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I)ISSA TISF1ED.
An old farm-house, with pastures wide,
Sweet with flowers on every side;
A restless lad who looks from out
The porch, with woodbine twined a? out,
Wishes » thought from in his heart:
Oh, if I only could depart,
From ihis dull place the world to see,
Ah me! l.ow happy I would ho 1
Amid the city's ceaseless din,
A man who round tho world lias men,
Who, mid tho tumult and the throng,
Is thinking, wishing ail day long:
Oh, could I only tread once more
The field path to the farm-house door;
The old green meadows could I see,
Ah, mo! how happy wuuld I be.
—buitlin (Ireland) Timet.
A LONDON ADVENTURE.
Three years since I had occasion to
pass a few weeks in Loudon. I am about
to relate an adventure whioh befell me
at this time, whioh camo very near hav¬
ing a very serious termination. I can
not even now think of it without a
shudder,
I was wending my way in the early
part of the evening toward Drury Lane
Theatre, a famous temple of the drama,
known the world over, when my atten¬
tion was suddenly drawn to an appeal
for charity made by a figure crouching
on the doorway of a house.
I looked at the applicant. He appeared
to be an elderly man attired in a manner
which bespoke the extreme of destitu¬
tion. His ooat was soiled and ragged.
From beneath a shocking hat I could
see gray looks stealing out. His form
was bowed, and I judged from his gen¬
eral bearing that he must be at least 60
years of age.
“A few pence, sir, for a poor old man,”
he whispered. “I am oold and hungry.
I have had nothing to eat since yester¬
day.”
My compassion was stirred. Had he
'been in the prime of life I could have
passed by his petition unheeding. But
age and infirmity make poverty a pitiful
spectacle.
“Are you, indeed, so poor?” I asked,
stopping before him.
“I am too feeble to work,” he said.
“I depend on what gentlemen give me.
Yet I should not care so much for my¬
self, but my poor ohild—I am obliged to
leave her at home sick while I come
to beg.”
I was on the point of giving him a
shilling when an instinct of caution
stepped in.
“After all,” I thought, “he might be
on imposter.” In that case I should
grudge the shilling, small ee it wae,
whioh I intended to give him. But if
things were really as he said, I should
be willing to bestow on him a larger
amount.
“How am I to know whether your
story is true ?” I said, stopping in the
act of drawing a shilling from my
pocket. “How am I to know whether
you have a sick child, as you repre¬
sent?”
“It you will oomo home with me,” he
said, in a tone of subdued ^gerness (I
remembered this afterward), .“I will con¬
vince you.”
“Perhaps ho makes this offer,” I
thought, “feeling confident that I will
not accept it He shall find himself
mistaken this time. I am resolved for
once to satisfy myself, and if it is as he
says, lie shall have a crown instead of
a shilling.”
“Where do you live?” I asked, after
a moment’s pause.
“About a quarter of a mile from here,”
was the reply.
“Lead on, then,” said 1. “I will ac¬
company you homo and satisfy myself
whether your story is correct. If you
ore needy as your appear to be I will do
what I can to help you.”
The old man was profuse in his pro
testations of gratitude. In fact, he
eeemed so willing to ournplv with my re-
qucftt that again there was a revulsion of
feeling, and 1 felt ashamed that I had
questioned his honesty. I inwardly re¬
solved to make it up to him.
it was a dismal night. The air was
misty and damp, and the occasional
street lamps revealed a disagrees ble
neighborhood. On either side I saw
wretched tenement houses. At the doors
were gaunt faces, sometimes wearing a
fierce, almost desperate look. I felt
that I should not like to pass through
theso streets at a late hour of the night.
Yet it is only fair to say that London is
tolerably well governed. The polioe are
numerous, and, so far as my experience
extends, are polite and attentive to
strangers. Considering how great an
amount of poverty and utter destitution
there is in the great city, it furnishes a
matter of surprise that tl\e harvest of
crime, great as it is, should not be even
greater. Yet doubtless, as the incident
I am relating serves to show, there is
many a secret orime committed that
never sees the light and never t>Ooomes
known to the authorities.
My glance fell thoughtfully upon my*
guide. He was toiling along, appar¬
ently with difficulty, a little in advance
of me, and from time to time looked
back to see if I were following him.
Once when he looked book I had my
watch ont—a valuable gold chronometer
—from whioh I was endeavoring to
ascertain the time by the light of a
neighboring street lamp. Perhaps 1
was imprudent in making a display in
so suspicious a neighborhood. My
guide looked at the watch greedily.
