Rensselaer Republican, Volume 18, Number 48, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 August 1886 — Page 2

BETTER THINGS. -- ■ bv *t*cixn<Ai.p. - Better to rnnell the violet cool than alp th* glowing wino; » Bettar to hark a bidden brook than watch a diamond aliine. Bettar tl>e to~ s! « gentle heart than beauty's •avorprond; . Bettor the roee'a living seed than rosea in a crowd. Battar to live in lonolinoaa than to busk in love all da v; Better the fountain in the heart than the fountain by the way. i Better lx fed by a mother's hand than eat alone a* will; • Better to trust tn God than say, "My fools my storehouse flll." , Better to be a little wise than In knowledge to abound, Better to teach a child than toll to fill perfection's round. Better to sit at a master’s feet than thrill a listening Stole; Bettor suipoct that thou art proud than be sure that thou art groat. Bettor to walk the real unseen than watch the hour's event; Better the "Well done’’ at the last than the air with shouting rent. '' Better to have a quiet grief than a hurrying delight; Better the twilight of the dawn than the noonday burning bright. Bettor a death when work is done than Earth's most favored birth; Bettor a child in God's great bouse than the King of all the Earth. LADY-LOVE AND WIFE. Who is it says, with beaming eyes, She thinks a cottage paradise And scorns the proud and worldly wise? A lady-love. Who is it pouts and, glancing down. Bay, “Wemust leave since Neighbor Brown Has taken that fine house in town?* A wife. Who is it cries, in modest tone, That all her care for dress has flown J She wishes for my love alone? A lady-love. Who left weeps and thinks it mean That I should view with slightest spleen Those bills for silk and crinoline? A wife. Who gazes ofttfrom star to star. And says, wit&smile more brilliant far, She ‘rather likes a good cigar!* A lady-love. Now, when I smoke, who rings the bell To bid them ope the windows well— The room has such a horrid smell? A wife. —Zltany Journal. ,

A. FAIRY OF THE STORM.

BY ELLA A. GILES.

“Yon are Retting very wet. Come under xnv umbrella.” voice had a more peremptory ring than I intended, and my abruptness probably startled her; for she quickly turned;, rolled her large and lustrous black eyes upward until their questioning gaze met mine, and, looking charmingly defiant, answered: “No, 1 thank you, sir.” She hastily dodged but from under the protecting cover held over her head, She looked like a little nun, but showed a spirit hot quite in keeping with the role of earthly saintship. As if half repenting the suddenness of her decision, or her ungracious manner, she paused, and glancing into my face, explained, with deferential sweetness: “You see, I have my gossamer.” With a pretty nod and the remotest suggestion of a courtesy she swiftly passed me. How lonesome I felt under that deserted umbrella! In order to escape the raindrops that pelted me in the face, I had to hold it squarely in front, and thus lose sight of the form upon which my eyes had rested, momentarily, in pleksed interest. I wanted to encounter those bright, speaking orbs again. The flushed cheeks, oh, how pretty they were! And the frizSes or bangs of black hair that the rain did not spoil, as they peeped coquettishly out from the queer little rubber hood, puckered all around the plump, mobile face! And, too, those charming little feet, which even sandals a size too large could not make ungainly; and the red petticoat that I could not help catching a glimpse of, as she slipped slightly in trying to evade me—what an impression these trifling details had made upon me, or my enraptured retina! I peered one side of my weeping umbrella often enough to see that she did not entirely escape my watchful and eager search. For no other reason than that the impulse was quite irresistible, I continued my frantic efforts to keep her in sight I feared she might enter one of the numerous shops or stores, and I should after all lose track of her. The storm increased in violence. Bain fell in torrents, and the wind blew strongly. I wondered why she did not stop under some of the awnings. She really was too reckless of the consequences of a drenching. I felt strangely solicitous and almost painfully apprehensive. Gradually I began to find solace in the thought that she had her “gossamer.” 1 knew not what it was. But she could 1 - not hpoken with that assurance of entire safety,. had she not possessed a magic charm of some kind, calculated to counteract the effects of dampness. t Suddenly a gust of wind blew off my cap. It was a new seal-skin cap that my aunt had sent me from Vermont But it was not owing to that fact that my heart gave an anxious leap and throb as I saw it lodged in the gutter. Inside the precious article of head-gear had been deftly fastened a beautiful pink satin band, bearing my initials, exquisitely painted in eloquent little forget-me-nots, that spoke volumes of delicate sentiment every time I donnbd the cap. I could not forget the donor of the band, anyway; for I was deeply in love with her, or imagined myself to be, which amounted to the same thing. I thought of her almost constantly. A lover's alternating hopes and fears had often elated and depressed me; the latter influence was felt most frequently because I had been warned that pomatumed locks were ruinous to pale pink ribbon, and yet _had. persisted in oij<ing my hair occasionally from sheer force of habit And there was my seal-skin cap. the last present received from a sainted ■ relative, and the receptacle of that daintily wrought and fondly cherished device, lying upside down in the muddy, merciless gutter, with all its sweet suggestiveness in danger of being forever spoiled. I fished it out from the filthy harbor into which the falling rain had driven it, using the crooked handle of my umbrella for the purpose. While making an effort to secure the fated treasure, however, J was literally drenched I felt in dismay that I was taking cold, and as I stood there rubbing the mud off from Or into my saturated seal-skin, with a ■ piece of newspaper, I really began to experience preliminary pneumoniae pains. “Oh,” thought I, enviously. “If I only had some gossamer, or a gossamer, or the extract of gossamer, or whatever it might be, to take, perhaps *twould counteract the effect of this soaking." My mind, you perceive, immediately reverted to the girl who had recklessly refused the proffered shelter of my umbrella, not the girl that the umbrella had done such good service in capturing (by means of the very ribbon she had decorated, my valuable possession. As I placed the cap

