A MOTHER'S LOVE.

There's love upon earth, and is there not another, That never can die—'tis the love of a mother. Though friends and relations forgetful may

prove, Yet absence and time only strengthen her love.

From the moment her infants have drawn their first breath,

To the time that she closes their eyelids in

death ; In joy or in sorrow, whate'er be their lot— In sickness or health they arc never forgot ; Wife, husband, and father, or sisterand bro ther May love— but they never can love like a mother. If the world but as outcasts her offspring should deem, They have virtues to her every fault can re deem : She will brave all its scorn, and will use in their need A language which only a mother can plead. Though all should renounce them, and turn from their fate, Yet she clings to them still, to forgive and forget. Arc they virtuous ? then she their happi ness shares— Are they crime-stained ? They still have the aid of her prayers ; And even ingratitude serves not to smother The Heaven-born love in the breast of a mother. Untiring, she smooths down the pillow in sickness, And still watches o'er them with patience and meekness— No mnrmer she utters—no sleep shuts her eyes, And her hand both their food and med'eine supplies. If the tendcrest earn fail her idols to save, Then weeping alone she is found at their grave ; From the objects of all her solicitude riven, Her silent request is to join them in Heaven Then, think ye that love can be found in an other, So ardent as glows in the heart of a mother.

How Long The Fly Lives.

A fly born in August generally lives from four to six weeks, or even two months, when its existence is cut short by the frost or the attacks of fungus plants. In the warmer climates the fly born in June may possibly live three months, or, even, perhaps, four but I doubt it. A fow which survive the cold and rain and live until the following summer usually serve to perpetuate their kind. And when it is known that a fly has laid over 150 eggs in twelve hours it is a matter of little doubt whence come so quickly such swarms, of flies as we see in the sunshine on any warm day after the rainy season. The vitality of the ily is remarkably persistant, and strangely un sympathetic with the life of nearly all other insects. For instance, if we stick a pin through a ily— as I doubt not many of you have some time done, to see how deftly the fly could handle that particle of a.mate aiid then withdraw it, the fly will never be any the worse off for it. But stick a sword through a man, and even though you don't withdraw it, you will be surprised at the result. If you' keep the fly impaled, it will live until starvation ends its existence. Again, decapitate a fly, and if it be cleverly done, it may live from twelve to twenty four hours or longer. Its first perambula tions after being decapitated., its buzzing gyrations, seem to show that it is confused, as if unable to understand this new order of tilings. Then it will remain quiet a while, next proceed to clean itself, and then pro bably, start off on a backward run, and live until ' its inner man,' which has not been attended to lately, like an embryo Oliver Twist, begins to cry out for ' more.' Milk, in which every fly seems to take a queer interest, is the most radid agency to finish Mr Fly for the coroner, whose jury many, mady times brings in a verdict of ' accidental drowning in a milk-pitcher.' Then there is another great evil in flydom in which the flies demand ' reform.' It is the audacity with which a larger presump tuous biped, animal coolly cruelly and care lessly exposes poison around loosely. It is an evil which has been complained of ever since Fly tasted of the poison cup, Refused to drink the potion up, But turned his little head aside, Disgusted with the taste, and died.

THIEVES' CHARMS AND SUPER STITIONS.

If Ignorance be the parent of Superstition, the mental condition of our criminal classes must be something deplorable, for the belief in charms and omens prevails among them to a far greater extent than is gene rally imagined in these days of popular intellectual enlightenment. But there is nothing strange in this. From the earliest times crime and superstition have inva riably been found closely allied, the appar ent fearlessness displayed by many infamous characters being attributable less to their personal courage than to an implicit faith in the efficacy of some charm possessed by them. Only the other day, in one of the metropolitan police courts, a police detective giving evidence in a case of alleged robbery produced a piece of coal which he had taken from the waistcoat pocket of the accused, and stated that practical thieves carried that ' kind of charm for good luck.' They did the same in the time of old BoAv-street runners ; and it is said that several of tlic most notorious criminals captured by Townsend were in the habit of carrying peculiarly-shaped black pebbles, which they fancied would ensure them immunity from detection and inevitable arrest, About the period when Hogarth produced his famous pictures of 'The Idle and Indus trious Apprentices.' the belief in charms was almost universal among criminals of every class, from the 'gentleman highway man, to the humble footpad, professional fortune-tellers and wandering gipsies being the principal sources from whence the supply of these superstitious articles were obtained. Pieces of bone from the skeletons of male factors hung in chains were in great request among thieves of every grade, who believed that the possession of these would render certain the success of any nefarious enter prise in which they might happen to be engaged. The hand of a convicted mur derer was regarded as a most powerful charm—one which never lost its efficacy. It was known as ' the hand of glory.' Possessed of this a criminal imagined him self secure against failure in the perpetra tion of the most audacious deeds, nor did repeated captures of evil-doers with such charms concealed about their persons speedly destroy the faith of the dangerous classes in these dry, shrivelled relics of fallen humanity. The hands were gener ally cut from the bodies of murderers recently executed, and it was often found necessary to station guards near the gibbets for the purpose of preventing such mutila tions of criminals.

