Rensselaer Republican, Volume 18, Number 47, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 July 1886 — Page 2

AX QRDKR. •t Mnn. h*BAii nr. w. uihtelu , Yo > botud my order, pm'nter, The very word* I s*i*l: . ‘'All 111 ymir Anon color*. Vermilion an 1 Indian red! And those smn.lcrful combinations An arttur o-Itm/ws. — - ■ ■ Lika rooonlifibt on t*«* water, ■ Like dewdropt on a ro*o.' "From tlie top to the Ixittom, painter, 4 The very word* I aaid I ' ' "Anil up from the euro foundation* TV) th#arcl>e« overhi ad : Make them ime thine? of beauty, Garnish and decorate all; Each room, each fricjie and ceiling, B*cb balustrade and ball. * But there's one exception, painter, i' (I spoke of It.before), A little mark on a i and Behind a closet door ) — — Only a mark on a panel Behind a closet door. And the penciled words below it Are 'Mabel, aged four.* ' Ton have my order, painter. You know my secret, tool Bo hand may touch that panel Till “heaven and earth are new," And I go to meet my darling, Not lost, hut gone before; I shall know her when I see her, ‘ My'Mabel, aged four.* —Good Housekeeping. ... ■■ V-y' '

LILLIE’S TRIUMPH.

BY W. B. JONES.

“My dear, wlint are tvo to do with onr £rls?” asked Mrs. Gayhmd of her hnsind, one fine evening in. May. “Our girls?” repealed Mr. Gayland, in apparent astonishment. 1 “Why, uliat's the matter with them?” “How provoking you are. Mr, Gnyland. You know rery well what I mean.” “How should I, niv dear? Our girls were nil well enough at dinner. I hope nothing has happened to them since.” Mrs. Garland bit her lips with vexation as she rose to leave the room, but before the had reached the door her maternal solicitude prevailed against her anger, and ahe returned and seated herself by* her husband’s side, and said, in her most winning tones: “But don’t yon think, my dear, it is time tome of our girls were married?", “Ha, ha, ha,” burst from the lips of the old gentleman. “Is that all? How relieved I feel!" „ ” “But, Mr. Garland, Kate and Irene (they were twins) are now 22 years of age, and after they are disposed of, there is Lucia and Florette, who are now even old enough to marry." “Yes, and yoU forget my sweet Lillie, here,” said Mr. Garland, stooping to a pale, sober-looking girl who sat by his side. A look of contempt was cast on the child by her mother, as she answered: “Pshaw! I will keep Lillie to tend the kitchen. She is too homely to ever get a husband."

This was the most unfortunate remark Mrs. Gayland could have made, for Lillie waa her father's pet. He loved her better than any of his grown-up daughters, and for this reason—she best deserved his love. Mr. Gayland was a very good-tempered BUra, but one word against his darling chud was enough to excite his anger for a longtime. On this occasion he jumped up and walked the floor for a few minutes, then sitting down and taking Lillie on his lap. he said to his wife, in a voice of stern calmness: r “Marie, how can you be so unnatural a mother as to hate your youngest child, because she is weakly and not handsome? I tell you," he said, raising his voice, “her heart and mind are priceless gems in comparison with the vain beauty of Kate, Irene, and Lncia. And Florette, were it not for the strong love she bears for Karvey Lester, would be as heartless as your ambition has made her sisters.” Mrs. Gayland smiled disdainfully at the conclusion of this speech, but only an? swered: “Florette has more sense than you imagine." Again she turned to leave the room, and again did the thoughts of her daughters bring her to her husband’s side. “Marion, my errand here was to procure money to take our beautiful girls to Saratoga.”

