WASHINGTON'S CHARM.
Society in Washington is very attractive. Everybody in society there is in politics or is an official. It is the one city of consequence in the United States that has no commercial interests. In Washington they think and talk politics, literature, and art. Men come to Washington from all parts of the country and all corners of the earth. There is a large section of naval and military, literary, and scientific men. Society is cosmopolitan rather than local. It is not narrow in any way, and over all there hangs the charm of the White House and its inmates.—"WOMAN'S LIFE."
A JOKE WHICH DIDN'T WORK.
Commander Peary, the famous Arctic explorer, never starts on one of his exploring expeditions without receiving all sorts of packages from cranks—cowhide underwear, tea tablets, medicated boots, and what not. A few days before the start of his last trip a club acquaintance wired him to expect an important package by express. The package came. It was labelled: "To be opened at the farthest point north." Peary opened it at once, however. It was a small keg, inscribed: "Axle grease for the pole."—"TIT-BITS."
THE CHAUFFEUR ABROAD.
When going foreign in a motor-car, it is by no means necessary to take a man—in fact, I prefer not; and though I drive a 25 Talbot which gives 48 horse-power on the brake, and can touch fifty miles an hour, we are getting on nicely without the extra weight and expense of a man who, however good his intentions are, cannot work harder than we amateurs do when there is anything to be done. You see, if you take an honest English one, he, as a rule, is as a child, and cannot borrow a split pin without your linguistical assistance. In England you can say "Put the car up somewhere, get a bed, and have her round at ten to-morrow," and go to your dinner happy in the knowledge that all will be well. But on the Continent you have to mother him even to the extent of arranging his dinner for him, get his rooms, and translate every desire and necessary till one comes to the conclusion that the game is hardly worth the candle.—"C. B. FRY'S MAGAZINE."