Rensselaer Republican, Volume 18, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 November 1885 — Page 6

A blight thought *«a the poet’s who sang one That somewhere is the snn always shining, O, And another good adage is this, as they say. That the dark clouds have silver fur lining, OI So have coats, but not ours; they are not lined Nor with gold, nor with scrip doth it follow, O, But here’s your philosophy, laugh and be gay, Drink the best to the last of your dollar, O! JHll. fill, ye wildfellowis, and drain while ye may, Though the sun is not always a-shtning, O. Though your coats may be worn 'tis a very good ‘ ’ way Just to turn them and wear out' the lining, O. So well cheat the sad tailor of half of his pay And snap fingers, ha, ha," for hischoler, O. We are young in the world and we're bound to be WhUe we’ve wits in our hats and a dollar, 01 And the last breath we draw, thro' .our pipes let it play, While a spark in the bowl is a-shining, O, And when life is a coat that is threadbare and Yet we're bound for to wear out the lining, O! Then we’ll chaff at old Death in a rollicking way; To our pleasure we’ll pin him a scholar, O, And good cheer to the last cup that bubbles away And hurrah I when we spend our last dollar, O. —Brooklyn Eagle. TIMIDITY—A HINDOO FABI.E. BY JORL BENTON. A silly mouse, thinking each thing a cat, Fell into a helpless wonim6nt thereat; But, noticed-by a wizard living near, Was turned into a cat to end its fear. No sooner was the transformation done, Than dreadful terror of a dog begun. Now, when the wizard saw this la’est throe. •Here, be a dog," said he, “and end your woe.* But, though a dog, its soul had no release, For fear some tiger might disturb its peace. Into a tiger next the beast was made, And still 'twas pitful and sore afraid. Because the huntsman might, some ill-starred day, Happen along and take its life away. •Then,” said the wizard, turning to his house, “You have a mouse’s heart —now be a mouse.” "Tis so with men; no earthly help or dower Can add one atom to their earthly power; Them from their smallness nothing can arouse— No art can make a lion from a mouse.

THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE.

BY FRANK SHERIDAN.

I first met Rudolph Movitska in the winter of 1862. I had then been in California three years, and had become accustomed to meeting all sorts of characters; but I remember that this man engaged iny attention and impressed me strangely. It was in a San Francisco gambling den that I saw him for the first time. He, like myself, was a mere looker-on, killing time by watching the games in progress, and evincing no desire to take part in any of them. I was struck by his handsome physique and the massive, leonine grace of his movements, but more paiticularly by his pale, thoughtful face, with its fine intellectual contour, its large melancholy eyes, and the foreign cut of the dark moustache and pointed beard. A desire to know the man prompted me to draw him into conversation, and from that moment we were fast friends. In the year that followed we were almost constantly, together. We became partners in business, joint owners of a mine in which we invested a good deal of money and boundless hopes, and our friendship grew warmer with each succeeding week. Rudolph Movitska was a man of noble bearing and fine scholarly attainments. He spoke English and several other languages fluently, and showed by his conversation that he was remarkably well-read for so young a man —for at that time he was but thirty-two years of age. His story interested me. It was several he became sufficiently confidential to tell me about himself. He was the only son of a Polish Count. He had wooed and won and clandestinely married a beautiful young lady, in whose veins coursed royal blood. Her name was Helena Olanof. She was divinely lovely and was rapturously admired by everybody. A young Russian Prince became enamored of her and it was decreed that she should become his wife. It was on account of this decree that Rudolph and Helena were married secretly. “Helena refused to become the Prince’s wife,” said Rudolph, “but did not tell him that she was already married to me. His pride was sorely wounded by her rejection of his hand, and he vowed vengeance. It did not take him long to find out that the girl loved me, and I then became a targer for his insane wrath. He invented some sort of pretext for charging me with being concerned in a conspiracy against the government. I knew I would not Be permitted to prove my innocence; I knew that the bare accusation meant banishment, if not death, for me. At the instance of my wife, who tearfully begged me to fly and save my life for her sake, I turned my back on all that Was dear to me and fled to Paris, firmly believing, of course, that our separation would be but temporary.

