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‘r‘vr‘arsr Azores; 1 _ e . . PS THAT J0me or ones. ~' The officers of her Majesty’s Twei y- fourth and Bi hty-fonrtb Infantry were sitting round t eir mess-table, in Castle- town, the capital of the Isle of Man, one evening, more than thirty years oâ€"that is to say, all of them except one; at then that one was only Jones. Nobody minded Jones ; even his peculiar- ities had begun to be an object for chafiing ; and, indeed, he had paid such small atten- tion to their chaliing that they had come to find it little pleasure, and after some weeks of discomfort, Lieutenant Jones had been allowed to choose his own pleasures without much interference. These were not extravagant. A favorite book, a long walk in all kinds of weather, and asail when the weather was favourable. He would not drinkâ€"he said it hurt his health ; he would not shootâ€"he said it hurt his feelings ; he would not gambleâ€"he said it hurt his conscience ; and he did not care to flirt or visit the belles of the placeâ€"he said it hurt his affections. Once Captain de chzy lispingly wonder- ed whether it was possible to hurt his honor and Jones calmly answered “that it was not possible for Captain do Renzy to do so.” Indeed, Jones constantly violated all these gentlemen’s ideas of proper behaviour, but for some reason or other no one brought him to account for it. It was easier to shrug their shoulders and call him queer, or say “ it was only Jones,” or even to quietly assert his cowardice. One evening Colonel Underwood was dis- cussing a hunting party for the next day. Jones walked into the room and was ini- mcdiately accosted : “ Something new, lieutenant. I find there are plenty of hares on the island, and we mean to give puss a run to-morrow. I have heard you are a good rider ; will you join us ‘3" ‘ “ You must excuse me, colonel. Such a thing is neither in my way of duty nor my pleasure.” “ You forgot the honour the colonel does you J ones," said Ensign Powell. “ I thank the colonel for his courtesy, but I can see no good reason for accepting it, and I am sure the here will not like it ; and I am not a very good rider, thereforeI should not enjoy it.” “ You need not be afraid,” said the col- onel with e. sneer. “The country is quite open, and these low Manx walls are easily taken.” “ Excuse me, colonel, I am afraid. If I should be hurt it_would cause my mother and sisters very great alarm and anxiety.” \Vliauwus to be done with a man so obtuse regarding conventionalities, and who boldly asserted his cowardice. The colonel turn- ed away half-coutemptuously, and Ensign Powell took the place of Jones. The morning proved to be a very bad one with the prospect of a rising storm ; and as the party gathered in the barrack yard, Jones said earnestly to his colonel : ” I am afraid, sir, you will meet with a severe storm.” “ I think so, lieutenant, 'but we promised to dine at Gwynne Hall, and we shall get that far at any rate.” So they rode rather gloomin away in the ram. Jones attended to the military duties as- signed him, and then, about noon, walked seaward. It was hard work by this time to keep his footing on the narrow quay, but ' amid the blinding spray and mist he saw quite a crowd of men growing ra. idly to- wards the great shelving Scarlet ocks, a mile beyond the town. He stopped an old sailor and asked if any- thing was wrong. “ A little steamer, yer honour, off the Calf of Man; she’s driving this way, and I fear she'll be on the rocks afore night.” Jones stood still a moment, and then fol- lowed tlie crowd as fast as the storm would let him. When he joined them they were gathered on the summit of a huge cliff, watching the doomed craft. She was now within sight, and it was evident her seamen had almost lost'ull control over her. She must ere long be thin by the waves upon the jagged and frig tful rocks towards which she was driving. In the lulls of the wind, not only the booming of the minute gun, but also the shouts of the imperilled crew could be heard. “ What can be done?" said Jones to an old man, whose face betrayed the strongest emotion. “ Nothing, sir, I am afraid. If she had managed to round the rocks, she would have gone to pieces on the sand, and there are p Cllly of men who would have risked their lives to save life. But how are we to reach them from this height?” “ How far are we above water ‘2” “ This rock goes down like a wall, forty fathoms.” “ What depth of water at the foot?” “ Thirty feet or more.” “ Good. Have you plenty of strong rope ?” “ Much as you want, sir. But let me tell you that you can’t live three minutes down there ; the first wave will throw you on the rocks, and dash you to pieces. Plenty of us would put you down, sir, but you can't Qwiiii if you get down." .