DARWINISM IN THE KITCHEN. [From Judy.] I WAS takin' oft my bonnet One arternoon, at three, When a hinseck jumped upon it, As proved to be a flee. Then I takes it to the grate, Says I, "Surelie my senses Here my heart began to thump, And no wonder I felt funky; For the frog, with one big jump, Leaped hisself into a monkey. Then I opened wide my eyes, His features for to scan, And observed, with great surprise, That that monkey was a man. But he vanished from my sight, And I sunk upon the floor, Just as missus, with a light, Come inside the kitching door. Then beginning to abuse me, She says, "Sarah, you 've been drinkin'!" I says, "No, mum, you 'll excuse me, But I've merely been a thinkin'. "But as sure as I'm a cinder, Have developed from a flee!" A SCHOOL GIRL has formed out of the word "Charlestown" 523 words in the English language, using one letter but once in each word. THE DUCHESS'S WATCH. WHEN Victoria was about thirty years younger than she is now, she was inclined to be very exact in the way of business, and, more especially, in the way of promptness to appointed times and places. Seven years a queen, four years a wife, and three years a mother, she felt probably a more weighty dignity resting upon her than she has felt since. And yet no crust of dignity or royal station could ever entirely shut out her innate goodness of heart. Many Americans remember well the duchess of Sutherland, whose hospitable doors. were always open to the worthy; and from one who enjoyed her friendship, I heard the following anecdote, told by the duchess herself. At the time of which we speak, the duchess of Sutherland held the office of mistress of the robes to the British queen, and on public occasions her position was very near to the royal person, and deemed of great importance. A day, and an hour, had been appointed for a certain public ceremony in which the queen was to take part. The hour had arrived, and of all the court the duchess alone was absent, and her absence retarded the departure. The queen gave vent more than once to her impatience, and at length, just as she was about to enter her carriage without her first lady of honor, the duchess, in breathless haste, made her appearance, stammering some faint words of excuse. "My dear duchess," said the queen, smiling, "I think you must have a bad watch;" and as she thus spoke she unloosed from her neck the chain of a magnificent watch which she herself wore, and passed it around the neck of Lady Sutherland. Though given as a present, the lesson conveyed with it made a deep and lively impression. The proud duchess changed color, and a tear which she could not repress fell upon her cheek. On the next day she tendered her resignation, but it was not accepted. LONGFELLOW'S RESIDENCE, CAMBRIDGE. BY CHARLES F. RICHARDSON. "in the family of one of the most distinguished men of the age, surrounded at his table by the principal officers of the army, and in constant intercourse with them. It was further my duty to receive company and do the honors of the house to many of the first people of the country." But Washington was thrifty and frugal personally; and his generous maintenance at his own cost of a sort of court was of great service to the colonial cause. The owners of the house after the Revolution were Nathaniel Tracy (whom Washington visited for an hour in 1789), Thomas Russell, and Dr. Andrew Craigie. Talleyrand and Lafayette slept in it, and in 1833 Jared Sparks commenced to keep house with FEw private houses in the United States are so well known as the residence of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, so often has it been described by affectionate antiquarians and enthusiastic pilgrims. It is not only the home of our most celebrated poet, it also surpasses in historic interest any building in New England, with the sole exception of Faneuil Hall. Its age, as compared with that of other Cambridge houses, is not great. It was built in 1759, by Colonel John Vassall, a firm loyalist, who fled to England, in 1775, his property in Cambridge and Boston hav-in its historic rooms. Everett, and Worcester ing been confiscated. Its next occupant was Colonel John Glover, a bold little Marblehead soldier, who quartered some of his troops in the spacious structure. When Washington rode into Cambridge, on Sunday, June 2, 1775, he was greatly pleased with the appearance of the house, and having had it cleaned, he established himself therein during the same month. Martha Washington arrived at the house in December, and Washington remained in it till April of the following year. The southeast room on the first floor Washington took for his study, in which the councils of war were all held during the stay of the commander-inchief in Cambridge. He slept just overhead, always retiring at nine o'clock. The spacious room behind the study, which Mr. Longfellow now uses for his library, was occupied by Washington's military family, as a rule a pretty large one. A general's "military family," in English parlance comprised his whole staff. Washington was not averse to a certain amount of official splendor, and was luckily rich enough to carry out his whim in the matter of making his assistants a part of his ordinary household. Trumbull, the artist, complained rather sarcastically