“While in Paris,” continued Movitska, in a husky voice, “I received letter that ruined all my futur-e prospects, and filled my soul with desolation and despair. First there came a letter from a friend, telling me that my Helena was as false as she was fair, and that since my departure she was receiving the Prince’s attentions with apparent pleasure. Then there was one from Helena’s father, in which he informed me that his daughter had told him all; that she was re--pentant, and deeply regretted her rash marriage with me; that she desired above all things to become the wife of a Prince, and begged that some means might be devised to sever the tie that bound her to me, bo that she might be free to accept the hand of her royal suitor; and then the letter wound up by entreating me never to divulge the secret of our marriage, and to stay away from Poland. Then there came a very brief little note from Helena herself, assuring me that all her father had written was true, and hoping from the depths of her heart that I would not return to Poland and compromise her. “Did I retuin to Poland? No; I have never turned my face toward my beloved country since that time. I scarcely know what possessed me to come to America, but come I did, and after a few months of restless wandering found myself in California.” That was my friend's story. I watched his fine, manly face as he told it, and could see something of the terrible, heart-break-Isg agony he tried to suppress as he reviewed the sad tragedy of his life. He was a man or strong feelings, of an exceedingly sensitive organization, and a boundless capacity to suffer, but behind all was an iron will that usually held his emotions in check.

One bright spring day, more than a year after our first meeting, Rudolph Moritska and I were riding through a lonely pass in the Sierra Nevada, on our way to the mine in which our interest was centered. We had traveled the same trail many times before without molestation, but not without being constantly on the look-out for foes. The stage route led through this pass, and ♦bare were legends. connected with it in which footpads, road-agents, and assassins figured conspicuously. ' A* we rode leisurely along my companion casually remarked:

, ■•■ '■ a I have heard of no ‘stand and deliver, sensations occurring in this pass for some time." “Nor have I. The march of civilization seems to be thinning jout the outlaws in this region.” • The words had scarcely passed my lips when three figures on horseback rode out from behind a jutting rock and confronted us. At the same moment a clear, silvery, feminine voice cried out: “Halt!” r We both drew rein. For my part it was a surprise, more than any other feeling, that caused me to obey the mandate so promptly; for the three riders were women! They were all dressed in deep black, and each wore a long impenetrable vail that effectually concealed her features. Each held a formidable-looking revolver in a small gauntleted hand, but the weapons were not aimed. There was something that smacked of the ridiculous in this coup de main, and I should have been amused had I not been dumb with amazement. It was a novel experience for two healthy, strong-limbed, muscular men to be peremptorily commanded to halt by a trio of delicatelyformed women. j ' I turned and looked at my companion. To my surprise, if not disgust, he was pale as a ghost, and trembling in every limb. Was the man a coward? Was he really stricken with terror by the menacing attitude of these petticoated strangers? I had never suspected him of such weakness. Recovering my speech I bowed with mock courtesy to the veiled riders, and said: ‘ —— “Ladies, this is an unexpected honor. Being stopped and robbed by booted and spurred highwaymen has grown so monotonous that it is a genuine relief to have the act performed by representatives of your adorable sex. I presume you want our money or our lives?” l ‘We want nothing whatever from you,” replied the woman who had first spoken. “You, sir, are at liberty to go your way; but your friend, Rudolph Movitska, must come with us.”

