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UNDER THE WHLOWS.
BY ATTVK ,BIMBOS* Do wd by tho dour old "Hallow stream. Where wo played together uudor the willow Grew Vwect wild flowers of every hue, GeuUy breathing rich porfumoou the wandering We thought, no placo so blight and gay Aa that familiar spot, where sunbeams eould not peep, And lazy buUerflea reclined On luxuriant beds of white clover- fast u-leep. The mocking birds from leafy realms, Trilled sweetest melodi- s from their silver lined throat h. While wo nut on the in ssy bank, Bending across tho crytul Htrouingay little boats. Under the pale green w i 1 low t roes, Wher* wo were free as tho birds, and pleasures were rife. You gave to me tho promise true That iu years to come you would be my bonnie wifo. Ah! those were balmy, halcyon days, When wo played tegeth by Ine rippling stream, Drtaining happ\ "• away, Listening to tho hoft quivering notes of love b young dream. DURHAM, N. C. A NOVEL COURTSHIP. BY D WIGHT BALDWIN. Pf EADING the fashion column. Miss Vane?" "Indeed I am not." "That all gills are alike. Well, Mr. Gean A rnott, for once you arc mistaken. I diffes in many respects from the giddy-headed ma f jority of my sex." Viola Vane, pretty, petite, and just a trifle inclined to be pert, closed the literary and society journal she had been reading and "AT THE APPOINTED TIME THE YOUNG LAWYER APPEARED, WITH THE PERIODICAL IN HIS DAND^ turned her vivacious lace and sparkling, black eyes upon the handsome young man who stood before the rustic bench' in the grounds surrounding her father's elegant mansion. "I'm glad to learn that my opinion is not well founded." "I received this paper two good hours ago," smiled the young lady, at the same time pointing to a vacant space , on the bench beside her. "I see. And you have already made the fashion department your own ?" | "Entirely, and I've at last decided ■on the style of the new gown that father brought me from Paris, ami ! that I never would have made up. Awfully nice, isn't it?" "Decidedly. But what were you reading so interestedly?" "The opening chapters—you won't ' laugh at me, I'm sure —the opening ] chapters of a new serial novel by Mai I com Graeme, whoever ho may be." "And you like it?" "Better than Bob Boy, with dashing Di Vernon, my favorite heroine." "Tell me something about it, please." j "Gladys Bowlaud, the heroiue, is a beautiful young lady with hosts of ad- i mirers. She likes them all, but lias no idea of tying herself to any one of them." "What did you say her name was?" "Gladys Bowland. Why?" "I thought it might have been Viola Vane." "You have the hardihood to flatter me, have you ?" "Nothing could have been further from my thoughts. I had the uufor- 1 tunate admirers in mind." "Then you call me a coquette?" The eyes of the little maiden were snapping with a suggestion of anger BOW, "By no means. The fair Gladys is fchat, I trust ?" "N-n-o. She's exactly my ideal of a girl." "And has she uo preference?" "Yes. She likes the artist the best of all, but will never marrj him." "And why not?" "Because he is so persistent." J "Then you I mean she—don't ad mire constancy ?" "Yes, we do, both of us, until it be comes obstinacy." Gean Arnott winced a little at this reply, which was emphasized a lit tle by a toss of the fair head of the speaker. Gean was a young lawyer with a small practice, but a fine education, sterling common sense, and a determi nation to rise in his profession. He had loved Viola Vane as long as he had known lier, plus the twenty minutes lie had been obliged to wait for an introduction. This had been over a year now, and all that time he had been a most ardent suitor for her hand. More than once she had refused him, but always in away that left him some ground to hope for ultimate sue cess. In this he was encouraged by the knowledge that, though he had twenty rivals, at least, no one of them was more favored than himself. "Then you think she will not wed the artist ?" queried he, after a mo mentary silence. "I'm sure of it. She has too much character to marry any one." "But this is a novel, and the princi pal attraction of that department of fiction is the mystery surrounding tho denouement." "True; but the author, who, not-, witlio+amlinar th rn*R#>nline nom do plume, must be a lady, writes so ar tistically, so absolutely true to nature, that the ending you suggest is simply impossible She might cause her hero ine to enter a convent, commit suicide or even go on the stage, but, for marrying " Volatile Viola Vane broke off sud denly, and completed the sentence with a light laugh and an incredulous shake of the head calculated to settle the ]K)int, and ling down the curtain upon the entire subject. "Will you do