Tibetian Dogs and Bed.

Huge savage Tibetia-n dogs used to conic down the mountain s;des from a Lama nunnery and other houses above and prowl round my tent, or poke into it in search of what they could find ; and the letting them loose at all was highly improper conduct on the part of the virtuous sisterhood. One splendid red dog came down regularly, with long leapa which I could hear distinctly; and I had quite an affection for him, until one night, I was awakened from an uneasy slumber by finding his mouth fumbling at my throat, in order to see if I was cold enough for his purposes. This was a little too much, so I told Bilas to watch for it and pepper it with small shot from a distance ; but, either accidently or by design, he shot it in the side from close quarters, killing it on the spot, its life issuing out of it in one grand hoarse indig nant roar. Possibly it occurred to my servant that the small shot from a distance might be a rather unsafe proceeding. As if these things were not enough, I had a visitor ot another kind, one night, who puzzled me not a little at first. I was lying awake, exhausted by one of the paroxysms of my illness, when a large, strange looking figure stepped into the moon light just before my tent, and moved sbout there with the unsteady swaying motion of a drunken man, and with its back toward me.

My first idea was that this was one of the Chinese Tartars encamped beside the temple, who had come in his sheepskin coat to treat me to a war-dance, or to see what he could pick up; and so I let my hand fall noiselessly over the side of the couch, upon the box which held my revolver. It was only natural that I should think so, because it is very rarely that any, except homo sapiens, moves erect upon his hind legs, or I may add, gets drunk. But still there was some thing not human in the movements of this creature, and when it began slowly to climb up one of the apricot trees in a curious fashion, I could not help exclaiming, aloud: ' Oood heavens! wnat have we got now ?' On this it turned around its long head and gave a ferocious growl, enabling me both to see and hear that it was one of the great snow bears which infest the high mountains, but enter seldom and only by stealth, tbe villages. I thought it prudent to make no more remarks; and after another warning growl, _ evidently intended to intimate that it was not going to be baulked out of its supper, the bear continued up the tree, and commenced feeding on the apricots. As may be supposed I watched some what anxiously for its descent; and as it came down the trunk the thought seemed to strike it that a base advan tage might be taken of its position, for it baited for an instant, and then gave another warniag growl. It repeated this maneuvre as it passed my tent, on its four legs this time, but otherwise took nonoticeof me; and there was a curious sense of perilous wrong-doing about the creature, as if it were conscious that the temptation of the apricots had led it into a place where it ought not to have been.

I did not mention this circumstance to Silas, for he was extremely anxious to have a shot at a bear, and I was just as anxious that he should not, because he had not sufficient qualifica tions for such dangerous sport, and to have wounded a bear would only have resulted in his killing him, and perhaps some more of us. After that, However, though never troubled with another visit of the kind, I had a sort of barricade made at night with my table and other articles in front of the tent, so that I might not be taken unawares, for my visitor was not a little Indian black bear, or even an ordinary Tibetian bear, but a formidable specimen of the yellow or snow Zfrsus (isobellinus) which usually keeps above the buow line, is highly carniverous in his habits, and often kills the yaks of Pu, and of other villages, when they are sent to graze in summer upon the high alps. — The Abode of 811010.

Slightly Mistaken.

A VBEACiorrs friend at the Falls told us a good joke, that happened in that quiet village, but wouldn't give us the names. A certain young man in a neighbouring village is ' sweet' on a young lady there, $Ut, as is often the case, the course of : true love does not run smooth. ' Pater familias' strongly objects to this arrange ment, a»2d strives to prevent meetings at his domicilii- On a recent occasion the mother and daughter* it is v*derstood,

who hold opposite views from the above said pater, arranged a harmless tableau, representing the young lover reclining upon the sofa asleep. The figure was constructed of straw, neatly dressed in male attire. The old gent, surmising that the interdicted was there, saw, through the partly opened door, his supposed recumbent figure, and went for his heavy cane with which to teach him a thins or two. Eeturning, he stealthily approached and dealt a heavy blow, with the evident intention of knocking out the young man's brains. A merry laugh from an adjoin ing room led the old man to see his mistake and his wrath turned also to merriment. He now tells the circum stance as a rich joke on himself.

Human Nature in Dogs.

