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The Terrors of the Gorge. A newspaper correspondent has been exploring the gorge below the Niagara Falls, and,relates Jus experience in the following manner: The terrors of tho gorge below the Falls are known to but few. Indeed, the foot of man scarcely ever treads this infernal region, where almost perpendicular walls rise on each side of the verge of the river from 270 to 360 feet in height. Here the con tinued crumblingof the rocks has formed a precipitous pathway in places on thn river’s edge; elsewhere one must cling to crevices in the rock, to jutting crags or otherwise, to get along. A party of four of us made a survey of the interior of this canon from Lewiston to Suspen sion Bridge. With great difficulty we clambered along. It was a fearful yet ex citing exploration. At times the liver would rise suddenly, some ten or even fifteen feet, as if a great dam above had broken, causing a hasty retreat of the parties up the sides of the canou. From Jtoints above rocks and stones frequently ell, causing lively apprehension, and, to add to the catalogue of embarassments, an occasional rattlesnake attempted to retard our progress, and one of them was killed, and his rattles preserved iu com memoration of the event. Getting into the canon at Lewiston was compara tively easy, but makingone’s way out was another thing. Nearly a mile below Deveaux College, which is situated half a mile north of Suspension Bridge, the possibility of making our way along the river’s edge ceased. Night was just ap proaching, and it was a day’s hard work, nearly, to make Lewiston. Above, the rocks towered nearly three hundred feet. We had the alternative of remain ing in this abode of terrors over night, and returning to Lewiston the following day, or of fighting an almost impossible passage to the steps leading down from the college. We determined to accept the latter. After an hour’s climb we madeour way to within one hundred feet of the top, where just a narrow ridge, formed by the crumbled debris, seemeu to extend. We followed this perhaps half a mile, when it came to an abrupt termination. Several rods beyond vas a broad pathway leading up to the colleger, but in the interval only the bare walls of rock, almost perpendicular from the top to the rushing Witter, two hundred and severity seventy feet below, met the despairing gaze of our party. Just above our heads was a crevice in the rocks which seemed to cross the intervening space. With almost certain doom star ing us directly in the face, we deter mined to try and cross by standing tip toe in the crevice and climbing to the juttings of the rocks. The various im plements of the party were divided up, a heavy theodolite falling to your corres pondent, w T hich was straped on his back. The tallest clambered up the crevice first, the others assisting and following, and the writer getting up last. Then be gan a perilous struggle to reach the path way beyond. All arrived there safely when your correspondent, with the heavy burden on his back, was but mid way across. Here a sharp rock just at the height of the breast impeded the way. In attempting to get around this the boot failed to find a resting-place. The heavy instrument was pulling me off my balance. ' The fingers were losing their slender hold; one hundred feet above was the calm safe world, one hun dred and seventy feet below the roaring of the water. One foot slipped off ana was going down, a mist came over the eyes, when my foot caught on a slender gooseberry bush and a hand suddenly grasped my back and drew me around to a safe standing place. In a moment more the pathway was reached and the safety of all insured, but never will tho frightful scene leave the senses. One of the party saw the danger and rescued the participant, or else the gooseberry bush was the saving means—l have li#\r er understood which. A Cheerful Wife. Better than gold to a man is a cheer ful wife. But he must do his part to ward making her cheerful. It is easy for a man to marry a happy woman. But the bride expectant, when she thought how happy she would be, never contemplated the picture of a husband coming home cross as a bear, and going to bed without speaking to her; she had never thought of the long evening when he wouldn’t come at all; or his bringing some one home to dinner without warn ing or preparation; or his awful profan ity overso trifling a matteras her little bill of expenses. She had no idea, in fact, there could be ary thing but happi ness in married life, and she had de termined to be happy, and to distribute her happiness to those about her. It 13 not often her fault if she doesn’t succeed. Men, as a rule, do not exert themselves to secure their wives’ happiness. They know that it requires a constant and a great effort to possess property and be secure in its value in the midst of con stant commercial changes. The cheer fulness, the happy, hopeful charac ter which every woman displays at the beginning of marriage, is not so easily lost as a fortune; it requires but a small share. A