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LITERARY EXTRACTS. GAMBLING AMONG WOMEN: HOR°E-BETTING AWB VAitD PARTIES.—Is gangling among women on the werea-e ? One of the most thrilling scenes irr the new Drury-lane drama is said to be the truthful pre- sentment of a game at baccarat in a fine lady's draw- ing-room,and we know that the stage- holds-the mirror up to nature. Certain it is that sixpenny whist in fashionable circles is out of date, d that bridge and poker lead to a vast amount of high wagering. People sit down regularly to cards now in the afternoon in country-houses, and in some lax establishments play goes on even on Sunday, an in- fraction of old-established habits. Women speculate, too, a good deal, and wager freely on horse-racing. These and various other facts point to a return of the gambling and card parties which prevailed at the end of the last century. Some women play well, can- tiously, and with dash, but many are carried away with excitement and fear, and would soon, if per- mitted, lose their entire fortunes. Tg be. a good gambler requires distinct qualities-coolnega of head, intelligence, and a capacious and unerring memory. It is for this reason that statesmen and diplomats so often make excellent card-players.7Jady. Violet Gre- ville, in the Graphic. AVALANCHES ON THE STAGE.—The scenic sensation -of tile 4N4 Drury Lane drama is a realistic avalanche. A mountain of moving snow is to be seen and heard I soaring down from the heights of the Dent Blanche. -Gathering speed and volume as itk-ushed down the precipitous mountain side, it sweeps upon certain of the dramatis personm supposed to be making the -ascent, and a peculiarly treacherous villain is swept over, as in the famous Whymper accident upon the Matterhorn, sheer upon the unseep glacier a thousand feet below. Assuredly this is the era of scientific marvels, on the stage as off. But there is nothing new in history. Without in any way depreciating ihe ingenuity and daring of Mr. Cecil Raleigh and Mr. Arthur Collins, it must be said tha £ this will not feb the iBrst appearance of an avalanche upon Any 11 Late in the sixties, or in the early seventies, such an effect was attempted in a dramatic version -of that now comparatively unread tale No Thoroughfare," by Charles Dickens, who with the aid of Wilkie Collins's old adaptive hand, placed it upon the Adelphi boards. A very different thing, no -doubt, of obvious make-believe, beside the miraculous hanism of Drurv Lane; but there it was, and iSKK so ludicrous as to interfere with the acting of rechter, who played the sleek, insinuating, broken- Englished villain Obenreiser.-Pall Mall Gazette. ANALYSIS OP INSTINCT.—An English traveller in northern Russii telling how he made his way through a forest after a fall of snow simply by keep- ing that side of the tree to which the snow had clufig Always in the sariie relation to his course, is led to -examine how it is that a savage gains the instipct of his race. We often hear of the instinct of direc- tion," as we may call it, possessed so marvellously fey savage races. People profess to explain it in one of two js. It is either said that the Indian actually does take note of the sun, the wind, the lay pf the land. Or the course of the streams-which, as a fact, it is often, in the dense forest, impossible for him tcUllftrtor else it is set down simply as inattMfc" and this, although it is nearer the mark, is, in a -sense, to beg the question. Instinct, however it may be in the case of animals, is here, no doubt, heredi- 'tary experience. The sun, the wind, the streams, are influences,* but only that. The Intlian. does not Consciously observe them. Just as you, using an experience gained in daylight, can follow without bands in the dark a winding staircase between the baluster and the wall, so with the Indian in his forest. His observation is entirely subjective, an unconscious impression, the sum of small influences, to which, by heredity, his senses are alive, as the retina to light pictures. In the same way I had not consciously remarked the lay of the snow on the trees, yet the fact kept me from going astray A WALK TO THE INKSTAND.—In place of a palette, G. F. Watts, the famous English painted, who is now over 80, uses a white slab, lixed to a modelling bench, to catch the full strength of the light, and he cIai-ns to find many advantages in walkin to it frot-a his easel for each brushfu! of colour. This reminds a writer in a London newspaper of Lord Palmerston's expedient for coercing himself into a little regular daily exercise. It was his custom when in Govern- ment positions to have his'inkstand placed upon a table several yards away from the desk at which he worked, so that he had to walk several paces for each dip of ink. He attributed his maintenance of jgturdy health and jaunty manner, under the trying conditions of office routine, to this simple practice, as also his habit of performing all work standing. A WISE CRITIC.