J THE DOUBLE DEALING OF MRS. SMITH. S When my dear husband died two years ago, leaving me with little mon ey and an iuvilid daughter, it was as if a warm, protecting wall between me and the north wind had beeu sud denly removed. Fortunately, our house, with Its pretty garden at the back, and decent neighbors was left us; and there was a steady demand for our front and back parlors, and the little room off, that answered for a library, or dress ing room. Lodgers came and went, ana very cheerfully added their sovereigns to the line growing sum which I kept —where do you think?—ln an empty tea-caddy. Well, in the very b!ggest rush of visitors they came. The young man came first—a good looking boy of 24 of so—who was willing to pay any reasonable price for a comfortable, quiet room all to himself, where lie could sleep in the day—he being em ployed on a big morning paper during the week, and until a late hour 011 Saturday upon a Sunday paper. The next morning he came, bag and baggage; and I must say the little storeroom was not bad, with its clean matting and fresh curtains at the one window that looked 011 the garden. Mr. Ivry—that was his name —said it was all very nice, and he drew a long breath as if quite weary; and I noticed his eyes looked tired and a little sad. I always feel sorry for young people with sad eyes. I told him I truly hoped he would be suited, and showed him a cupboard at the end of the hall where he could keep his housekeeping supplies. There were two divisions, with a key to each, and I gave him the riglit-liand one. Then, thinking of his sad eyes —and maybe also of the tea-caddy— I offered to furnish cream and butter very reasonably. Well, Mr. Ivry had been under my roof for two weeks, and giving me 110 more trouble than a mouse —and not near so much, for I am mortally afraid of a mouse—when she came. She came in the evening, when, luckily, I had just finished setting Mr. Ivry's little room in order. She wanted a room, and the privilege of preparing her own breakfasts and suppers, and she would be always at her work at a big milliner's during the day. Now every cranny of my house was full, unless —and here the wild plan which led to such constant watchful ness and frightful anxiety jumped in to my mind. I told here I feared the only room I had would be too small and too plain to suit, but if she would like to look at it—and I led the way to Mr. Ivry's room. There was still a faint odor of cof fee. and a pair of very manly looking boots peeped from under the bureau. 1 caught them up and held them be hind me while we talked. "I will take the room," she said, with a little sigh of resignation over my flinty price, "and I will come tomorrow evening at about seven." "And at what time will you be going away in the morning?" I asked, as casually as possible. "Oh, dreadfully early! I must break fast at six, and be at my place at seven sharp. Will you kindly let your maid call me at half past five, for sometimes I am so sleepy." I assured her that 1 would gladly waken her myself, being always an early riser. And If she would like home made bread and things of that sort, with fresh cream and butter, I thought I could make It convenient to supply them—at a reasonable price. She came, and four whole days passed before the awful possibilities of Sunday dawned upon me. I felt that I had already a sufficiently har rowing time—remodelling the room, so to speak, in the morning for Mr. Ivry, and clearing it up in the evening for Miss Hardy. More than once 1 had what my dear husband would have called a close shave. Miss Hardy fell asleep again one morning, "after being awakened and had hardly dashed down the front steps, without her breakfast—except for a glass of milk, which 1 almost poured down her throat—before Mr. Ivry came up them; and I made him wait In the lower hall while, with some excuse, I hustled Miss Hardy's numerous belongings in to my clothes press. And one afternoon, Mr. Ivry lingered so long over his refreshments—prob ably reading or writing, for I heard the rustle of paper, and the occasional movement of his coffee cup—that I nearly fainted with fear as 1 whisked Ills possessions away and brought out and arranged the Hardy properties In their accustomed order. Then Mr. Ivry left his side of the hall cup-board ajar on the third evening, showing plainly a piece of cheese and the remnants of sandwiches, for she asked me next morning if there were other lodgers on our floor, and 1 was obliged to vaguely prevaricate. What with a falsehood and hard work and weary ing watchfulness, my nerves were al ready becoming shaky. And now Sunday was coming! How to keep Miss Hardy out of her room from half past