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For The Young. I tick and Pluck.-An East Indian 8tory. There was once a tiger that crept close to an old woman's house, to get away from the rain. He heard her sighing about the water that came through the leaky roof, and saying to herself, “Oh, dear, a tiger or a lion would not scare me so much as this eternal dripping.” “Why,” thought the tiger, “how terrible this eternal dripping must be, if it is worse than I am, or worse than a lion,” and hearing her drag the fur niture about to get it out of the wet, he said, “That must be the eternal dripping; indeed, it ha® an awful sound.” Now a potter was looking for his donkey, which had run away, and seeing by the light of a flash of light ning the huge beast standing by the old woman’s house, he thought it was his donkey, and sprang on the tiger's back and beat him furiously. “Ah,” said the tiger, "this must be the eter nal dripping; how it does hurt!” So, for very fear, he galloped away to the potter’s house, and let himself be tied to a post. The next day all the wc rid ran to see the tiger standing meekly before the potter’s door, tied to a post. The news came to the prince’s ears, and he said, “We will make this brave man a lord.” So he gave the potter houses and gold, and made him a lord and the commander of ten thonsand sold iers. Now another Rajah (Indian prince) picked a quarrel with this prince, and led a great army to the borders of the country. The people were in despair, till some one said : “A man who can tie a tiger to a post must be very clever; make the potter general!” “True,” said the prince; so he put the army under the potter’s command, and made him general in chief. “Sire,” said the potter, “let me go first to the enemy’s camp and see how strong and fierce they are.” And then he went home to his wife and said. “What shall I do, dear wife ? They have made me general, and I must ride at the head of the troops, and you know I shall fall off the horse. I am to go alone to see the enemy’s camp first; now get me a quiet pony, or 1 shall surely be killed.” But, sad to tell, the prince sent a fine he rse to the potter, asking him to use it on his journey. “Alas 1 wife,” he said, “I cannot use that nice quiet pony now, for I must ride on the prince’s horse, and I shall ceitaiuly tumble off.” “Oh, no,” she replied, “I will tie you tight to the horse, and you can go by night, and no one will know that you are tied on.” 80 after dark this excellent woman led the hor^e to ihe door. “Ah me,” cried the potter, “I can never get up, the saddle is so high.” “Jump,” she said. So he jumped again and again, but fell down each time. “I always forget how to turn when I jump,” he said. “Turn you face to the horse’s head,” she advised. “Ah,yes,to be sure,” said the potter, and jumped again. This time he bounced into the saddle, but with hiB face to the horse’s tail. “That will never do,” said his wife, “get on without jumping.” So, by dint ofholding the stirrup and guiding his foot and shoving him up, she got him seated at last, and in good time, for the herse was getting more restless every minute. Then she took a strong rope and bound him firmly in the saddle. Now, when the horse felt the rope dangling round his legs, he set off full tilt over meadow and ditch, over hill and dale, straight for the enemy’s camp. The potter would not have liked his ride ou any road, but when he saw what direction the horse was taking he was half dead with fear, and aking one last efh rt t© free himself, seized hold of a young banyan tree, he vaiu hope that it would pull off the horse. But the creature going at full speed, and the tree loosely in the soil, so that it came y the roots, and the potter drew rtr and nearer to the camp, hold- g the tree in his hand. Look!” cried the soldiers, seeing approach, “ this is one of the vau- rd of the enemy. He is a giant, d he tears up the very trees as he ushes through the country. Alas f the others are like him, we are dead eu.” So they ran to theirJRajah, Here come the enemy, sire, giants, mounted on huge tear up the trees their rage. We can fight with men, but not with monst* rj.” So the whole army was seized with panic and fled from the camp, after they had made their Rajah write a letter saying that, after all, he did not mean to fight, and prefi rred peace to war. Just as the potter’s horse galloped into the camp the ropes broke; the potter fell bang upon the ground and the horse stood still with surprise. Then the potter rose, and looked about the empty camp, found the Rnjah’s letter to his own prince, and set off towards home, leading his horse. His wife ran out to meet him, full of joy at his safe return. “Ah, wife,” he cried, “send a mes senger with this letter to the prince, and send the horse back also. His Majesty will see by the horse’s looks how hard I have ridden, and I can walk to the palace. ’ So next day he went on foot to see the i rince, and the people said: “This hero is as modest as he is brrave. See him walking quietly to the palace door, instead of coming in state.” And the Rajah met him on the steps, and treated him with honor and loaded him with riohes and titlep. Terms of peace were concluded be tween the two nations, and the potter lived happily all the days of his life, revered as the protector of his country. i'oet’s Corner. Bequiesoat. He had the poet's eyes, — Sing to him sleeping— Sweet grace of low lepllee, —Wuy are we w eeplng ? He had the gentle ways, — Fair dreams befall him I— Beauty through all his days, — Then why recall him ? That whloh in him was fair Still shall be ours; Yet, yet my heart lies there Under the flowers. Chlorin. They tell me thou hast others loved— That others' arms have pressed thee, That others' ears have drunk thy vows, And others’ Ups caress’d thee;— That at the shrine where I have lain The love deem’d only ours, Others before had brought their troth To faJe like summer’s flowers! 