“ Do you know, old man, what surf swim- ming is? I have dived through the surf.” “ God bless you, sir I I thought no white man could do that same." While this conversation was going on, Jones was divesting himself of all superflu- ous clothing, and cuttin out the sleeves of hisheavy pea-jacket wit 1 his pocket~kiiife. This done. he passed some light strong rope through them. The men watched him with eager inter- est, and seeing their inquisitive looks, he said : “ The thick sleeve will prevent the rope cutting my body, you see. " " Ay, ay. I see what you are doing.” “‘ how, men, I have only one request. Sivcnine plenty of rope as fast as I draw on “on. ” But how are on oin water 1" 3 g g to reach the “I am going to plun 0 down. I have dived freiu the mainyar of the Ajax before this. It was as high a leap.” l ed him. He struck the water at least twentydive feet beyond the cliff, and dis- appeared in its dark, foamy depths. When he rose to the surface he saw just before him a gigantic wave, but he had time to breathe, and before it reached him he dived below its centre. It broke in passion- ate fury upon the rocks, but Jones rose far beyond it. A mighty cheer from the men on shore reached him, and he now began in good earnest to put his Pacific experiences into practice. , Drawing continually on the men for more rope, which they paid out with deafening cheers, he met wave after wave in the same manner, divng under them like an otter, and gettin nearer to the wreck with every waveâ€"rea y advancing however more below the water than above it. Suddenly the despairing men on board the steamer heard a clear, hopeful voice : “ Help at hand, captain ! Throw me a buoy 3” And in another minute or two Jones was on the deck, and the cheers on the little steamer were echoed by the cheers of the crowd on the land. There was not a mo- ment to be lost ; she was breaking up fast ; but it took but a few minutes to fasten a strong cable to the small rope and draw it on board, and then a second cable, and the communication was complete. “ There is a lady here,” said the captain. “ We must rig up a chair for her-slie can never walk that dangerous road." “ But we have not a moment to waste, or we may all be lost. Is she very heavy 2” “ A slight little thing â€"like a child, sir.” “ Bring her here.” This was no time for ceremony. W’ithout a wordâ€"save a few sentences of direction and encouragementâ€"he took her under his left arm, and steadying himself by the upper cable, walked on the lower with his burden safely to the shore. The crew followed, for in such moments of extremity the soul masters the body, and all things become pos- 81 e. There was plenty of help waiting for the half-dead seamen; and the lady, her father, and the captain had been putin the carriage of Squire Braddon, of Kirk Braddon, and driven rapidly to his hospitable hall. Jones amid the confusion, disappearedâ€"he had picked up an oilskin coat and cap, and when everyone turned to thank their deliv- erer, he was gone. No one knew him ; the sailors said they believed him to be “one of the military gents, by his rig ing,” but the ihdividuality of the hero had troubled no one until the danger was over. In an hour the steamer was driven on the rocks, and went to pieces; and, it being by this time quite dark, every one went home. The next day the hunting party returned from Gwynne Hall, the storm having oom- pelled them to stop all night, and at dinner that evening the wreck and the hero of it were the theme of every one’s conversation. “Such a plucky fellow,” said Ensign Powell. “I wonder who he was. Gwynne says he was a stranger, perhaps one of that crowd staying at the abbey.” “Perhaps,” said Captain Marks, “it was Jones.” “Oh, Jones would be too afraid of his mother!” Jones made a little, satirical bow, and said, very pleasantly: “ Perhaps it was Powell,” at which Po- well laughed and said: " Not if he knew it.” In a week the event had been pretty well exhausted, especially as there was to be a great dinner and ball at Kirk Braddon, and all the officers had invitations. This ball had a peculiar interest, for the young lady who had been saved from the ship would be present. Rumours