Clippings.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 227, 22 January 1876, Page 6

Clippings.

SHE GOT MAD. (From the Detroit Free Press.) The other evening a Detroit joker slipped a little pink love-letter into the pocket of a staid old citizen as they were riding on. the street car. Of course the old citizen’s wife made a dive for his overcoat pockets as she passed through the hall, and when she had digested the love-letter she determined to commit suicide. While going upstairs after her bonnet she got mad, and changed her mind. Walking into the room where he sat before a cheerful fire, she exclaimed, “ Loves you better than her own life, eh 1” “ Who—what ?” he inquired. “ And she wants to know how that bald-headed wife of yours gets along, eh ?” “I really—l can’t ” “ And she wants 50dols. to buy her a set of furs, does she ?” “ Why, Mary, why—what are you talking about ? « Oh ! its come out—l’ve got the proofs !” she shouted, making a dash for his hair. The worthy man has sworn the most solemn oaths to his innocence ; offered to let her employ a detective to shadow him ; accounted for every hour of his absence during the last year, and furnished fifty theories in regard to the letter, and yet the wife coldly remarks that she is staving there solely on the children’s account.

A CITY IDYL. Charles Dickens, says a writer in Blackwood, found much material in the little dramas that were disclosed before the metropolitan magistrates, and he justifies this by narrating some cases which have fallen within his _ own experience. Here is one of them, which illustrates the conditions of life in many of our London courts : “ Please yer worship,” says a young Irish woman, “ I was setting on the pavement forenenst my own door with my feet in the kennel when Mrs. McCarthy comes up the court with a dhrop taken and blunders over my legs : * Get up out of that,’ says she, *ye cock-nosed I wouldn’t mintion to yer Worship the baste she called me, but I never seed noone of that name that hadn’t four legs, and I’ve ownly two, and most of ’em has horns —and I’m the mother of seven children, barrin’ two that I've buried, and here’s my marriage lines. * And if it pleased the Lord to cock my nose, that’s no concern of yours, Mrs McCarthy,’ says I ; * and if I had” had the makin’ of my own nose, I’d have had as straight a nose as any lady in the court ; and if it’s fighting you want, Mrs. McCarthy, says I, ‘if you’ll wait till my trouble’s over’—for I don’t know from this hour to that when that’ll be, and it may be this blessed minute that I’m spakin’ to yer "Worship— * I’ll fight ye like a lady ;’ and with that, yer Worship, she lays hould of my shoulder with all the teeth she has, and that’s not many, for Jim McCarthy—that’s her husband, as she calls him —knocked out four of 'em at Larry Began’s wake—and began to ate me like a dog ; and I wish yer Worship would bind her to the peace till iny trouble’s over, for I’m in fear of my life with her and her faction.”

MUTINY AND MULDER ON BOARD A LIVERPOOL SHIP AT SEA. The mutiny on board the barque Lennie, Captain Hatfield, has already been mentioned. It appears, says The Times, from details, which have now arrived, that on a bottle containing a message imploring assistance, signed “ Hoydonck,” being picked up at Mieul, Brittany, the Naval Prefect sent out the despatch-boat Travailleur from La Rochelle. Off La Flotte, He de Re, the Travailleur came up with a strange ship, which the pilots in the neighborhood said was bound from Granville to Messina —at least, they had been told so by the people on board, who spoke French badly. The commander of the Travailleur accordingly boarded the Lennie —for it was the ship -and found that the captain, mate, and boatswain had been murdered by the crew after a short resistance. The reason assigned for this was that the captain had ordered the crew to reef the sails, that thev had refused, and that on the officers trying to enforce the orders, the men had mutinied. After-wards, however, the crew got frightened at finding themselves alone on the opened sea, and asked the steward, who had some knowledge of navigation, to take them to Gibraltar. Yan Hoydonck, who had tried to save the lives of the officers, accordingly took the command and shaped the vessel s course to the lie d’Oleron. In the meantime he threw a bottle into the sea. On arriving off La Flotte six of the ringleaders put on the clothes of the murdered men, and left the ship in a boat for ■fclic shore. When, therefore, the Xrcivailleur took possession of the Lennie there were only five men, a cabin boy, and the steward on board. The cabin boy and one of the men had, together with the steward, tried, to save the officers’ lives at the risk of their own. Ihe Travailleur has received orders to bring the Lennie to La Rochelle, but hitherto the storms have prevented this. On Wednesday morning six Greek sailors arrived at babies d’Olonne, and stated that they belonged to t le St. George, which, going with a cargo of wheat from Constantinople to Havre, had been wrecked on the lie de Re. One of the men, Mateo Gayole, spoke French, but when the papers arrived in the afternoon with the account of the murders on the Lennie, the suspicions of the authorities were aroused, and the six shipwrecked sailors were at once arrested, and are now in prison. Such is the horrible story which has reached Paris. Rochelle, November 14. The Lennie has been towed into port by the Government despatch-boat Travailleur. The