Here was a fresh surprise. I saw Movitska start violently, then straighten up in his saddle and cease trembling as suddenly as if he had turned to stone. “Pardon my perverseness, madam, but you will permit me to say that wherever my friend goes, there must I go, also.” “So be it,” said the woman, almost sharply; “but we will have no trifling. The gentleman is our prisoner, and must go with us immediately!” I turned to Movitska with a smile. “Well, old boy, what are you going to do?” “I will go with them,” said he, drawing a sharp breath. “Let them head their way; I will follow.” It was not the answer I expected, and I protested, vigorously, against such ah ignominious surrender. I told him any fool could see that the object of these .female outlaws was to lead him into an ambush of male robbers and cut-throats. He held firmly to his decision. “You can continue your journey if yon like,” he said. “I am a prisoner, and must go with my captors. If I am mistaken, death will be welcome.” I saw no r&ason in this observation, and began to doubt the man’s sanity. Convinced that no amount of argument would dissuade him from his purpose, I gave up the effort and resolved to see the end of the adventure myself, cost what it might. -I "All right,” I said, addressing the women, with an assumption of. recklessness I did not feel. “We will accompany you. Lead on.” The one who had done the talking directed her companions to ride behind us, while she took the lead; and in this form the procession moved, Movitska and I riding abreast. •• I had to acknowledge to myself that this was the strangest experience I had ever known; and in my mind it began to assume a rather serious aspect. It seemed to me that these women must be accomplices of a band of desperadoes, relying on their sex to escape personal injury, and I tried to ? reach this idea into Movitska’s head; but could not move him from his insane determination, and I could not conscientiously leave him. Our fair escort led us off at right angles from the pass, down through a wooded ravine, and I soon saw that they were following a tolerably well-beaten trail. By this time I had noticed that the leader of the trio was the possessor of a superb form, and that there was a certain air of refinement and high breeding in her manner, accompanied by a grace and dignity such as a queen might envy. There was a slight foreign accent in her speech, but not enough to detract a particle from, the delightful effect of her clear, sweet voice. I began to feel a strong curiosity to see her face. After riding about a mile we came to a large log cabin. I knew the place well. It was the abode of a harmless old miner and his family. Why had we been brought here? We were ordered to dismount and enter the house. I took the precaution to draw my six-shooter and hold it in my hand as we crossed the threshold. • . The old miner and his wife were there, but as we entered they immediately passed into an adjoining room and closed the door behind them. The leader of the veiled riders went to a couch in one comer of the room, and took therefrom a 2-year-old child, partially arousing it from a sound slumber. Holding the little ones in her arms she turned toward my friend, and in a strong, firm voice said: ..

“Rudolph Movitska, I can see by your pale face and trembling hand that you suspect who I am. In my desperation I have followed you to this country to demand of you an open acknowledgment before the world that I am your lawful wife, and this child your offspring.” As she spoke she threw off the black veil, disclosing a wonderfully beautiful face. Movitska uttered a hoarse cry and staggered forward. “Helena! Helena! my wife! Oh, God in Heaven, this cannot be reality. -I am dreaming—l am mad!” ■ 4 He was down on his knees at her feet, clasping one of her hands in both of his. He was terribly agitated, and his powerful frame shook like an aspen. 1 A surprised, half-incredulous look came into the beautiful face. “You are not —glad—to see me, Rudolph?”' she said, in aquivering voice. “Glad—” Hexose suddenly to his feet and stood before her, “The Prince!” he gasped. “The Prince!” she echoed. “And what of the Prince? You left me to the mercy of him and an irate father.” ( “But—you—married him!” '' A, lightning flash of scorn and indignation shot from the splendid eyes. “Married him?” she cried; “when I was already married to you? How could you every believe me guilty of so dreadful a crime? I loathed him —I hated the very ground he walked upon. I Would have died before marrying him!”, , u - u And the child—” “Is yours, of course. Look at it." He snatched it from her arms and covered its face with kisses. Light was breaking through the darkness now; explanations followed fast; and soon a flood of sunshine dispelled every vestige

