N “\ CW S wi DDD OO OOOO OmmEmEHOOONUOOoOOOOO eee NEW YORK, MAY 28, 1887. RR rer rrr Terms to Mail Subscribers: (POSTAGE FREE.) - - --2*-. 3 months - 75¢c. $5.00 4 months $1.00| 4 copies - 10.00 lyear --- 3.00}8 copies - - - - - 20.00 Remit by express money order, draft, P. O. order, or istered letter. Ve employ no traveling agents. Ali letters shonld be addressed to STREET & SMITH, P. O. Box 2734. 29 & 31 Rose St., N. Y. An Entertaining Novelette Next Week. 2 copies - A spirited and captivating novelette, by NELLIE Mc ADAM, will be given in our next number. It is entitled “AVENGED AT LAST; OR, THE FAIRY OF THE CASTLE.” A FRIEND IN NEED. BY HARKLEY HARKER. “T believed in the fellow when no one else did.” “Well, of course you are not sorry now,” I replied. “T should say not,” was the first speaker’s answer. ‘All my present prosperity 1 owe to him. He did not forget that, when there was not a man in Boston who would say a kind word for his business schemes, I used to stand up for him.” The old story. Ten years ago a bright-eyed, clear- headed Yankee from a rural town came to the above city and tried to borrow afew extra dollars to float his manufacturing scheme. He had invented a pat- ent, which I will not name. He had built a little factory, up in one of the villages not a thousand miles from Boston; and, while his invention was of undoubted utility in the eyes of experts, the factory had absorbed the inventor’s few dollars and was cry- ing for more. In trying to swim out of his troubles, Blank’s debts had increased and increased, till “the owed everybody.” His good name was all gone. Banks scolded, and then kicked him out. Friends deserted him. Everybody said, ‘Look out for him; he’s a dreamer.” Broken-hearted, but not broken quite in pluck, the poor fellow crawled out West. In five years he had, somehow, struck his luck. To-day he is worth his hundreds of thousands. This is my moral. Now that Blank is all right, oh, so many men are so devoutly regretful that they were not wise enough to foresee it! Hundreds of men wish they only had loaned him that last five hundred dollars that he begged so hard for, even with tears. Scores of people, who are themselves to-day in need, as Blank was that day ten years ago, are mentally kicking themselves because they did not so behave to the friendless dreamer as to enable them to ask his help to-day. But, though they know him per- fectly well, see him on the street in town every day even, they have not the audacity to ask him for a favor and confront his probable rejoinder, “Aha! Did you consider me when I was in need?” I doubt if any man lives long in life who has not had this experience. He sees some man in whom he wishes he had invested a debt of gratitude ten or fif- teen years ago. How it would help to-day! But one was a blind, selfish fool. One only echoed the cry of the rabble, “‘Oh, he’s no good!” and refused to use the penetration of sharp eyes and a charitable heart which might have revealed a genius in embryo, a diamond in the rough. Now itis too late. But there is A, our heighbor, who is in luck; he loaned a hand, he did the poor struggling genius a favor, perhaps not much appreciating himself what he was doing. A was as hard pushed as the genius. It is the poor who are the friends of the poor. And now—oh, now, lucky A! He has his reward; he made a friend that will never see him want; the genius came out top o’ the heap in the struggle, and nothing on earth is too good for A which the genius can give him or help him to. Not a success- ful man of generous and true heart but has had the exquisite joy of rewarding his friends; and shall I say of staring blankly at his old detractors who have ’ been plowed under by the later furrow. Then, too, it must be confessed that we have all had the very reverse experience. We have helped the knave. We have invested in the traud. We have fed the hungry dog, and afterward he bit the hand that gave him a crust. We have all thought we saw genius, when it was not gold that glittered. We never got back the money we loaned. Between the two experiences, whatis wise? This, at least, is a safe rule—carry yourself in kindness to- yard all, and do not calculate selfishly. Every un-, fortunate man is at all events needy, be he worthy or unworthy. Youcan show him active kindness for hisjown sake; or you can refrain from showing him active unkindness, if that is all you can afford. I 3 would not consider it a high motive, and I do not present it as a motive to high-minded men; but we are all low-toned once in a while; then it is well to remember that the worst of men may reform, the most apparent wreck may prove yet a success; there- fore, treat every man as we shall wish we had when he is areformed and successful man. lnagine him so changed; then act accordingly. This is not say- ing that Lam obliged to loan every man a dollar; I may not have itto loan; but itis saying that I will not kick him, for when I pieture him ten years hence a@ prospered man, [ shall not want him to kick back. In fact I believe a kind word is oftener remem- bered with gratitude, by one.who has once been low down and recovered, than almost any other service. On the other hand, the memory and rankle of an un- kind word is longer cherished, by such men, than an actual kick. It is possible to so treat the poor fel- low whose name is under some cloud to-day, with- out affording him material aid of any kind, that he will be open to your own cry of need when you are down and heisup. The polite lifting of your