sailors remaining on board have been arrested. The six Greek sailors previously arrested at Sables d’Olonne remain in prison. The names of the officers of the Lennie murdered by the mutineers are Captain Hatfield, Mr. Wortley, the mate, and Mr. Donald the boatswain. November 15. The six Greek sailors arrested at Sables d’Olonne on suspicion of being part of the crew of the Lennie, were examined to-day by the judge. The youngest confessed that the Lennie’s officers were assassinated by the crew on the 31st of last month, in British waters, under circumstances of great atrocity. The interrogation of the prisoners is still proceeding. Eleven persons altogether are under arrest. In all probability they will be handed over to the British authorities the Lennie being a British ship, and all the officers Englishmen.

DETERMINED TO BE HONEST. The other day, says the Detroit Free Press, a man -with a gaunt look halted before an eating stand at the Central Market, and after a long survey of the viands he said to the woman : “ I am a poor man, but I'll be honest if I have to be buried in the pauper's field.” “ What’s the matter now ?” asked the woman, regarding him with suspicion. “No one saw me pick up a 20dol. bill here by this stand early this morning, but as I said before I’ll be honest.” “ A 20dol. bill— pick up !” she whispered, bringing a bland smile to her face. “I suppose,” he continued, “that some one passing along here could have dropped such a bill, but it seems more x-easonable to think that the money was lost by you.” “ Don’t talk quite so loud,” she said, as she leaned over the stand. “ You are an honest man, and I’ll have your name put in the papers, so that all may know it. I’m a hardworking widow, and if you hadn’t brought back that money it would have gone hard with my poor little children.” “ If I pick up money by a stand I always giveit up,” he said as he sat down on one of the stools. “ That’s right—that’s honest,” she whispered, “ Draw right up here and have some breakfast.” He needed no second invitation. The way he went for cold ham, fried sausage, biscuit and coffee was terrific to the woman. “Yes—l—um —try—to—be—yonest,” he remarked between bites. “ That’s right. If I found any money belonging to you I’d give it up, you bet. Have another cup of coffee '?” “Don’t —care —fidoo,” he said, as he jammed more ham into his mouth. “ Even courtships have an ending. The old chap finally began to breathe like a foundered horse, and pretty soon after that he rose from the table. “ You are a good man to bring my lost money back,” said the woman, as she brushed away the crumbs. “Oh, I’m honest,” he replied ; when I find any lost money I always give it tip.” “ Well, I’ll take it now, please,” she said as he began to button his overcoat. “ Take what ?” he asked. “ That lost money you found.” “ I didn’t find any ! I’ll be honest with you, however, if I ever do find any around here !” “You old liar ! Didn’t you say you found a S2O bill here ?” “ No, ma’am. I said that no one saw me pick up such a bill here !” “ Pay me for them pervisions !” she yelled, clutching at his throat. “ I’ll be honestwith you—l haven’t a cent.!” he replied as he held her off. She tried to trip him over into a barrel of charcoal, but he broke loose, and before she recovered from her amazement he was a block away and galloping along like a stage horse. MAX ADLER’S RECITALS. AH AMATEUR FARMER. 'A man named Carey came down to our county a short time ago and bought a little farm just below us on the river. He didn’t profess to know much about farming, and the most wonderful stories have been floating about concerning his performances. Cooley related some of them to me the other day, but of course, I allow something for exaggeration. He said : *

