Rensselaer Republican, Volume 18, Number 7, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 October 1885 — Page 2

A WOMANS NO. She bad a parcel, small and round. One lovely afternoon lozt • ummer. I offered, as in dnty bound. To take it from her. ghe thanked me with a grsolons emile. As sweet as rosy lips could make it; It was so email, ’two* not worth while To let me take it. Again I offered, as b fore, Of that slight burden to relieve her. She'd rather not: “Pray say no more 1* Twould really grieve her, I ceased to plead; ahe seemed content; The thing was smsl l , and neatly corded. And so along our way we went To where she boarded. Bnt when upon the stoop she stood And ore our last adieus were uttered, She eyed me in a roguish mood. And softly muttered. As swung the door to let her through, And left me there all unresisting: •I don't think very much of you For not insisting. ” —Arthur Graham, in the Century. r J-■ • ... - - T - - —;— DAMNING HER STOCKING. L, A bevy of fair girls they were, And all exceeding busy; Maud s wed upon a crazy quilt. And so did Jess and Lizzy;—n—, While Jennie painted on a fan Some charming cherub faces, And Nell and Bell right skillfully Wove yards of pretty laces. 1 But Peg,' in wicker chair bedecked With ribbons, gently rocking, Darned —foot drawn on her little hand — The toe of her silk stocking. Her dainty, black slik stocking. O, such a picture as she made, The golden sunbeams glancing Upon her head, as, to and fro, She swayed with grace inchanting. Her lovely' brows were slightly bent, Herl ps closed rather tightly; One saw at once her task was not A task to think of lightly. With care she drew the fine thread through, The stitches interlocking. And with her needle pierced my heart While darning that sill stocking, That daintv, black silk stocking. —Marganst JSgtingo, in Good Cheer.

BEHIND THE TAPESTRY.

The first part of the strange story which lam about to relate happened some ten years ago. Ten years ago, I was in the first sorfow of my widowhood. I was childless, too, and, When the grave closed over my husband, I thought that there was no place left for me id the world. I was rich, young, and my friends, and my own reflection in the glass, told me that I was beautiful. Of course I had many acquaintances; what rich young widow has not? But acquaintance s and friends differ widely. I did not care for the people who flattered and made much of me; but I turned, even in the first days of my trouble, to one friend. She, too, was young and beautiful. We were schoolfellows, we were engaged at the same time, and we were married in the same month of the same year. 1 During the three years of my married life we had seen little of each other, but when my husband died, and Mary Clifford wrote to me tenderly, out of her own heart, I answered back her love. She asked me to stay with her, and I went - /... How peaceful were those days spent in her beautiful home! The house and Slace were called Aspen’s Vale. The ouse was many centuries old. Its architecture was remarkable; its rooms curious. It was a rambling old place, and, of course, it had a ghost It stood in the midst of very lovely grounds, overlooking wood and river. Altogether, it was one of the show places in shire.

I stayed with the Cliffords for a couple of months. During that time the house was quiet, visitors few —they eschewed company for my sake. At the end of two months I left them, comforted and helped, and with many promises of a return by and by. Circumstances, however, too varied and too many to mention, prevented that second visit from taking place for a couple of years. At the end of that time a great longing came over me to to see Nary Clifford again. I must write to her, and promise a visit. I did so. By return post, I got a short but characteristic reply: “Dearest Honor—Of course I long to see von, but unfortunate!}- the house is full. Large as it is, it is crammed from cellar to " attic. 7 —' ; —; ■— “My dear, I don’t want to refuse you. I do long to see you. Will *Jrou sleep in the tapestry ropm? for, of course, it is empty. I dare not put anybody else there, but I don’t think you. Honor, will be afraid of the ghost. If the tapestry room will do, come and a thousand welcomes. I can put up your maid. Your loving friend, “ Maby Clifford.” To this letter I made a short answer. “I do not believe in the ghost The tapestry room will do beautifully. Expect me to-morrow.” 1 The next evening I arrived at Aspen’s Vale in time for dinner. The tapestry room looked charming. I fell in love with it on the spot, and vowed, laughingly, that the ghost and I would make friends. - My maid, however, looked grave over my jesting remarks; it was plain that she believed in supernatural visitations. Gayety of heart, however, was over me. I could not resist the cheerful influence of my old friend’s company. I felt happier than I had done since my husband’s death, and after a very delightful evening, retired to my room, feeling brave enough to encounter any number of ghosts that might choose to visit me. The tapestry room was quite away from the rest of the house; it was at the extreme end of the wing. f No other bedrooms were in the wing. There was a smoking-room, a morn-ing-room, and a little oriel chamber, which Mrs. Clifford, m her early married life, had curiously fitted up for herself, but now seldom occupied. Neither did she believe in the ghost, but she confessed-that this little oriel chamber had an eterie feet, The morning room opposite, cheerful and pretty enough, was unused Its furniture was antique, it belonged .to a by-gode day, and its inhabitants were dead. The smoking-room, also, was deserted; even the fumes of tobacco had left it, the Squire preferring a more central apartment in the modern part of the house. Altogether, thia wing of the house •eemed dead. Visitors only came to it out of curiosity; they paid brief visits, and preferred doing so in broad daylight