1 fain had hoped thut in thy breast When close to mine I’d fold thee, A new-born passion glow’d to bear The words of love l told thee; I fain had hoped that first for me The heart I press’d was beating, That, girlhood’s lauolfs were like snow— As stainless and us fleeting! The spring’s first blossoms let the bees Hip with the opening hours; i’d rather wait to drink tbo sweets Of summer's full-blown flowers! lhy youthlul passions I'd bellove, Lest greater woe befel me, Know not the honey of true love In spite ol all they tell me. The False Prophet. Eight thousand human beings killed and wounded appears un extraordi nary calamity, yet such is the report which Dr. Sellweii)furth, the able rep resentative of the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society, telegraphs from Soudan. The victims were Egyptian troops, and the slaughterers were the False Prophet and his adherents, who lor the last three years appear to have been mastirs of Nubia and the greater part of the Soudau. This False Prophet is no less a person than Hadji Ztcky, the notorious slave dealer who caused Col. Gi rdon so much trouble during his administration of Upper Egypt, and the Khedive has been so embar rassed with more serious complications in the vicinity of the capital that neither troops nor money oould be Bpared for a serious opposition to the advance of this bloodthirsty pretender. About a year ago Hadji Zioky took possession of the roads, thus stopping the Khedive’s Government from com municating with the Soudan by land, and he now threatens to adyance upon Cairo. As a great portion of the Egyp tian revenue is derived f rom the Sou dan, and as all its ivory, which is the mouopolyof the Government,is pledged to the bond holders,Bteps will no doubt be taken to stop the soi-disant Proph et’s advance, and the British troops noyy remaining in Fgypt may be call ed upon to defend the country against the invasion of a man who considers not only Christians, but Mohamme dans of every denomination, his ene mies, and British and Egyptians, who have hitherto been fighting among themselves, may have to unite against a common enemy. A physician oonueoted with the Julius Hospital in Wurzburg, Bavaria, has discovered in chinolin (an ingre dient of ooal tar) an excellent remedy inet di The Worries of Titles, All that is wanted is that no title should be copyrighted wl i h was not registered at the aame time as the book was published. Some five or six years ago Mr. Chas. Dickens, for whom, with my late partner, I wrote a Christmas story, after the title had been advertised everywhere—I believe even after the thing h«d appeared—received a litter from someone, informing him that he had himself once written a story with the same title. He further intimated that unless substantial damages were at once paid him he would do dresdful things. Mr. Dickens, after ascertain ing that the story spoken of was long ago dead and burled, wisely intimated that he might go aud do his worst. And nothing came of it. Another story. A certain firm of publishers with whom I am acquainted once re ceived a letter warning them that a work of theirs, then in the press and already well advertised, bore the title of a novel once written by himself. The writer went on to add that he contemplated issuing his book in a cheap form, so that unless—same threat as above. He gave as his ad dress a public house near Drury Lane. It was pretty evident from the tone of the leth r what kind of a man he was and what he wanted. He had, in fact, published a novel under the title named, which fell flat, and was long since as dead as can be desired for any book, so that the use of the title would injure him in no possible way. How ever these publishers, during to injure no man, invited him to an Interview. He came, bringing with him a printer, who was good enough to state that he had commenced negotiations for the 1 rinting of novel in question. While the partners were thinking how much they could offer the man of unappreciated genius in order to preserve their own title, he happily brought the matter to an issue by offering to “square the job” for a guinea. Upon this he was ejected with his printer, and has never since claimed any damages. In fact, I do not believe that where it can be proved that no one iB injured any damages oould be obtained. But, to prevent disputes, let us register our titles. Again, a title ought not t» be regis tered unless it belongs to a book ; no one ought to have copyright in so un substantial a thing as a mire title. Yet I have hesrd a story which, if true, shows that there was, or is, such a copyright. It is related of the late Mr. Hain Friswell. He once met a publishc r who confided to him that he was about to bring out a new