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4a :> The"Art and Science of Eating. Lord Byron, said, with poetic afficta'ion.gthat he could never bear to see a woman eat. That fan aex might have turned np their pretty ncsea at the fastidious gentleman who, while at Genoa to Bay nothing of other plaoes, counting the cost u * P a< ^i D g as if his pockets were empty as those of his valet, and yet ate with as much gus to as any Briton would eat roast beef. The hu man machine is run by the fuel called food, and the more generous the supply the more capable it is of standing the wear and tear of time. The royal plethora enshrined among the cobwebs of hereditary divine right, the premier who really rules, the statesman who runs a republic, the proud beauty who enchants like the Florentine Venus—all are made- up of <bod. Wheat and meat from European or Western fields, rice from South Carolina, sugar from Louisiana or Cuba, milk and butter from breeds of Durham, con diments from the Spice islands, water from the bowels of the earth, wines from Oporto or else- wheie, make np the great men and the lovely women. Our bodies are really products from the four corners of the earth. Wbat a com mentary on human vanity! Get thee down from thy pedestal,O fool! for thou art at last but the result of animals and serials, and these come to thee through the care and labors of the husband man! Below is a dissertation of practical value, a short talk on the vital theme, namely: OUB MEALTIME. The distinguished French gentleman, Bril- lot-Sayaiin, in his ‘Puysiology of Taste,’ de- clarrsthata detsart w thout cheese is liken beautiful lady with one eye. It is evident that he located the proper dinner hour sufficiently late in the day to enable diners to partake of their meals in a leisurely way, so as to have nothing on their minds besides the e'<j >yment of the occupation. But the hour for dining is a subject upon which the world is far from be ing of a common opinion. Almost every civil ized nation has iis conventional dinr.er time, which varies, however, among commercial com- mnities, according to the position one occupies in society, the tradesman usually taking bis hasty meal soon after mid-day, while the more deliberate man of means defers his until later in the afternoon, Iu matters of this kind, health and convenience are usually the best reg ulators of custom, and, as Lord Bacon said, ‘A man's own observation w^at he finds good of, and what he finds hurt of, is the best physic to preserve health.’ But fashion, after ail, has much to do with distributing the time and ac tions of its votaries, and people a v e very apt, even though uuconscio sly, to adapt their hours of eating to those of their ass ci.>t-‘s. The two principal s stems as t < dinner are the Conti a en- tal and the English, the first of which insists upon an early dinner, while the latter post pones it to ee imes until well into the night. So that we have strong authority on our side, whichever system we in America adopt. Que n Victoria sets the examp's to her loyal hungry subjects of dining at eight o'clock in the even ing, having breakfasted at nine and lunched at two. Thft Is a very great deviation from the precedent of her predecessors. George the Third dined at two o'clock and retired early, which was the cession ot his reprimand to the Speaker of the House of Commons for holding sessions late in the evening. ‘You keep too !a‘e hours, and I mean to reform them!’ said the king at his first interview with the venerable Ouslow—but he didn’t succeed. In the time of William JV. the fashionable dining honr in England, R oyalty setting the fashion, was about seven p. u And now, as a’ ove stated, it has b«en expended to eight o’clock. A Frenchman parcels out his hours of sunlight very different ly from his English neighbor. Toe former be gins the day with an early cup of cofLe or choc olate, with perhaps a slice of toast, and takes the first solid meal of the day at eleven or twelve. That is certainly a vary agreeable plan, for one's appetite does not reach its best vigor until a tew boms out of bed. The Briton, on the other hand, often consumes a pound of beefsteak at eight in the morning. Lunoh, of course, would be an insult to such a meal, and an injury to a later meal. In Grrnrany. on the contrary, the noontide dinner prevails almost universally. In warmer olimates, such as Italy and Spain, a man will rise from his bed at four or five o'clock in the morning, transect his bus iness by eleven or twelve, dine heartily