Rensselaer Republican, Volume 17, Number 24, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 February 1885 — Page 2

=7= =====— "' • I No pewter twr* hansomc? 1 Than her the boys bcwtcht. She brans ter me a -willow hand, O'u’dplow.an' pick, im' sow, Waa fond of hog an' hominy. But ter my mind, bovc all the,rest, Was what I sorter liked the best, She brung me two fine yearlin'a. Hit seems ter me I see ’em now, . Friskin’ an’ trompln’ round, Now chawin' grass, now beUerin’, ■ Now pawin' up the ground. One, sorter brindle-like, an' fat & As good now grass c'u'd make, Thepther, kinder nigger black; Both purty, slddp or wake. I ainter 'shamed ter own hit now, More an* my wife, or shoats, or sow, I fairly loved them yearlin’a. One day I hed ter go away— Her health was gettin' low— Au’ cornin’back right late that night ‘ I seed 1 a flbry glow. I knowed atone the Injin sign, An* hid till airly«dawn— Lord bless me, boy, my wife was dead. My house an’ fixin's gone. But what I hated wustof all— I ’tow hit made my spirits fall The Injuns tu'k them yearlin’s! -Bill Simmons, the Cracker Poet.

ROBERT BURNS. Thou master mind 1 Thou kingly king of men I Thou peer in mankind's heart of prince or poped IB thy harp dumb—or will its strains again : Throb with the soul of love, of youth, of hope? ■ i ■>- While father-heart responds to infant glee And loveqjo dance the young ones on his knee. While mother presses to her yearning breast, The prattler whom she sweptly sings to rest, Wbil&youth and all its memories Shan survive, And honest labor, crown of manhood, thrive. While each heart gladdens as it homeward turns. So long shall people bless the, Robert Burns. This be the guerdon Of thy well-won fame, When heart, home, country fail, then die thy name. —J. W. Schwarts. in the Current.

PERSONAL TO MR. GIMTLETT.

Mr. Gimblett, the ex-detective, wag seated one morning in his dingy little office over the furniture shop on the Water! oo Bridge road, when the clerk brought in word that “a young person" wanted to see him. “Who is she?” inquired Mr. Gimblett. . ' 7 .2,,.. “She says she will tell you her name herself. She has never been here before,” said the clerk. “Begging?” suggested Mr. Gimblett. “I think not She doesn’t look that sort, and her manner is overbearing,” was Che reply. “A-ypung person, did you say?” remarked Mr. Gimblett “Yes, sir; young, and not bad looking neither,” said the clerk, who perhaps knew his chiefs little weakness. “I suppose you had better show her in,” remarked Mr. Gimblett, with an air •f supreme indifference. Nevertheless, when his clerk's back was turned, he ran his fingers through his hair, settled his cravat, and deftly rearranged the flowers in his button-hole. The “young person” did not belie the clerk’s description—at least, in Mr. Gimblett’s humble opinion. She was young, tall, had a good figure, and a pretty face. But what chiefly impressed Mr. Gimblett was the keen, and"penetrating glance of her dark eyes and the firmness of her mouth and chin. He instinctively guessed that he had before him a girl of unusual shrewdness and energy of character, while her calm self-possession testified to the strength of her nerves. She was very quietly yet becomingly dressed, and there was no attempt to disguise her station in life, which was evidently that of a superior sort of domestic servant. “Pray be seated,” said Mr. Gimblett, as she entered. “You are Mr. Gimblett, I suppose,” said the visitor taking possession of a chair, and drawing it up to the table. “My name is Martha Chale. My father used to be in tlie force with you.” “Oh, yes; I recollect,’’said Mr. Gimblett, slightly disappointed at the prelude, though he scarcely knew why. “I knew your father very well. He was killed in that affair over Belham way. Very sad! very sad!” “I didn’t come to talk about my father,” continued Martha Chale, in a cool, matter-of-fact tone. “He has been dead, t n years and more. I only mentioned him as a sort of introduction.” “I understand,” said Mr. Gimblett, surprised and amused at his visitors tone and manner. “I want to engage your services in a business way, and I’m quite ready to pay ! you,” said Martha, producing an apparently well-filled purse, and placing it upon the table. “I’m not one of your extravagant sort, but I’m not mean neither. I know how to save, but I don’t grudge spending.” “Excellent!* exclaimed Mr. Gimblett, with involuntary admiration.” “The fact is, I’m being watched by theymlice, and it’s unpleasant,” said Martha, abruptly. “Naturally,” acquiesced Mr. Gimblett ‘Tve lost my situation for nothing, and dow my footsteps are dodged night and day. I don’t like it, and mother don’t like it neither, and what is more, I ain’t going to stand it” Mar Mia Chale spoke with considerable .asperity and vigor, and Mr. Gimblett could not help preceiving that the young woman was blessed with a temper of her ewn. Yet the. ex-detective thought the flash of her eyes and the quick rush of color to her cheeks becameher wonderfully, while he rather admired, than otherwise, the 'decision of her tones. “Quite right," he said benignly; “wlwt is it all about?” “Well, it is this: I’ve been living as upper housemaid for the last two years with Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer, of 'Park crescent.” “One moment—Mortimer, Partocressaid Mr. Gimblett, as he made a note uponlhis blotting-pad. “There has been a robbery there lately; some of Mrs. Mortimer's jewelry was stolen from a safe." “Burglars?” inquired Mr. Gimblett. “I know nothing about," said Martha. Chale, shrugging her shoulders. “The safe was opened by some one with a key, and the things abstracted. Nobody knows when it was done, except that the things were all right within a few days before the loss was discovered. That is the whole story. “And none of the other servants ?” “No. Q; I know why I was singled out Mm. Mortimer is mortal jelous