on my head, I wn* conscious of a thrill of gratitude at its re* (oration, although its condition waa amusingly; pathetic, and pa- | theticaily amusing. 1 rejoiced for the sake sos my departed relative! Htrnnge that the tender ey*»rjf the tear-atnined for-get-me-nota should haye stirred in me the emotion, apd that, 1 should have thoughtlessly jammed the cap closer on my wet pate as I eagerly hurried on, hoping to overtake the young lady with the cabalistic potion, or eusigua, or, what was it? 1 puzzled my poor brain vainly, I could not guess what peculiar charm she carried, or possessed, that gave her such courage in braving the elements. As I leaned forward, trying to keep her in sight, I realized, with i a pang of regret, that my eap escapade had I caused me to miss her. Had she, bent on some errand'of righteous economy, entered the “99-cent store?” or had the adjoining “Ladies Bazaar” or the “Fair" just beyond entangled her in its mysterious mazes? Possibly she had turned a corner, and I had lost Her forever. My disappointment increased my interest, which deepened to intensity. I quickly opened the first door I reached, that of a drug store. A lady stood in the rear. She had on one of those same conventional flowing black garments. My eyes and my intuitions agreed. It was the person I sought. While waiting to settle some conflicting doubts that arose regaiding so lucky a fact, I was accosted by an attentive clerk. “Anything I can do for yon?" “Somewhat confused,” I answered without premeditation or prevarication, “Who is she? Do yon know?” “Whnt? Whom? Where?” he asked, blankly, and his stupidity saved me. I turned my back upon the indistinct form of the lady standing in a remote part of the room and asked in rather uncertain tones, “Do you keep—gossamers?” “No, I think not,” he slowly replied, “I’ll see though,” eyeing me somewhat distrustfully, as if my intentions might be suicidal. He deliberately approached the bookkeeper of the not very pretentious establishment, who sat at a high desk, with a pen behind his ear, chewing something unmistakably good, and supposed to be jujube paste or cassia buds. I wished I had inquired for something equally aromatic and harmless. “No,” answered the individual addressed, “we don’t keep gossamers here,” and he went on with his chewing. Then he added with gratuitous accommodation, “I think you’ll be apt to find them at the hardware store, or the—the—really I don’t quite know what you want. But we don’t keep them, anyway.” “Strikes me ’tain’t no drug,” said an old gentleman leaning over the counter, and looking at me quizzically. “Strikes me you’re after vail stuff. They keep that at the milliner’s, not at drug stores.” “I thought at first you might mean a book,” said the clerk, whom I had dared to question on entering. “I read a review of one with some such title the other day; saw ’dt'wdvertised for sale somewhere, but " have forgotten just where.” “Of one thing I am positive," I answered, “books are never used as weather protectors, or in the place of umbrellas,” and with the clefk gazing at me Suspiciously, I began to examine a lot of antiquated almanacs lying on the counter, just to pass away the time of, waiting, I was still in a state of suspense 1 .” Very soon the lady, having made her purchase, sailed up the store. No, I had not been mistaken. It was the same radiant little Creature. Her face suddenly lighted up with amusement as she met my glance. Then she became preternaturally serious and poised her head like a little queen as she gave me a quick eye-beam of serio-comic indignation. Whether she had smiled