six to half-pa t live, or longer, wus the question. I luuught of several things. I had a dear married niece living out in the suburbs lit.l pretty little hou*". I telephoned liar, asking her as a spwlal favor to tako my guest for Satmday night and Sun day. She answered "With pleasure!" Bll' When I proposed the delightful nut :>K to Miss llardy that young lady thanked lue uioat sweeflv. and <t<*. dined. The only holiday she year nod for she said, to lie In bed one long, de licious morning. Then I set about contriving how to keep Mr. Ivry away. It isn't pleasant to tell a downright fib, so X couldn't invent some dreadful happening that would maka the room uninhabitable for a day or two. I couldn't ask him to change rooms, for there were none to change to. And it was already Sunday morning. A friend was coming—and was she not a friend—to stay until Monday morning, and I must give her a cor ner, hoping he would not be greatly inconvenienced. Mr. Ivry looked sur prised, but answered very kindly. Oh, yes, he would make some arrange ment for that little time. And I car ried up for his luncheon a nice cut of broiled chicken. I felt so relieved and grateful, and I am sure he realized how sorry I was to trouble him. But there were more Sundays—per haps a whole summer of them—to fol low, and hardly was his first one over, and Miss Hardy off to her work, be fore the next one began to loom up. I tried to send Mr. Ivry out to my niece for Sunday, telling him of the quiet, the refreshing lake breeze, and the benefit of even a brief respite from the heat and uproar of the city. And, almost to Miss Hardy's words, he replied that the only respite lie needed was a few hours of solid sleep, and he could sleep at home, and he pleasantly thanked me. Then I resolved to cast myself on Miss Hardy's compassion. I told her that a friend of mine was coming to spend Sunday with me —a person very much in need of rest—and I had no quiet corner—nothing, in fact, but my bedroom, and the kitchen—and would she mind giving up her room just tor the day—and as early in the morning as possible—as a special favor to me? Miss Hardy promptly answered "Yes." I felt myself grow red with shame, thinking of my deception, but I con fess I was greatly relieved, with no conflicting Sunday to consider for 12 days to come. However, I had a sufficiency of scares during that time. One morning Miss Hardy, running back for a hand kerchief, and finding me wildly re moving her effects as if engaged in a fire drill, and only able to stammer something about "sweeping day;" and one evening catching me just outside her door with the last armful of Mr. Ivry's things (fortunately the evening was dark and rainy, and the hall lamp not lighted and Mr. Ivry finding a thimble and a hat pin which I had clumsily overlooked, politely handed them to me, without even a thought of suspicion. The time fled swiftly, and soon an other unarranged Sunday confronted me. It was Mr. Ivry's turn to be di verted from the room. Now I would take a bold stand, and say to him that, owing to our cramped quarters, my daughter's illness, and the fact that we were to have a guest every Sunday—and weren't we?—he would be conferring a great favor if he would find some other room for just that day, and I would gladly make a suitable reduction in his rent, and be so much obliged. I made the suggestion to him with fear and trembling—for there was the chance that he might take leave al together—and my voice faltered, and the tears came Into my eyes, in spite of my effort to be calm and business like. The dear boy! lie had nothing for me but instant compassion and ready compliance. He said he could manage somehow, ho was sure; and his room, which had began to seem like home to him, would seem all the pleasanter for these brief absences. The next Saturday afternoon, at a quarter to six, Mr. Ivry went away with a handbag and umbrella and a smiling good-by, and I flew to my work of reconstruction with a light heart. No more threatening, dreadful Sundays, and only the little minor risks of week-days to look out for! No wonder I hummed as I placed Miss Hardy's lamp and books and work basket and fans, and slippers and dressing case, and calendars, in their usual places. 