of riches and beauty had been rife for several days. It was said the little steamer was her father’s, and that he was a man of rank and influence. Jones said he should not go to the dinner, as either he or Seville must- remain for even- ing drill, and that Savillc loved a good din- ner, while he cared very little about it. Saville could return in time to let him ride over about ten o‘clo:k and see the dancing. Saville rather wondered why J oncs (lid not take his place all the evening, and felt half injured at the default. But Jones had a curiosity about the girl he had saved. To tell the 'truth, he was nearer in love with her than he had ever been with any woman, and he wished iii calm blood to see if she was as beautiful as his fancy had painted her during those few awful minutes that he held her high above the waves. She was exceediu ly lovely, just the fresh, innocent girl he had known she should be. He watched her dancing with his brother officers, or talking to her father, or leaning on Braddou’s arm, and every time he saw her she looked fairer and sweeter. Yet he had not courage to ask for an introduction, and in the busy bull-room no one seemed to remember that he needed one. He kept his post against the conservatory door quite ii listurbed for some time. Presently he saw Squire Brad- don, With the beauty on his arm, approach- ing him. As they passed, the squire remem- bered he had not been to dinner, and stop- ped to say a few courteous words, and in- troduced his companion. “ Miss Conycrs." “ Lieutenant J ones.” But no sooner did Miss Conyers hear Lieutenant Jones’s voice than she gave a joyful cry, and clapping her hands together, said : “ I have found himâ€"papa, I have found him 2” Never was there such an interruption to a ball. It was wonderful after this night what a chan e took place in J oues’s quiet ways. His ks and boat seemed to have lost their charm ; and us for his walks they were ‘iii one direction, and ended at Bruddon Hall. In about a month Miss Conyers went away, and then Jones began to haunt the post- man, and to get- prctty little letters, which always seemed to take a great deal of an- swering. . Before the end of the winter he had an in- \‘itation from Mr. Conyers to spend a month, and a furlough being granted he started off in great glee for Kent. Jones never re- turned to the Eighty-fourth. The month’s furlough was indefinitely lengthenedâ€"in fact, he sold out, and entered upon a diplo- _,"‘3 passed a double 00:} of flu, repel round matic career under the care of Mr. Thomas his waist, examined it thoroughly to see Conyem' mat there was plenty to start with, and say- ing: “ New, friends, stand out of the way, and let me have a clear start," he raised his bare head one moment toward heaven, and taking a short run, leaped, as from the spring-board of a plunge bath. Such an anxious crowd as followed that loan? Great numbers, in spite of the danger- :vw win-l, lay flat on their breasts and watch. Eighteen months after the wreck Colonel UnderWood read aloud at the mess the de- scription of the marri e of Thomas Jones, of Milford Haven, to ary, only child and heiress of Sir Thomas Conyers, of Conycrs Castle, Kent: and a para ph below stated that “The Honourable T omas Jones, with his bride had gone to Vienna on diplomatic service of :it importance. ” “Just his luck," said Powell. thesef owsa other through various parts of his body, including â€". “Just his pluck,” said Underwood; “and for my t, when I come across an of ' thatareso much araid of hurting their mothers and sisters, and not ashamed to say so, I shall treat him as a hero just waiting for his opportunity, Here’s to the Honourable Thomas Jones and his lovely bride. We are going to India entlemen, next month, and I am sorry the Eightyfourth has lost Lieutenant Jones; for I have no doubt whatever he would have stormed a fort as bravely as he board. we wreck.” THE INDIAN ADEPT’S FOBTITUDH Horrible Tartar-cs Gone Through by the Faklrs \‘illhout Emotion. An account of the performance of the Indian fakir,Solimau ben Aissa, is given by a Vienna correspondent. The exhibition has very properly been forbidden in public places in Vienna, but a series of private en- tertainments has been arranged. An aristo- cratic audience was present at the first of these. The fakir commenced his perform- ances by inhaling the fumes of burnt powder prepared from extracts of snake and scorpion poisons and by certain quick move- ments of the head he produced