because I asked for gossamers, or simply because of our second encounter, I could not tell. Seized with a desire to hide my peculiar infatuation, though fully convinced that I had not overestimated the lady’s prettiness, I hurried regretfully out of the -store as if called away by important business. I had no sooner turned my steps in an opposite direction than I paused and began to wish that I had lingered in the drug store until the atomic “great unknown” had passed out. I actually suffered from the fear that I might never see her bewitching face again. Its piquancy haunted me, pleased me, enchanted me. I heard the door close and longingly looked back. I was rewarded only with the vision of a burly negro standing in front of the dingy show-windows. Walking down the street in front of ine I saw the girl who had given me the painted ribbon. She had no umbrella. With a slightly disturbed conscience, however, I turned around and went back past the side-glances in the necessary abjections to ascertain if the object of my feverish excitement had departed. I saw nothing of her, and was of course ashamed to retrace my steps, so I kept on until I reached the postoffice. In trying to close my umbrella and open the swinging storm-door at one and the same time, I nearly knocked someone down on the other side. “Oh, never mind,” responded the jostled partpquick “I W>your pasdan.’l What cheery, ringing tones! Alas, the door swung on its hinges and slammed in my face, and the’speaker, Whom I had joyfully recognized, disappeared without having seen me at all. I saw her, however, about two minutes later. She was standing near the delivery window. “This was not mine,” she was saying to the clerk, who peered at her with what even I could but feel was unbecoming admiration. “Not yours?” he questioned urbanely. “No sir; my name is not Betsey Brown!” and she handed him a bright yellow envelope, supposed to bear that euphonious superscription. She tossed her hehd, as decidedly as her very peculiarly shaped outer-garment, with its combination hood would allow, and left the young man to console himself as best he might with the rejected missive. I listened delightedly to a suppressed giggle which issued from her rosy lips as she walked away. She had her hand full of mail matter, and tore open ft paper before -reaching the door. I hoped she would carelessly drop the wrapper. But she was either too orderly to litter the floor, or, being in a public place, too discreet to scatter seeds of information that might spring up in grists of advertisements sent by some fortunate possessor of her address. I regretted her cautiousness. •The “day of small things” assumed a new dignity in my estimation. Eow highly and rapidly I was learning to prize trivialities. What wonderful illumination in their spelt, on that dark, dismal, rainy morning. . ■ The 'young lady whose name was not Betsey Brown next entered the public library. I had a semi-contempt for myself for pursuing the unconscious maiden. I was aware of the mild lunacy in my conduct. But the eager chase was exhilarating, and her ignorance of it saved.her from any annoyance. Perhaps the excitement would ward off an attack of neuralgia. I justified my position by many a silent argument. I was soon standing, directly behind the little book-borrower, so quaintly dad. I hoped to obtain some clue to her literary taste, at least. Had she art aspirations? Would she seek something of Buskin, or Hamerton? Possibly she had a scientific turn of mind. It would be rather surprising to hear her ask for the works of Huxley, Darwin, or Spencer, Swedenborg,