me a great favor?" asked Gean. "Gladly, provided it is not too great j ft one," I "You must judge. I want you to read to me the opening installment of this story, with its captivating hero ine." "Most willingly, only yon must not expect any elocutionary effects." With this the fair girl opened the journal, and, in a well-modulated voice, instinct with feeling, proceeded to re buke her own modest disclaimer of elocutionary ability by reading the three chapters in the highest style of art. "You have not exaggerated your hero ine," declared the young lawyer, en thusiastically, when the eud was reached. "She is mine as well as yours. Onlv " "Well?" "Only I thiuk she cannot find hap piness in love and marriage." "Nonsense!" I "And if the author is as true to na ture as you think him-—or her, rather— Miss Gladys will fall iu lovo with the artist." "She never w ill!" cried Viola, spring ing excitedly to her feet. "I am quite confident that my judg ment is correct." "How can you be right when I know that you are wrong?" The vivacious girl fairly snapped out? this question, all the more unanswer able because bristling with true fem inine logic. Gean felt the force of it, and bowed in acknowledgment of the same. "Then you admit it?" she asked, slightly mollified by his polite action. "I acknowledge that you are light." "Thank you." "But at* the same time! think cir cumstances might arise which would render mo right, in which event neither of ns would be wrong." "That's an absurdity!" "Not a bit of it. There is a vast deal of human nature in man, and in woman as well. I am bound to admit that at tho close of the installment you have read mo, Gladys seems in •AT LENGTH THE VERY LAST PARAGRAPH WAS REACHED." I capable of loving the artist, yet three numbers more are to follow in which one of two things may develop." "And they are?" "Gladys may adopt new views or the artist may improve upon acquaint ance, and awaken feelings and senti ments of which she has now no knowl edge." "Sjinro your eloquence! You nro not addressing a jury." "No, I'm arguing with the judge, and a very fair one, I must admit." "I'll wager anything that she will marry the artist." "Done! What shall be the penalty?" "I will make my demand when the novel is completed." "Agre* d! I will do the same." "But you won't win." "That remains to be seen. Three weeks from to-day 1 will call with the very last number, which, with your kind permission, I will read to yon. Until then, adieu." I At the appointed time the young lawyer appeared with the periodical in his hand. He found Viola seated on the same rustic bench, awaiting his arrival. "What of our fair heroine?" ho asked, when lie had returned her salu tation and taken her proffered hand. "Has she shown any disposition to accept the artist?" was her smiling counter-question. "I'm sorry to say that she has not, but in the three chapters which remain she may relent. How about the artist ?" "To confess tho truth, I rather like him. He reminds me of some one I have known, just who, I can't recall. If Gladys were other than the strong willed, sensible girl she is, I would not feel so confident as I do of winning the wager. But let us proceed. I trust von have not, read it hv vonrself." "I bought the very first copy I saw exposed for sale while on my way here. See, its pages are uncut." "Without further delay, the young man began his task. He read effectively, feelingly, and threw into the impassionate pleadings I of the. artist nil earnestness that seemed to make them his own. I As for Viola, she sat like one en tranced, and when, in the novel, tears glistened in the eyes of the fair heroine, they were duplicated in lior own. At length the very last paragraph was reached, and triumph mingled with hope in the voice of Gean Arnott as he read it. " T am yours,' murmured Gladys. T am cured of coquetry forever. I have learned.at last that love is the secret of happiness.'" As the tones of the reader's voice died away, something which sounded much like a sob blended with them. "You have won the wager," said Viola. "What shall the penalty bej?" "That you repeat the confession of our heroine." "Be it so," murmured Viola. "I made her my ideal and must share in her de feat. But tell mo, Gean, liow came this story to so reflect my character, j feelings, thoughts, in fact?" j "It will not affect our waeer?" "No; that is decided. Viola's fate shall be mine." "Then the mystery is easily explain ed. You have been wooed and won by a novel. In addition to writing decla rations and talking to juries I some times scribble for the press. My iwm de plume is Malcom Graeme." Mr. Edwin Booth's First Experience as n Manager. Mr. Edwin Booth, the eminent tra gedian, is credited with the