—The late Francisque Sarcey was for forty years a figure of great prominence in French literary life. As a critic of the drama, he was looked upon as one having authority, and praise from him meant success to the struggling playwright. His criticisms were honest, fearless, and independent, and it is remembered of hrm that,|he refused the honour of belonging to tfye French Academy, lest he should come under obligation to favour the plays written by other members. Sarcey's good sense was often put to the test. One day a friend came rushing into his room, waving a paper. What is' the matter" inquired the critic. "Here's some one," cried the other, "who has been calling you 'an imbecile'in print! Are you going to challenge: hiIllr" Sarcey smiled. "Certainly not," He replied. "I owe him my thanks; The public, will soon forget the word 'imbecile,' and will only remember hav- ing read my name." MADAMS PATTI'S SUIISTITUTE.-To setae persons a poor singer may be better than no singer at all, but the least musical person cannot fail to perceive the irony of the situation described below Once then travelling in the North of Ireland, an English- man of letters chanced upon a small town which, to his surprise, he found extensively filled with announcements of a concert at which Madame Patti was to appear. The price of admission to the back of-fche-hall-heing the-extremely moderate one of threepence, he hastened to secure a seat. After a long interval of waiting, the manager stepped forward, remarking: Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to say that Madame Patti is unable to appear to-night. In order, however, to save you from disappointment, I have arranged that Miss Arabella Jones, of our town of Ballvslaok uthery, shut4 faVotir you with a song I" 11 c. DUBLIN BOOTBLACKS.—Considering the' tools of eir trade, it is easy to exedit. the statement of the University Magazine that the bootblacks of Dublin in 1870 were "a numerous and formidable body," special stress being laid upon the word formidable." The polish they used was compounded of lampblack and rotten eggs. Their implements consisted of a three-legged stool, a basket containing a blunt knife called a spudd, a painter's brush and an old wig. A gentleman usually went out in the morning with dirty Soots or shoes, sure to find a shoeblack sitting on tie stool at the corner of the street. The gentleman jmts his foot, without ceremony, in the lap of the ehoeblack, and the artist scraped it with his spudd, Wiped it with his wig, and then laid on his compos- ition as thick as black paint with his painter's brush. The stuff dried with a rich polish, requiring no fric- tion, and little inferior to the elaborated modern fluids, save only the intolerable odours exhaled from the eggs, which filled any house that was entered before the composition was quite dry, and sometimes even tainted the air of fashionable drawing-rooms. Polishing shoes, we should mention, was at this time M refinement almost confined to cities, people in the country being generally satisfied with grease. MADAMB PATTI'S CAltEElt.-HFIt SPLENDID FEES.— Madame Patti's tour under Messrs. Harrison will .nd at Brighton on Nov. 24. It is rather a pity that her London concert is two days earlier, for the date it a very interesting anniversary. It, is possible the fact may have slipped even Madame Patti's memory tb»t exactly 40 years before, as a girl but three months short of 17—that is to say, on November 14, 1869—she made her operatic 'demit as an adult voca- list at the Academy of Muaio. New Ybrk, as Lucia. Since then, foi exactly 40years, the greatest prima donna Of her generation has enjoyed a practically unbroken Mties of triumphs. Rare indeed is soJongaterm of eatcess, rarer still is it to find afw 8Ó lengthy a Cllriet an'&rtist still in prime favour with the pnblic. &a to early struggles Madame Patti never had any. Her parents, the Barili-Pattis, had, and so had her krother-ih-law, and teacher, Maurice Strakosch, who Was a pupil of Pasta, and started ae an operatic tenor at. E4 a month. Patti was a child when she first began to warble operatic airs, and the tale is told that the future prima donna, standing on a chair and being promised sixpence for an encore, replied that she could not do it at the price, but would throw in two encores for a shilling. The same story, how- tyer, is told of Sir Arthur Sullivan when a boy focalist. Patti's first appearance waa at charity con- cert, under Maretzck, as a child seven years old, in 1850, when she sang the Sonnambula finale and Sckert's Echo" song. Then Strakosch took her on tour until 1856, when he wisely withdrew her for tguree years till her voice matured. Strokoach in 1859 Kid Madame Patti £ 20 a week; Frederick Gye, at r London debut in 1861, paid her £ lo0 a month) the first three representations being gratis. Patti to sing for Gye twice a