“Yes, to dispose of them, I suppose." “Certainly, if I can find suitable matches for them.” “Success attend you,” said the husband, and he took from his desk notes to the amount of a thousand dollars. “But stop; Florette is not going with you?” : ’ ... -hear. superior "beauty Would attract all attention from her sisters. I shall leave her for your protege, Harvey Lester.” Mr. Oayland muttered a few angry words as his wife left the room, then taking his darling Lillie, he carressed her long and lovingly, while the poor, despised child uttered words so wise, that even the fond father himself was astoriished. “Well, mamma.” exclaimed the three oldest girls in a breath, “did you succeed?” “Yes, after preaching me a long sermon about that stupid Lillie, he gave me a thousand dollars.” -- “Oh, well,” said Irene, “that is better than I expected. You know he always vowed we should never go.” “Yes, and I expect the reason why he consents is, that he wishes to be rid of ns for a while." “Am I to go. mamma?” asked Florette. “No, my child, you must wait until next summer, but you can amuse yourself with Harvey Lester, while we are absent.” The girls all burst into a merry laugh. “Yes, it is so amusing-to listen to him sometimes; what a simpleton he is to think that Florette, with all-her beauty, will ever marry him.” “Oh. well," said the beauty, tossing her head, “I shall let him think so, till Harry Bewick gets home, then to finish the sport, I shall refer him to papa, and end it by saying I was only in jest.”

Poor Florette, she was indeed as heartlew as her sisters. Harvey Lester little suspected the plot laid against him; so while mamma and her daughters coquetted at the springs, Mr. Gaylaud and Lillie studied in the library, and Harvey became the constant companion of the beautiful Florette —anticipating her slightest wishes, and breathing into her ear his tale of love. Harvey Lester, despite his boyishness and awkwardness, was destined for a high Elace among earth’s nobles. Mr. Garland >ved Harvey as a son. He appreciated the noble qualities of his heart, and it was his earnest wish to see him united to Florette. But such was not the intention of Mrs. Gay land. Florette was her most beautiful child, and was tanghi to believe herself destined, at least, for a lord! So while her mother and sisters were enjoying themselves at Saratoga, she was amusing herself by trifling with a most true and faithful heart. ~ jj Harvey was not thought rich, but he knew what no one else did—that he was heir to the immense wealth of a bachelor uncle. He wished to be loved for himself alone, and so Florette and her family were kept ignorant of his wealth. Had Harvey told them all he might hare gained Florette, even though he could never be an English lord, but we think he acted wisely in keeping his secret. p Autumn soon came, and with it came Mrs. Gayland and her daughters, rejoicing in their good fortune. Kate had married a French count, who lad accompanied them home. Irene was en< aged to a wealthy