follow ing experience : "About ray first experience as a manager," said Mr. Booth, was in the year 1854. I and four others were on our way to Australia to lill a professional engage ment. Two of the party were D. C. Anderson and his wife. We were in a slow old soiling ship, and we were com pelled to stop at the Sandwich Islands for supplies and to make some repair's to the ship. We found, to our sur prise, that Honolulu had a rude sort of theater, and as we were to be detained there for several days we thought we might earn a few dollars by giving performances. "We determined to give 'Richard lll.,'and I was elected manager. Now, the full strength of the company was exactly five, and there are about twenty-five parts in the tragedy, as you know, to say nothing of the lords aud ladies of the court, citizens) mur derers, messengers, and the two armies Df Gloster and liichmond. So you can understand that the manager had no easy ta-<k of it. I was to play Rich- | ard, and by an ingenious scheme of doubling up, by which each of the oth ers were to play at least two parts, wo managed to arrange for some sort of a performance until I suddenly discov ered that I had no Lady Anne. Mrs. Anderson was the only lady in our company, and she had to do two parts —the Duchess of York and Elizabeth. "I was almost in despair until I learned that there was a white man in the town who, as I was told, had once been an actor in a humble way and would be glad to help us out, and that as he was an undersized man he might do to dress up as a woman. So 1 sent for him. "He was about four feet high, a stumpy fellow with bandy legs, cross eyed, and with all his front teeth gone, lie chewed tobacco furiously, and he spoke with a strong German accent. His only knowledge of the stage proved to have come from once working as a 'grip' behind the scenes of some theater in 'the States.' "1 shall never forget that perform ance of 'Richard III.' Its like was never seen before nor since. The two English armies wero of course made up of native Sandwich Islanders, and to see the followers of Richard and of Richmond fighting the battle of Bos worth field in burnt cork was some thing 'never before attempted on any stage.' "But the Lady Anne! I regret to say that her appearance when made up was something worse than grotesque. If she had been homely in man's at tire she was hideous in skirts, and when I had to make ardent love to her as— "'Sweet saint!'—'divine perfection of a woman fairer than tongue can name thee,' and tell her of her 'beauty which did haunt me in my sleep,' I thought I should burst with mortifica- ! tion, for her bandy-logged waddle, her cross-eyed leer, her toothless mouth and her Herman accent was something indescribable. And, horror of horrors, while she stood moaning at her dead husband's bier, her ladyship had broken her solemn pledge and was actually chewing tobacco 1" A balloon Suggestion. Suggestions for features of interest for the great fair are in order. Many people seem to think a tall tower in dispensable, simply because Paris has one. That is nonsense. Such a tower hore would bo a mere plagiarism, un worthy the inventive genius of the Yankee nation. The purpose of the tower, at best, is to furnish vantage ground from which to view the magnif icent scenery surrounding it. We have, unquestionably, right here, infinitely more entrancing views than Paris can boast, and if we can make them avail able, without subjecting ourselves to the imputation of imitating the ideas of others, it would be a grand scheme. My suggestion is that we construct a mammoth balloon —one of unprece dented size and lifting power. In pjaeo of a car let a platform, say twenty feet square, be suspended under this bal loon, and the whole elevated say two thousand feet, to be held stationary at that point by guys of wire rope diverg ing from tlio four corners of the i>lat form to suitable anchorages at wide distances apart on the ground. This arrangement would not merely hold tho balloon captive, but steady in po sition. I would have a tube run from a gas reservoir on the ground up to the balloon to keep it constantly tilled, so that its sustaining power may not be j lost. Then have one or two additional balloons of ordinary size, fitted with I the usual car, and guided by a taut rope, to ply as conveyances for pas sengers to and from the stationary bal loon in mid-air. This would bo a novel and attractive arrangement. It would not merely eclipse the Eiffel tower in elevation, but the curiosity of mankind in general to test aerial navigation j would insure a measure of patronage i that would yield a handsome return on | the investment.