week, and the manager gm very soon glad to give her £ 100 a night for each extra performance. Until she married the Marquis de Caux Madame Patti, according to Strakosch'* a Souvenirs d'un Impresario," never received more omwm 4:120 a night; but when Nilsson got £200, £ bttj £ s, fees went up to £210. She now receives from Sfcesrs-r Harrison £ 500 for each provincial, and for eacn london engagement—Daiiit News, THE TWENTTLTJI CENTURY. When will the twentieth century begin? Why there should be different answers to the question (writes B. F. Yanney, in the Scientific American) is a little puzzling to know. Of course, the first centuary began with the year 1, and closed with the year 100. The second century, then, be^an with the year 101, and closed with the year 200. Now following this method to the present time, there can be but one answer to the above question. The nineteenth century closes with the year 1900, and the year 1900 closes December 31. immediately after midnight, therefore, on December 31. 1900. is when the twentieth century begins. In other words, it begins with the first second of the first hour of the first day of January, 1901. The twentieth will have the greatest number of leap years possible for a centtiry-tainely, twenty-four. The year 1904 will be the first one, then every fourth year after that to and including the year 2000. j February will three timeshave fiveSundays; in 1920, 1948, and 1976. DESTROYING THE POINT.-Everyone knows the man who is notorious for so telling a story as to destroy its point. An English nobleman, Lord P., was noted for his success in thus ruining the pro- perity of a story. The author of "Collections and Recollections" exhibits a specimen of his lordship's peculiar art. Thirty years ago two large houses were built at Albert-gate, London, the size and cost of which seemed likely to prohibit tenants from hiring them. A wag christened them "Malta and Gibraltar, because they can never be taken." Lord P. thought this an excellent joke, and ran round the town, saying to every friend he met: I say, do you know what they call those houses at Albert-gate ? They call them Malta and Gibraltar, because they can never let them. Isn't it awfully good ?" Some one told Lord P. the old riddle: Why was the elephant the last animal to get into the Ark?" to which the answer is, "Because he had to pack his trunk." Lord P. asked the riddle of the next friend he met, and gave as the answer, Because he had to pack his portmanteau." MR. KIPLING ON AMERICAN GIRLS.—Mr. Kipling has an article in the Ladies' Home Journal on the American girl, about whom he should know some- thing. He put the girl of America above and beyond 8011 others. They are clever; they can talk. Yes; it is said that they think. Certainly they have an appearance of so doing." Mr. Kipling feels, how- ever, that the unlimited freedom enjoyed by the American young girl has its drawbacks She is- I say it with all reluctance—irreverent, from her 40- dol. bonnet to the buckets in her lfcj-dol. shoes. She talks flippantly to her parents and men old enough to be her grandfather. She has a prescrip- tive right to the society of the Man who Arrives. The parents admit it. This is sometimes embarass- ing, especially when you call on a man and his wife for the sake of information; the one being a merchant of varied knowledge, the other a woman of the Yorld. In five minutes your host has vanished. In another five his wife has followed him. and you are left with a very charming maiden, doubtless, but certainly not the person you came to see." She chatters and you grin, he says, but you leave with the very strong impression of a wasted morning. On this matter Mr. Kipling writes from experience. He has said to the husband and father in such circumstanbes,- Icftttveto see yoti," att(ttho answer he received was. You had better see me in my office, then. The house belongs to my women-folk—to my daughter, that is to say." He spoke1 with. truth (Mr. Kipling adds). The American of wealth is owned by his family. They exploit him for bullion, and sometimes it seems to me that his lot. is » lonely one. The women get the ha'pence; the kicks are all his own. Nothing is too good for an American daughter (I speak here of the moneyed classes). The girl take every gift ab a rnattei of course. Yet they develop greatly when catastrophe arrives and the man of many millions ;oes up or goes down and his daughter take to stenography or typewriting. Mr. Kipling has heard runny tales of heroism from the lips of girls who counted the principals among their friends. ROHEUT EMMET AND SARAII CURRAN.