It must have been quite a hundred years since the tapestry room, in the far end of this wing, had been slept in. Old as the other rooms in the wing looked, the tapestry room bore quite the palm of ancient appearance. There was not an article of furniture in it, not a chair, not a table, which must not have seen the light of centuries. The furniture was all of the blackest oak; ths bedstead the usual fourposter on which our ancestors loved to stretch themselves. But the curious feature of the room, that which gave it its name, was the tapestry. Not an inch of the walls was to be seen; they were hung completely with very ancient and very faded tapestry. There was a story about this tapestry. One Dame Clifford, of long, long by-gone days, had worked it, with the help of her maidens. She had come to an untimely end on the on which the great work of her lifehad been completed. It does not matter to this story what became of the proud and fair dame, but it was her ghost which was said to haunt the wing, and the tapestry chamber in particular. Warden, my maid, as she helped me to undress, looked quite pale with terror. , “They do say, as Dame Clare Clifford appears with her head tucked under her arm, and threads from the old tapestry hanging to her skeleton fingers. She’s dressed in gray silk, that don’t rustle never a bit, though ’tis so think it might stand all alone, they do say. ’Tis awful lonesome for you, madam, to sleep here alone, and I’ll stay with you with pleasure if it comes to that, though my nerves aren’t none of the strongest.” I thanked Warden, however, and assured her that I was not in the least afraid; and she, with a well-relieved face, left me alone. I heard her footsteps echoing down the corridor—they died away. I was now out of reach of all human help, for in this distant room, in this distant wing, no possible sounds could reach any other inhabitants of. Aspen’s Vale. I think I have implied that I was brave. In my girlhood, in my short married life, even in my sad depression of my early widowhood, I had never known physical fear; nevertheless when the last of Warden's footsteps echoed out and died, and that profound stillness followed which can be oppressive, I had a curious sensation. I did not call it fear, I did not know it forthat grim and pale-faced tyrant; but it made me uncomfortable and caused my heart to beat irregularly. The sensation was this—l felt that I was not alone.

Of course it was fancy; and what had I to do with fancy ? I determined to banish this uncomfortable feeling from my mind, and, stirring the fire to a cheerful blaze, I drew one of the black oak chairs near it and sat down. Warden had looked so pale and frightened before she left me, that out of consideration for her feelings I had allowed her to leave the jewels which I had worn that evening on the dressing table. There they lay, a set of very valuable brilliants. There was an oldfashioned mirror over the mantelpiece, and as I sat by the fire I saw the reflection of my diamond? in the glass. As I noticed their sparkle, again that strange sensation returned; this time more strongly, this time with a cold shiver. I was not alone. Who was in the tapestry chamber? ■Whs it the ghost? Was that story true after all? Of course, I did not believe it I laughed aloud as the idea came to me. I felt that I was getting quite silly and nervous. There was nothing for me but but to get into bed as quickly as possible. I was about to rise from my easy chair and go over to the old-fashioned four-poster, when again my attention was attracted to the glass over my head. It was hung in such a way as to reveal a large portion of the room, and I now saw not the diamonds, but something else.

