UNDER THE WHLOWS.
BY ATTVK ,BIMBOS*
Do wd by tho dour old "Hallow stream.
Where wo played together uudor the willow
Grew Vwect wild flowers of every hue,
GeuUy breathing rich porfumoou the wandering
We thought, no placo so blight and gay
Aa that familiar spot, where sunbeams eould
not peep,
And lazy buUerflea reclined
On luxuriant beds of white clover- fast u-leep.
The mocking birds from leafy realms,
Trilled sweetest melodi- s from their silver lined
throat h.
While wo nut on the in ssy bank,
Bending across tho crytul Htrouingay little boats.
Under the pale green w i 1 low t roes,
Wher* wo were free as tho birds, and pleasures
were rife.
You gave to me tho promise true
That iu years to come you would be my bonnie
wifo.
Ah! those were balmy, halcyon days,
When wo played tegeth by Ine rippling stream,
Drtaining happ\ "• away,
Listening to tho hoft quivering notes of love b
young dream.
DURHAM, N. C.
A NOVEL COURTSHIP.
BY D WIGHT BALDWIN.
Pf EADING the fashion
column. Miss Vane?"
"Indeed I am not."
"That all gills are
alike. Well, Mr. Gean
A rnott, for once you
arc mistaken. I diffes
in many respects from
the giddy-headed ma
f jority of my sex."
Viola Vane, pretty,
petite, and just a trifle inclined to be
pert, closed the literary and society
journal she had been reading and
"AT THE APPOINTED TIME THE YOUNG LAWYER APPEARED, WITH THE PERIODICAL IN HIS DAND^
turned her vivacious lace and sparkling,
black eyes upon the handsome young
man who stood before the rustic bench'
in the grounds surrounding her father's
elegant mansion.
"I'm glad to learn that my opinion
is not well founded."
"I received this paper two good hours
ago," smiled the young lady, at the
same time pointing to a vacant space ,
on the bench beside her.
"I see. And you have already made
the fashion department your own ?" |
"Entirely, and I've at last decided
■on the style of the new gown that
father brought me from Paris, ami !
that I never would have made up.
Awfully nice, isn't it?"
"Decidedly. But what were you
reading so interestedly?"
"The opening chapters—you won't '
laugh at me, I'm sure —the opening ]
chapters of a new serial novel by Mai I
com Graeme, whoever ho may be."
"And you like it?"
"Better than Bob Boy, with dashing
Di Vernon, my favorite heroine."
"Tell me something about it, please." j
"Gladys Bowlaud, the heroiue, is a
beautiful young lady with hosts of ad- i
mirers. She likes them all, but lias
no idea of tying herself to any one of
them."
"What did you say her name was?"
"Gladys Bowland. Why?"
"I thought it might have been Viola
Vane."
"You have the hardihood to flatter
me, have you ?"
"Nothing could have been further
from my thoughts. I had the uufor- 1
tunate admirers in mind."
"Then you call me a coquette?"
The eyes of the little maiden were
snapping with a suggestion of anger
BOW,
"By no means. The fair Gladys is
fchat, I trust ?"
"N-n-o. She's exactly my ideal of a
girl."
"And has she uo preference?"
"Yes. She likes the artist the best
of all, but will never marrj him."
"And why not?"
"Because he is so persistent." J
"Then you I mean she—don't ad
mire constancy ?"
"Yes, we do, both of us, until it be
comes obstinacy."
Gean Arnott winced a little at this
reply, which was emphasized a lit
tle by a toss of the fair head of the
speaker.
Gean was a young lawyer with a
small practice, but a fine education,
sterling common sense, and a determi
nation to rise in his profession.
He had loved Viola Vane as long as
he had known lier, plus the twenty
minutes lie had been obliged to wait
for an introduction. This had been
over a year now, and all that time he
had been a most ardent suitor for her
hand.
More than once she had refused him,
but always in away that left him
some ground to hope for ultimate sue
cess.
In this he was encouraged by the
knowledge that, though he had twenty
rivals, at least, no one of them was
more favored than himself.
"Then you think she will not wed
the artist ?" queried he, after a mo
mentary silence.
"I'm sure of it. She has too much
character to marry any one."
"But this is a novel, and the princi
pal attraction of that department of
fiction is the mystery surrounding tho
denouement."