It is said that monkeys dislike to be laughed at; and dogs sometimes evince the same aversion to serving as the butt of human ridicule. A writer gives the following instance : A dog of his acquaintance had a fondness for catcbing flies on the window-panes ; but, if rallied when unsuccessful in the effort,betrayed the greatest annoyance. On one occasion, the writer purposely laughed immoderately ever/ time the dog failed to capture his game ; and it so happened that he failed several times in succession—being, as the writer believes, disconcerted by the derision his ill-success called forth. Finally, he became so distressed that he actually feigned to catch the fly, going through all the appropriate actions with his lips and tongue and afterward rubbing the floor with his neck as if to kill his victim. When the whole performance was concluded he looked up at the writer with a triumphant air of success, iio well did the dog simulate the entire process that, had not the fly still remained on the window to convict him of deceit, his ruse would have been undiscovered. When, however, his attention was called to the fly, as well as to the absence of any remnants of one upon the floor, he saw that his hypocrisy was understood, and slunk away under some furniture, as if exceedingly ashamed of himself.

She Paddled Her own Boat.

The train was approaching Atlanta, and the obliging conductor went up to the homely old lady who was evidently travelling alone, and said : ' Madam, have you a companion ?' ' Oh, yes, sir; Martha Ann made me fetch along her little black ridicule that she calls a kumpanyun !'

' No ! no ! I mean an escort!' ' A what, Sir ?' and she looked at him hard enough to break her spectacles. ' A fellow traveller with you ?' explained the conductor desperately. She rose. Her uplifted hand looked deadly in its black mitten garniture: ' You good-for-nothing scamp ; no, sir ! The idee of me, a lone woman, with no natural protector but a sheep-skin-kivered New Testament, having a feller travellin' with me! Your mother ought to weep over your imperdence, young man, and I'll have ye to know that I kin git along in this world about as well as any sixty year-old widow that you ever struck agin!' By this time the conductor was out on the platform wiping the perspiration from his face, and swearing that tbe old Udy might 'go it alone' to her heart's content.

How She Cured His Jealousy.

The Sacramento (Cal.) Bee tells a story which may be serviceable in teaching an excellent plan for the curing of attacks of the, green-eyed monster, as follows: ' There is a man in this citj. who is so affectionately fond of his wtfe that he is jealous it a man looks within forty-five feet of the direction in which she may happen to be. The other day a gentleman spoke to her, and he threatened suicide. His wife was despatched for a bottle of poison, con sisting of a little water colored with licorice, and labelled with a glaring poison label outside. When he threatened to take some of it, and actually poured it into a wine glass, she screamed for help, and ran out of the room into another room, where she could watch him through tbe keyhole, and saw hiui coolly open the window and throw it out.

She then rushed back, apparently frantic with grief, and implored bt:m not to do the rash deed. He merely pointed to the glass, and, lying dow on the floor, began to kick out his legs like a jumping jack. She told him she was determined to share his fate, and swallowed the rest of the licorice water, whereupon he became frightened called the neighbors, confessed he only shammed, and said if she only sur vived he would never trouble her again. Then she explained the ruse, and he was so mortified he tried to

by up the silence of the neighbours, but the story was too good to keep. He is now thoroughly cured.'

Lady Clerks in London.

The chief establishment in which we find ladies working as clerks is in the Prudential Life Assurance Company, Ludgate Hili. Here there are between sixty and seventy female clerks employed upon work of a purely clerical nature. The staff is attached to what is known as the industrial branch of the office, and is engaged, to a great extent in copying out let ters and other documents, and in writing out dockets connected with the life policies issued to the poorer classes, at the rate of a penny a week and upward with which tbe iudustrial department has chiefly to deal. These dockets average 20,000 a week, we are told, so that there is no small amount of work to be performed by the lady clerks in the Prudential Assurance Office. Besides this, some of the more experienced of the female clerks are engaged in correspondence, the gist of the letter to which it may be a reply, and these clerks have to enlarge upon it in proper terms, and write out fair copy for signature, 'i here is but one uniform scale of salaries, which commences with £32 a year and rises to £G2. This is very low, but it is, of course, the object of a company of this kind to keep the salaries as low as possible, an object which, in a Govern ment department, is not so fully recognized. There may be an idea with some that the female clerks employed in an office of his kind are not very select, but in the present instant c the very reverse is the case. The very mode by which an appoint ment ot this kind is obtained secures this end, for, besides a fair education, it is required that al caudidates'fathers are to have been professional men, or men holding good positions in life. There is a hard and fast barrier made at tradesmen's daughters, for they, are in no case admitted to situations in the Prudential Life Office; by this means the class of female clerks working there is kept most select, and that it is so may be gathered from the face that at the present time there are employed among the other clerks the daughter of a Judge, and several clergymen's daughters. As regards the results of the experiment in this office, they have been most fruitful. Mr. Lancaster, the Secretary, to whom we are much indebted for the information on the subject as regards his office he very kindly placed at our disposal, states that female clerks have proved emi nently successful in the capacity in which they are made use of by the Prudential, which is principally to supply the place of junior clerks, of whom, it appears, there is at present a great dearth, at least of those whose services are of any value. Eemale clerks are being pretty extensively

