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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.