ot her husband, and she "must needs take it into her head— * "Pretty young woman ore dangerous in a house,” interposed Mr. Gimblett, jocosely. ' , But from the manner in which this complimentary speech was received, the ex-detective judged that he had better not have uttered it. Martha Chale paused and fixed her dark eyes upon him with an expression of contemptuous astonishment. For once in his life Mr. Gimblett felt disconcerted, and became suddenly conscious of the fact that his hair was gray. “I boxed his ears once for trying to bar the passage on the staircase; I kriew that,” saia Martha, impressively. "Misses hadn’t no callto be jealous of me.” Mr. Gimblett, did not trust himself to comment upon this remark, and his visitor proceeded: “I suppose Mrs. Mortimer sent the pglioe onto ma. Anyway, I’m watched night and day, and I’ve had enough of it” “I don’t see what I can do for you," said Mr. Gimblett “You haven’t heard yet,” said the young woman, catching him up quickly, “Wait till I.tell you,” *T beg your pardon,” said Mr. Gimb-, lett, mildly. “I don’t wish anybody any harm, but I want to protect myself. That is the reason I come to you instead of communicating what I know to the police.” “You said you didn't know anything about the robbery," said Mr. Gimblett, quickly. "I meant, of course, that I had nothing to do with it myself. But I know who did it,” rejoined Martha sharply. “Oh! I see. Pardon me.” Molified by Mr. Gimblett’s hasty apology, the young woman proceeded to reveal what she knew in her terse, mat-ter-of-fact language, which her companion listened to with increasing respect.— “I dare say you are right,” said Mr. Gimblett, when she had concluded her reeifal. “But it sounds strange. What sort of a man is Mr. Mortimer ?” “He is younger than his wife. Married her for money 1 , and gets precious little of it.” was the significant answer. “If you are right—of course, you are not absolutely sure,” said Mr. Gimblett, quite humbly—“l have no doubt I can manage matters so that you won’t be annoyed any longer.” “That is what I wank Mind you don’t cjrry the matter ally further,” said Martha, rising from her chair. “If you won’t take any monpy from me,” she added, “I won’t press it on you, because I daresay you will make him pay your expenses.” If Mr. Gimblett had required any further proof of his visitor’s shrewdness, the last remark would have furnished it. As he rose to open the door» for her he was seized with a sort of sudden nervousness which he had never before experienced. He took her hand in hjs with the deliberate intention of i giving it a fatherly sqeeze indicative of admiration, but upon meeting her gaze he abandoned his subtle design, while a faint tinge of color camp to his face. It was not until he had been alone for nearly five minutes that he completely recovered his equanimity, and then he felt unaccountably ashamed of himself. However, his self-esteem survived tjh® shock, and half an hour later he sailed forth with his usual calm and confident air and manner, to make a few inquiries on his own account about Martha Chale and her story. The latler, as far as regarded the robbery, he found perfectly correct, nor did there seem any reason to doubt that the girl was perfectly innocent of the affair. The police were watching her, it is true, but this was chiefly owning to the instructions of Mrs. Mortimer, and not because they had grounds for suspecting her. Asa matter of fact, the jewels had been taken in a manner which left absolutely no clew to the perpetrators of the theft. For his personal satisfaction, Mr. Gimblett ascertained that Martha Chale bore an excellent character. and when out of a situation lived with her mother, a respectable woman, who had brought up a large family by her own exertions. Fortified by these details, Mr. Gimblett resolved to have an interview with Mr. Mortimer without delay, for his sudden interest in Martha Chale prompted him to lose no time in earning her gratitude. He therefore took an early opportunity to pay Mr. Mortimer a visit at his club, thinking be was more likely to be able to see him alone a good deal surprised upon the detectives being ushered into the strangers’ room at the Blenheim. He received him, however, civilly enough. “Your card informs me that you are a detective officer,” said Mr. Mortimer, who was a florid, overdressed, rather handsome man of 40, with a shifty and and a weak chin. “An ex-detective, sir, to be precise. I thought, added Mr. Gimblett. lowering his voice to a confidential whisper, “you would sooner, I called upon you here than at your own house.” “It all depends on what yoti have come about,” said Mr. Mortimer, with an uneasy laugh. “It's in connection with the alleged robbery of jewels at your house," said Mr. Gimblett, with startling abruptness, looking him straight in the face. Mr. Mortimer dropped his eyes to the carpet before the detective’s gaze, either from sudden nervousness or from constitutional inability to meet a direct glance. He put his hands in his trous-er-pockets, and, looking at the toes of his bo its, merely nodded. “The fact is, there is a young person who used to be in your service who seems to be unjustly suspected by the police—or by somebody,” said Mr. Gimblett in his most incisive tones. “She is being watched and inconven ienced, though she isn’t the guilty party.” “ “You mean the girl Martha—Martha Chale, I suppose,” hastily added Mr. Mortimer. “Well, I don’t suspect her. My wife sent her away. I think it was i devilish hard lines!” “So it is. In fact it’s persecution, and must be put a stop to.” “It isn’t my fault," said Mr. Morti- ; mer, sulkily. “I can't do anything in the matter." “You will have to, sir, or else •" “Or else what, sir ? What the deuce i do you mean ?” cried Mr. Mortimer, i blazing up.

