Rensselaer Republican, Volume 17, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 April 1885 — Page 2

, THE SOUL'S FAREWELL TO THE BODY. ■ 1 ■ 1 ■■■ i BY BLLA. WHEXLKB WILCOX. fio wb must part forever. And although I long have bent my wlntra and cried to go Free from your narrow limits and control, Forth into space, the trua home of the soul. Yet now. yet now that hour Is drawing near, I pause re uctant, finding you so dear. Ari joys await me in the reHm of God; Must you, my oomrado', moulder In the sod? I was your captive, yet you were my slave; Your prisoner, yet obedience you gave To all my earnest wishes and commands. Now to the worm 1 leave those willing hands. That toiled for me. or held tho book I read. Those feet that Jrod where’er I bade them tread, Those arms that clasped my dear ones, and the breast On which one loved and loving heart found rest. * i Those lips thro’ which my prayers to God have r.sen. Those eyes that were the windows of my prison. From these, all these. Death’s angel bids me sever. Dear Comrade Body, fare you well forever. Igo to mv Inheritance: and go with joy that onlv he freed «oul can know; Yet, in my spirit journeyings I trust Imay sometimes pause near your scared dust HAPPY CHILDREN. They sent him round the circle fair. To bow before the prettiest there; I’m bound to say the choice he made A creditable taste displayed ; Although, I can’t say what it meant, The'little maid looked ill content. His task was tKen anew begun, To kneel before the w ttiest one: Once more the little maid sought he, And bbnt him down upon his knee. t-he turned her eyes uponthe Upon I think she thought the game a bore. He circled then, his sweet behest, To kiss (he one he loved the best. ' - yonilt she frowned for all she chid, He kissed that little maid, he did. And then—though why 1 can't decide— The little maid looked satisfied. —-PZiiZacteZpAui Record,

JUST A WILLFUL CIRL.

“It is really too shabby; I ought not to wear it, had I? I ought not to go.” “Dear, you look so pretty and so dainty in it, what can you say? I’m sorry, but ” “Oh, well, if you like it; perhaps because I have worn it so many times; the lace is mended in so many places; it’s really such an old friend, Esther, that I am tired of it and must get a new one somewhere.” “Tessy, Tessy. I can’t bear to hear you talk like that, not even in jest.” The pale, sweet face of the older sister* had grown paler stilt There was a pained look in the soft eyes, and her breath came quick. “If you want a new dress there is some money, some silver laid away in the box there—but we can get along—and you must use it” She stopped; it seemed that the crowding tears would not let her go further. Her voice gave out. “Esther”—and the pretty young girl took that pale, quivering face in her two slim bauds—you thought I was in earnest? You thought I could take that money ? You eould think so badly as that of me? No, I will never joke again. I will always be in dead earnest I have noticed before now that I get into a great deal of trouble because of my foolish habit of joking. And now—now kiss me.” Was not that sad-faced, gentle lady, with the tears not quite vanished from her own eyes, proud to touch with a soft caress, the round cheek turned so pretty towards her ? “Youknowyour pretty way of joking makes one of my greatest pleasures,” she answered, and I am a foolish old woman, but if you want the dress ” “Willst du mir nicht einen kuss geben?” called a clear voice from the open window. Both women turned. A pleasant face—blonde, with a blonde beard, and pleasant blue eyes smiling from under thick waves of curling, fair hair —was peering at them. “Oh, Joseph, is it you?” two voices spoke together. This smiling apparition, Joseph Miller, held out a dewy knot of flowers—all green leaves, white buds and tiny tendrils. Their exquisite fragrance filled the room. “It is my contribution,” he said, flushing behind the curtain that he pushed back with one hand. “I got them as I came along, at Floyd’s.” “Ah, ah! how beautiful! How can we tback you, Joseph? Oh, why was I not born a flower—just a white rose like this? Then I should hot have to trouble about a new dress. Now, Miss Esther Payne!” The blue eyes of the young man had been from the first fixed on this slim, fair, flower-bud of a girl, who was hovering over his gift in an ecstacy of delight. The eyes flashed now with pleasure, as she took a spray of buds from the bunch and turned to her sister. “You may put these right there, if you please—there in that bunch of curls over my forehead, so; that improves the matter.” “She has been fretting about her dressf” explained Miss Payne to the young man in the window. “Her^ress! Why, what is the matter with it?* he asked, opening his eyes wide. “It is old, and it is old fashioned, and “it is ugly," ejaculated Tessy, with emphasis. ' ! “Why, I was just thinking how pretty it is, and I wondered if you had made it new for the occasion," remarked that stupid young man. “All that green color with the white, just like an apple and a bud; I thought you must be a flower bud yourself unfolded." Miss Payne smiled, but Therese made a dainty face. “The lace is mended fell over, but then it’s real lace—real Mechlin lat e,” she observed, bewildering her masculine admirer with grave technicalities. Happily be only saw the face, the brown hair ruffling on the forehead, the lovely eyes . that laughed at him, the low, sweet voice that patronized him. “Oh, Blume, weisse Blume!" he repeated rapturously. “Please don’t talk in that awkward German,” cried out "Tessy, pettishly. “It only makes me think of my school lessons, ’ and I can't understand it, either. How can I tell whether you are laughing at me or paying me a oompl ment?" The young man laughed. “Oh, Blume! I was paying you a compliment—a just tribute.” “And the other—when you first -oam© VWIIIV