"True; but the author, who, not-,
witlio+amlinar th rn*R#>nline nom do
plume, must be a lady, writes so ar
tistically, so absolutely true to nature,
that the ending you suggest is simply
impossible She might cause her hero
ine to enter a convent, commit suicide
or even go on the stage, but, for
marrying "
Volatile Viola Vane broke off sud
denly, and completed the sentence
with a light laugh and an incredulous
shake of the head calculated to settle
the ]K)int, and ling down the curtain
upon the entire subject.
"Will you do me a great favor?"
asked Gean.
"Gladly, provided it is not too great j
ft one," I
"You must judge. I want you to
read to me the opening installment of
this story, with its captivating hero
ine."
"Most willingly, only yon must not
expect any elocutionary effects."
With this the fair girl opened the
journal, and, in a well-modulated voice,
instinct with feeling, proceeded to re
buke her own modest disclaimer of
elocutionary ability by reading the
three chapters in the highest style
of art.
"You have not exaggerated your hero
ine," declared the young lawyer, en
thusiastically, when the eud was
reached. "She is mine as well as yours.
Onlv "
"Well?"
"Only I thiuk she cannot find hap
piness in love and marriage."
"Nonsense!"
I "And if the author is as true to na
ture as you think him-—or her, rather—
Miss Gladys will fall iu lovo with the
artist."
"She never w ill!" cried Viola, spring
ing excitedly to her feet.
"I am quite confident that my judg
ment is correct."
"How can you be right when I know
that you are wrong?"
The vivacious girl fairly snapped out?
this question, all the more unanswer
able because bristling with true fem
inine logic.
Gean felt the force of it, and bowed
in acknowledgment of the same.
"Then you admit it?" she asked,
slightly mollified by his polite action.
"I acknowledge that you are light."
"Thank you."
"But at* the same time! think cir
cumstances might arise which would
render mo right, in which event neither
of ns would be wrong."
"That's an absurdity!"
"Not a bit of it. There is a vast
deal of human nature in man, and in
woman as well. I am bound to admit
that at tho close of the installment
you have read mo, Gladys seems in
•AT LENGTH THE VERY LAST PARAGRAPH WAS
REACHED."
I capable of loving the artist, yet three
numbers more are to follow in which
one of two things may develop."
"And they are?"
"Gladys may adopt new views or
the artist may improve upon acquaint
ance, and awaken feelings and senti
ments of which she has now no knowl
edge."
"Sjinro your eloquence! You nro
not addressing a jury."
"No, I'm arguing with the judge,
and a very fair one, I must admit."
"I'll wager anything that she will
marry the artist."
"Done! What shall be the penalty?"
"I will make my demand when the
novel is completed."
"Agre* d! I will do the same."
"But you won't win."
"That remains to be seen. Three
weeks from to-day 1 will call with the
very last number, which, with your
kind permission, I will read to yon.
Until then, adieu."
I At the appointed time the young
lawyer appeared with the periodical in
his hand.
He found Viola seated on the same
rustic bench, awaiting his arrival.
"What of our fair heroine?" ho
asked, when lie had returned her salu
tation and taken her proffered hand.
"Has she shown any disposition to
accept the artist?" was her smiling
counter-question.
"I'm sorry to say that she has not,
but in the three chapters which remain
she may relent. How about the artist ?"
"To confess tho truth, I rather like
him. He reminds me of some one I
have known, just who, I can't recall. If
Gladys were other than the strong
willed, sensible girl she is, I would not
feel so confident as I do of winning the
wager. But let us proceed. I trust
von have not, read it hv vonrself."
"I bought the very first copy I saw
exposed for sale while on my way here.
See, its pages are uncut."
"Without further delay, the young
man began his task.
He read effectively, feelingly, and
threw into the impassionate pleadings
I of the. artist nil earnestness that seemed
to make them his own.
I As for Viola, she sat like one en
tranced, and when, in the novel, tears
glistened in the eyes of the fair heroine,
they were duplicated in lior own.
At length the very last paragraph
was reached, and triumph mingled
with hope in the voice of Gean Arnott
as he read it.
" T am yours,' murmured Gladys. T
am cured of coquetry forever. I have
learned.at last that love is the secret
of happiness.'"
As the tones of the reader's voice
died away, something which sounded
much like a sob blended with them.
"You have won the wager," said
Viola. "What shall the penalty bej?"
"That you repeat the confession of
our heroine."
"Be it so," murmured Viola. "I made
her my ideal and must share in her de
feat. But tell mo, Gean, liow came
this story to so reflect my character,
j feelings, thoughts, in fact?"
j "It will not affect our waeer?"
"No; that is decided. Viola's fate
shall be mine."