1 was sitting in our own little room one evening when the blow fell. Latch keys had already admitted the tirst ttoor people, and so, when I heard the hall door open and close, and a quick step came bounding up the stairs, I knew the end had come. Evidently Mr. Ivry has hastily re turned for some important forgotten thing, and, thinking that my guest was not to arrive until tile next day, had returned to unlock the door. I heard Miss Hardy utter an exclama tion, and bound to the cl-ior. which she must have opened quite xloh ntly, for it banged against the table and rnaoe the plates rattle. The hall was dimly lighted for I cannot afford a dazxiing outlay of gas. "What do you meanV" cried Miss Hardy's voice in startled Intensity. "I beg your pardon, but 1 left" be gan Mr. Ivry. "You are mastaken! Tblt Is uiy—" "Excuse me, it Is my room—" "If you don't g<> away this uilnult* I'll call Mrs. Smith!" "Will you listen a moment? I left some papers hero —" "Mrs. Smith!" • lit the side pocket of my mackin tosh " "Mrs. Smith!" "That hangs or did hang u>i lioU- Ifu ill the col'Uer of Ihe ' 1 got to my feet, but weakly sanfc Into my chair again. By this time they must have taken a look at each other, and there came a little cry from Miss Hardy. "Philip-Mr. Ivry!" Then there was such a confusion of exclamations that I could distinguish nothing for a few moments. Finally came a few sentences in Miss Hardy's clear, but slightly trembling vote: "I am here because I am at work. Papa died u year ago. He lost all Ins money, and he couldn't get over it.l am as poor as you are now." "Thank Heaven!" said Mr. Ivry very fervently. "At the last papa was very sorry for—for everything. He told me to see you. But you had gone—l did not know where, and I—" "Oh, this is splendid! I"—began Mr. Ivry. "Don't you mind now, mamma," whispered my daughter. "They're so happy they'll forgive you everything." And so they did.—Waverly Magazine. THE SCENT OF THE ONION. I!y Any Other Name It Would Be an Far from Sw*»t?t. It is interesting to make Inquiry into the cause of this unfortunate quality of tlie onion. It Is simply due to tlie presence in some quality of another mineral matter in the bulb—sulphur. It is this sulphur that gives tlie onion its germ-killing property and makes the bulb so very useful a medicinal agent at all times, but especially in the spring, which used to be—and still is in many places—the season for tak ing brimstone and treacle in old-fasli ioned houses before sulphur tablets caine into vogue. Now, sulphur, when united in hy drogen, one of the gases of water, forms sulphurated hydrogen and then becomes a foul-smelling, well nigh a fetid, compound. The onion, being so juicy, has a very large percentage of water in its tissues, and this, combin ing with the sulphur, forms the strongly scented and offensive sub stance called sulphuret of allyle, which is formed in all the alliums. This sul phuret of allyle mingles more especial ly with tlie volatile or aromatic oil of the onion; it is Identified with the malodorant principle found in asat'oe ttda, which is almost the symbol of all smells that are nasty. The horse radish, so much liked with roast beef for its keen and biting property, and the ordinary mustard of our tables both owe tlieir strongly stimulative properties to this same sulpliuret of allyle, which gives them heat and acri dity, but not an offensive smell, owing to the different arrangements of the atoms in their volatile oils. This brings us to a most curious fact in nature, that most strangely, yet most certainly constructs all vege table volatile oils in exactly the same way—composes them all, whether they are the aromatic essences of cloves, oranges, lemons, cinnamon, thyme, rose, verbena, turpentine or onion, of exactly the same proportions, which are S1 K 4 of carbon to 11% of hydrogen, and obtains all the vast seeming di versities that our nostrils detect in tiieir scent simply by a different ar rangement of the atoms in each vege table oil. Oxygen alters some of the liydro-carbons; sulphur others. —Cham- bers's Journal. QUAINT AND CURIOUS. Adoption is so general in Japan thai it is no uncommon thing to find half a dozen children In a family who are no relation, to each other or to the father or mother. Singular coincidences always are in teresting, and here is one from Eng land: At Cross Keys, near Abercarn, Monmouthshire, Elizabeth Jones, land lady of a local hostelry, died suddenly at her daughter's wedding breakfast. The wedding had previously b 'en post poned for a month owing to the simi lar sudden death of the bride's broth er just before the time fixed for tlie marriage ceremony. There lias taken place according to Spanish reports at tlie Circus ot' Se ville a wrestling match between a man and a bull. The man is a cham pion Spanish athlete named Hoinulus, and the bull was a powerful boast rising live years old. Amid the dell rous plaudits of an Immense crowd Uouiullis succeeded in bringing his four-footed antagonist to the earth. Morocco has the smallest navy in the world. It consists of just one ves sel—the llassani. Until recently the peculiar feature of this