Joseph blushed and fidgeted. “That—oh, that was just nonsense; I 1 must ask. you to pardon it,” he stammered. • j ' A ' ' The grave, soft eyes of Miss Payne looked at him as if she would say she had no fear he would say to them aught that would be displeasing. She glanced at his dress and then said, doubtfully: • • “Were you going to the park—were you on your way ?” ;'L „ Joseph shrugged his smiling. • “I shall go presently. But I shall wait till the brass band and speechmaking are over. I don’t wish to be deafened and disgusted at the same time.” Both of the women laughed at his unmistakable look of distaste. Therese nodded at him from over her shoulder, her little white hat, with its blue bells and snow-drops, making a shadow for her eyes to shine out of into his. “Oh, querulous musician! I wonder that a young man who has such an ear for discord can’t make better music of his own, especially when he is the owner of, besides the cat, a genuine Paganini violin. There, I have got some of the Southern wood on me, and if they smell me ip advance they will think a whole village Sunday school is coming. Good-bye, good-bye.” The two young people went away in opposite directions, and Miss Payne, left alone, sat for a long time in tho little room in the lowering sunshine, silent, but quite sad; at’ least her smile was stronger than her tears, and held its place on her placid mouth. For it was Tessy she was thinking of, the pretty, young, brown-haired maiden, between whom and utter loneliness and helplessness in a hard world only her own frail life—and Joseph. For Joseph loved the charming, home-sweet Tessy; Esther was sure of that. But Tessy? Ah! she was the “weisse Blume” truly the wh'ite flower about which-the swan might circle, singing its plaintive song till it should die. *‘lwish, oh, I wish”—and Esther clapped her hands together with nervous force—“l wish Tessy could love fiiin. I could die happy then.” The large tears rose and fell. “Surely, a girl's heart is not so hard to win—if one knows the way.” , And the trouble was that Joseph did not “know the way.” He was good, he was gentle and kind: he would flush and stammer when the merry little maid asked him but to do something for her; then he would rush and stumble over his own feet a dozen times in the effort to obey her, and Tessy would laugh at him. “Willst du mir nicht einen kuss geben?” “I think,” said Esther to herself, *T think if Joseph would say that to her some day in earnest and claim the kiss and take it as his right, he might win my little Therese.” But just here the trouble was. Joseph was afraid. His great love for the poor young girl, the “white flower” of his squg made him a cdward ; butTt wase noble cowardice, and might go far to help him some day to high, heroic deeds. It was late when Tessy returned. Miss Payne had been sitting gloomily alone in the room, where shaded lamplight and flooding moonlight, pour** ing through open window and door, made the place a bower of golden dusk. —Tossing aside her hat and little white shawl, Tessy flung herself on the floor at her sister’s feet. Esther placed her loving hand on the soft, brown, curling locks veiling the bright head. “Did you have a happy day, my Tessy?” “Oh, yes,” was the answer, given with magnificent indifference." “And—was Joseph there?” “Jfisef —you mean old Josef, the bandmaster—of course he was there. How could there be a brass band without Josef to lead it ?” replied again Miss Tessy. Miss Esther Payne touched with a finger of gentle reproach the naughty lips of the naughty speaker. “Do you think I should inquire after such a person as that?” “Oh, then you ment your, friend Joseph,—the one who makes quotations in German to show that he is learned. Yes, certainly, he was there, but I did not see very much of him.” “But why?” And now Miss Payne’s face grew grave, her voice fell. “But why, my Tessy? Surely—” “Oh, I don’t know. ” Tessy stretched up two slender white hands, clasping them indolently over her head. “ l r ou see, Esther, when he first made his appearance on the scene, we had left the grounds. Most of our girls were in the big pavilion getting our tea at the tables; and that horrid Nelly March* mont was there, and Joseph stopped at her table and stayed there a long time.” “Well, what then ?” Tessy had paused in her recital, and was lying half-kneel-ing. her soft, flushed- cheek resting on her sister’s arm. She smiled a little gravely when Esther spoke. “What then? Oh, nothing but this: first, I suppose I should not have minded it, but I got a fateful fancy that it was only because of her dress tliat he lingered by her; and that he was ashamed to be seen with me.” “Tessy!” “Oh, I know it w,as mean of me; but she was beautifully dressed. She is dark, you know—dark; and she was all in dark tissue, with broad bands of gold on her arms and waist and in her hair. It was very becoming to her, and I suppose Joseph paid her compliments in German." ' * " “Child"—and Miss Payne pinched .with a smile the little pearl-pink ear. “Well, at all events, lie couldn’t call her his weisse biume (his white flower) could he?” quoth Miss Thdtese, triumphantly. She sat up and rested her chin on her arm to begin again. “And so, when at last he began to ■ make his way across, meaning to speak to me, I was engaged to dance with Harry Wistar. I really hadn't time to waste on Joseph. They—the other Josef was playing pay favorite music.” The witch stopped and began to hum one of Gounod’s delicious airs. “And I really didn’t see Kim.” “Oh, Tessy! How could you do so ? And Jeephia so -kind,” There were tears readv to break through the tremble of Esther's pained voice.