word to the girls in this connection is in order: Beware of the man who doesn’t know’ enough about cheerfulness to understand its value in daily life. Such a man w’ould improve the first opportunity to grind the cheer fulness out of his home, to frighten a sunbeam into a shadow, and then wonder what is the matter. Such is no better than no husband, at all; and when you want a husband go find somebody else— somebody w r ho will give you at least some chance to be happy far into the life beyond the honeymoon. Cure of Hiccups. A curious case has just occurred at the Children’s Hospital, in Paris. A few days ago a girl of twelve was at school, and during ajthunder-storm, the electric fluid fell close to her. For a moment she seemed to be suffocating, but this sensation soon passed off into a fit of hic cups. These became so distressing that after three days the mother took her to the hospital for advice. The surgeon ordered her to be taken to the operating theater, where, on feeing the medical man standing at a table covered with some awful-looking instruments, and Burrounded by a number of assistants in white aprons, the child became so terri fied that she forgot her hiccups, which did not recommence, and she was thus Cured. Wounds in the Heart. [N. Y. Time*.] Wounds in the heart are commonly supposed to bp instantaneously fatal, but such is not the case. Indeed, it is not possible except by some extreme violence such as dynamite explosions, to blot out a human life instantly. Keeper Good’s pistol ball went right through the heart of Barrett, the Sing Sing convict, yet he lived four minutes. Portello’s knife cleft the heart of Bolander com pletely in twain, but he did not fall dead upon the spot. The instinct of seif-pre servation remained, and even that horrid wound had not deprived him of the strength to obey it. He ran first toward a neighboring drug store, then turned and ran down Fulton street, and had reached a point many feet distant from tho spot where he was stabbed and fell and expired. So O’Connell, who was stabbed by Nichols, at Nyack, July 3, though his heart was actually cut in two by the stroke, ran several feet after the wound was inflicted. A puncture of the heart is necessarily fatal, but the victim is often conscious for two or three minutes, though generally without much power of motion or of speech, save the first cry of agony. This shows that the brain can act even after the heart is destroyed. On the other hand, the heart continues to exercise its functions after the brain has ceased all action, as in case of death from severe blows on the head The hearts of criminals who have been hanged generally keep up their pulsa tions for twelve or fifteen minutes, al though it is reasonably certain, when the neck is broken, that they can receive no nervous impulse from the brain dur ing that time. The continued working of the organ is attributable to a residum of nervous force. In the case of some animals, this is sufficient to keep the heart pulsating for hours after it has been taken out of the body. The com mon notion that the heart is a delicate organ is a mistake. It is on the con-, trary, one of the most robust. Its muscular strength is enormous, and its tolerance of disease is something marvel ous. Men and women whose hearts have been diseased from childhood sometimes attain a ripe old age, and many people with heart disease live for years in almost momentary expectation of sudden death, and then die of some other malady. Only a very few of the many diseases to which the heart is liable are inevitably and speedily fatal. Mo3t of them, even of the organic diseases, are quite com patible with long life. As to the func tional diseases, or derangement of the heart’s action without actual lesion, they are devoid of danger, though their mani festations are commonly more disquiet iug than those of serious organic disease Something Abont Tramps. The Ne* York Sun publishes a chap ter on tramps, and gives an interesting interview with an intelligent vagabond, from which we extract the following: “ Do the tramps carry firearms?” “ Every organized band has a leader. This is done more for the purpose of standing on an even footing with one another. Otherwise, when camping out, the duties of camping life, and who should perform them, would be the cause of a great deal of wrangling. The leader is chosen, and directs the manage ment of affairs. Those who refuse to obey him are immediately dismissed from the band, and left to paddle tlieii owu canoe. The leader is always armed, and sometimes others of the gang carry firearms.” “ When working in any locality do the tramps not have a language of signs known to the fraternity?” “ From my experience with them I am able to say that they have. Some of the signs are known to the majority of tramps, but every gang, be they Ger mans, Irish or Americans, have certain secret signs that only members of their owu gang know the meaning of.” “ If you are willing, I would like you to show or describe a few of them to me.” In answer to this question, Louis ex plained the