employed in law-copying and law

stationers' offices; at Miss Lemins', No. 12 Portugal-street, Lincoln's Inn, a good number are engaged, chiefly we believe in copying work, and they have tbe opportunity of earning from £1 10s. to £2 a week. Lawyers'them selves are beginiug to make use of their services in copying, and remunerate them with salaries ranging from £50 to £80 a year. We also learn that in some country railway offices ladies are being employed as clerks, and are paid on an average from J230 to £50 a year. — IPraser'a Magazine.

THE VILLAGE PARSON.

BY JOH NT BLA.OKMAN.

The Autumn leaves were falling, one by one, Along the unfrequented woodland glade ; And foxgloves blossomed, children of tbe sun, Among the fein where freah'ning breezes play The .noon was warm and cheerful, white clouds slept In si.'.very masses o'er the oaks and elms ; But griei>unbidden o'er my spirit crept, A sense hi sadness which the thought o'erwhelms. The poor maos friand. the parson, died that day, Amid the growth of many a w<U-framed plan ; And village rustics lingered by the way, To ttll the virtues of that good old m*n. For years he lived amongst them, and his heart Was with the ltwly'in their cold distress; In all their cares he too* » father's part — He s^oke of heaven aniJ^cheered the comfortless. He ne'er of glowing eloquence could boast, To chaim the fancy, and enchant the ear; But that which humble Christians value most— The plain outpourings of a sourpincere. He told them of the boundless love of God, Who sent the Saviour for their sins^Jto die; And shewed the way the sainted ones h*;i trod, To Aden's pastures 'neath a happier sks% He ne'er indulged in speculative dreams, \ Nor turned from duty to ignoble strife, V But bravely taught, apart from worldly scheme?. And scattered flowers among the thorns ol life'.\ His flock wUI miss the language of his heart, \ His village sermons full of love of truth ; But in that world wbere f liends will never part, The village parson has .renewed his youth. The labours of hi* gentle life are o'er, wis visits to the cotters by the leas, His voice of sweet persuasion sounds no more In yon grey church among the silent trees. 'Tis useless, peasants, for the dead to mourn, 'Tis your's t> labour wbile life's lamp yet burns, For he has pissed that dark mysterious bourne, From ft- .mcc no wq»ry traveller rotuipns,

Boston Reminiscences.

The Boston ' Commercial Bulletin' relates the following:

One of the most methodical and unimpassioned men was Buckram, the former dry-goods potentate of Boston. His manner of discharging one ot the ' young men who, after trial, was found not up to the requirements of the bus iness,' is related as follows: The youth would be summoned to Buckram's desk and be thus addressed:

'James, how long have you been with us?'

' Two years and a half, Sir.' • Two years and a half P Ah ! Have you had any vacation, James ?'

'Wo, Sir,' would be the response as James began to entertain a more kindly feeling toward the ' old man,' who would terminate the interyiew by saying: ' Well James, you had better go up home for a while; Mr. Balance, give James §20, and, James, we will send for you when we want you again.' One of the aforesaid boys, who did not develop a decided talent for the dry-goods* business, incurred the displeasure of Babbidge, the partner of Buckram, and, being found unemployed one morning, was ordered- peremptortly to assist in sweeping out. The youth did not obey the order, but sought an interview with the chief. Obtaining an audience he said :

' Mr. Buckram, I do not think Mr. Babbidge likes me, and he does not treat me fairly at all, Sir. This morning he ordered me to sweep out, and, as I have been here three years, I did not think I ought to be called upon to sweep out, and I did not.'

Buckram settled his head a little firmer into his stiff shirt-collar, and replied : 'Ah! is that so, Edward? Well, if there is such a difference between you and Mr. Babbidge, we shall have to part with you or him. Mr. Balance, would you please to look up Edward's account.'