Pieces of the rope with which a criminal has been hung are sometime s regarded as charms, a fact which explains the readiness with which a recently-used halter can occasionally be disposed of, and which lias frequently been attributed to the existence of a morbid taste among j>u rchasers ; al though we doubt whether Marwood will ever gain for his ' hempen collars' such prices as obtained during the period when executions were of almost daily occurenco. Lockets containing the hair of executed criminals were also regarded as charms ; and, according to an account in an old magamie, even portions of the shrou<- in which some notorious criminals who hr-A escaped the full penalty of the law was hu,rie<J were sought for a simitar purpose,

The belief in charms appears, singularly enough, to have been less prevalent amongst female criminals than amongst those of the opposite sex ; but their defi cient faith in this respect was more than counterbalanced by their habitual customs of ' consulting the fates,' in the shape of a pack of playcards, before commencing any illegal enterprise. But they were not above wearing iinger-rings or brooches containing the hair of notorious robbers and murderers, or carrying white pebbles picked from a running brook during a successful plunder ing foray. The faith in divination by means of cards survives to the present day ; although the efficacy of this mode of de termining the advisability of attempting robbery is not quite so generrally believed in, especially among the more educated class of female thieves.

But if the ' fates' are less frequently ' consulted' than formerly, the old belief in omens prevails largely among habitual criminals of both sexes. If a professional burglar, while on house-breaking expedition experience as is not unlikely, an involuntary feeling ?of trembling at the unexpected apperance of a policeman, it is regarded, and with very good reason, that the enter prise cannot be prosecuted withoutincreased risk. In one of the northern coun ties a well-known housebreaker was in the habit of walking through one of the by streets of the town at a certain hour of the day, and counting the number of people met by him If the number was odd, he regarded it asa sign that success would attend his next exploit, an even number being looked iipon as an indication of failure. During the ear lier part of the present century, a notorious pick-pocket watched every seventh person who passedlrim until lie selected a likely vic tim. Another member of the same frater nity ascribed his arrest to his having orgot ten to leave at home a snuff-box belonging to a companion who had, during the previous week been sentenced to transportation. The tossing of coins is frequently resorted to for the purpose of determining whethcran at tempt at house-breaking or other form of crime shall lie made or not. Some thieves keep a coin, usually a penny piece—ex pressly for this purpose in their pockets. The" belief in the ' evil eye,' so common among the criminal classes of the last century, is comparatively little known among those who at the present moment form our great social problem, and is found principally in the rural districts, where ; superstition and crime are more closely associated than in the metropolis. There is more than one district where the fear of the ' evil eye' will make an arrant coward of the boldest poacher, and where stolen ducks and pilfered linen have been mysteriously restored to their owners on its becoming noised about that the evil eye was on the evildoers. Curiously enough no member of any police force lias ever been credited with the possession of this dreaded visual organ. Many criminals, when commencing their nefarious career, experience a considerable amount of nervousness at the critical moment. To prevent this, some tie a piece of string round their wrist ; others slightly prick their arriis with a needle ; while a few will place a sprig of rosemary in their waist coat pockets. Among juvenile criminals many of the charms and superstitions com mon among the uneducated are found in fluencing the mode in which petty thefts are prepetrated. Some lads will not attempt a robbery in any thoroughfare where they have had to pass under a ladder, or in which they may accidentally stumble. In the provinces, especially in towns of limited size, the sudden appearance of a crow is regarded as a warning that any nefarious enterprise commenced within the next twenty foxir hours will be attcnted with immediate danger to all concerned. Per haps this may be the reason why thievish prowlers are not in too great a hurry to remain in a neighborhood where crows are numerous, but we should be loth to place too much confidence in the deterring in fluence of the omen. All thieves are not believers in charms, nor influenced by super stitious fears,

Getting at the Pith of it.

Our friend C— L—, of 'the Swamp,' tells a capital story of the witty and remained Blossom, of Blossom's Hotel, Canandai gua, at one time, while he kept it—when he ■was alive the prin.ee of hosts and the delight of his guests—the first hotel of all the West ern towns.

There was an old fellow, a good deal of a bore, who used to frequent his house, and occ sionally worm himself into dinner, where his conversation Avas not always timely and not seldom obtrusive. One day Blossom had re ceived from NeAV York some very large, fine lobsters, and had served them up to one or tAvo friends sitting at his favourite end of the table. Among them'came in also our obtru sionist. He had the misfortune to lose all his teeth, except a long eye-tooth that stood sen tinel at the corner of his cavernous mouth. ' What is them led things, Blossom ?' he asked.

'Lobsters,' replied the host. 'Did you never see a lobster before ? They are the finest eating in the world. Try that leg.' Here he gave him a huge claw, and told him to ' go to work upon that.' He put one end of it in his mouth and be gan to mumble it over without making any very great progress. ' How do you like it,' said Blossom, who, with his friends, Averc ready to split their sides with laughing. They had helped them selves to some other dish, and were waiting for their portion of the lobster.

' Can't tell yet,' said the other. ' How do you eat the cussed thing, anyhow ?'

' Oh, eat it right down,' said Blossom ' never mind the bones.'

By this time, the man, with his one sharp tooth, had drilled a hole through to the meat. Having established a su.rtion as Blossom sawlie asked him again : ' Well, how do you lik-e it now ?'

' Wai,' lie replied ' its pretty hard cntin', but I kinder like +,he pcth on't.' It didn't need the roar that followed this to satisfy the victim that the pith of the whole matter was that he had been badly 'sold.'

The Banker and His Safe.