— The Metropolis. (■as in Champagne bottles. "I bought so mo champagne of you last spring," said a gentleman to Mr. Hugh Fegan the other day. "I sup posed it was all gone, but last week I saw some bottles in the top of a closet and took them down. They were champagne. My wife had ' 'saved' them, women fashion, but they were as flat as Rhine wine. What was the matter?" "They were standing up, were they ?" asked Mr. Fegan. "Yes." "Well, the carbonic acid had all es caped through the corks. If they had been in a cool place, and resting on their heads, they would have been all right. "It takes two years for the cham pagne wine to properly champagnizo. There is a heavy loss from breakage. When the gas develops a champagne cellar sounds like a battle. The bot tles explode with tremendous foyce, and are dangerous. Over 20 per cent, of the bottles break. That is one reason why champagne is so high priced. bottled cider will cliampagn lze if raisins are put in it. Some years ago I put up a barrel of cider for the White House. The steward insisted on putting a whole raisin in each bot tle. I told him a quarter of a raisin to a lottle was enough, but he had his own way. The result was that ho didn't have a bottle. Every bottle exploded from the pressure."— Jf'asJt inffton Post. | AMERICAN GAME BIRDS. FOUR INTERESTING SPECIMENS IE- ! EUSTKATEI). rile Passenger Plgetm Their Enormous Numbers—Tlie Strange Sandpiper—Tho Pretty Wooil-Duck- 1 ho California Quail | —Respective Habits of Each. " , W | Tis difficult for one pwho has not lived west |w of the Alleghenies, and | j|w whose memory does not A derstund and believe tho | J tales of early settlers in ; f jAffof K regard to the former plenitude of game birds in this country. None BStk of those stories are more astonishing than those which rehite how enor tude of wild pigeons that once overspread the whole eastern half of the United States. Their vast migrations—whence the old • name "passenger" pigeon—seems to havo been once partly connected with the 1 changing of the seasons, for great bodies of them remained to breed in the far South, while others winged their way to the edge of the arctic tundras, and having reared their young on the shores of Hud son's bay and in the valley of the Mack enzie, sometimes remained there to feed juniper berries until midwinter. The movements of these birds seem to havo been determined, therefore, by the necessity of finding subsistence, and. like tramp harvesters, they wandered about from one part of the country to the other, seeking those districts where the supply was the largest. Their food consists of all kinds of grain, berries and such small "nuts" as they can crack and swallow— the fruit of the beech and the acorns of the live and other oaks being special favor- , ites. Of rice they were fond: and if it j now costs the rice-growing industry of the Southern States $2,000,000 a year to scare away the bobolinks from the growing ! fields during a week in April (as is stated by an inquirer for the government), what I would havo been tho expense of eultivat- | ing rice under tho clouds of pigeons which a century ago wore wont to blacken the ' wild marshes of zizania, and never leave THE PASSENGER PIGEON. while a grain of the succulent harvest re mained ! How enormous at times were the hosts of wild pigeons in the Ohio Valley, where mast trees were plentiful, has been geographically recorded in the writings of ! Audubon, Wilson, and tho local historians. Audubon says that in tho autumn of IS 13 I the air in the neighborhood of l.ouisville ; was literally filled with pigeons. "The j light of the noonday was obscured as by i an eclipse. The dung fell in spots not un ! like melting snow: and the continued buzz I of wings had a tendency to lull my senses I to repose." Ho traveled 011 horseback all day without getting out from under them, and it was after midnight before tho roar guard had passed. Computing their speed at a mile a minute, and allowing two pigeons to the square yard, he supposes that each columu contained nearly 1,1400 SPOTTED SANDPIPER—MALE, FEMALE, AND YOUNG. million birds, n sum which had to be mul tiplied many times to get near the total. These masses, though so prodigious, seem to have l>een moved by a common purpose , and uuited in a single army, divided somo- 1 what into corps and brigades. They would roost and breed in one compact company, dispersing each morning in foraging , squads of a million or so each, and often i going sixty or eighty miles, but always re turning at night. The scone at the roost and the meeting place was, in its way,unparalleled by any thing else in the world. "When they have frequented one of those places for some time, the appearance it exhibits is surprising. The ground is covered to tho depth of several inches