“Well, sir, Miss Chale don’t bear you any malicej but she does happen to'reoollect your Starting off on a journey with a small valise on the evening of the 7th of July,” said Mr. Gimblett, sigiKficantly. “It might be desirable to investigate that little trip. You were supposed to have gone to Birmingham on business, but ” The ex-detective’s remarks were interrupted by Mr. Mortimer suddenly turning round and making a tremendous rattling in the empty grate with the poker, apparetly oblivious of the fact that there was no fire. But ere he effected this transparent maneuver Mr. Gimblett had remarked the guilty glow which had suffused his brow. “It wouldn’t do, of course, for Mrs. Mortimer to suspect,” resumed Mr. Gimblett, quietly, as soon as he could make himself heard again. “No, no. Come, out with it. Let us have no beating about the bush. What is it you want?” inquired Mr. Mortimer, dropping the poker and fidgeting about themantle shelf. “Only a letter police-inspector, that I can deliver,” said Mr. Gimblett, readily. “Nothing more than that ” Mr. Mortimer hurriedly seated himself at the nearest table and took up a pen. “What shall I say?” he inquired. “Only that you have reason to know that Martha Chale is innocent of the robbery, and request that the police will cease to annoy her,” said Mr. Gimblett, glibly. “Beason to believe—not know,” said Mr. Mortimer, commencing to write. Mr. Gimblett, emphatically. “ Know,” exclaimed Mr. Mortimer, as he rapidly dashed off the note. “ What shall Isay, though, to the police, if they ask me what I mean ?’’ he added, looking up. “They won’t, sir. I’ll manage that,” said Mr. Gimblett.