“ Well, Carey’s just the most phenominal agriculturist in the State. Do you believe that he actually came over to ask me if he ought to plant mashed potatos in hills or sow them broadcast ; and when I asked him what he was going to plant them mashed for, he said that he preferred that variety for the variety to eat with gravy. Then when he put his corn in, what does he do but buy eight or ten gross of boxes of white felt com plasters, and sprinkled them around over the fields as a fertiliser, after which he set out four dozen Faber’s black lead pencils in the garden next to the asparagus bed. When he told me about it he said he was convinced that there was money in raising lead pencils, provided you took great care in harvesting the crop ; but he said he couldn’t tell for the life of him how they grew those square pieces of India rubber with which you erase lead pencil marks. He said he’d planted some in a corner of his long field, but they hadn’t come up, and he thought maybe the seed mignt have been bad. Awful, isn’t it ? , “ Then on Thursday he asked me what time of the year I plowed for heifers, and when I came to enquire I found he thought a heifer was some kind of an amazing potato. When I corrected him, he began to tell me how he had been trying to swarm oysters by daubing molasses on a hive and beating on a tin pan with a stick. It was only the other day I asked him why he didn’t put up a worm fence on the north side of his pasture, and he told me he wasn’t afraid of worms. They couldn’t hurt him, and he wasn’t going to the expense of building a fence to keep them out. The ignorance of that man is simply scandalous. I believe he’s capable of planting parasols so as to raise a crop of umbrellas. You can sever count on a man like that.

“ Why, I actually found him out in the woods with an auger boring an oak tree, and he said his hired man told him that that was the way they got soft soap. It ran up ■with the sap, and bulged out when a hole was made. When I discouraged him from trying any further, he walked across the field with me and told me that he had two thousand dollars buried in his cellar because he understood that compound interest doubled money in eleven years, and he was going to keep his -where it was safe, and let it double in peace. Then he asked me if I grafted my egg plant trees, or just let them grow as they were, and waited till the fruit got red before knocking it off with a pole. “He said this thing of farming confused him like the mischief. When he first planted potatos, he waited for the potatos to come out on the branches of the vine, and after a while somebody told him that they grew on the roots. So when his tomato vines grew, he imagined that the tomatos also were on the roots, and he dug every vine up to hunt for the tomatoes, and spoiled the whole crop. He told me yesterday that he was going to cut down his apple trees to-day, and run them through the threshing machine, to thresh off the apples, and I’m just on my way over to see how he does it. Good morning.”

A BOOT-BLACK’S STORY. (From the Detroit Free Press.) When a dozen newsboys and bootblacks had collected on the Custom-house stairs yesterday, and when each one had grown tired of jawbreakers and pop-corn balls, “ Little English” remarked: “ Sposen Jim Cocoanut tells us a story.” “ Sposen,” remarked all the others. “Well, gentlemen,” x-emarked Jim, after a few digs at his head, “ I will tell you a true story about a girl. Her name was Marier, and she had yaller hair, blue eyes, small feet, and she was worth a million dollars.” “In stamps?” asked Cross-eyed Dick. “ In clean cash, right in the savings' bank,” answered Jim. “This girl was an orphan, with no one to boss her around, and if she wanted to be out till eleven o’clock at night she could. There were piles of fellers after her to marry her, but she stuck up her nose at the hull caboodle. “What fur?” anxiously inquired Fire-cracker Tom. “What fur? Why, she knew they loved her money instead of herself. She wanted someone to love her earnestly, and like gosh. Well, one day when she was going down to the Post-office to see if there was ary mail, a runaway horse came along. Marier fainted away and sat down in the road, and she’ed have been broke all to pieces if it hadn’t been for a bootblack ’bout my size. He pulled her into a shooting gallery, brought her to, and then hired a hull ominbus and took her home.’ “ And they fell in love and were finally married,” remarked Suspender Johnson. “No, my fellow countrymen,” sadly replied Jim—“ she gin him ten cents !” “ And is that all ?” exclaimed three or four voices. “ All she gave him, and that turned out to be counterfeit !” There was a long period of silence, and then Cocoanut Jim continued : “ Which is a lesson to us never to marry a girl worth a million dollars.” “ And we never shall !” they solemnly replied.