"Then the mystery is easily explain
ed. You have been wooed and won by
a novel. In addition to writing decla
rations and talking to juries I some
times scribble for the press. My iwm
de plume is Malcom Graeme."
Mr. Edwin Booth's First Experience as
n Manager.
Mr. Edwin Booth, the eminent tra
gedian, is credited with the follow
ing experience : "About ray first
experience as a manager," said Mr.
Booth, was in the year 1854. I
and four others were on our way to
Australia to lill a professional engage
ment. Two of the party were D. C.
Anderson and his wife. We were in a
slow old soiling ship, and we were com
pelled to stop at the Sandwich Islands
for supplies and to make some repair's
to the ship. We found, to our sur
prise, that Honolulu had a rude sort of
theater, and as we were to be detained
there for several days we thought we
might earn a few dollars by giving
performances.
"We determined to give 'Richard
lll.,'and I was elected manager. Now,
the full strength of the company was
exactly five, and there are about
twenty-five parts in the tragedy, as
you know, to say nothing of the lords
aud ladies of the court, citizens) mur
derers, messengers, and the two armies
Df Gloster and liichmond. So you
can understand that the manager had
no easy ta-<k of it. I was to play Rich- |
ard, and by an ingenious scheme of
doubling up, by which each of the oth
ers were to play at least two parts, wo
managed to arrange for some sort of a
performance until I suddenly discov
ered that I had no Lady Anne. Mrs.
Anderson was the only lady in our
company, and she had to do two parts
—the Duchess of York and Elizabeth.
"I was almost in despair until I
learned that there was a white man in
the town who, as I was told, had once
been an actor in a humble way and
would be glad to help us out, and that
as he was an undersized man he might
do to dress up as a woman. So 1 sent
for him.
"He was about four feet high, a
stumpy fellow with bandy legs, cross
eyed, and with all his front teeth gone,
lie chewed tobacco furiously, and he
spoke with a strong German accent.
His only knowledge of the stage
proved to have come from once working
as a 'grip' behind the scenes of some
theater in 'the States.'
"1 shall never forget that perform
ance of 'Richard III.' Its like was
never seen before nor since. The two
English armies wero of course made
up of native Sandwich Islanders, and
to see the followers of Richard and of
Richmond fighting the battle of Bos
worth field in burnt cork was some
thing 'never before attempted on any
stage.'
"But the Lady Anne! I regret to
say that her appearance when made up
was something worse than grotesque.
If she had been homely in man's at
tire she was hideous in skirts, and when
I had to make ardent love to her as—
"'Sweet saint!'—'divine perfection
of a woman fairer than tongue can
name thee,' and tell her of her 'beauty
which did haunt me in my sleep,' I
thought I should burst with mortifica- !
tion, for her bandy-logged waddle, her
cross-eyed leer, her toothless mouth
and her Herman accent was something
indescribable. And, horror of horrors,
while she stood moaning at her dead
husband's bier, her ladyship had
broken her solemn pledge and was
actually chewing tobacco 1"
A balloon Suggestion.
Suggestions for features of interest
for the great fair are in order. Many
people seem to think a tall tower in
dispensable, simply because Paris has
one. That is nonsense. Such a tower
hore would bo a mere plagiarism, un
worthy the inventive genius of the
Yankee nation. The purpose of the
tower, at best, is to furnish vantage
ground from which to view the magnif
icent scenery surrounding it. We have,
unquestionably, right here, infinitely
more entrancing views than Paris can
boast, and if we can make them avail
able, without subjecting ourselves to
the imputation of imitating the ideas of
others, it would be a grand scheme.
My suggestion is that we construct a
mammoth balloon —one of unprece
dented size and lifting power. In pjaeo
of a car let a platform, say twenty feet
square, be suspended under this bal
loon, and the whole elevated say two
thousand feet, to be held stationary at
that point by guys of wire rope diverg
ing from tlio four corners of the i>lat
form to suitable anchorages at wide
distances apart on the ground. This
arrangement would not merely hold
tho balloon captive, but steady in po
sition. I would have a tube run from
a gas reservoir on the ground up to the
balloon to keep it constantly tilled, so
that its sustaining power may not be j
lost. Then have one or two additional
balloons of ordinary size, fitted with I
the usual car, and guided by a taut
rope, to ply as conveyances for pas
sengers to and from the stationary bal
loon in mid-air. This would bo a novel
and attractive arrangement. It would
not merely eclipse the Eiffel tower in
elevation, but the curiosity of mankind
in general to test aerial navigation j
would insure a measure of patronage i
that would yield a handsome return on |
the investment.— The Metropolis.