j Emerson, or the more ancient philosopher* ; might be sought fqr, thia pure, and, as . I she stood in the quiet, spirit-laden place, so thoughtful maiden; ■ Her face in repose ■; showed refinement, intelligence, and, with ' all its piquancy and prettiness, much strength of I listened intently ns she spoke to the lady at the “Books Issued” counter. “Have you a pin?" she asked. What I wonderful intellectual capacity tehe might ' possess for ought I knew to the contrary!. j No question, it seemed to me, could more effectually protect one’ll .individuality than I that which she had innocently uttered. On receiving the pin sha softly muri mured “Thanks,” and after stopping a moment as if to fasten A torn dress-braid or a ruffle, she glided out on tip-toe. I was tempted to stay in the readingroom awhile, and look over the late magazines, but as soon as the door closed upon her that old “feeling of sadness and longing" which my “soul could not resist,” overcame me. I yielded to it, and again resolved to follow the little fairy of the storm. And such in fact she proved to be. She was nowhere to be seen. The rain had ceased falling. The sun suddenly burst forth from its biding place behind the dispersing clouds, and shone resplendently. Small streams of rushing water and gurgling. foaming little brooklets sparkled in scintillating brightness the length and breadth of the street.. There was a beautiful light, gold and green, resting upon everything, and the scene was weird and picturesque. Many ladies, who had been standing in the shops waiting for the storm to abate, now crowded the walks, but the familiar figure I wished to see was not among them. Many passed who were dressed very much like her, but they looked grotesque. They were either too tall or 100 stout. None had her well-poised head, her dainty feet, nor her lithe, graceful carriage. “Oh, are you waiting for me?” and the girl whom I had been courting for several months, actually took possession of me before 1 knew it by the very truthfulness of her nature and the confiding tenderness of her voice. “Why, how shabby and forlorn you look,” she exclaimed, sympathetically. “And what has happened to your cap?” Of course I explained, with certain resqrva- ' tions of causes, and she credulously thought my depression of spirits was due to the irreparable injuries that my aunt's gift, and more seriously, her own had sustained. ; - . “Nevermind about it. I’ll make you another.” “Another seal-skin cap?” despondently. I had to keep some excuse on hand for my still rueful and ruffled mood. “No, another band of course. You can buy another cap any time. It’s getting too late in the season for yours now, anyway,” consolingly. “Yes,” very slowly and absently. “I suppose it’s getting late. I must hurry over to the office. I’ve lots of work to do to-day. I’ve just been to the postoffice and —” “Oh, did you get that letter you expected? I mean the important one you mentioned last night.” “No; I—didn’t look in my drawer!” “Why, you forgetful fellow. I suppose you met somebody or something.” “Yes. I —I—yes, I met someone,” and not being ready to tell more, we parted hastily. “You’ll come over to the art club at my house to-night, won’t you?” she called back. And I promised to go. In the meantime I worked hard the remainder of the day balancing accounts at my office. My head was full of figures phen night came, but only one stayed in my memory—the figure of the sweet unknown. I went to the club, but in my thoughts I could hold no tangible presence so near or so dear as the little myth of the morning upon whose form I had a strong but tender mental grasp. For weeks I prayed for rain, not because of a drouth, as others perhaps did, but because of certain lingering associations that seemed to make a severe storm eminently desirable. When it did finally rain I thought the town had turned out a full army corps of girls in gossamers. I had learned what a gossamer was—only the classical name for waterproof. She was not a plebeian, or she would have told me that she had her rubber circular. One bright, pleasant day I was walking down the street, blocked with wagons, teams, drays, hacks, and people. They were waiting for a long funeral procession to pass. I overheard a gentleman say: “Yes, she is dead. Sad, isn’t it? She died of quick consumption. Poor Betsey Brown —so young, too.” “And is that her funeral procession?” I asked. “Yes, sir. Did you know the young lady? She was as bright as a sunbeam.” I did not pause to reply. She had said that her name was not Betsey Brown. But for some unaccountable reason I could not rid myself of the conviction that the stately hearse held all that remained of my beautiful girl with the gossamer but her memory. That I,felt would be eternally mine. In vain I strove to forget. £■ preferred to think </? L< ras behzg Jead rather than still living on the earth, and always eluding my impetuous chase, as on that strange, eventful, yet eventless morning. I tried to think by a peculiar process of reasoning that circumstantial evidence favored my theory; she had undoubtedly taken cold on that fatal day when she refused to walk under my providential umbrella, and, being, perhaps, of a consumptive family, with inherited germs of that dreaded disease, the malady had taken her off in her youth and buoyancy. I gave a tender, reveret thought to the maiden of my dreams, and wished that my romantic fancy could have had a better finale. She may be living yet. I do not, know nor do I ever really expect to know where she is. But by virtue of that mysterious attraction I venture to hope that sometime, somewhere, I shall be led into the presence of that demure, audacious, perplexing person. whose name was not Betsey Brown, and whom I have enshrined in my heart as Iris, swift messenger of the gods. Although I was married a year ago to the young lady who gave me the forget-me-not hat band, and I love her loyally and devotedly, I never see a lot of gossamer-clad maidens bn the street on a rainy day without watching them eagerly and making special studies of their forever-disappoint-ing faces. ■ "