“Poor fellow 1” I thought. “Every
evidence of wealth and comfort must no
doubt fill him with envy.” I don’t know
why it was that no suspicions of the
man’s good faith had thus far entered
my mind. If there had, the sight of his
feebleness would have led me to smile
with contempt at the thought that he
oould possibly do mo any harm.
Still he hobbled on.
We had by degrees got a considerable
distance from the plaoe where I first
encountered him. I thought that I
should be late for the play, and thought
of pausing and dismissing him with a
gratuity of half a orown.
“Are you far from your room—from
where you live ?” I asked, “We must
have gone hail a mile instead of a quar¬
ter.”
“That is the house,” said he, point¬
ing to a wretched building only a few
steps distant.
“In for a penny in for a pound,”
thought I. “I will see this adventure
through, even if I am late for the thea
fare.”
My guide entered the house, and I
followed him up a riokety staircase—
rather up three—until we reached the
fourth story. It was pitch dark all the
way. When he had mounted to the
third landing he fumbled at the door
tnd opened it. I followed him in.
“Stop a moment, kind gentleman,
and I will light a candle,” said the old
man.
I stopped, and in a moment the dim
light of a farthing dip illuminated the
I had scarcely time to take a hasty
glanoe at the room and its appurtenances
than the old Aan stepped behind me
And closed the door, There was a
click audible. It fastened as it closed.
What did 1 see? Of course 1 expected
to see a miserable den, with broken
down furniture and every evidence ol
tii© direst destitution and wretchedness.
Instead of this my gaze rested on a room
comfortably furnished; a Kidderminster
carpet, not much worn, covered the floor.
There were a few neat chairs, a mahog¬
any table and a comfortable bed.
“You havedeoeived me,’’saidI, stern¬
ly, turning upon the old man. I turned
as I said this, but what was my liewil
dermeut at perceiving that the old man
had disappeared and in his place there
stood before me quite a different
age.
The gray hair, the bowed form,
marks of age had vanished. My
was no longer old and decrepit, but
< man in the prime of life, stroDg and
vigorous Hie gray wig, for it was a wig,
lay on the carpet, whither he had core
lesaly tossed it
“You seem a little surprised,” he said,
in a mocking voice; “strange miracles
sometimes happen nowadays.”
“What does this mean ?” I asked, in
bewilderment
“What does it mean?” repeated the
man, coolly, “It means that I will
trouble you for that watch of yours. It
appears to be a valuable one,” ho con¬
tinued with bold impudence. “I will
take the liberty to borrow it of you for
an indefinite period. Just now, unfor¬
tunately, my watch happens to be at the
jeweler’s, so that I am unable to be on
time in my fashionable engagements. I
shall be compelled to trouble you for the
loan of yours.”
“Is there anything else you would
like ?” I asked hotly, indignant at hav¬
ing been so cleverly outwitted, and
that, too, by a man whoA I had been in¬
tending to succor. It seemed the worst
kind of an imposition, playing upon my
feelings only to work me injury.
“Yes,” he replied carelessly, “I am
out of money just at present. Slightly
overdrawn at my banker’s. Awkward,
isn’t it ? I will take the additional lib*
of borrowing your purse. Though
don’t generally do sueh things, I will,
it will be any satisfaction, give you my
note of hand for the amount, due say in
ninety
Again he laughed mockingly.
“You are an atrocious villain 1” said
I, indignantly.
“Oh, no doubt. You’re quite welcome
to call me so. We’re all sinners, you
know 1”
The man’s insufferable coolness and
impudence quite took away my breath.
I felt that a discussion could do no pos¬
sible good. He had me in his power,
and of course that gave him the entire
advantage.
“Let me ont!” I exclaimed, advancing
toward the door.
“Not yet,” said he resolutely, display¬
ing a pistol. “Not till you have com¬
plied with my very reasonable demands
Do that and you shall go freely, and not
a hair of your head shall be harmed.
Come, what do you say ?”
What could I say ? How was I, sin¬
gle'handed and without a weapon, to
contend with this man, my equal in
strength and armed with a pistol ? This
makes the weak equal with the strong,
If I only had that pistol—if I oould only
snatch it from him. But that seemed
impossible. He was watchful and wary.
Should I make the attempt and fail he
would probably kill me without mercy.
Yet that attempt I meant to make.