“And my wife neen’t know anything about this, I suppose?” he continued. “Which, sir ? Oh, you mean the note to the police. No,sir; certainly not,” said Mr. Gimblett. “Very well. There you are then,” said Mr. Mortimer, flinging the sheet of paper aceoss the table. “It’s rather a delicate job, sir; may require a little oiling,” said Mr. Gi&blett, coughing behind his hand. “How much?” demanded Mr. Mortimer, after an uneasy pause, “Well, perhaps—perhaps a tenner.” Mr. Mortmer’s only answer was to hand Mr. Gimblett a bank-note rather trempulously, and with this the interview ended. Mr. Gimblett bowed politely and took up his hat, while Mr. Mortimer opened the door to him, looking .particularly sheepish and crestfallen. Mr. Gimblett chuckled to himself when he got outside, and proceeded in the direction of Scotland yard, having first securely stowed the £lO note. Whether the “oiling” process extended beyond Mr. Gimblett himself is by no means clear. Suffice it to say that five minutes’ chat with the inspector having charge of Mr. Mortimer’s case, the production of the letter, and a few nudges and winks exchanged over a friendly glass, seemed to show how the land lay. From that day forward Martha Chafe ceased to be a suspected person, even as a matter of form, and the mystery of. the robbery was considered to be solved in a manner not altogether uncommon. Mr. Gimblett was gallant enough to pay Martha Chale a visit at her mother’s humble abode to report what he .had done, and received the young woman’s thanks, which were tendered without the least enthusiasm, rather to his disappointment. The ex-detective evinced an inclination to follow up the acquaintance thus auspiciously commenced, and ventured to call a second time when he happened to be passing soon afterward. But on the latter occasion Martha’s manner was so abrupt and inhospitable that he did not care to repeat the experiment, though he was surprised how very mildly he resented her treatment of him. Shortly after this Mr. Gimblett had to go over to Paris on “Missing persons traced” was one of the announcements upon his professional prospectus, and this branch afforded him plenty of employment. The supposed elopement of a publican's wife with a sprightly grocer’s assistant was the cause of his visit to the French capital on this occasion, and in course of his inquiries in connection with this thrilling case he picked up a little Siece of information which recalled [artha Chale vividly to his recollection. Perhaps if the truth were known her image suggested itself to his imagination rather frequently, for there is no denying that for the first time in his life Mr. Gimblett found the gayeties of Paris decidedly depressing, and was constantly detecting fancied resemblances between casual passers-by and a certain young woman who had impressed him so much with- her cleverness. But the trifling discovery he made in Paris suggested an uncomfortable suspicion as to whether Martha Chale’s cleverness had not been rather too much for him. In other words, he began to have a disquieting idea that the young woman had made a cat’spaw of him; and, what was worse, he learned to doubt whether she was really as innocent of the disappearance of Mrs. Mortimer's jewels as she had pretended. Upon bus return to Eng--1 and Mr. Gimblett made some inquiries which resulted in his paying Miss Martha another visit in a frame of mind which wavered between furious indignation and b tter disappointment His perturbation was increased by a strange longing that he might after all have wronged her, and this charitable sentiment came uppermost when he met her* face to face. “Miss Chale,” he said, as soon as he got an opportunity of speaking to her alone, “you remember the story you told me about Mr. Mortimer?" “Yes; I do,? was her calm reply. “You declared you had seen in the valise he took away with him the jewels that were supposed to be stolen,” proceeded Mr. Gimblett, “I know I did; but it wasn’t true,” returned Martha, returning Mr. Gimblett's look almost <yfiantlv. “I know it wasn’t true,"'retorted thb ex-detective, unable to conceal his Resentment. “< have discovered, the mystery aboul Mr. Mortimer’s little teip.