warship was that it had no guns: but the Sultan. Abdul Aziz, has now purchased at Ca di-/, four of the lightest pieces of ord nance left to Spain by the I'nlted States at the close of the war, ami has had them mounted, lie Is thoroughly sat isfied that In the event of a war with any of the Powers the " reorganized" navy would be able to sweep the sens. The towering Washington monu ment. solid as it Is. cannot re»i*t the heat of the sun. poured on Its south en side on a midsummer's day, with out a slight bending of the gigantic shaft which Is rendered perceptible by means of a copper wire. 171 feet long, hanging In the centre of the structure, and carrying a plummet suspended In a vessel of water. At neon In summer the ape\ of tin* monument, SW» feet above the ground, Is shifted, by expan- HIOII of the stone, a few hundredths of 2, 11 Inch toward the north. Illgli winds cause |ierceptlblw motions of the plum met. and In still .veather delicate vl- Vnittons of the crust of the earth, other » me leg'nteied »»«• It. TK)H Ela>l©Tg> Of New York City.—llouse gowns in picture effects are a feature of the season and are attractive in the ex treme. The charming May Manton FANCY WAIST WITH FICHU DRAPERY. model illustrated exemplifies one ex cellent style and is singularly well suited to all soft stuffs, such as cash mere, Henrietta, veiling, wool crepons, nlbatross and the like. As shown, the material is cashmere in brilliant Ox ford red, with the dots embroidered in white silk, and vest and under eleeves in white mousseliue and cream lace. The fichu drapes the figure with singular grace, and the double sleeves add a touch of qualntness that greatly tulds to the whole. The design will be found adaptable for stout as well as slender figures, as the drapery ta pers sufficiently to apparently reduce i BLOUHE BLOUHE ETON WITH DOPBLE CAI'E. the size of the waist and is nowhere full enough to become bulky. As shown, the frills are of the material cut bias aud edged with narrow black velvet, which clings to the figure, while the color tends to an effect of tslenderness. The foundation for the waist is a fitted liuing with single darts. On this are arranged the parts of the waist proper, the yoke and the full front. The two latter are joined and attached permanently to the right side of the liuing and hooked into place at the left, the lining closing at the cen tre front. The fichu is draped round the neck and outlines the front, being attached to its free edges. The sleeves are arranged over a fitted lining,which can also be used for the sleeve proper, if preferred. As shown, however, the lace cuff Is faced ou and the full ntoussellue is attached to its upper edge and again at the elbow, where It meets (lie upper sleeve that is cut In one piece. To cut tills waist for a woman of medium size five yards of material twenty-one Inches wide," three and one half yards twenty-seven Inches wide, or two and three-quarter yards forty four Inches wide, with one yard, of mousseliue and oue yard of lace, will be required. lilt)list* Kton Jacket IVIIIi Duiiltlx i'apr. All variations of the blouse are much worn for outdoor wraps. The stylish May Mauton model reproduced in the large drawing includes all the latest feat .ires and is essentially comfort'- able as well as smart. For Immediate wear It is excellent |n Venetian, broad cloth velvet, aud materials of similar weight; luter It call be either luter lined or made from lie* )»• eloaMug cloth. As illustrated,i of Mitln fuced Venetian in castor color, with collar aud cuffs of taffeta, anil makes a part of a costume, but the design is iierfectly suited to the general wrap, aud will be popular for all-round serv lee the season through. 'I he little cupcs give additional waruitb, mid the straight turn-over collar, with the slightly flaring cuffs, are features of the very latest design.). As shown In the small dn wiug the froiits can be turned back, when the Weather ill UJUS, to forui tapering ft vers that re- veal the front of tlie gown. When closed the buttons serve to ornamenl the front, and may be of cut steel, in cameo or any handsome sort preferred. The back of the blouse Is smooth, without fulness at any point. The fronts fit snugly at the upper portion, but are slightly full and pouched over the belt. There are no darts, the fit ting belli - accomplished by shoulder and under-arm seams. The capes and the collar close at the centre front, the edges of the latter being concealed when the blouse is worn open. '>"ll9 sleeves are two-seamed, and fit stylish ly. The belt curves slightly to lit tlie figure, and may be stitched onto or worn over the blouse. Low Crown*, Although a great variety of