A Natural Bird Trap.

The ornamental Pisonia grandis of Australia has seeds like an elongated barley corn, which are covered with p very sticky gum. This adheres to the legs and feathers of winged creatures coming in contact with it, and makes the plant a natural bird-catcher, no less than a hundred birds having been known to be captured by one tree in V ietoria. Two persons who have chosen each other out of all the species, with design to be each other's mutual comfort and entertainment, have in that action bound themselves to be good-humored, affable, discreet, forgiving, patient, and joyful with respect to each other’s frailties and imperfections to the end of their lives.— Addison.

Moral Influences of Architecture.

Our architects are scarcely conscious, I fancy, of the happiness or unhappi* ness, progress or retrogres, pleasure or pain, for which they are accountable. They do not realize w hat a moral as well as aesthetic influence they have over the people, Ull, l howi responsible they are for the. moral tone of society. The planners of qur houses have as great an influence'in forming out character as the preachers in our churches —a more lasting influence; for while the latter nimrt reach and move us by too-swiftly-forgotten words, the former find expression for their teachings in enduring structures of wood and stone. What some of these lessons are will be pointed out in the sequel. How quickly and accurately we judge, by driving through the streets of a town, wlyit is the grade of its citizenship. WheWwe seq row after row of houses built after much the same plan, with no expression of individual style, tftste, or preference, we expect to find the inhabitants as strangely alike, of tile same low standard of intelligence, destitute of independent opinions, public spirit, and personal ambition. On the other hand, the citizens of a town whose houses express character, variety, and good taste are likely to possess the same qualities. Where houses lose all individuality, the people who live in them are likely to suffer the same loss, and vice versa. But beside the general effect which good or bad architecture has upon the people, there are special traits of character which are developed and fostered by special merits or defects in our public and private buildings. One humble but very important lesson which domestic architecture should enforce by giving no room for its opposite is cleanliness. All gloomy corners, dark cupboards, and damp closets, in which to store away rubbish and invite dust, mold, and decay, should be banished from the earth. Another lession is cheerfulness. If blue sky, bright sun, and green fields make the heart of man rejoice, why should not pleasant, comfortable, tasteful homes ? If dull days, dreary landscapes, barren deserts make people feel gloomy and sad, why should not sour tempers, and morose dispositions be fostered by badly lighted, awkwardly planned, poorly decorated rooms? For the four walls of the room are the only landscape which many people see from one day’s end to another. Such lessons as these may seem slight and trival, but human happiness or misery is often caused by the continued presence of little pleasures or annoyances. Of the lessons of fitness, proportion, or good taste, of which every well-built house is an embodiment, I need not speak, for they have less to do with the moral than the aesthetic influence of architecture. There is yet one lesson taught by good architecture whose importance makes it deserve far more attention than it has yet received. The architecture is a living sermon, and its text, which it writes on every building it constructs, is “Avoid sham; be what you appear to be.” Not all have learned rightly to read this text; but all may and wiil learn it as architectural principles come to be better understood by the public. And surely no nobler lesson .could be before our people than this which is symbolized by all our buildings worthy of the name. A parent should be as careful that his house does not teach his children deceit as that his words do not. Many of our boys and girls, I fear,learn to like sham, to do and wear for effect, to be what they do not appear to be, from the deceitful construction, false windows, sham doors, painted marble, and paper~carving of their father’s house. In our more elaborate public buildings—the school, church, library, court house—if the building is architecturally adapted to its intended use, it will awaken ambition, reverence, love of knowledge, respect “for the powers that be, ”as the case may be. A gaol or prison, whose forbidding aspect, barred windows, and massive walls bespeaks its intended use, will have a more wholesome influence on a community of young rascals than a dozen sermons preached from the text “thou shalt not steal.”— E. S. Babbitt, in Building.