A bank inspector paid an unusual and unexpected visit, after office hours, to a country branch during the very hot weather of last Aveck. The local manager was sur prised, but of course delighted, to see his chief. The inspector could only make a brief stay, and declared his intention of going at once to business. 'We will first see such and such a book,' he said, naming one of those mysterious records that are always supposed to be kept locked up in the strongest of safes. ' It is here,' said the manager, producing it from a shelf in the office. 'And now for so and so,' continued the inspector, naming another book of doom. The malinger drew it from an oifice drawer, and laid it open for inspection. Two or three other books were asked for and given up, but all were lying scattered about the office instead of being locked up in the Milner. The suspicions of the inspector were excited. ' Mr. Manager,' said lie severely, ' I must trouble you for the keys of your safe. I want to see what you do keep in it; it is certain, not what you ought.' The guilty manager handed up his keys, and the safe was found packed with quantities of fresh butter and cream, two or three fowls, a goose, and a sirloin of beef The country customers will briii'* me presents, sir,' he pleaded, «and I have°reallv no place to put them in but this. If the directors would only put me up a safe of mv own, I'd never dream of using theirs !'

KING HENRY'S HUNT.

King Henry stood in Waltham Wood,

One morn in merry May-time ; Years fifteen hundred thirty-six,

From Christ had roll'd away time. King Henry stood in Waltham Wood,

All young green, sunny shady, He would not mount his pawing horse,

Though men and dogs were ready. ' What ails His Highness ? Up and down In moody sort he paceth ; He is not wont to be so slack, Whatever game he chaseth.' He paced and stopp'd ; he paced and turned; At tinier he inly nmtter'd ; He pull'd his girdle, twich'd his beard ; But not one word he utter'd. The hounds in couples nosed about,

Or on the sward lay idle ; The huntsman stole a fearful glance, While fingering girth or In-idle. Among themselves, but not too loud, The young lords laugh'd and chatter'd, Or broke a branch of hawthorn-bloom, As though it nothing mattor'd. King Henry sat on a fell'd oak, With gloomier eyes and stranger ; His brows were knit, his lips be bit ;

To look that way was danger. Mused he on Pope and Emperor ? Denied them and defied them ? Or traitors in his very realm Complotting ?—woe betide them ! Suddenly on the southwest wind,

Distinct through distant., sounded A cannon shot —and to his feet The King of England bounded. ' My horse !' he .shouts ; Uncouple now !' And all were quickly mounted. A hind was found ; man, horse and hound

Like furious demons hunted. Fast fled the deer by grove and glade,

The chase did faster follow ; And every wild-wood alley rang With hunter's horn and hollow. Away together stream VI the hounds ; Forward press'd every rider, You're free to slay a hind in May,

If there's a calf beside her. King Harry rode a mighty horse, His Grace being broad and heavy, And like a stormy wind he crash'd Through copse and thicket leavy. He rode so hard, and roar'd so loud, All men his course avoided ; The fiery steed, long held on fret, With many a snort enjoy'd it. 1 he hind was kill'd, and down they sat

To Hagon and to pasty. 'Ha, by Saint George, a noble prince ! Tho' hot by times, and hasty.' Lord Norfolk knew, and other few,

Wherefore that chase began on The signal of a gun far oil', One growl of distant cannon— And why so jovial grew his Grace, That erst was sad and sullen '■ With that boom from the tower, had fall'n

The head of fair Anne BuUen. Her neck, which Henry used to kiss, The bloody axe did sever . Their little child Elizabeth,

She'll see no more forever

Gaily the King for Greenwich rides ; Each moment makes his glee more ; He thinks—' To-morrow I'm betrothed,

At last, to young Jane Seymour !' The sunshine falls, the wild-bird calls,

Across the slopes of Epping ; From grove to glade, through light and shade The'troops of deer are stepping.

THE TWO ARMIES.

As life's unending column pours, Two marshaled hosts arc seen— Two jinnies on the trampled shores That death Hows black between. One marches to the drum-beat's roll, The wide-mouthed clairon's bray, And bears upon a crimson scroll, ' Our glory is to slay.' One moves in silence by the stream, With sad yet watchful eyes, Calm as the patient planers gleam That walks the clouded skies. Along its front no sabers shine, No blood-red pennons wave ; Its banner bears the single line, ' Our duty is to save.' For those no death-bod's lingering shade; At honor's trumpet call, With knitted brow and lifted blade, In glory's arms they fall. For those no flashing falchions bright, No stirring battle-cry ; The bloodless stahber calls by night— Each answers, ' Here am I !' For those the sculptor's laureled bust, The builder's marble piles, The anthems pealing o'er tlicir dust Through long cathedral aisles. For these the blossom-sprinkled turf That floods the lonely graves When Spring rolls in her sea-greeu surf lii flowery-foaming waves. Two paths lead upwards from below, And angels wait above, Who counts each burning life-drop's flow Each falling tear of love. Though from the hero's bleading breast Her pulses Freedom drew, Though the white lilies in her crest Sprang from that scarlet dew— While valor's haughty champions wait Till all their iscars are shown, Love walks unchallenged through the gate,

To sit beside the throne ! —[0. W. Holmes.

DRIFTING INTO LOVE.

