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BY PHOEBE CARY. O men ! grown sick with toil and care, Leave ior awhile the crowded mart; O woman sinking with despair, We-iry of limb and faint ot heart. Forget your cares to-day, and come As children back to childhood’s home ! Follow again the winding rills; Go to the places where you went, When climbing up the summer hills, In their green lap you sat content; And suit I v leaned your head to rest On nature's calm and peaceful breast. Walk through the sere and fading wood, Ho lightly trodden by your feet: When a'l you knew of life was good, And all you dreamed of life was sweet. And jet fond memory lead you back, O'er youthful love’s enchanted track. Taste the ripe fruit of orchard bows, Drink from the mossy well once more; .Breathe fragrance from the crowded mows, With fresh, sweet clover running o’er; And count the treasures at your feet, Of s lvery tye and golden wheat. Go sit beside the hearth again, Wnose circle once was glad and gay; And if from out the precious chain Some shining links have dropped away. Then guard with tenderer heart and hand, The remnant of your household band. Draw near the bonrd with plenty spread, And it in the accustomed place You see the father s reverend head, Or mother’s patient, loving face, w hate’er your life may have of ill, Thank God that these are left you still. And though where home hath been, you stand To-day in alien loneliness; Though you may clasp no brother’s hand, And claim no sister's tender kiss: Though with no friend or lover nigh, xhe past is all your company— Thank God for friends your life has known, For every dear, departed day: The blessed past is safe alone— God gives, but does not take away; He only safely keeps above For us the treasures that we love. THANKSGIVING AT WILLIAM’S. BY HERBERT NEWBURY. ‘‘Not much lor which to be thank ful !” Mrs. Drew did not say it; she only thought it as she went about her preparations for the festival so dear to New England. “Joseph’s folks” were coming to Thanksgiving, so ev erything must be in tip-top order, woman’s magic wand was yet to bring forth the feast of fat things from the chaos of materials. And the woman of the wand, poor Mrs. William Drew, was aweary of the way since last she mixed meat pie with especial reference to the taste or her husband’s brother’s family. “You’ll need an extra quantity of sugar, this year, won’t you wife ?” queried Mr. Drew, with dry humor, noticing her sour face. “Yea, sweets for Joseph’s folks,” she replied, sententiously. Mr. Drew turned away and thought it over sadly, not bitterly. It was hard. Joseph’s ship had sailed over smooth seas that year. His business had prospered, his family had been in health; in short, they had everything for which to be thankful, while life had gone hard at the old place, where our Mrs. Drew presided. Tne crops had been cut off by bugs, worms and drought. Five hundred dollars saved by patient industry and economy, and carefully invested as a neat egg, was smashed—lost. Someone of the family had been sick most of the time, and, worst of all, dear little Philip had broken his wrist so badly that the doctor feared it would always be stiff. William Drew truly loved his brother Joseph, and Mrs. William as truly “thought a great deal of him and all his folks;” yet it was not in spiring work for the tired and troubled ones, with aching heads and hearts and bones, to furnish forth the annual feast to fortune’s favorites. It was, in fact, quite a triumph of Christian grace that the usual invita tion had been extended and all hint of kaid times at the faim withheld. “Wife,” said Mr. Drew, alter his thinning and after dinner, “you look kind of tired out. I’ve got some busi ness ever to the Corner, this after noon; suppose you let the work go and ride over with me, just for the change and to take the air.” “That’s just like a man,” replied Mrs. Drew, “to think a woman can leave her work to do itself, and get any good out of it. What should I come back to if I go but a sink full of dirty dishes, supper to get and a batch of mince pies not cooked, which ought to be ail done off and set away.” Tnough the wife thus spoke, there was a look in the eyes she raised to her husband’s which said, “Thank you, though, for asking me.” “But you’ll go because I ask you to this time,” urged the husband. “The pies wih keep, and Nell and Joe will wash or break the dishes for you, won’t you, children f” Nell and Joe agreed to do it, and their mother reluctantly changed her dress and went. It was a lovely Indian summer day, and tfith a spirit somewhat soothed by her husband’s kindness and by nature’s ministry Mrs. Drew spoke out, which was much better than sul len thinking. “William, I expect we shall have more tribulations yet, I’m eo unreconciled to losing the money and the