SUPPLEMENT TO THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAR.

A VICTIM OF SCIENCE.

How my pretty cousin became posessed of such an unreasoning horror of all the fleece bearing, mutton-producing species was per h;.ps a family myrt*ry. But if, like the hereditary ghost of our medieval ancestor, ifeseoret vested in the head of the houae, my j .vial and matter-of-faot uncle kept it sior-dv fi-neealed, and, i n^ed Dever gave

siguof h..., ln gany oppressive weight, oa his mm 1. .Since those day, I have often sought to account for it according to philosophy and science. I have attributed it to perhaps some anti-natal impression, calling to mind the case of King James, who would shiver at the sight of a drawn sword, and who, on at least one memorable occasion, poked a kneeling subject in the eye when delivering the knightly accolade. I have even indulged in wilder flights of theory. Not that we ever worried ourselves in that happy time with such speculations. Far from it. It ■was enough that Mamie Stuart had a peculiar unreasoning aversion that was all her own. Whereas, other girls, in this age of the universal diffusion of knowledge, con sidered the mouse a venomous and carni vorous animal, from whose attacks it be-

hoved all woman-kind to flee to the heights of sofa and piano-stool with shrieks and

dishevelment, my cousin was moved to similar demonstrations by the no less harm less sheep. Indeed as female logic goes, she had a certain amount of reason on her side, inasmuch as the sheep is the larger animal and, in that way, more formidable. I had seen Mamie affected in that way only once ; and, although I joked her unmercifully about t, I soon found it was no subject for joking,s

We were all on a visit of inspection to John Lamson's farm. John was a very good sort of fellow. The only sin I could lay to his charge when brought squarely to the point, was his great fondness for Mamie ; or, what was yet worse in my eyes, her equally great fondness for John. They were accepted and acknow ledged lovers; and while I should have considered it a personal insult had John shown less devotion or failed in any of those demonstrations of regard, voluntary or invol untary, which accompany the tender passion, it was quite another matter to see my pet cousin give herself up to love and worship any man—except it had been myself—in such a very unreserved "way. Moreover, Uncle Stuart approved the match. If he was rich, so was John. His farm, with its costly and thoroughbred live stock, was the only object in life that seemed to interest him enough to find any place in his thoughts along with Mamie. He was a tolerably good looking man, tall, big, and blonde, and if any criticism were to be made of a face that seemed hardly worth the trouble, ib would be to the effect that the forehead was sli&htly retreating, and the features of the lower part of the face somewhat bent or huddled to gether. But with his long moustache and his glowing curly hair, these defects, if they were such, passed notice entirely. I should probably have never noticed them but for what happened.

It was when John drove us all out one September afternoon to see his farm that Mamie, for the first time in years, revived the memory of her constitutional antipathy to sheep. I could see the little girl fighting against it as well as she might, but her.resist ance ended in precipitate flight from the spot where John was proudly exhibiting his Cots wolds and Southdowns for our admiration.

" Guess the lady's been butted, Sir," said one of the stock hands, respectfully touching his hat to John. " Knowed of just such an other myself. My own sister, sir, -was butted when she was a baby. Never the same since. Growed up to be a woman and never could abide the sight of a sheep. She jilted a drover for nothing else in the world. Mar ried a tailor, sir."

"Why didn't you tell me, Mamie? ".said John, as we all stood around, drinking a stirrup-cup of Alderney milk in the dairy where the trembling girl had taken refuge. I wouldn't have had it happen for the world. That sheep shall be made into mutton to morrow, drawn and quartered for treason."

"No, dont for anything !" exclaimed Mamie, now quite recovered. "I know I am as silly as can be, but I can't help it any more than I can help " —and here she appar ently made ample amends by ending her sentence in a whisper reaching only her lover's ear, the effect of which was to cause a flush to rise over his face and a smile of such happiness to appear therefrom as to turn my soul green with jealousy. In my heart I knew how she had finished that sentence, explaining her conduct by an ana logy between unreasoning love and unreason ing fear, whose application John at least did not care to question.

"A sheep has been known to bite," remarked my uncle, gravely.