A lucky thought came to my assist¬
ance. I was something of a ventrilo¬
quist and had been from my youth—
that is, I could throw my voice to an¬
other part of the room so that some one
else might seem to be speaking. No
sooner did I think of this than I resolved
upon my plan.
“Well,” said he impatiently, “have
v©u decided?”
“Wretch 1” said a voice just
him.
He turned suddenly, and at that mo¬
ment I snatched the pistol from
“Now it is my turn,” said I e&uiting
lv. “Open that door or I fire.”
He looked at me in stupid surprise.
I repeated my command.
He advanced a step toward me.
“Make the slightest attempt to retake
this weapon and I fire.”
He glared at me with a look of baffled
ferocity, and looked undecided.
1 repeated my order and he sullenly
opened the door.
I passed through, backing out warily,
ready to fire at the slightest movement
showing intent to assault me. I should
have felt no hesitation in doing so. The
man was a desperate villain, very likely
a murderer, and I felt -that I should be
j ostiAed. Bat he seemed to have given
up his enterprise as bootless. He
back into his room and slammed
I made mv way ont into the
street and harried to the theatre, first
removing the charge from my weapon.
It proved to be a valuable one, and I de
cided to return it as a “contraband of
war.”__
English Mohair Dresses.
The English mohair dresses brought
out last spring ■will be in favor again for
walking and traveling suits; these are to
replace the heavy cloth dresses worn at
the present season, and are to be made
in the severest tailor styles. Gray,
reseda, ecru and brown are the light
shades shown in this durable fabric, and
there are the newer changeable mohairs,
which are not so pretty as those of a
single plain color, while the novelty in
such fabrics is checked mohair in the
smallest pin-head checks of black with
white, or ecru with dark brown. A short
postilion basque with a pleated skirt,
and the only drapery forming an apron,
with stitched edges, velvet piping, or
braided trimming, are the designs sug¬
gested for mohair street suits, while a
jacket quite short in the baek, or a fichu
mantle with high-shouldered side meces
t
is the wrap that accompanies such a
dress. The checked mohairs will be
more particularly used for long ulsters,
Newmarkets, or dolmans that are to
as traveling cloaks, and these must
be sufficiently long and ample to entirely
conceal and protect any handsome cos¬
tume worn beneath them.— B&zar.
The Box-Wood Going:
The sudden and remarkable growth
of the roller-skating pas rime haa created
a constantly-increasing demand for a
certain size of box-wood for rollers* and
where eighteen months ago a ton of
three-inch wood brought $B0, itr is- now
impossible to buy a ton for $120: The
price has trebled in less than a year. At
the present rate of consumption the
world will be practically exhausted of ita
box-wood in less than twelve months*
unless some equally cheap and durable
substitute is found to take its place.
Box-wood grows in Persia and Turkey,
is of very slow growth, and in its native
country stringent timber laws restrict
the depletion oi the growing trees
Roller-skate manufacturers have tried
rubber, celluloid, vulcanized fibres and
compressed paper as a substitute for
box- wood rollers, but for one reason or
another they have proved unsatisfactory.
English Bakes.
There are not probably ten* peers in
London who live on their own property.
Stafford, Bridgewater, Spencer, and
Montague houses are all on crown prop¬
erty. Even the Dnke of Bedford lives
on another Duke’s land, as did the late
Dnfee of Portland, for his residence,
Harcourt House, albeit in the midst of
his property, was not his. Lend Dart¬
mouth, who owns considerable London
property, lives on fee Duke of West¬
minster’s. Sir Richard Sutton and his
father leased their Cambridge House to
Lord Palmerston. The only great
houses which are thf> property of their
owners are Chesterfield House, Dor¬
chester House, Hertfmd House, Mon¬
tague House, Portman Square, and
Very Poor Coffee.
An individual, evidently connected
with the coffee trade, writes to the Med¬
ical Record to say that the colored and
polished ooffee pronounced deleterious
by the Board of Health is a small mat¬
ter as compared with the sale of “poor
skimmings.” Skimmings coffee is a
damaged and decayed article, usually
•Java, whioh has “sweated” aboard ship,
aud thus turns of a rich*brown color,
though the berry is wholly decayed and
has an offensive odor. The “skimmings”
is dried and mixed with sound ooffee.
A quantity of it was sold recently for
three-quarters of a cent a pound.
Three years ago 30,000 bags of the rot¬
ten berry were disposed of in New York
from the wreok of the Pliny, from Rio.