a foaming at the mouth. ‘ After these preliminaries needles and sharp instruments were - thrust a stiletto a foot long and half-an-inch bread which was thrust through his tongue. Another feat which is said to have caused great sensation consisted in pulling forward the eyeball and presenting it outside the orbit to the view of the audience between two fingers. He was “invuluerable” also to the heat produced by aflaming torch held for a minute and a half against the under surface of his forearm. Chewing glass and playing with poisonous snakes were among his other tricks. A Little Girl’s Sewing. The baby of two years old will beg for a needle to sew, and, in her small rocking- chair, work industriously at nothing at all for many minutes, but when three or four years of age. can, with time and patience, be taught to wear a thimblc, thread a. needle, and make a garment for a tiny doll, one of those that is completed when two inches of running up the back, six inches of hemmiug around the bottom, a draw string around the neck and two holes for the arms completes the dress, and from this on to big dresses for big dolls, which cover, when neatly made, all the ground gone over on a larger scale on a frock for herself, and then to the machine, where her own skirts and aprons can be so quickly put together, is all within the range of pleasant possibilities. The Domestic reward, but should be among the first les- sons in repairing taught, and that seven years is not too early for a girl to begin this part of her education, only she should not be confronted at the outset with some old stocking gaping with rents, but rather a pair with just the tiniest hole making it- self seen; then it will not be long before the mother can say, “There, your stockings are mended, and you can run and play,” and with a cent to spend or a creamdrop or carmel as a prize, there will nothing unplea- sant be connected with darning stockings. and it is strange that it should be mostly regarded as a. disagreeable, if not a. hateful task. In connection with the darning, teach the daughter to leave off stockings as soon as they begin to show white patches, through the inky line now fashionable, for small holes are not so tiresome to fill up as some great rent in the heel or knee. The sewing on of shoe-buttons is also something that should come under the daughter’s care at an early age, and she should be taught that a button off her shoe is a mark of great carelessness and untidi- ness, and it is more than likely that stock- ings can be darned, shoe-buttons sewed on, and other repairs made in the early hours of Saturday morning, and in no ways interfere with the hours for play, and if this is begun right after breakfast», in winter or summer, before noon there is a. restless, uneasy set of children in the house or garden, teasing one another, and asking more than once, “What can I do now, momma?” while if a. little time has been spent in useful occupa- tion, many things will suggest themseli es for the hours of recreation. A Kerry Parting Scene. On Thursday alargenumbcr of emigrants, left Killarncy by the day-mail train says a Kerry correspondent. A great majority of them were bound for Canada. From an early hour in the morning large crowds of people from the outlying country passed through the town on their way to the sta- tion, so that long before the train was due to arrive the platform was crowded with emigrants and their friends, who came to wish them Godspeed on their journey. It was a most pathetic scene. Tears rolled down the furrowed cheeks of grey-haired men and women as they clung to the child- ren, who were the only hopes they had in the few remaining years of their life. Im- mediately the train arrived on' the platform there was a rush for the_ carriages, which it ere almost already full of emigrants from North and West Kerry, many of whom wore the bright-colored jerseys of the Gaelic Athletic Association, while not a few of them carried their camauns as a souvenir of the manly sports and pastimes of the Old Land. As the train steamed out of the station, a wild cheer went up from the friends of the emigrants, which was heartily responded to by the poor fellowsin the train, who waved huts and handkerchiefs through the windows until the train turned a curve tithe line, and they were lost to sight. A number of strangers who witnessed the scene were visibly moved. â€"â€".