hat, even, will effect it; a smile, an extended hand, a mitigating excuse, such as ‘Oh, wait and see, neigh- bors. I believe in his integrity of purpose; he is in a tight place now, but wait and see; give every dog his Say. All such remarks are sure to be reported to the struggling wretch, and you will not be sorry. Especially is it always safe to calculate that a oung person, who is not the victim of drink, who a reasonably good health, who is not a gambler, is likely to come up. A good eye, aclear Oe a fair head, clean speech, sound lungs, are likely to come up. He who has not a love for foul company, whois amenable to sincere and wholesome advice, who yet retains the sympathy of a good mother, ora patient and true wife, sister, or daughter, will come up; it is safe to calculate that his present misfor- tunes are accidental and incidental. He who fears God and has intentionally wronged no man, or who is actually making restitution if he has, it is safe to say will emerge from his disaster. It is wise tobe his friend in need. You will never lament it, ————————— oa ___—_——_- MARRIAGE AND SINGLE LIFE, Marriage changes the current of a man’s feelings, and gives him a center for his thoughts, his affec- tions, and his acts. It renders him more virtuous, more wise, and is an incentive to put forth his best exertions to attain position in commercial and social circles. It is conceded that marriage will increase those cares of a young man which he would not en- counter if he remained single, but it must be granted, on the other hand, that it heightens the pleasures of life. If marriage, in some instances within knowl- edge, has seemed to be but a hindrance to certain success, the countless instances’ must not be forgot- ten where it has proved to be the incentive which has called forth the best part of man’s nature, roused him from selfish apathy, and inspired in him those enerous principles and high resolves which have elped to develop into a character known, loved, and honored by all within the sphere of its influence. Matrimony, it is true, is chargeable with number- less solicitudes and responsibilities, and this all young men should fully understand before entering upon it, butit is also full of joy and happiness un- known to the bachelor. : Tothe young man away from the home of his par- ents, or who is by their early death deprived of a “home, marriage is a blessing and a necessity. If he remain single, he may have a pleasant place of resi- dence, his amusements may be continuous, he may have all the luxuries that money can buy, but he will feel that lack of home and that holy love of a good wife which no mony can purchase. He may be courted for his wealth, he may eat, drink, and revel, he may have the most faithful attendants and skilled physicians at his bedside when ill, but all these can- not compensate for the more quiet bliss of connubial life, or the tender watchfulness of those whose hearts = knit to him by the strong ties of family relation- ship. To all young men choosing between the two states of life, the single and married, we commend the words of quaint Jeremy Taylor, who sums up the sub- ject well when he says: ‘Marriage hath in it more safety than single life; it hath more care; it is more merry and sad; it is fuller of joys and sorrows; it lies under more bur- dens, but it is supported by all the strength of love and charity, which makes those burdens delightful. It is aschool and exercise of virtue, and though it hath cares, yet single life hath desires which are more troublesome and more dangerous, and often end in sin, while the cares are but exercises of piety.” DON’T SNUB THE BOY. BY KATE THORN. Don’t snub the boy. He is going to be a man by and by. Perhaps he will be President. Who knows? If he wants a tail to his kite, don’t treat his request as if it were of no consequence. Why, half the happi- ness of life depends on having tails to our kites. If you have a boy, make him happy if youcan. It is something to have a pleasant childhood to look back upon. A small boy is, in his own estimation at least, a badly used specimen of humanity. He can’t have toy pistols, because he is liable to shoot his grand- father with them. He can’t have any gunpowder to play soldier with, because sometime some bad little boy, somewhere, blew up the barn with gunpowder. He can’t have fire-crackers on the Fourth of July, because Portland was burned up, one luckless Fourth, by a fire-cracker. His big sister will not have him in the parlor when her beau comes, and he is obliged to listen at door-cracks and keyholes to find out what she says to him, and what he says to her, so that he can report it to the other boys. The society with the long name will not allow him to tie old tin tomato cans to dogs’ tails, or singe the hair of stray cats. The grocer threatens to call the police if he takes a handful of dried apples out of a barrel. ; He can’t stand on the seats in the railway cars, and fool with the bell-rope. He can’t stick pins into the conductor while he is punching tickets. He can’t steal a ride on a treight car without being chased by the baggage man. He is not allowed to shy peanut shelis at bald- headed men in the museum when they get to sleep and snore. His rights are curtailed in many ways. He is boil- ing over with a desire to do something to have some fun, and all creation is in a conspiracy to prevent him from having it. It is a little singular that every- thing a boy wants to do is wicked; but good, moral people tell us so it is, and we must accept their version. But we hate to see a boy.snubbed. We hate to hear somebody say: ‘Oh, get out of the way, you boy, there! Strange that boys will always be where they’re not needed !”’ Why, a boy has just as much right in the world as aman. He is a very important part of creation. Let him learn. Let him enjoy. Let him observe. He is educating himself—he is laying the foundations of the structure called character. Don’t dodge his ques- tions. Answer them, if you can. It is not likely that you can, however, unless you are a second Socrates ; for the average boy has a habit of putting ques- tions that it would drive even Solomon into the lu- natic asylum to answer. Don’t snub him. When he asks you why it is wrong for him to swear, and why it is not wrong for you to swear, don’t tell him that “little boys should be seen and not heard ;” but come up to the scratch bravely, and tell him that you are a wicked old sinner, and that you don’t practice what you preach. Don’t deny him little pleasures which he craves. Let him have adog. Let him wear a watch-chain, if itis any satisfaction. Don’t keep him eternally at work. Listen to his opinions. Treat him like a com- panion, and you will find one in him, For in all the world, there is nothing nobler, and sweeter, and more delightful, than an honest, truthful, healthy, whole- souled, merry-hearted boy. ; ° THE SHELL BASKET, BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES. “Looking so sober the night before your wedding! Why, Belton, what does this mean ?”’ Guy Belton started suddenly from a deep reverie atthe cheery sound of his friend’s voice, and the color rushed to his cheek. He was a handsome, fair-haired young man, with deep-blue eyes, and one of those exquisite complexions that seem almost too effeminate to belong to the sterner sex. “Sit down, Wallis,” he said, motioning his friend to a seat beside him, ‘‘and be my father confessor for the time being. I can begin to realize the Romish theory of confession now; it seems such a blessed relief to open one’s heart to some friendly ear.” “Only hear him!’ ejaculated Wallis, holding up both hands. ‘‘Where is Madeline Trevor ?” “She of all others is the last to whom I would con- fide the fact that—I am a double-dyed scoundrel. “Belton !’ “Yes,I am! The truth is, John Wallis, before I ever came to New York, before I fell under the be- witching influence of Madeline Trevor’s golden charms, I was engaged to another girl—the prettiest little fairy you ever saw. Wallis, at this moment she believes me true and faithful.” John Wallis was silent. ‘ “Yes, you look upon me sternly; but you cannot blame me half so much as I have blamed myself. Do you see yonder little basket, made of silvery shells? It is her work. She gave it to me, and I mean to keep it to my life’s end, wife or no wife! Well, the con- fession is over; the weight is momentarily lifted off my heart. And now, then, we'll go and pay our devoirs to Madeline.” x * * * * x “Guy Belton married! I do not believe it!” gasped Leonora Grey, her sweet, girlish face growing white as monumental marble. : “It is in the papers,’ said Mrs. Skefton, deliber- ately reading out the notice, every word of which was like a knife in gentle Leonora’s heart. “Tt’s true, then, that they were kind o’ engaged,” thought the acrimonious old gossip, stealthily re- garding Leonora’s face over the rims of her spec- tacles. ‘‘My goodness! she’s going to faint!” But Leonora Grey did not faint. She sat, calm and motionless, in the summer twilight, with her little hands clasped tight together, and a round red spot blazing on either cheek. False !—oh, false and treacherous !—he, whom she had trusted so blindly, believed in so implicitly! Leonora thought her heart was breaking; but she did not know how much the heart can endure with- out its cords giving way. And; two years afterward, when the news came that her uncle had died in Ceylon, leaving her an in- dependent fortune, there was no light of triumph in Leonora’s eye. “Tt comes too late,’ she murmured, “and yet I must be God’s almoner for all this golden bounty. Life is long, and I must take up my burden without a repining word.” * * * % * “Raining again! Oh, what a dismal night!” Leonora Grey drew the quilted silk curtains once more, and turned to the merry fire whose coral glim- mer lent such cheerfulness to the room. It was a beautiful apartment, with velvet passion flowers blooming on the carpet, and rich pictures leaning from the frescoed walls. And Leonora herself looked very lovely in her dress of dark green velvet, with her luxuriant brown hair fastened up by massive pins of gold, and costly rings sparkling on her slender fingers. Twelve years had passed very lightly over Leonora Grey’s head. “Miss Grey, are you busy 2” : The servant spoke half doubtfully as she hesitated on the threshold of the door. “No. What is wanted ?” “There’s a little boy at the door, ma’am, wantin’ to sell things, and I’d be after sendin’ him away, if you wasn’t so tender-hearted to the likes of all them beggars.” “But he is not begging, Mary. According to your own story he is trying to earn his livelihood. Let him come in here.” “In this room, miss ?”’ “Yes; why not?’ . Honest Mary made a little grimace as she went to execute her mistress’ bidding. The next moment a golden-haired little boy of about seven, clad in piti- ably thin garments, crept into the room, carrying a small basket on his arm. He looked at the fire with greedy eyes; poor little creature! he was chilled and wet through by rain and tempest. “Come here, my child,” said Leonora, gently, ‘‘and tell me what you have got to sell.” ‘ The boy opened his basket, and disclosed within it a smaller basket still, curiously wrought, and gleam- ing with silvery shelis. . “Please, ma’am, I’ve been trying all day to sell it, and no one would buy it. It’s very cheap, ma’am— only a dollar.” “Where did you get the basket ?” Leonora was looking at it with eyes that seemed to pea Sa far beyond the white glitter of the exquisite shells. * * “My father gave it to me to sell, please, lady; he is blind and sick, and all alone, so I want to get back as soon as I can.” “Alone ?” “Yes; mother died two years since, and there are only father and me left.” “What's your name?” “Guy Henry Belton.” Leonora rose and took the child’s hand in her own ice-cold grasp. “Take me to your father. carriage.” As the luxurious equipage rolled through the dark and dismal streets, little Guy Belton clung close to the velvet robes of the beautiful woman, with a child’s loving confidence. : “T like you,” he said, softly. ‘‘“Mamma was cross, and used to box my ears, and speak unkindly to papa after he became blind; but your voice sounds soft, nd your eyes look as though you loved me.” “T do love you! Little Guy, I love you dearly,” murmured Leonara, pressing him to her heart. Deserted—forgotten once—the hour for her revenge had come. It was a squalid, low-ceiled room, with a tallow eandle burning on the mantel, and a smoldering handful of fire in the grate. On a broken sofa, with a shawl thrown over him, reclined a figure whose pale, wasted features still bore the impress of the beauty that had once marked Guy Belton’s face. “Ts that you, my child?’ Heturned his head un- easily as the door swung open.” “Yes, papa, it’s me, and I’ve brought a lady to see you.” “A lady ?’ Alas! the closed eyes, with their long, silken lashes, could never look on human face more, but the head turned wistfully once again, while one hand was vaguely extended. Leonora took it in her own. “Guy ””’ A shudder convulsed his whole frame. _ ‘Leonora! My Nora! It cannot be—I am dream- ing. “Oh, Guy, Guy!’ sobbed Leonora, throwing her- self on her knees at his side, ‘tis it possible that we meet thus after so many years of separation.” “T do not deserve these tears, Leonora, I have been false and base, leave me to die by myself.” “Guy! dear Guy!” she said, passionately, ‘‘do you think my love,was only for sunshine and prosperity ? Hereafter you shall be more dear to me than ever. Come, the carriage is at the door—my carriage. I have wealth, and it shall be shared with you.” “Leonora, my better angel—my child-sweetheart.” And he broke down, weeping like a child. Alas! Guy Belton had repented the fault of his youth in the bitterest of sackcloth and ashes, and Leonora’s sweet yoice seemed to him that of an avenging angel. The years of ordeal were sharp and severe, but they are over now. Leonora sits inher stately rooms with her blind husband at her side, and he holds her hand almost asif he fears she might be stolen away from him. Little Guy likes his “new mamma” a great deal better than he did dead Madeline, and the shell basket occupies a post of honor on a gilded stand in Leonora’s own boudoir. Stay—I will order the HOW TO CATCH TROUT. BY THE ‘“‘OLD ’UN.” (FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE.) Every man has a hobby, and his skillin riding it seems to be in inverse proportion to his enthusiasm for the animal. Mr. Marmaduke Millbury’s hobby was trout-fishing. His favorite author was Izaak Walton. His private room (he called it his ‘‘study’’), was devoted to a collection of rods, reels, creels, ‘books of flies, snoods, catgut, water boots, and mis- cellaneous lumber of that sort. Whenever he gota hol- iday of his employers—hardware importers in Cham- bers street—he ‘“‘went an angling,” as Walton has it. His ojective point was trout, but he did not disdain to go for striped bass, blue fish, or weak fish. We have read of people who went after wool and came home shorn. Mr. Millbury rarely brought home any tinny spoils, and when he did, his version of the mode of their capture was so dubious, the internal evidence furnished by the condition of the fish, and other circumstances, supported-a presumption that his catch was made no farther from home than Ful- ton Market. Indeed, his captures seemed confined to his domestic circle. He was constantly leaving hooks of various sizes lying round loose, and. when | his family came, unawares, in contact with them, the consequences may easily be imagined. On one occasion he hooked his mother-in-law, in consequence of which that amiable tenant of a black bombazine dress absented herself from his fireside for a whole fortnight. One of his boys’sat down on a paper of hooks, and the surgical operation rendered necessary thereby filled the house with shrieks and anguish. Mr. Millbury was the owner of a wonderful pocket- knife, for which he had paid five dollars. It wasa combination of blades, scissors, tweezers, tooth- picks, corkscrews, such as money rarely purchases, and he was very proud of it... What connection this extraordinary pocket-knife ‘has with trout-fishing may appear hereafter. Mr. Millbury’s sister’ marred Mr. Joseph Brum- | : : * ae ; | lJaneous reading matter as in newspapers. mins, who kept a grocery store on the Bowery. Brummins was a practical man, and looked down on and made fun of all “sports,” among which disrepu- table characters he was pleased to class his