Democratic Sentinel, Volume 15, Number 45, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 November 1891 — Reasonable Question. [ARTICLE]

Reasonable Question.

Facts, taken all by themselves, are often open to a ludicrous interpretation. A young man just home from college, wishing to inspire his little sister with awe for his learning, pointed to a star and said: “Do you see that bright little luminary? It’s bigger than this whole world. ” “No, ’tisn’t,” said she. “Yes it is,” declared the young collegian. “Then why don’t it keep off the rain?” was the triumphant rejoinder. —Spare Moments. Acceptable Boys. Make a note of it, boys; the qualities included in the above title, by the world in general, as well as the business part of it, are only those which any one of you can cultivate under all circumstances. Brilliant talents, comeliness of form or features, wit, smartness, these are not first considerations, or altogether indispensable when there’s a boy wanted. “What kind of a boy does a business man want?” repeated a shrewd, practical man of many concerns, the other day. “Well, I will tell you. In the first place, he wants a boy who does not know too much; business men generally like to run their own business, and prefer some one who will listen to their way, rather than try to teach them new kinds; second, they want a prompt boy—one who understands 7 o’clock as exactly 7, not ten minutes past; third, an industrious boy, who is not afrajd to put in a little extra work in case of need; fourth, an honest boy—honest in his service as well as in dollars and cents; fifth, a goodnatured boy, who will keep his temper, even if his employer does lose his owm, now and then.” “But you haven’t said a word about his being smart,” was suggested. “Well, to tell the truth,” was the rather hesitating answer, “that’s about the last thing we worry over. The fact is, if a boy is modest, prompt, pleasant, industrious and honest, he’s about as smart as we care about generally—and that’s a fact.”

A Great Fight. The first I heard of it was when Fred came rushing into the house after breakfast. “The enemy!” he cried. “The enemy is upon us!” “Where?” cried the others, jumping up. “In the battle-field, of course!” he said; and he seized his flag and rushed out again. '’We all followed as quickly as we could. I put on the helmet, and Max took the drum, and we let Toddles have the bugle this time because he'd just tumbled down, and he had the hearth-broom, too, so he was all right. We ran into the flgid and found that the enemy had taken up a strong position behind the old cannon (oursHs a real battle-field, you know, and has been there ever since the war). So we formed in line and Fred made a flank movement, meaning to take the enemy in the rear; but when he heard Fred coming, he charged on our line, and Toddles ran away, but Max and I retreated in good order, and formed again behind a rock, and began to shell him with green apples. He stopped to eat the apples, and meanwhile Fred completed his flank movement, and falling upon the enemy’s rear, whacked it violently with a stick, waving his flag all the time, and shouting “Yield, caitiff! Yield, craven hound!” (I tell him that nowadays people don’t say those things in war, but he always says that Roland and Bayard did, and that what suited them will suit him.) Well, the enemy turned suddenly on Fred, and drove him back against the cannon; but by that time we had advanced again, and Toddles was blowing the bugle as hard as he could, which seemed to disconcert the enemy. Fred took a flying leap from the cannon right over his back, and putting himself at our head rallied us for a g«and charge. We rushed forward, driving the enemy before us. A panic seized him, and he fled in disorder; we pursued him as far as the fence, and he got through a hole and escaped, but not before we each had a good whack at him. It was a glorious victory. Fred made us a speech afterward from the cannon, and we all waved our—well, whatever we had to wave, and vowed to slay the intruder if he ever dared to show his nose on our side of the fence again. Ah. yes! it was a splendid fight. “Who was the enemy?” Why, didn’t I say? Farmer Thurston’s pig, of course!—St. Nicholas.

A Baby’. MemoryA curious instance of dormant memory in infancy took place in our family, says a-writer in the Irish Times. My mother went on a visit to my grandfather, who lived in Lon-

don. She took with her a littier brother of mine who was eleven months old, and his nurse, who waited on her as a maid. One day this nurse brought the baby into my mother’s room and put him on the floor, which was carpeted all over. There he crept about and amused himself according to hislights. When my mother was dressed a certain ring that she generally wore was not to be found. Great search was made, but it was never produced, and, the visit over, they all went, away and it was almost forgotten. Exactly a year after they again went to visit the grandfather. This baby was now one year and eleven monthsold. The same nurse took him - into thesame room, and my mother saw him, after looking about him, deliberately walk up to a certain corner, turn a bit of carpet back, and produce the ring. He never gave any account of the matter, nor did he, so far as I know, remember it afterward. Itseems most likely that he found the ring on the floor and hid it, as in a safe place, under a corner of the Brussels carpet where it was notnailed. He probably forgot all about it till he saw the place again, and he wasfar too infantile at the time it was missed to understand what the talk that went on was about, or to know what the search, which perhaps he did not notice, was for.