â€" The buttresses of “ Trajau’s Bridge,” which are still to be seen on the Danube, are the remains of what was, in some rc- spects. the most remarkable structure ever erected by man. It was not a mere floating bridge of large boats and massive timbers, but was a permanent structure carried on piers 150 feet hi li and 60 feet wide, com- risin twenty arc, es, extending altogether 4,47 Roman feet. A powerful lamp, which distinctly illu- minates objects over half a mile distant, by means of a great reflector. is to be adopted in the French army. It is carried on a light waggon, behind the soldiers, and they will be in obscurity while the enemy and all objects in front will be made conspicu- ous. Monthly thinks stocking-darning must be The head-board stares coldly at her, and beguiled with story-telling, and somesugary to say over and over a am the words Childless. BY ELIZABETH A DAVIS. Sometimes I fancy. in that land unknown. The eagerlittle face that waits for Illeâ€" The eyes of blue. the sweet lips all my ownâ€" Tho baby feet that pause beside my knee. I clasp the tin form close to my breast. Whileroun my neck the dimplcd armsaro tinned, And for a few brief moments I am blessed Beyond the happiest of all womankiud. 0b. joy to_kiss the nestling golden head! Animh‘ivsper the swoct words that mothers . o __ The \vorals that though a million times were sai , \Vith every saying sweet and sweeter grow. And on my check I feel the baby breath. Anigligar the tones that never can grow For time: nor space, nor change, nor cruel death, Can take my darling from my loving hold. A Woman’s Life. A wee mother is carefully putting her favorite doll to bed. With tender solici- tude she carefully removes each dainty gar- ment and fastens on the tiny nightgown. Then with a fond kiss, she hii s her trea- sure to her and places it in its ittle cradle. After putting it gently she tiptoes out of the room as the twilight peeps curiously in. A fair maiden stands before her looking- glass adding the last touches to her evening I toilet. Her lover will soon be here 1 Her eyes are full of innocent lovelight ! She looks eagerly at her reflection in the glass ! How glad she is that she is pretty! She frowns a little at a crimp that will not sta just as it should. A ring comes at the door and she hastens away to meet her beloved. A young wife sits anxiously watching for her husband. At each approachin foot- stop her heart beats rapturously, an then grows heavy with disappointment. She will not go indoors, it is so sweet out here ! The creeping shadows cheer her tremblin soul ; so she waits and wishes, and the shadows lengthen into darkened night. A mother is rocking her baby to sleep. He looks at her gravely while they move to !and fro, as if askiu how the bright sun- ' shine must leave an the ueg shadows hide her dear face from him. There is a Wealth of wisdom in his great, sweet eyes. He holds tightly to her dress, as if to keep her near him. When at last his eyes are closed she disengages the loving hand, kisses him lightlyâ€"as he must not be awakenedâ€"and arises to-put him into his crib. Then she sinks back into her chair and begins to rock again. It is so p‘easant to rest in the twilight and he is so sweet to nurse ! A woman kneels by a fresh-made grave. inscribed upon it. He was or only child, and she was a. widow. \Vitli tear-laden eyes she bends down lower and lower, till her lips rest upon the earth. She longs so to kiss the quiet form it is hiding from her ! And the twilight seems to hurry past and lose itself in the darkness. A care-worn old woman sits watching the shadows come, they are friends to herâ€"â€" friends that she welcomes, for they always sing the same old song to her : “ One day nearer home.” And she smiles on them her thanks." She, too, repeats “One day nearer home.” And so lifeâ€"woman’s life â€"â€"-gocs on in the twilight till rest comes to her weary body and joy to her aching heart -till her spirit reaches its home, where never a shadow can fall upon it. Worry in a. Girl’s Life- Truly the first necessity is to teach a girl to approach her work, physical or mental, in a. normal, healthy wayuto accomplish what she has to do naturally, using only the force required to gain her point; not worrying all the time she studies for fear the lesson will not be learned ; not feeling rushed from mornin, to night for fear her work will not be one; not going about with a burden of unnecessary anxiety, a morbid fear of her teachers and a general attitude toward life which means strain and constant strain. A