brother- in-law, Millbury. However, the two families pulled pretty well together, notwithstanding. Now, one season, as a great, treat, the Millburys and Brmminses associated themselves in a week’s rustication in the Catskills, Mr. Millbury promising to show them ‘“‘how to catch trout.” They reached their destination in good time and condition, their baggage being swollen by an un- christian quantity of fishing-tackle belonging to Mr. Millbury. He furnished his brother-in-law with rod, line, and bait, and, accompanied by the ladies, they went to work fishing. They fished up stream and down stream for three days with the same result— ne’er a fish. At the close of the third day Mr. Brummins ex- pressed his opinion of Mr. Millbury in the very same language used by Mr. Pickwick to express his opin- ion of Mr. Tracy Tupman: “Sir, you're a humbug!” Poor Millbury swore to redeem his piscatorial char- acter the next day, but he failed to do so during the forenoon of the decisive day; then he said the wo- men spoiled the sport by scaring the fish—angling was a solitary amusement—he would leave the party and try his luck by himself, meeting them at a cer- tain spot. They were at the appointed place as the day was declining, and presently Millbury was seen approach- ing, bearing a string of splendid trout—six of the beauties—averaging two pounds apiece. “Darn his pictur’! said Brummins, the skeptic, “he never ketched them trout—he bought ’em.” “No,” said Mrs. Millbury, ‘‘he had no money, for after he’d changed his clothes, I found his wallet in his trousers pocket, and took charge of it.” Millbury, sharply questioned, told when and where he had caught the trout, and what flies he had used, and offered to take the party to the spot as a proof of the truth of his assertion. But it was timeto be wending homewards. Millbury looked at his watch, and said that was true, they’d be late for supper, but very curiously he insisted on going the longest way home, and when he came to a certain gate by the roadside, said he must stop and rest himself. He behaved very strangely—kept looking round him and whistling. “Don’t whistle,” said his wife. aggravates my nerves.” But Millbury looked at his watch and whistled again. “There you go again!” said Brummins. you hear your wife say she couldn’t bear it ?” “TI didn’t mean to,” said poor Millbury. “It whis- tled of itself.” “T say, Millbury,” said Brummins, suddenly, “I want to cut a stick; “lend us your knife.” Millbury felt in his pockets. “T hain’t got it; I’ve lost it.” “Come, now, old fellow, hand over the knife,” said Brummins. ‘‘Lostit! when you set such store by it? You’re afraid to trust it to a fellow. I won’t break it.” Millbury looked at his watch again. “Darn that boy !” he said: ‘“he’ll never come.” “What boy?’ asked Brummins, eying him sus- piciously. : “What boy?’ cried Millbury, angrily, and then out came the truth before he thought of it. ‘Why, that scamp I got the trout of. He wouldn’t let me have ’em without the money or security, and I’d left my wallet at home. So I gave him my knife, and he promised to meet me, and I meant to borrow the money of you to redeem it.’ Brummins and the women yelled with laughter. It is needless to say shat the boy never came, that Mill- bury never saw his pocket-knife again, and that he never heard the end of that story of catching trout in the Catskills. “You know how it “Didn’t NO MAN’S ENEMY BUT HIS OWN. No man’s enemy but hisown happens generally to be the enemy of everybody with whom he is in rela- tion. The leading quality that goes to make his character is a reckless improvidence and a selfish pursuit of selfish enjoyments, independent of conse- uences. No man’s enemy but his own runs rapidly Sarough his means; calls, in a friendly way, on his friends for assistance; involves his nearest kin, leaves his wife a beggar, and quarters orphans ~~ the public; after having enjoyed himself to the last dollar, entails a life of dependence on his progeny, and dies in the odor of that ill-understood reputa- tion of harmless folly, which is more injurious to so- ciety than many positive crimes, CITY CHARACTERS. BY ELLIS LAWRENCE. No. 16. THE NEWSMAN. a) | (aA ty a About as interesting a character as can be found anywhere is the man of whom other men say, ‘‘He understands human nature.” This quality is at tributed principally to lawyers, preachers, and poli- ticians, but if in a large city you want to find a first- class judge of human nature, just saunter up to the nearest news-stand, and study the owner a little while. Great public men ought to understand their fel low-beings very well, for they see them frequently and talk with them a great deal; but the newsman does not exchange a word with some of his custom- ers, and yet he knows them. He sizes up a new customer so carefully that he would not be afraid to bet on the name of the paper that man will select. If he loses his bet, he will in- sist that the man was buying for somebody else in- stead of himself, and if you take the pains to investi- gate you will probably find the newsman is right. Buy of, him once, and he will have your paper ready for you on your next visit by the time you stop before his stand and begin to fumble in your pocket for some pennies. You wonder that he remembers your choice, when he has had several hundred other purchasers, but the truth is that he hasn’t thought of you since—he simply knows, by a special sense of his own, what you are likely to want. To do this, he must know the papers also, so he dknowsthem. When he