that he, for one, could not keep his head up in the magnificent society of the house. "I now found myself," he averred, his relatives? Because blood will tell. the lexicographer, also occupied it for a time, and Mr. Longfellow took up his abode in it in 1837. At first he merely rented a room, establishing himself in Washington's southeast bed-chamber. Here he wrote "Hyperion" and "Voices of the Night." In the dwelling, in one room and another, almost all his books, save the two which date from his Bowdoin professorship, have been produced. Longfellow had not long been an occupant of the house before he bought it. Its timbers are perfectly sound. The lawn in front is neatly kept; and across the street there stretches a green meadow as far as the banks of the Charles, bought by the poet to preserve his view. Mr. Longfellow himself, as he draws near seventy, is a fine picture of beautiful manhood. It has been remarked by his friends that his health has much improved since he delivered his poem, "Morituri Salutamus," at the fiftieth anniversary of his graduation. And all Cambridge, down to coal-heavers and hod-carriers, reveres him for his benignity, and reveres him, not only as a poet, but as a kind and gentle man. — Harper's Magazine. WHY should n't one confide a secret to A BYWAY TO HEALTH. [From Tinsley's Magazine.] "NOBODY ever repented of eating too little," was the sage remark of an old gentleman on the verge of ninety, next to whom the writer had the pleasure of sitting at dinner the other night. The host was pressing him to take more, and urging him in the usual phrase, “Why, you have eaten scarcely anything!" Now, it is to be assumed, that the old gentleman's words indicated one of the byways to good health along which he had travelled through his long life, and to which he owed his present remarkably hearty condition; so it was suggested to him interrogatively that he had always been a small feeder. "Yes," he answered, "ever since I was two or three and twenty. Up to that time I was a weakly fellow enough, and I used to make the great mistake of trying to eat and drink as much as I could, in the hope of becoming strong. All my friends and the doctors backed me in my error; but fortunately I found it out in time, and 'knocked off '. as your modern slang has it — more than half my usual amount of food and stimulants. I gave up the idea of making myself strong, and merely strove t make myself well, and so I was contented with eating just as much as I could digest, and no more. Of course it took a little time and experience to discover the precise limits. I could not adopt the golden rule of always leaving off with an appetite, because I never began with one; but by persistent erring on the right side I got hold of one of the great secrets of life, — the secret of knowing when one has enough, and after a year or two I became so much better that I used to find myself keenly ready to eat at meal-time, and by degrees actually acquired an appetite. Then, once found, I never destroyed it, but always determinately rose with a feeling that I should like to eat more. Naturally the temptation for a while grew greater as my digestion grew stronger; but I was firm; I did not behave ungratefully to my stomach. and immediately presume upon its increased powers by overloading it; I did not live to eat, but only ate to live: and behold me! I have no need to be very particular as to what I eat, even at my time of life; I have only to be careful not to eat too much." Here, indeed, is the secret of a great deal that is amiss with many of us. We are in the habit of eating too much, more than our digestive | powers can tackle, and that which is not assimilated more or less poisons. The system becomes overcharged, and gives any latent tendency to disease within us every faculty for developing itself. The question is not so much what to eat as what quantity to eat; and nothing but a sharp lookout kept by ourselves upon ourselves can give us the answer. A WISE BIRD.- A family in Boston is happy in the possession of a parrot of more than ordinary intelligence, and one whose talking powers are the wonder of the neighborhood. In an evil day, however, the bird was taught by some naughty boys to swear like a trooper, and with a perversity wonderfully human, and, withal, strangely savoring of original sin, the feathered biped soon seemed to find pleasure in nothing so much as a sounding oath. Mildly corrective measures proving unavailing, the offender was at last regularly soused in a pail of cold water after each burst of profanity, and then placed on the stove-hearth to dry. During a recent storm some small chickens belonging to the same family got very wet and thoroughly chilled, and several of them were placed on a little perch before the fire to be warmed into full activity again. It so happened that the parrot had just been treated to an involuntary bath himself, and he at once knowingly cocked his head on one side and surveyed the new-comers for a moment in silence. Then, as if all was plain to him, he hitched a little from his dripping companions and exclaimed in an oracular tone, "Little d―d fools been swearing!" POLO. TO THE EDITOR OF THE TRANSCRIPT, - Considering the attention this game is now attracting, it may be