crops, and to poor, dear Philip’s hurt wrist, and, to tell the whole truth, to having to work day and night to get Thanksgiving, when there’s not much to be thankful for, and invite Joseph’s folks to it, though I do admit 1 like your rich relations first rate.” “Tney never put on airs, Joseph’s folk’s don’t,” replied William. “They just delight to get ‘home’ to the old place. ‘O’d Oaken Bucket,’ you know, wife ?” “A pump to the sink would be more to my mind,” she replied, with a twinkle in her tine eyes, which told the husband she was feeling much bet ter. “Isn’t that cur hired man, Pat, ahead of us, with a wagon full of bas kets ?” asked Mrs. Drew; as they came to a turn in the road. “Yes, ’tis. And that lets the cat out of the bag, so to speak, wife, for it lets out. my business at the Corner, which isn’t my business so much as that of our Good Will Society. You wasn’t at the meetings, owing to our trials, and I thought I wouldn't tell _you, till you concluded you could go, that we were chosen committee to distribute a basket to each of the poor families at the Corner. Most all of cur village folks have made up a basket and 1 put in a good, fat tur key for ours, though the society thought it would be our part to furn ish team and distribute. Will you like it, wife ? I thought it would be refreshing to you to have a change of work.” “I don’t know,” she replied, du biously; as they alighted before a very untidy door, whicfi was opened to them by a half-clad, old looking child of five years. “Where’s your mother, little girl ?” asked Mr. Drew, selecting a basket from Pat’s wagon and going in. “In there. Sne’s sick.” It was a dark little bed room, open ing from the comfortless kitchen, in which lay the woman, chained with rheumatism, whose husband, often intoxicated, scarcely provided his family with enough to sustain life. “I concluded cooked provisions were best for this market,” said Mr. Drew, opening the basket and produc ing cold meat, butter, and pies, of which both the mother and the child ate with eager hunger. “They must have fire and nursing, and other comforts than this,” ex claimed Mrs. Drew, when her husband told her they must hasten. “Perhaps we can send someone hereto help from the places at which we call,” he said, “but you will find worse misery than this which we must leave with only a touch of help.” They did find sin and sorrow, sick ness and bereavement, anguish of body and of spirit, all made harder yet to bear by the absence of what are called the comforts of life. There is not space, nor is it needful, to give the harrowing details of sin and pov erty. The reader who will go with baskets as Mr. and Mrs. Drew went, may see for himself. “It has tired you more instead of resting you,” raid the good husband, in response to his wife’s silence as they rode home. “I might have known better than have let you see so much suffering.” “It was well to take me, William,” she replied. “I’m reconciled. What’s the loss of a little money, and part of a year’s crops, and why shouldn’t we have our share of sick ness and accidents ? We’ve so much for which to be thankful.” “Each other, for instance.” “Yes, William,” with a fond glance from the beantitul eyes, “and the children safe through the measles, and all well now excepting poor dear Philip’s wrist, which fortunately is the left one, and not so bad after all. We ought to be thankful that fall did not break his neck or his back. And I’m ~lad Joseph’s folks are coming; it always brightens us up, and our chil dren are going there to Christmas. But what are you stopping at Widow Hand’s for, we’re full late now ?” “Well, I engaged Rebecca Hand to work for you till after Thanksgiving, and I want to tell her to be all ready to get in with Pat when he comes by.” “But, W T illiam, Rebecca is a real smart girl and gets high wages; we can’t afford to pay it.” “Then if you must know all the truth, Joseph wrote me to secure her for them and let her help you till she goes home with them. You know it means he will pay all the wages in spite of anything I do to the con trary.” “There’s a doctor here, one Uncle Joseph has sent out to see Phil’s wrist,” reported Nell, coming out to meet her parents. “He Stopped for our doctor and they came together in a coach with a black diiver in white gloves, and they have undone the bandages and got off all the splints—” Mrs. Drew heard no more; rusaiag in with a white face, and gathering Philip into her own loving arms. “You’re not going to tell me it is set wrong, and put the child to new tor tures !” she cried, forgetting the hos tess in the mother, and defiantly facing the city physician, who knew mothers well, and smiled as he re plied, “You have great cause for thankfulness. It might have been badly treated, and needed resetting; but your good doctor has it right in