of the gloom that had blinded the eyes of this long-separated couple. It appeared that Helena’s father, after she had confessed tp him that she was Movitska’s wife, still determined that she should marry the Prince. 1 With this end in view he formed a plot. He wrote two letters to Movitska, at Paris. One of these was over his own signature, stating that his daughter was repentant and desired to marry the Prince, and begging Rudolph tc stay away from Poland and to keep his secret. But the crafty old man told hie daughter that he had written a kind, fatherly letter to Rudolph, telling him he could return to Poland at the end of three months and claim his wife; but that he must not venture to return before the three months were up, as in that case he would endanger both himself and Helena,- owing to the charge of conspiracy against him. Then he dictated a note from Helena to Rudolph, in which she innocently corroborated all that her father had written. The next thing the old man did was to produce a forged letter, purporting to be from Rudolph, in which he advised her to marry the Prince and be happy, as he had already tired of married life and would never return to Poland. But the scheming father had his pains for nothing, for no influence that could be’’ brought tobear had any effect toward persuading his daughter to marrv the Prince. And it was only his high standing at court that saved Helena and himself from punishment at this defiance of the royal will. Helena remained at home until her father died. Her child was then two years old, and she set out to find her husband and compel him to acknowledge her as his wisp. She was accompanied by only two maidservants. She made her way to America, and traced her husband to California. A stage-coach accident had thrown her under the protection of an old miner, who knew Rudolph Movitska and myself, and was able to tell her just when we would ride through the pass on our way to the mines. Then she formed the desperate resolve to waylay her supposed repreant husband and bring him to terms at the point of a pistol. How she carried out this plan, with the assistance of her two maids, I have already described. ’ Nothing could have been more complete than the happiness of this re-united couple when everything was satisfactorily explained. It was a joyful ending'of a very sad little romance. Rudolph Moyistka and his family are today living in a splendid home in California, enjoying the blessings of mutual love and everything that goes to make life a pathway of flowers.

An Arkansas Duel.

About the year 1830, General Conway and Robert Crittenden, of Arkansas, were opposing candidates for the position of territorial deligate in the National Congress. Their speeches were bitterly personal; but for a time they abstained from coming into direct collision with each other, the one confining his canvass to the northern portion of the State, and the other confining his canvass to the southern. But this prudent course could not long be pursued in Arkansas at that day. The public became impatient with invective that did not reach its object except in faint reverberations. An irresistable demand was made for a joint discussion. Little Rock, and a day in midsummer, were the place and time fixed for it In the course of his second speech, Conway, faithfully complying like a good representative with the wishes of his constituents, used language which made a challenge upon the part of Crittenden amoral necessity in that portion of the United States. A meeting was arranged for the next morning. A “vast throng,” some of whom had come over a hundred miles to hear the discussion of the previous day, took their stand about the spot where the gladiatorial tourney was to come off. The seconds disagreed. Conway, whoj while a man of undoubted courage, was more nervously organized than his competitor, became restless and petulant; but Crittenden, who is said to have “inherited the noblest of human forms,” quietly extended his shapely limbs upon an outstretched blanket, and remained in that attitude with his eyes half closed, as if enjoying a peaceful slumber, until the seconds had settled their differences. This was finally done. The principals fired. Crittenden lost a button; and Conway lost what would in the case of some duelists be a thing of equivalent value —his life.— William Cabell Bruce, in the Current. '

Lincoln’s Analytical Powers.

I never saw him when he appeared to me anything else but a great man, and a very ugly one. His expression in repose was sad and dull; buj; his everrecurring humor, at short intervals, flashed forth with the brilliancy of an electric light. I never observed but two well-defined expressions in his countenance, one that of a pure, thoughtful, honest man, absorbed by a sense of duty and responsibility; the other that of a humorist sb full of fun that he could'not keep it all in. His power of analysis was wonderful. He strengthened every case he stated, and no anecdote or joke evpr lost force or effect from his telling. He invariably earned the listener with him to the very climax, and when that was reached in relating a humorous story he laughed all over. His large mouth assumed an unexpected and comical shape, the skin on his nose gathered into wrinkles, and his small eyes, though partly closed, emitted infectious rays of fun. It was not the aptness of his stories, but his way of telling them and his own unfeigned enjoyment that gave them zest, even among the gravest men and upon the most serious occasions. Nevertheless, Lincoln—a good listener —was not a good conversationalist When he talked he told a story or argued a case. But it should be remembered that during the entire four years of his Presidency, from the spring of 1861 until his death in April, 1865, civil war prevailed. It bore heaviest upon him, and his mind was bent, daily, hourly even, upon the weighty matters of his high office; so that, as he might have expressed it, he was either lifting, with all his might at the butt end of the log or sitting upon it, whittling for rest and recreation.— Gen. James B. Fry.