-One dark shadow hangs over the life of Curmn-the fate of Robert Emmet. Emmet, the brother of one of the most gilted of, the United Irishmen, fhomas Addis Emmet, and himself an enthusiastic rebel, was the leader of the hopeless attempt which a handful of :nen made to seize Dublin Castle in lsoa. Emmet toyed Curran's daughter Sarah, They were engaged to be married. Curran' knew nothing of the facts. He saw Emmet frequently at his house. but suspected nothing. Then the rising came. After its suppression Emmet could have escaped. But he wished to see Sarah Curran once more. He coacealed himself in a house near Curran's. He wrote to Sarah—tried to see her. Then his hiding place was discovered. He was arrested. His relations With Sarah Curran became pnblic. Curran's house was searched for papers, and Curran himself liad-to undergo an examinntion before his inveterate enemy, Lord Clare. Curran Was indignant. He refused to defend Emmet, refused even to see tho doomed rebel. "I did not expect yon," wrote Emmet, to be my counsel. I nominated you because not to have done^so might have appeared remarkable. Had Mr. been in town I did not wish even to have seen you, but as he was not I wrote to you to come to me at once. I know that I have done you very severe in- jury, much greater than I can atone for with my life; that attonement I did offer to make before the Privy Council by pleading guilty if those document were suppressed." Then, referring to his love for Sarah Curran, and to Curran's refusal to see him, he con- cluded I know not whether this" (his love for Sarah)" will be any extenuation of my offence-I know not whether it will be any extenuation of it to know that if I had the first situation in the land in my power at th is moment I would relinquish ittodevotemy life to her happiness. 'I know not whether success would have blotted out the recollection of what I have done^jbutl know that a man with the coldness of death on him need not be made to feel any other coldness, that he may be spared any addition to the misery he feels, not for himself, but for those to whom he has left nothing but. sorrow." On September 20. 1803, Emmet was hanged he was only 24. Sarah Curran spent the rest of her days in England, where I she died in 1808:-Corο,hill. I OONI PAUL.—Mr. Kruger's salary, little of which-, he spends, as he gi-,es, no dances or, dinners, and has no display, is £ 7000 a year, and he is allowed £ 300 for rent. Here is an interesting estimate of the man and his works as given by Sir Sidney Shippard in the Nineteenth the course of an article on the present Transvaal crisis: Mr. Kruger's own people (says the writer) naturally admire his apparent gtrengthlof will, and what they regard as his success. That he is in many respects a very remarkable man that in his best days he has given proofs of determination, personal courage, natural ability, and great cunning, in dealing with men, must be admitted; but none the less he is an ignorant, obstinate, narrow-minded man thrust by force of circumstances and the blindness of British statesmen into a position which he ought never to have occupied. His government of the Transvaal for the last 18 years, if judged by its fruits, must be pronounced a dead failure. It has, indeed, enriched the members and hangers-on of a corrupt oligarchy through the plundering of the stranger within their gates; but it has kept the whole country back in every conceivable way, and has actually brought it to the verge of a civil war which might spread through the whole of South Africa. EASY SUBJECTS.—Among the living creatures which possess rewarding qualities for the photographer, the author of Wild Life at Home includes the agile and tuneful frog. Frogs are common enough almost everywhere, and are extremely easy to study and photograph. I once kept one as a pet in a little suburban garden, and we became great friends. I fed him with flies and worms until he would almost take them from my hand. He used to examine my contributions to his dietary for a few seconds in a wise sort of way, and then, darting out his long tongue with the quickness of aflash of lightning, literally pitch the food down his throat. I do not believe it is generally known that a frog's tongue is differently hung from that of nearly every other living creature. It is attached to the front part of the under jaw, and when at rest points down the animal's gullet. My tame friend was very fond of bluebottle flies, but I could never get him to tackle a wasp under any circumstances, although I tried him over and over again. Frogs cry out most pitifully when they have good reason to fear harm. I have often known them to do this when trying to cscape from the murderous swish of a mower's scythe. Some people are incapable of distinguishing frog music from that of a turtle dove. I was sitting on a roadside rail one summer's evening, watching a water-vole in a pond not far from Elstree, when three London cyclists rode by. One of them heard a turtle dove calling in a hedge close at hand, and cried out, "Bill, do you hear that frog a-croakin'?" His friend was in the act of expressing some mea- sure of surprise when his wheels carried him out of ear-shot.


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