cabalistic language of the tramps in general. A few of the lead ing signs are as follows: . | |. I —Good for twenty-five cents. Crib easy to crack; careless people. y(>0 —Don’t bother them. [] —An officer lives here. [1 —Will refuse, but coax, and you will get. X—Look out for the dog. B—A barker, hut not a biter, (mean ing the f-g, m tramps are generally afraid of rfts animal.) H (“Handout”) —Something to eat given at the door. As will be seen, the above dgns *are useful to those who are always bringing up the rear. Besides these, there are signs that indicate which are the best roads to follow, and many other things. The Hair We Wear. The South of France and Brittany con tribute to the human hair market the largest amoutof the black hair. Thither each year agents of the Parisian whole sale houses go to gather an average crop of more than two hundred thousand pounds weight. From one to five francs is about the usual price of a head of hair. The dealers are provided with rib bons, silks, laces and jewelry, which they often succed in exchanging for black or golden tresses. They attend all the fairs and merry-makings, and at a Breton fair may be seen a number of them sur rounded by peasant girls ready to be sheared like sneep as they stand in a row one after another with their caps in their hands, ready for the scissors, and their long hair combed out and falling like a veil about them. Sometimes it is a man and sometimes a woman who cuts off the hair, placing it in a large basket, provided for the occasion and into which every successive crop of hair, tied up in a wisp, is thrown by itself. As it is the fashion in those parts to wear a close cap, which thoroughly obstructs the view of coils or braids of hair, 9 can make no difference whether they have them or not. Hence, it is said, the girls seem to bring their hair to market as regularly ns they do peas and cabbages and eggs, and that a peasant girl parts with her liair as readily as the stern uncle in old-fash ioned plays parts with his guineas in the last act. For choice heads of hair, like choice old pictures or choice old china, there is no limit in the price they may command. The Observance o I Holidays In the l ath* crland. [Prof. Von Schultt, in Contemporary Review.] The observance of Sunday and holi days in Germany must strike the Eng lishman very strangely. By law, work is forbidden on these days—at least such work as would be disturbing to others. Till the year 1878, however, in manv places (for instance in the 1 aays on which the largest busi ness was done in the shops. After the attack upon the life of the Emperor, the police regulations were made more strict, and during the principal services of the day, from 9 to 11a. m., and 2 to 3 p. m., all shops everywhere were ordered to be shut; but there were only a few states and towns where the shops were not al lowed to be open at all. The postal ser vice is limited to shorter hours; letters and parcels are not delivered so often as on other days; and there are similar re strictions on the telegraph service. On the other hand, the railway traffic is left quite free; and not only do the trains run as on other days, but by al most every line there are extra trains for the convenience of the holiday makers. For example, the Rhine rail way runs every Sunday and holiday, from May 15 to October, three extra trains in the afternoon; and the other lines do the same. In many places, es pecially in Austria, companies choose Sundays and holidays for their great ex cursions; extra trains are put on es pecially in the morning; and arrange ments for dancing for the people, popu lar concerts, etc., are fixed almost ex clusively for these days. This is especi ally the case in places where the popula tion is chiefly Catholic. In the province of the Rhine, in Batavia and Austria, the better classes avoid making excur sions on Sundays or holidays, not because they wish to observe the days more strictly, but because the throng is so great in fine weather at all the spots of beauty, and wherever refreshments can be bad. Any one who wants to see the light hearted nature of the Rhinelander, and still more of the Franconian, and the way in which the “ old Bavarian ” en joys himself, must visit some place of recreation on a Sunday or holiday. The church festivals, which are usually on Sundays, are opportunities for the clergy to meet at the nouse of the parish priest for high feeding and hard drinking till a late hour in the evening; the people amuse themselves with dancing, with rope dancers, carousals, eating, drinking, etc Quarrels, which among the genuine Catholic old Bavarian often end with mortal blows or stabs with the knife, form the practical application of the specially fine sermon for the saint’s day. Triumphal arches, banners, shooting with little mortars, etc., etc., attest the good Catholicity of the town. Of work, as a suie, there is none, unless there be here and there a poor tailor, seamstress or servant, who is glad to turn to account the Sunday rest. In this respect, how ever, many of the public offices set