I had sworn to be a bachelor, she had sworn to be a maid, For we both agreed in doubting whether matrimony paid ; Besides, I had my higher aims—for science filled my heart,

And she said her young affections were call wound up in art. So we laughed .at tlin.se wise men who say that friendship cannot live 'Twixt man and woman, unless eacli has something else to give. We would be friends as true as e'er were man and man—

I'd be a second David and she Miss Jona-

than. We liked each other, that was all, and quite enough to say : So we just shook hands upon it in a business sort of way. We shared our sorrows and our joys ; to gether hoped and feared; With common purpose sought the goal which young ambition reared. We dreamed together of the days, the dream bright days to come. We were strictly confidential, and called each other ' chum.' And many a day we wandered together o'er the hills-- I seeking bugs and butterflies, and she the -'■'-\\ • ruined mills

And rustic bridges and the like, which picture makers prize, To run iv with the waterfalls, and groves, and sunny skies. And many a quiet evening, in hours of full release We floated down the river, or loafed beneath the trees, And talked in long gradation from the poets to the weather, While the summer skies and my cigar burned slowly out together. ( But through it all no whispered wold, or tell tale look or sigh, Told aught of warmer sentiment than friendly sympathy; We talked of love as coldly as we talked i>f nebultß, And thought no more of being ono thftU >y$ ajd p* being throe,

' Good-by, old fell'—l took her hand, for the i time had come to go — My going meant our parting, when to meet we did not know ; I had lingered long, and said farewell with a very heavy heart, For, though Aye were but friends, you know, 'tis hard for friends to part. 'Good-by, old fellow; don't forget your friends across the sea, And some day, when you've lots of time, just drop a line to me.' The words came lightly, gayly, but a great sob just behind Rose upward with a story of quite a different kind. And then she raised her eyes to mine, great liquid eyes of blue, Full to the brim and running o'er, like a violet cup with dew— One long, long look, and then I did what I

never did before ; Perhaps the tear meant friendship, but I think the kiss meant more.

PROPOSED TAX ON BACHELORS IN FRANCE.

The diminution in the French population lias lately awakened general attention in France, and everybody has his own pet theory for remedying this evil. One of the French Deputies, Mr. Menier, lias hit upon the novel device of taxing the unmarried portion of the community, and making those who wish to indulge in bachelorhood pay in the shape of a special impost for the privi lege. The following are his reasons for this proposal : Each person should bear an equal share of the social burden, but as matters are at present, this burden is far heavier for married people, especially with families, than for bachelors. On the other hand, the bachelor has the same civil and political form and gives less to society. Therefore, tax celibacy, and thereby relieve matri mony—this is what justice requires. _ Al though this may appear an attack on indi vidual liberty, yet it really leaves to every body the right to do as he likes. It simply denies to the bachelor the right to neglect gratuitously his duty towards society. The man who is base enough not to marry owes, compensation to society for the service he refuses to render it, and therefore it is but just that he should pay a tax and aid his mated fellow citizens to pay their way. This tax on bachelors would serve to create premium on births, and hence it would be strictly moral. The greater the number of children the larger the number active members given to society. On them it depends for its continuation, its sustcnta tion, and its defence. Hence those _ who cooperate in this work ought to be assisted. Bachelors derive the benefit of the prosper ity thus produced in the country, bnt in no wise contribute towards it, hence let them be taxed. Only fancy what a revenue might be got of the Catholic clergy, of whom there are about 175,000 in France by this means ! Then, again, you take away the excuse of a man's saying he's too poor to marry. According to the proposed system of premiums on matrimony and its fruits, a young man inclined to speculation might find it to his pecuniary advantage to marry, exemption from the tax and the prospect of a bonus at the birth of on offspring being real inducement to him to pop the question. Should M. Menier's prosposal be .adopted by the Ercnch Chamber, we may look to immigration in this country on a iarge scale from France.

Victoria and the Artist.

A coitUKSi'OXDKXTof the London "Times" relates the following pleasing incident, con cerning the Queen and Sculptor Gibson. During tlie hot season of IS4O I saw much of Gibson at the Bagni di Lucca, that cool and lovely spot whither he had flown from the fervid heat of a Roman Summer. In familiar conversation ho one day related to me the following anecdote ; ' At the first

sitting Her Majesty gave me not a word was spoken on cither side, and at its con clusion I departed, according to etiquette, in solemn silence. On the next occasion, when the Queen had taken her scat, solemn silence was again the order of the day, but after working for some time the dreadful monotony became absolutely insupportable, and the thought Hashed across me," said Gibson, ' this will never do, and on the impulse of the moment I turned round and, pointing to the model, asked, ' Does your Majesty like the tiara I have placed on the head?' 'Oh, yes, Mr. Gibson,' exclaimed the Queen, in a bright and smiling way, 'I think it is very nice." The incubus was removed, and from that moment till the completion of the statue Gibson had never •again to complain of silence, and the Queen herself listened with evident interest to the Roman anecdotes that Gibson related from the stores of his fertile memory.

BROWN'S MATRIMONIAL METHODS.

' BIIOWN, I don't know how it is that your girls marry off as soon as they get old enough, while none of mine can marry.'

' Oh, that's simple enough. I marry my girls oil' on the buckwheat straw principle.' ' But what is that principle ? I never heard of it before.'