gentlernan[ from the South, while Lupin had made rapid progress in the affections' of "a Ne# York exquisite. “Well,- Flordte," said Mrs.' Gnyland, about a week after her return, “how spe«4* the gallant Mr. Lester in jiin wooing?" “He is to ask »pap M's ebusent to-night.” answered Florette, somewhat sndlv. “He Wltt be very much fllarjppolirtuil, 1 fear, but. 1 cannot think of marrying him after seeing Kate's husband.” . e “Ye«," said Irene, “and Mr. Northfield is much handsomer than the Count." “And Frederick Augustus Dash is handsomer than either,"" drawled Miss Lucia. “Hul,” said Lillie, in a pleading voice, and lifting her huge eyes to face of Florette, ‘ Harvey is good.'” A torrent of abase drove Ihe unhappy child lo her father’s study,.tuid with him she found Harvey Lester. “Lillie, my dear,” said her father, “go call Florette," The child obeyed, and soon returned with her sister, who asked very innocently: “What do you want wiih me, papa?” Mr. Gnylnnd looked first at Harvey, then nt Florette, “Did you not send Harvey to me?” r “La, pa, was he so foolish as'to ask you? I renlly was in jest.” “In jest!" exclaimed the young man, rising from his sent, and turning deadly pale; “and perhaps it was in jest that you have so manv times promised to be mine; speak Florette, is it so?" The young girl trembled as she gazed upon his pallid face, yet with a smile, she answered: “Certainly, dear Harvey, I w as in jest all the time, and I thought you were also.” Mr. Garland hail listened in stupified amazement to Florette’s heartless confession. He never imagined that one of his daughters could lie guilty of so base an act, much less her whom he believed so pure and guileless* He spoke not, but pointed to the door, as Florette closed it, Harvey fell on his knees, and the teardrops rolled down his cheeks. Lillie also wept bitterly. She loved Harvey, and throwing her arms around his neck, she whispered: “Don’t cry, Harvey, I’ll be your wife.” These childish words instnntjy dried up his tears. He pressed her to his heart and 6aid: “You will be my own wife, Lillie; you will never leave me, nor laugh at me, as Florette has done." “Bravo," exclaimed Mr. Gayland, who had recovered the use of his tongue, “you shall yet be my son. Harvey, Florette has cruelly wronged you, but don't'mind it, we will . have our revenge, harmless, though sweet. Harvey, do you really wish me to give you iny own Liilie?” “Yes, sir, for she has a good heart.” “Bight, my boy, and she will be as handsome as Florette, when she is as old. When she is 17, Harvey, she is yours, that allows me five years to educate her, and during that time you must travel. Our plan must be kept a profound secret between us three. Eemember, Harvey, that when you return, it must be incog, and then combs our revenge.” In a week Harvey Lester had left town, and Lillie, much to the astonishment of •her mother and sisters,; was sent to an excellent female seminary. Mr. Gayland seldom spoka of Harvey Lester, but when his nnme was mentioned jeeringly, there would be a smile of deep und quiet meaning playing oyer his benevolent features. Summer came around again, and ..again was Mrs. Gnylnnd, Irene, and Lucia at Saratoga, but Floiette was not allowed to go. In vain her mother coaxed; Mr. Gayland was inexorable. Florette thought it was on account of her youth, but as summer after summer passed away and found her still at home, she knew it was a punishment, and felt it to be just. Five yeart had passed away. Mr. Gayland had been from home a week and his wife wondered why he stayed so long. “Mamma,” said Florette, “I should think you would know where he has gone, did he not tell you?” “No, I asked him and he refused to tell me,” said Mrs. Gnyland, looking very sour. “Oh, I can guess,” said Florette, who seemed to be in high spirits, “he has gone to bring his darling Lillie home.” Strange, the mother had almost forgotten that she had a child away from home. <■ “Well,” said Mrs. Gayland, coldly, “I hope he has,Tor the chambermaid is goibg to leave me, and Lillie can take her place.” “La, mn,” lisped Lucia, “do you think that after keeping her five years at Seminary, papa will allow her to come home and make beds for us?” Lucia’s New York, exquisite had left her, and she was now 25. “We shall see,” answered Mrs. Gayland, with a decided air, “but hark, I hear a carriage—it must be you father.” “Y'es,” said Lucia, looking out of , the window, “and there is a lady with him, but it cannot be Lillie,, for she looks very handsome.” The door opened—Mr. Gayland entered leading a voting and beautiful girl. Advancing towards his wife and daughters he presented her. “Maria, your daughter, Lillie; Lucia, Florette, your sister.” Lillie, with a sweet smile* extended her hand, and notwithstanding an evident coolness on the part of her mother and sisters she would press her lips theirs. “Well, Maria,” said Mr. Gayland, triumphantly, “do yon want Lillie in the kitchen now? Or perhaps next summer you would like to exhibit her and Florette at Saratoga.”

A bitter smile was the only reply. Mrs. Gayland saw that the poor, despised, and insulted child was beautiful —even more beautiful than Florette; for there was h brightness in the dark eyes of Lillie, that 6poke of heaven-born thought; while the soft cadence of her voice was sweeter than the Zephyr's harp. While Lillie was divesting herself of her traveling dress; Florette. instead of assisting her. was gazing out upon the lawn. Suddenly she exclaimed, while a slight blush tinged her cheek. “Papa, look, do you know this gentleman approaching? He was introduced here by Mr. Berwick, on the day after yon left, and is the most agreeable man I ever met. He must have traveled all' over the world, for hip knowledge is boundless; and his manners are so distinguished. At times when he is speaking very earnestly, his voice resembles Harvey Lester's, and«ometimes he fixes his eyes upon me just as Harvey used to do.” “Indeed, Florette,” answered her father, “I hope you have not lost your heart. I know the gentleman well, and he is engaged to a young lady of this village.” “Engaged! impossible, papa,” said Lncia, “he only visits here, and his eyes are always on Florette; but hark, he rings.” Mr. Gayland, himself, opened the door and welcomed the gentleman by a hearty shake of the hand; then leading Lillie forward, he paid: “Harvey Lester, this is, my daughter Lillie, and your affianced bride.” - The young man gazed upon her face in admiring wonder, then kneeling he said, as in days gone by: “Yon will be my own wife, Lillie, yon will never leave me, nor laugh at me as Florette has done?” And again Lillie threw her arms around his neck, and answered, with a face of smiles and tears; “Oh, no, never, deaf Harvey. I will always b« your own Lillie.”