a bad example, for it is by no means an ex ceptional thing for work to be carried on as usual in the Government and municipal offices, and this is not only in times of special pressure. Everywhere the inns and taverns do most busine^j on tigp'ajl and holidays, because the peopleTfaveVmst leisure. The further west and sou%, we get, the more do we find the above description verified, es pecially in the towns; and the places where the countrymen, after attending afternoon service, walk quiatlv out into the fields to rejoice in till "blessing of heaven, must be sought chiefly in West phalia and the north. U, on the whole, the Protestants are jofre observant of Sunday rest than tlj#£atholies, the rea son is without douln to be found in the fact—first, thatthe Protestmit population belongs for the most paruo the colder, quieter branches of the (_Mrman family; and second, that the Proffstant worship is not at all exciting to the senses, and is peculiarly somber as compared with the Catholic ritual. How Bernhardt Masters the Situation. [Paris Letttr.] During the earliest years of Sara Bernhadt’s fame a gentleman in the au dience had one night the exceeding bad taste to persistently hiss her. She “spotted” him, found out his address, called at his house, and had an interview with him. I wonder how he liked it? Then and there she told him it was al ways her endeavor conscientiously to do her duty as a histronic artist and to please the public; that she regretted anything like failure in the duty, and that she should feel greatly obliged if he would kindly point out her defects, in order that she might correct them. This spirited conduct won for her an other passionate admirer. Another day she read in a certain Parisian paper the statement that her hair was false, and that her teeth were far too good to be genuine. Next day the dramatic critic was amazed to behold a lady dash into his room, and let down her hair in his pres ence. “Pull it!” she exclaimed, as she {tlaced a luxuriant tress in one of his lands. “Is this real hair or not?” “ Certainly, certainly,” stammered the man. Catching hold of his other hand, she opened her mouth—but happily not to bite —and made him finger her teeth.” “Are these false?” shrieked the lady. “ No, they are the most beautiful real teeth I ever beheld in my life,” declared the terrified victim, who would willingly have sworn that black was white if it would have given his visitor the least satisfaction. “ I am Sara Bernhardt,” proclaimed the lady with as much serenity as she could possibly put into her voice, and the wretched critic made up his mind for the worst. He, too, has since become one of her most devoted vassals, though, indeed, I do not know how any man would dare to do anything else. If any such foolhardy wight exists in Paris, he may be sure that, sooner or later, Sara will go for him Reverse tne Order. Isn’t it about time our humorocs artists stopped portraying Uncle Sam as a long, lean, lank specimen of humanity, and sketching John Bull as a fat, round, jolly person, weighing about two hun dred and fifty pounds? Since Uncle Sam is sending Bull ship-loads of bread stuffs out of his plentiful store, to keep the Briton from starving, it seems to us that the thing should be vice versa iust now—Uncle Sam the fat person, and John Bull the lean, hungrv-lookiug in* dividy&L A Summer Idyl. He was a decidedly poetical looking chap from head to foot. He wore eye glasses, and had curly hair. By gazing upon him you could almost tell the ex act number of sonnets contained in his pocket. He had on a blue flannel suit and a pleasant smile. She was a country maiden, practical and innocent. They walked down a fragrant meadow and paused beneath a spreading oak. j He was the first to break the silence: “ Isn’t this lovely?” “ Oh, ain’t it!” she replied. “Yes,” he went on, as he planted his ! chin in one hand and contemplated the vista of the sky land; “this is simply divine. To sit here and breathe the soft, cool, summer wind, fraught with the charming fragrance of violet and rose, is just entrancing.” She said nothing. “ Isn’t that a majestic mountain over there towering into the fleecy clouds? Isn’t that a lovely little brook pattering in baby syllables over the innocent little pebbles?” “ Kinder,” she responded. “ Yes,” he went on, as he planted his chin on the other hand for a change, “summer is the heaven of the year. Just look at those happy birds darting through the air from tree to tree ana flooding the valley with exquisite bursts of song. Wouldn’t you like to be a bird, pet -e “I’d rather be a girl and eat ice cream,” she replied with a twinkle of Arcadian simplicity in her merry hazel eyes. This seemed to ruffle the poet con siderably, but be managed to regain his mental equilibrium sufficiently to go on. “ Behold these golden-winged but terflies; don’t they fly languidly, as though their lives are but one smooth period of bliss and uninterrupted hap piness?” “Yes,” she responded, “and they flap their wings like doormats, don’t they ?” After ten minutes of silence of the most