essentials, and it is only getting stiff for lack of use. You have but to throw away the splints which have done their work, rub the whole limb frequently with this liniment, and en courage the child to use it, and his wrist will, in a few weeks or months, be quite well.” “What an ungrateful sinner I have been, William ! Won’t we have a Thanksgiving when Joseph’s folks come !” was the mother’s irrelevant reply to the doctor’s good news. 4 Madam,” said he, “I notice a re markable fact in my practice; folks whose bones have been broken are the only ones thankful for their whole bones. Now, little mother”— he spoke to Nell—“if you will hand me that work-basket, 1 will give you just the needle with which you are to fasten this bandage, which, mind you, will only be needed a few days long er.” Observant little Nell wondered that the doctor went to the window to se lect a needle for so simple a use. Tnat however, was explained the next day, when Mrs. Drew found a five-hundred-dollar United States bond carefully pinned to a leaf of her needle book; but faithful research failed to reveal whether the doctor thus left a liberal fee given him by the uncle, or was simply the bearer of the gift, indeed, wbetner it was not the deed of angel fingers. One thing is certain, Joseph’s folks and William’s folks had a happy time Thanksgiving that year at the old homestead, where anew illuminated motto, wrought in gold, and silver, and azure by Joseph’s eldest daughter, laughed and winked in the light of the hickory fire; and what it said was, “Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.” Customer— “l see eggs have gone up again. Wnat keeps raising them so?” Affable Grocer—“ Lord bless you, ma’am, there’s fellows out there in Tewkeburjr that don’t do nawthin else but raise ’m.”— [Lowell Citizen. ROOM AT THE TOR. There is talk in Albany of erecting a monument to the late Prof. Park huret, the musician. Joseph Chamberlain, the Brit ish statesman, describes himself as “a diplomatist, not a politician,” and adds that he is “a tried yachtsman.” In his lecture on “The Human Washington,” the Rev. Dr. Edward Everett Hale says he believes the famous cherry-tree and hatchet story to be true. John Smith is a famous old stage driver, aged 90 years, now living at Fryeburg, Me., who is said to have driven miles enough to belt the earth nine times. William D. Howells’ prejudice against hanging need occasion no sur prise to those who have studied his novels. He never keeps even his read ers in suspense. Sir Arthur Sullivan is at work on the score of a grand opera to be called ‘‘Mary Stuart.” It will be produced in London this season, with Mme. Albani in the title role. The Emperor and Empress of Bra zil art going to visit Palestine. She goes purely in the spirit of a pious pilgrim, and he is inspired by a mix ture of religious and scientific motives. The full name and title of “Owen Meredith,” who succeeds Lord Lyons as British ambassador at Pans, is the Rt. Hon. Edward Robert Lytton Bulwer Lytton, G. C. 8,, G. C. S. 1.. C. I. E. Pastor Valdemar Thisted, author of tae well-known “Letters from Hell,” is dead. He was born in Jut land in 1815, and since 1862 had been parish priest of Tommerup in Zealand. Prof. Godet is compelled by illness to resign his chair in the Theological College of Neuchatel. If he regains his health he will devote himself to the completion of some important exegefc ic.al works already begun by him. King Ja Ja, the African monarch deposed by the English authorities for attempting to get up a corner in palm oil, has been sent as a state prisoner to London. He is at present confined in the baggage-room of one of the hotels, and the British Colonial office are wondering what on earth they are to do with nim. Senorita Matilde Montoya is the first Mexican girl to become a doctor. A committee of young men of the City of Mexico got up a bull-fight in honor of her courage and devoted the pro ceeds to the purchase of books and instruments lor her. In the bull-fight two of the torreros were hurt, one of them seriously, but the young senoiita took the purse and graduated with credit. Mr. Beresford-Hope was very absent-minded. It is told that once when a visitor called at his house Mr. Beresford-Hope came to meet him, shook him warmly by the hand, as sured him that he was glad to see him, and then, when the conversation ought to have begun, turned his back upon him and apparently resumed some meditations which had been in terrupted by the arrival of a guest. John F. Cook, collector of taxes, is probably the wealthiest colored man in Washington. He purchased a large lot at the corner ot Sixteenth and K Streets when it was worth only a few cents a square foot. It is now worth a email fortune at current prices. Mr. Cook lives in a small white house on this property. He re fuses