I have had all filterview with the lady.” “You seem to have taken a good deal of unnecessary trouble,? said Martha, tartly. “I could have told you all about his goings on." “Well, you made a fool of me anr■how!” exclaimed the inspector, more crestfallen than angry. “You might have gone to Mr. M. yourself; but neither you nor he would have known how to manage the police.” “That is why I came to you,” said Martha, with a nod. « “Yes; I understand that It was very clever of you, miss. May I inquire your object?” demanded Mr. Gimblett, with ironical politeness. “I was so closely watched that I couldn’t aid him to escape,” said Martha, for the first time looking slightly embarrassed. “Him'! Who?” inquired Mr. Gimblett, sharply. “The party thatdid it I was keeping company with him, and I was fool enough to—to believe in him. He came into the house once or twice when I was alone, but I don’t know how he managed to take the things. The loss was discovered before he had time to get away, and he went into hiding—being new at it, I suppose!” “I, should think so, ” fiercely ejaculated Mr. Gimblett. “He swore he wouldn’t stir without me, and I began to fear he would do something desperate. I was afraid to go near him while the police were about, and so I come to you.” “I see. And what became of him ?” inquired Mr. Gimblett, his admiration for Martha’s striking abilities for his own line of business overcoming even his resentment and jealousy. “I packed him of,” said Martha, laconically, “to America*” “Are you to follow?” asked Mr. Gimblett, with a sudden thumping at his heart.

“Not L The man is a fool and a coward. I couldn’t marry either one or the other,” said Martha, in her matter-of-fact way. “Besides I’m honest.” “I knew you were. I could have sworn it !” exclaimed Mr. Gimblett, in a tone which seemed to disconcert even the imperturable Marbha. “But, I say,” he asked, abruptly, “you never let a cur like that get away with so much swag.” “No; he’ll be disappointed when he arrives over the water. He thinks he has it all, but it is up-stairs,” with a little laugh, “Bravo!” cried Mr. Gimblett, slapping his knee enthusiastically. “1 was going to ask you to contrive somehow to take the things back to the Mortimers,” said Martha. “I don’t like keeping ’em in the house any longer. “Quite right. Leave everything to me. Do you know, Miss Martha,” said Mr. Gimblett, becoming suddenly confidential, “that there’s a reward offered which would do nicely to furnish a cottage for a newly-married couple.” “Then it will come in convenient,” said Martha, quietly. “It will, Martha, if you will only consent,” cried Mr. Gimblett, suddenly seizing her hand. I’m older than you, but we’re suited for one another in every way. We should run well in double harness, my dear, both in business and domestic life.” “You was saying I’ve made a fool of you once,” remarked Miss Martha, neither elated nor indignant, but simply matter-of-fact; “do you want me to do it again?” Mr. Gimblett’s only answer was to imprint a kiss on the substanial hand he held between his own. For a moment Martha Chale’s dark eyes flashed furiously, and she looked inclined to box bis ears. But she finally didn't..- — London Truth.

Emblems of the Lime-Kiln Club.