profound description he ventured to speak again. “ And there go the merry bees in golden flotillas, coquetting with the breeze-swayed flowers.” She kept still. “ But soon all pretty things will vanish like a lover’s dream. The flowers will fade, the leaves will fall, the birds will migrate, and the emer ald tapestry of the lea will become the couch of the snowflake. The lilies will vanish from the lake, and the sunset will glimmer on the barren limb and melt the snow in the empty ne3t.” He paused for breath and she whis pered : “ And then we’ll have to wear heavy underclothes, won’t we?” He couldn’t go any further with his remarks, so they got up and wandered away. Hunting for a Word. An anecdote of Moore, the Irish poet, shows how much pains a writer who does good work will take to put the right word in the right place. Moore was on a visit to a literary friend in France, %nd, while there, wrote a short poem. One day, while the guest was engaged in his literary labor, the two took a stroll into an adjacent wood, and the host soon perceived that his companion was given up to his own thoughts; he was silent and abstracted, noticing neither his friend and entertainer, nor the surround ing beauties of the landscape. By-and-by he began to gnaw the fin ger-tips of his glove, pulling and twitch ing spasmodically, and when this had gone on for a long time, his friend ven tured to ask him what was the.trouble. “ I’ll tell you,” said Moore; “ I have left at home, on my table, a poem in which is a word Ido not like. The line is perfect save that one word; and that word is perfect save its infection. Thus it is: and he repeated the line, and asked his friend if he could help him. It was a delicate point. The friend saw the need, saw where and how the present word jarred just the slightest possible bit the exquisite harmony of the cadence; but he could'not supply the want. The twain cudgeled their bisins until they reached the house on the>- return, without avail. The rest of the day was spent as usual, save that ever and anon Moore would sink into silent fits in pursuit of the ab sent word. And so came on the night, and the poet went to bed in a deep study. The following morning was bright and beautiful, and Moore came down from his chamber with a bounding step, with a scrap of paper in his hand, and a glori ous light in his genial countenance. The word had come to him! He had awoke during the night, and the kind genius of inspiration had visited his pillow, and he had got up and torn a 6crap from his note-book, and at the win dow, by the light of the moon, had made the thought secure. “There,” he said, when he had incor porated it into the text, “ there it is, only a simple, single word, a word as common as a, b, c, and yet it cost me twelve hours of unflagging labor to find it and put it where it is; who could be lieve it?” Effect of Eloquence. A story is told to the effect that Rufus Choate once moved a client to shed tears. The man, who was on trial for some offense, listened to the eloquent plea until overcome. He said, weeping, to a friend: “I didn’t know I was such an injured man.’’ A similar effect is said to produced on a horse-thief, by the elo quence of Governor S , of North Carolina. At the trial the Governor made such a touching address that thj jury acquitted the prisoner. “Jem,” said an ol<j acquaintance, after the prisoner had been discharged, “there’s no danger now; but didn’t you steal that horse” “Well,” replied Jem, “I’ve all alon;* thought I took that horse, but since I heard the Governor’s speech, I don’t believe I did.” Wrong influence of this kind is sure to react on the person using it. Sincer ity is the only thing that ultimately wins confidence. Abraham Lincoln de clared that lie had never accepted a ease in whose justice he did not himself believe. Conviction by Chance. [f’uucb.J Scene. A withdrawing room adjoining* court of justice. Jurymen retired to consider their verdict. Foreman—Well, gentleman, ’twon’t be no good for we to go on talkin’. ’Tis clear we can’t possible conwince one an other that way, so as for to agree on our verdict. Six for guilty, and ’arf a doz en for not guilty; ’adn’t we best toss up? Second Juryman (doubtfully)—Would that be doing exactly right? Foreman —Why not? Wasn’t there another twelve once, and when one of ’em ’ung ’isself, didn’t the ’leven surwiv ors drawr lots oo should fill up the wa cancy? Wot’s the difference ’tween drawrin’ lots and tossin’ up, an ’ow can gif we goes by the ’Porsles? oecond'Tr'uryman —They couldn’t do better than draw lots, in their circum stances. Foreman —No more can’t we, in ourn. Second Juryman—Well, I don’t know; but I seem to fancy we could. Being equally divided among ourselves, isn’t that equivalent to having a reasonable doubt, and oughtn’t we to give the pris oner the benefit of it? Third Juryman—O, bother, that’s re fining too much. Let’s toss up. Toss up, and trust to Providence. Foreman—Are all you agreed on that, gentlemen? The Rest—Agreed. Foreman—What shall it be, then? Best two out of three, or sudden death? Second