Speaking in Congress.

The most nervous moment for a new member of Congress is jnstr before he is to make a speech. Many of*the old members, even, are seized with “stage fright.” The idea that the official reporters have ears for the whole countrygives every speaker an uncomfortably large audience. Some members are anxious at all times to get in the Record; 'but these men generally do not make speeches. They simply interrupt others to ask questions—sometimes very silly ones—or to make objections, thus getting their names in the Record, with an appearance of great activity. ' When he is about to make an ambitious effort, the feeling of the member may be judged by one watching from the gallery. Each man has his peculiar way of going about it. Morrison always stands for a moment half-way down the second aisle on the Democratic side, with hands on the desks on each side. Then he speaks withl deliberation, always taking two or three steps toward the speaker when much in earnest. He is always soon through. Randall always speaks from behind his own desk, and makes no preliminary movement. Hewitt is probably the only other who speaks entirely without warning. He goes off like powder—all in an instant. Some members load their desks for a speech; some load themselves. Soinetimes three or four desks give warning of speeches. They are piled up with Congressional records, revised statutes, official reports, newspaper clippings, and on top of all huge rolls of manuscript. When a speech is too full of dry matter to find room inside the orator, and must be given storage on his desk, other members find it convenient to be in the cloak-room. Last session thete was a man in the House who used to walk back and forth around the semi-circle back of the members' seats, running his hands through his hair for fifteen or twenty minutes, before making a speech. Some members walk two and three times past the speaker’s desk before they try to catch his eye. Some stand in their ■ ■ ft ■

places, clear their throats several times, pull up their sleeves, button their cuffs, feel their tie, oj>eu an<l shut their desks two or three fifties, and then walk down the aisle a little way, and say, “Mr. Speaker." Some sit and rub their I hands. Others do nothing in particular ; but you can tell they are going to speak by the nervohs glances they throw up at the speaker. Some will make eyes at the speaker for half an hour before trying to catch his. You can tell when some men are going to speak because they look frightened. Others you know are going to talk—because they always do when they get a chance.— Washington Star.

A Surprise.

A speculative man calls on an editor who is much given to humorous writing. Visitor (after introducing subject, and discussing it at some length)—Why, my dear sir, it is impossible for a man to ’ sit down and write humor upoft call. Editor—He must stand up then. Visitor—Oh, no, no. I mean that there are just certain times when humor can be produced, the same as there are certain times when poetry can be written. Without surprise, not necessarily sudden, as in the case of wit, humor is nothing. A man may possess the fervor of Athanasius and the strong philosophy of Julian, the selfish grasp of Eusebius and the determination of a Circumcellion, but, sir, he eannot write humor except he catch and detain a certain feeling as it passes through his soul. How do you feel to-day ? Editor—Not very well. Visitor—Ah? Editor—l am pretty well convinced that it is, ah. Visitor (somewhat confused) —And in the condition in which you now find your mind, it would be impossible for you to turn to your desk and write something which would surprise me. Editor (taking up his pen and writing: “I am penned up with a d—d fool”) —Now, here, I think, is a surprise. Visitor (reading the words and attempting to argue the point)—But why is this mere question a surprise to me ? Editor—Because you are such a hopeless ass that you never thought of it before. John (calling a boy,) show this man the back stairway. Visitor (attempting to be pleasant)— But why the back stairway. Editor—Because it is more dangerous than the stairway iu front. Man fell down it a few days ago and was

Arkansaw Traveler.

killed.