GOOD RESULTS OF A GREAT EYIL. (Fi-om the New Yorh Tribune, Nov. 19.) The exposure of the Whisky Ring might have been merely a brief sensation, a nine days’ wonder. It bids fail-, instead, to create a permanent change in public opinion, and to contribute to a wholesome moral revolution. Public plunderers all over the land will read the reports of the McDonald trial, and see that justice is not dead. Those who associate with or countenance public plunderers will be reminded that men who steal from the Government ought to be in the penitentiary, and deserve no better treatment than any other class of jail bix-ds. - Exposure of whisky frauds does not mean merely a gain of revenue, or a stoppage of public robbery by a single method. It is a step toward a general cleansing of the public service, and will make other steps easier, but this is not all. Since the war broke out there has been a great demoralisation of public opinion respecting robberies of the Government. Exciting questions have engrossed attention. Peculations were thought unimportant, as long as it was uncertain whether the Union itself could be preserved, or the rightful results of the war secured. Because of services to the cause nearest the popular heart, public servants known to be corrupt were tolerated, were permitted to .wield political influence, and were even elevated to high positions. Rapidly and surely public sentiment was tainted. Men were welcomed to respectable society whose crimes, no one could doubt, would have brought them to a felon’s cell had law been rigidly enforced. People who would scorn to associate with pickpockets nevertheless invited to the society of their wives and daughters men who had given or taken bribes, swindling contractors, or whisky thieves. Few remembered that it was a crime to steal, whether from Government or from an individual. Nobody held the one crime as odious and disgraceful as the other. In this respect, the demoralisation had become almost universal. The young were educated by daily observation of social usages to regard crimes against the public service as venial offences immeasurably less disreputable than crimes against private rights of property. The poor boy who stole a loaf of bread was scorned. The adroit official who stole half a millon was half envied. Public opinion educated men to steal. For those to whoma crime no longer seems odioxxs when committed by others are not unlikely to commit it themselA es when tempted. It will help to rectify public opinion if men who have been treated with respect in spite of

known crimes, who have held positions of trust and influence, and have commanded precedenceamong decent men because of their stolen gains, may not only be exposed, but placed with otherfelons in the penitentiary. A few marked examples will do much to remind society that he who robs the Government deserves no bettertreatment than any other felon. The higher the rank the greater the influence of the criminal has been, the more effective will be the lesson of his conviction and punishment. In this respect the war upon the Whisky Ring promises to be peculiarly fruitful of results. Other investigations of misconduct in the public service have brought a certain sort of censure upon men of high position, but hardly ever more than censure. Not a single man has been brought to the doom of a felon by the Pacific Mail or other disclosures at Washington. Even in New York, Tweed is still fighting, and has not yet been followed to the penitentiary by other leaders of the ffammany Ring or by any of the Canal Ring who deserve the same fate. But Colonel Joyce, late special Revenue Agent and member of a Republican State Committee, is evidently not likely to lanquish in confinement for lack of congenial company. The evidence in thecase of General McDonald, though yet incomplete, is already enough to create a strongpresumption that he and others not less conspicuous will be convicted. If this man, with McKee, proprietor of the most important party organ in a district embracing several States ; Avery, recently Chief Clei-lc of the Treasury, and Maguire, lately Collector and candidate for Mayor of St. Louis, shall be found guilty of robbing the Government and sent to the penitentiary, to associate with felons who have robbed individuals, the lesson will not. fail to px-oduce a very wholesome effect upon the public morals. Because they were trusted, because they were men of lai-ge influence in a party and upon public opinion - because they held prominent positions in society and in the business community, their guilt, if they are guilty, was the greater, and their punishment will be of the greater benefit to the country.

ARSENIC-EATERS. At a meeting of Gex-man natural philo ~ sophei-s in Vienna, Dr. Knapp introduced two arsenic-eaters from Styria ; the one ate 0 - 30 gramme of yellow sulphuret of arsenic, the other o’4o gramme of ai-senic acid, in sight of the assembly. In his lecture on the arsenic-eatei-s, Dr. Knapp said, among other things : “ It is difficult to give any certain particulars as to the increase in number of arsenic eaters. I have convinced myself that there exists many of them Upper Styi-ia, and also in Middle Styria. Very many, stable boys, ostlers, woodcutters, and foresters are known to me as arsenic-eaters ; even the female sex is addicted to the practice. Many began already at seventeen or eighteen years of age to take arsenic, and continued it to a great age. Most arsenic-eaters keep the matter secret, so that is impossible to give accurate statistics. They all assign as their motives for indulging in the habit that it prevents illness ; furthers their wish to look rosy and healthy ; that it is a remedy against difficulty of breathing, and assists the digestion of indigestible food. A poacher in Upper Styria,. who made experiments in my presence of eating arsenic, told me he had acquired courage by the habit. The appearance of the arsenic eaters in all cases known to me is healthy and robust. I think oixly robust persons can become accustomed to the practice. Some of them attain a great age. Thus in Zeiring I saw a charcoal burner upwards of seventy, still strong and hearty, who, I was told, had taken arsenic for more than forty years. I heard too, of a chamois hunter of eighty-one, who had long been used to eat arsenic. I never observed an arsenic cachezy in those addicted to the habit. It certainly happened once that such an arsenic-eater (a leather dresser’s apprentice in Ligist, 1865), while intoxicated, took too much, thereby poisoning himself sevei-ely. According to his own account he had taken a piece the size of a bean. He entirely recovered, however, and ate arsenic afterward, but more carefully. As far as my observations extend, white arsenic, namely, arsenic acid, As. 03 (also called flowers of arsenic!, and the yellow ai’senic, As. S 3 (orpiment), are taken, and that in a dry state, alone or on bread. The dose is, of course, very small at first, and is gradually increased, the largest quantity eaten in my presence by the poacher in Zeiring being fourteen gi-ammes. A certain Matthew Sclxober, in Ligist, ate seven and one-half grammes before me on the 17th of April, 1865. The intervals, too, at which arsenic is taken vary—every fortnight, every week, twice or three times a week. But all doubt as to the existence of arsenic-eaters is now removed by the present experiments.