Juryman—Wouldn’t sudden death, in a question of life or death, be a little too summary. Third Juryman—What’s the odds? We can’t stay here argyfyin’ all day, and I wants my dinner. The Rest—Toss up, toss up; let’s toss. Foreman —Now then. ( Produces a cop oer coin.) Best two out of three. Guilty, eds; not guilty, tails. (Skies Copper.) ’Eds! Third Juryman—Heads it is. Foreman —’Ere goes again. Tails! Third Juryman—Go it once more. Foreman Now for the finisher. (Toss es the third time.) ’Eds! Guilty! Is that your verdict? The Rest—Unanimous. Fourth Juryman— Non compos. Third Juryman—But, seeing, after all, it was a toss-up, suppose we recommend the prisoner to mercy, gentlemen. Foreman—That’s it. That’ll ’it it orf exactly. Guilty, but recommended to mercy. [Eruent into court to deliver their ver diet whilst the curtain falls.) What it Costs to Be Fanny. [Boston Traveler.| Oliver Wendell Holmes informs us that “ It la a very serious thing To be a funny man.” and most of those who have ever gained a reputation for wit, or made the acquaintance of one of those preter naturally solemn and funeral-looking in dividuals whose lives are made miserable by the consciousness that the public looks to them for a diurnal dose of dis guished physic in the shape of jokes, can corroborate the genial Doctor’s state ment. The responsibility entailed by a reputation for being a perennial fount of •spontaneous humor is enough to make a man'prematurely aged. lie must con stantly maintain a high-water mark of hilarity, and occasionally surpass him self. Not satisfied with his professional efforts in this line, he is expected to scatter jests around him in his daily walk and conversation, to write neatly turned epigrams for young ladies’ al bums, anu to scintillate at social enter tainments. If he is invited out to din ner it is a tacit understanding that he ’shall pay for the meal by his Rumor, and it behooves him to go plentifully pro vided with a stock of extempore puns and conundrums to be dispensed at ap propriate intervals. If he does not feel up to the mark his host will probably spur up his flagging energies with the remark that he is unusually dull, or some other pleasing reminder of his breach of implied contract. A fearful warning against the social perils of a humorist’s career is conveyed in the anecdote of the gentleman who habit ually earned his dinners by his wit, and on one occasion of temporary absent mindedness," was recalled to a sense of his duties to society by the following mes sage, delivered in an audible tone by the daughter of the hostess: “Mamma’s compliment’s to Mr. , and she wishes to know when he is going to begin to be funny 1” Home-Keeping. Even home-keeping, writes Mary Clem mer, which should be the supreme de light of every woman who has one, is to day to thousands of women an expressi ble burden. And this scarcely through personal fault of theirs. It is born of condition, emulation, inadequacy, am bition, custom, “the habits of good so ciety,” “the spirit of the age.” This blight scarcely falls on the simple, com fortable poor. The loving, thriftly man and woman, graduated from the contriv ing school of necessity and endeavor, who, under one roof work together, head, heart and hand, to make all ends mset st the end of every year; patient, peaceful, in dustrious making the best, the most of every possibility within their life —these are not the unhappy, worn-out people. The unhappy ones are the people of ex pensive tastes, luxurious habits, ungrati ned ambition, inadequate means, whose life is a perpetual struggle between desire and debt, or the fear of it. To them life is a snare, a burden, a cheat; as it is also to the rich, the powerful, who, in all their getting, lost forever the charm of quiet happiness, the capacity for repose. The preponderance of the two last classes in great cities is what fills the very air we breathe with a disquietude deeper than the mere numbers which seem to make it. A queer case is reported in the Hot' pital Gazette of Paris. A doctor was called to see a patient dying from cholera. In order not to discourage the man, the doctor prescribed three doses of ipecac powder, to be given every half hour. The nurse misunderstood the directions, and instead of giving the drug by the mouth, gave it as a snuff; this produced violent sneezing, which was followed by a favorable reaction. The circulation was quickened, the skin was warmed, and the patient was on the way to recovery. When the doctor called next day, he was amazed to find how he had' taken his medicine, and that he was out of danger. The Defeated Map Agent. A map agent went into one of our manufacturing establishments recently, with an egotistical idea that his power of reading faces was a great aid to him in his business. He looked the shop over and fixed upon a common-place looking workman, with an intelligent face, as the individual upon whom to commence business. Approaching the man he touched a spring, and down dropped an elaborate map of Connecticut, with its towns, railroads and rivers properly lo cated. Then it was