“Kind?” broke in Misti Tessy, indig“pantly. “I don’t knbW what yotir ideas are, Jout I call it far from kind to snub me so, and, after all, I don’t think he would have minded it so much—s|o very much—but a slight shower came up while we were dancing, and we all rushed back to the pavilion.” Here Miss Tessy paused again. A dimpling smile stole into her round, rosy cheek. , “There whs a little spot of marshy ground on the path, and the rain had made it worse. So, when we came to that—you see, I had on my light shoes —Harry threw down his coat, and nothing would do but I must walk over it. And when I looked up, just as we entered the pavilion, what an expression there was on Joseph’s face! Idq beNeve he was swearing to himself—in German.” Esther was silent, with a pained fear at her heart. What could she say ? How could she chide this beautiful creature, who was so dear, so winsome, so worthy of love ? How could she help and not hurt? “Well,” exclaimed Theresa, authoritatively, growing tired of the silence. “My dear,” said Esther, timidly, “don’t you think with me that Mr. Wistar’s attention was a little out of place—that it was conspicuous?” Miss Tessy vouchsafed no reply to this. Don’t you think, dear, you might have reached the pavilion safely, as the others did, simply by walking on the bare ground ?” “I am tired and sleepy; I must go to bed,” said Tessy, suddenly getting up. Then she glanced at Esther’s face. “Smile!” she commanded. “Do you think I am going to say good night to such eyes as those ? Smile at once !*’ The grieved look melted swiftly into tears. With loving arms twined around each other’s neck, the two sister’s cried—silently. But their goodnight kiss was the sweeter for those tears. In the quiet days that followed—perhaps because they were living nearer together, more in sympathy with each other—these two sisters, Esther n'oticed that Tessy was more than usually silent, that under her joyous laugh shone*'the glimmer of crowding tears. Bui Tessy observed that Esther grew more thin and wan, that her strength seemed to be consumed as if by some eating fire. One evening Esther in her chair drew Tessy to her. The young girl came and knelt by her side in the old familiar way, the pretty bronze-brown lovelocks ruffling over—her lap, the white arms softly upthrown. “Dear,” said the elder sister, in alow voice, “you never sing for me now.” “No,” answered Tessy, slowly; “it must be —I don’t know—unless:: —I don’t think of it.” “You did not wait once to think of it, Tessy; you sang because you must.” “Yes; that does make a difference—to feel the music in one. When a bird is being cooked and eaten, I suppose it does not feel like singing." “What in the world do you mean, child?” “Mean? Nothing—l never mean anything; that’s why I get into so much trouble.” The girl spoke in a mocking way, but a moment after she spoke more seriously: “Do you know, Esther, I was reading, this morning,the old story of the knightly lover, who had a beautiful bird that his lady coveted. He was very poor, but he would not sell his bird But, one fine day, the princes sent a message that she was coming to dine with him, and, as he had nothing in his larder fit for so dainty a lady, he bade his cook kill the bird and serve it.” ' Here Tessy paused for a moment, for a sound as of tears was in her voice. She put her hand over her eyes. “It is such a tender story, Esther, I can’t tell it as it ought to be told; but the young knight must have sat and looked at her—can’t you fancy it?— while she sat at his table and ate his frugal dinner—and then—she said she would love liim—be his own true princess—if he would give her his bird.” “Well,” said Esther, smiling, “the Princess did get the bird in one way, if not in another. And I wonder if the young knight* quite loved her when he saw her eating it!” “Oh, you hard-hearted voman,” cried Tessy. “But I thought of that, too.” Then rising, with a quick change of manner, she said: “I wonder if Joseph would contribute his beleved violin to make a fire for me, if I were freezing?” Esther began to understand. The next day Miss Payne was not so well. She was lying on the sofa in the little parlor, when Tessy came in and knelt by her, and took her two hands. The girl had a strange, sad feeling, as if she were lost in a wood, with no one to show her the way out. “I don’t know what to do for you,” she sobbed. “You are getting worse, Esther, what is it? Shall I send for some one? O, why does not Joseph She stopped suddenly, but Esther heard, and the next day a message found its way to that young man, who answered in person. He walked straight up to Esther’s chair when he came in. “I did not know you were ill,” he said, and oh. the sepse of comfort, of rest, th it the invalid felt when she beard his voice—when she looked into his clear eyes. “Is it anything serious ? I. am sorry.” Esther smiled gently, but he grew grave with a startled fear when he saw the change in her. “It is not painful—only a little troublesome, and I should not mind it so much, but Tessy frets over me." Joseph looked lor the first time at Tessy, who was sitting apart bj a window. She barely glanced up as she spoke, but there was a bright red flush in her cheek. And her eyes—how soft and appealing they were as they looked at him so briefly. Perhaps he had been unnecessarily harsh with her; she was so young—just a slip of a girl, a white flower unfolding. Presently Tessy slipped from the room. “Come closer, Joseph," began Miss Payne, nervously clasping and unclasping her bands; “I have but a moment and I wish to say to you—pe/haps I am meddling—l am sick and have many fancies—but, Joseph, if'l were a young