(■as in Champagne bottles.
"I bought so mo champagne of you
last spring," said a gentleman to Mr.
Hugh Fegan the other day. "I sup
posed it was all gone, but last week I
saw some bottles in the top of a closet
and took them down. They were
champagne. My wife had ' 'saved'
them, women fashion, but they were
as flat as Rhine wine. What was the
matter?"
"They were standing up, were they ?"
asked Mr. Fegan.
"Yes."
"Well, the carbonic acid had all es
caped through the corks. If they had
been in a cool place, and resting on
their heads, they would have been all
right.
"It takes two years for the cham
pagne wine to properly champagnizo.
There is a heavy loss from breakage.
When the gas develops a champagne
cellar sounds like a battle. The bot
tles explode with tremendous foyce,
and are dangerous. Over 20 per
cent, of the bottles break. That is one
reason why champagne is so high
priced. bottled cider will cliampagn
lze if raisins are put in it. Some years
ago I put up a barrel of cider for the
White House. The steward insisted
on putting a whole raisin in each bot
tle. I told him a quarter of a raisin to
a lottle was enough, but he had his
own way. The result was that ho
didn't have a bottle. Every bottle
exploded from the pressure."— Jf'asJt
inffton Post.
| AMERICAN GAME BIRDS.
FOUR INTERESTING SPECIMENS IE- !
EUSTKATEI).
rile Passenger Plgetm Their Enormous
Numbers—Tlie Strange Sandpiper—Tho
Pretty Wooil-Duck- 1 ho California Quail |
—Respective Habits of Each.
" , W | Tis difficult for one
pwho has not lived west
|w of the Alleghenies, and |
j|w whose memory does not
A derstund and believe tho |
J tales of early settlers in ;
f jAffof K regard to the former
plenitude of game birds
in this country. None
BStk of those stories are more
astonishing than those
which rehite how enor
tude of wild pigeons that once overspread
the whole eastern half of the United States.
Their vast migrations—whence the old •
name "passenger" pigeon—seems to havo
been once partly connected with the 1
changing of the seasons, for great bodies
of them remained to breed in the far
South, while others winged their way to
the edge of the arctic tundras, and having
reared their young on the shores of Hud
son's bay and in the valley of the Mack
enzie, sometimes remained there to feed
juniper berries until midwinter.
The movements of these birds seem to
havo been determined, therefore, by the
necessity of finding subsistence, and. like
tramp harvesters, they wandered about
from one part of the country to the other,
seeking those districts where the supply
was the largest. Their food consists of all
kinds of grain, berries and such small
"nuts" as they can crack and swallow—
the fruit of the beech and the acorns of
the live and other oaks being special favor- ,
ites. Of rice they were fond: and if it j
now costs the rice-growing industry of the
Southern States $2,000,000 a year to scare
away the bobolinks from the growing !
fields during a week in April (as is stated
by an inquirer for the government), what I
would havo been tho expense of eultivat- |
ing rice under tho clouds of pigeons which
a century ago wore wont to blacken the '
wild marshes of zizania, and never leave
THE PASSENGER PIGEON.
while a grain of the succulent harvest re
mained !
How enormous at times were the hosts
of wild pigeons in the Ohio Valley, where
mast trees were plentiful, has been
geographically recorded in the writings of
! Audubon, Wilson, and tho local historians.
Audubon says that in tho autumn of IS 13
I the air in the neighborhood of l.ouisville
; was literally filled with pigeons. "The
j light of the noonday was obscured as by
i an eclipse. The dung fell in spots not un
! like melting snow: and the continued buzz
I of wings had a tendency to lull my senses
I to repose." Ho traveled 011 horseback all
day without getting out from under them,
and it was after midnight before tho roar
guard had passed. Computing their speed
at a mile a minute, and allowing two
pigeons to the square yard, he supposes
that each columu contained nearly 1,1400
SPOTTED SANDPIPER—MALE, FEMALE, AND
YOUNG.
million birds, n sum which had to be mul
tiplied many times to get near the total.
These masses, though so prodigious, seem
to have l>een moved by a common purpose ,
and uuited in a single army, divided somo- 1
what into corps and brigades. They would
roost and breed in one compact company,
dispersing each morning in foraging ,
squads of a million or so each, and often i
going sixty or eighty miles, but always re
turning at night.