THE MORMONS AND PALESTINE. (Fi'om the Bulletin.)

At one time and another we have been almost inundated with reports that the Mormons had come to the conclusion that Utah was not, after all, the promised haven of rest reserved for the Saints. They have been going to pull up stakes and depart any number of times since the construction of the overland railroad. At oixe time they were bound toSouthern Arizona ; at another to one of the Northern States of Mexico, and again there have been reports that Brigham Aoung had been negotiating with the King of the Sandwich Islands Government for one or more of the islands of the Hawaiian group. The last rumor is to the effect that the agents of Brigham have been trying to buy Palestine from the Government of the Sublime Porte. This report, it appears, rests upon the authority of the Rev. Dr. Manning, Secretary of the British Religious’ Tract Society, who has been travelling in Utah. Palestine may be a land flowing with milk and honey, but we make bold to assert that the Mormons prefer the silver and coal mines of

the valleys and mountains of Salt Lake to all the cedars of Lebanon, or the products of the valleys of the Holy Land. The Mormons may sing of going to IVlount Ephriam to make a dwelling-place, but in actual fact they are tolerably well satisfied with the Wasatch ran"e. h7or do the Latter Lay Saints act like°a people who regard Utah as a temporary abiding place. We all know they are marryin°- and giving in marriage at a rate not viewed with favor by the general body of the people of the United States. They are building narrow-gauge railroads, constructing irrigating ditches, and engaging in every -other pursuit of life with as much an eye to the future as the citizens of any new territory within our borders. The Mormons may talk about emigrating, but at present they evidence no signs of preparing for a pilgrimage.