In the folds of the dim and oldworld tapestry I saw something move and glitter. I looked again; there was no mistaking it, it was an eye, a human eye, looking fixedly at me through a hole in the canvas. Now I knew why I felt that I was not alone. There was some one hidden between the tapestry hangings and the wall of the chamber. Some one—not a ghost That eye was human, or I had never looked on human eye before. I was alone with a thief, perhaps with worse, and gems of immense value lay within his reach. 1 was absolutely alone; not a soul could hear the most agonized cry for help in that distant room. Now I knew—if I had never doubted it before —that I was a very brave woman. The imminence of the peril steadied the nerves which a few minutes before were beginning strangely to quiver. I never started nor exclaimed. I felt that I had in no way betrayed my knowledge to my terrible guest. I sat perfectly still, thinking out the situation and my chances of escape. Nothing* but consummate coolness could win the victory., I resolved to be very cool. With a fervent and passionate cry to One above for succor, I rose from chair, and going to the dress-ing-table, I slipped several costly rings off my fingers. I left them scattered carelessly about. I denuded myself of all but my wedding-ring. Then I put the extinguishers on the candles—they were wax and stood in massive silver-candlesticks. The room, however, was still brilliant with the light of the fire on the hearth. I got into bed, laid my head on the pillow, and closed my eyes. 4 . It may have been ten minutes—it Seemed more like an hour to my ed senses—before I heard the faintest movement Then I discovered a little rustle behind the tapestry, and a man got out When he did so I opened my eyes wide; at that distance be could not possibly see whether they were open or shut He was a powerful man, of great height and breadth. He had a black beard, and a quantity of thick black hair. I noticed his features, which were tolerably regular. ’ . I also notice.) another peculiarity; among his raven locks was one perfectly white. Ore rather thick white lock

was flung back off his forehead; so white was it that the fire instantly revealed it to me. The than did not glance toward the bed; he,went straight, with no particularly quiet step, to the dressing-table. I closed my eyes now, but I heard him taking up my trinkets and dropping them again. Then he approached the bedside. I felt him close—l felt his breath as he bent over me. I was lying on my side; my eyes were shut; I was breathing gently. He went away again; he returned to the dressing-table. I heard him rather noisily strike a match, then with a lighted candle in his hand he once more approached the bed. This time he bent very lbw indeed, and I felt the heat of the flame as he passed it softly before my closed eyes. I lay still, however; not a movement, not- a hurried breath betrayed me, I heard him give a short, satisfied sigh. Again, candle in hand, he returned io the dressing-table. Once more I heard the clinking sound of my trinkets as they fell through his fingers. There was a pause, and then, for no reason that I could ever explain, he left the trinkets untouched on the table, and went to the door. He opened the door and went out. I did not know what he went for, perhaps to fetch a companion, certainly to return, but I did know that my opportunity had comh. In an instant, quicker th a# thought, I had started from my feigned slumbers; I was at the door, I had bolted and locked it. There were several bolts to this old-fashioned door, there were even chains. I drew every bolt, I made every rusty chain secure. I was not an instant too soon. I had scarcely fastened the last chain, with fingers that trembled, before the thief returned. He saw that he had been outwitted, and his savage anger knew no bounds. He kicked at the door, he called on me wildly to open it; he assured me that he had accomplices outside, that they would soon burst the old door from its hinges and my life would be the forfeit. To my terror I perceived that his words were no idle boast. The old door, secured by its many fastenings on the one side was weak on the other; its hinges were nearly eaten through with rust; they needed but some vigorous kicks to burst them from their iesting places in the wood. I knew that I was only protecte<l,for a few minutes; that even if the thief was alone he had but to continue to assail the door as vigorously as he was now doing for a little longer, to gain a fresh entrance intp my chamber. I rushed to the window, I threw up the sash and bent half out. Into the clear, calm air of the night I sent my strong young voice. “Help, help!—thietes!—fire!—danger!—help, help 1” I shouted these words over and over, but there was no response except an echo. My room looked into a distant shrubbery; the hour was late, the whole household was in bed.