A Galilean Fish.

The fish known to naturalists by the long name of Ophiocephalus, one species of -which is found in the Sea of Galilee, is a singular creature. At the approach of the breeding season it seeks a favorable place to build—generally in shallow water. There perhaps an old sunken root is found, or a projecting ledge of rock. To that spot bits of grass, leaves, growing sea-weed, and refuse of all kinds are brought by the parents, who now proceed to weave this building material into an oval shape. The threads of grass are wound in and out, entangled with one another in various ways, and the interstices filled with mud. During the. construction one or more orifices are left leading into the nest or entirely through it; the grasses are wound around the old root, and finally a compact oval nest is seen suspended and swinging in the tide—a veritable cradle for the baby fishes. The eggs are deposited in the interior, and attach themselves to the grass and the sides of the nest. In due time a swarm of tiny fishes fill this curious abode, and show a decided inclination to stray away. They are, however, watched and guarded by the parents, who drive them back when they wander too far from home. This nest-building fish of the Sea of Galilee displays, however, a still more curious method of protection—for in time of danger the young are frequently taken into the capacious mouth of the male parent-fish, and thus guarded from harm. This habit is common to quite a large number of fishes.— C. F. Holder, in St. Nicholas.

What Corsets Have Done.

“Take off your corset!" I hear a howl of dismay. “O, we can’t live without corsets! We should fall to pieces!” ” X, Tcan’t hold myself up an hour without corsets!” “I always have such a pain in my side when I lay aside my corset!” My dear, do you see what a severe accursation you bring against this article yourselves? Wearing corsets has so enfeebled your muscles that they are no longer of use to you. If you had ever worn them your body, left to the laws of Him who made it, would have needed no support. I know one woman, about 60 years old, tall, stout, well developed, who has never worn corsets or heels, and whose flesh is firm and cool, needing no bones to keep it in position except her own. I suppose you cannot undo wholly what the years of idle, foolish fortune have done for you, but you can have a better fortune if you will begin now to live like rational beings. Go and buy some of those well-made, new-fash-ioned waists, with buttons to hold up your heavy, dragging skirts; but get them big enough so that you can draw the longest breath your squeezed and disabled lungs will allow after the waist is burst; so loose that you can lift your arm above your head easily; if your side or back aches, lie down; rub your flabby flesh every day with a rough cloth wrung out in salt and water; draw your breath in as far as you can, and breathe it out slowly as you can every time the clock strikes. — Rose Terry Cooke: .

The Price Cuts Some Figure.

“Here," said a Chicago wholesaler, ’’this Omaha man declines to receive that last bill of goods you sold him. He says he got figures from a St. Louis man and you offered to duplicate the order. ” “Well, I did. Ain’t the goods satisfactory?” =: “-Yes, but he objects to the price.” “The price! Well, I didn’t say I would duplicate the price; I thought he was kicking about the goods.”— Merchant Traveler.

The Field of Buena Vista.