man, loving a shy, half-frightened girl, I should say to myself this truth: ‘A faintheart never won a fair lady.’ ” Joseph looked at her; bis face turned red and then white, and then- he burst out into a curious, hysterical laugh. “God bless yon, Miss Payne. I believe you are the best woman in the world,” he said earnestly. He kissed her hand. How cold it was, how wan, and sad, and tired she looked; but not a meddler, no. 1 When Joseph took his leave, as he walked along the hall he heard behind a door half open the notes of a piano and a low voice singing—Tessy’s voice. Joseph hesitated a moment, then, picking up courage, repeating to himself, with a quiet little smile, the words: “Faint heart never won fair lady,” he dashed the door open and went in. Tessy was there alone, playing and singing softly to herself. She jumped up when she saw who her visitor was “Stay," he said quickly. “I did not come to disturb you; I came to listen. ” Tessy stopped and stood silent, with bent face. ; ./ ■ ' - ■ ' i: “Won’t you sing me one song?” he pleaded. But Tessy turned away and began to gather up her scattered music sheets. “I can’t sing in German,” she answered coldly. “My songs are all simple ones. They are only English songs, not worth listening to.” He looked at her, hesitated once more for the last time, then took a step forward “Why do you treat me in this cold way, Tessy ?” he burst out. “Have l offended you in any way ? What have I done?”_ ■ . ■ ■ .. “You? No; it is nothing, only—only—” And then it was all over, and Tessy was sobbing her grief and joy and resentment all out together on Joseph’s shoulder. He drew ter thus close for a little space, and then he drew her out at arm’s length away from him. “Willst du mir nichV einen kuss geben?” he Said, laughing; and then Tessy lifted her fair flower face, and Joseph took his kiss. “Liebchen,” he whispered tenderly; and oh, the beauty of that old sweet German word as Joseph spoke it! “Liebchen, shall we tell Esther now?” Then he looked at her more closely. “And you have got on the beloved white dress. You must always wear it, O weisse blume.” Tessy laughed. “Come to Esther now,” she said. But alas! Esther was asleep. Asleep, and her darling was safe.— New Orleans Picayune.