The thief outside was evidently making way with the rusty hinges; and I was preparing, at the risk of any consequences, the moment he entered the room to leap from the window, when I heard a dog bark. I redoubled my cries. The bark of the dog was followed by footsteps; they came nearer,' treading down fallen branches, which crackled under the welcome steps. The next instant a man came and stood under the window and looked up at me. I perceived by his dress that he was a villager, probably taking a short cut to his housa He stood under the window; he seemed terrified; perhaps he took me for the ghost. He was not, however, all a coward, for he spoke. “What is wrong?” he Said. “This is wrong,” I answered; “lam in extreme danger—extreme danger. There is not a moment to lose. Go instantly—instantly, and wake up the house and say that I, Mrs. Crawford, am in extreme danger in the Tapestry wing. Ge at once—at once!” I spoke distinctly, and the man seemed to understand He flew away, the dog following him. I instantly threw myself on my knees, and in the terrible moments that followed I prayed as I had never prayed before. W ould the man be in time? Must my young life be sacrificed ? Ah! no. God was good. I heard joyful sounds, the thief's attacks on the door ceased suddenly, and the next instant the squire’s hearty voice was heard. “Letme in, Honor! What is. wrong, child?” I did let him in, and his wife, and several alarmed-looking servants who followed after. We instantly began to look for the thief, but—mystery of mysteries—he had disappeared. That terrible man with the black hair and white lock over his forehead had vanished aS completely as though Tie had never been. Excspt for the marks he had made with his feet on the old oak door, there was not a trace of his existence. I believe the servants doubted that he had ever been, and only thought that the young lady who was foolish enough to sleep in the Tapestry chamber had been visited by a new form of a ghost Be that as it may we never got a clew to where or how the man had vanished.

Ten years later I was again on a visit at Aspen’s Vale. 1 his titne I did not seep in the Tapestry room. I now occupied a most cheerful, modern and unghost-like room, and but for one circumstance my visit would have been thoroughly unremarkable. This was the circumstance which seems in a wonderful way to point a moral to my curious tale. I paid my visit to the Cliffords during the Assizes. Squire Clifford, as one of the moist influential county magnates, was necessarily much occupied with his magisterial duties during thia time. Every morning he went early into Lewis, the town where the Assizes were held. One morning v he told us of a case which interested him. ""He is a hardened villain,” he said; “he has again and again been brought before me, but has never yet been convicted. He is unquestionably a thief; indeed, one of the notorious characters of thia place ; but he is suah a slippery

dog, no jury has yet found him guilty. Well, he is to be tried again to-day ( and I do hope we shall have some luck with him this time.” The squire went away, and it came into his wife s head and mine to pay a visit to the court, and see for ourselves the prisoner in whom he was interested. No sooner said than done. We drove into Lewis, and presently found ourselves in the large and crowded building. When we entered the case under discussion had not begun, but a moment after a fresh prisoner was ushered into the dock. What was the-mkttef with me? I found my sight growing dim. I found myself bending forward and peering hard. The memory of an old terror came back, the sensation of a couple of hours of mortal agony returned to me again. Who was in the prisoner’s dock ? I knew the man. He was my guest of the Tapestry Chamber of ten years ago. There he stood, surly, indifferent, with his breadth and height, his raven black hair, and that peculiar white lock flung back from his brow. He did not glance at any one, but kept his eyes on the ground. I could not contain myself; I started to my feet and spoke. "Mr. Clifford, I know that man; he was in, my room ten years ago. Do you remember the night when I got the terrible fright in the Tapestry Chamber in your house ? There is the man who frightened ina I could never forget his face. There he stands.” Whatever effect my words had on the Squire and the Judge, there is no doubt at all of their remarkable significance to the prisoner. His indifference left him; he stared with wideopen and terrified eyes at me. It was plain that if I recognized him, he also recognized me. All his bravado left him; he muttered something, his face was blanched, then suddenly he fell on his knees and covered it with his hands. My evidence was remarkable and conclusive; and that day, for the first time, Hercules Armstrong was committed to prison. He had long been the terror of the neighborhood, and no one regretted the just punishment which had fallen on him. What his subsequent career may be I know not; this is the present end of a strange and perfectly true story.

She Knew What She Was Doing.

