of ChiDer the peepul there lives in burds nests and has long tails.’ Where is Gibraltar ? ‘Gibberralter is the principal town of Roo- shia.’ ‘What do you know about the patriarch Abra ham ?’ ‘He was the father of Lot, and ad tew wifes— wan was called Hishmale and t’other Haygar. Ha kept wun at home and, he turned the t'other into the desert, where she became a pillow of salt in the day time and a pillow of lire at nite.’ ‘What do you know of Joseph?’ ‘Hee wore a coat of many garments. Hee were chief butler for Faro and told his dreams. Hee married Potiffer’s dorter, and he led the Gypashons out of bondage to Kama in Gallilee, aud then fell on his sword and died, in site of the promiss land.' ‘Give mo the names of the books of the Old Testament.' ‘Devonshire, Exeter, Littikus, Numbors, St-ronomy, Jupiter, Judges, Ruth, ect.’ ‘What is a miracle?’ ‘Don't know.’ ‘If you saw the sua shining overhead at mid night, what would you call it ?, ‘The moon.’ ‘But if you were told it was the sun ?’ ‘1 should say it was a lie.’ ‘Another boy, giving his impression in regard to Moses, wrote as follows : ‘H9 was an Egypshin. He lived in a hark of bull-rushers, and he kep a golden carf, and worshipt braizsn snakes, and he hot nuthin but kwales and manner for forty year. He was kort by the air of his ed while riding under the bow of a tree, and he was killed by his son Abslon, as he was a hanging from the bow, His end was pease!’ out for her walks myself, the exercise will do me good, and I will be sure then that she is not exposed to any danger. The other after noon,’ she continued, ‘as I was returning from a late cail upon Mrs. B., who is ill, I passed four nurse girls who had stopped on the corner of the avenue and one of the cross streets for a gossip. It had grown chilly, and the wind Mow ed very disagreeably. Two of the children were crying bitterly, and one, at least, scream ed so piteously that the girl in charge of him was obliged to leave the group and take him home. But before she did she gave him a fear ful shaking, told him roughly to ‘be quiet,’ and fiaally started in a very bad humor. I could not help thinking th6Q-of the mothers of those children, seated in their cosy rooms warmly dressed, waiting in the firelight for husbanefs’ ami cunureu s return, but never thinking of the duty they owed them; and I then and there made up my mind that hereafter I was going to take care of Tot myself.’ I dare say the reader would like to kDow what the husband said to this speech from a pretty wife in a dark blue cashmere dress, with white lace aud a sprig of scarlet geranium in her hair. Lot I shall not tell. I know one thing he did, he stopped at Appleton’s the next day and bought two serial tickets for Huxley’s lec tures which his wife had requested him to do some time before, but which he had neglected' and every pleasant day the lady may be seen walking down the clean wide avenue, holding her little girl by the hand, and so appropriately dressed that her costume deserves mentioning. It consists of a black silk walking skirt, a dark Russian gray beige polom i je , with cellar and culls of velvet, and a gray felt hat to match, trimmed with black velvet, and dark-shaded wing. A crimson tie lends the bit of color nec essary to the picture. Meeting her on the wide, clean, unoccupied tnorougnfare, I am seizsd with a longing to make all the sweet, gentle, refined women, who occupy the beautiful houses who are devoured with ennui, who need air and exercise, their own nurse-maids! What a blessed thing it would be for the mothers -and for the children who equally need the air and sunlight—to be their own nurse-maids ! Pbseeved Quinces.—Pare and quarter the quinces; boil in enough water to keep them whole; when they are tender take them out, and to each pound of quinces add one pound of white sugar; let them stand with the sugar on until the next day, when you will find the syrup as light and clear as amber; put them in the kettle and let them boil twenty minutes; they never get hard. The water they were boiled in may be used to make a jelly of the parings; add one pound of white sugar to each pint of juice, and boil half an hour. A liberal citizen of Gordonsville who prefers to remain unknown has tendered to Virginia girls five scholarships at Gordonsville Female Institute. A boiler in the Jewish bath-house at Ktshineff, Russia, recently exploded, killing six and se- drippings, which should be very hot to prevent riously injuring sixteen of the forty persons the fish from absorbing the grease. j then in the hot room. r A child is never happy from having his own way. Decide for him, and he has but one thing to do; put him to please himself, and he is troubled with everything, ana satisfied with nothing. False happiness renders men stern aud proud, and that happiness is never communicated. True happiness renders them kind and sensL ble, and that happiness is always shared. Pride is as cruel a beggar as want, and a great deal more saucy. When you have bought one fine thing you must buy ten more that your ap pearance may be of a piece. It is easier to sup press the first desire than to satisfy all that followit. A method of making an artificial marble is said to have been devised by Miss Hosmer the sculptor. The subject is first sculptured in limestone, and then placed in a boiler filled with pure water, in which it is hermetically sealed and fire applied. When the pressure indicaL ed by a manometer shows an atmospheric ores sure of hve or six degrees the water is allowed o cool The sculpture is then withdrawn and treated in colored baths, with a suitable mor- dant, such as alum, for fixing the colors. Beef Omelet. -Three pounds of beef chopped fine; three eggs beaten together; six crackers rolled fane; one tablespoonful of salt, one tea- spoonful ot pepper, one tablespoonful of melted butter; sage to the taste; mix well and mala like a loaf of bread; put a little water and bits of butter into the pan; invert another pan over it, oaste the omlet occasionally; bake an hour and a quarter, and when cold slice very thin comparative pbil„lo w ) to M j 03 , p]l a^Jj* his essay on the Saffa inscription. 1 Madame Julia Woolf, of the Roval , Music has been commissioned to write th« d f ° f for “A Winter’s Tale,” which auced at Drury Lane Theatre. Ut L be pro ' Mr. S. Rothedheim, of Euston .... the Paris Exhibition various preparatiC of P ne the Lancet for their hygienic valj? SPOke “