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The Montgomery Monitor. D. C. SUTTON, Editor and Prop’r. Yellow Roses. *Tis the “old, old story" of youth rtnd maid, Thro’ memory's chasms, le-cehoins low, Os rich yellow- roses n cluster he sent In the tony: Hire.—in the toiler ago. A wee, dainty note in his le-firt lay hid ’Mony the Inids concealed, like a fairy sprite. “At (lie hall,” it read, “if with me you’ll wed. Wear a rose to-nig-bt—wear a rose to-niyhl." Hcwildered by light, hy sound and sight, Willi nascent hope his spirit glows. Now the heart beats fast, for she comes at last; But alas! no rose—alas, no rose! Without one word, unseen, unheard, With smothered sigh and downcast eye: With a cheek that burns and a heart that breaks. He passes by—he passes by. With a breast that throbs and a brain on Are; Witti a bated breath and a sudden start, Her lover’s "good-night" to the host she hears. Liken knell at her heart—like a knell at her heart. Years many have flown, o’er oceans un known, Tho’ roaming he ever remembers that day; “Lang Syne" is sweet, once more they meet, Their lucks are gray—their locks are gray. “ 'Tis a fancy interred in the tomb of our years, Youth has ever," ho muses, “for ago a charm,” So he tells her at last, for the tempest is past, And his heart is calm—his heart is calm. “Golden roses, as rich as the oriole's wing, That day on my heart is engraven,” cries she; “But the note 'rnong the roses, so carefully hid, Was ne’er seen by me—ne’er seen by me.” Then she lifts with oarc from a “oaskot rare,” Oft sunned by smiles, oft bedewed by tears, The yellow roses, still treasured by love. Thro' those weary years—thro those weary years. Silken corn of the sky’s lightest blue she un ties. Like a gem in the earth at the cluster’s core Bests tho dainty, triangular, sweet-scented noto, Never found before—never found before. Ahl there’s many a wreck on time’s rough sea. That tho world knows not—shall never know— And there’s many a heart guards its faded rose Os the long ago—of the long ago. —.T. Hooker Hamorsley. THE LOST KING. Next to our own homestead lay Kes trel House. No farm-land was attach ed to it. It was simply a park and gar dens, built for a rich man’s pleasure; and in its midst stood a fountain, bend ing over which a stone mermaid comb ed hercarven hair with a carven comb, using the basin for a mirror. I There had bceti a time when tho -Skater arose and played in showers all over the mermaid’s head and shoulders. Tan down her tresses and dripped over 3ier hands. Those who had seen it said it was a pretty sight; but the machinery was out of order, or, perhaps, hail jbeen turned oil', and it played no more. f The house, handsome and pictures que as it was, was all shut up; the win dows barred and the doors fast; moss covered its stone steps and balustrades, and the flowers were all gone, save such liardy bushes as took to a wild life kindly, and bloomed a little every year. “I wonder they don’t live here, the people who own this place,” my young Uncle Morris used to say when he spent bis vacation with us. “It’s a jolly old place; it’s a shame it should stand like that.” And then my mother would say: 1 “Something very dreadful happened there years ago.” I hail heard that before. It was a story 1 was not to hear, and I wondered why. All my uncle’s vacation I trotted about with him, and as he was fond of ■fishing I took to fishing too. He gave ime a rod and line, and taught me how rto put on bait and we used to go to a fine stream a long distance off and fish together. I never caught anything, but he as sured me that I would some day, and i felt very manly as I trotted away beside him with my rod over my shoul der. I The not always welcome care of my mother and aunts relaxed, and I heard jit said that Ned was sure to follow Morris everywhere, and to come homo quite safe. ! uncle’s vacation was a very happy time to me. When it was over a change came. Feminine rule began once more. I was forbidden to go to the river-side •lest I should be drowned; and my 'rambles were limited to our own prop erty and the deserted park of Kestrel House. j After his return to college my uncle often wrote to me, and I was careful to jreply, hunting up the big words in my 'little dictionary, but it was humiliat ing to confess tliat I was considered too small to go a-fishing in the river, i However, one day an idea came into my head which enabled me to obey my relatives, and yet indulge in the sport 1 knew my uncle thought so much of. I resolved to fish in the basin of Mer maid Fountain in Kestrel Park, and ac cordingly I carried my rod and