Unpertakers-Why so Called.

This use of the word is no doubt derived from its primary meaning, one who stipulates to do anything, or undertakes the management of an affair. Two hundred years ago a class of people known as upholders were usually called upon to take charge of funerals. Thus the poet Gay says: “The upholder, rueiul harbinger of death. Waits with impatience for the dying- bi eatb.” Now, upholders were dealers in sec-ond-hand furniture, old clothes, and the like, and perhaps were so Called because they were so often’ resorted to as the last resource of failing credit. As these persons were able from their stock of cheaply purchased material to supply what was needed at funerals at less expense than the regular merchant or harberdasher, they came to be thus employed, and also to furnish houses. In time the more ambitious of this class confined their business to the furnishing of houses only, and dealt in goods both new and old, and to avoid the confounding of their business with that of the funeral managers styled themselves upholdsters, a name changed later to upholsterers. Subsequently the more pretentious members of the clan of upholsterers assumed the name of undertakers, deriving their cognomen logically enough from the signification of its parts in the Saxon tongue. An undertaker, one who takes in hand a business or task, or readers himself responsible for its performance. Or perhaps the idea of the word was taken from the French name of the same officer, entrepreneur, though the primary idea of the French word is rather that of one who bids for a particular task.---Infer Ocean.

Chevalier Hulsemann.

The Chevalier Hulsemann, who was here as Austrian minister from 1841 to 1863, like most Teutons, writes Ben r Perley Poore, was fond of a good glass of malt liquor. In passing through Harrisburgh, Pennsylvania, he tasted for the first time the famous “Beading ale," which pleased him so much that he obtained the brewer’s address. Oii his return to Washington he wrote him, requesting him to send a barrel of his XXX to his hotel at Washington, and signed the letter “Hulsemann.” The brewer, Frederick Laner, supposing that his new customer was a republican, sent a barrel of his best ale, addressed to “Mr. Hulsemann, hotelkeeper, Washington, D. C. Collect on delivery.” The ale was received in prime condition, and in due time a check was sent to pay for it. # Subsequently, on a visit of one of Mr. Lauer's friends to Beading, the brewer found but his mistake, and visiting the metropolis soon afte’ ward, called bn the minister and apologized. “Make no excuse, my countryman,” said the chevalier. “Here in America all names pass current," and the two drank •to their better acquaintance in foanrng glasses of the Reading ale, which had so unexpectedly brought about the interview.

The Bone Industry.

The bone industry of the country is an important one. The four feet of auordinary ox will make a pint of neatsfoot oil. Not a bone of any animal is thrown away. 'Many cattle shin bones are shipped to Ltirope for the making of kn fe*handles, where they .bring S4O per ton, and are made into collar buttons, parasol handles, end jewelry, though sheep’s legs are the staple for parasol handles. The water in which the bones are boiled is reduced to glue, the dust which comes from sawing the bones is fed to cattle and poultry, and all bones that cannot lie used as noted, or for bone black, used in refining the sugar we eat, are turned into fertilizers and made to help enrich the so L As regards waste, ifis the story of the pig. Nothing is lost except the squeal.— Pheladelphia Press.

A Yankee Fanner’s Wife.