John's next visit to his farm resulted in real disaster. He came round to the house with a headache, and Mamies's pretty per sistence in demanding to cossei the big fellow on the library sofa with handkerchiefs and cologne and such things would have pre-

vailed over everything but his hobby. There was some drainage to be examined before the winter set in, and although the equinoc tial storm had begun with a cheerless drizzle, John had his way and went. He came home in a shiver. He went to

his bachelor bed with a chill which no blan-

. kets, eyen when Hb great coat was added „ *^ei^ dressing-gown could quell. In

she morning rolls and coffee were an abom ination. and omelet a mockery. Dressin was to him a labour of Hercules, and tht u-ospect of going down town a direfu thought. He rested, flaccid, all day, hot and cold by turns, protesting that he was no sick ; but by evening he dispatched his mai

or Dr. Broughton, and that eminent practi tioner needed little of his skill in diagnose otell what was the matter when he founc

■John tossing his long length ou the lounge, sprawling legs and arms about in uneasy motion, and tumbling his curly blonde hair in still greater confusion.

By morning, John's feeble protest against being fed with medicine from a strange hand, with which he greeted the doctor's assistant, had changed into the flight, gabble and rest less mutterings of semi-delirium. The very strength of the man seemed to challenge the

power of the disease bo do its work quickly and surely. The fever seized him and tor tured him ravenously. The vigorous nature which had fought off the symptoms almost to the very end, seemed all at once to fly in

disastrous rout and leave all to the enemy in full possession.

Mamie had to know it as soon as any one, for John was to take her to the opera on the

opening night of the season. It was not a pleasant thing to tell her tnat instead of talking sweet nonsense to her at the Academy, her lover was mumbling delirious phrases, perhaps not more nonsensical how ever, in the insensate ears of a hired attendant.

The doctor's daily reports grew less assur ing ; and one morning as he was speaking quite freely and anxiously with me in the library, we heard a sob from the conserva tory, whose curtained entrance was directly behird us, and there appeared Mamie, the picture of broken-hearted woe, tears brim ing over her soft eyes, and the very ribbon at her throat quivering with the motion of the heart beneath.

" Yon would have kept it from mo," said she with reproachful eyes and accent. "I shall go to John now ;" and she swept past us, dropping roses and violets from her hands as she went, like a stricken Flora.

Go to John she did. And I have no doubt that the gentle presence which the invalid could not recognise in his delirium, the quiet attentions and the subtle essence of devoted love which pervaded all like a healing ether, muat have strengthened and comforted the struggling spirit in its fight for longer possession of its racked tenement. Certain it is that John somehow pulled past the crisis, feebly recognised us all, smiled a ghastly smile when Mamie kissed him, and entered on that pariod when, in the pmper course of events he should recover.

Here was another puzzle for Dr. Brough ton. His patient should have begun to gain in strength, but he did not. Ho still Jay there, speechless and helpless, hi 3 constitu tion seemingly powerless for reaction. Each day John's long face grew longer, and the dbctor's lengthened with it. His pulse sank until only the feeblest vibrations marked the beating of the heart; that used to thump so stoutly against the broad breast of the young man. There seemed, indeed, little work for John's heart to do, so bloodless had the poor fellow become. ■ He lay there like a vampire's victim, helplessly and hopelessly feeling the vital fluid ebb from his veins day by day.

The transfusion of lamb's blood from a healthy and living specimen of that animal into the veins of a patient suffering from anemia, or from' such a decline of vitality and circulation as in John's case, was a much less common operation than it is now. But this, in Dr. Broughton's opinion, was the last and only hope of our friend. It was undertaken the very day oh which Mamie, finally succumbing to fatigue and anxiety, was' sent to bed with a slow fever, having very much the same symptoms that preceded John's attack. It was nothing much after all; but it kept her away from John and allowed her to know of the operation only by messages brought twice daily from the sick room of her lover.