The scone at the roost and the meeting
place was, in its way,unparalleled by any
thing else in the world. "When they
have frequented one of those places for
some time, the appearance it exhibits is
surprising. The ground is covered to tho
depth of several inches with their dung;
all tho tender grass and underwood de
stroyed; the surface strewed with largo
limbs of trees, broken down by tho weight
of the birds clustering one above another:
and the trees themselves, for thousands of
acres, killed as completely as if girdled
with an ax." The desolation thus pro
duced, aided by tho lmvoc made by tho at
tacks of all the surrounding population,
the birds of prey, wolves, weasels, bogs,
and other enemies which gathered, and tho 1
eating up of all tho food within u circle of
a hundred miles or more, would by and
by cause a sudden desertion of the place
by the pigeons, which would troop off
with their young to settle on somo other
tract of forest, no one knew where.
Thougn unmeusurej hosts of this kind
were never seen at the East, flocks of vast
extent came to New York and New Eng
land and visited tho forests of Lower
Canada; but these were mere stragglers
compared with the Western hordes. Now
tho clearing awuy of forests, especially of
mast-bearing trees, and the incessant de
struction of old and young which falls
upon overy accessiblo roost as soon as it is
reDorted, steadily outreaclios tlio increaso,
so that in actual numbers, no doubt, the
wild pigeons have greatly diminished,
while tho remnant have been driven to
the remote North -rn forests in order to
rear their young. Their splendid flight
still cheers us now and then in autumn and
spring, as in long beuding lines these noble
birds rush across the sky: and the sports
man and naturalist know where a few are
always to be found in each of the forested
Btates; but the glory of the tribe lias de
parted with the disappearance of savagery
in the land, and the passenger pigeon—the
very image and spiritof exultant wildness
—will soon be a rarity. Pigoon shooting,
nevertheless, can still be enjoyed ill the
| Alleghenies and some other comparatively
uncultivated districts, where they come in
the fall to feed in the mountain glades.
The weapon should bo a rifle, though the
j strong flight of the bird taxes marksman
ship, even when a shot gun is used, if the
gunner is willing to try to hit him as ho
spins away through the tree tops.
Even loss of a "game bird" than the
wild pigeon is the spotted sand-piper
(Tringoides macularius), alias teeter-tail,
alias a groat many other pseudonyms.
He, too. is a bird of the woods as well as
WOOD-DUOK—MALE. FEMALE. AND YOUNG,
of the sea snore, and every river siae, all
tho mountain brooks, listen to his sharp
rain-promising cry. Yet he is by no
means shy of notice, and follows the creeld
confidingly into tho farm yard, or even
j tho village, so long as he can find in ill
the rocky shallows that afford him good
j hunting ground for aquatic insects and
mollusks. They are not often shot, for the
flesh has a fishy taste, except by boys who
I wish to practice upon their erratic flight,
and so these little birds grow more nutner
■ ous rather than less so as the country
j grows up.
Scuttling along with steady diligen'-e,
I many of them go clear to the arctic /one
and back every summer; but those that?
umke this oilcrimaire suend tho winter in
• me northern ami middle Mtates, replacing
the summer quota of those localities, which
has gone to winter resorts in the far South.
The nest is a mere hollow scratched in the
samly border of a salt-marsh, or of afresh
water lake, or perhaps quite away in a'
corn field or old pasture: and it contains
four top-shaped eggs, clay-colored, and
blotched with sienna brown.
To protect these eggs, or the ridiculous
I little puffs of gray down mounted on stilts,
which she proudly calls her babies, the
solicitous mother scroaming poot-weet! in
ugoni/ed tones, will throw hersjlf before
the enemy, one wing apparently broken
and useless and a leg disabled, and will
roll and flutter in away to deceive the
elect. You think she is wounded, and
give clmse; but she is able to just elude
your grasp, and thus leads you to a safe
j distance from her treasures, when sud
denly she gets well, and goes away like a
| shot.
I In color the pretty little sand-piper is
; bronzed or brownish green, the wings
| crossed by a narrow bow of white, which
ulso tips the outer feathers of the tail; the
| undcrparts are white, with many circular
| and oval spots of brown.
The wood duck is the most beautiful of
our water fowl, rivaling the birds of the
tropics in the splendor of his attire. This
is his description: The head is crested,
and is iridescent green and purple, with
pnrallel curved lines of white at the side
of tho head, and a broad forked white
thront patch; tho upper pal'ts of the body
are durk reddish brown, with bronze and
purplish reflections; the breast and abdo
man are grayish white, whilo the sides and
lower part of the neck aro reddish purple,
each feather with a white tip; the feet are
dull orange, and the bill red and black.