reads is a mystery, for no- body ever sees him looking at the inside of a paper, yet he knows not only the style of each, but also when they make any changes of policy or secure new features. More than this, he knows about how these changes will affect the paper’s readers. Some day you may make up your mind that you will change your paper; about that time, greatly to your surprise, you are likely to see your agent hand you the very paper to which you meant to change. Perhaps you mention this to your wife or friend as a coincidence, but there was nothing accidental about it, the newsman knew what was going to happen, knew it by the way in which you picked up the paper that was going out of your favor. Sometimes a new paper is published, and the owners want newsmen to force it upon the attention of all their customers. But the shrewd fellow will do no such thing; he offers it to such of his custom- ers as he thinks will like it, and his judgment is gen- erally right. He would not offer it to any one else; why should he worry good customers whom he knows wouldn’t read it? The newsman knows when a customer is changing politics; knows it sooner than any ward or district politician, whose business it is to keep trace of such changes. Of course he assumes a flop on the part of a man who has changed from a strong partisan journal to one on the other side; but men do not | change as suddenly as that. No two papers, in the same city, are of exactly the same political color, and it is through a man's gradual change of newspa- GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS. t= Communications addressed to this department will not be noticed unless the names of responsible parties are signed to them as evidence of the good faith of the writers. Anyus Mc N. B., Baltimore, Md.—ist. The centenarian Edward Augustus Holyoke was born in Essex County, Mass., on Aug. 1, 1728, and died in Salem, Mass., on March 31, 1829. On his one hundredth birthday about fifty physi- cians of Boston and Salem gave him a public dinner. He walked to the table with a firm step, after dinner smoked his pipe, and gave an appropriate toast. He practiced as a physician in Salem for 79 years. He was twice married, and the father of 12 children, only two of whom survived him. He regarded his constant care to have a full pro- portion of sleep as one of the causes of his longevity. At his death he could read the finest print with his naked eye. In his diet he was very temperate, partaking freely of fruit. 24. A memoir of his life was published by the Essex Medical Society, but it is doubtful if it is now in print. 8d. He graduated at Harvard College, of which his father was president in 1746. M. C. W., Worcester, Mass.—ist. The prong-horn, one of the antelopes of North America, is about as large as the common deer. Its speed is so great that efforts to run it down are seldom made. Itis often seen by travelers on the Pacific Railroad. It can be attracted to the hunter by his waving a handkerchief, its curiosity to see what it is overcoming its natural timidity, and drawing it so near as to be within the range of the rifle or the bow and arrow of the Indian- It gets its name from the horns, which grow nearly straight up and bend toward each other at the top, each having asingle branch or prong about half way up. 2d. Deer have solid horns which they shed every year, but the horns of antelopes are hol- low, like those of sheep, goats, and oxen, which are usually not shed at all. Annette, Boston, Mass.—The “Holy Alliance” was a league formed by the Emperors Alexander I., of Russia, and Francis of Austria, and King Frederick William III., of Prussia, Sept. 26, 1815, after the second abdication of Napoleon, and acceded to by the other principal powers of Europe, except Rome, England, and France. Its_0s- tensible object was to regulate the states of Christendom on principles of Christian unity, but the real aim was to maintain the existing dynasties. Alexander himself drew up the agreement, and gave to ititsmame. A special article of the treaty excluded forever the members of the Bonaparte family from all the thrones of Europe. After Alexander’s death the compact lost authority, and the French revolution of 1880 may be said to have ended it. Ruby L. H., Rahway, N. J.—ist. The staple food for canaries is clean, bright canary seed. One part of rape seed mixed with five of canary will render the food more than ordinarily nutritious. Tender new lettuce is also excellent. Fine gravel or coarse clean sand upon the floor is recommended. The common white cuttle-fish bone is a very good thing to fasten at the side of the cage for their convenience. Fresh clean water should be fur- nished every day in drinking cups at a regular hour. We can send you “Holden’s Book on Birds” for 50 cents. 2d. The longest verse in the Bible is the ninth verse of the eighth chapter of Esther. 3d. Weak eyes may be greatly benefited by bathing them night and morning in a wea solution of table-salt and water. Wm. J. K., Lancaster, Pa.—ist. We believe the longest balloon vogage ever made was by Prof. John Wise. On July 2, 1859, he and three others traveled from St. Louis, Mo., to the upper part of Jefferson County, N. Y., making a distance of eleven hundred and fifty miles in nineteen hours and fifty minutes. 2d. The disastrous ascension by Prof. Donaldson, who was accompanied by Newton S. Grimwood, took place from the lake front at Chicago, on July 15, 1875. The body of young Grimwood was recov- ered, but no trace was ever found ofthe balloon or of Donaldson. Guy, Hartford, Conn.