The lamb was chosen from John's own stock, brought into town and established in the carriage-house, under treatment for re pose and quiet ; and on the afternoon of the day when Mamie fell sick, the Cotswold was brought into the chamber by the awe-struck shepherd. The creature had suffered much at the hands of Dr. Broughton and his associate, in the way of having its veins tied up to limit the circulation to the jugular, and it needed only the last painless incision of the lancet, as a cup was quickly inverted over the orifice, and the blood came puffing out. Slowly through the cup, through the glass, where it showed a strange red, through the flexible tube in the doctor's hands, and through the needle-like duct, flowed the siream of life from John's lamb to John's heart. It was over in a few minutes, and the patient, after some queer pains in his back and a temporary shortness of breath, went off into a quiet sleep, and awoke refreshed. It was a success. The forlorn hope had suc ceeded. Dr. Broughton was self-satisfied and congratulatory. Uncle Stuart fairly owned that John's experiments in breeding had at last proved of some practical benefit, since he had produced animals of as good blood as his own.

So we all thought, as John grew daily stronger ; and Mamie on her sick-bed clasped her hands and thanked God in as pure a prayer as ever maiden mingled with tears.

The one strange thing was that John ■seemed as thin in the face as ever. Another

■trajige thing, though not such a very un sual result of this sickness, was that the fVver, loath to leave its victim without some souvenir of its visitation, had struck malevo lertly at the chords of the throat whose fine

baritone notes used to blend so pleasantly vith the tender soprano of Mamie's and left his voice raneous and harsh. It was as if the erstwird had crept in and found a lodg ment there ; and although the doctor gave hopes that this change in voice was only

temporary, it must be said that John was not pleasant as a speaker in those days. Rasping and strident, his tones, though weak, were like anything but the breathings of love.

As the day approached when, by the doctor's autocratic decision, Mamie would be permitted to ride round to John's house and again see her lover, we all felt rather chagrined that the best we could show her

was such a cadaverous spectacle of convales cence. Not so Mamie. She was such a quivering little piece of femininity all the morning, that uncle had to threaten her with bed and quinine to bring her to a semblance of control.

" The dear, dear fellow," with tears in her eyes. "Frank," (petulantly) " your watch is slow ;so is the parlour clock. The car riage ought to have been hero long ago. Father," (winking very hard to Lide some thing tell-tale on her lashes) " I think I an< strong enough to walk."

At last we were there. The door had closed softly behind us, and John was seen bolstered up in bed, with pillows behind him and at each side, the chair in which Mamie had watched so many long hours placed close to the bed, her portrait hanging where his eyes might find it in whatever position he placed himself, and one of ber handkerchiefs, which she had left in the days of her nursing, in reach of his hand.

It was the moat foolish thing in the world for John to have his moustache cut off Bub he said ib kept his medicine under his nose all day. and off the offending ornament

! came. His hair, too, had not grown again from the clipping it received when the fever heated his braia so that every curl was an intolerable weight; and, in fact, it was a far from attractive-looking lover to whom we brought Mamie.

Still, the adoration that shone out of his cavernous eyes as we entered the door made him almost handsome. Mamie flushed up as we stepped over the threshold.

"Now don'b tear him to pieces in your affection; he's tender yet," said I, some what cynically, anticipating a violent demon stration of rapture.

But there wa3 no need of caution. As Mamie's eyes rested on John's face I felb a slight recoil in her movement. The flush upon her features died out, giving place to a pallor that was startling. Her hand trem bled upon my arm. She was staring strange ly at the sick man, and her lips began to twist and her breath to come fast.

"John !" She spoke with a sort of sur prised interrogatory rather than joyful recognition. Then, in a quivering voice to me, " What have they done to him, Frank ? " " Why, Mamie, what in the world do you mean ? " said I, in amaz9. All this passed in the moment while Uncle Stuart was closing the door behind ua. As he stepped forward, with the heartiest sort of smile on his face, Mamie whirled rouad to him, and spoke rapidly, under her breath:

"You told me they brought him to life by patting lamb's blood in his empty veins. You told^me so ! Look at him ! Oh dear! Oh dear! !" and the little girl seemed almost frantic with an unnamed terror.

I did look at John, and suddenly it all flashed over me. There, in the emaciated features of the convalescent, were truly the distinguishing characteristics of a sheep's face. The absence of hair emphasized the peculiar effect of the sloping lines of the frontal bones ; the long nose, gently bending in aristocratic curve at the end, continued the ovine contour ; and the conformation of the lips and chin, as his head leaned faintly back on the pillow, completed the resem blance. Once with the idea in my head, there was no escaping it. John's face did look like that of a sheep as he lay there. Even the pallor of his skin, the drawn and sunken appearance of the muscles of his cheeks, and the pinched and white lips, added to the caricature, whose fantastic significance grew more horribly vivid with each instant. The look of blank amazement which came into his eyes as he noticed the momentary hesitation of his betrothed com pleted the portraiture.