On motion of Calaminty Hastings the matter of a national emblem for the colored race was taken from the table for discussion. He favored a bee-hive himself, but would not be captious about it. Professor Bannister favored the coon as an emblem. It represented industry, vigilance, and courage. Colored people were often referred to as coons, anyhow, and the emblem would cut both ways. Trustee Pullback had given the matter much thought, but his preference was for an old hen setting on about thirty-four eggs. If that didn't represent industry and clear grit he didn’t know what could. Samuel Shin had made up his mind that the only emblem he would vote for would be that of a colored man walking in a shady lane with a watermelon under each arm. Sir Isaac Walpole favored a figure of a black bear; Elder Toots declared in saver of the beaver; Judge Cadaver would have nothing but the figure of a black man waving a plow in one hand, a threshing-machine in the other and and crying “Yewreka.” The discussion promised to bring forth no fruit, when the President put a stop to it by saying: “Gen’len: At a meetin’ of the committee on harmony, art, and agriculture, held in de library last nigh, an emblem was decided bn. It am dat of an eagle seated on de fence between a co’nfield an’ a tater patch, while his claws hold a banner on which am inscribed: ‘Hard work will bring you plenty of both.’ ” — Detroit Free Press.

Carrier-Pigeons.

During the Franco-German war Metz and Paris communicated with the outside word by means of carrier-pigeons, and the German Generals declared them contraband of war. They continued, however, to be introduced into France from Belgium, where they are a specialty, pigeon-racing and breeding having long been a national sport there. The Belgium societies were never more flourishing than at present, and are very particular in regard to breeds, the Antwerp being the favorite; in some of their nurseries the boxes axe of mahogany, with solid silver embelishments. thirty miles an hour is the average speed pf the Antwerp pigeon, whicH always descends at night for shelter and repose, the carrier’s flight being guided by sight alone. A wealthy man who obtains his wealth honestly and uses it rightly, is a great blessing to any community.— H.

LEAVES.

And Why They Fell. These withered glories of the summer, their fall in the sere and yellow state of autumn, are symbolic. There are. vivid and nbisy pleasures; there are those of the quiet kind, and not the less pleasing, even perhaps more cherished in memory when tinctured with some sadness. And in such a mood have I watched, on a still, calm day in latter-autumn, when no breath of wind was stirring, the leaves settling straight down in silent, tremulous fall, “one after one,” } suggesting and recalling the friends and loved ones that had successively passed away in peace. Yet it is not altogether surcease, and loss; the leaf-fall, better understood, may suggest brighter associations. The poet, indeed, expresses, in his gifted strain, the common thought which associates the phenomena of the fall of the leaf with the transitory tenure of all life, —the inevitable course of youth to maturity and decrepit age, of uplifted waving greenness and freshness to the sere and withered return to earth and dust. Ask a friend why the leaves fall in autumn. He will answer “they fall because they die.” * * * The phenomena of defoliation are compared by my old friend Loudon with the sloughing of dead parts, —a state initiated in the leaf “by the cold of au.tumn, and accelerated by the frosts of winter.” And such may still be the common notion; it was long my own. But some summers ago I was led to think a little closer of the matter by an effect of a thunderstorm which took place in July. The lightning struck a tall elm tree, one branch of which it killed. The leaves became brown and died; but