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