Mamie was trembling like a leaf. There was nothing to be done but to break the spell as quickly as possible.

" Tohn, old fellow," said I, stepping for ward with Mamie like a dead weight on my arm, " your companion in convalescence brings you greeting."

With the best intentions in the world, I had precipitated the crisis. Had Mamie been allowed to exchange the first words in the close whispers of which lovers are so fond, she might have forgotten sheep and everything else in the happy consciousness of John again. But there she was, half-way across the room, when John, compelled to make an effort to speak aloud, tried to say: "Welcome, Mamie."

The very essence of the strident tones

left by the fever in his voice seemed con-' densed in those,two words. It wa3 too much for the nll i *>^i|»jjil imagination of my cousin. " He bleats ! oh, Frank, he bleats !"

It was really agonising and horrible enough, as that poor girl sank on my arm,

to recognise in the voice of the sick man a striking resemblance to the plaint of the animal whose likeness he seemed to have acquired. He was astonished too. " Mamie !" he cried again, making greater exertion than before, and thus rendering his tones yet more unnatural, "Mamie !"

" Oh, don't ! please don't !" cried the girl, now utterly frantic. " Take me away ! You have changed him ! Oh, my John, my John ! why did they change your blood ?"

Mr Stuart and I whisked her out of the room as quickly as wo could, fearing the effect both upon herself and upon John. And as we went there came from the room pathetic exclamations of " Mamie I Mamie ! Mam —," and the door closed upon what seemed only too like the bleating of the Cotswold whose blood now flowed in the veins of our unlucky friend.

The drive home, as may be imagined, was not altogether pleasant. But for the pathos of Mamie's collapsed condition, I believe that Uncle Stuart's almost motherly tenderness would have given way before the indignation swelling in his heart. The poor

Jay there on the cushions, her bloodless

li^'contrasting with their rich crimson, moaning, with now and then a fluttering sob, seemingly stricken in heart and body. There was nothing for it but to get her home as soon as possible.

Jt was not a bad relapse. Mamie picked up again in a few days, and came down stairs one sunny Autumn afternoon, looking stronger, but thoughtful. John, for his part, not fully comprehending the state of affairs, and being allowed to know only that Mamie had been taken suddenly sick be cause of her weak condition, and was promptly recovering, worried his honest heart but little. Thas could not last.

" Mamie," said I, the second day of her appearance down stairs, "the doctor lets John drive out this afternoon, and I will bring him around to throw a kiss at your window." " Don't; do it Frank," sa:.d my cousin, with a solemnity for which I was not pre pared. " Don't; do it, for I can't"—and here came a sob and a sudden flood of tears—" I can't see him." " My silly little cousin," said I, drawing near with the purpose of administering cer tain cousinly consolations. But Mamie put out one thin hand to repulse me.

" No, Frank, I don't want anything of that sorfc. I know lam silly, I know lam wicked, and I know that all liars have their part in the lake that burneth with coal and brimstone," spoke Mamie, with a quaint misquotation, as if she would spare herself nothing in the way of prospective torment for her perfidy. "But when I promised John to love him for ever he was John. Now he is something else—you know—you helped to change him—you saw him take his life from that—that—sheep !"

This was supremely abgurd, but I saw Mamie was rapidly exciting herself, and thought silence my best role. Hardly pausing to dab each of her eyes with a small wet square of handkerchief, she continued, rapidly :

" I saw it in his face, I heard it in his voice. Oh, Frank, don't make me think of it ! Why do you ?"—like her suppositions ancestor; the "wolf, falsely accusing me of muddying the stream of her thoughts. " I never can look at him again. He used to say he could breed an animal that should equal a human being. Now he has bred himself."

This was all too pathetic to be comic, at least to me, who knew my cousin's constitu tional dread of the animal whose life-blood was now that of her lover, and whose features and voice seemed to have repro duced themselves in his person.