aid af terwards take two or three hours nap. V jry of ten he takes nothing more solid than a cup of chocolate for the rest of the day. There is a good deal to be said in favor ot this method of dividing one’s time. Doctors say that about no< n is the proper period for eating the most substantial repast of the day. Nevertheless we all know that we almost invariably feel indis posed to work after a full meal. So the siesta comes iB to restore the equilibrium between the mind and body. A distribution of sleep over the twenty-four hours—say six or seven at night and two in the middle of the day—will almost give a man two mornings, with all tbeir vigor and lightness, to the one of other men. Tne in dulgence is, however, impracticable in busy communiti's like the Uui ed States, lor iu coun tries where it is the rule all business is suspen ded from noon till three o’clock every day. It would require a singular revolution of popular sentiment to establish such an easy-going sys tem in our large cities! Lite dinners undoubt edly are powerful promoters of convivial habits. A person settles down into his chair with the pleasurable feeling that the cares of the day are over, and the rest of his working hours may be devoted to Becnriug comfort. So the meal is protracted, and after it, in England, the bottle and decanter often engross the attention nntii the fleeting hears are forgotten. This, nowev- er, is not so habitual as it was a generation ago. Still it occasionally finds its' a way to the surface even in society where habits of carousal would least be dreamed of. Only iu last May an En glish lord invited an Oxford chum, a country clergyman, to spend a week with him in Lon don. The parson accepted the invitation, and the ‘old Adam’ was speedily revived in him in bis new surroundings. One evening, after a hearty dinner, followed by still heartier pota tions, the host bantered the clergyman into a game of cauls. There were other guests and the stakes were high. The party played on until the morning sun began to glint between the blinds, and when they rose, the parson, who bad bad extraordinary luck, found himself the winner of seven thousand five hundred dollars. The Bext evening he was urged to give the los ers their revenge. But this the astute clergy man refused to do. They remonstrated, appeal ing to his sense of honor. But the clergyman held his own. ‘You inveighed me into playing cards; or if you like, fhe devil prompted me to play. Now I look npoD my winnings as spoils taken from the arch enemy, and I intend to de vote them io the building a new tower to my church.’ This was a reversal of the proverb, for it was borrowing the livery of the devil to s rve Heaven in, but the parson protably return d to hie country home with a satisfactory remem brance of the effects of his late dining. In this country heavy drinking has nev r been a char acteristic of private dinners in good society, and we have not yet followed our British cousins en tirely into the late hours at which they partake cf that meal. Three-fourths of the tobacco consumed in Great Britain is purchased by poor peop >• in half minces, and as sir Stafford Nor:licotc's tax f ills lica'ily, especially 01. ihe poor, the billing offin its consumption in nine mould* was about 1.5o(mki.) pounds, while the income is only ?Sn<),bu moie than if, to the poor Who huy at hall'ounces, the tax had not been doubled. MRS. GENERAL GAYNES. What Happened in a Street Car. ‘Laura, I do believe it will rain !' ‘Oh my patienoe, 1 hope not! It would spoil my bat completely. Only the third time I‘ve worn it, too !• It looks very dark.* And the sweet blue eyes Rchnned the cloudy sky anxiously. ‘I'll tell you wbat, Laura, we will do our shopping, anyhow, and then, if it looks too rainy, we'll put off our call on M s. Gaynes till to-mcr'ow. * ‘Very well, the carriage will be at home to morrow, and I don't like to make a walking call, especially on a stranger. ‘ I*m in favor of waiting. ‘ ‘Then we will wait. I‘m not in a hnrry, only mamma charged me to be sure to oall on Mrs. Gaynes while I was here, because she was her very oldest friend.* *I‘m glad she did, for it gives me an excuse to call with you, and I‘ve been longing for the entree to Mrs. Gaynet* parlors all winter, Sbe‘8 s > very exclusive -the real sort, you know, that to be invited to her receptions is quite a card. They say she is very fond of young people, and her parties are delightful.