they did not fall. When autumn came their bright brethren, fading to a similar tint, fell. When winter frost had set in, and the crisp snow overspread the park like a gigantic bride cake, the elm was all stripped save the thunder-striken branch, and the only leaves that remained were those that had been killed in midsummer. They were never* shed; they rotted off bit by bit. This led me to examine the nature of the attachment of some leaves in some trees in my own garden. The expanded base of the petiole, or leaf stock, is attached by continuity of woody tissues, including parenchymal cells, sap-vessels, air-ves-sels, ana the cutioule of the bark continued from the branch into the stalk. The plane and sycamore are good subjects for the examination. Soon a delicate line of the cuticle indicates the coming place of separation; soon also in the sycamore, and most of our deciduous trees, a tiny bud peeps from the axil, or angle between the leaf-stalk and stem. Now, next, I may remark, that, watching the autumnal period of the fall, I observed,that defoliation was accelerated not so much by early frost as by unusual warm and open weather in November, and then, especially with the plane-tree, that many of the leaves which naturally fell were not in the “sere and yellow” state, but were green, as full life. Even now you may see the difference of color between such leaf shed when living, which I hold in my right hand, and the ordinary withered leaf in my left. My examination at this period led me to perceive that the immediate cause or stimulus of the fall was the growth of the baby-bud at the base of the leaf-stalk, which, pressing on the tissues of that part, caused their disintegration and disappearance in a manner aiihlogous to that of “absorption” in the animal economy. Pursu ing the examination in different kinds of deciduous trees, I found that the mother-leaf was pushed off in different ways, and that these represented the different ways in which deciduous teeth are displaced by their successors. Thus, in the plane tree the bud pushes vertically up the middle of the base of the stalk, while in the sycamore it excavates obliquely the side of the base. The shed plane leaf shows a conical cavity at the detached part of the petiole, like that at the base of a shed tooth of the crocodle; the fallen sycamore leaf shows an oblique lateral depression, like that at the base of the shed tooth of lizard. In the plane tree the central part of the parenchymal cells attaching the stalk are first, pressed, and successively yield to the growing bud, the disintegrating process spreading to the periphery, not along a transverse, but a conical surface;’ although, by a sort of sympathy, the epidermis, ere the killing process reaches it, indicates the line of coming solution of continuity. The leaf stalk may for a while be supported by, being sheathed upon, the bud, after it has been wholly separated from its stein; and the pro-, cess of thia separation provides against any rupture or “bleeding” from sapvessels. Nothing can show greater contrast than the separated surface of a leaf stalk thus orderly detached and that of one violently torn off Mild weather accelerating the bud growth, pushes off the leaf before its time; early frost, checking the bud growth, may turn the color of the leaf, but delays the fall. Young leaves killed by vernal frosts rot off, but are not shed entire. The autumnal fall of the leaf, then, occurs not i because one leaf dies, but because another leaf is born; it is a phenomenon that may be associated with perennial and every springing life, rather than with decay and death. It is a process, therefore, which if it naturally at first excites sentiments of sadness, may and ought, when rightly understood, to call up a cheerful and grateful sense to the power that provides ample compensation for seeming loss. — Prof. Owen.