She has received a certain amount of instruction at a public school, then marries young and begins her, to me, Herculean labors. It is her part to perform all the daily household tasks, -with but seldom any outside aid. She must make butter, milk cows, feed the chickens, and attend to the kitchen garden, as well as to her special pet flowdr-beds and vines. Then she harnesses a horse and drives to a neighboring town to barter (as no one else can) with her butter, eggs, and garden produce. If anything is broken or out of order in the house or farm, she mends it, and being a woman of infinite resources, she may even construct some of her own furniture or paint her fence. Her “parlor” is adorned with all the latest substitutes in the way of worsted work or pressed bouquets, while her store-closet is well stocked with preserves, and her garret hung with dried fruits. It is probable that she has children, and none are more thoughtfully tended in all their needs, be they physical, moral, or mental. The clothing of the family, even to their stockings and mittens, is her handiwork, while occasionally a garment is made for one of the village poor. But where is her self-culture ? say you. Ah! there is the mystery; how and when is it accomplished? And there is no denying the fact, a narrow previncial education it may be, but that is owing to her circumscribed life. If you were to enter a small, commonplace, white-washed farm-house in any of the straggling New England villages, which appears little else than a cluster of huts in a wilderness to English eyes—if you are so bold as to enter in, and so fortunate as to have an uninterrupted conversation with the mistress of the house, yon w ould find her a plain, probably faded, woman, clad in neat calico, sharp voiced and sharp visaged perhaps, but gentle in manners, and displaying as she talks a ■well-cultivated intelligence, and more or less acquaintance with literature in all its branches of. history, philosophy, science, and belles-lettres. You would find her a member of the nearest library, and a subscriber to all the leading periodicals. But in order to make this a strictly truthful account, I must add that she seldom reads the newspapers, and is utterly devoid-es that knowledge of current affairs that distinguishes particularly the somen of New York and Chicago. But then, consider how precious to her is each moment of time, and how far she is removed from the centers of civilization! She has no amusements, no diversions, no trips away; yet she is patient, and never resting from her round of necessary duties, and that, to her, no less necessary one of self culture. Some one has beautifully said that “the hand that rocks the cradle rocks the world.” The children of-Priscilla—or, more correctly, “Sairey Ann”—will doubtlessjbe rich, and some will call them parvenus, perhaps; but as for her grandchildren, what may they not become!— Cassell's Family Magazine.

Flirtation and Platonic Love.

If a fellow felt quite sure that he would be declined when he proposed, what a lot of innocent fun we might have. But that is not the nature' of things. But between the danger of being grabbed up and the danger of being cut out, the present young gentleman’s position is altogether a profoundly uncomfortable one. I was once on the most delightful of terms w-ith a young lady. We laid down a basis of neutrality. Flirtation, freedom, and friendship were the mottoes. We got along swimmingly. She flirted with other fellows, and I—well—l was supposed to be free to flirt with other girls. I never kicked, but she objected to my paying somebody else attention, and—well—l had to give in. Having thoroughly conquered me, she went off and married somebody else, and everybody condoled me on getting left. I made no more compacts. Then there’s that confounded arrangment known as platoniclovc. —Platonic love is a relation in which parties are on the defensive. It is a condition intermediary between happiness and misery. When you are ptatonically related to a girl you are in constant worry in case she is in love with somebody else, while you hope to goodness she is not so far gone on you as to expect you 'to marry her. The platonic relation is one created to minister to the emotional, as distinct from the matrimonial wants of human nature. It satisfies the craving all men and women have to hug one another without responsibility and without prejudice. It is eternally selfish. It really allows nothing to the other party. It serves to fill up the gaps between the fits of grand passion. Of course I know that people who believe in platonic love will say it is nothing of the kind; that it is based on liking and respect, and all sorts of pure thngs. All the same, if you will excuse me, I am not going to confide my future happiness to a young lady who has a platonic affection for any other Aoung man. There is noth ng in which theory and practice are so widely different as platonic love. I know it.— San Francisco Chronicle.

Superstitions About Deaf Mutes.

The hopeful theories recently advanced byJu’rof. Graham Beilin regard to teaching the mutes to speak, aid the large and liberal provision made in these days for helping the infirmities of the deaf and clumb, are in striking contrast with the treatment of the physically disabled amoig the most advanced nations in early times. Among the ancient Greeks deaf mutes were looked upon as a disgrace to humanity, and under the barbarous laws of Lycurgus they were exposed to death. Nor was highly enltured Athens less cruel than Sparta toward these unfortunate creatures. Deaf mute children were pitilessly sacrificed without a voice being heard in their behalf. Aristotle declared congenital deaf mutes to be incapable of instruction, and this was the universal opinion of classical antiquity. The Romans treated the unfortunates with the same cruelty as the Greeks. As soon as a child was found to l e deaf and dumb it was sacrificed to the Tiber. Only those escaped whom the waves washed to the shore or whom the natural leve of the parent kept hidden.

VESUVIUS.

BY BILL NYE.