Tho most interesting thing about the
wood-duck, apart from its dress, is its*
domestic life. As a rule, ducks nestle
among the rushes or 011 rocky cliffs, and
are very chary about attempting to alight
upon trees, as might lie inferred from an
examination of their feet, which are ill
adapted to perching. But a few in vari
ious parts of tho world aro exceptions, and
umong them our subject is conspicuous.
Tho pair seek out early in the spring a
blasted troo as near to the water as possi-i
bio, and if they can find in it a place l
where a limb has been torn out, or a hole
has rotted, or some excavation lias been
made by a woodpecker or squirrel, into
which they can manage to squeeze their
bodies, there they set up their home. The
furnishing consists of a bed of sticks,
dried weeds, and straw, covered with
u thick layer of downy feathers, a large
part of which Is plucked from tho mothef
bird's breast. Tho twelve eggs are buff
green and polished; and while the duck
lays and broods upon them, the drake
joins abend of other Benedicts, and takes
a gay vacation until the young are able
to fly, when 110 rejoins bis fuuiily. This
looks like a very unuxorious pro
ceeding on his part; but a mo
ment's thought will relieve him of the
charge, since it is plain that so brilliant
a chup hovering about his doorway would
but serve as a sign to all marauders that
there was plunder in toothsome eggs and
ducklings to be had for tho trouble of get
ting thorn, since the duck has small fight
ing ability. Tho liest interests of his de
fenceless wife ami family, therefore, are
served by his keeping far away from the
maternal hiding place.
How tho young are got down to the
water from their lofty tenement was for a
long time a puzzle, but at last Dr. C. C.
Abbott supplied the information. The j
nost in the instanco he obsorved was fully
fifty feet above tho water of a cree'x near
Trenton, New Jersey. Ho climbed a tree
near the nest while tho mother bird was
absent and patiently waited. In tho course
of half an hour the old duck appeared,
and after a few moments' rest squatted
closely down upon the nest, whereupon a
duckling quietly climbed upon her bnck
ami nestled closely between her shoulders.
The old bird then walked slowly to the
-hanging limb, and with 0
slow Happing motion of the outspread
wings let herself down, rather than tlew,
t the water. The moment s-he touched
the .-urfaco of the stream she dove, ami
left the duckling swimming on the water,
quite at home. This has since been con
firmed by other observers, and is paralleled
by some of the arctic cliff-nesting sea fowl.
The wood-duck is common, uud breeds
from the Gulf of Mexico to Canada.
Over much of this space it is the only
member of its family seen in the summer,
and hence is known as the '•summer
duck." It can be domesticated, and
makes a charming ornament to the fan
cier's yard.
Hob White extends his western wander
ings no farther thun the dry plains. If
he crossed the Rockies to the Pacific coast
ho might visit cousins, who, perhaps,
would act coolly toward him, remarking'
as Californians sometimes do in regard to
the rest of the world, that "he had no
style about him;" for, though their dress
is after the same pattern as that of Bob
White, the sober brown hues and respect
able white neckerchief which characterize
him, are replaced in their case by far gay
er colors if not of richer material.
There are two species of quail in Cali
fornia, one belonging to the mountam
heights and the other confined to the val
ley lands of the coast region. The latter
is oy far the more common, and is the one
usually alluded to as the California quail,
though its home name is valley quail.
This beautiful bird is about the size of the
Kustern Bob W T hite. Its general color is
lead gray, the wings and back glossed
with olive brown, and streaked with black
and white in a very pretty way. The belly
is orange, fading into bull" and finally into
white on the sides, each feather edged
with black. These are only broad desig
nations of color, which are varied and in
terblended in such away as to make the
bird one offtho most striking and beauti
ful in our whole fauna. It is the head, how
ever, that is his chief glory. The forehead
is brownish yellow, with the shafts of the
feathers black; across the top of the head,
A ith its ends floating backward along the
sides of the neck and edged with black, it
a narrow filet of white, enclosing the lighl
brown back of the head and nape; and
from the crown of the head, within this
brown patch, rises a bunch of tall pluinef
—sometimes two, sometimes five or six—
which curve forward and nod with a
proud ami graceful motion ,of which the
bird seems distinctly conscious. His chin
and throat are black, margined with a
white band, which starts at the eye and
posses around the throat to the other eye.