interesting to give its origin. The name of the game is derived from the famous Italian traveller, Marco Polo, who brought back from Chin Tartary to Venice the game that now bears his name. Marco was not a player of the game, as he says in his travels, but was a constant attendant whenever the Calmucks, mounted on their shaggy ponies, quite like the mustangs now used in playing this game, displayed their skill. The distinguished appearance of the famous Venetian, clad in his fur pelisse, and with his long, pointed, white beard flowing down to his waist, so attracted the attention of the Tartars that whenever he appeared the cry was "Polo! Polo!" from every quarter of the ground. The great traveller upon his return to his native land introduced the game there, giving it, as we have stated, the name by which he knew it. The imitation of this game known as hockey, or hawkey, is by some said to be a corruption of hockday, a now obsolete word meaning holiday, because the game was played usually upon a holiday. Others, however, claim the name is probably derived from the fact that being played in cold or winter weather the players, becoming heated, contracted throat troubles and catarrh, causing them to cough and hawk. The material difference between the games is that hawkey is played always on foot and polo on horseback. (See the Hist. Lud., antiq. et nov., pp. 248 -250. London, A. D. 1724. Fra. De Beuf. Very rare.) OLD MORTALITY. To test the soundness of a piece of timber, place the ear at one end while a person taps on the other. If the stick is sound the noise will be heard distinctly, but any decayed place will interrupt it almost entirely. AN INCIDENT IN CHARLOTTE BY O. M. E. B. told them that whatever she had attained had been by giving herself to her work. A patience that tired not, an energy that faltered not, a persistence that knows no flagging, principles that swerved not, and the victory was hers, after long years of hard work. Higher than her intellectual strength, higher than her culture, or genius, or graces of character, she ranked her ability for hard work. This was the secret of her success, and the legacy she bequeathed the girls of the Cushman School was work, work, work. They knew something of her history, that she had educated her sisters only to see them fall by her side; that she had stoutly men of the age delighted to do her honor; IN the old historic part of Boston, close by the chime of bells given the American colonists by King George, under the vigilant eye of the old cockerel, there stood, in 1816, a "rough-cast house." Here, amid the summer heats, was born, of stern Puritan stock, a blue-eyed girl, who afterwards, singlehanded, fought her way to an eminence where she stood a queen, her royal right unchallenged. Boston proudly boasts that her day and generation had not Charlotte Cush-resisted the shafts of disease; that the great man's equal. In 1867 the old house was torn down, and in its place was built a handsome brick schoolhouse. For five years it had no name; then, happy thought! a member of the school board proposed it should be called "Cushman School," in honor of the celebrated tragedienne. Some of the old conservatives were startled into a mild remonstrance. A public building named, forsooth, for a woman! What matter that it was a girls' school, and women only for teachers! Fortunately there was no mayor who must be flattered with an educational namesake; so the vote was carried, and today a woman's name is graven in letters of granite upon its façade. On the fifth day of January, 1872, Miss Cushman made a tour of the building, gracing each room with her presence. Then all were assembled in the hall for a dedicatory service. On the floor were seated the pupils, a thousand girls, on the platform, teachers and visitors, and in the centre Miss Cushman. Here she made her "maiden speech," as she smilingly said. Those upturned girlish faces were all the inspiration she needed, and a flush of enthusiasm gathered on her pale face. For their encouragement she told them she walked those very streets a school girl as poor as the poorest of them. With rapid gestures of her large, shapely hands, her eyes glowing with the fire of her own peculiar genius, and her habitual intensity, she were born there? Among the honored visitors who pressed round after the exercises were over was a slender, dark-eyed woman, principal of a well-known seminary about twenty miles from Boston, -a woman whom hundreds have risen up and called blessed! She had been thrilled by Miss Cushman's words, and with an impulsive earnestness, so characteristic, said, as she was introduced, "I wish you might live a hundred years, and see the seed you have to-day planted spring up, and ripen a hundred-fold!" The reply flashed back quick and strong, "Madame, I wish I might, that I could do more and do it better!" As the two women, each eminent and successful in her chosen sphere, clasped hands and looked in each other's faces one brief minute, they recognized a fellowship of soul, a kinship of purpose. Madame returned to her home, the centre of a loving family circle, to the seminary where young, girlish hearts keep the fires of hero-worship always burning on her shrine. Charlotte Cushman returned to her elegant apartments, where |