' Well, I used to raise a good deal of buckwheat, and it puzzled me to know how to get rid of the straw. Nothing would eat it, and it was a great bother to me. At last I thought of a plan. I stacked my buckwheat straw nicely and built a high rail fence around it. My, cattle, of course concluded that it was something good, and at once tore down the fence and began to eat the straAV. I dogged them away and put up the fence a few times, but the more I drove them away the more anxious they become to cat the straw, and eat it they did, every bit of it. As I said, I marry my girls oil" on the same principle. When a young man that I don't like begins calling on my girls, I encourage him in every way I can. I tell him to come often and stay as late as lie pleases, and I take pains to hint to the girls that I think they d better set their caps for him. It works first rate. He don't make many calls, for the girls treat him as coolly as they can. But when a young fellow that I like comes around—a man that I think would suit me for a son-in law—l don't let him make many calls before I give him to understand that he isn't wanted around my house. I tell the girls, too, that they shall not have anything to do with him, and give them orders not to speak to him again. The plan always works firstrate. "The young folks begin to pity each other; and the next thing I know, they are engaged to be married. When I sec that they are detcniiind to marry, I always give in and pretend to make the best of it. That's the way I manage it.'

A Mistaken Mourner.—An attendant at Mount Vernon, not long since, found a lady weeping most bitterly and audibly, with hand Kerchief at her eyes. He stepped up to her and said : ' Arc yon in any trouble, madam ?' ' No, .sir ?' slie, sobbed. ' I saw you weeping.' ' Ah,'said she, 'how could one help weeping at the grave of the father of his country !' ' Oh, indeed, madam,' said he, ' tbat's it ! The tomb's over yonder, this is the icehouse.'

There is an unusual interest manifested in kitchen maids by the young men of Memphis (Mo.), caused by a statement in a local paper that a young lady heiress to 10000 dols. is working as a domestic in a family there.

Pin Factories in the United States.—The old, though perhaps bootless, question.—• " Where do all the pins go to V is recalled by the statement in an American paper that there are now eight pin factories in the United States, which make 47,000, 000 pins daily. In addition to these, the impor tation of phis reaches 25,000,000, daily. As these are sold, it is aafe to say that 72, 000,000, pins (ire. lost daily, or SQ,QQQ «vwy

NOVEL SWINDLING RUSE.

IN 'Vanity Fair' the following capital story is told and which ' guileless jewelers would do well to lay to heart :—Some time since a very sentlemanly-looking man, accom panied by his daughter, agood-lookinffyoung lady of about eighteen summers, alighted at the chief hotel of a certain town m Italy. They "-aye themselves out to be knglisn, and had among other luggage, four large boxes containing two complete setsoi draw ers like those used by officers in camp. They chose a salon and two bed-rooms, one "of which opened into the salon. As soon as they were settled these drawers were unpacked, and one set was placed against the door in the salon ; the other on the other side of the door in the gentleman a bedchamber, the door in question being (like moat of those in continental hotels) veiy thin For some time all went on very satisfactorily. The gentleman was not extravagant, but liberal, and was most particular in calling for his bill every week and paying it to the moment. Before he had been many days in the town he paid a visit to the principal jeweller, and made some small purchases-in each case paying cash and showing that he was well provided with bank-notes: The jeweller was most anxious to press his new customer, and owght out Si kinds of beautiful articles to tempt him, but at first his purchases were moderate, though liberally paid for. At the ond of a month the gentleman paid a viut alone, and, after making anothei purchase, observed that his daughter was about to'be married and thathe thought of sending to Paris for a set of diamonds. The jeweller could not allow such a chance to slip through his fingers. He had the most beautiful set in Europe, the property of a Princess ; he was sure that only a Milord Inglese could buy them. The price was only 400,000f. The inspection was made but no decision Avas come to that day. The next day another inspection was mace, and Milord agreed to take them. The jeweller was delighted He thought it would be best to ask if he should send them round that evening, but he reocived a perfectly straight forward answer. Ido not keep so much money about me. I must draw upon my bankers m London. 1 will give you 500f, to close the business and The jewels you can deliver against cash in the course of next week.' The deposit was paid, and the jeweller satisfied beyond a doubt that he was dealing with a most perfect gentleman. Eight days after, he was requested to call the same morning at eleven, and bring the diamonds, for which he would be paid. He arrived at the moment, and found his customer m his dressing-gown, sitting alone at the set ot drawers referrred to, a trout flap of which turned down so as to form a writing table. The jeweller advanced respectfuly and laid the casket open on the Hap in question. ' Milord' just examined the jewels, remark ed that of course he did not wish hwdaugh ter to know anything of the transaction at present, and then proceeded to take out a large handful of beautiful crisp notes. At that moment the door opened, and m boun ded the young lady in question, as the jeweller afterwards said, 'justlike a golden fawn.' Nothing was more natural than that Milord should close up the Hap, and ask the young lady to go away, as he wished to be alone. But she was a spoilt child, and would have her own way. She had come to tell ' papa' that the tailor was waiting for him in the next room, and he must «o, and that she was quite sure the jeweller would like her company better than his; besides, shu had a locket she could not open, and jeweller must help her. The jeweller was not proof against the playful charms of the young lady ; he saw his goods .safe—not exactly under his eyes, but next door to it, So he begged her father to go, and he would wait. ' Milord left the room, and the poor dupe enjoyed half an hour of delightful llirtation with the young lady. There was something very winning in her ways, and then she was a'young bride. The time passed like a dream and at last the young lady passed off to go and hurry her father. The jeweller sat in meditation ; Jus thoughts were at first all engrossed with the sweet girl who had just left. Then he began to wonder how long his customer would be. Then he went and tried the Hap of the drawyer. It was ' all right ;' it was locked. So he sat down and mused again. After some three hours he began to think he must be forgot ten. So he rang the bell and requested the waiter to just remind 'Milord' that he was waiting, but to do it very politely. The waiter replied that Milord and the Signorina bad gone out an hour ago. There was nothing to do but wait, and wait he did. Neither returned. Table d'hote passed, and although the poor man began to have a presentiment that something was wrong, the landlord was consulted, but was sure lii.s guest was a real gentleman, whose only fault was forgetfulness, So again he waited until past the small hours of the night. At early morn the landlord again returned, and he also began to think the case suspicious. The jeweller was furious; he made a dash at tlie drawers, and, with the aid of a poker, broke open the Hap. His next move was to take the casket. He thrust his head into the compartment, and sank back into the armchair. He saw before him nothing but a square open void, leading into tlie set of drawers in the next room. The landlord did likewise, and so did the waiters. Then they sat and looked at each other, and at last ordered restora tives for the jeweller, who had fainted.