with their dung; all tho tender grass and underwood de stroyed; the surface strewed with largo limbs of trees, broken down by tho weight of the birds clustering one above another: and the trees themselves, for thousands of acres, killed as completely as if girdled with an ax." The desolation thus pro duced, aided by tho lmvoc made by tho at tacks of all the surrounding population, the birds of prey, wolves, weasels, bogs, and other enemies which gathered, and tho 1 eating up of all tho food within u circle of a hundred miles or more, would by and by cause a sudden desertion of the place by the pigeons, which would troop off with their young to settle on somo other tract of forest, no one knew where. Thougn unmeusurej hosts of this kind were never seen at the East, flocks of vast extent came to New York and New Eng land and visited tho forests of Lower Canada; but these were mere stragglers compared with the Western hordes. Now tho clearing awuy of forests, especially of mast-bearing trees, and the incessant de struction of old and young which falls upon overy accessiblo roost as soon as it is reDorted, steadily outreaclios tlio increaso, so that in actual numbers, no doubt, the wild pigeons have greatly diminished, while tho remnant have been driven to the remote North -rn forests in order to rear their young. Their splendid flight still cheers us now and then in autumn and spring, as in long beuding lines these noble birds rush across the sky: and the sports man and naturalist know where a few are always to be found in each of the forested Btates; but the glory of the tribe lias de parted with the disappearance of savagery in the land, and the passenger pigeon—the very image and spiritof exultant wildness —will soon be a rarity. Pigoon shooting, nevertheless, can still be enjoyed ill the | Alleghenies and some other comparatively uncultivated districts, where they come in the fall to feed in the mountain glades. The weapon should bo a rifle, though the j strong flight of the bird taxes marksman ship, even when a shot gun is used, if the gunner is willing to try to hit him as ho spins away through the tree tops. Even loss of a "game bird" than the wild pigeon is the spotted sand-piper (Tringoides macularius), alias teeter-tail, alias a groat many other pseudonyms. He, too. is a bird of the woods as well as WOOD-DUOK—MALE. FEMALE. AND YOUNG, of the sea snore, and every river siae, all tho mountain brooks, listen to his sharp rain-promising cry. Yet he is by no means shy of notice, and follows the creeld confidingly into tho farm yard, or even j tho village, so long as he can find in ill the rocky shallows that afford him good j hunting ground for aquatic insects and mollusks. They are not often shot, for the flesh has a fishy taste, except by boys who I wish to practice upon their erratic flight, and so these little birds grow more nutner ■ ous rather than less so as the country j grows up. Scuttling along with steady diligen'-e, I many of them go clear to the arctic /one and back every summer; but those that? umke this oilcrimaire suend tho winter in • me northern ami middle Mtates, replacing the summer quota of those localities, which has gone to winter resorts in the far South. The nest is a mere hollow scratched in the samly border of a salt-marsh, or of afresh water lake, or perhaps quite away in a' corn field or old pasture: and it contains four top-shaped eggs, clay-colored, and blotched with sienna brown. To protect these eggs, or the ridiculous I little puffs of gray down mounted on stilts, which she proudly calls her babies, the solicitous mother scroaming poot-weet! in ugoni/ed tones, will throw hersjlf before the enemy, one wing apparently broken and useless and a leg disabled, and will roll and flutter in away to deceive the elect. You think she is wounded, and give clmse; but she is able to just elude your grasp, and thus leads you to a safe j distance from her treasures, when sud denly she gets well, and goes away like a | shot. I In color the pretty little sand-piper is ; bronzed or brownish green, the wings | crossed by a narrow bow of white, which ulso tips the outer feathers of the tail; the | undcrparts are white, with many circular | and oval spots of brown. The wood duck is the most beautiful of our water fowl, rivaling the birds of the tropics in the splendor of his attire. This is his description: The head is crested, and is iridescent green and purple, with pnrallel curved lines of white at the side of tho head, and a broad forked white thront patch; tho upper pal'ts of the body are durk reddish brown, with bronze and purplish reflections; the breast and abdo man are grayish white, whilo the sides and lower part of the neck aro reddish