But the little girl was firm. She never would—she said she never could—see John again. It was a sorry business getting him to understand the case. For a long time he refused to believe it. He had long consulta tions with Dr. Broughton. He lavished flowers upon Mamie all winter, hoping that what lie called her hallucination would wear off if he could keep himself in her mind by continuing attentions whose memory was all of the pleasant days before that fever.

It was useless. Uncle Stuart told him so along in the spring-time, and advised him to take a trip abroad, shake off his infatuation for Mamie, or come back in a year if he felt no better and try his fortune again.

The year has passed. John came back a month ago. He is fat and brown, and wears moustache waxed at the ends. But Mamie has not changed. The wonderfnl metamor phosis of my cousin from a marvel of passion ate affection to a prodigy of unreasoning dis like becomes all the more wonderful by its persistence. Last week, after I know John's fate was irrevocably sealed, I determined to brave what I had never before dared, and put my own fortune to the test. Before I had half begun my confession Mamie's quick wits had recognised my drift, and thus she closed my mouth: ;:■■.-• "I never shall forgive myself, Frank, for

what happened la6t year, though I couldn't uelp it, and I can't help it now. But I have not yet forgiven you fcr your part in it." Unreasonable to the last! We are all victims together.— Harper's Bazaar.

HOW TO TELL A LADY.

A bachelor has been studying female character. He don't like to be laughed at. Here are his conclusions : —" Two women shall get into a street car, and, though we never saw one. of them before, we shall select you the true lady. She does not titter when a gentleman, handing up his j fare, knocks off his hat or pitches it away ' over his nose : nor does she receive her j ' change' after this (to him) inconvenien act of gallantry, in grim silence. She wears not flowered brocade to be trodden under foot, nor ball-room jewellery, nor rose tinted gloves ; but the lace frill around her face is scrupulously fresh, and the strings under her chin have evidently been handled only by dainty fingers. She makes no parade of a watch, if she wears one, nor does she draw offher dark, neatly fitting gloves to display ostentatious rings. Still we notice, nestling in the straw beneath, such a trim little boot, not paper soles but of an anti- consumption thickness. ' the bonnet upon her head is of plain straw simply trimmed—for your true lady never wears a 'dress hat' in an omnibus. She is quite as civil to the poorest as to the rich est person who sits beside her—and equally regardful of their rights. If she attracts attention it id by the unconscious grace of her person and manner, not by ostentation of her dress. We are quite sorry when she pulls the strap and dis appears ; if we were a bachelor we shonld go home to our solitary den with a resolution to become a better and a married man."

THE HEROINE OF A MESALLIANCE.

A Washington correspondent of the Buffalo " Commercial " says, in speaking of " some women" in the Interior De partment : —" That black-eyed, musical voiced beauty whom you see conversing with the head of a Bureau is one of the women you have so often read about and never yet seen, who, in the warmth and verdancy of maiden-hood, marry their father's servants and then are disowned and ostracized. This was her freak. She had spent a year or more in travelling over Europe with her father, who was a wealthy New York merchant. She was tutored in the best culture and walked the social path of her parents, but under a too strict surveilance. The only man sho came in close contact with, outside of her relatives was her father's coachman. He was young and fine-looking, as ser vants often are. Her heart was captured and the coachman, though, fortunately a man of conscience, could, not resist the opportunity. They were married, and the bride was banished from home to the humble level of her husband. But she accepted her fate, girded up her courage, made the most of her talents, and went to teaching and writing. Finally she secured employment of the Government in pre paring official reports, etc., and she not only holds that position now, but is a liberally-paid contributor to periodical literature. Her love of her husband has never grown cold; he does what work he can. Though her mother and brothers still live (her father is dead) in opulence in New York, she has never been called home nor forgiven.

CONCERNING THE LADIES.

Wimmen bi natur are all coquets, and men by ifetur are all braggarts. — Billings.

A lovely Japanese princess is going to Vassar College. She can balance herself in a wash-tub on a telegraph wire in seven oriental languages.

What can be wetter than a woman with a cataract in her eye, a waterfall on her head, a creek in her back, forty springs in her skirts, high-tied shoes, and a notion in her head ?