to sell out, and the value of his ground is increasing all the time. Mice in The Minister’s Pocket. From the St. Paul Globe. Everybody has heard Daniel Web ster’s story of the New Hampshire parson who put on a pair of trousers in which the wasps had built a nest, and did not make the discovery until he was in the pulpit. He had just an nounced the beginning of the text, ‘•The spirit of the Lord is in my mouth”—when the pesky little ft-llows got in their work, and the sentence was concluded with the exclamation, “and the devil is in my breeches.” A St. Paul clergyman found himself in nearly as embarrassing position as the New Hampshire parson when last Sunday he appeared in the pulpit, wearing a pair of fall trousers which had been hanging in the wardrobe dur ing the long summer vacation. The wasps had not found him out, but a motherly old mouse had. She had spread a nice, warm couch of sealskin pluckkjgs in the right band pocket of 'the trousers, into which an even half dozen of one-day-old micelets had been tucked away. It is a favorite gesture of the clergyman in question, when about to approach a climax in the sermon, to thrust his right hand in his trouser pocket and elevate the left with the forefinger extended. It so happened on this particular day that Elijah’s translation was the theme. The good prophet had been followed by the eloquent preacher un til the climax of the ascension in a chariot of fire had been reached, when the clergyman thrust his right hand into his trouser pocket. The audience, who had been hanging on the burning words of the orator, were no little startled by the sudden collapse of the uplifted left hand, the index finger or which was in the act of pointing to the gates that were being lifted up to let the prophet in. The expression of a mo mentary pang shot across the preach er’s face as wiih a convulsive jerk the other hand was brought up from the pocket. A glance at its contents, a quick squeezing together of the hand, tne light t hud of something dropping behind the pulpit, an amused smile on the face for a second an i then the glowing theme was resumed. Only those who sat on the front row in the amen corner heard what the preacher said when he discovered the mice in his hand. “Weil, I’ll be doggoned!” was sufficient. He Read. His Commission. A writer in the Cosmopolitan says that when Sumter was tired upon, a naval officer, a South Carolinian, who was an intense admirer of Charles Sumner, went to him in great trouble. “What shall I do,” he asked, “if my ship is ordered to the South to coerce my own people?” “Read your com mission, sir,” was the answer. “But, suppose my ship is ordered to Charles ton?” “Read your commission, sir.” “But, suppose she ranges her broad sides against the city of my birth?” “Read your commission, sir,” was again the answer. “But, Senator, what if I am ordered to fire or my father’s plantation?” “Read your commission, sir,” again thunderetuhe Senator. The officer is alive to-day. He did not turn traitor; and he was spared the pain of firing upon the city ot his birth. HOUSEWIFELY MATTERS. RICE WAFFLES. Boil half a pint of rice and let it get cold, mix with one-fourth pound of butter and a little salt, stir in one and one-half pints of flour, beat five eggs separately, add yolks together with one quart of milk, lastly the well-beaten whites. Beat well and bake at once in waffle irons. FLOUR GEMS. One egg, one tablespoonful of sugar, two tablespoonfuls of butter, one and ene-half cupfuls of sweet milk, three teaspoonfuls of baking powder, two and one-haif cupfuls of flour. Beat well, have your gem pan hot and but tered. Pour in and bake quick. RICE PUDDING WITHOUT EGGS. Two quarts of milk, two-thirds c! a cup of rice, same of sugar, small piece of butter and a little salt; stir occa sionally on the stove until boiling hot, then put in a slow oven and cook un til the consistency of cream. WHITE CAKE. Two cups of sugar, one cup of but ter beaten very light, one cup sweet milk, three and one-half cups of flour, two tablespoonfuls of cream of tar tar and one of soda. Flavor with bitter almonds or vanilla. MOCK SAUSAGE. Soak dry bread in water. Take as much cold meat, chopped fine, as you have bread. Mix, and season with salt, pepper and sage. Make into small cakes and fry in hot lard. BEEF CAKES. Cut cold beef in slices and soak in vinegar over night, then dip in beaten egg seasonbd with salt acd nutmeg, roll in dry bread crumbs and fry in butter to a nice brown. GINGERBREAD. One cup of molasses, one-half cup of butter, two tablespoonfuls of wa ter, one teaspoonful of soda, flour enough to mould. Roll out thin and bake in a quick oven. COCOANUT PUDDING. One pint of milk, one grated cocoa nut, four well-beaten eggs, two table spoonfuls ot butter melted and sugar to taste. Bake a light brown. hominy