line there. Tho first day I had better luck than usual, for I caught a small green ■frog. i I looked at him a moment, reflected dhat hi 3 frog mother might be anxious !about him, and put him back in the water; and I mentioned thi3 in my let ter to Uncle Morris, who replied that there was no knowing what I might catch next; but I caught nothing more. But one autumn morning, when all the red leaves were falling and lloating over the basin like little fairy boats, I realized the fact that it was goowing too chilly to sit with pleasure beside the fountain waiting for a bite. “Oh!” I thought, “if I could catch something now, this last time! Some thing to write to uncle about!” L fA. *.l * r ' LL-J up. I bail, perhaps, at last hooked a lisle Delighted. I carefully drew up the line. Something glimmered upon tho hook. It was not a fish.. However, 1 hastened to detach it. ami found it to be a very handsome cluster diamond ring. Ignorant of its value as 1 was at that, time, I could not but admire it. it spark led so brilliantly. There was no mud at the bottom of the spring.onlv shining white pebbles. It was perfectly clean, therefore, after its bath, whether that had been long or short. “I’ll give this to mamma," 1 said, speaking aloud in my astonishment, and ashamed of having done so when 1 heard the sound of my own words, because it was “like the baby.” lint the next moment someone answered me. “You have found my ring,” a voice said in my ear; “you have found my ring. At last, at last, thank lloaven!” I turned. The afternoon was drawing to a close; the park was grey with shadow, and misty with the autumn air; and tho figure of a woman near mo seemed misty, too —a liguro dressed in white, with pale hair hanging to its waist in curls, and a face that 1 could barely see was fair and delicate. “Os such is the kingdom of Heaven,” she whispered, “Child, take the ring to Marmadiike Kestrei. Toll him that Agnes Hitt not lie. Tell him you found it in the Mermaid Fountain, 'lull him 1 7 Her voice grow faint She was gone. Who is she? Where did she go? I was vaguely terrified, and clutching tke ring tightly in one hand, I began to run, but looking over my shoulder to see if she was following me, 1 stumbled and fell. Someone picked me up. It was old M armadnke Kestrel himself. Sometimes I had seen him walking sadly through the park by himself, though ho lived a long distance off at a hotel, and was often abroad. Travel ing for his health, people said. “What is tho matter, little one?" ho said. “Have you hurt yourself?" “No,” I said. “The lady frightened me. She was—she seemed to go out like a candle. She said it was her ring; but she did not take it She said I was to give it to you, and say: ‘Agnes did not lie.’ Is she Agnes? Does she always look lik« that? What did she mean?” Mr. Kestrel sat down upon the stone seat beside the fountain, and held mo by the arms, and stared into my face. “Tell me what you moan, boy,” tic said. “I was fishing in tho basin of tho fountain there,” said I. “and I thought l had caught a trout, but it was no fish at all, but a beautiful, shining ring. Sec!” 1 held it out to him as well as I could with his grasp upon my arms, and he let go of me and took it from me. • lie peered at it curiously, and said: “Your eyes arc young. Head what is engraved on the inside, child.” And witli much pains, for it was growing twilight, 1 spelled out these words: “To Agnes, from Marmaduko, 18—.” Then he took it from me again and said: “Go on.” “I thought it was a pretty ring,” 1 said, “and I would give it to mamma. Aud then there was a lady there by the fountain, fair, with long, light curls, but like smoke or mist. I could not help being frightened, and she said: “‘lt is my ring. It is found at last, thank Heaven!’ —and words that Jesus said in the Bible and then, ‘Give it to Marmaduko Kestrel and tell him you found it in the fountain, and Agnes did not lie.’ Was she Agnes?” He answered, “Yes,” and stooped down and kissed me, and went his way, taking the ring with him, and I ran home to my mother and told her the story. She" was frightened. She held me close. “What was she, mother?” I ask ed. “I do not know,” she answered. “It is in our family to see strange things. Perhaps you have scon one of them. l>o not talk about it, and say your prayers to-night very carefully.” An hour or so after this my father drove home from the nearest town in his light trap. “Something happened at the hotel this evening,” he said. “Marmaduko Kestrel is dead. He came back very pale after a walk in Kestrel l'ark, they think; and a fall was heard in his room soon after. They