The Bean.

The bean is one of the most ancient articles of human food. It was cultivated in Egypt in the earliest ages, and formed the common dish known among the Hebrews as pottage. It is supposed to be a native of Persia. The bean was introduced into Britain by the Bomans.

What a Blacksmith Says about Horses* . “Horse-shoeing seems an easy trade to master by any one strong enough to beat a red-hot iron on an anvil," remarked a workman blacksmith, while conversing about the size, weight and shape of the shoes for hard-pavements and soft-road work; “but not one in three of so-called horse-shoers should be allowed to handle a horse’s hoof. There is a knack in it that cannot be taught. Unless a man has an intuitive impression of the animal’s disposition that he is working on, and a pretty fair knowledge of the anatomy of and the diseases incidental to the foot, he is unfit to clean a, foot or fit a shoe. There are workers in our line of business that can never, be regarded as firstclass in it, although they may have toiled years at the anvil, while again there are others who, almost without instruction, will, in a week tor a month after they enter a shop and put on a leather apron, do work that is admirable. A horse’s foot is like unto a man’s in many respects. It may be large and clumsy, or it may be small and shapely; it may be troubled'with corns, and the frog of the foot, which is a horny, elastic substance, may be as sensitive to the touch as a lady’s finger. It is often diseased. There are a hundred things that will interfere with the usefulness of a horse —'that may be developed by carelessness or cruelty—in the foot alone. If you would have an animal worth the trouble of caring for, see to it that his feet are kept in good condition. There are people who will keep shoes on their horses two or three months at a time and wonder why it is they walk as if their feet were sore—as if they were treading on the points of needles that ran deep into the flesh at every step. No quadruped on which shoes are put to protect the hoof from unduly cracking or festering should be permitted to wear them longer than four weeks without removal and reseting. I have had horses in here the hoofs of which had grown quite two inches over the edges of the iron! There are horses that should have their feet looked to every two weeks, but it’s troublesome to bring them so often to us, and their owners take the risk while the poor animals suffer. Often fever sets in, the frog and the coffinbone become diseased, abscesses are formed and the sores breed worms. Remember, the whole weight of the body rests on all below the pasterns. To rempve these troubles what would seem to one who knows nothing of the horse rough treatment is often adopted. The fever must be reduced. To do this the inner parts of the’ foot are cleansed, tar and oakum applied, leather placed between the sole and the shoe, and other methods pursued. A ihorse’s shoe, I repeat, should be removed, if for no other purpose than to cleanse the foot, twice or thrice a month. And further, in my opinion, every shoe put on the foot shold be made to conform to it. It is a little curious, too, how horses use their feet In this they are much like human beings. Some will wear the shoe on the jleft, others on the right side. Again, some will strike the ground with their toes first, and many will wear away the palks down smooth and leave the toe bit quite perfect. Horses that strike the ground with the heel of the foot rather than with the toe are rarely exceptionally fast. To overcome this idifficulty in trotters,the toe is weighted —that is,a piece of metalis inserted between the sole and the shoe—just slipped in and readily removed—which greatly helps the horse. Corns ? Oh, yes; there are many horses troubled with corns. It arises from, I might say, the same causes which give growth to them in men and women, namely, ill-fitting shoes. Corns imply toes, do they not? Well, horses are provided with toes. But they are hidden by the hoof. Remove that and you will see the bony joints that constitute their toes as perfectly developed as those that are seen in men. Originally horses were digitigraded, but, doubtless from some unknown necessity, the digits gradually disappeared, because clothed with a hornlike protection as we see them toiday.—Brooklyn Union.