ACCIDENT OR MURDER ?

A Little Girl Thrown Headlong from a foub-story balcony and fatally Injured.

WHETHER it was accident or murder is for the Coroner and Police J adge to decide, but this mucli is known, that Kate Crowley, a young girl, fourteen years of age, with her body bruised and mangled, lies on herdcath hed in consequence of being chased or thrown off1 a four-story balcony on Vallejo street, about twelve o'clock last night. At that time the girl, with two playmates, who have been accustomed to running about the neighborhood at all hours of the night, was found by Officer Thomas in the basement of the house of Cornelius Smith, a shoemaker, near Sansome street. Hearing he would arrest them, they ran up the stairs into the house, and into the third story, where Mr. Smith and his wife live. Hearing the racket Mr. Smith got up, and, taking a large stick, went out and found the girls on the balcony. He struck one of them, Nellie Bates, on the head, raising a large lump there, but did no further injury. Maggie McDevitt, another, dodged him and ran down stairs, but Kate Crowley crouched, frightened, in the corner. Bushing to her with the exclamation : ' I've got one of 'em, anyhow !' lie tossed her over the railing, and a few seconds after a dull thud on the stones in the street below, and the shrieks of her horrified companions attracted- Officer Thomas to the scene. The girl proved to be alive still, and the officer accordingly took her home, where a physi cian, who was summoned, said there was no hope for her recovery. Smith was arrested, and whilo at the City Prison denied having laid hands on the girl, stating that in endeavoring to climb across to a balcony on the next house in order to escape him, she slipped and fell. The two companions of the little girl firmly state, though, that they saw Smith lay hands on her and toss her over, The injuries in flicted, as far as known, were a dislocation of the hip and elbow, and a fracture of the skull, The internal injuries are not known yet, but the. case is a hopeless one, No charge has yet been made agamst Smith owing to, the girl's iioiuUtion,«*.[sari Fran-

THE CHURCH MILITANT,

A COLORED DEACONS.

TnouCxH the Police Court dock is eachday filled with the ■ black sheep' of the great human flock, metaphorically speaking, it is not often true that the term can literally be applied. This morning, however, two ven erable ' culled negroes,' according to the Dudley vernacular, sat on the front benc h ; and the tale of their indiscretions, as de veloped on the examination, was as follows : Their names were Johnson and Hicka, and they wore both members of a little flock that though dark skinned, is none the less tenderly cared for by the Great Shepherd, as they meekly congregate in a modest little chapel, the work of willing hands and de voted hearts, on the upper portion of Broad way Both attended the Tuesday evening prayer meeting, and as the good old Metho dist hymns rang out on the air with the heartfelt devotion and touching melody m them that only honest belief and Christian love can inspire, they wrought a holy calm in Brother Johnson's heart, and he felt con strained to get up and 'testify.' • Braddem,' said he, ' I feel ez if I too mus' riz up in dis yer meetin' an' say dat I too lub do Lawd. Wese oil pore crawhn wains ob de dust, an' we all hez our faihn s. I feel dat I am a great sinner, and de knowledge ob dis fills me wid remossfulniss to-night. I arsk de prars ob diß meet'in dat I may do better.' Then he subsided with that look of com placent contrition usual on such occasions, and Jake Hicks, one of the ' snide' mem bers one of those who have that unpopular habit of saying things too truthful to be palatable, felt likewise moved to speak. 1 Bruddern,' he began, ' dem few wuds from Brudder Johnsing has done my,?heart •rood. I'm glad lie's a seem' his condition, kase he's got a norful sight ter answer fur. Now, dere wuz dat lady on Taylor street, Miss Holland, he swin'led her outen Sdols. a shakin' her carpets, lieeklect dat, Brud der Jonsing ?' Brother Johnson looled contrite and per spired freely. ' Den dere wuz dat witewashin' job up on de hill wot he f rowed off on arter he go de money aforehand, an' drinked it all up and got bilin full. De Lawd '11 want ter know sumfin 'bout dat.'

Brother Johnson glared. 1 Then dere wins dat game o' keerds down tor Buck Brown's saloon las' night, wen Brudder Johnsing flipped de jack an' tought nobody seod 'im, but I seed him, an' de—' 1 Dats a smutty lie, Brudder Hicks.' 'You's a kinky-headed ole hypercrit, Brudder Johnsing. I You better quit drinkin' and sport yer fambly fo' you talk, Jake Hicks.' ' Yer de wuas ole fraud in de Church, an' I'll lceb it ter der crowd.' I 1 mash yer brack head foyer, screeched Brother Johnson, as lie jumped over three scats and countered on Brother Hicks bloom ing nose. The blow was returned, the row we'llt on, Sister Rogers tried to start a hymn, but was somewhat discomposed by aii accidental kick in the mouth, and ceased her plaintive lay. Several sisters concluded to faint, but waited to see who whipped, and didn't, while their recreant spouses be gan staking small change on the result, but were interrupted by ' Whar two or three of yer are gathered together, there I am right among yer,' from the lips of Officer Sam Alden, who passed an electoral compromise hill on the spot, and walked the combatants down to the City Prison. In consideration of the provocation and the good name of the defendants, they were this morning let oil" for sdols. each.