found him on the floor beside his desk, already dead; but he had written on a paper words nearly like these: •“I have doubted the purity of the sweetest woman who ever lived. Let them bury me near the fountain in Kes trel Park, with the ring I wear upon my linger, and write upon my stone these words: “‘“To the memory of Agnes, most faithful and beloved wife of Marma duke Kestrel, whose body lieth here, but whose soul hath gono to ask pardon of her he wronged in thought for twenty bitter years.”’” And my mother, with a cry, clung to his arm and told him my strange story. “What does it all mean?” I asked. “Who was Agnes? What did Mr. Kes trel do to her? What was it I saw iu the park? Was it a ghost?” But my mother put her hand over my mouth, and my father told me that there were strange things and wicked stories in this world that children could not understand, but that Agnes Kestrel was said to have died of a Broken heart be cause her husband was cruel to her, and thought she had given away a ring ahe swore she had lost. MT. V KIvNON. MONTGOMERY, 00., <i.\„ THURSDAY, DECEMBER 2, I88(i. "SUB DEO FAC 10 FORT IT FR ” Afterwards I" understood what this story might be; but 1 cannot explain to myself what it was that happened in Kestrel Park any more clearly than I understood it in my childhood. HO HACK GREELEY. A IJrookly ill to Toll* of n Novol Exporl i»ih*o With tlu* Philosopher* Said the gentleman to a Brooklyn Eagle contributor: “Years ago I was staying with a friend in a flourishing town in New Jersey, on a short visit, lie was a pub lie spirited man, and worthily desired to become a popular one. lie thought that if he secured Horace Greeley to de liveran address to the citizens of the place they would be both gratified and instructed. “Mr. Greeley accepted tho invitation, and his acceptance was widely an nounced. lie was to arrive at my friend’s house the evening before the day ap pointed. and was to speak the after noon of that day. The sudden illness of a relative called my friend away, and he enjoined on me to represent the facts to Mr. Greeley and to make him foci at home. “I was a young man then, had mot the philosopher only once before and that casually. You may imagine that 1 was desirous of having him appreciate the hospitality of our host, especially as the latter had made mo his representa tive. “Mr. Greeley was expected at 8 P M., but tho Camden and Amboy road ran as it pleased in those days, and when tho train had not arrived at 11 the family felt more regret than sur prise and closed up the house for tho night. I occupied the room over the porch, in which were two large, old fashioned mahogany four posters, one of them meant for the expected guest. “About half an hour after midnight I was awakened by a furious assault on tho outer door, made by some one work ing tho old brass knocker for all it was worth. The strokes were the impet uous ones of an impatient and angry man. liaising the window, I inquired who was there? •‘ ‘Horace Greeley,’ was tho quick reply. “1 hastened down, let him in, ex plained the circumstances and express ed the hope that he was not ignorant of the delays of tho Camden and Amboy Railroad company. “ ‘l’ve had a liberal education on that subject to-night,’ lie replied,‘and shall give the readers of the Tribum full information on the matter.’ “With this expression of an intention to make a newspaper article of his mis haps, Mr. Greeley became quite cheer ful. The purpose seemed to relieve it is mind. lie chatted pleasantly, undress ed quickly and, to my surprise, tumbled into the same bed I was occupying, with tho brief request to ‘get over a little.’ “Soon wo both went to sleep. After awhile I was awakened by a terrible nudging in the ribs and found it came from the very acute elbow of my bed fellow. ‘“What do you want, Mr. Greeley?’ I asked. “ ‘Nothing,’ lie replied in a high fal setto, but with uncommon meekness <>f spirit, ‘except that I do wish you would keep your feet off of my stomach.’ “The request was so reasonable that I complied and so funny that I laughed, saying to hint: “ ‘The other bed was intended for you.’ “ ‘Why didn’t you toll me so?’ lie in quired. “ ‘Because,’ I rejoined quickly, ‘I wanted to be able to say 1 bad slept with Horace Greeley.’ “That was but the truth, yet I sa.* that the implied compliment did not displease him. He immediately and very dryly remarked. “ ‘Well, Horace Greeley, to be able to say that ho slept at all, will take the other bed.’ And he did. “On awakening in tho morning, 1 discovered that the old man had dressed 1 and had gone down stairs. 