Low (or High) Life in Switzer land.

The following is a no less truthful than graphic bit of description of life in the Alpine heights of Switzerland :

The life of the best-conditioned Swiss peasant woman seems to me to be a most ungarnished, toilsome one; that of the worst-conditioned to be most revolting. In making the Tete Noir Pass and through to Geneva, We thought we had never seen woman so thoroughly stripped of ail that makes woman attractive as in the persons of some of the peasants whom we there encountered; women filthy in dress, hideous in ' goitre,' the sight of whom made.-you shudder. Their disease is born of their lack of light and their poverty, a sort^f fungus, which sunshine and cleanliness asd good diet would kill out. All through xthe Tete Noir Pass the chalets were little lighted, many of them not at all, and by the\.side of "every one festered a dung-heap. I&peds and quad rupeds lodged under one r<?Qf, and over this strange -gregariotisness lowered the treacherous mountasas. Notning can be more desolate in the line oK human habitation than the aspect of thY little clumps of chalets dotted along thissjpass. These houses, built low and thick of stone, to resist storm and avalanche, seem more like dens than dwellings; and the denizens of them burrow in them. \. SODDEN AND SNoW-BOtTND,

Fettered with an apathetic acquiescence to the hardness of their condition—strange sun-starved, scrofulous, toiling creatures of the mountains.

In the Oberland it was different. More cleanliness and more thrift was apparent. The chalets were full of windows; the women looked cleanly and happy, and there was no 'goitre' amongst them. Erect bearers of burdens, they were strong and sinewy, and their homely field labours be came them. But, alas, their life is not a woman's true life. No high civilization sends woman into the field, nor yet grinds out of her all that makes life acceptable to her sex. The whole Swiss life is a hard life. The little chalets, picturesquely hung npon cliffs and planted in the valleys, beautiful to the tourists in the soft light of a Summer'^ day, are targets for landslides and avalanches, and the man who build s one of them may possibly go with it as his tomb, We rode across the track of many avalanches in the highway, and even pass ed by a village whose site had been de vastated in bygone years. We wonder ed at the spirit of its builders. What impelled them— a blind love of this valley, a sublime trust in Grod's providence, or & stolid indifference to its possibilities ?

We saw much of the Swiss peasants in the Oberland, and we liked them—a hardy, toilsome, patient, homely people;

WEINGING FBOM NATUEE What she makes no' haste to give them; defiant of danger, sure-footed as chamois on the mountains, walking steadily with burdens where weak nerves would quail, pinning their houses upon rocks, and upon steep slopes, weighting their roofs against the winds and building them thick against the avalanche; a people whose short Summer is full of toil, and whose long Winters are terrible with the warring of elements. They seem to me like a race d.f soldiers, always in battle array, men ancl x women alike, and the foe they fought was^his same land of theirs—in Summer j kind arid sublimely beautiful, in Winter treacherous and awful. It seemed as if all theyVot out of their mountains was their har& bread and butter and honey

and goats milk. We caughtw wondering if life was worth this E? on to cliff-sides and lying in thf§ the avalanche; if woman's fife wiH than H%

WOMAN'S misery, Whilst she bore burdens like a L We felt sorry for them-necdS perhaps, for they love their mo 2 better than other nations love their? lying lands, and mourn for them j absent from them, like homesick child* The better class of chalets are strJS picturesque ; their Winter story S? told, quaintly carved against a green' stone-gray background. You have it' the sloping, rock-bound roofs, project; eaves and broad verandahs. Wood and implements of toil are compactly storod! and around them ; weather-dyed.toa si brown, they absorb and ____gj. whatever is thrust upon them, and with sort of wild grace append themselves the landscape. Their, beauty is. carved j models and sent the world over. Tv stand on mantles and brackets in' m* and ladies' chambers, the picturesgut poetical, beautiful Swiss chalet. This i the Summer side of it. In three, __.a from now the tourists will have tunx| back, and the snow, piling soft and wm will hide ro of and verandah and qnW adornment. Par up the mountains jjj in the valley it will lie very deep, andftt brown beauty will be a great snow hen in the white waste, over which all WjjS will hover the shadow of death. Si are the two extremes of the ordy peasant's life.

Varieties.