—The gold fish is a native of Chi- na, but was introduced into Europe early in the Seven- - teenth century. Its food is chiefly animalcules, with bread when in confinement. It will bear great extremes of heat and cold, and its life may be prolonged to twenty or thirty years. In New England it bears well the se- verity of the winters, and breeds in great numbers when protected from other fish. The colors vary greatly by do- mestication. In China, gold fish are kept either in porce- lain vessels or in artificial ponds. A. T. D.. Chicago.—ist. A fine sauce for fish, meats, etc., is thus made: Put into a nice tin saucepan one pint of port wine, half a pint of walnut catsup, twelve anchovies and the liquor belonging to them, one gill of wal- nut pickles, the grated rind and juice of one large lemon, four or five shallots, cayenne pepper to taste, three ounces of scraped horseradish, three blades of mace, two teaspoonfuls of made mustard. Boil it all gently un- til the rawness goes off, and bottle. 2d. The book you de- sire will cost 30 cents. Y. G., Rahway, N. J—To make tomato soy, to one peck of ripe tomatoes cut in slices, skins and pulp, put half a cup of ground black pepper, half a cup of celery seed, two tablespoonfuls of ground allspice and two of cloves, two large red peppers, four large onions chopped fine, and one cup of salt. Boil these ingredients with sufficient water well for three hours, and just before taking off, add one cup of vinegar; strain through a colander, and bottle it at once. This sauce will answer to season stews with, and to eat with soups, etc. per that the newsman judges his mind. ‘ The newsman’s sense is as keen regarding miscel- He never | makes the mistake of offering a strange preacher a sporting paper—no matter how roughly dressed the preacher may be—nor does he show a religious week- ly to a gambler, although he may be gotten up to look like a pillar of a church. He will gladly sell you any papers you ask for, but he knows, as well as you, which are for yourself, which for your wife and daughter, and which for your servant; he can even tell, by the papers you buy to carry home, what sort of wife, daughter, and servant you have. The newsman generally knows in advance when there is going to be a run on any particular paper, and inereases his order accordingly. This looks | risky, for very few publishers take back unsold pa- pers, and the margin of profit is sometimes so small that to be ‘‘stuck” on one copy means to lose the profit on four. Yet the dealer is rarely stuck. Were some unusual news expected to-morrow morning, he would increase his orders for each of the half-dozen papers he sells, yet no two to the same extent. Prob- ably he could not tell you how he determined on the exact figures; but if you go to his stand in the after- noon you will find, by its bareness, that he estimated rightly. It takes all sorts of papers, like all sorts of men, to make a world, sonew ones are frequently started. The newsman does not profess to know everything, but he will look over anew paper two or three minutes and estimate its chances more accurately than the editor usually does. The editor generally knows what he wishes people would like; the newsman knows what they really like, and knows, too, how near the editor comes to pleasing any particular class of readers for which he is working. As aman may generally be known by the papers he reads, it follows that the newsman becomes an accurate judge of human nature in his vicinity. If I wanted to know all about any particular residence, block, or district in the city, | would much rather consult the newsman than the ward detective, or any of the precinct police, for they have no interest in any but the crooked characters, while the news- man has had to study everybody, from the clergy to the corner loafers. As a consequence of his sharp wits, the newsman always prospers in business; it is easier to finda dead mule or an honest burglar than a newsman who has failed. Some people say this is because he sells only for cash, but this is a mistake; the retail liquor dealer does not give credit, yet he is sometimes sold out by the sheriff. It would astonish people to know how many newsmen, who never wear good clothes and who began business with less than a dollar as working capital, now own the houses they live in, and have money in the bank besides. But nobody begrudges the newsman his luck; a fellow who does his own work, starting in the morning before the earliest day laborer is awake, never “knocking off” or being behind time on account of the weather, making his living at the rate of half a cent, or less, on each sale, deserves all the fortune that falls to him. Andif some day he outgrows his business and goes into something larger, manufacturers and banks regard him with a great deal more confidence than they extend to some well-dressed, lordly fel- lows who start in business on borrowed capital and no experience whatever. New York has more than fifty prominent business men who began life in cor- ner news-stands; and a gentleman who is to-day a millionaire bank president of Chicago commenced his business career behind a news-stand, lee ET ne SINGING. No social pleasure is more enjoyable than singing. When friends meet, and the lively word and social jest are intermingled with the voice of song, the spirit throws off care and thought and recreates it- self, that it may be better fitted for the hour of toil. Those who are able to meet at stated times and spend an hour in the practice of music, lose much by neglecting to do so. There is not a hamlet or village where a singing circle may not be formed and music practiced, and this, too, not as a task, but as a source of deep, heartfelt pleasure. The desideratum for such circles is simple home music, such as stirs the heart and causes its depths to well forth in gladness and joy, or to sympathize in pensive sadness. And this music should be new, else we tire by too much repetition, and various in kind and subject, else some chords of the heart are left untouched. THE man or woman who does as near right as he or she knows, is more likely to have a front seat here- after than the minister who preaches on the allo- pathic and practices on the homeopathic plan. S. T. S.