1 found him hard at work at the writing desk in the study, driving a quill as fast as hi hand could let him. When he got to the twentieth page lie rolled up the manuscript tightly till it looked like the barrel of a horse-pistol, directed it to •Sidney Howard Gav. Tribune, office. New York,’ and in the corner wrote: ‘Must, to-morrow, H. G.’ “It turned out to be a ferocious attack on the Camden and Amboy Railway company, as he had promised tho night before. ‘iDuring the day tho house was filled up with other guests, among them many lady friends of tho squire’s daughters. We were the guests of the squire. After the address in the afternoon, Mr. Gree ley consented to stay over night, and then went for a drive with the host, who had returned that morning. I was detained by a bad headache, and went up to my room to lie down. As I near ed the room several mischievous-look ing girls emerged from it with: ‘Ex cuse us; we were merely looking around to sec that everything was made com fortable for Mr. Greeley.’ “Something in their manner led me, who had had experience with the tricks of girls, to make an examination. That examination led me quietly to move tho bedstead I had occupied over to where the one was which Mr. Greeley had oc cupied and tho latter over to where tlie Other ono had been. I held my peace, and retired early. Soon the philosopher came up in high spirits, undressed quickly, put out the iight, and got into bed. At least he tried to do so, but not with entire success. “ ‘What in thunder’s the matter with this bed,’ he asked, but, as I was ap parently asleep, no answer came front me. lie struck a match, made a hasty inspection while tho flame lasted, and tried to get into bod again. “‘Foots like l was iu a blamed bag.’ he muttered. Then there was t lie soumi of a furious struggle in the bed. Tho old mail, at this time, got up, swearing like a pirate. Ho lighted tho lamp, and strode with linn tread and many exple tives. but iu only one garment, toward the door, declaring that he would ho blanked and double blanked if ho didn’t litid out what the matter was. ‘‘As ho got liis hand on the knob there was a chorus of frightened screams outside, and as tho door opened by tho light of the lamp which he carried 1 saw four or live girls quickly disappearing down the hall. Mr. Greeley called out for tiie squire in no gentle tones. After a period long enough to tenable the squire’s wife to give him some informa tion, the gentleman appeared and told Mr. Greeley that “ho had just learned that those fool girls had lqade tip his bed pie fashion for fun, that nfwrnoon, but chat he would lix ißright.’ There upon the squire tul’ucd up the bed clothes from tho foot and showed Mr. Greeley how the girls had turned up the under sheet half its length, which ex plained why the gentleman ‘felt as if ho was in a blamed bag.’ “By this time 1 was laughing im moderately—too much so, because Mr. Greeley turned round and said to me: “ Til bo blanked if 1 don’t boliovo you know about this.’ “1 did, but protested that 1 did not, all the same. “The next morning it was Mr. Greo loy’s turn to laugh. I awoke, feeling as sore as if 1 had been beaten all over with Indian clubs. Those wicked girls had packed the entire space between tho feather bod and tho matress in my bed with old-fashioned daguerreotypes and umbrotypos. You know that tho frames or cases in which they wore in closed were us hard as iron. I had been too much amused at Mr. Greeley’s predicament to examine my own bod or to notice anything especially hard about it, at lirst. But 1 had just as much rea son to inveigh against tho mischievous sprites as he had, and more, too, for ho secured a reform of their trickery iu his caso and I did not in mine.” Care of the Sick. A feeding cup is useful when the suf ferer is not too ill to drink, as liquids can he given without tho head being raisod from tho pillow. When there is unwillingness to take food a little gentle persuasion will sometimes overcome tho difficulty. It is useless to say in tin au thoritative tone “Yon must take this,” that instantly rouses every spark of sell assertion in the weakened mind and the sick person immediately determines that he aii.B do nothing of the kind and no power on earth shall make him swallow it. When the drink is refused and the nurse finds that persuasion is of no avail, if she takes it away for a few moments and then offers it again with no allusion to the past refusal, it will sometimes be taken without any ob jection. A spoonful may be taken when a drink from a cup is indignantly re jected, or vice versa. When food is persistently refused, as in