croquettes. To onequart of boiling water add a teaspoontul of salt; stir in gradually a heaping half-pint of the finest hominy; boil three-quarters of an hour, acd put it on the back of the range where it will remain hot an hour longer; then put in a large bowl and add the beaten yolks of two eggs,mix it thorougfily and when cold shape into cones; dip the cones in beaten egg, roll in crumbs and fry in boiling fat. GOOD DARK CAKE. Pour one quart of boiling water over one pound of fat salt pork chopped very tine, add one pint of molasses, one pound of brown sugar, one tablespoonful of salt, cinnamon, allspice and cloves, two grated nut megs, six well-beaten eggs, one table spoontul of soda dissolved in a little warm water, flour enough to make a stiff bat er, one pound each of cur rants and raisins well floured. Stir all together thoroughly. Put in two medium sized sheet-iron pans well greased and bake in a slow oven three hours. BLACK SPICE CAKE. The yolks of four eggs; mix two and one-half teaspoonfuls of baking pow der in two and one-half cups of flour, one cup of brown sugar, one-half cup of syrup, one-half cup of milk, one-half cup of butter;the butter must be melted after being measured and stirred with the sugar; two and one-haif teaspoon fuls of powdered cloves, one teaspoon ful of cinnamon, the same of allspice; the spices must be put in the flour, the syrup added after the sugar and butter are stirred together; then the eggs and milk; lastly the flour. A Museum of Religion. Paris Dispatch to the London Daily Telegraph. Parisians who, in these latter days, at least, are not remarkable for the depth or fervor of their religious feel ings, are about to Dave a museum of religions. The founder of this remark able and interesting institution is aM. Guimet. The building is the in Grseco- Roman style of architecture, and with its pillared porticoes, its rotunda, its columns, and its caryatides, looks like an ancient temple. It is situated near the Trocadero, at a corner of the Avenue d’ Jena. The edifice has been constructed after designs which were taken from the last mosaics discov ered at Pompeii. The religions of Greece and Rome are more strongly represent ed, and in the northern gallerj’ is an atrium which is to contain the altar of a pagan divinity copied from an original model. In the lateral galleries will be exhibited objects appertaining to the religions of Egypt, India and China. In a garden attached to the building there is to be placed a large conservatory and a pond containing plants consecrated to religious uses. It is stated that the museum will be opened to the public in a few weeks. The Community’s Chance. From the O’Neil (Neb.) Free Press. Very often you hear some man or woman say: “That editor don’t know how to run a newspaper; I just wish I had a chance.” Weil, here is an opportunity for all. We are going away for a few weeks, and this page will be edited by the whole town. If you want to write for it just roll up your sleeves and wade in. Hand the copy in to the boys. So far os possi ble we will waive all responsibility. Let’s see what you can do. Such a chance will probably never again be offered you.” THANKSGIVING DAY BY ELLA W. RICKER. There’s not a flower In the field, The skies are cold and gray, And yet, of all the happy year, This Is the blithest day. For Grandma stands beside the hearth With loving arms spread wide, And Grandpa lifts upon his knee Each household’s pet and pride From walls long silent echo back T.ie children’s merry noise, And Auntie’s treasures are displayed To troops of girls and boys; While Mother drops the matron's cares Miid stacks the guiding rein, Content within her father’s house To be a child again. How gayly rings the laughter out Around the lestal board ! How swiftly pass the laden plates With richest dainties stored ! Home claims its wanderers once more By filial bonds held fast, Love rules the hour and hope’s bright ray Is o’er the future cast. CURIOUS FIRES. Singular Instances of Spontaneous Com bustion Accounted For. From Fire and Water. Scarcely a month passes that care* ful investigation intotne causes of tires does not reveal some new hazard of greater or less importance, or make known instances of the starting of fires under circumstances hitherto considered impossible. Cotton in bales has always been supposed to be free from spontaneous combustion until lately when a case was discovered in the store-house in Northern New Jersey. A number of bales of Sea Island cotton stored there were found to be on fire, and when it was extinguished in one spot it would break out in another. A careful ex amination of the cotton and its con dition showed that it was roller gin cotton— that is cotton which has not been run through a gang of saws, after the method of Eli Whitney, but the lint had been drawn away