purple, each feather with a white tip; the feet are dull orange, and the bill red and black. Tho most interesting thing about the wood-duck, apart from its dress, is its* domestic life. As a rule, ducks nestle among the rushes or 011 rocky cliffs, and are very chary about attempting to alight upon trees, as might lie inferred from an examination of their feet, which are ill adapted to perching. But a few in vari ious parts of tho world aro exceptions, and umong them our subject is conspicuous. Tho pair seek out early in the spring a blasted troo as near to the water as possi-i bio, and if they can find in it a place l where a limb has been torn out, or a hole has rotted, or some excavation lias been made by a woodpecker or squirrel, into which they can manage to squeeze their bodies, there they set up their home. The furnishing consists of a bed of sticks, dried weeds, and straw, covered with u thick layer of downy feathers, a large part of which Is plucked from tho mothef bird's breast. Tho twelve eggs are buff green and polished; and while the duck lays and broods upon them, the drake joins abend of other Benedicts, and takes a gay vacation until the young are able to fly, when 110 rejoins bis fuuiily. This looks like a very unuxorious pro ceeding on his part; but a mo ment's thought will relieve him of the charge, since it is plain that so brilliant a chup hovering about his doorway would but serve as a sign to all marauders that there was plunder in toothsome eggs and ducklings to be had for tho trouble of get ting thorn, since the duck has small fight ing ability. Tho liest interests of his de fenceless wife ami family, therefore, are served by his keeping far away from the maternal hiding place. How tho young are got down to the water from their lofty tenement was for a long time a puzzle, but at last Dr. C. C. Abbott supplied the information. The j nost in the instanco he obsorved was fully fifty feet above tho water of a cree'x near Trenton, New Jersey. Ho climbed a tree near the nest while tho mother bird was absent and patiently waited. In tho course of half an hour the old duck appeared, and after a few moments' rest squatted closely down upon the nest, whereupon a duckling quietly climbed upon her bnck ami nestled closely between her shoulders. The old bird then walked slowly to the -hanging limb, and with 0 slow Happing motion of the outspread wings let herself down, rather than tlew, t the water. The moment s-he touched the .-urfaco of the stream she dove, ami left the duckling swimming on the water, quite at home. This has since been con firmed by other observers, and is paralleled by some of the arctic cliff-nesting sea fowl. The wood-duck is common, uud breeds from the Gulf of Mexico to Canada. Over much of this space it is the only member of its family seen in the summer, and hence is known as the '•summer duck." It can be domesticated, and makes a charming ornament to the fan cier's yard. Hob White extends his western wander ings no farther thun the dry plains. If he crossed the Rockies to the Pacific coast ho might visit cousins, who, perhaps, would act coolly toward him, remarking' as Californians sometimes do in regard to the rest of the world, that "he had no style about him;" for, though their dress is after the same pattern as that of Bob White, the sober brown hues and respect able white neckerchief which characterize him, are replaced in their case by far gay er colors if not of richer material. There are two species of quail in Cali fornia, one belonging to the mountam heights and the other confined to the val ley lands of the coast region. The latter is oy far the more common, and is the one usually alluded to as the California quail, though its home name is valley quail. This beautiful bird is about the size of the Kustern Bob W T hite. Its general color is lead gray, the wings and back glossed with olive brown, and streaked with black and white in a very pretty way. The belly is orange, fading into bull" and finally into white on the sides, each feather edged with black. These are only broad desig nations of color, which are varied and in terblended in such away as to make the bird one offtho most striking and beauti ful in our whole fauna. It is the head, how ever, that is his chief glory. The forehead is brownish yellow, with the shafts of the feathers black; across the top of the head, A ith its ends floating backward along the sides of the neck and edged with black, it a narrow filet of white, enclosing the lighl brown back of the head and nape; and from the crown of the head, within this brown patch, rises a bunch of tall pluinef —sometimes two, sometimes five or six— which curve forward and nod with a proud ami graceful