some forms of mania, and it becomes necessary to administer it by force, the hands should be hold by one person while the nurse holding tiie spoon full of liquid in her right hand, with her left gently com press the nostrils of the patient. This compels him to open his mouth to breathe and then tho fluid can bo poured in. It should be given just after the sufferer has exhaled a breathe, or it will be sputtered out, and as lie inhales tho air the food will slip down without his being able to prevent St itt feeding an unconscious or insen sible person put the tip of the spoon be tween the teeth and try to separate them, the action will sometimes rouse the sufferer sufficiently to induce him to open them. When this cannot be done insert the lip of the linger at the cornc*’ of the month and draw it away from the gum sufficiently to pour in a litt.o liquid. It will trickle iu between tho interstices of the teeth and lind its way down the throat unless all power of swallowing is gone. Feed very slowly and be sure that one spoonful has been absorbed before giving another. Never allow any food, especially milk, to stand in the sick room. It should be kept on a shelf outside a window in an adjoining apartment. Elisabeth Hob it t sun Scuvil, in Clood Housekeeping. Dog-Day s. • The appellation of dog-days, as ap plied to August’s healed term,” said a prominent dog-fancier yesterday, “prob ably originated hundreds of years ago, when droves of dogs were kept in oriental cities, with the idea that the animals were a sanitary necessity, as they consumed a large portion of the household refuse. These dogs being unsheltered during midsummer were subject to intense heat, which affects a canine’s brain very quickly, and sends him off into a mild sort of fit. The ani mal then dashes around frantically, making a great deal of noise, and at tracting considerable attention, but usually doing no harm whatever. Jn years past it was no uncommon sight iti Philadelphia for a dog to dart through the city, alarming the residents on every side; but now it is a very rare thing, as all superfluous dogflesh is tlisjjosed of by the dog-catchers, and those puppies that are unmolested are generally thought something of and wcH cared for. “A man who knows anything about dogs can detect one of these Spells, and can check it quickly. The animal will #iok his tail between liis legs, whine piteously, anti act as if startled. The only remedy is to hold him under a hydrant, allowing the stream to flow over the head, thereby cooling the brain. All dogs are liable to lie at tacked. particularly tine-bred dogs which have boon overexerted aud overheated.” ThilatUlphia Hccord. AN OUT LAW BEAUTY. The IntfMont Caiiimml In Southern Colorado by tin* Apponrstiu'o of n Dashing Fnnitlo, Nows lias been received in Denver, says the News of that city, of the pres ence of tho noted Texas female bandit in Colorado. She and her male com panions, with a complete camp outfit, arc camped within four miles of Monte Vista, near Del Norte, in the southern part of the state. She and her gang made their appearance there about two weeks ago, and so far have resisted all attempts at interview, and many efforts have been made to ascertain their busi ness in that locality. Tho citizens were naturally curious about their presence, and when all advances were repelled by tho woman and her companions, the citizens came to tho conclusion that they were there for no good, probably robbery. Not wanting them in their midst, and not knowing exactly how to get rid of them, a meeting was held and a man commissioned to come to Denver to consult Gen. 1). J. Cook. Tho gentleman arrived in Denver, and held a long conversation with the general, but what plan, if ati v, was agreed upon to rid the neighborhood of the suspi cious characters, is not known. Through tho courtesy of Gen. Cook a reporter had an interview with tho gentleman from Monte Vista. “Everybody, in our neighborhood,” he said, “don’t take much stock iu the woman, believing her to be a man or a boy who has assumed tho female garb for a purpose, and that purpose is rob bery. She (I’ll call her a she) and her companions went into camp, l think, about two weeks ago. Monday morn ing two hunters struck the camp, and were going forward to it, when they were stopped by a girlish voice com manding them to halt. When they re covered from their surprise they noticed a slim, girlish figure calmly seated on a thoroughbred horse, a revolver in each hand, seemingly awaiting their ap proach. “They hallooed that they were friends and meant no incivilty iu at tempting to approach tho