* ‘I know mamma thinks her a model lady. I'm quite eager to see her, I‘ve heard so much about her, ‘ said My ra. ■So am I. Here‘s Birton's, Myra, we want to match some fringe here. Let ur go in. ‘ Tne speakers wore Laura Carew and her cousin, Myra Golding. Lmrawas a N-w York girl and Myra had come over from her home in the Qu»k-'r city for a week’s vis’t. They were detained inBaron s *tore for some time—matching fiiDge isn't to be done in a hurry—and when they came out the sky was a little brighter. •N >w, then,* said Laura, as she fastened her pretty black kid, ‘.we've got to go away up town to the china store for mamma, and look in at Arnold's for s -me seal-brown cashmere, on our way. I do believe it's going to clear after all. ‘ But it did not clear. It ouly brightened for a moment, then clouded np darker than ever. And when the two girls came out of the last store, the pretty fall suits and new hats were iD s rions danger, for the rain was falling in a siow, stf a ly drizzle. ‘Oil, dear ! what's to be done now?' asked M yra, with a rueful face. ‘Why, take a street car, of course. I must conie3s I don't fancy such c'ose contact with •great unwashed,' but it's better than the rain. Ws‘11 catch the car we want at the corner. Q tick, now. ‘ Laughing, flushed, and slightly out of breath, they took seats in the car, which, owing to the rain, was tolerably full already. They jogged on a few blocks, then the car stopped again, and a little old lady, in a wet green veil and an undeniably shabby water proof, got in. Tue only sea* vleant was beside Laura Carew, and this the little old lady dropped into. Lvnra instantly drew her elegant skirts away from contact with the damp waterproof, and whis pered to Myra, ‘Noah'sgrandmother, certain as fate!' ‘Hush, dear. She might hear you,* whis pered Myra. The old lady did hear the words, and see the haughty movement, and drawing herself as far away as s ie could, she said, very gently, ardon, me, I fear I shall wet you. ‘ ‘It is no matter. Oae expects everything in a street car ‘ was Laura's answer, with a toss of herprikcy head. The bid lady turned her head without saying any more, and Laura still held her pretty skirts aside, as if afraid they would touoh the shabby garments of her neighbor, an expression of dis pleasure clouding her pretty face. The next stopping, a weary-looking woman w th a babe in her arms oame ia, and looked invaia fora seat. Myra Golding rose to her feet at once, saying sweetly. •Sit here, I can stand better than you * *MuoL obleeged to ye, ma'am ; the baby is heavy,* said the woman, sitting down with a tired sigh. Two or three gentlemen (?), who had not stirred for tue poorly-clad woman, toss speedily to off r a place to the lovely young lady, but Myra, her red lips curved;coldly declined them all, and taking hold of the strap, she stood be side Laura. •Myra, how could you ! I'm not obliged to you lor my neighbors,* said Laura, pettishly. ‘My clothes will smell of the street for a week !- •0!i, do hush, Lvur •.! whispered Myra ‘I am sure she heard you 1' If 'she' did not, the little old lady did. Turn ing a pair of dark, twinkling eyes upon the young lady, she said quietly, ‘Then you do not believe in the great human brotherhood, my dear !’ •No, madam !'answere 1 Laura, shortly, al most rudely. And turning to Myra, she added, audibly, ‘I believe iu these abominable, demo cratic street oars as a good plaoe to meet disa greeable people, though.' ‘Don't, Laura!’ said Myra, her fair cheeks a flush of painful orimsm. ‘Here is our corner,’ she added, gladly, as she pulled the strap to stop the car. ‘I’m glad of it,' said Laura, as they stepped down. ‘How could you be so rude, dear ?’ asked My ra. •Ob, what’s the odds? They were mere no bodies—only very common persons, and I don't like to mix with them. We’ll never see them again, anyhow. So hurry in, my little puritan cousin, or we shan't save oar hats yet!’ The next day was a clear, bright November one, the air fresh and bracing. The two girls, in their very prettiest toile’tes (and when was dress ever prettier than a tasteful and stylish cos tume of the present day f), rolled a’ong in the Carew carriage to call upon Mrs. General G iynes. , Arrived at her aris ocratic mansion, they were shown into a most elegant little reception par lor, to await tli ur hostess. Directly the door opened, and a s na’l figure, robed in lustreless black silk, her only ornament a rich, almost priceless brooch, which clasped the lace at her throat, oame toward them with a pleasant smile. And Lima almost dropped to the fl tor, for the first glance at Mrs Gaynes showed them the bright face, and keen, twinkling, black eyes of the little old lady of the street car! •Good morning, my dear girls,’ said the kind voioe. ‘This is Miss Carew ? No ? Miss Gold ing, then. I am very glad to meet you, dear, ftr your mo'her’s sake,’ shaking Myra’s hand, warmly. ‘And you, too, my dear,’ turning pleasantly to La tra, who was so overwhelmed with confusion, she could not utter a word. ‘What, not afraid of me, surely?’ •No, madam,’ said poor Laura, making agreat eff >rt, ‘but I am— I mean—I didn’t—’ •You didn’t expeotlo see “Noah’s grandmoth er.’ to-day. But never mind, dear, we won’t quarrel. Youth is thoughtless sometimes I’m sure you meant to be nothing more ’ •0 j, indeed I didn ‘t! And I am so sorry and ashamed !• said Laura, penitently. ‘Then it is all forgiven and forgotten, * said the Doble little old la ’y. I don't wonder you j didn't guess who 1 was, for I did look wofully I shabby, yesterday. I was caught out in the ra'n-storm unprepared, and obliged to borrow ! the best at hand. L«t it be a lesson to you, my j dear Miss Carew, to be courteous to all, whether in shabby clothes or costly velvets and sables. All young people need such hints now and then.' ‘Indeed I will, dear madam !■ said the proud Laura, humbly. ‘Then we‘ll say no more about it. Aad now, my dear girls, for your mothers' sakes, we must be no strangers. You must take ofi your things and remain to dine with me. I will send your carriage home, and return you in my own. Ob. I oan't take any refusal. I must haveau hour's talk, anyway, with Miss Golding, about her dear mamma, so please make yonrselv s at home.* It seemed to Laura as if she could not bear to stay. But Mrs. Gaynes was so enti.ely friendly that the charm of her manner soon put them a their ease, and even Laura could enjoy her self. But she did not soon forget the wholesome lesson she had learned in a crowded street car. Some Thin Virtues. As a working rule, in the conduct of life, we suppose there is no better than that which has been denominated ‘The Golden Rule,’ but its author could hardly have regarded it as the highest and best. There seems to be no motive bound up iu it but a selfish one, and no stand ard of morality but the aotor’s own desires. The G >iden R ile, as we call it, seems to be hardly more than common deceucy formulated. Noth ing, obviously, can be decent in our treatment of others that wa do not recognize as proper and desirable in tbeir treatment of ourselves. It is a rule that seems to be made for supreme self ishness. Refrain from putting your foot into another pig’s trough, nn'ess you are willing to have another pig put his f ot into your trough. Oae of the great mistakes of the world, and es pecially of the Christian world, is in the con viction that this is a high rule cf action, and that the virtue based upon it is of superior val ue. It is the thinnest kind of a virtue, and if there be not the love of G >d and man behind it, to give it vitality and meaning, it can never min ister much to good character What a ma.D does, actuated by tne motive of love, he does nobly, and the sirne thing may not be done nobly at all when done in accordance with the rule to do to others what one would like to have others do to himself. There are other virtues that are very much over-estimated, eminent among which is that of toleration. We know of none so thin as this, yet this is one over whioh an enormous amount of bragging is done. We talk about the relig ious tolera'ion practiced by our government, as if it were something quite unnatural for a gov ernment to protect us own people in the exer cise of their most precious opinions c.nd privi leges. The man who personally toler ites all men, and all societies of men, in the exercise ot their opinions upon religion and politics, is not without his boast of it, and a feeling that he has outgrown most of the people around him. The sad thing about it all is, of course, that a coun try or a cimmunity can be so blind and stupid that toleration can appear to be a virtue at all, or so bigoted aud willfal that it can even appear to be a vice. We thank no man for tolerating our opinions on anything, nor do we give him any praise fur it, any more than we thank him for the liberty of breathing with him a common air. Tolera tion is the name that we give to the common de cencies of intellectual and moral life. It is the Golden Bale applied to the things of opinion nd exprtsiion. It is by no means a high af fair. It is simply permitting others to do, i all' matters of politics«jy!