SWEET, RESTFUL HOME. (From the Danbury News). A “COTTER’S SATURDAY NIGHT IN DANBURI. It is Saturday night—the dear close of a tossing, struggling, restless week. To-morrow is the Sabbath—when all labor and care are held in abeyance. Saturday night stands like a rock before the day of rest, and says to toil and worry : “ Thus far shalt thou come, and no further.” Blessed Saturday night. The wearied husband and father approaches his home. He looks ahead and sees the light streaming m cheerful radiance from the windows and wonders if that boy has got in the kindlings. He steps up on the stoop and opens the door. His faithful wife meets him at the ■entrance and greets him with, “ Why on earth don't you clean your feet, and not lug the house full of mud ? Don’t you know that I’ve been scrubbing all day ?” And thus he steps into the bosom of his family, grateful for the mercies lie has received, and thankful that he has a home to come to when the worry and care and toil of the week are done. Yes, he is home now, and has set his dinner-pail on one chair and laid his hat and coat on another, and with his eyes full of soap from the wash is shouting impetuously for the towel. Saturday ni°ht in the household ! What a beautiful -si °ht ! The bright light, the cheerful figured carpet, the radiant stove, the neatly-laid table with the steaming teapot, the pictures on the walls, the spotless curtains, the purring cat *nd the bright-eyed children rubbing the plates with their fingers and looking hungrily at the canned cherries. Even the wearied wife is visibly affected, and, as she steps to a closet with his hat and coat, she unconsciously ob•serves to her husband : « Will you never learn to hang your things up, or do you think I’ve got nothin’ else to do but chase after you all the while you are in the house?” He makes no reply, but as he drops into his seat at the table, with a sigh of relief, he says: “ What’s the matter with that infernal lamp? Is the oil all out, or ain’t the chimney been cleaned? It don’t give no more light than a fire-bug.” “ Turn it up, then,” she retorts. It was right enough when I put it on the table, I •suppose the children have been fooling with it. They never can keep their hands out of mischief for an instant.” “I’ll fool ’em,” he growls, “if they dont keep their fingers off’n things.” After this sally a silence reigns, broken only by a subdued rustle of plates and cutlery. Then comes a whisper from one of the youths, which is promptly met in a loud key by the mother: “Not another mouthful, I tell you. You have had one dishful already, and that’s enough. I ain’t going to be up all night wrastling around with you, young woman; and the quicker you straighten that face the better it’ll be for you.” , , , . The offender looks -with abashed inquiry into the faces of her brothers and sisters, and Gradually steals a glance into the face of her father, but finding no sympathy there, falls to making surreptitious grimaces at the mother, to the relief of herself and the intense edification of the other children. The tea is finally over, that delightful Saturday night’s meal, and as the appeased father stretches back in his chair and looks dreamily at the flame dancing in the stove, he says to his first-born: “ Is them kindlings cut, young man?” Of course they have not been, and the youth replies: u I’m going right out to do it now, and steps about lively for his hat. “You’d better; and if I come home again and find them kindlings not cut, I won’t leave a , whole bone in your body. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, pa.” “ Well, then, start your boots.” They are started, and the relieved father comes back with his eyes to the glad flame, and watches it abstractedly, while his thoughts are busy with the bright anticipations of the coming day of rest. “Ain’t you going down street, or are yon going to set there all night ?” asks the wife. He turns around and looks at her. It s a sort of mechanical movement, without any apparent expression. “ There’s got to be something got for dinner to-morrow, and I want you to go to Adams’s an’ see if my hat is done, an’ Thomas must have a pair of shoes, an’ there ain’t a bit of blacking in the house,” resumes the mother. “You can tell Burroughs that that last butter he sent up ain’t fit for a hog to eat, an’ if he ain’t got anything better than that we don’t want it. You’d better get a small piece of pork while you are down, an’ if you see Parks ask him when he’s coming here to fix that wall. He has got the plaster off, an’ there it stands, an’ there’s no use of trying to put the room to rights until the wall is fixed. I don’t see what the old fool is thinking of to leave the room like that.” Hereupon the head of the house gets upon his feet, takes a brief, longing glance at the pleasant stove, and wants to where, in thunder his coat and hat are, and if nothing can be left where it is put. Then she tells him that if he looks where he ought to he’d

find the things fast enough. He does find them, and then goes into the kitchen, and a moment later appears with a very red face, and passionately asks if a basket can. be kept in that house for five minutes at a time, and moodily follows his wife to where the basket is, and looks stiff more moody when he is brought face to face with it, and sarcastically asked if he could see a barn if it was in front of his nose. Thus primed with the invigorating utterances of the home circle, he takes up his basket and goes down street, leaving his faithful wife to stand as a wall of granite between the children and the canned cherries, and to finish up the work. As he reaches the gate the door opens and she shouts after him : “ Kemember to get some matches ; there ain’t one in the house ; and don’t be all night, for I’m tired, an’ want to get to bed at a decent hour, if possible.” “ Go to bed then, an’ shut up your mouth,” and with this parting injunction he strides gloomily out into the darkness. It is not exactly known what he is thinking of as he moves along, but it is doubtless of the near approach of the Sabbath. As he comes into the light of the stores it is evident that bright influences and tender memories and glad anticipations are weaving themselves in his heart, for he meets Parks with a smile, and after a pleasant chat about the winter’s prospect, they part laughing. Only twice in the trip does his face fall, and that’s when he goes in after her hat, and when he gets the shoes. A half hour later lie is in the grocery sitting on a barrel, while his goods are being put up, and carrying on an animated discussion with the grocer and several acquaintances. At nine o’clock he starts for home. He has several receipted biffs in his pocket—each of which being in excess, of course, of what his wife had estimated before he left home ; and as he struggles along with an aching arm, and stumbles against various obstructions, he remembers it is Saturday night, the end of the week of toil, and tries to recall bits of verses and sentences of beautiful sentiment appropriate to the hour. He don’t believe in grumbling at everybody, and. so he reserves his trouble with the grocery bill,, his indignation at the milliner, and the various annoyances he has been subjected to, until he gets home, and then he hurls his thunder at all these people and objects through the head of his wife. And she, the dear companion of his life, having got the children from back of the stove and to bed, by the ham, and discovered that he has forgotten the matches, and got more bone than meat in the steak, is fully prepared to tell him just what she thinks of him. And while they talk the flame in the stove dances happily, the lamp sheds a rich soft glow over the room, and the colors in the carpet and in the pictures and the reflective surfaces of the mantel ornaments blend into a scene of quiet beauty. It is the night before the Sabbath—the calm, restful Sabbath —and as the two workers prepare to seek their well-earned repose, she says that if she has got to be harassed like this she’ll be in her grave before the winter is over, and he is confident that, if the bills keep mounting up as they are doing the whole family will be in the poor-house—-the first thing they know.