The Symbolism of Flowers.

In all ages and among almost every people, flowers have been used as symbols, of affection and loyalty. The reader need scarcely be reminded of the red and white roses which were the badges of the Lancastrian and York rivals to the English throne. But this symbolism of flowers dates back to periods far older than the time of the wars of the Boses. The ancient nations had ■ their emblematic flowers. The special flower of the Hindoos, for instance, has always been the marigold. The Chinese display as their national flower the georgeous chrysanthemum. The Assyrians for ages proudly wore the water lily. Egyptians delight most of all in the heliotrope; though the papyus leaf, used by the ancient Egyptians in place of paper, may also be regarded in a high sense as the symbolic of the Nile. The Greeks and Bomans were in the habit of distributing flowerfl in their luxurious gardens among iheir gods and demigods; just as at yet remoter times the sweet basil and the moon flower were sacred to Asiatic deities. In the Roman custom, to Juno was devoted the lily, to Venus the myrtle and the rose, to Minerva the olive and the violet; Diana had the dittany, Ceres the poppy, Mars the ash, Bacchus the grape leaf, Herecules the poplar, and Jupiter, naturally, the monarch of trees, the oak. So, wemay infer that among the Romans, the lily and the oak were the emblems of power; the myrtle and the rose, of love; the olive and violet, of learning; the ash, of war; and the grape (leaf of festivity. Even the days of the week, as we use ithem now, are named from the deities I who had each its special flower: The sUn (Sunday), the sunflower; the moon j(Monday), the daisy; Tuesday (the god Tui’s day) the violet; Wednesday (the god Wooden’s day), the blue monkshood ; Thursday fthe god Thor’s day), the burdock: Friday (the goddess Frea’s day), the orchis; and Saturday (Saturn’s’day), the horsetail We also find that in our time the sacred days in the calender of the Enilish church' have all their flower or plant emblems, Hie principal of which are the.holly for Christmas, the palm

for Palm Bunday, andtfie amaranth for All Saints’ day. Monarchs and nations have often'had their symbolic flowers. Thb thistle is the Scotland and the shamrock of Ireland. The fleur-de-lis is the badge of the royal house of France, and the aramanth of that of Sweden. The rose blooms forever on the royal-Coat-o X-arms -of England.— Exchange.

Malting.

There are four processes in the operation 'of malting: first, steeping; second, couching; third, flooring—the two being carried on in one room, and often counted as one process; and .fourth, kiln-drying. The process of steeping is necessary to promote germination, which is the first requisite of malting. A mechanical as well as a chemical change is the result of this operation, as the softening of the grain by the use of iwater is required to loosen, the flinty husk and allow the germ to come through. With the germ, which begins to develop within an hour after being put in to steep, springs into existence the principle called “diastase,” derived from the Greek word which means to separate. Diastase is not only soluable in itself, but it has the power to dissolve starch and finally convert it into what is known as “grape-sugar"—that from of saccharine matter most desirable in beer. So powerful is it that one part of diastase will change two thousand parts of starch into grape-sugar. The grain being put into large iron of stone cisterns, is covered with water to the depth of five or six inches. In this steep it lies about fifty hours, more or less, according to the weather, with the result of an increase in bulk of 20 or more per cent., and in weight of nearly 50 per, cent., and an advance toward the second process, known as “couching.” This is simply removing the now swelled grains from the vats and placing it in a heap upon the floor, where it remains from thirty-six to forty-eight hours. During this time a slight steaming takes place, accompanied by a rise in temperature of ten degrees, and the germinating action is well under way. “Flooring” is a continuation of couching, and one requiring judgment and delicate manipulation. The grain is now spread out upon the floor, first to a depth of fifteen inches, which, as it is repeatedly turned and worked, is reduced to six inches. Germination now progresses rapidly, while the grain must be frequently turned, as the embryo plant requires air for development quite as much as the human being needs it for existence. The lighter the grain becomes, the more the starch is converted into sugar, and the finer the future ale will be, and the better it will keep. The process of flooring requires about seven day for its full development.