glance forward in- tensifies the gravity of the case. Such habits once developed in a girl who is fit- ting herself to teach are strongly felt by her pupils when she takes the position of a teacher. The nervous strain is reflected back and forth from teacher to pupil, and is thus forcing itself on the notice of others, and proving day by day more clearly what is the greatest physical need. Those who have observed this tendenc are wont to say “Give the girls plenty of exercise ; plenty of fresh air ; see that the sleep and eat well, and this greatest need will be supplied without thought.” If the unhealthy condition we have noted were just making its appearance the remedy would be sufficient. As it is, such a remedy suffices in a few cases, in most cases parti- ally, but in some not at all. The habit has stood now through too many generations to be overcome without a distinct recogni- tion of the loss of power, and a strong reali- zation of the need of regaining this power. Indeed, so great a hold on the community has this want of quiet and easy activity in study and in play that it is not rare to find young girls who believe the abnormal to be the natural life and the other unnatural. up stairs,” This I know is an extreme in- stance. and yet not so uncommon as I wish it wormâ€"[Annie P. Call, in Atlantic Month- ly. The Subject of Moths- It is an old subject, but now the moth lays her eggs and hatches the grub into its devastating feed season of from one to three weeks, to the period of its cocoon stage. It is well to remember, says the Upholster- er, that the moth never destroys wooleus; it is the worm. It is well to remember that comphor and all other vile odors in the world will never protect fabrics in the least. If a woman puts a garment away that has so much as one moth egg a ton of camphor won’t prevent that egg from hatching, if there's any hatch to it. The only way to preserve a armeut from the ravages of the moth is to absolutel sure in the first place that a moth has aid no »eggs in it, and this is not easy to discover, because with the mother instinct it creeps in dark crevices, the more obscure the )etter, and its eggs are as small as the point of a pin. It costs these eggs or incrusts them with As one girl told me once, in perfect good faith, “ I keep well on excitement, but it tires me terribly to carry a pitcher of water HOUSEHOLD. ‘ Y should be sliced thin. g y g Y y a covering, and you might beats-«abut the garment and not in. the flights: degr-o. art the eggs. Now you can put that gar- ment‘away in a oampbor chest and heap a ton of com her on top of it, yet if one of these eggs atchss a worm, that worm will start in to feed. The only way to be sure that none of these eggsare put away in a garment is to keep the out out under constant surveillance for two or three weeks before puttin it away, and in that time any newly-hatch worm will develop into a size that can readily be seen. Once a gar- mentis absolutely free of the egg or the worm, it can then be tied up in a paper arcel, or anything else that will keep the iving moth out, with perfect impunity, for a moth will never bore its way into any- thing. â€".â€"..._. Plain Cookery. LEMON SAUCE. â€"-Wet two tablespoonfuls of flour with cold water and stir into one and one half cupfuls of boiling water. Beat one tablespoonful of butter, one cupful of sugar, the yolk of one egg and the juice and part of the rind of one lemon thoroughly to- gether, then add the hot. mixture to it slow- ly, stirring constantly. Let it cook a few minutes and while hot add the beaten white of the egg. Wiiirrnn CREAM Piaâ€"Line a deep pie tin with a moderately rich crust ; bake in a quick oven; then spread it with any soft jam or jelly and on this pour a teacupful of cream beaten or whipped to a stiff foam, then swaeten and flavor to taste. The cream will heat more easily if very cold at first. More jelly can be spread on the top of the cream, or serve it without as pre- ferred. RIIUBARB Piss.