THE BRIDAL TOWER. (From the Detroit Free Dress.) There were three of them. One was a bride, the other a groom with red ears and maiden whiskers, and the third was the bride’s mother. They were at the Grand Trunk Depot yesterday morning to take the train west. The young man clasped his young wife’s fat hand, rolled up his eyes, and they seemed happy, while the mother-in-law paraded up and down the sitting-room with lordly air, and seemed well satisfied. Pretty soon the groom went out, and when he returned he threw five popcorn balls and a big bar of peanut-candy into the bride’s lap, and handed the old lady another. She turned up her nose, raised her spectacles, and thus addressed the young man with red ears:

“ See here, Peter White, you are married to Sabintha, aint you ?” “ Why, of course.” “ And I have a right to feel an interest in you ?” “ Of course.” “ And we are now on our bridal tower, ain’t we ?” “Yes.”

“Well, now, you’ve been squandering money all along, Peter. You took a hack, you bought oysters, you bought a jack-knife, and you’ve just thrown money away. I feel that it is my duty to tell you to hold up before you make a fool of yourself ?” “ Who’s money is this ?” he asked, growing very red in the face. “ It is yours, and what is yours is Sabintha’s; and it is my duty as her mother to speak out when I see you fooling your money away.” “I guess I can take care of my money !” he retorted.

“ Perhaps you can, Peter White, but there are those in your family who can’t.” “ He struggled with his feelings as the bride shook her head at him, and then asked : “ Did I marry you ?” “ No, sir, you didn’t, you little bow-legged apology for a man, but I have a right to speak for my daughter.” “ You can speak all you want to, but I want you to understand that I can manage my own affairs, and that I don’t care for your advice.”

“ Peter White,” she slowly responded, waving the peanut candy close to his nose, “ I see we’ve got to have a fuss, and we might as well have it now.”

“ Ma ! Ma!” whispered the bride, pulling at the old lady’s shawl. “ You needn't ma me Sabintha ! This Peter White has deceived us both about his temper, and I’m going to tell him just what I think of him : he commenced this fuss and we’ll see who’ll end it!”

“ You mind your business, and I’ll attend to mine !” growled Peter. “ Oh ! you hump-backed hypocrite !” she hissed, jobbing at his eye -with the peanut-bar.

“Only a month ago you called me Mother Hull, and was going to give me the best room in the new house !” “ You’ll never have a room in a house of mine !” he exclaimed.

“And I don’t want one, you red-eared hypocrite !”

“Don’t Peter don’t ma !” sobbed the bride.

“ It’s my duty, Sabintha : it’s your mother’s t “Don’t cry, Sabby,” he interrupted; “don’t mind what she says ?” “ Try to set my daughter up agin me, will you ?” hissed the old lady, as she brought the peanut bar down on his nose. “ Oh ! ma !” yelled the bride. “ You old wretch !” hissed Peter, as he clawed at her. “None of the Whites will ever run over me !” exclaimed the mother-in-law, as slie got hold of his shirt collar and hauled him around. “I’ll knock your old !” “You can’t knock nothing!” she interrupted, backing him against the table. “ Ma ! Oh-h-h ! ma !” howled Sabintha. The dozen other passengers in the room, who had been interested and amused listeners, here interrupted, and Peter was released from the old lady’s grasp, his collar having been torn off and his cheek scratched. “I expected this, and prepared for it!” panted the mother-in-law as she leaned against the wall. “ This doesn’t end it by any means! This bridal tower will come to a stop tomorrow, and then we’ll see wnether Ive got any business to speak up for Sabintha or not !” As the train moved away the old lady wore a grim smile, Sabintha was weeping, and Peter was struggling with another paper collar.