camp. “She made no reply but waved them off with her pistol. No sooner had they turned their hacks oil the hospitable newcomer than she put her horse into a gallop and circled around them, riding with such Hkill and grace as to elicit the admiration of the hunters. When they came to Monte Vista and told their story it was discredited, but since then everyone in the place has had a glimpse of her and several of her male companions, and two or three have had a few moments conversation with hor. I am one of tho favored few In the latter respect.” “What is she like?” “I should jttdgo him or her (o he about 18 or 19 years old, long black hair that is allowed to float down her back, black eyes, a thin,-brown, at tractive face, white teeth, and rather thin lips. She is not over 5 feet 6 inches in height, lias a slim but well rounded figure, and her whole make-up reminded me of a wild cat. She hail on when I saw her a tight, fitting gray dress, short enough to disclose her buckskin moccasins and leggings. Around her waist was a white leather belt supporting two scabbards, iu which were two large ivory-handled re volvers. On her head she wore a white sombrero or cowboy hat, one side of which was pinned up with a silver bridle Lit. She was mounted on a thoroughbred gray stallion, and was one of the prettiest pictures 1 have Been for a good while. “1 asked her who she was, and sho replied in a not unmusical voice, Imt with a decided southern accent, that sho was the ‘Texas Queen.’ 1 further asked her what her business was and she replied that it consisted in attend ing to hor own business. J then asked her why she would allow no one to en ter her camp, and she replied that she would allow no one to interview her, and if she allowed one person to come into her camp everybody else would want to do tiie same thing, and she wasn’t going to allow anyone to meddle witli her surroundings. “While talkiutr to Tier I had cradually approached, but she took in my every rnoveDicnt, and when 1 was within about ten feet of her she wheeled her horse and was off like an arrow. She circled around mo for several minutes, gradually narrowing tiie circle until sho was iri about twenty feet, probably, of where I stood, and suddenly reined her horse hack on its haunches. Plac ing the bridle-reins in her teeth sho drew her revolvers, and, motioning with her left hand to two small trees which stood on either side, and about the same distance from the trail, proba bly about fifty yards ahead, sho urged her horse to full speed, aud when what seemed to me directly between the trees she fired both revolvers, and without turning to look around rode on in the direction of her carnp. “I was curious to sec the result of her marksmanship, and on going to tho trees found a bullet iu each one about the same distance from the ground. She has also displayed her wonderful nmrkmanship to several others in our place, and all of them assert that they have never seen any one, even in this land of good shots, so remarkable skill ful with the pistol.” “Has anyone else found out any more about her than you have?” “I think not She has been seen sev eral times mounted on a superb bay horse, which is as well trained as her gray and probably as fleet To tell you the truth, we don’t know what to make of her. Sho won’t allow anyone to get near enough to capture her, and as she hasn’t done anything to warrant us in using force to arrest her, we don’t know what to do. There is one thing sure, however, we don’t want her in our neighborhood, apd for that reason L VOL I. NO 40. caiuo to Denver to consult with Gen. 1 Cook. We are not scared, but we are' naturally curious, and want the mystery 1 explained. Not one among us who has l Been the ‘queen’ but believes it is a man masquerading in female attire.” “Did you ever hear of the female out law of Texas, who was chased into Arkansas and then into Indian Terri tory, where she was at last accounts?" i “No; l never heard of her.” . The ‘gentleman was shown a slip from a St. Louts paper giving a de scription of the beautiful outlaw and an interview with her, in which she said that slie had never been interviewed, and declaring her intention of killiug the first reporter that attempted to in terview her. "That settles it,” he said. "That is the identical girl. 1 was under the im pression that the ‘queen’ was a man, lint the fellow who wrote that certainly had better opportunities to know who and what site is than I have had or anybody in our community. lie has described her characteristics exactly, and especially her aversion to being in-' terviewod. What ho said