The rage pf the mother, and the chagrin of Fkvratte, can better be imagined than described. Mr. Gavland! noticed them not, but taking the hand of bis fntuie son-in-law. he said: “Our revenge is complete. Maria, your despised and neglected child i» now superior in wealth and beauty to either of xour daughter*. There is hot *—hwiv n; jibe land that would not be proud to call Harvey Lester, husband. May the lesson yon have this day learned be profitable-to yon.” ' Florette. while visiting .Saratoga the following summer, gave her hand to Mr. Berwick, who had long sought it. Bnl she never looked upon the beloved Harvey Lester without regretting that she had played the dangerous game of sporting with hearts.

Lucrezia Borgia.

Lucre tia, or, mote properly, Lucrezia Borgia, was a daughter of Pope Alexander VI., anil a sister of the notorious Cesare Borgia, a prelate and soldier oi Bonie in the latter part of the lifteenth century. Lucrczia was famops in her time for remarkable lieauty and accomplishments, and has been 'known in history chiefly because of the many shocking crimes ascribed to her.. Later writers, however, have defended her from these charges, which, indeed, seem to have little foundation beyond the idea that, from her influence over her father and brother, she must have been a partner in their crimes. She was in her youth betrothed to a nobleman of Arragon, but on her father’s accession to the papacy this contract was broken, and she was married to Giovanni Sforza, lord of Pesaro. This union was dissolved a few years later by the Pope for political reasons, and she was given in marriage in 1498 to the Duke of Bisceglia, a natural son of King of Naples. Two years later the duke was assassinated in the streets of Borne. There is no doubt that he was murdered by the order of Cesare Borgia, and it is quite possible that the deed was done, as has been asserted, with the consent and connivance of LuPrezia. In 1501 she married Alfonso of Este,. afterward Duke of Ferrara. From this time she became a patron of art and letters,’ and attracted a very brilliant society to her court. After her brother Cesare had been killed in battle in 1507, she became very religious and gave up much of her time to devotion and works of charity. The idea of modern historians that Lucrezia was a woman of but little strength of mind, and therefore unable to oppose the crimes of her father and brother, seems hardly consistent with the known fact that she possessed exceptionally intellectual gifts and was far better educated than most women of her time. It is more probable that she shared in the deficient moral sense as well as the in-. tellectual power characteristic of her family. As for the more revolting crimes with which she has been charged, such as living in incestuous relations with her father or brother, or both, it is due to historical accuracy to say that not a particle of genuine evidence has ever- been adduced in their proof.— lnter Ocean.

Pasteur’s Method.

If & section of -due spinal cord of a rabid dog be inserted into the brain of a rabbit by trephining the latter animal becomes mad in about fifteen days; and when the virus from this rabbit is transn-itteekto a second, and from a second to a third, and so on, by the same method of inoculation, the rabies soon becomes more and more pronounced, and the developing or incubation period becomes shorter and shorter, until at the end of fifty inoculations a most severe form of madness results in about seven days. The virus from the last rabbits is of great purity and of invariable strength, so that similar sections of spinal cord may therefore be relied upon to produce exactly similar effects. It has been further shown that the virulence of the pieces of cord slowly and quite regularly disappears when kept in dry air, and remains unaltered when preserved in carbonic acid gas. An understanding of these principles makes it possible to have constantly on hand hydrophobic poison varying in strength from harmless mildness to deadliest virulence. It is upon these graduated poisons that Pasteur depends for his remarkable method of protracting animal system from hydrophobia. Experimenting first with dogs, a little meat broth containing weak virus was injected under the skin the first day, and was foliow r ed daily by injections of increasing virulence —that is, preparations from cord of shorter exposure to air—until in a few days the fresh or strongest virus was used, when it was demonstrated that without injury the animals had become entirely refractory to rabies from bites—even when inflicted before treatment—or inocculations of any degree. The method was first tried on a human subject in July, 1885, when immunity was conferred within ten days on a boy considered to be in great danger. Since then several hundred bitten persons have been treated, and thus far the only failure to prevent hydrophobia has been in a single case where the inocculations were attempted too late.