|irt.oi.'gloa, frot.!y, i New York In The Olden lime. By HENRY A. BUCKINGHAM. onr presence and softly:, what we claim the privilege of doing in ,.tjir prt touch and society. People who are intolerant—and we are informed that there are snch in this country—are simply indeeent. They are devoid of intellectual cour tesy. They are boors who are out of place among a free people, a id, no matter who they may be, they ought to be persistently snubbed until they learn polite intellectual manners. The spirit of intolerance is a spirit of discour tesy aud insult, and there is no more praise due a man, or a sect, for Being tolerant, than there is due a man for being a gentleman; and we never saw a gentleman yet who would not take pra s i for being a gentleman as involving an in sult. It is at least the thinnest of all virtues to brag about. Tnere is a virtue lying in this region, though, alas! but little known, which needs develop ment. Toleration, as we have said, is a very thin affair. Men tolerate each other and each other's sentiments and opinions and are much too apt to be content with that. They altogether overestimate the value of it, but beyond this there is in some quarters, and ought to be in all quarters, a sense of brotherhood among all hon estly aud errnest y inquiring souls. There is no reason why Doan Stanley and Mr. D.r via should not be the most sff ctionate friends. There is no good reason why Cardinal Manning and Mr. Matthew Arnold should not be on the most delightful terms of intimacy. There : a no good reason why Mr. Frothingham and Dr. Hall, Dr. Draper and Dr. Taylor should not be bound up in a loving brotherhood. They un doubtedly tolerate one another now. It would be simply indecent for them to do aL ytbing less, bat we fear that we have not quite reached the period when these men, with a profound re- speot for one another's manhood, truthfnlness and earnestness, recogm'zi each other as seek ers for truth, and love and delight in each oth er as snoh. We are all interested in the sa ne things, but we happen to be regarding them from different angles. Some of the sinoerest men in the world are the doubters. ‘There is more faith in honest doubt, Believe me, than in half the creeds.’ These men g6t very little of the sympathy that by right belongs to them. They have as great a love for truth as anybody, aud are looking for it, but by the constitution of their minds, or by the power of an unfortunate education, or the influence of an untoward personal experience, they find themselves thrown off into a region of skepticism, where they have no congenial com- panions'iip. They do not get even toleration, from those particularly who inherit their creeds, and to whom faith is as natural as breathing. These men ought all and always to be brought affectionately into the great brotherhood of truth-lov rs and truth-seekers, and a Christian of any name who cannot throw his warmest sym pathies around these, and regard them with a peculiarly affectionate interest, must necessarily be a very poor sort of a creature. All honest truth-seekers are always truth-finders, and all have something ia possession that will be of ad vantage to the others. The difference between them are sources of wealth to the whole. This is true of all trnth-Beekers, aid it is par- tioularly true ot the different seels of Christen dom. L?t not the Ca'.holic think tor a moment that he has nothing to learn of the Prop s ant, and let not the Protestant think that he holds all truth to the exclusion of his Catholic hr >th- er. The fact that all these sects exist and find vitality enoDgh in their ideas to keep them so prosper usly together, shows that there is s me- thing to be learned, everywhere, and among them all, and that the policy is poor which shuts theca away from one another’s see’sty. It is belter to remember that troth is one, and that i those who are earn<s ly aft r it, whether they | deny Christianity cr prole s it, whet ter they are j called by one name or another, belong together, ia one great sympathetic brotherhood ci oil-e- : tijii and pursuit. j A BEVOLUTIONABY “BEBEL SPY. Israel Jones, a native of Brooklyn, N Y. . was a fiery rebel, in the ranks of the Continen tal army. He was captured in 1779 tried on the charge of being a spy—which, in reality, he was not—was convicted,and promptly sentenced to be hanged at a place in the vicinity called Gillows Hill. The officer who at that time had charge of the hanging of ‘rebel spies,’ was a provost-marshal named Jonathan K-itchier, a