He was President of a railroad, and she bis only daughter, and he had ambitious hopes of her future. One day she came into the magnificent apartment which he called his hqme office!’ and, trembling like a frightened fawn, she laid her soft white arms about his neck and whispered questioningly. “Papa ?” “Yes, child,” he said kindly, for he loved his only daughter. "Papa,” she repeated, “will you be angry if I tell you a secret ?” “I hope not, child. What is it ?” ho tenderly inquired, taking her hands in his, and drawing her aroifed so that he could look into her fair sweet face, so like her mother’s in the dear, dead past. “I am loved. Papa, and I love in return.” “Child.” he cried, startled almost into harshness, “what does this mean ?” “It means just what I have told you, father. lam a woman to the world, though only a child to you, and with a woman’s heart I have done what a woman always does.” “But, child, you should have told me. I have high hopes for you, and have made many plans looking to your future welfare and happiness.” “I couldn’t tell you, father, because, because—” and she hesitated and sobbed. --“Well, because what?” he asked sternly, pushing her from him. “Because, father, I have given my heart to one you and the world would say is beneath me. Father, he is only a man in your employ.” “What? A hired man? A groveling at so much per day? Great heavens, that all my plans should be destroyed and all my hopes blasted because of a foolish girl’s whim! Away fs>m me! away! away, thoughtless girl, ungrateful childl” and, purple with, rage, he rose to his feet,and thundered forth the cruel words. The girl staggered toward the door. “Hold,” he cried, “tell me who this man is? What is he ?” “Spare him. Papa, oh, spare him,” she moaned, “for I love him. He is young in years, but he is the oldest and best conductor on your road.” A change came over the father’s face, the purple clouds faded away, the sunlight of a smile shone through the rifted frowns, and, extending his arms, he exclaimed, joyfully: “My child, my only daughter, loved always, always best, come to your father's bosom and bring a kiss of forgiveness. I was hasty, child. The man you have chosen has been a faithful servant, he has been with us many years, he has bad many opportnnties, and you have done your father a noble service in thus keeping the money in the family.” The wedding took place in two weeks, because the old gentleman was nervous, and thought there might be a chance for the conductor to escape if the affair were postponed.— Merchant. Traveler. -

The Weight of Liberty.

The weight of the Bartholdi statue is about 400,000 pounds, and of this 40 per cent, or 160.000 pounds, is copper. The statue proper cost about $40,000, the total cost reaching fully $200,000, and by the time it is erected on its pedestal $500,000 will have been expended fn thus honoring liberty. As erected on Bedloe’s Island, the torch will be about 300 feet above the wrier level, the pedestal being of nearly the same height as the statue. —Aew lork World.

Not the Same Kind.

“Well, John, how are you prospering?” “Splendidly, Tom; I’ve got up amongthe big bugs and mix among 'em every day. How are you getting along?” “Poorly, poorly, John. I’ve got down among the big bogs now,. and have a dreadful time with ’em every night"— Boaton Courier.

REMINISCENCES OF PUBLIC MEN.

BY BEN: PERIEY POORE.

The month of January, 1832, was signalized all along the Atlantic coast by one of the severest storms in our meteorological annals. In some quarters it raged with unabated fury for a week, and the sn< w fell to such a depth as to render travel impossible. American commerce was widely extended. Many ships were due from Calcutta and China seas, from South America, and other warm latitudes. The effect on. the crews of such ships, coming out of the warm Southern seas and encountering, without an hour’s notice, this side the Gulf Stream, this euroclydon from the northeast, was terrific. Blinded by the snow, chilled by the blast, frostbitten to disability in many cases, short of provisions—-or, if provided, no fire in the caboose possible in such an overwhelming sea—the runing rigging stiffened to the rigidity of iron, the masts crashing over the sides, and hardly a man on board with strength to wield an axes to clear ’> the wreck and save the ship from founderihg by collision with her lost spars. All this was vividly depicted to the mental eye of the old merchants and great commercial lawyers who then addressed the Senate and the House. On the 17th of January, after the storm had raged for four days about the Capital, Edward Livingston, of Louisiana, who had made many a voyage between New York and New Orleans since 1800, rose in the Senate and by unanimous consent introduced a bill to enable the President to employ without delay two or more vessels, with supplies of men, provisions and cordage, to cruise off the coast for the relief of vessels that might have suffered from stress of weather. Governor Tazewell, of Virginia, regarded the substance of the bill as unconstitutional, and opposed its passage. Mr. Livingstone said in reply that he was surprised (it the extraordinary objection of the Senator from Virginia. These vessels were not to be sent out “to pick up wrecks,” as that Senator had suggested. They were to be sent but to prevent wrecks; not to remedy the mischiet, but to prevent it. The storm had now lasted four days. It was not over. The wind was still high. Vessels had been, probably, driven forty or fifty leagues from the coast. It might be days and weeks and months before some of them could get into port Their seamen might be frozen, their rigging stiff with snow and ice. In this situation they would consider the relief proposed to be sent to them as a messenger from Heaven. The constitutional objection weighed nothing with him. If the measure were, as it would be, useful and humane, that was enough for him in the present instance.’J