Statistics of Human Life.

The duration of a generation is the average length of life for man. That is, though, of a million of human beings born in a generation, some will die in infancy and some will live to old age, the average life for the entire number will J)e about thirty-three years. This is arrived at by averaging the ages of all persons, old and young, dying within a given term of years. Different localities, different periods, will alter the result, but the average for the race in civilized countries is always approximately the same. The average age of population is a different thing. This is the average age of all persons living at one time, ascertained by summing the ages of persons of different age as given by a census of population, and dividing this by the sum total of the population. The difference in average above quoted, between the United States and Belgium, shows a larger proportion of young people in the former country.— /filer Ocean. , TBebe is a family in Qlascock Ga., consisting of a man, hia wife, and three children, whose aggregate weight is less than 200 pounds.

The Modern Reader.

The partv leasf'undetadood In these days is not the ancient or modern author, but the modern reader, the map to whom the ancient author looked for. posthnihous fame, and on whom tho modern author fastens as .one claims hreowßi Sir Jbhn Lubbock -selects his 100 writers, old and new. whom everybody ought to read, while Air. Baskin and other eminent litterateurs comment upon his choice and express their personal preferences. But for a company of modern readers, whose nnme is legion, these lists of famous lxxiks, without reading which no one’s education is said to be completed, are quite beside the mark. If the literary doctrinaires who tell us what to read; in order to be cultivated, are to lie followed, one miist spend a good proportion of his time in reading books that the world has left high and dry on the shelves of libraries. If lie is to read the worlcfs great classics with appreciation, he must study them with reference to what preceded them and what followed them in history, to fully grasp their meaning, and this is only possible to persons of extensive education and leisure. It is possible for you to go through them in a hurried way, but you will largely miss their “sweetness and light, ” if you treat them as you treat a novel of the day. This is the only way the people can read the world's classics at all. The opportunity is hardly better for those in professional life. Its exactions, its special literature exhaust your time, and you find that you are only able to read the papers and the books of the hour. In other words, the actual circumstances of life for those who are earning their own living practically render null and void a good part of the suggestions which Sir John Lubbock, Mr, Buskin, and Frederic Harrison give the general public. They write for people who have nothing else to do, and their suggestions avail little for the practical necessities of modern education. Yet it is important that the modern reader shall be provided for, and that he shall be a man of his time. Modern culture consists of a knowledge of modern life, of the assimilation to one’s self of what is best in the spirit of the age, of a close following of the trend of events of the slowly acquired power to think and speak correctly. It is the quick and apt training that fits one for the work lie has to do, and it is claimed that this training gives the essence of culture to the modern man and woman. If you go back to the ancient writers whose fame has survived, you find that it was the clarified and large conception of present life, th& result of the best use of their faculties, that give them pre-eminence in the world. It is just this use of one’s faculties to-day, the full acquaintance with the activities of the world, that makes tho fully equipped modern man and woman. It is only book-worms and dry-as-dusts who devote themselves.to Homer and Aristotle and Lord Bacon, and the habit of quoting them passes as pedantry. The reading of these writers is reserved for the learned few, and the insistence that one must read them to possess a truly cultivated mind is sheer nonsense. Nobody believes it possible but a dozen or two of our literary doctrinaires, and they carry no weight among the people. Mr Goschen, who is a fine specimen of the clear-headed modern Englishman, holds to no such views in what he has spoken on this subject. The modern reader must be educated, for the most part, through the newspaper, the magazine, the sermon, the lecture, the daily discussion, the new novel, the contact with social and political problems, and the ©heap editions of the world’s classics* and in familiarity with these sources of culture qualifies himself to become a citizen of the world. It is time that this sort of training, which is the outcome of the public school, had the praise which it deserves. It makes the keen, alert, quick, - clear-minded man of affairs, and no less it produces the thinkers and writers who are to deal successfully with important issues in society and State and church. It is well enough to give your days and nights to the ancients, if you have nothing else to do, but it is no more necessary, in order to secure the best kind of culture, than it is to clothe yourself in the garments of your ancestors in order to be well-dressed. The best thought of the ancient world is incarnated in the life of to-day. Its spirit, its movement, are in modern education and in modern books, and the reader who uses bis opportunities to become properly acquainted with modern tilings has the essence of the finest culture of the world constantly within his easy reach. The wise use of modern books will give any reader of to-day the insight and The strength which constitute the best modern education.—Boston Hei'ahl.