noted Tory. At the time arranged for the execution of the condemned, tfce person appointed to do the hanging w^s not to be f >ncd. •D —D D — ! cried L“tehler, who was choice neither in his dress nor his language, ‘what shall I do? S jmebody must hang this rebellions .scoundrel. ‘ ‘Postpone the execution until the haugman can be found, ‘ suggested one cf his aids •N \ I would oot forfeit the word of a court- martial for all the revenue of the British cus toms,' ho replied. ‘See that the condemned be produced-the senlence must be carried into eff cf.. ‘ Accordingly tbs culprit was ushered forth by a guard of soldiers. He had fondly cherished the hope that h i w is to be repri ved. was eogniz'.nt of the UDHanctioned aad inexplicable disappearance of the hangman, and, as drown ing men catch at straws he clung to this vague and indefinable occurrence as an omen that he was to be spared, for the time at least. When, therefore, tie was marched out, with his arms pinioned, and all the paraphernalia of death arrayed before him, he protts'ed against the fulfillment of the ratal command which had gone forth against him. •You knew you were to die to-day, didn't you?- replied Kitchier. ‘But there is no hangman,* cried Jones, who, though not a coward, quailed before the idea of the rope and the gallows. ‘Kill me, if you are determined that 1 shall suffer, but do it with powder and ball. ‘ •Talk to the marines about that, ‘replied K-tchler, coarsely. ‘I am here to obey orders.' ‘But,* repeated Jones, ‘the hangman has gone. ‘ ‘What of that? We can find a hundred hang men a day to strangle rebels and spies. ‘ ‘Not to hang me,' responded Junes, bitt:r!y, and shedding tears. ‘Then you'll have to take the leap yourself,' was tbfo unfeeling response. •Never !■ returned Jones, and his face was as pale as though he w is already a corpse. ‘We shall see. Forward, march! cried the oflic r and the oortege mov'd for Gillows Hill. When a man is approaching the j iws of death with no hope of escape, he usually nerves him self to meet the dread enemy of humanity with firmneo. Finding that he wss certainly to die, Jones breathed one prayer to bis Maker, and re i ned himself, with dignity aud steadiness, to his fate. When he reached the fatal spot he was Roman in his heroio abandonment, and in flexible in his resolve to deliver up his soul to God without betraying any feeling of shame or fear. The condemned was placed under the scaf fold. It was twenty feet high, and the beam was reached by means of a common ladder, bor rowed from an orchard. 'I ask for meroy !• said Junes, in a steadfast tone of voice, as be mounted the ladder. ‘An enemy of the king, and a rebel spy, is worthy ot none. You have been convicted of both, aid you die here and now. 4 ‘Enough ! I am ready ; and may heaven for give all my enemies,* said the doomed man, as tie faced the congregation assembled to s e the fiat qf martial law fulfilled upon his person. Tuere was a pause—no one was in attendance to perform the duties of the absent executioner. K itchier addrets d several men, with a req est that they would undertake to perform the task : but they all shrank from him and his proposi tion as if the one had been a malefactor and the other an off r from Satan for the purchase of their immortal attributes. At last the Povost's eye was fixed upon two boys, n ?ither of whom was over twelve yeart ol age. He beckoned them to advance, and they timidly approached. ‘Are you for the kiDg, my lads?' inqnired Ketchler. •Yes, sir,* answered the affrighted boys. ‘We hurrah for him every day. ‘ ‘Then behold that infamous spy ! The hang man has run awi y curse him; but you shall perform his duties. Ga up that ladder, and fix the rope about the villian‘3 neck to the cross beam. * The poor boys were terribly frightened at this order, but as they could not escape it, tuey re luctantly obeyed, weepiDg as if ihe miserable man baI been their father. Having arranged the rope to the satisfaction of the provost, they descended to the ground. ‘Njw, Jmes,‘cried K itchier, ‘bid good-bye to the world, aad jump from the ladder.* •N >, Mr. Provost,* replied Junes with a firm tone of voioe, ‘I shall not do it—because I am innoesnt of the cr’me laid to my charge.* ‘You had better j imp yourself than be pushed off ‘ rejoined the official. ‘I repeat,' said poor Jones, 'I shall not do it.