The distance from Saltillo to Buena Vista is seven miles, and the charges for a boy and a burro was about 30 cents. The donkey was a small, unassuming, mouse-colored creature with one ear cut short, but the other had size and length enoughfor both, so we couldn’t complain. /The pack-saddle was about two-thirds the burro’s length and bulged out about six inches on both sides. The driver told us of his fine-going qualities, but said he couldn’t understand Americano and that his name was Santiago Santa Anna. All being ready I mounted* Santa Anna and the driver followed behind with the donkey’s tail in one hand and a short stick in the other, which he used to guide us with. There wasn’t no bridle or halter on, as it wasn’t our place to drive. The day was fine and all went well while the boy remained at the helm, but he left his post of duty once and we ran into a thorny chaparral thicket; then all went well again. We met several parties similarly mounted and cared for, while we were overtaken by others, thus the time passed pleasantly away. On the way we passed a number of lone crosses with a pile of stone at their base. These marks the site of a murder and the stones are thrown at the foot of the cross as a mark of respect for the dead. While this post-mortem respect will never restore the stranger to life, home and friends far away, yet the average native believes that it goes far to ameliorate the crime, and hence murderers and brigands often resort to it as a means of imparting peace to their own souls. In due time we reached the hacienda (ranch or farm) of Buena Vista. The battle-ground is located in a narrow mountain pass, where the peaks of the Sierra Madre tower up 2,000 feet into the skies. One side of the pass is obstructed by deep ravines, irrigation ditches, and rocky knolls. On the other side there is a level, rocky, treeless space, with patches of-cactus, wild maguey, thorny little agarita, and a few scrub gincharche bushes. Some of the breastworks are yet to be seen and are in good preservation, and relics of the battle can yet be found on the field. The level plain referred to above is where Col. Jeff. Davis threw his command of Mississippi Rifles into the renowned V form while supporting the Indiana regiment. This move, on the part of Jeff. Davis has been regarded as being a prime cause in turning the tide of battle in favor of the American army. The country in the locality is a rocky, barren, parched region, with scarcely enough of tropical scrub brush to support the flocks of goats that browse in the valley and on ’the mountain side. The landscape view froin the field is lonely and dreary. The bald peaks above the timber line can be seen as far as the eye can reach. There is little appearance of life of any kind. The storms of sand and dust are frequent and fearfully oppressive to man and beast Our Mexican veterans will remember such a cloud was the advance warning to them of the approach of Santa Anna against Buena Vista. These strange and busy scenes, common to the plateaus of Mexico, are pleasant to the inquiring tourist, but far more pleasant to leave than to live among. After spending a day in observation we returned to Saltillo, with a greater respect and deeper sympathy for our soldiers, who met and defeated an enemy more than four times their own number, and that when country, climate and all the clans of the mountains were against them. — Letter from Mexico.

Her Sentimental History.

A woman from her earliest consciousness inclines to reminiscence. As she grows up she stamps each notable adventure and each pleasant friendship upon her mind by some token. Our dime museums, with their meager collection of odds and bits, would pale into nothingness when compared with the bottom drawer of a girl’s Bureau/ This she generally devotes to her keepr sakes. At 5 she begins storing it with horse-chestnuts and broken bits of colored pencils given her by dear friends. Some of these are the mysteries of the “secrets” which are the life of childhood’s freemasonry. By 10 she has a gold-piece, generally bestoyed by a bachelor uncle, and perhaps some tokens from friends that are dead. There are pressed. Tour-leaved..clovers, pincushions with -zoological tendencies, gray-flannel rabbits and such, a few carefully-preserved valentines, some. bottles that once held perfumery and now present only a fading recollection to the nostrils. At 17 she has some faded violets, some locks of hair, a few scraps of dried orange-peel, a collection of dancing programmes, and, carefully tucked in the furthermost corner, a bundle of notes tied with a blue ribbon. As the years pass still the treasures increase. By and by the wedding slippers are laid away in the drawer which holds the velentines, and still, as the years pass, comes a pair of the wee’st shoes kicked out at the heel, and a silken curl, which show a silvery gold in the light. After this the keepsakes are fewer, and are oftener the souvenirs of sad days than of glad ones. Finally, after a long time, some one lays away in the drawer a thumbed red testament, with a lock of gray hair, and a threadthin wedding ring. Then the drawer is locked. — Chicago News.

Eight Hours for Nothing.

“Papa,” said the daughter of a large employers of labor, “are you in favor of the eightdiour system ?” “Well, daughter,” he answered, “under certain circumstances I am. ” “Oh, lam so glad I” she exclaimed; rapturously. “Why, my dear; why are you so interested?” “Because, papa, George has been only staying four hours every evening, and he told me last night, if you ftfvored the eight-hour system he needn’t go home nearly so early. You dear old papa, I’m so glad you arsin favor of it/’ and she threw her soft white arms about his neck and choked off all explanations.—Washington Critic. —■— —' The most afflicted part of the house is the window. It is always full of pains; and tfho has not seen more than one window blind?