relig ious weekly, but wauted a title. “Why not,” said Mr. Friswell, call it-*—?” The publisher grasped his hand warm ly, and left him in baste. Thereupon Mr. Friswell, repenting that he had so carelessly parted with a good title, called a cab and hastened to register it at Stationers’ Hail. Wtiile the ink was still wet, a clerk ai rived from the publisher on exactly the same errand. If registration of a title ten years or so ago secured its copyright, does it not secure that copyright still? Aud i^ there has been no registration, is the title the property of author or pub lisher ? I have only to add that I am again a victim, and am Informed that the title I had chosen for a new novel belongs to a little book written for children and published five ye‘ ra ago. — Walter Besant in Athenceum. Scobeleff and His Parents, Women in the Field of Industry. In Germany, in 1881, a census was made of the condition of trades. From an abstract published recently of the results of this statistical inquiry, it appears that women are taking a more and more active part in trades aud in dustnes. Most of the female work ing people ara engaged in the textile branches, in victual trades aud in leather and paper manufactures. The age of these females is between 12 and 27 years. In all 245,753 female laborers are engaged in the 93,554 German manufactories, which also give employment to l,63i*K>G men. There is no manufactory %i which female workers are not engi M. Tacohiui has publisheBhis ob servations made at Rome oullie dis tribution of the solar protuulranoes faeulee and spots during tbe igscond and third quarters of 1881. The licqjo) extended to higher latitudes tium in the first quarter, and the profiler ances approached nearer the poles In winter and summer most of the protuberances appear in th<woutb 1 in and auti Seobeleff’s intercourse with his pa rents was peculiarly touching. It is seldom that there is such perfect confi dence and mutual regard between father and son as existed in the evse of the older and the younger Scobeleff An incident which illustrates the father’s fondness for his famous son occurred in my presence. 11 happened two or three days after the successful crossing of the Danube by the Russians at Zimnitza—at which the younger Scobeleff had fought as a volunteer, carrying rifle and bayonet, and lead ing the charge up the steep slopes of Sistova. The mighty river was as yet unbridged, and it became necessary to strengthen the force of cavalry in Turkish territory. The engineers, for the purpose of building the bridge of boats, had taken possession of the pon toons which had been previously em ployee in ferrying across the few detachments of horsemen then on tbe Sistova side. Young Scobehff sug gested that the cavalry should swim across and he offered to demonstrate the practicability of his scheme. No sooner said than done. He mounted his white charger, wound his way down the scarped clay cliffs at Zim nitza, aoross the small bridge which spanned a creek to the island of Ada, and then, entering the river, the gal lant horse, guided by Scobeleff’s skil ful hands, made fi r the further shore. The bold experiment was watched with breathless interest from the high ground on the Roumanian bank, and no more moved spectator of the daring enterprise stood there than the gray haired father. With his binocular he eagerly followed the progress of his son and his gallant charger through the swift current. Then his arms began to shake, and his hands refused to hold the glasses to his eye. He who had headed eight hundred troops in a fierce onslaught upon live thou sand Turks was unnerved at the sight of so venturesome a deed. Prince Tzeretleff, who was by his side, noting the slow course of his comrade in hiB unequal struggle with the moving waters, in response to the earnest appeals of the old general, reported every circumstance ot the exciting ad venture. By and by eim tion broke the voice of the father as he exclaimed,ever and anoD, “Ob, my 1 rjve boy! Is he drowned yet?” And when young Scobeleff touched the 111 lie shelving bay below Sistova in safety, a ringing cheir was given by the Russian sold iery who had witnessed the rash feat ; and the group which surrounded the gray - haired warrior echoed his “ Thank Go i!” as much for his sake as for the success of au undertaking almost unparalleled in its temerity. The affection* of Scobeleff for his mother aud hei’s for him was extreme ly beautiful. I recollect at Philippo- polis, in 1879, she spoke to me of her “ noble, handsome boy.” He was always a boy to her. And the fine mobile features of the stately, high bred and courteous dame worked with emotion as she deftly touched on the “deedso’ derring do” by which he had attained his well-merited fame. She had taken a deep ii.terest in the Russo-Turkish campaign botli because husband aud son were prominent fig ures in the great drama, and because with Aksakoff, she believed that its results would be “the regeneration not only of the Slavs of tbe Balkans but of the whole Slavonic world.” At the close of the war, her husband no more, she came to Bulgaria,and found at once consolation in her bereavement and an outlet for her abounding energy in the organization of hospitals for Bulgarian childreu,and in the founda tion of schools—f< r, like her son, she had an enthusiastic belief