How the Sea Became Salt.

A Scientists Solution or Oxe oe the

Problems oe Nature.

A QUESTION \v Inch has long been regarded as among the great mysteries of nature—the question, How did the seas become salt l — seems to us to find a ready solution when we consider that the ocean once formed the earth's cloud envelope. We may, in fact re gard the oceans as holding in solution what was washed from the earth or otherwise ex tracted from its substance during the ages when the waters of ocean were passing from the former to their present condition. For then all the conditions assisted the action of the waters themselves —the intense heat of the earth's crust and of the atmosphere, the tremendous atmospheric pressure, and con sequently the high boiling point (so that the waters first formed on the earth's heated crust must have been far hotter than is boil ing water at the present time), and the pre sence also, in the atmosphere of many vapors which would greatly help the decomposing action of the water itself.

(Jonsiderforinstance, the followingdescrip tion, abridged from a paper by Dr. JSterry Himt, the eminent Canadian chemist and geologist. After showing that carbonic acid, chlorine and sulphurous acids would be pre sent in enormous quatsities in the primeval atmosphere, besides, of course, still vaster quantities of the vapour of water, he pro ceeds : ' These gases, with nitrogen and an excess of oxygen, would form an atmosphere ol great density. In such an atmosphere condensation would only take place at a tem peratuic far above the present boiling point and the lower levels of the earth's slowly cooling crust would be drenched with a heated solution of hydrochloric acid, whose decomposing action, aided by its high tem perature, would be exceedingly rapid. The primitive igneous rock on which these show ers fell probably resembled in composition certain furnace slags, or volcanic glasses.' The process of decomposition would continue ' under tho action of the heavy showers, un til the affinities of the hydrocholoric acid were satislicd. Later, large quantities of sulphuric acid would be formed, and drench ing showers of heated solutions of this ener getic dissolvent would fall upon the earth's heated crust. After the compound of sul phur and chlorine had been separated from the air, carbonic acid would still continue to be an important constituent of the atmos phere. It would be gradually diminished in gravity, through chemical processess result ing in the formation of various clays, ' while the separate lime, magnesia, and alkalis changed into bicarbonates would be carried down to the sea in a state of solution.'

Here we seem to have a fair account ren dered of the enormous quantity of matter forming collectively what is called the brine of the ocean, and containing, besides com mon salt (chloride of sodium), sulphuric| icid, magnesia, suda, sulphate of lime and other substances. The theory that these substan ces have been washed from the earth's surface by causes such as are now in progress would not, we think, be seriously entertained if the vast amount of matter thus present in the waters of the sea were remembered and con sidered. Brine forms on the average about three and a half per cent of sea water. Hence if we take the average depth of the ocean at two miles, or roundly, 10,000 feet, it follows that if all the water of the sea were evapor ated there would be left a deposit of salt aver aging 350 feet in depth all over the present floor of the sea. This would correspond in quantity to salt covering all the present land surface of the earth to a depth of 1,000 feet, or to a deposit 200 feet deep over the entire surface ot the globe ; so that the idea of its having been washed from the land is alto gether inadmissable. It may, indeed, be urged that, as the process of washing down from the land is continually goi»g on, only a sufficiency of time would be needed to ac count, for any quantity whatever of sea salt. But apart from the fact that only a certain thickness of the solid crust, and that thick ness by no means very great, could bo drawn upon for supply, and that tho very oontinu* ance of the process shows us that ovati that, portion of tho earth's crust has not boon.

lieve that the extraction of salUt^m^^ is going on, and has been goi nc on ,the sea ages past, at fully as great a rate iff*** tion of fresh salt. "■ "ttadaf. Although the process of evaporate not remove the salts, these, asMaii •Catl notes, can be extracted by otW 'We know,' he says, <that inSn?*uV do take out a portion of them and fh salt ponds and arms which from tim! t the in the geological calender have Wn tlnie ted from the sea afford an esea^ t Sep> the quantity of chloride of sodium i^^* tors—the most abundant of its solid -^ dients-is regulated. The insects of i\^ cannot build their structures of this, 1! Sea it would dissolve again as fast as th ' * Ot separate it. But here the ever read?^ phere comes into play and assists thp ?« in,regulating the salts. It cannot taS* (the salts) up from the sea, it is w ft can take the aea away from them ' f ll pumps up the water from these pools tw have been barred off, transfers ittotß™? and they deliver it back to the sea as ft water, leaving behind the salts it cont.s7 inasolidstate. These are operatSJffi have been going on for ages ; proof that S are still going on is continually beW y eyes; for the «hard water' of oL W^ the marlbanks of the valleys, the JlTv !' of the plains, Albion's chalky cliffs and? coral islands of the sea are monump'nt a . testation.'-[Professor Richard A ff ? in the Coruhill Magazine. roctor

NEAREST THE FIRE.