The valley quail congregate in the grain
fields and along the roads of the cultivated
distrricts from the Columbia to Cape St
Lucas, sometimes in such numbers as tc
be a nuisance, but generally in small
coveys, which remain together excepl
during the breeding season, when the
pail's separata to find scheduled homes iu
the thickets. Their nosls amount to noth
ing, and the eggs are not chalk white like
those of the Atlantic coast species, bill
more creamy in color, and marked with
drab and brown in a great variety ol
spots and streaks. The "song" of thii
quail, heard in spring and early summei
is a hardly musical kuck-kuck-kuck-ka,
the first three notes rapidly repeated, and
the last prolonged with afalliug inflection.
The rules of Eastern quail shooting do
not apply well to this bird, which has 8
very different behavior when hunted. 1'
does not lie well to the dog, but runs
through the tall grass, and if wounded
CALIFORNIA QUAIL —MALE AND FEMALE.
will use its last bit of strength in crawling
into soine gopher's hole or other hiding
place to die; hence dogs are trained to
rush forward and retrieve the game as soon
as it falls. When flushed, they are likely
to take to the branches of the nearest
trees and skulk among the foliage. This
is more characteristic of young birds,
however, thau of oldor ones, which trust
more to their swift flight They are quite
as difficult to hit on the wing as But
White, and their flesh is equally good.
There Are Two Ways to Propose.
Here are two styles of "proposing/
This one is the kind you read about,
but the other is the one most popular
in the realm of fact: "My angel, I have
long waited for this opportunity. You
must have detected ere now the growth
of my love for you. From the day I
first met you that love took root, and
to-night it is strong and sturdy, un
wavering, undying. Your sweet smiles
have lighted up my life, your every
word has been to me a note of exquisite
music, thrilling, enthralling me. You
have filled a place in my heart, in my
affections, that no one before has ever
occupied. My lifelong happiness de
pends solely upon the answer you give
me. Say you will bo mine to lovo,
caress, cherish, idolize through time
and eternity, and make me of all men
most envied. But if you ref Oh, I
cannot! 1 cannot! The thought is
madness. You will be my wife? I see
the answer of your heart mirrored in
your lustrous eyes; you know I love
you as no other man ever has loved
you, or ever can love you, darling. I
know you will not thrust mo off "
The angel assumes a stereotyped
really-tliis-is-so-siulden expression, and
assures Mr. Wordio she would derive
great pleasure from being his sister.
Here is the other way:
"Maude, I've been thinking seriously
lately."
"Really, Fred, you ought to be more
judicious than to do anything so rash
as that."
"Yes, I know it is a heavy tax on my
mental capacity, but then I was always
reckless that way. This time, however,
I think 1 have been thinking to some
purpose. In fact, I've been thinking
you wouldn't object to having your
name changed."
" When V"
"Just as soon as possible."
"Will it be homeor church?"
"Church, of course; we want to do
this thing in style."
"Have you asked pa?"
"Certainly not. I don't want tr
marry your father."
"Well, I know; but for form's sake."
"All right, dear; for form's sake I
will see pa, and maybe you had better
prepare ma for the ordeal."
"Oh, she won't mind it."
Deep silence reigns again, save as it is
broken by the soft sighing of the tree
tops, swayed by a gentle breeze. Glee
fully the stars twinkle; the moon looks
beamingly down from heaven to earth,
and discovers on a vine-bowered piazza
two forms with .but a single, chair.
LETTEKS FKU.It THE C'UKAEKS.
MORE GOSSIP.
NECK OR NOTHIN HALL, I
KILKENNY CORNERS, F
ft i|MR. EDITUB: TL
JKewl™ m ° B^es as
Wll^i ß l >o Hi n ß a l o fur
05X f; tal kin about her na
bora.
Arfter supper the
i' the work ' 80
called her
child, Bud,
j?' * when ho cum
she begin to wash
the molasses off en his face, a talkin all
the while to Mis Pattingale about the
Preeeher.
"It's too bad to hev this trubble up
in the church," ses she. "Hole still,
Bud, or I'll smack you good."
"Mite es well be there es enny other
place, ef it belongs tliare," ses Mis
Pattingale.
"But, really, you don't no tlio worst
of it. Bud, you keap still, I tell you
—dirt enuf in this year to burry a po
tater," ses Smanthv.
"Laws! Do tell!" ses Mis Pattingale,
her mouth fairly a-waterin.
"Well, I jest tell you it was awful
the way Jane Austin an Mandy Jerome
did talk, an about tliare minister, too.
Bud, I'll smack you good ef you dou't
quit diggin yer eyes."
"Sope's in em," ses Bud, a-wrigglin.
"Well, what of it; roll up them
sleavcs now an cleeu them elbos or I'll
giv a cob an sum ashes."