An Irishman was once asked if he Jul ever seen a red blackberry. 'To be sure 1 have,' said Pat; 'all blackberries are Mi when they're green.' ■ A philosopher observes : 'Trying torn a household without love is like running railroad train without grease, and many ' hot box' is inevitable.' A Saratoga philosopher says a single wo man, as a generalthing, can be told from i wife, and yet he has known many a girl to bf taken for a wife. A man may form What- opinion He likes* I this is a free country—but it's the expressidMl of them in the presence of his wife's mothei1 that makes life sapless and barren as a last year's corn-cob. At the funeral of a woman in Shawaon, the other day, a neighbour in attendance feeling it necessary to say something Bym. pathetic to the afflicted husband, kindly observed : ' You've got a splendid day for the funeral.' Bo »ing and smiling she crossed the stre»t, j With a love of a tied-back on'; A melon-rind glided from under her feet, And then her tied-back was gone. She rose from her seat with a martyred air, And gathered the things she wore; , She looked like one thr.t was willing to swetr, Bat tnen she never swore. Mother (to her1 eldest son).—'My deaf George, where are your manners? !f& should always say ' Thank you !' when inf. thing is handed to you!' ,Gear_>&.--'Q, bother having to say ' thanks !' everytime, ma ! Can't a fellow have a season ticket. Bangs wanted to move from the residence of his wife's mother and occupy rooms in 6m of his tenement houses. 'A pretty ideaf exclaimed Mrs 8., indignantly, 'live with our tenants, iindeed?'. 'X don't care;' re plied Bangs. ' I'd rkther live with: eleven aunts than one mother-in-law.' -' ' Mamma,' asked a Brooklyn five-year older, ' when you faint away, do yon foiget everything ?' , ' Yes, certainly,' ■ wae tlu reply, 'for the time being, you do.' .'Well, then, ;. mamma,' con tinned the youngster, l auppose I faint away, won't I forget my A B C's, and have to learn them all over again!1 Mamma didn't reply. \ A very small boy is more modest than a larger one. While the latter directly aski fch.e peddldr for a peach, the former will stand by\and bashfully explain several hundred fcimsP : ' I like them, I do—peaches is what I hfes, peaches is.' And if the peddler il conddent that he cannot kick the child1* head off without; being seen, he gives him a. peach. V r, ..,.. fl ■ ?j ,W ' My son wouldn't steal peaches from Ml G-ammonts {orchard, I (hope?' 'No, ma, } wasn't _i that ci-iiwd the other night,1 ' That's right, my boy. Keep out of bad company, Sad you'll never do wrong. .-& your conscience be your guide in all things, and the -1.- ' *** Jitct pi^u-d -^v eon figpror ingly ox: <". '. -v.' and *':-$ abyss he: duties wiM.v' Sj:^t heart. ' ,foffc.toJaiasek> the noble . ■ ■Vlii^ufoed': 'YouJont catch me feiMiii\ aid GainmonifcMf conscience can -gxiim me tc lots b^M"* hards than his, %ere fehera ain'tliJß||9i6 neither/ '~ '•. . ,_,; ■■■■• : ' Misa Sulett, the Chicago lawyer, jkII ao» move in a divorce c»s.s!,. believing, as lip s»ft that 'any woman wlio will marry a maa onght to be forced to Ir^e wifchbim.';, There' are; nearly l,0()0.000-mote.»oiMa than men in Germany. ■%— the pofee*?** teui over there is si> efficient_-^at .m&& : are comparatively aafe, v . Young __As^\We-,-Mwifiit^-^^f the Israelites do after they crossed th* K»" Sea ?' Sharp Girl {eagerly}—' Please, W -put on their'dry "'things.' >• ' ___ ' The ■ Pieton,Canada, -Times 'perfeaf»; the following on'tta late l>aby show'; Tweiity-iour habits ail in a row, i. , Tweutj-f'jurraanimaa also on show.;.- Twenty-foar daddies hsppy aa. ckmai; '■ -" Ashow of tiveb&bies,' none of your V-P* A visiua of angels dear little l&qtbs. • '"•», A lady leaving m _ of she sumP^-re©* hotels, hats week, wasoharged for pa «naro China toiist set, only &c piece of H-i&if had brofen. She pais the bill, an& $?**■' Lag the excuse of having forgot6ensotfßShP| returned to the room and broke w® *^ every .article of the : st4 for %dii<^s§ c 'r&7 paid. Anil some peopfo say women jjW3"' clever. ' ' . , '. : S_^_..

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