The long, low rooms, often with asphalt floors, on which couching and flooring are done, are she chief features of the malt-house, whose many-win-dowed stories loom up in enormous buildings. The great beds of growing grain are carefully shovelled over several times a day with great wooden shovels, until the careful maltster sees that it is ready for the kiln, the door of which opens from the epd of the room. “Kiln-dying” follows the flooring, as the time arrives for checking the germination. The partially-sprouted grain is introduced into the kiln, which has a slatted floor below to allow the action of stove heat, and ventilation m the roof above to facilitate the escape of steam; in this respect the process is not unlike that of the drying of the hops. She temperature at first is about 90 degrees Fahr.,, which is gradually raised to 150 degrees Fahr., the grain lying meanwhile to a depth of eight to ten inches on the floor. A light, gradual heat produces light malt, from which the paler and more delicate ales are made, coke or hard coal producing the ordinary or pale malt, and hard wood fuel, with its fumes of pyroligneous acid, the “amber" malt. From eighteen to twenty-four hours, as the case may be, are consumed in the kiln-dry-ing. Brown malt, used for porter and for the heavier ales, is produced in kilns with floors of wire or thin metal, from quick wood fires, by which in two hours’ drying the malt is raised suddenly to nearly the temperature of combustion, and as quickly lowered, the result being a considerable proportion of caramel or burnt sugar in the malt. Black malt, used for coloring, is actually roasted, much after the manner of coffee, and mort of it becomes caramel.— G. Pomeroy Keese, in Harper’s Magazine.

The Boats of Gold.

The museum of northern antiquities in Copenhagen has just been enriched by a remarkable discovery made at a small place near Thisted, on the west coast of Jutland, Denmark. Two men digging in a gravel-pit in the neighborhood of the old burial mound, called Thor’s Mound, struck an earthen vessel with their picks, disclosing a number of gold pieces. On examination it was found that an earthen vessel about seven inches in diameter at the rim, and covered with a flat stone, had been buried about a foot and a half below the surface, and this contained about a hundred little golden boats, curiously worked, varying in size from three to four'and one-half inches. A gunwale, and frames of thin strips of bronze had first been formed, and these had been with gold plates, some of which were further ornamented with impressions of concentric rings. The boats, of which only a few are in a far state of preservation, are tapered at, both ends, and resembles the Danish craft of the present day. This discovery, which mat be regarded as a deposited treasure of votive offerings, and belongs, doubtless, to the close of the bronze age, proves that frame-built vessels were already known at thattime, and that man was not satisfied with the hollowed-out trunks of trees., The gold of which these little fishing models are composed was valued at $26, which amount, together with a gratuity, has been forwarded to. the finders, who are both poor men.

' J “How dq you pronounce s-t-i-n-g-y ?” Professor asked the young gentleman nearest the foot of the class. And the smart boy stood up and said'it depended a great deal whether the word applied to a word or a bee. "Go to the head, young fellow."

How Starch Is Made.

Corn is first carried by a belt, or otherwise, from the crib to the shelter. After the conr is shelled it is carried tp the cleaner where all the dust and dirt is removed. It is then, by means of an elevator, deposited in long bins in the upper story of the milL By means of separate spouts the com is then conveyed into large “steep tanks.” holding say 600 bushels each- After being covered with hot water it is allowed to remain six days, or until it is sufficiently soured. , It is 1 then by a screw conveyor and elevator taken to the millstone’s hopper. Just before it reaches this point, it passes through a revolving wise screen which separates the corn from the water.