~â€"-For pics the rhubarb _ Put a layer of rhu- barb in the pie panâ€"tho under crust should be rolled rather thinâ€"then a layer of sugar and dredge with flour, another layer of rhu- barb, more sugar, then dredge with flour, ut on the top crust and bake in not too flat an oven until well done. The under crust should be nearly an inch larger than S the pan, and folded over the edge of the fruit. ’Wet sli htly with water or the white of an egg efore putting on the top crust, and you will not be troubled with the juice stewing out. The top crust should be cut through the centre. Two cups of rhubarb and a tablespoonful of flour is a good rule for a medium-sized pic. CREAM Toastâ€"Cut slices of stale light breadâ€"bakers if you have itâ€"into rounds with a cake-cutter, leaving not a bit of crust. Toast toa fine yellow brown. A scorched or blackened crumb is fatal to the excellence of the dish. Butter well while hot, sprinkle lavishly with salt, lay in a bowlâ€"silver or stout were that will stand fireâ€"and pour scalding milk in until the toast is covered two inches deep. Set (covered) in an oven for five minutes. By this time the milk should be all absorbed. Lift each slice carefully with a broad knife far enough to pour over it a tablespoonful of cream. Taste a crumb to be sure the seasoning is right. Most people make milk toast too fresh. Salt again if necessary cover closely and return to a moderate oven for ten minutes. Serve in the bowl if it is presentable; it not transfer carefully to a heated china bowl or saucer. The toast will be tender. puffy, relishful and exceed- ingly digestible. SxowRorms.â€"Boil one pint of milk: when cool add one-half cup of butter and lard mixed, 8. little less than one-half cup of sugar, one-quarter of a cake of compressed yeast and a little salt and flour, enough to make asoft dough. Let the mixture rise, mould and in the morning roll out as thin as doughnuts; cut round, fold With a little butter spread between. Let them rise again, then bake in a quick oven. FRENCH Romsâ€"Ono quart of flour, three eggs, three-quarters of u. teacup of good cast, a piece of butter the size of an egg. Sift the flour and pinch up the butter in it until the two are well mixed ; make a hole in the middle of the flour, and into this pour the eggs, well beaten, the yeast, and enou_ li warm water to knead the dough without its sticking in an unmanageable wa tothe tray. Use strength and work it well for 10 or 15 minutes, and then put it in astone jar, into which a little flour must be dusted first, and set by the fire until morhing to rise. Extremes of heat or cold will spoil the bread. Work it well a sin next morning, using'a little flour. and a little more butter if very rich and short bread is liked. Grease the baking-pan with cold lard, putting in a thick layer; melt some'lard and touch each roll, as it is made outwith the hand. around the edges with the warm lard to keep it from sticking to its neighbor. Cover the pan and set it in a slightly warm place for an hour to rise, and then bake until the crust is a delicate brown. The rolls ought to he a rich cream color, of a feathery texture, and fairly over- flowing the pan. Bread resembling the honeycomb is never good. W Wonders in Miniature. In a museum of curiosities atSuleni,Mass.. there is preserved a common cherry seed or stone, hollowed and fashioned like abaskct. Within the basket are twelve tiny silver spoons, the shape and finish of which can? not be distinguished with the naked eye. The name of the artist who constructed this little wonder has been lost, but the actual existence of the thing itself can not he ques- tinned. Dr. Peter Oliver, who lived in England during the early part of the El hteentli Century, tells of seeing a carver cherry stone which would be a wonder even in this age of fine tools and fine workmanship. This stone was one from a common cherry, and upon it were carved the heads of 1‘24 popes kings, queens, emperors, saints, etc. Small as they must necessarily have been, it is announced on the authority of Professor Oliver that with a good glass the heads of . the popes and kings could readily be dis- tinguished from those of the queens and saints by their mitrcs and crowns. The gentleman who brought this little wonder to England purchased it in Prussia, allow- ing the original owner £5000 for his treas- ure. Think of it, $25,000 for a cherry seed! It has often puzzled the uninitiated to giv¢ a reason wh musicians tune their instru- ments in public and not before they. entci the orchestra. If they tuned their lnstrn merits before entering the theatre or concert room the temperature is very apt to be dif. ferent in the place of performance, and therefore the instruments would not be ir tune. A piano that is in tune in r. cold roan would get out of tune it the room were am: neuly heated. a" p.- -.,.r_.\g A W,,-.....-..~v ---<~.-«a 1 MW WM am m M A WW .A ‘ We-. .. "my. new mu,” Name... I... -',.- «a. a»- we“. .â€"