The Music of the Spheres.

The spectrum is the eye what the gamutisto tke-car; each color represents a note, and the different colors represents notes of different pitch. The vibrations which produce the impression of red are slower, and the waves which they produce are longer, than those to which we owe the sensation of violet; while the vibrations which excite the other colors are intermediate between the two extremes. This, then, is the second grand analqgy between light and sound: color answers to pitch. There is, therefore, truth in the figure, when we say that the gentian of the Alps sings a shriller note than the wild rhododendron; and that the red glow of the mountain at sunset is of a lower pitch than the blue of the firmament at noon! The ancients had their shperal melodies; but have we net ours, which only want a sense sufficiently refined to hear them ? Immensity is filled with this music; whether a star sheds its light its notes are heard. Our sun, for example, thrills concentric waves through space, and every luminous point that gems our skies is surrounded by a similar system. I have spoken of the rising, climbing, and crossing of the tiny ripples of a calm tide upon a smooth stand; but what are they to those intersecting ripples of the ÜBctfntented deep by which infinity is engineturned. Crossing solar ancf stellar distances, they bring us the light of the sun and®"stars, thrilled back from ouk atmosphere, they give us the

blue radiance of the sky; rounding liquid spherules, they clash at the; other aide, and the survivors of the tumult hear to our vision the wondrous cloud-dyes of Monte Itosa.

A Ride on the Plains.

Down the river, now slowly and cautiously scraping over the wide sandbars, now Swiftly gliding along, aided by the rapid-flowing current; down the river through the Country of Hell, with its brood desert plains and barren brown hills,, inky black where *the moving clbudS cast their shadows; down the river past bid abandoned Indian trading posts fast crumbling into ruins, past the lonely military telegraph station, where we learn of the passage of a “dug-out,” with its crew of fugitive desperadoes flying from the wrath of the cow-lioys; down the river between perpendicular sand-banks, crumbling away at the touch of the “rollers" caused by the passage of our boat, scaring up flocks of wild-geese and swift-flying, blue-winged heron; down the river through lovely prairies covered with waving grasses and gayly colored wild flowers, into the Indian country, until, looking across one of the long, flat outrunning points of land that mark the constantly recurring curves of the river, there, shining in the morning sun, the distant buildings of the military post, our destinatiofi, gleam bright under the blue, white, and scarlet folds of the national standard floating gracefully out from its tall pole against the deep warm purple of the sky beyond. Hundreds of Indian tepees are scattered over the wide plain, and at onr approach we can see the inmates hurrying to the hanks to watch the arrival of the great steamer. Wildlooking savages, their faces smeared with streaks of bright vermilion or orange, are watering their horses, their gaudily-clothed forms reflecting straight down in the mirror-like surface of the water; some half-clad lads, who, lying prone upon their bellies, and leaning far over the high banks, have been Ashing in the stream, pull in their lines and race along the shore, their course, black hair floating out behind, and their bronze-colored naked limbs moving with untrammeled ease, as they easily keep pace with the boat; young bucks mounted on half-tamed ponies, gallop along and mingle with the throng; the white sombreros and light-blue uniforms of the Indian police contrast strangely with the party-colored rags of their fellow-savages. As we slowly paddle up to the landing we make our preparations to land, recognizing our acquaintances in the little group of shoulder-strapped bluecoats near the ambulance, which has just been drawn up to the bank by its team of four mules, and are soon exchanging greetings with our friends, who receive us with the frank, kindly, ready hospitality of the American soldier.— B. F. Zogbaum, in Harper’s Magazine.