from the seed by a pair of rolls, one large and one small, set at just the distance to keep the seeds from passing through, while the fibre passes on and goes into a bag. It was found in this lot of cotton that some of the seeds had passed into the rolls and been cracked, which caused the oil to exude, saturating the fibre, which was thus by the time it arrived in the North in the proper condition for spontaneous combus tion. Careful and extensive inquiry among Northern mills tailed to reveal any other such case, and therefore it can hardly be taken as a strong objec tion against the use of roller gins in general. The ordinary roller gin is practically a prehistoric tool, as it has been in use since cotton was known in ancient India. It is not nearly so fast as the ordinary saw gin, but is said to do its work some what better and with the least possi ble injury to the fibre, and to be there fore preferred for Sea Island cotton, which is of long fibre, and almost double the value of the ordinary grades. Another carious fire was that which occurred in a knife factory in Massa chusetts. In the middle of a room a small milling machine was working on wood handles of knives. The dust or small fragments of the wood which were ground off were drawn up through a metal tube about one foot in diameter by a blow er in the room above, and thence forced through a wooden pipe out in to the air. A spark from an emery wheel, 15 feet away, from the milling machine, struck a window 20 feet away, and glancing back entered the mouth of the metal tube and set the hardwood dust on fire, a stream of which 20 feet in length poured out of the wooden pipe Into the air. The alarm was given by peo- Ele outside, the workmen in the room eing entirely unaware of any fire. Another peculiar instance was a fire started by some cotton waste which an engineer in cleaning up a cotton mill put in the front of a boiler where it would be convenient for the firemen to burn in the morning. During the night the waste got on fire from spontaneous combustion and succeed ed in raising sufficient steam to cause the blower to blow off, very thorough ly scaring the watchman who naturally thought the boiler, which he knew had been left without a fire, was going to explode. Still another singular case was that of a fire caused in the picker room of a jute mill by a man driving a nail in the ceiling. The nail glanced off and was struck by the rapidly moving beaters, and the sparks which were caused thereby led to a serious blaze. A Guest of the Ameer of Bokhara. Letter to the St. Petersburg Viedemosti. The interior of the palace of the Ameer of Bokhara is very simple, luxuriousnesa being only shown in costly carpets and the presence of a large staff of servants. The walls are not decorated. In the audience hall there are two wardrobes, with mirrors, and in one corner a marble statue of Psyche. A long table occu pied the center of the dining room, covered with a red silk tablecloth. Lackeys in turbans served the Bokha ran visitors with green tea in china cups, and the Russian guests were treated to black tea in tumblers, after tea dinner was served, consisting of soup, meat and eggs. The Ameer, on ascending to the throne, disposed of all the valuables bequeathed to him by his father, including presents from the Russian court. The purchasers were rich local Jews, who bought the articles at a very low price. The cor respondent states that it is not of rare occurrence to see watches set in dia monds and parts of emerald services in the bazar and in private hands offered for sale at comparatively low prices. Making Tea. From Good Housekeeping. But not many days ago I found a new and better way of making tea, and that the tea question should ever be stirred up and need settling once again surprised me. Mother’s way of making it had seemed unquestionable at first: One teaspoonful of tea, one capful of boiling water; steeped, not boiled, five minutes. But night after night there floated on my husband’s cup one, two or a do ten tiny particles of stem and leaf, until, a strainer there must be, but “a pretty silver one,” I said, “and I will wait till Christmas.” Then came my best of husbands to the rescue with a mild suggestion; for he is long-suffering, and neither demands improvement or finds fault with pres ent methods in my housekeeping. He proposed teaching me his mother’s way of making tea. It was to use the same proportion as before but not to pcur the whole amount of boiling water on the leaves until they have first steeped in just enough to cover them, three minutes. Then add the amount of water required, and serve. If the water really boils there will be no “floaters.” By the now rule, found in our daily paper, tea is made with cold water and is intended to be used iced in tumblers. But accidentally we have