It is then conveyed to the mills, being mixed again with water, and, after going through two sets of four-foot millstones, it passes below to the “shakers.” These are vibrating boxes, open at one end and covered with a wire and satin sieve. Here the starch and gluten are separated from the solid particles of the com, which is called “coarse feed.” This descends into a well and is pumped up by means of a powerful force-pump and run off into vats for its reception where it is drained and is ready for sale. After passing through the “shakers,” the starch and gluten are conveyed to the “run-house,” receiving on their way a stream of water. The “runhouse” is generally a room containing many troughs about eighteen inches wide and 100 feet in length. These runs are slightly inclosed, and while passing through them the starch settles to the bottom, while the watery part passes off, and is run into the gluten vat The starch is then conveyed to the agitator wells, and being mixed with cold water,-is thoroughly agitated by means of a revolving rake. It is ready then to be pumped up and passed through a bolting reel, where all the impurities are settled, and the pure starch, pure and white, is conveyed to a large receptacle, where it is placed into the mould boxes. After remaining in the mould boxes three or four hours, it is cut into blocks about six inches square, lifted to the second floor, placed on cars and run into the crusting-room, where it remains over night. The next morning the blocks are scraped, or, rather, the crust cut off, with sharp knives, and are wrapped in blue or bronze paper by one person, at the rate of 800 packages per hour. These packages are placed on cars with slatted frames, holding 392 packages each. As they are filled they are run into the dark-room, which is kept at an average temperature of 160 degrees. The starch is kept here until it is thoroughly dried into the prismatic form in which it is perchased in the market The cars are run to a wareroom, and the packages wrapped in blue paper are packed in boxes, while those in brown paper are conveyed to the packer and packed in barrels. To obtain a superior quality of starch, the corn must first be properly steeped, requiring skill and experience on the part of the operator. To secure starch from corn in paying quantities it must be properly ground. The next important point is in the sieving. The smallest hole in the sieve will admit impure matter, which it is hard to eliminate. Particular attention is required in the precipitation of the starch on the inclined plane. In the dry-room great attention must be paid to the temperature. One too high will produce a scorch, and one too low a mould.

Henrico and the Dog.

“Fore Heaven! Is this mine own Henrico?” • “Such of thine own Henrico as survives, sweet jade, the controversy with that grim Newfoundland pup now purchased by thy sire.” “So boy, then hath me sire been deceived; they said he was of rare fastidiousness.” “Fastidiousness! and if he be not, dame, there is not such in all the cantonment. Tho’ I have witless given feast to countless canines in these realms sublunary and friaged more garments on their frontal teeth than would the Feejee islands Christianize, .with upon my goodly heart I’ll say I ’never met a dog so hard to please.” “What mean’t thou, torn but jocund wight? Has then this quadruped ensampled oft the outer rim of thine anatomy?” “He hath made havoc in such divers parts that I’m corrugate from crown to toe. First dipped his fangs within me dexter calf; then feasted he upon me stoutest thigh, nor satiate here he further browsed and supped until he banqueted at every joint. Ven gence is mine, howe’er, sweet maid, for lo! the suit that compassed me when thus beset was fresh from dyer’s vat, praise Jupiter! and e’er dissolves the half yard he has mouthed death will a mortgage on the beast foreclose.” “Poor dog and if he dieth not from that, he’ll surely find his mortuary germs in tidbits that he witlessly hath ta’en from thine anatomy."— Yonkers Gazette.,

The Catcher at Home.

The Catcher’s Wife—Home again, Paddy! Well, what luck? The Catcher —Immense! Wiped’em out. The C. W.—The score. Paddy—the score ? The C.—Six to nix. The C. W. —And you, Paddy? Did you— The C.—Did I distinguish myself? Look at them, my love! (Lays three finger nails and a tooth on the table.) The C. W.—The umpire? (anxiously.) The C. (solemnly)—He sleeps. . The C. W.—Did you pluckly continue? The C.—No; I pluckly retired. And now, darling, to hash!— Philadelphia Call. -

Two Dogs to Catch a Babbit.

Although no dog can catch a fullfledged, fan-tailed jack rabbit, yet dogs soon learn the coyette’s trick, and one will chase after the rabbit, while another, who has found out that the longeared animal always comes back to the place from which he started, lies in wait, .and as the panting and tired rabbit nears the home base, he pounces upon him and gathers him in.—Portland Oregonian.