shapes are seen in tlie new hats, some posi tively eccentric in their blazarre out lines, there is little doubt lhat the model with sweeping circular brim, set 011 a broad, extremely liAv crown, lias the palm of "grand cliic." If you notice such things you become aware that the shape of such a hat is ex actly right for showing off the long, curling ostrich feather and the deml wreath of roses, which are the twc conspicuous favorite modeo of decor ating millinery in tlie present season. For a mid-season hat elioose one with a broad, low crown. Variety In Coat*. Every possible shape of coat, front the short, tight Eton to the long, loose carriage ulster, finds favor in feminine sight. However, tlie bigger and looser one's broad-tail or Persian lamb wraps may be the smarter it is. Coats, or. more properly speaking, cloaks,that drop nearly to the knees, are the most fashionable shape, and very few cling to the figure. Girl** llox Keefer. Tlie box reefer has certain advan- tnges over models of every oti-e? sort designed for little girls. The imart May Mnnton model illustrated com bines all the latest features, ani is sufficiently shaped to be graceful iind trim, at the same time that it allocs perfect freedom and falls in the siia pie lines that are so becoming to uu|. formed childish figures. As Illustrate) it is made of tan-colored cloth, \vitl» collar of brown velvet and handsouu smoked pearl buttons, but covert cloth, dark blue, and red and brown cloth can be substituted. The last is some what odd in its effect, and nothing is quite so smart as tan cloth in its vari ous shades. The coat is cut With straight fronts and is fitted witV shoulder aud under arm seams that curve well back. The collar is joined to tlie neck, and is faced with vlvet. then turned back, with the self-faced fronts that form revel's. The edges and senilis are all stitched, aud pockets are Inserted in each front. The coat is lapped over in double-breasted fashion, aud closed with buttons and buttonholes. The sleeves are two-seamed and lit stylish ly- To cut this reefer for a girl of eight nox HKRKKH. years of age one and one-quaiter .vflHr of material fifty four 'Uches wide, or two aud one half yntW tweuty »evtu iuilie« wide, will le required. THE GREAT DESTROYER.] SOME STARTLINC FACTS ABOUTI THE VICE OF INTEMPERANCE. . I An Object T.esson From Maine—The Kf-' feet Upon the Rising Generation of Next to No Intoxication In Tremens (loan—lnebriety Ma.le Unfamiliar. Drunkenness in London is said to be on the increase—especially among women. Ihe second installment of Bashkirtsetfi memoirs is summed up by more than on* critic as the work not of an inebriate her self, perhaps, but as the natural hvsteria! of a scion of a race of inebriates. Litera ture and ethics join hands in declaring that the future welfare of art no lesa than humanity depends largely upon lesa liquor being introduced into the individ ual. In face of all this it is interesting to read that Maine is considering the repeal of her far-famed Prohibition law. Well, however impotent and insincere this law may be it has worked wonders in the sim ple matter of making inebriety unfamiliar to that State. Men may object to not being able to procure a glass of wine at dinner on a steamship off the coast of Maine; women may declare that the ef fect of a law which may lie evaded by pay ing a tine instead is, morally, just as bad as drunkenness. But the influence of next to no saloons and. virtually, no in toxication, is not to be gainsaid. Upon a rising generation the effect of such a state of things must be tremendous. To put liquor out of reach is one thing; to throw the high light of the unusual upon the effects of liquor is better than the "awful example" that any temperance lec turer ever felt obliged to keep tipsy. "Why, a drunken man's a curiosity here)" said a Maine native. "I dunno when I've seen ~".e 'round.' not since the last cir cus, I guess, an' that was a good many years ago. You oughter have seen the folks stare at him. The boys and gills whose memories couldn't go as far back as the last drunken man couldn't take their eyes off'n him. They jus' follered him 'round 'sit' he was one o the sights. So he was. Everybody was a-sayin' to everybody else, 'Did you see the drunken man?' an' 'Look at the drunken man,' an' 'Come quick and have a look at the drunken man.' He was a curiosity, great deal more than the elephant and the bearded lady and the snake charmer. If they'd charged to look at that drunken man, same's they did at the elephant, what a pile o' money they'd made!"