Naming a Recruit.

The night before the engagement at Trevellian Station I was placed on picket on a road leading through a dense woods, or rather thick underbrush, with strict orders to fire without challenging upon anything approaching from the front. My post was a lonely one, and the fact of the enemy being known to he close in our front rendered it anything but an agreeable one. Everything went well until about 11 o’clock p. m., when I became conscious of something moving towards me from the direction of where the enemy were known to be. With hated breath, mv carbine thrown forward at a ready, I waited the approach of my supposed enemy. Nearer and nearer it caine until I imagined it to be about forty or. fifty paces from me. Then I took aim as straight for the noise as I could, fired, wheeled my horse and availed myself of the order to fall back to the reserve. When I reached the reserve the men were in line and some of the old *uns cursing “the Johnnies” for disturbing their sleep. Lieut. N.-r —, an old campaigner, questioned me as to the nature of the noise, direction, etc., and appeared to be satisfied that no seripus movement of the enemy was contemplated. The line was ordered to advance cautiously, and when they were about forty paces beyond the post I had fallen hack from in such good order they found a fine yearling calf —dead—which turned the laugh against me and supplied the boys with a good breakfast. They dubbed me ever afterwards with the distinguished name of “Veal."— Detroit Free Press. v

Notes on Language.

The expression “in good form” or “good form” is taken bodily from French law (see Littre’S Dictionnaire), and means that all technicalities have been duly observed. The opposite is expressed by the English phrase “bad form,” which has degenerated into a cant term and is applied rather indiscriminately. The question why t is silent in often, hasten, soften, castle, and kindred words, lias been explained by Johns Hopkins investigators on the ground of physiology and environment. This explanation ' is entirely correct, the tin the words named being placed between consonants which are pronounced more easily .thamthe hard and sharp t is. As a matter of convenience or laziness, therefore, the t was dropped, and the less pedantic pronunciation has become the standard.

It's English, Ye Know.

Swell—Say, Ckollv, mo boy, can you lend me five dollah? __ Anglomanic—Cawnt positively do it, me lad. That beastly old dad of mine lias cut me short fox the last month or so. I could only oblige you in a small way to-day. S. —Yaas. Aw—how much? A.—Five bob. S.—How much is that? A.—Ha! ha! ha! Doutcherknow ? Well, that’s too good! Five bob, me lad, is five shillings, five quarters, or a dollah and a quarter—see? S. —Y'aas, but why in the dayvil couldn’t you say one dollah an aquarter instead of five bob, and be done with it ? A.—Oh! that would be —aw —too beastly Amerwican, ye knaw. The other is English, me * lad.— Boston Courier . • •_

BILL NYE.