Mr. Sillsbee, the old Salem merchant.! sustained from his own experience Mr. Livingston’s views of the exigency of the case. The bill was ordered to be engrossed, and the next day it passed by a vote of 26 to 13. Among the nays were Benton, Forsyth, Grundy, Hayne, Poindexter, King, of Alabama, Tazewell, and Tyler, all Democrats of the Jeffersonian school. Martin Van Buren’s friends always referred to his career in the Legislature of the State of New York as the exemplification of “savage” politics. The controversies in which he was a leading participant commenced with the debates involving the injustice and the expediency of the war of 1812, and were continued when De Witt Clinton had inaugurated the construction of the Erie Canal. The character of these contests, the consequences that resulted* from them, and the tendency to excite the most implacable hostility, are well known to all who are familiar with the political history of New York. They may also be guessed at by others, when it is stated that in the course of those conflicts, or some of them, Governor Clinton was twice driven into retirement; Chief Justice Spencer removed from office, and for some time kept from public employment; Judge Van Ness compelled to retire from the bench, and Mr. Van Buren twice removed from office, and for years proscribed and pursued with unrelenting severity. But each of these great men bore testimony to the liberality, fairness, and honor with which he had been treated by Mr. Van Buren, and to the general uprightness of his conduct as a man and a politician. Judge Van Ness did it on his death bed; Governor Clinton almost in the last moments of his life, and as to Chief Justice Spencer, with characteristic frankness he often did it, even in the midst of those violent collisions which made the “ferocious politics of New York” a proverb and a by-word throughout the Union. The breakfast-table at a first-class Washington “mess” (where from eight to a dozen Congressmen of congenial tastes had the entire possession of a house, paying different rates in accordance with their accommodations) was very different from the present matitudinal repasts at the metropolitan hotels. There were tea, coffee, beefsteaks, oysters, eggs, ham and eggs, devilled turkeys, bread —wheaten, Indian and rye, and mixed of all, dyspeptic and antidyspectic—pancakes and buckwheat cakes, rivalling those far-famed ones of Pennsylvanian Chester, hoe-cakes and Johnny-cakes, with the interminable variety of Indian cakes known to the Virginia kitchen, together with the appropriate condiments of sugars, domestic and foreign, molasses, honey, pepper, vinegar, and moutard de Alaille. Doctor Johnson was in error, pace tanti viri, when he observed of his breakfast in Scotland, “where the tea and coffee were accompanied not only with bread and butter, but with honey, conserves and marmalade,” that, “if an epicure could remove by a wish, wherever he had supped, he would breakfast in Scdtlhnd." The breakfast at the Washington messes cast those of Scotland lar into the background, nor were the dinners less enjoyable There were wild and tame turkeys and geese, Virginia hams, Kentucky beef, canvasback ducks, terrapin, oyster’, shad, sheepshead, and occasionally a buffalo.hump or a beaver-tail brought from, the far west Wine was drank by every one. .

It is related of the late J. B. Buck*, jtone, the English comedian, that an imbitious author onoe read a drama to him. The wit and poetry of the dia*

logue went for nothing. Meanwhile the embryo Shakspeare listened in vain for a word of commendation from the manager of the Haymarket. A last he said: “I am afraid that you do not care for my writing?” “Oh, yes,” replied Buckstone, “I dare say the company will be very pleased with it, but I am waiting till I enter. You don't expect a hen to cackle over another hen’s eggs, do you?”

Musings on the Nature of a Mule.