motion ,of which the bird seems distinctly conscious. His chin and throat are black, margined with a white band, which starts at the eye and posses around the throat to the other eye. The valley quail congregate in the grain fields and along the roads of the cultivated distrricts from the Columbia to Cape St Lucas, sometimes in such numbers as tc be a nuisance, but generally in small coveys, which remain together excepl during the breeding season, when the pail's separata to find scheduled homes iu the thickets. Their nosls amount to noth ing, and the eggs are not chalk white like those of the Atlantic coast species, bill more creamy in color, and marked with drab and brown in a great variety ol spots and streaks. The "song" of thii quail, heard in spring and early summei is a hardly musical kuck-kuck-kuck-ka, the first three notes rapidly repeated, and the last prolonged with afalliug inflection. The rules of Eastern quail shooting do not apply well to this bird, which has 8 very different behavior when hunted. 1' does not lie well to the dog, but runs through the tall grass, and if wounded CALIFORNIA QUAIL —MALE AND FEMALE. will use its last bit of strength in crawling into soine gopher's hole or other hiding place to die; hence dogs are trained to rush forward and retrieve the game as soon as it falls. When flushed, they are likely to take to the branches of the nearest trees and skulk among the foliage. This is more characteristic of young birds, however, thau of oldor ones, which trust more to their swift flight They are quite as difficult to hit on the wing as But White, and their flesh is equally good. There Are Two Ways to Propose. Here are two styles of "proposing/ This one is the kind you read about, but the other is the one most popular in the realm of fact: "My angel, I have long waited for this opportunity. You must have detected ere now the growth of my love for you. From the day I first met you that love took root, and to-night it is strong and sturdy, un wavering, undying. Your sweet smiles have lighted up my life, your every word has been to me a note of exquisite music, thrilling, enthralling me. You have filled a place in my heart, in my affections, that no one before has ever occupied. My lifelong happiness de pends solely upon the answer you give me. Say you will bo mine to lovo, caress, cherish, idolize through time and eternity, and make me of all men most envied. But if you ref Oh, I cannot! 1 cannot! The thought is madness. You will be my wife? I see the answer of your heart mirrored in your lustrous eyes; you know I love you as no other man ever has loved you, or ever can love you, darling. I know you will not thrust mo off " The angel assumes a stereotyped really-tliis-is-so-siulden expression, and assures Mr. Wordio she would derive great pleasure from being his sister. Here is the other way: "Maude, I've been thinking seriously lately." "Really, Fred, you ought to be more judicious than to do anything so rash as that." "Yes, I know it is a heavy tax on my mental capacity, but then I was always reckless that way. This time, however, I think 1 have been thinking to some purpose. In fact, I've been thinking you wouldn't object to having your name changed." " When V" "Just as soon as possible." "Will it be homeor church?" "Church, of course; we want to do this thing in style." "Have you asked pa?" "Certainly not. I don't want tr marry your father." "Well, I know; but for form's sake." "All right, dear; for form's sake I will see pa, and maybe you had better prepare ma for the ordeal." "Oh, she won't mind it." Deep silence reigns again, save as it is broken by the soft sighing of the tree tops, swayed by a gentle breeze. Glee fully the stars twinkle; the moon looks beamingly down from heaven to earth, and discovers on a vine-bowered piazza two forms with .but a single, chair. LETTEKS FKU.It THE C'UKAEKS. MORE GOSSIP. NECK OR NOTHIN HALL, I KILKENNY CORNERS, F ft i|MR. EDITUB: TL JKewl™ m ° B^es as Wll^i ß l >o Hi n ß a l o fur 05X f; tal kin about her na bora. Arfter supper the i' the work ' 80 called her child, Bud, j?' * when ho cum she begin to wash the molasses off en his face, a talkin all the while to Mis Pattingale about the Preeeher. "It's too bad to hev this trubble up in the church," ses she. "Hole still, Bud, or I'll smack you good." "Mite es well be there es enny other place, ef it belongs tliare," ses Mis Pattingale. "But, really, you don't no tlio worst of it. Bud, you keap still, I tell you —dirt enuf in this year to burry a po tater," ses Smanthv. "Laws! Do tell!" ses Mis Pattingale, her mouth fairly a-waterin. "Well, I jest tell you it was awful the way Jane Austin an Mandy Jerome did talk, an about tliare