The study of the habits and temperament of the volcanoe, at a distance of about 10,000 miles,is one that has always afforded me much pleasure. In watching and noting the peculiar phenomena of the eruptions I have almost lost sight of its attendant dangers. A’volcano is always feverish and restless till after the eruption, then it feels better. The first symptoms of an eruption are cold feet, bad dreams, bad breath and dark circles around the crater. This will be followed by an uncomfortable feeling in the bowles of the earth, and a fluttering pulse. The volcanoe is then about to erupt, and those who live near there had better sell out at a sacrifice. One thousand eight hundred and eighty-four years ago the Boman geographer and weather crank, Strabo, spoke of Vesuvius as a burnt mountain, but it had not at that time turned itself wrong side out. Quith a forest grew where its crater now stands. For fifty years Vesuvius had bilious spells, but kept on drawing its salary without loss of time, but in 79, A. D., it turned itself loose, and tore up the ground a good deal. Beal estate was to an astonishing height, but became depressed again at once. The south half of the mountain was jerked loose, as Pliny has it, and knocked galley west. This was followed by a shower of hot, wet ashes, which completely obliterated Pompeii and Herculaneum. Those towns have been exhumed lately, but, owing to the criminal delay of the authorities in doing so, no lives were saved. These cities are not covered with lava. Scientists say that the ruins were found under a deep layer of volcanic tufa. Ido not know what tufa is. but presume the term is perfectly proper and safe to use in good society. I have heard of the tufa cigar, which is sold at the rate of tufa 5 cents, but I am comparatively ignorant of the general appearance of volcanic tufa. This is a joke that I thought of myself. Times are so close this winter that I am obliged to originate a good many of my own jokes, and to write my own autographs. My amenuensis, who has stood by me so long and aided me so well, has been discharged. Autograph hunters will notice that my autographs are not so good as when I had my amanuensis. For nearly 1,000 years Vesuvius then remained in a comatose state, with only an occasional eruption. Then for 500 years it did not erupt In 1538, on the shores of the Gulf of Banc in the Bay of Naples, a new and attractive cra’er was opened. It was a good, easy-running crater and the lava was hot when it came out. Hot lava is not good for food. It hardens in the stomach and taints the breath with the ordor of sulphur. In 1631 Vesuvius itself again became intensely irritable and showed signs of a morbid desire to erupt. During the 1,500 year of quiet the crater has been covered over with forests infested by the wild boar of Italy and the tame boar of Enghand. The slopes of the mountain were cultivated up to the foot of the cone and Sunday-school picnics swarmed over the greenswards at its base. Suddenly, in the latter part of December, Vesuvivs rose on its hind feet and painted Borne red. All Southern Europe and a part of York State was covered with fishes and debris from the internal economy of she volcano. Many people were killed who had never previously lost their lives. The way Vesuvius slung hot mud at the Neapolitan hordes that fall was a solemn warning to the puny pugmire pushers of putrid politics in the land of the free and the home of the brave. The beautiful cities of Besini and Postici were entirely destroyed and those of Torre del Gueco and Torre del I’Amumgiata would have perished if they had not spread the names of the towns over themselves and escaped. A good long name in Italy is rather to be chosen than great riches. About ever ten years since the above date, Vesuvius has been liable to jar the country and shake down a few towns, covering the people with stuff that ii' entirely useless. The eruption of Vesuvius is a fine sight at night. No doubt that there will always be more or less apprehension on the part of spectators tintil some American “rustler” puts a damper in the crater of Vesuvius so he can regulate the eruption. At present those spasms are too irregular and too vehement.—Engl eside.

A Cowboy’s Fight with a Wildcat.

A cowboy accidentally referred to a recent experience when camping near a sheep herd. He was sleeping out of doors, with his boots on, and was awakened by a wildcat that had a sheep by the throat. He leaped up and started toward the cat, when it made a spring for his throat. He had nothing to fight with except his hands and feet, and couldn't rnn. By way of apology for relating the story, he said that he just had to fight—that that was all there wms about it. He knocked the wildcat off, and it leaped back. He jumped away, and as the animal fell ho gave it a kick. This knocked it over, and as quick as thought he jumped -upon its head. It got free, though stunned, and started for him once more. He knocked it again with effect, and getting it under his feet, stamped it to death. “1 was never so glad to see anything die in my lite,” he added, as he rolled a Mexican cigarette. — Correspondence Cincinnati, CommercialGazette.

Washed Twice in a Lifetime.

In Abyssinia there is plenty of water, and the soap grows on trees, but an Ethiopian will tell you without a blush that he is necessarily washed at birth, washes himself on his marriage morn and hopes to be washed after death. When he feels hard and uncomfortable he will ano nt himself with mutton fat till his head and body glistens in the sun. The chief ingredients in the composition of those qualities that gain esteem and praise, are good nature, truth, good sense, and good breeding.— Addir' non. ' ..... •' ■ A talent may he perfected in solitude, a character only in the world.