"Laws ef I wus Bruther Stannerd's
w : fe I'd jest snatch them to gossipiu
huzzys baldheded. The idee of them
a-talkin about the preeeher, an both of
em with famblys to, an tlioy do say
pore Mr. Austen lies to sow 011 his own
buttons, fill the tea kittle every morn
in, atreeteh the close line, an fetch in
wood an water. Now, before I'd let
my husband do that for mo, an pore,
deer old Mr. Jerome lies a harder time
than thet; he hes to help dress the
childer, peal peeehes fur perserves,
fead the chiokmgs, make garden, qpd
put up stove pipes," wheezed Mis Pat
tingale.
"Well, ef I never got the garding
made till my man made it, an the
pipes put up till he dun it, it ud
never he done. You, Bud, scrub that
elbo or I'll smack you good, you mangey
rascal."
"Well, what better cood you aspect
of women thet abuse tliare pasture?
I declare it's scandalous. I'm most
asbamed I'm a woman, but what did
thay say ?"
"Well, I'll tell you, but you must
promise not to brethe a word of it to
enny buddy, fur you no I'm no gosßip.
Bud, rub on more sopo, or I'll smack
you good ef you don't."
"Laws, you know I won't lisp a word
of it. 1 never talk about my nabors."
"Well, Mis Smart tele 1110 thot Mis
Willey tole her, thet Mis Brown tole
her, thet Mis Tootbires tole her, thet
Laury Stayall tole her thet Jaue Aus
tin an Mandv Jerome sed our minister
wus so small, so neet, an so trim, an
always looked so nice thet thay felt jest
like puttin him up on a chiny platter
au carryin him aroun wliarever he
wanted to go! Now, did you ever!"
ses Smauthy.
"No, I never! Who'd liov thot it I
Married wimin, too. It's a shame, I
say!" ses Mis Pattingale.
I got up an went out into the yard
to cool my brow, es the poet ses.
I toll you, Mister Editur.it wus hard
to think I hed razed a gal thet wus no
more nor less than a common gossip.
I made up my mind I'd talk it over
with Smanthy, an I did afterwards,
an she promised to do better.
I never went back in while thet Pat
tingale critter stade; but she left
about dark an then I went in. The
widder wus a settiu a waitin fur the
batcheldor, hut it r\us arfter 9 an he
hadn't cum yet, so we all went to bed.
Good-by, HESTEB ANN SOOOPER.
Care of the llalr.
tIN order to pro
mote the growth
of the hair and to
arrest its falling
out, wetting the
sago tea is an old
fashioned rem
edy, and is an ex
cellent 0110. The
fault with most
I people using this
' is that they do
not persevere in
it, and then con
demn it as useless. There is uo better
remedy for promoting the growth of
the hair than this old-styled one. To
cleanse the scalp use the yelk of an
egg beaten in a very little water. Bub
it well into the scalp and let dry.
Kinso in lukewarm water, to which has
been added a few drops of ammonia.
Ammonia is a goo 1 invigorator when
only a little of it is used in water; but
beware of using much, or it may in
flanio the sealp and do more harm than
good. A very little borax in water is
also excellent for cleansing the head,
but ought to be used as carefully as
ammonia, as too much lias a tendency
to make the hair dry and brittle. Soap
will make the hair eoarso and split it
at the ends, consequently it ought
never be used in washing the
hair. After tho hair has been
washed and rinsed, wipe it as
dry as possiblo with a towel, then
dry it thoroughly by tho fire. Never
on any consideration go out into the
air when the hair is wet, as, the pores
of the head being open, serious results
may follow. Never go to bed whilo the
hair is damp, but wait until it is per
fectly dry. Never use a sharp-toothed
comb, for it is sure to scratch and irri
tate the sealp; and for this same rea
son motallic br-ushes are not to be rec
ommended.
There is nothing that will improve
the hair like brusliing. Use a stiff
bristled brush, and brush the hair vig
orously until the sealp glows. A vig
orous use of the brush night and morn
ing, but more especially at night, will
render the hair soft and siiky and give
it a beautiful gloss. It will also make
the coarsest hair soft and the dryeat
hair moist. The hair should always
be taken down at night, no matter how
elaborately it has been dressed, and
given a thorough brushing, then parted
behind and plaited into two long
braids, which may he left loose, or if
annoying, as it is to some to have their
hair down at night when sleeping, they
can bo fastened in a loose mat at the
back of the head with rubber hairpins.
IN all the superior people mavo met,
I notice directness, truth spoken more
truly, as if everything of obstruction
or malformation had been trained
•way, 1