"John," exclaimed Mary, throwing her arms around her brother's neck, " what substitute can there be for the endearments of a sister ? " " "Well," said John, " you see, Sis, that depends on whose sister it is."

The editor of the Portland "Transcript" having asked a lady correspondent who applied for a situation, what she could do? received the following comprehensive re ply : " I can keep a house or a secret; drive a horse or a bargain ; tend a post office, a store or a baby; make a loaf of bread or a shirt; sew a button on, &c, or so forth. Mend stockings, milk a cow, wash, iron, bake or brew.—ls that enough for a woman to do P Then I'll decipher the copy that puzzles you, re-write the manuscript plain and true; or even, if fortune but play me fair, and my sphere points the way of duty there, take tha editor's scissors, his office and chaire Satisfactory guarrantee any day that I, can do and have done all that I say (and more too)."

We love women—old or young—simply because they are women. Our mothers spank us; our sweethearts spoil our joys by flirting with our rivals; our wives read us a genuine or moderate Caudle lecture, which we usually deserve. Woman has laughed at our woes when we indulged in the tender passion, riddled our hearts with erosian arrows, depleted our pocket book, disturbed our slumber, spoiled our coffee, rumpled our starched linen bosoms, hung to our arm with her whole precious weight, danced us into a perspiration when our corns hurt us most, and caused us to buy lozenges for a cold ; but in spite of ah these things we love her. We set her up as an idol and prostrate ourselves before her as before some divinity. We don't care a copper what dry goods cost— she looks so sweet. We will fight for her like a Prussian soldier. Let Mr. Holland say what he will to derrogate from the sex. We shall hang our banner on the outer wall and cry, " Hurrah for the women." — Globe.

"You have a pleasant house and bright fireside, with happy children sitting around it, haven't you ? " said the Judge. "Yes, sir," said Mr. Thompson, who thought he saw a way out of the difficulty. " Well," said the Judge," if the happy children sit around the cheerful fireside until you return they wil|jri;ay there just forty-three days, as^^jjfl have to send you up for tlm

WOMAN IN THE ELIZABETHAN ERA.

A writer says: "In Elizabothan England when gallimawfrey had given way to the substantial fare of our later cookery, it was the custom at private dinners to place the principal joints and masses of meat at the upper end of the table, above the sglt so that the chief guests could see clearly the best of the good cheer, and also appropriate the choicest cnts before any of the inferior folk below the joint of honor were served. Fashion having thus de cided that the 'carving should be done on the table, the ladies were invited to the top of the table not out of gallantry, but in o-rder that they should do the work which could no longer be executed conveniently by professional carvers. It may cost the reader a struggle to admit that our ances tors had no more chivalric purpose in view when they promoted woman to her proper place at the festal board. But there is no doubt as to the fact, The new ordering of places was the result of masculine selfishness and insolence rather than masculine gallantry. Just as in medieval society the lady of the house rendered service to her guests by personally discharging the functians of a gentle serving-woman in preparing dishes for their enjoyment, and even in bringing them to table with her own hands so in Elizabethan life she want up to the top of her table and seated harself among the first guests, in order that she might serve them as a carver. At the same time, the number of "great pieces" requiring several carvers, she brought other ministering ladies to the upper end of the table, where the grand joints were ex hibited. Having been thus called to the top of the table for her lord's convenience instead of her own dignity, the mistress of the house soon made it a point of honor to occupy the piece, which had in the first instance been conceded to her as a servant rather than as a principal lady. Ere long with her characteristic cleverness in making the best of things, and stating her own case in the way most agreeable to her self-love, she regarded her carver's stool as a throne of state and affected to preside ov£r the company, though the terms of her commission only authorized her to help them to food."

THE PHYSICAL DEGENERACY OF AMERICAN WOMEN.

In October, 1873, Dr. E. H. Clark, of Boston, Mass., a physycian of the rank, we believe, in that city, and formerly a professor of Materia Medica in Harvard College, published a little book, "The Sex in Education ; or, a Fair Chance for the Girls." In his introductory chapter he says : " The delicate bloom, early, but rapidly fading beauty, and singular pallor of American girls and women have almost passed into a proverb. The first observa tion of a European that lands upon our shores, is that our women are a feeble race; and if he is a physiological observer he is sure to add, they will give birth to a feeble race, not of women only, but of men as well. 'I never saw before so many pretty girls together,' said Lady Amberley to the writer, after a visit to the public schools of Boston, and then added, ' They all looked sick.' Circum stances have repeatedly carried me to Europe, where I am always surprised by the red blood that fills and colors the faces of ladies and peasant girls, remind ing one of the canvas of Rubens and Murillo; and am always equally sur prised on my return by crowds of pale bloodless faces, that suggest consumption scrofula, anemia ar.d neuralgia. Girls of bloodless skins and intelligent faces may be seen any day by those who desire the spectacle, among the scholars of our higher and normal schools—facoos that crown and skins that cover curving spines which should be straight, and neuralgic nerves which should know no pain. Later on, when marriage and maternity overtakes these girls, and they live ' laborious days ' in a sence not in tended by Milton's line, they bend and break beneath the labor, like loaded grain before a storm, and bear little fruit again."* ■

"ON TIME."

How Atchison Husbands Play "Pedbo."

Mr. Gammon resides in South AtcMson, and the partner of his bosom looks up to Mm as a model husband. She is a woman of method and fixed habits, which some times puts Mr. Gammon to a vast amount of difficulty, If the truth must be told, the husband is infatuated with " pedro," and hia ingenuity is constantly devising schemes to enjoy the game without disturb ing the even tenor of sweetly-tempered ways at h©me. The other day an old friend Tom 8., invited him to join a pleasant little card party that night. Our hero consented of course, though with some misgivings as to how he should account to his estimable lady for his absence, or contrive to break through her rule that he shall always be safe at home not later than 9 o'clock. Finally he hit upon a business trip to Kansas City, which he informed his wife would keep him till the midnight train. She was sorry he had to go, and enjoined him to take good care of himself. He gave her a good-bye kiss, and at night joined Tom, and had a glorious time at Pedro. Watching the hour, he arrived home about ten minutes after the midnight train from St. Louis was due at the depot. The partner of his bosom sympathized with him as he talked about the tediousness of a night journey by rail with no acquaint ances, and the artful Gammon chuckled pleasantly to himself as he witnessed the success of his little trick. A day or two afterwards, Mr. Gammon came home to tea and found Mrs. G. sit ting in the rocking-chair with the evening paper in her hand, and with rather a peculiar expression of countenance, which Gammon could not quite understand, but which seemed to be indicative of some thing in the wind. So he sauntered over toward the window, plunged his hands away down" into his pockets, and whistled softly to himself as he wondered what was up any way. Mrs. G, watched him for a few moments, and finally broke the silence with the inquiry: '• Did your Kansas City business prove satisfactory, my dear ? " " V es, my, love; better than I expected," said he, softly. " Glad to hear it; but (in a tone of iron-, ical politeness) very intricate, wa3 it not, Mr. Gammon?"

" Well, yes, rather so, my love," said he growing bolder. " And, by the way, how fortunate it is that you women are not re quired to bother yourselves with business affairs. It would be such a trouble to un derstand them."

So saying, he thrust his hands deep into his pockets and began to whistle, in the hope of diverting attention from the sub ject. But she had the game well in hand, and continued, very feelingly : " Yes, I suppose so. Ah me (with a deep sigh) there are so very, very many things we can not quite see through. For instance the " Evening Patriot " says that on the night you went to Kansas City the midnight train up was an hour late (sudden stop of Mr. G-.'s whistle), and yet, ray love, you got home only ten minutes after the time it was rightfully due at the depot. Must have walked pretty fast, Mr. G. I Hurrying yourself that way will get you iato trouble one of these days, Mr. G-. I"

This reporter has net the hardness of heart necessary to depict the sorrowful scene as the good man tried to clear him self, and only plunged deeper and deeper every minute. Gammon thinks now that the news in the papers is of rather too miscellaneous a character to be fully ap preciated in the family circle, and vows that the next time he makes that kind of a railroad trip he will go around by the way of the depot and wait for that infernal old train if he lias to stay out all night.

WHY HE WEARS ARNICA UNDER HIS LEFT EYE.