I know that the mule is the only animal that Noah didn’t take into the ark with him. I looked over the freight list carefully, and could not see a mule way-billed for any place. So clearheaded a man as Noah did not dare to take one on board, as he knew he would kick a hole through her in less than a week. I don’t know a man on whose head you could pour quicksilver and run less risk of spilling it than on Noah’s. He was a dreadful level-headed man, and before the freshet was over everybody on earth realized the fact. The origin of the mule is enveloped in a good deal of mystery. Tradition informs us that when the flood had subsided and the ark had lain on Mount Ararat, Noah was very much surprised in one of his observations to find a good healthy mule standing on the top of an adjoining mountain. The same tradition informs us that the mule is the only animal that lived through the flood, outside the ark. The mule can be considered in a great many ways, though the worst place to consider him is directly from behind, anywhere .within a radius of ten feet I never consider a mule from that* point unless I am looking through the flue of a boiler. The mule has one more leg than a milking stool, and he can stand on one and wave the other three times round in as many different directions. He has only three senses—hearing, seeing, and smelling. He has no more sense of taste than a stone jug, and will eat anything that contains nourishment and he doesn’t care two cents whether it contains 1 per cent, or 90. AH he asks is to pass him along his plate with whatever happens to be handy round the pantry, and he won’t go away and blow how poor the steak is. He just eats whatever is set before him and asks no questions. If I were to have a large picture of innocence io hang in my parlor and I did not wish to sit for it myself, I should get a correct likeness of a mule. There is innocence in a mule’s countenance to fit out a Sun-day-school class. It looks as guileless as an angleworm. A mule never grows old or dies; once brought into existence he continues on forever. The original mule is now alive somewhere in the South and is named Bob Toombs, because he is so stubborn. Mules are chiefly found in the South and West. They have been more abused than Judas Iscariot. A boy who would not throw a stone at a mule when he gets a chance would be considered by his parents too mean to raise. The mule is a good worker, but he cannot be depended upon. He is liable to strike, and when he strikes human calculations fail to find any rule by which to reckon when he will go to work again. It is' useless to pound, for he will stand more beating than a sitting-room carpet He has been known to stand eleven days in one spot, apparently thinking of something, and started off again as though nothing had happened. /To fully appreciate the mule one should listen to his voice. You never can really know whether you like a mule or not till you hear him sing. I attended a mule concert at Chicamauga during the war. The wagon train was in front. The mules were famished for water. The gallant Cleiburne was protecting the rear. Thomas pressed him hard. The music, or program, opened with a soprano solo and then swung into a duet, and then pranced off into a trio, followed up by a quartet and ending with a full chorus of the whole army train. I didn’t hear the whole thing, for when I came to, the regimental surgeon was standing over me. giving me powerful restoratives, and I heard him say that I might possibly get out again, though I would never be a well man again. I have been in places where it took nerve to stand—-such as falling out of a threestory window,and having been through the New York Exchange and spent a part of the day in a boiler factory, and have been on one or two Sunday-school excursions where the crowd were all girls—but I never knew what noise was till I heard a lot of army mules bray. —Dyersburg (Tend.) Gazette.

He Got the Best of the Dentist.

A good many years ago a small boy called on an old-fashioned Saccarappa doctor and asked him how much he charged for pulling a tooth. “Twentyfive cents,” said the doctor. “Will it hurt?” inquired the lad. “If it don’t hurt you I won’t charge yon a cent," replied the doctor, facetiously. Ont came the doctor’s cantdog, and out jumped the boy’s tooth. Not a sound escaped the victim. His face was as impassive as the relentless cant-dog. “Did it hurt you?" inquired the doctor. “Not a darned bit,” rejoined the boy, calmly. That boy’s self-control ought to have made him a rich man.— Brunswick Telegraph.

The Unintelligent Hop vine.

These hops are a curious vine, by the way. I always supposed that a" hop vine and a baby knew how to creep without being taught. The baby may, butthe hop vine does not. It can't shin a pole any more than a codfish, unless it takes lessons. It is like a kitten; it doesn’t get its eyes open for some time? It comes up out of the hill and lies sprawling on the ground till it is taken by the nape of the neck, so to speak, and wound around the pole a few times, and then tied there. After that it wi 1 seem to catch on, and learn why it was put into the world, and will then shin up the pole like a little man. It is not half as intelligent as a bean.— Belfast (Me.) Journal. y A New York paper seriously doubts if a pretty woman ean be convicted of murder in the oourta of that city, no matter how strong the evidence against her. *■'