about her fancy shooting is true, as I and others can swear to.” "Will Gen. Cook go to Monte Vista?”; "1 suppose he will, lie says if we 1 want him to go ami and arrest her and her companions, lie’ll do it I will have' to consult with tho boys when I get back, and if we ngree in having the) party run in, we'll telegraph thogcuoral and he’ll come.” Strange to say, Gen. Cook had never; heard of the Texas female outlaw. After! reading her description and characterise tics he is inclined to the belief that the* strange character camped near Monte' Vista is one and the same person. When asked if he were going to attempt her! arrest ho said he hadn’t heard anything 1 about it, but if ho attempted to inter view her he would do so. He says he is 1 satisfied that she and her male com panions are horse thieves, and the soon er they are run out of the country the better oil’ the country will be. Whether she is a horse thief or not he thinks 1 Colorado can get along very well with out any of her class. In an Old RngllHli Kitchen. .ftist outside tho gate and across tho way from the shop of tho potato and pork merchant’s there stands, as it has stood for a couple of centuries, the old I’alstalt Inn. We went in uuder tfie sign through a low doorway, overgrown with ivy. At tho end of the hall was a lovely old kitchen with a floor of cool tiles and a gorgeous dinner service of purple, rod, blue, and gold displayed in wiiln r/w.ks npiiimt the watt. A fire was burning, the red coal glowing between the bars of the grate, and a deal of cooking was going on. The kettle was boiling witii a fussy effusion like that, of a comfortable, home keep ing, good-hearted, motherly woman, bustling about to get tilings ready for her good man anutho children. A log of lamb was roasting before the lire. A string, or thin iron chain, I believe it was, was fastened from the mantle shelf, and from the other end hung the meat, dangling directly in front of the grate bars. A plate was set under neath to catch the drippings. 1 had a bit of that lamb with some mint sauce for my dinner, and 1 can attest that it was most excellent eating. I wish l had some of it at this moment. A trim young woman, wearing tho whitest of mob caps, the cleanest of white aprons, stood before the fire broiling a chop. She had a long-han dled, double tin broiler or gridiron in her hands. The chop was shut up in this, and she patiently held it before tho lire as we would hold up a wet towel to dry, turning it round now and then; and what with the tea-kettle, the burst ing of the skin of this leg of tho lamb, the sizzling of the savory chop, most comforting, if deafening, noises filled the cozy room. The girl turned a rosy face at us and smiled comfortably. Tho smile, the goodly old kitchen, tho rows of delf on the wall, the nodding red hollyhocks out in the garden, the recol lecting of that swinging jolly old Fal stall’, of the charming windows and deep window seats warmed me to the heart with enthusiasm. —Catherine Cole, in New Orleans I‘icayune. * Character In Curl I’apers. Curl papers show character. Subtle distinctions of personality, based on the curl pa|>crs of a young woman, may be as positive as they are intricate anil in teresting. Your creature of principle, who eschews curl papers as deceptive in results must of course be left out of this category. And the fortunate feminine whose hair kinks and curls better on a rainy day, or in a sea breeze, or on a melting summer afternoon than at any other time, cannot bo counted either. Hut among the devotees of the curl pa per, variations of character may be safe ly and successfully catalogued by a study of the times and the manner of its use. Os course a society belle never uses pa per for her frisot. It is done up on a pretty patented arrangement of kid or something else, and this genus of curl paper is never seen outside of its wear- i er’s own private apartment Hut in tho ordinary home paper is usually used to curl the front hair. And it may be set down as an infallible rule that the young jierson who appears at tho break fast table with her forehead adorned by frizzes, in prospect rather than in reality, is lacking in a sense of the fitness of things; she who wears her frizz papers until lunch time is both lazy and selfish, while she who wears them all day and never takes them down until sunset needs no other sign to show her ignor ance and her vanity. A crusade against tho curl paper would mean, first of all, tho preaching of the doctrine of an all day comeliness instead of that spas modic chrysalis sort which is associated with its me.—Boston Record. <