' The cleek of a prominent South Side jeweller wears arnica under his left eye ; there is a handsome gold locket for sale at Lipman's below cost; the fashionable wed ding which was to have taken place be tween a young lady on Ashland avenue and a young man on Peoria street is off, and, the jeweller's clerk has taken out a warrant against the young man on Peoria street for assault and battery. This is how it happened: .

The young man on Peoria street .had ar ranged to give the young woman on Ash land avenue a gold locket for a New Year's gift. On consultation, his betrothed de clined to have anything inscribed on the token but her Christian name. " You see," she said, " I expect to change my other name, duckey, before next year, and if anything were to happen, like a death or a divorce, it would still suit me, you see. Just put simple ' Alice' on it, petty." The young man from Peoria street went to the prominent jeweller and bought a $200 locket. " Want any inscription on it?" said the clerk. "Yes, I want simple 'Alice' cut on it in very plain, deep letters." " Want what ?" " Want it inscribed simple Alice." " 'Simple Alice '?" replied the young man from Peoria street. " All right, sir," said the clerk, adding, sotto voce, " simple idiot."

On New Year's eve the young man from Peoria street got the locket in a neat cas ket and at once forwarded it to the young lady on Ashland avenue. On New Year's day he called at her residence, and was astonished to discover that the young lady was not at home. As he was, in thunder stricken amazement, standing on the rug, the colored coachman approached him and handed him a package with the remark: "Now, then, young feller, yo' clah out of hyah !" and, as the young feller slowly went down the steps, he beheld the young lady in the bay-window, leaning on the arm of his hate, laughing heartily and pointing the finger of scorn at him. On opening the parcel, the young man from Peoria street found in it his letters and a casket, wherein was a $200 locket, where on was cut in plain, deep letters, "Simple Alice."

And this is why the clerk of a South Side jeweler wears arnica under his left eye. There is a handsome locket for sale at Lipman's below cost, the fashionable wedding which was to have taken place between a man on Peoria street is off, and the jeweller's clerk has taken out a warrant for assault and battery against the young man on Peoria street.

THE WOES OF A SAXON BABY.

I Julia Hawthobste writes in the " Con -1 temporary Review " as follows :—They are born quiet—those people ; a Saxon baby has but little cry in him and no persistent noisyness. In infancy he is i stiffened out in swaddling clothes and lives between two feather pillows like an oyster in his shell, moving only his pale bluish eyes aud pasty little fingers. A greasy nursing-bottle is poking itself into his mouth all day long. He has a great, hairless, swelled head, like an inflated bladder. His first appearance out-doors is made in a basket wagon, planted neck^ deep amid his pillows, the hood of the wagon being up and closely blue-cur. -tamed. Sometimes he rides double, his brother's or sister's head emerging at the opposite end of the little vehicle. They seldom die under this treatment; indeed, even a soul would find difficulty in escap ing from beneath those feather pillows and through the crevices cf those closely drawn blue curtains. When they have the colic (but they seldom muster energy sufficient) they uplift a meagre cry, as though aware that something of the sort would be expected of them: But it often happens, as I am credibly informed, that they must be dashed with cold water in order to bring their lungs into action. < A dash of cold water would be apt to pro duce a spasm in a Saxon of whatever age. Thus early begin, the subjection to law and custom. When the child gets to be about thirty inches high, or^thereabouts, it is sent to school' whither it paces tern-; qerately, with little noise ; racing, horse laughing, and all disorders' are tacitly discouraged. The little girls link arms and, gossip as they go, while the boys march soldierrlike with their small knap sacks, precocious in discipline and, convertism. When the play hour comes they engage, in a mutually suspicious. manner, as though self-conscious of, hypocrisy and make-believe, • 'By and by" they grow up—more of them than, would be supposed. But the habit of following authority and precedent in all concerts of life grows with them. They will never feel quite safe about blowing their noses until they have seen the written law con- .;■ cerning that ceremony, signed and sealed by the King, and countersigned by Prince Bismarck. They swim everywhere in the cork jacket of lawyand, should it fail, them, flounder ;and sink, or even lose their heads, and are betrayed into some, folly which helps them to the bottom.