‘ Ketohler swore roundly, and again bade the prisoner to jump, but Jones stubbornly refused to make the fatal leap. The provost glared around, and his eyes once more resting upon the two boys, he ordered them to pull away the ladder. They were horrified at tue command, and shrank away in terror. ‘Pull down tl a ladder'!' exclaimed one of the boys. ‘He is too heavy.’ ‘Do as I bid you, or I’ll know the reason why,’ roared the provost. •On, I’m afraid ; please don’t make me!’ sob bed the other boy. But Ketchler insVsd ; and then ensued a painful scene. The youths wept and shrieked, and on their knees begged to be excused_ from taking part in the horrible affair. Their piteous supplications drew teats from nearly every eye. ‘Mr. Provost,’ said Junes, from his elevated pobi ion on the ladder, ‘do you mean to murder me now, or am I to wait till your haugman gets back ? ‘You shall be hanged now and here,’ replied Ketchler. S> saying, the brutal provost drew his sword and forced the boys at the point of the blade to lay hold of the ladder. The two la Is, at last, urged hv the pricking of the sword, dragged away the ladder by main strength, and Israel Jones was left dangling in tue air, and was strangled, slowly, to death. Here is a model dramatic criticism from the Virginia City Enterprise, which will make Willie Win er and Wheeler burst with eDvy: ‘Miss Rose Evtinge made a fool of herself at the Cal- lfor :ia*Tneater on Friday last. The play was Eait Lynne, and in the third act a drunken man interrupted the performance. He was fired out, aud the performance want on, but the scene was spoiled. At this Mss Evtinge appeared be fore the curtain, said s g ‘was an emotioDaland not a mechanical actress, and under the circum stances could not proceed.’ Mbs Nellie Hol brook then undertook to read Miss E tinge’s part, and the audience, including Miss Clara Morris, who occupied a box, applauded; this so incensed Miss Ejtinge that she broke her en gagement, and on Saturday night Mi's VIorris was prevailed upou to play the part of Nancy Sykes in Oliver Twis 1 . Miss E ’tinge is proba bly the meanest woman in the United Statrs — just the sort of a woman who, had she been a man, would have been beaten to death yea$s ago.’ POCKET-BOOK LOST. It was in the town of B., and Mr. S had just concluded some purchases, when he made the startling discovery that his pocket-book was lost. While searching his pockets lie round a buckeye, and said :—“ My pocket book is lost, but there has been something discovered by Dr Tahler, of Nashville, of far greater value. It is the Buckeye Pile Oitnient, which cure Piles in all cases, when used according to directions. Try it. Pi ice 50 cents a bottle. For sale by Hunt, Rankin & La mar, Atlanta, Ga. e.o.w. Coussens' Compound Iloney of Tar has been so long and favorably known that it needs no enco mium. For c ''Ughs, colds, sore throat, hoarseness, etc., it aflor Is speedy relief, and is a most pleasant and efficacious remedy, hooey and tar being two of its ingredients. The skill of Ihe chemist, and the knowledge of a physician were united in its prep- aration, the result beiug a compound which is the favorite remedy in this severe climate, and ha° no equal as a cure for coughs, colds, hoarseness, bron chitis, croup o'c U-e Coussens’ Honey of Tar. Price 50 cen's. For sale by Hunt Rankin & La. mar, A’lanta, Ga. e.o.w. Wily. Verily !—Why be an animated tallow-shop when Allan's Ami-F ,t is a sain and sn'e remedy for obes ity, or corpulence, and will reduce the most ill-propor tioned form to a graceful outline within a few weeks. It con,ains no ingredients that can p ssibly prove delteri- ous to the system. A well-known chemist, a'ter exam ining its constituents at d the method of its prepara ion, gives :t his unqualified e dorsement as a remedy that, “cannot but act favorably upon the system and is well ca’culated to attain the object for which it is intended." MLt’r MORE, Md., July 17th. 1878. Fnor’iiS Allan’s Ant -Fat, Buffalo, N. Y : Bear t>ir—I have taken two bottles of Allan’s Anti Fat and it haa reduced me eight pounds, Respectfully Mrs. I. K. COLES. A Disease that Wrecks tile System. Every function is deranged, every nerve unstrung, every mus cle aud fiber weikened by fever and ague. It is, in iact, a di'caae which if unchecked, eventually wrecks the system. In all its types, in every phase, it is danger ous. destructive. Stupor, delirium, convulsions, open attend it, and cause swift dissolution. But when c’m- batted with Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters its foothold in tile system is dtslog-d and every vestige of it eradicated. That benign anti-lebrile specific and preventive of the dreae’ed scourge is