minister, too. Bud, I'll smack you good ef you dou't quit diggin yer eyes." "Sope's in em," ses Bud, a-wrigglin. "Well, what of it; roll up them sleavcs now an cleeu them elbos or I'll giv a cob an sum ashes." "Laws ef I wus Bruther Stannerd's w : fe I'd jest snatch them to gossipiu huzzys baldheded. The idee of them a-talkin about the preeeher, an both of em with famblys to, an tlioy do say pore Mr. Austen lies to sow 011 his own buttons, fill the tea kittle every morn in, atreeteh the close line, an fetch in wood an water. Now, before I'd let my husband do that for mo, an pore, deer old Mr. Jerome lies a harder time than thet; he hes to help dress the childer, peal peeehes fur perserves, fead the chiokmgs, make garden, qpd put up stove pipes," wheezed Mis Pat tingale. "Well, ef I never got the garding made till my man made it, an the pipes put up till he dun it, it ud never he done. You, Bud, scrub that elbo or I'll smack you good, you mangey rascal." "Well, what better cood you aspect of women thet abuse tliare pasture? I declare it's scandalous. I'm most asbamed I'm a woman, but what did thay say ?" "Well, I'll tell you, but you must promise not to brethe a word of it to enny buddy, fur you no I'm no gosßip. Bud, rub on more sopo, or I'll smack you good ef you don't." "Laws, you know I won't lisp a word of it. 1 never talk about my nabors." "Well, Mis Smart tele 1110 thot Mis Willey tole her, thet Mis Brown tole her, thet Mis Tootbires tole her, thet Laury Stayall tole her thet Jaue Aus tin an Mandv Jerome sed our minister wus so small, so neet, an so trim, an always looked so nice thet thay felt jest like puttin him up on a chiny platter au carryin him aroun wliarever he wanted to go! Now, did you ever!" ses Smauthy. "No, I never! Who'd liov thot it I Married wimin, too. It's a shame, I say!" ses Mis Pattingale. I got up an went out into the yard to cool my brow, es the poet ses. I toll you, Mister Editur.it wus hard to think I hed razed a gal thet wus no more nor less than a common gossip. I made up my mind I'd talk it over with Smanthy, an I did afterwards, an she promised to do better. I never went back in while thet Pat tingale critter stade; but she left about dark an then I went in. The widder wus a settiu a waitin fur the batcheldor, hut it r\us arfter 9 an he hadn't cum yet, so we all went to bed. Good-by, HESTEB ANN SOOOPER. Care of the llalr. tIN order to pro mote the growth of the hair and to arrest its falling out, wetting the sago tea is an old fashioned rem edy, and is an ex cellent 0110. The fault with most I people using this ' is that they do not persevere in it, and then con demn it as useless. There is uo better remedy for promoting the growth of the hair than this old-styled one. To cleanse the scalp use the yelk of an egg beaten in a very little water. Bub it well into the scalp and let dry. Kinso in lukewarm water, to which has been added a few drops of ammonia. Ammonia is a goo 1 invigorator when only a little of it is used in water; but beware of using much, or it may in flanio the sealp and do more harm than good. A very little borax in water is also excellent for cleansing the head, but ought to be used as carefully as ammonia, as too much lias a tendency to make the hair dry and brittle. Soap will make the hair eoarso and split it at the ends, consequently it ought never be used in washing the hair. After tho hair has been washed and rinsed, wipe it as dry as possiblo with a towel, then dry it thoroughly by tho fire. Never on any consideration go out into the air when the hair is wet, as, the pores of the head being open, serious results may follow. Never go to bed whilo the hair is damp, but wait until it is per fectly dry. Never use a sharp-toothed comb, for it is sure to scratch and irri tate the sealp; and for this same rea son motallic br-ushes are not to be rec ommended. There is nothing that will improve the hair like brusliing. Use a stiff bristled brush, and brush the hair vig orously until the sealp glows. A vig orous use of the brush night and morn ing, but more especially at night, will render the hair soft and siiky and give it a beautiful gloss. It will also make the coarsest hair soft and the dryeat hair moist. The hair should always be taken down at night, no matter how elaborately it has been dressed, and given a thorough brushing, then parted behind and plaited into two long braids, which may he left loose, or if annoying, as it is to some to have their hair down at night when sleeping, they can bo fastened in a loose mat at the back of the head with rubber hairpins. IN all the superior people mavo met, I notice directness, truth spoken more truly, as if everything of obstruction or malformation had been trained •way, 1