earnestly and com prehensively described by the glib agent, who briefly stated the advantage of such an educational chart to the posses sor, etc. The workman looked up very inno cently from his work, and said: “ That’s mighty pretty; should think it would be first rate in a family. What’s the expense of such an article?” “Only one dollar an fifty,’ responded the agent, dilating on the bargain there was in the value offered for such a small amount of cash. “ Would you rather have one dollar and fifty cents than to have that?” asked the workman. “ Certainly,” responded the agent. “ Well, I dont know much about such things,” said the laborer, “ but with your experience, if you feel that you had rather have a dollar fifty than the map, why, I think I had, too.” The map agent saw that the common place looking workman had bagged his game, and left the shop without attempt ing to induce any of the other workmen to invest in his goods. Mesmeric Matrimonial Miseries. [New York Sun.'i The Rev. Mr. Munson, who performed his own marriage ceremony before the Adventist congregation at Worcester, Mass., and is now in jail on the charge of horse stealing, has finally lost the sym pathy of his wife, formerly Miss Eaton. She says that he controlled her by mes meric influence, and absence from him has broken the spell. Their union was brought about by correspondence. Mun son, who then lived in Missouri, wrote to the Dansville, (N. Y.) Laws of Life that he wanted a “ hygienic wife.” The editor published the following comments: “ This gentleman wants to get married, wants a ‘ hygienic wife,’ and wants me to introduce him. Now, I don’t know the gentleman, except as he states his own case; but, if there be any girl or woman who herself wants to get married, and would like to be addressed by a man who claims to be a good Christian, but doe3 not want to marry one who has not a conscience toward, and an intelligent love for, the laws of life and health, she can address this person as above. I give this notice at his request, and trust that he is Bin cere in making it.” Miss Eaton an swered the clergyman’s appeal, a large number of letters passed between the two, and at length he went to Worcester to see her. She did not like him at first, but gradually he gained complete control of her, and she did all that he told her to do, even to cutting off her uncom monly beautiful hair. Chapter on Flies. I Boston Transcript.] ®You can sometimes catch a base ball on a fly. The most irritating fly is the Spanish fly. The Latin name for a certain kind of fly is tempus fugit. You can always at this season of the year find flies on toast at the restau rants. Flies are always on hand early in the morning. You have all seen a kite fly. Some flies are always in jail. Longfellow speaks of a fly as a bird, when he says: “ Fly, proud bird of free dom.” Some people employ the blind to keep the flies from the room. You can draw a fly with a drop of molasses better than with a cray< n. I have often seen flies hand-cuffed. The spider is the only creature which invites the fly to his parlor. The only popular fly—“ Shoo-fly.” Flies are like rivers. They are often dammed. A conjugal quarrel is a promoter of hair flies. Stage flies are painted. A fly is conservative in his reading; he always sticks to his own paper. Butchers and grocers exhibit flies in their windows. You can’t drown a fly in the milk of human kindness. Although flies don’t stay long in one place, they always carry a trunk. There are musical flies. People often speak of that base fly. Taking Her by Storm. A novel courtship occurred at At lanta, Ga., the other day. While a widow lady was waiting in the railway station for a train, a strange gentleman walked up to her and poured out a tale of love with such volubility and ardor that she could not stop him till he wound up with an offer of marriage. He informed the lady that he owned one thousand acres of land in the western part of the state, and was the fond parent of two interesting children, aged seven and eight years. He begged her to marry him at once, and if she could not do so, then to register a promise that she would not defer the nuptial ceremony longer than the ensuing Saturday. When the lady got a chance to speak she re plied that, never having seen him before, and not even knowing his name, she could not for a moment think of marry ing him in sueh haste. Upon this the passionate lover granted her a brief tor reflection, and walked away, but re-' turned promptly before the departure of the train, and taking a seat behind her in in the car, he resumed his plead ings in the most ardent manner, and was thus engaged as the train passed out of the station. It would be interesting to know the result of this strange love af fair, but the Boston Journal thinks the chances are that the ardent wooer won the widow. A very old lady on her death-bed, in a penitential mood, said: “I have been a great sinner more than eighty years, and didn’t know it.” An old darkey woman who had lived with her a long time exclaimed: “Loral I koowed il all the time.”