An Interesting Mexican Ruin.

An interesting ruin in Mexico Is thus described: The hill is about 700 feet high, and half way up there was a layer of gypsum, which as white as anew and may be cut into any conceivable shape, yet sufficiently hard to retain its shape after being out In this layer of stone are cut hundreds and hundreds of rooms fr«m 6xlo to 16x18 feet square. So even and true are the walls, floor and ceiling, so plumb and |evel, as to defy variation. There are no windows in the rooms, and but one entrance, which is always from the top. The rooms are but eight feet high from floor to ceiling, the stone is so white that it seems almost transparent, and the rooms are not at all dark.—Chicago Herald. i

Florida Plctures.

Why,,oh! why should our painter friend tear off to distant Granada, or far-away Morocco, intent on espousing there his artistic chimera? Why throw himself away, when within five days’ easy journey of his New York, Philadelphia, Boston, or Chicago studio there languishes the most gorgeous of arides, that grand impassioned Southern nature? There she is waiting and waiting for him, ready to lavish on him all her transcendent beauty. AU along that river there was unfolded to us, scene after scene, panoramic dreams of poetry. Here were quiet prairies, golden with the swaying marsh grasses; tufts of palmetto, dome-like balancing on their graceful stems; afar off sombre masses of pine, and between the scaly trunks mysterious vistas. Here were bights all emerald green, fringed with aquatic plants; flickers of light reflected on the water; gleams of snowwhite birds flitting through the blue heavens. Trailing vines t there were looping and festooning the trees. Then at sunrise or sunset there came lurid glows with burnishings of these pictures, with effects that neither Spatrish nor African lands ever equaled. This was nature in all her wildness, originality, and exuberance. It quickened the dullest artistic sense. If there was a delirium of color, one wanted to catch the madness of it. Were the possibilities of figure-paint-ing wanting ? Why should this man, or that other man, frequent the Breton coast or the Norman shore and give us ' forever and ever heavily clouted French fisherman ? What a picture that was we came across at Caximbas! There was a little white two-masted boat, with flapping sail, fastened te the shore, and on the bank her cargo—a huge -pile of sugar-cane. Standing near, was the most gallant figure*of a man the eye of an artist ever lit upon. Built like a jaunty Apollo, his legs were bare from the knee downward. On his head was cocked a Phrygian cap of brightest scarlet. This set off an admirable face, and he had a square curly bi ack beard with rolling mustache. His shirt was just of that tender blue only brought about by frequent washings. But commend me to his breeches, which were of the faintest brimstone-color. Oh, how those breeches, with their yellow shade pleased us! Where could they have come from? Were they Biscayan? We inquired particularly about those breeches, and found out that they were the cast off trousers of some Spanish soldier who had served in Cuba. Now you might haye hunted through every canal in Venice and never found a model so thoroughly picturesque, so replete with manly grace. Paint that man exactly as he was, idealize him not a bit, and you had a superb figure for your picture. And yet he was no Spaniard. He was an English sailer, who had unwittingly assorted himself to his tropical surroundings. As to the accessories, these were just as they should have been: a sparkling stream; a little weather-beaten house; back of that a jungle of sugar-cane; to the right a clearing, gre&’n with flapping leaves of the banana, topped with luxuriant purple blossoms, lime and lemon trees arounQ, and in the foreground a smouldering fire, with a faint ascending spire of smoke, a few glowing embers, a trivet, and an iron pot or so. Go, ye painters in search of such subjects, say to Cayo Costa, and put on canvass that gang of Spanish fishermen, working nt their nets, grouped about-their palmetto thatched ranch. Jot me down those costumes; catch the swing, thegait, the allure, the poser of these men; work in just as it is, the tropical verdure; combine the cactus with the waeathing morning-glcriej and the big wooden tables, where the mullet roes, like ingots of gold, shine in the sun; make me a heap of conch shells here, with all their tender pinkness; then follow the glimpse of the sand beeches, white as snow, a cardinal bird hopping in these strange trees, with pelicans swooping on the quiet seas beyond, and then tell me if there lie not material for a dozen pictures. Paint me just one canvas, and label it, if you please, on the next catalogue “Fishermen of the Catalonian Coast,” or “The JEgean Sea,” with an idea of not shocking the Phiiistia; then, maybe, after a while, when they crowd around your picture, you will venture to say, “This is not Spanish, Moorish, Greek, but it is a little unassuming bit from Florida.” But there is a reservation. Alas, that I should have to write it! Paint me sparingly the women of this country, unless you are in your tenderest, most pathetic mood. It may be because of the bad food, the trying climate, the hard work, but the women w*e saw in Southern Florida, though not exactly bereft of grace, seemed tp us to be fagged out, colorless, and fleshless.— Barnet Phillips, in Harper’s Magazine.

He Began to Suspect.

He had stayed and stayed and stayed and stayed and stayed and stayed and stayed and was still staying, when, either by accident or design, she gaped loudly. ' “You don’t mean to say you did that on purpose?” he playfully asked. Without answering this leading question she looked him carefully in the eye and said: “Can you tell me the difference between my somewhat impolite exclamation and an article of dining-room furniture ?” “No-o,” he falteringly returned. “The difference,” she explained, inadvertently directing her gaze toward his hat, “the difference lies in the fact that one is a sideboard, while the other was a bored sigh.” Mechanically his eyes followed the direction of her steadfast gaze, and encountering the hat he put it on in a dazed sort of way, and the ma«s convention adjourned.— RocklandCourierGazette. *

An Investigation Needed.

Out in Dakota a photographer has succeeded in getting a view of a full grown and active tornado, The photograph shows attack, twisting spout, with a confused cloud-like mass at top and bottom. A man who doesn't know any better than to be out carrolling .tornadoes with a photograph camera ought to be looked over by a Ipnaoy commies on.— Bockland Courier-Ga-zette.