The Humorist Writes a letter to Ills Non. Telling linn Alioilt a I’arty Ilol«l to Fiu-j lull OflTthtt I’arhouN Wooduhetl. “ r .t;: Mv.Dkak Son: I ought to have answered your last fetter before this, but, to tell the truth, wo have had another one of those pesky lipodoos at our housp for the purpose of finishing off the woodshed of the parsonage, and l’velieefi mighty busy. For two days I was doling around the kitchen, carrying wood and water, and borrowing dishes from the neighbors till you can’t rest. Since the ruction was over I’ve been mostly engaged in thinking about it. , ; Our home paper gave us a good notice and said it was a success; also that every one jiresent enjoyed it highly. It alluded to me as a genial cuss, or words to that effect, and said your mother was the life of the party. She was. If you could have saw your mother, Henry, your own mother, prancing around there, with her No. 3 front hair tossed to and fro in a dishevelled state, and downing the old pelicans. of our thriving town to the tune of 25 cents and upwards, yon would have said also that verily she was the life of the party. Your mother believes that scads become purified as quick ns they light in the plate, no matter where they come from. I am more conservative. I hesitate to knock a man down with a doughnut and then go through his clothes. I aim to be a Cliristain, Henry, but not strongly sectarian jn views. So it hurt my feelings a little to see your mother rear around through the crowd Tuesday night, and peddle bokays of these here blamed little geranium blows that falls off as soon as you pin them onto your coat and laugh onct or twiet. _ 1 Somehow it made me nervous, and the goose flesh stood out all over me a foot high. It ain’t like your mother to go around at her time of life, with a boy 20 years old and a real camel’s-hair mustash, and learning more blamed foreign stuff than you could shake a stick at. I say it ain’t like her to. prance around among the old ganders of our place, and he giddy and garrulous like a brazen beer-jerker or the redheaded biscuit-shooter at a tavern. And I know she wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t for her “zeal,” as she calls it. Zeal is embittering my declining years, Henry. Zeal and skin games and raffles and tee hee hee and 25 cents, please, and the whole confidence game has made me prematurely sour. ■ I got to talking with Lon Taft and Jim Fuller about this thing yesterday. They felt just the same way. Lon says it pains him to see his wife, now that she is getting a little fleshy, and never was a good roadster, teltering around the corral with a grab-bag in one hand and some kind of a bunko game in the other. He says that’s why .so many men are seeking the flowing bowl. They eat tliis lilack-and-tan cake at a sociable onct a week or onct a fortnit, and it bust their digester. Then they see their wives acting as cappers and bunko-steerers to help raise a chattel mortgage on the belfry or some other such thing, and it depresses their spirits. I am no man to complain, hut, Henry, if you go into any church in this country to-dav you will find threequarters of the congregation is women; they are noble women, too. God bless a good woman, Henry, is what I say. We like to have our mothers 'and our wives and our sisters Christians, even if we are inclined to be liberal in our own views; but the kind of zeal that fills up churches with overworked women, while the sulky husband and father is at honiie Trying to digest a large three-cornered fragment of Terrel cake that was left over from last week’s debauch and benefit, is a mistake. We have voted cradle quilts to the handsomest baby, plated bracelets to the most popular young lady, and a gold-headed cane to the man who wanted to be Sheriff, and all that, but when they vote a brass-mouted 2-year i old swamp-elm club to the made est man in the United States, Henry, I wish you w ould come home and do a little work for me. lam a candidate. I inclose sl4 postoffice order to buy you another matriculation fee. ' Don’t overdo this matriculation business, though. . You know as well as I do, that matriculation in moderation is a good thing, but it may be carried to excess. So good-by. Your Father,

A Harvard Professor’s Joke.

Here is an anecdote of Professor Sophocles, which probably has never been in print: The old Greek was catechising his class one day on the ancient history of his native country. “When did Theodophilus live?” he asked one sophomoTe. “Before Christ.” “Wrong,” shouted the Professor. And then addressing the next sophomore : “When did Theodophilus live ?” “After Christ.” “Wrong,” .shouted the Professor again. And then he repeated the question to a third student:. “When did Theodophilus live ?” “Neither before nor after Christ.” “You are right, young man,” said the Professor. “There never was any such man as Theodophilus. It was one of the little historical traps that Sophocles liked to set for the bidding wisdom of Harvard. Boston Record.

An Important Game.

“Come on home quicker’n’ lightnin’!” exclaimed a boy, rushing up to an Estelline man who was watching a game of checkers in a drug store. “W-w-hy, what’s the matter?” “The baby’fi fell down the well!” “Gosh! Felt clear down?" “You bet he has. ” “Got his head up out uv the water?” “l'es, but we can’t get him out." “Well, it’s too thundering bad—you see I’m sort uv baekin’’this fellow on the game and he’s just about got ’em where he wants ’em. Tell my wife to heave the rattle-box. and the rubber ring down to the poor little fellow find sing to him kind o’ soft like, and 11l be up just the minute this game is finished. Estelline BclL ...

BILL NYE.