in education. When I met her, she was in the midst of the preparations for establish ing in the neighborhood of the battle field a school, a hospital and church, to be endowed out of her private estate, in memory of her son’s great victory of Seuova. By the irony of fate, It was Soo- belett's great love for his mother that was the means of her sad and un timely death. He had detailed as her attendant and guard one of his own aide-do-camp—a young Russian whom he had literally out of compassion raised to the position which he then held. This scoundrel formed the diabolical plan of murdering his patron’s mother and robbing her of her jewels aud a sum of £5000 which she had in her possession for distribu tion among certain institutions which she had founded or taken under he protection ; and the fell purpose was accomplished while Madame Scobeleff opolis to Sofia. Scobeleff was at that time engaged in his latest campaign of subduing the Turkomans of the Yeok Tepe, and I believe that he never fully recovered from the stroke of the oruel blow which his beloved mother’s terrible fate gave him. Gems of Sentiment. Be charitable before wealth makes thee covetous, and lose not the glory of the mite. If riches increase, let thy mind hold pace with them; and think it not enough to be liberal, but munifi cent. Though a cup of cold water from some band may not be without its reward, yet stick not thou for wine and oil for the wounds of the distressed; and treat the pocr, as our Saviour did the multitude, to the reliques of some baskets.—Sir Thomas Browne. A Reverie. Musing I stood upon a crag that told Of force resistless working manifold! Riving the rock of adamant with ease As woodmen cleave the blocks from fallen trees; Bowlders dislodging, and in the mld-alr Holding them poised and lightly balanced there, While peaks o’ershadowod the Inspiring scene; Fit pillars for the dome of blue serene, Along their slopes glowed autumn leaves as fair With varied tintsas blooms of the parterre; And in the glens reposing at their feet The air with summer Incense still was sweet, I seemed within a vast cathedral grand, Whose spires majestic rose on every hand; Whoso shrine colossal was the cliff aglow, And Its baptismal font the lake below, In strength and beauty stood the wonderous fane, Whose windows sunrise and the sunsetstaln. Let us remember that God gives liberal interest for every year that he keeps our prayirs unanswered, and that what becomes us is to wait at his footstool, and not to hurry his arrange ments. The moat luscious fruits are those which are longest in maturing; the richest blessings are often those which take the longest in coming. An unripe blessing may prove sour to tbe teeth, and unhealthful when partaken of. Impatience is almost always accompanied by loss.—Rev. P. B. Power. Riches and piety are not Incom patible. A man may be both rich and pious. Some men of great wealth have been men of great piety. Wealth, like every other gift of God, is a talent which may be perverted from its proper use, or employed iu the accom plishment. of great good. To men who set their hearts on riches, and hoard up their wealth to gratify their avarice and pride, they become a snare and a curse, but to men who use them wisely aud properly, In doing good, they be come a source of blessing and Joy. A man who loves God above wealth, if he possesses it, will use it for the divine glory ; but if he loves wealth aboye God, he will use it to gratify lAftawn ambition and selfishness. It more difficult for a man of gr wealth to be pious, and give a pro direction to bis means, the^it is for man of great mental endowments be pious, and give a proper directio to his talents. Eiiher may be pos sessed and properly used; or ei may be possessed aud ter verted fi its proper end. In determining ehri acter, a man is not to be judged b^i what be possesses, but by the use h« mak( s of it. It mutters not how great a man’s wealth in wordly possession® or talent, he may have the grace of God in his heart, directing and con trolling him in all his ways, and teaching hUn not to trust in uncertain riches, but rather to be rich in faith and good works. Indian Summer. The roadside bright with wealth of bloom, The soft air sweet with faint perfume, The birds In ecstaoy of tune; "Ah, this is June, most perfect June!" We cried, and plucked tue flowers gay, “Oh, perfect June; oh, perfeot day !’• The pathway led through foreits deep, Where winds uuceaslng dirges sweep; The maples fired the gloom with blaze, And lured us Into uutracked ways. “ \b, this October Is,’’ we cried, “Ootober iu full pomp and pride !*’ The pathway wound a mountain steep, Whero gorse and heather grew knee deep. The summit reached, a chill wind blew, Cold soemed tne overarching blue. "November ’Us,” agaiu we cried, “Farewell to thee, sweet summer tide l" Descending luto valleys green, Where oattle browsed, meek-eyed, serene; Where babbling sped the noisy brook, Aud eager Ushers baited book. " ’Tls summer still I" once more cried we, “Oh, Indlau summer, hail to thee I” Peanuts ground or in any other way reduced to a paste will furnish a great variety of palatable dishes in the way of soups, orequettes, cakes, coffee, etc. As they are so abundant everywhere, there is room for experiment for such housewives as have a knack at makli various nioe things froi