— New York Sun. A Tragedy of Drink. It is amazing to what depths strong drink and a roving instinct will bring a man. There walked into my town the other day a tramp printer who secured employment at his trade. He is a young fellow under thirty, but he tells a remark able tale of his ups and downs, giving am ple confirmation of all his story, which lie related in a modest manner after some questioning. This common tramp, now working daily at the case, is the son of a wealthy printer and publisher, and has a luxurious home, if he would but goto it. He is a graduate of Yale College, and has worked on nearly all the New \ ork papers as a reporter. He was once the editor of a prosperous small town daily; lie is a machine operator, and understanding Ger man. French and Spanish, can operate the machines in those languages, and besides this he knows the printing business from top to bottom. However, with all his tal ents, strong drink has mastered him, and he has degenerated into a tramp. It seems a pity. The other day I met .iim just as he was recovering from a spree. "Why don't you Orace up and be a man?" said I. "Brace up," answered he, "why, how can I when every one says: 'Come and have a drink,' and a saloon confronts me at every step. 1 know 1 was once a top-notcher, and I have the mental capacity to be so again, but I lack the strength; perhaps you call it the moral courage. ' —The Journalist. A Pail That is Aln»Ti Full. There is one pail that is perpetually full. That is the beer bucket, and its full ness means emptiness for others, means scanty wage anu pitiful fare, even for the tvorkingman who never drinks, because the money that should goto make a de mand for the product of his strength and skill, goes instead to the till of the sa loonkeeper. The fullness of the beer pail neans gaunt famine in the homes of drink ing men—starving, half-clad, half frozen children and despairing women, means scrimped living and harassing scantiness in the home of the honest and sober la borer, because of the economic waste of more than a billion dollars every year. American labor will never be fully em ployed and well paid until the beer pail is empty and the door of the den where it is tilled closed fast, and the politicaj party that prates loudly of "prosperity," and as well its chief opponent whose stock in trade is usually believed to be "calam ity," both lovingly agree to keep the beer nail full and the saloon wide open.—New Voice. "The Meanest liusiness on Earth." In one of our large cities there is a man who keeps a restaurant, and his two children,%ne of them an interesting boy of about ten years of age, wait on the table. A friend who was much attracted by the manliness and gentleness of the lad, said: "You have a splendid wjiiter." "Yes," said the proprietor, "he is my son. I used to sell liquor. The boy came home one day and said: "Papa, we fellows at school had a discussion to-day about the business in which our parents were fngaged, and the question was asked: 'W hat does your father do?' One of them said: 'My father works.' Another iud, My father is a merchant.' Another *>id, 'Mv father is a lawyer.' I said. 'My father sells liquor.' And then one of the bfvs spoke up and said. 'That is the meaii et business on earth.' And then he locked around and asked. 'Father, is that •oil And 1 said, 'Yes, John, it is. and I ainijoing to get out of it. Cod helping me I Will get out of it.' " A Congestion of Public Houses. In Ireland in IS'.ttl the total number of licenced houses was 18,751. In that coun try the congestion of public houses was terril-le. In one city (Tralee) in one stree', forty yards long, so narrow that two carts cannot pass in it, there are twelve public houses. In another town there are ten to a population of 170. in another one house in three, in another one to every thirty persons. Marred I'roui the Order. In the Modern Woodmen Society tln» ollicut organ announces: "A camp clerk has li, right to receive dues and assess ment* from a person who lias engaged in the lAuof business. When the member cugaA* m the liquor business lie voids his irtitirate. and the local clerk does not »ake his certificate valid by reieiving dues&ud assessments from him." The Crusade In Brief. Tl»re are tiitv-two official temperance comlottees in Kussia. each receiving a •tat 4 subvention ot >U.\OUO, Itls personal influence and personal ex •mill, (hut count, and the moderate drink er tines not reach the highest level ot mariood. v Hussiaii Government is |ft*appl*ng W 112 the question of the restriction of the fi iralm . and is showing some success Is methods ™ is re|Mwt<-d from Uverpool that. o»- . Vi the improvement 111 the ter.emeiit in that city there has l*eu r lulling oil iu dl tUikeuness
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers