Democratic Sentinel, Volume 17, Number 31, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 August 1893 — CHILDREN'S COLUMN. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

CHILDREN'S COLUMN.

A DEPARTMENT FOR LITTLE BOYS AND GIRLS. Something that Will Interest the Juvenile Members of Every Household—Quaint Actions and Bright Sayings of Many Gate and Cunning Children. The Little Magician. If there’s anything you wish From a ducat to a dish— From a steeple to a coat, Dr a yellow gravy boat. From a ruby to a clam. From a river to a ram, From a donkey to a ham. Or a pot of applo jam. Rub the lamp. Rub the lamp. With a chamois slightly damp, Aud wait for tho Genl— Eni—

When tha Genii appear Swallow bravely all your fear, Tell ’em what It Is you’d like, Be it pen aud ink or “blko" Be It mucilage or string, Or u solid golden ring. Doesn’t matter, anything. Those dear Gonll will bring When the lamp You revamp With a chamois slightly damp, And wait for the Genl——Enl— —L —St Louis Republic. The Beetroot and the Celery. The Beetroot met the Celery “Good morulngl ,, sald the swoet root; Crisply the Celery replied, “How are you. Mr. Beetroot!” “I’m weary, »lr,” said Mr. R, “Of living near to posies; I’m alwuys hearing people praise The lilies and the rosea

“That lily’s white and rose Is red, I know by observation. Cut why don’t folks give us our turn Of ardent admiration?” ‘Surely because,” snapped Celery. “They scarce see past their noses; I’m whiter than the llllos. sir— You’ro rodder than the rote)!" —St Nicholas Mollle’s Dlseovrry. My papa says that I’m about As swoet as sweet can be. But why ho says a thing like that I really cannot see.

I tasted of my thumb, and found He nuide a sad mistake; I’m not as sweet as lemon pie, Nor half as good as cake. Toy Bpldcr on a Rubber String.

A Funny Bug. Rebie was down at the end of the lot, close beside the gate leading into the chicken yard. She was watching the little chickens that were running about crying “cheep, cheep,” and the old mother-hens scratching up bugs and worms for their little folks’ dinner. All at once she spied a queerlooking object trailing through the grass at her feet. It had an odd zigzag motion, and in all the five years of her life Rebie had never seen anything like it. She watched It intently, wondering if grandma had ever seen one like it. She would have liked to call grandma to come and see It, only it might go away while she was gone. Pretty soon it stopped, and Rebie went up close to it and stooped down to look at it. She thought it looked like some pretty ribbon she had seen in the store when she went shopping with mamma, tut just then it raised its head straight up in the air and shot toward her a long slender tongue that looked like a little black streak, it moved so fast, at the same time making a little hissing sort of sound. That frightened Rebie a little, and she jumped up quickly and ran into the house to grandma. “Ob, grandma,” she said, “com# out quick

and see this funny bug! He goes this way.” And she waved her little fat fingers slowly back and forth. Now grandma was busy and she didn’t care to go out to look at bugs; but the little girl was so earnest and excited that she went with her. Rebie led her straight to the chicken*

yard fence, and there, stretched out at full length in the grass, sunning himself, was a snake. A viper, John said it was when he brought the hoe and killed it. And when she heard what it was, and what it might have done, Eebie was very glad the “funny bug” was dead and could do her no harm. “I guess, grandma,” she said, afterward, “it was because I said my prayers this morning that ho didn’t bito me.”—Our Littlo Onos. A Sleepy Littlo Girl. When my sister and I wero little girls we used ta do a good many funny things. One night when we went upstairs to our little room sister threw herself on the bed without undressing and fell asleep. Now, this was a littlo trick of hers that was very trying to me, for 1 was obliged, almost every night, to wake her by pulling and shaking and calling, and get her to undress and go to bod. On this particular night, however, I made up my mind to lot her alone, and if she did not waken by the time I was ready for Iced 1 would leave her thoreall night, thinking how ashamed she would be the next morning when she found she hud slept with hei clothes on. When I was all ready for bed she was still sleeping soundly, so, with the determination to throw the blame upon her, I blew out the lamp, and lying down beside her was soon fast asleep myself. “Come, children, time to get up!” called mother the next morning. “Why, Nannie,” in a tune of great surprise as she came to the bedside, “what are you doing with your clothes on, child?" My sister rubbed her blue eyes with her chubby little fists, sitting up in the bed, and looked around with a puzzled frown that was comical to see. But she could not toll why she had on her clothes. Bless you, no! She didn’t remember anything about it. She was as much surprised as mother. Of course, 1 had to explain, and mother laughed—how could she help it? But if you think my sister wiw the least bit ashamed, you are very much mistaken. She sprang out ol bed and began to dance around the room gleefully. “Oh! I’m so glad 1 don’t have to dress. I’m all already for breakfast. Goody! Goody! Oh, mamma!” with a serious air, “may 1 please sleep in my clothes every night?”

Where Women Gome 1 ,, r0m. Woman’s first appearance has been a fruitful subject for the legend mongers. The I’hueniclan myth of creation Is found In the story of Pygmalion and Galatea. There the first woman was carved out of Ivory and then endowed with life by Aphrodite. The Greek theory of the creation of woman according to Hesiod, was that Zeus, as a cruel jest, ordered Vulcan to make a woman out of clay, and then Induced the various gods and goddesses to Invest the clay doll with all their worst qualities, the resuit being a lovely thing with the witchery of mien, leflned craft, eager passion, love of dress, treacherous manner and shameless mind. The Scandinavians say that as Odin, Vill and Ve, the three sons ol Bor, were walking along the sea beach they found two sticks of wood, one of ash and one of elm. Sitting down, the gods shaped man and woman out of these sticks, whittling the woman from the elm and calling her Emia. One of the strangest of stories touching the origin of woman is told by the Madagascarenes. In so far as the creation of man goes, the legend is not unlike that related by Moses, only that the fall came before Eve arrived. After the man had eaten the forbidden fruit he became afflicted with a boll on the leg, out ol which, when it burst, came a beautiful girl. The man’s first thought was to throw her to the pigs; but he was commanded by a voice from heaven to let her play among the diggings until she was of marriageable age, then to make her his wife. He did so, called her Baboura, and she became the mother of all races of men. The American Indian myths relative to Adam and Eve are numerous and entertaining. Some traditions trace back our first parents to white and red maize, another is that man, searching for a wife, was given the daughter of the king of muskrats, who, being dipped into the waters of a neighboring lake, became a woman.

A Clean Face. Theatrical people know that oil cleans the skin better than water. Generally other people do not. If actresses undertook to get their make-up of! with water, they would need soft soap and a scrub-brush to do it, and the skin would inevitably come with it They used once cocoa butter; now they use cocoa oil, which is a better preparation of the same thing. Drug stores keep it. Some keep it fresh, and some ktep it rancid. Take care not to patronize the second class, and in cocoa oil you will have the most delightful of all emollients for the oil bath. If you want to see how effective it is, come in from a railway journey on a hot day, when the windows have been up, and you have had as much benefit of the smoke and soot as the fireman. Take the most vigorous bath you can devise or endure, then spread some cocoa oil od your face, and wipe it off. The blackened towel will tell the tale of failure for the bath and triumph for the oil.—Boston Gazette. A Hew Yoke policeman has resigned because the commissioners wanted him to sacrifice about six laches of bis mustache.

Harper’s Young People.