During the setting of a court in Com^ti cut, not long ago, on a very cold evenine , crowd of lawyers had collected round ti open fire that ? blazed cheerfully on th hearth in the bar-room, when a travels entered, benumbed with cold, but noon* moved to give him room to warm his shins so he leaned against the wall in the back part of the room. ' '

Presently a smart limb of the law addres sed him, and the following dialogue took place: ' You look like a traveler.' ' Wall, I suppose lam ; I come all the way from Wisconsin a foot, at any rate.' ' From Wisconsin ? What a distance to come on a pair of legs !' ( Wall, I done it anyhow.' • Did you ever pa*s through hell in anyof your travels ?'

' Yes, sir ; I've passed through the out skirts.'

' I thought likely. Well, what are the manners and customs there ? some of us would like to know.'

' Oh, you'll find them much the same as in this place. The lawyeis sit nearest the fire.'

Reconciliation.

Tliero is an institution in Germany, Ten little known in this country, which relates to what the Germans call ' Suehneversuche1 or attempts at reconciliation, the objecti: it being the reconciliation of married peopls who find there is a want of affinity between them, or Avho are dissatisfied with the matrimonial yoke for any other cause. The law upon the subject, which was passed in 1844, provides that every demand forsepeta tion or divorce must be preceded by an appeal of both man and wife to either a clerical or lay authority to undertake the ' suehene,' or reconciliation. It is the clergyman's duty to see the husband first, then the wife, and then both together, and use every effort in his power to bring abont reconciliation. Some statistical reports recently issued by the Royal Office at Berlin show just how far reconciliation has suc ceeded. The folloAving is the substance o the showing : 1. Total number of married couples de siring a separation ; Year 1873, 7,325; 1874 7,430.

2. Number of couples reconciled or not by clergyman : Not ■ Casei Year. Reconciled, reconciled, pending 1573 2,829 3,377 ... I,ll£ 1874 2,GSS 3,700 ... 1,042 3. Number of couples Avho being recon 'tiled, desired a separation : Year 1873, 603: 1574, 502. 4. Number of couples reconciled or noi a second time by clergymen : Not . Case Year. Reconciled, reconciled, pending 1873 196 267 14 1874 156 240 ... ... 101 Considering the prosperous condition o the divorce business in this country, wh; would it not be "well to introduce the Ger man ' Suehncvcrsuche' here, and test it efficacy V

Old UNKNOWN in Parisian Society.

There is one feature that seldom fails t strike an American observer as odd iii tliesi official entertainments and that is, th« number of old women who participat therein, not as spectators, but as tictua performers. Venerable dames of 50 and 6C with their poor old bones well bared to tto public gaze, and with lilies and roses i their dyed tresses, fly panting through th maze of the waltz or gallop, while damsel of 17 sit around the room and look atthci the old women of the French society form to American eyes, an unlovely and indeed ous spectacle. They delighted in displaj ing their fleshless or overflesliy arms an< shoulders in the lowest corsages, they vet palecolorod silks and bright-hind flowtt; and they dance away like mad ■vvheneve they get a chance. American society he often been criticised for the predonrinanc of the youthful element. But youth shoiil do the dancing, and let the middle-age an old age do the chaperoning and the lookm on. A still blooming matron of 45, in blae velvet and diamonds, renewing the triumpß of her girlhood in the person of her clang* ter, may it is true have retired into th backgrounds too soon. But she is aploai anter sight to contemplate than one woul be if, dressed in a Avhite tulle, with pi" roses in her hair, she went gambolin around by the sidejof that daiighter throng the mazes of the German, in accordanc with French style.

'Mother,' said Mary, 'I can't mak Henry put his figures as I tell him.' *B patient, my dear, and do not speaks sharply.' 'But he won't let me tell hl how to put his figures, and he does no know how to do it himself,' said Mar very pettishly. ' Well, my dear, if Henr won't learn a lesson in figures, suppose yo teach him one in patience. This is hardt teach, and harder to learn than any lesso in figures; and perhaps when yon >&v learned this, the other will be easier _» both of you.' Mary hung her head,*1 she felt, that it was a shame to any Iwi girl to be fretted by such a little this?, o indeed, by anything, and she b%? j,n ' think that perhaps she deserveji to ' blamed as well as Henry.

An old lady, the other dsgfr ' was to! that eight mules were killed by lighthffl in an adjoining country. 4 Gto«x j gracious she exclaimed, clasping her. Itw jids over 1« head, ' I felt in my bones. t } iat somcthm had happened to John !' ' It is very difficult to livf / said asm with seven girls, all ia genteel poverty 'Yon must husband yo'jr resources,' sal1 a sage friend. ' I'd rat'jer husband sOID of my daughters,' answered the widow.

A young man who, was paying his j^ dresses to two youiy^ ladies during the to"** mer, concluded to, confine liis visits to ori< this Winter, but found much difficulty'" deciding which One to discard. Having A eye to comfort, he finally resolved to m* tho ono whoso father had put in the IMS 6'? Mtookofcoal. It is a hard thing to find an oldmtuW doesn't look Under the bed for robbers IJW still harder to fiud a man who QW W*1; 1!. sfcfttiyg U u-jul make ttWjty

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY. MARCH 17, 1877

6



' You didn't laugh at my stupidity before we were married ; you always said t was "■ duck of a lover/ grumbled a complaining husband. 'Yes, that's so/ replin.l the wjie, and a duck of a lover i« almost; sure fc nvtfse a. gpose of $ husbanoV