recognized Lot only within our own boundaries but in tropic lands far beyond them, where intermiiten s and remittents are fearfu ly p-evalent, to be a reliable meausofovercoming disorders of the stom ach, liver and bowels, of which a vitiated tor id atmos phere, and brackish iniasmatatnted water arc extremely provocative. Ail emigrants and travelers should be sup plied with it. I'oiisuitipfion Cured. An old physician retired from practice, had given him. by an East India mission ary the formula oi a simple vegetable remedy, for the speedy and permanent cure of consumption, bronchitis, catarrh, asthma, throat and lung affretions, also a positive cute for nervous debility and ail nervous complaints.— Having tested its wonderful curative powers iu thousands of cases, felt it his duty to make it known to his suffer ing lellows- Actuated by this motive, I will mail, free to all wlio desire, this recipe in German or English with dirictions f. r use. Address, with stamp, naming this this paper, M. C. Rose, 154 Powers’ Block, Rochester, 195-7t-e.o.w. The New Remedyfor I»yspepsia.—The vest pocket cure for dyspepsia advertised in our columns by Messrs. Polk Miller « Co., of R’chmcnd, Va.. is strongly endorsed by the Religions Herald of that city as follows : ••It is endorsed bj the direct personal testimony of men of national fame and of strictness of speech. It is not too much to say that no medicine ever had such support in its favor as a Specifl* > The word of any one of the emi nent diwues who r arivrite this autinote to dyspepsia his <Userved weigibnn > Je>» urniicu v,,. UOT o i-nia tig? experimental use'ana appro*a! of the preparation bv well known physicians, remove all doubt. It is, beyond question, a wonderful therapeutical agent; FREE NKW an<l Scientific cure for Nerrons Debility, without Medicine, from whatever cause. Mailed free. Electro- ('hemicalPad Co. P.O.box 3329,N. Y. ANTISOTS, A Reliable and ... Painless Cure. A trial package sen t to any address free df charge. Send for Circular. |Address. GEO. S. BISHOP, 777 VaaSorcs Street, CHIZASO, ILL. A COMPLETE SHAKESPEARE FREE, SEND FOR Grand Premium Circular. J VV. SHOEMAKER & CO , MIS Chestnut Street, Philadelphia Pa, mask, etc., with name, 10c. NASSAU CARO CO., Nassau. N. Y. XA Perfumed, Chromo, Lace, etc., CaRDS. iu Case J" uame iu gold. lUc. RAY A: CO., E. Wallingford, Ct (T PAYS to sell our Rbbber Hand Printirg Stamps.— L Circulars free. G. A. HARPER & BhO., Cleveland, 05 106-Gt e.o.w. B shop D. S. Doggett, (Southern Meth.l It is an excellent corrective of indigestion. I have used it with prompt beneficial results. Rev. Leroy M. Lee. D D , Meth. Hist'n. I am never without if at. home or abroad. It is an anti dote to Indigestion. Uneasiness after a meal or purging is checked and the bowels regulated, -ts merits are at tested by numbers and big', character. I have seen a •tried everything" dyspeptic of fifteen years relieved by one dose. Rev. Dr-'. Jeter, Broaddus, Dickinson, (Bap.) It is endorsed by the direct personal testimony of men of national fame and of strictness of speech. It is not too much to eav that no medicine ever had snch support in its favor as a Specific. The word of any ■ t the irai- nent divines who underwrite this antidote to dyspepsia has deserved weight. Their united witness joined with the experimental use and approval of the preparation by well-known physicians, removes all donbt. It is. beyond question, a wonderful therapeutical agent.—Editors Re ligious Herald, Va. Prest. Piedmont & Arlington Ins Co., Va. 1 have used this Medicine myself and in my fnmily with unvarying success. I keep it iu m? office and at home. Its merits arc not overstated. D J. HARTSOOK. Rev, Dr. Mangum, Prof. Univ.af N. C. ’ I concur with Bishop Doggett in his estimate of the Vest Pocket cure. Rev. C. L. Dimeron, Balto. Conferenca I have been decidedly improved. Rev. E. A. Yates, P. E.. North Carolina Conf. It has beneiitted me. Send another package. Chas. Johnson with I). L ndreth A Son, Phila. My wife hss nearly c ,red herself of a bad case of dys pepsia with the trial bottle. I thick an 'ther will finish it. Editor Richmond Christian Advocate. Tliis r< meey is of tried v rines. I have seen dyspepsia cured computely by it. It rents to he an amit ote to our‘‘Nations Disease." -The ingredients are not kept by the apothecaries, and have hern Difficult p get. Price 27c, bold by all drug ists. Sample S c„ deliv ered free at any post office, on receiiX'd price.^ i Ol-K MII-LLER &■ CD. jTqprutors, Ifitbmt nd, > a,, 8