discovered that it makes superior hot tea also. Four or five hours before using, pour one cupful of cold water over a teaspoonful of tea leaves. At tea time strain and serve as iced tea, or heated in the teapot. The strain ing before beating gives unusual deli cacy to the flavor. Iced Linen. From the Boston Transcript. The excellent Freshleigh, whose pret ty little surburban home is the admir ation of all his neighbors, and whose daily attire, in its spick-and-span neatness and excellence of taste, is in harmony with the dainty elegance of his domicile, was a victim last week of a very odd mishap. The curtain rose upon the little comedy on Thursday afternoon, when Mrs. Freshleigh, be ing in the act of sallying forth from the house to take a train for town, met the driver of a laundry delivery wagon at the gate, with Preshleigh’s washing for the week. Mrs. Fresh leigh always likes to attend to her husband’s washing herself when it arrives; but she was in a hurry, and told the laundry man to go around to the back door and leave the par cel with the girl. He did so, and Mrs. Freshleigh went on. Now, it happens that Mrs. Freshleigh’s maid-of-all work is a very recent arrival from Ireland, and is entirely green in the ways of American civilization. She always does, however, as she is told, as nearly as she can; and sue fol lowed certain general orders in the disposition of this parcel. Saturday afternoon Freshleigh came home, and as he was going out in the evening he had occasion to use some of his clean linen. He looked in its accustomed place but it was not there. He ransacked the room, and then consulted Mrs. Freshleigh. She remembered that she had not seen the parcel since she sent it around to Jo hanna to take care of Thursday after noon. So Johanna was interpellat ed. “Wh*t did you do with Mr. Fresh leigh’s laundry parcel, Johanna?” “Fhwat ia’ndry parcel, mum?” “The package that was sent around to tne back door Tnurday after noon.” Johanna seized the point of her chin with her thumb and forefinger, and meditated. “Sure, mum,” said she presently, “I put it in the ice-box, where ye told me to put all the shtuff!” Mrs. Freshleigh made a rush for the refrigerator, where she found her lord and master’s linen calmly reposing on a large block of ice, in a thoroughly soaked condition. A High Rolling Game of Poker. From the Oil City Derrick. Charles Lobaugh, wno is now farm ing in Warren County, was in the city yesterday and said to a Derrick re porter: “I see you are printing queer things that happened in the oil re gions. I was at Petroleum Center when old Benninghoff was robbed of $250,000 in cash that he got out of his oil farm. As near as the detec tives could figure it out, there were five men engaged in that robbery, which would be a dividend of $50,000 for each. I saw a man afterwards, who was suspected of being concerned in the big steal, lose $25,000 in one night at poker and keno. This was some two months after the robbery, and when the detectives were chasing around the country after the robbers. The police at Petroleum Center sus pected this fellow, but there was no evidence whatever against him except that he was a sport who lived high and did nothing. I was in a gam bling saloon at the Center one night when this sport was rolling high. He paid his losses in cash as long as his roll lasted, and then gave checks which were freely accepted. John Wilson, who killed himself in Cincin nati, won $5,000 from him on a wa ger concerning the pedigree of a trot ting horse owned in Rochester, and got the money in cash. After he dropped the $25,000 he disappeared from the Center. This confirmed the suspicion of the police that he had a hand in robbing Benninghoff. Search was made tor him, but without suc cess, and from that day to this he never turned up.” A Curious Coincidence. From the San Benito Advance. A curious coincidence happened to the two young sons of Mr. Sceigleman, of Paiaro Valley, two weeks ago. One of the brothers was at home upon his father’s ranch, and, in getting over a fence, caught his pants and fell to the ground, breaking one of the bones of his right arm. The same week his brother was visiting at Hugh French’s home, in the Comstock District, in this county, and, while returning from an errand, the lad caught his pants on a picket standing in the road and fell to the ground, breaking the bones of his wrist. The two lads were forty miles apart at the time of the acci dents. Both are recovering. Prof. P. A. Byerly has a little boy of four years named Harry. He is very pretty (takes after his mother). The other day Harry was scribbling away (going through the forms of let ter writing), and when asked what he was doing Ue said: “I am doing what pa is all thetime doing; I’m writing to the brethren about the money.”— ] Richmond Religious Herald.