—ist. Bluebeard is the hero of a well-known story of the same name, originally written in French by Charles Perrault. Itis said that the original Bluebeard was Giles de Laval, Lord of Raiz, who was made Marshal of France in 1429. Herendered himself infamous by the number of his wives, and for some state crime was sen- tenced to be burned in a field at Nantes, in 1440. 2d. Prince Ahmed is a character in the “Arabian Nights’ En- tertainments,”’ in the story of “Prince Ahmed and the fairy Paribanou.” Frank C. B., Norwich, N. Y.—ist. The U. 8. Minister to Brazil (residence at Janiero) is Thomas J. Jarvis; Mexico (residence City of Mexico), Thomas C. Manning; France (residence Paris), Robert M. McLane; Belgium (residence Brussels), Lambert Tree ; Netherlands (The Hague), Isaac Bell, Jr. The U.S, Consul-General to Austria (residence Vienna), is Edward Jussen. Letters addressed to any of the ministers named will receive respectful considera- tion. 2d. Yes. Roland M., Bridgeport, Conn.—A banshee, in popular superstition, is an invisible being, supposed to announce by weird presence and mournful voice some one’s ap- proaching death. The superstition in ancient times _pre- vailed very generally in Ireland and Scotland. In later times it was popularly supposed that each family had its banshee, which gave warning of misfortune, or haunted the scenes of past calamities. N. C. A.—Your naturalization papers can be obtained at any time by going (with a witness who has known youin this country for five years and who knows that you ar- rived in this country before you reached the age of eighteen years) to the Court of Common Pleas, or the Superior Court, or the United States District Court, within the usual court hours. The fee will be from fifty cents to $1. D. L. B., Atlanta, Ga.—The Homeopathic Medical Col- lege at the north-east corner of Third avenue and Twenty- third street, has been established for over twenty-five years. The college year consists of a winter term of six months. Fees: for one course of lectures, $125; for graded course, including the lectures of the entire period of three years, $200. J. T. 8., Red Bluff, Cal—A person born on the 29th of February may keep the anniversary of his or her birth in the non-leap year either on the Ist of March or on the 28th of February. We should say that the latter date would be preferable, because in law the year of age is com- pleted the day before the anniversary of that of the ac- tual birth. Kathleen, Ontario.—ist. July 27, 1881, came on Wednes- day ; Nov. 4, 1876, on Saturday. 2d. Beef-marrow is recom- mended to make the hair grow. 3d. A vail will protect the face, and gloves the hands, from sunburn, 4th. Glyce- rine acidulated with fresh lemon juice will help to keep the skin soft and white. 5th. Notin book-form. R. M., Ohio.—ist.—Pimples can generally be avoided by paying attention to the diet, avoiding all rich, salt, or greasy food. To remove pimples apply night and morn- ing a little glycerine diluted with pure cologne water. 2d. Glycerine acidulated with a little fresh lemon juice will help to whiten and soften the skin. Mahlon D. C., Morristown, N. J.—The present Secre- tary of the Treasury is Charles S. Fairchild, of New York. President Cleveland’s first appointment was Daniel Man- ning, of New York, who resigned on account of ill health. Nettie C., Brooklyn, N. Y.—1st. Laura B. Phelps, violinist, made her debut at the Academy of Music, Brooklyn, on March 26, 1885. 2d, Adelina Patti and the Marquis De Caux were formally divorced at Paris on July 16, 1885. Grace Darling, Framingham, Mass.—As stated recently to another correspondent, women can vote at municipal elections in Kansas. The Governor of the State signed the bill on Feb. 16, 1887. ‘ F. W. L., Montreal, Canada.—A letter addressed to Hon. Jobn C. Black, Commissioner of Pensions, Interior De- partment, Washington, D. C., will elicit full information upon the subject. Mark Mariposa, Reading, Pa.—ist. “Buffalo Bill,” in book-form, will cost $1. 2d. The story and plays named are notin print. 3d. The process is called photo-engray- ing. H. E. C., St. Louis, Mo.—ist. The color of the hair is dark brown; texture medium. 2d. Beef-marrow is recommended to promote the growth of the hair. A. R., Newburgh, N. Y.—The number of miles from New York to New Orleans, by water, is 2,045 miles; by land 1,550, Lewis R. J., Long Island.—‘‘The Painter’s Manual,” by a practical painter, will be sent to you for 50 cents. Adele.—The shortest verse in the Bible is the thirty- fifth verse ef the eleventh chapter of St. John. D. A. BP., Stonington, Conn.—The distance from New York to Denver, Colorado, is 1,980 miles. Chas. C., Patchogue.—ist. Perhaps soon. 2d. and 3d. No record of either.