Rensselaer Republican, Volume 26, Number 45, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 July 1894 — Page 6

SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT.

PARTI.— CHAPTER Vll—Continued. .

“There is only one man my intellectual equal in Petershof. and he is not here an v more,” he said gravely. “Now I comm to remember, he died. That is the worst of making friendships here; people die.’’ “Still, it is something to be left ■ king of the intellectual-vvorld.-”~said-l. Bernardine. “I never thought of 1 you iu that light.” There was a slight smile about her lipsasshe spoke. and there was a ghost of a smile on the Disagreeable Man's face. “Win do you talk with that disagreeable Swede?” he said suddenly. I “He is a wretched low foreigner. | Have you heard some of his views?” I “Some of them, 4 ’ answered Ber-1 nardine cheerfully. “One of his 1 views is really amusing; that it is very rude of you to read the newspaper during meal-time; and he asks if it is an English custom. I tell him it depends entirely on the Englishman, and the Englishman's neighbor, ’’ So she, too, had her raps at him, I but always in the kindest way. He had a curious effect on her. His very bitterness seemed to check in its growth her own bitterness, i The cup of poison of which he him i self had drunk deep, he passed on to ; her. She drank of it, and it did not I poison her. She was morbid, and she needed cheerful companionship. His dismal companionship and his hard way of looking at life ought by rights to have oppressed her. Instead of which she became less sorrowful. Was the Disagreeable Man, perhaps, a reader of character? Did he know how to help her in his own I grim, gruff way? He himself had suffered so much; perhaps he did know.

CHAPTER VIII. THE STORY MOVES ON AT LAST. Bernardine was playing chess one day with the Swedish Professor. On the Kurhaus terrace the guests were sunning themselves, wrapped up warmly to protect themselves from the cold, and well provided with parasols to protect themselves from the glare. Some were reading, some were playing cards or Russian dominoes, and others were doing nothing. There was a good deal of fun, and a great deal of screaming amongst the Portuguese colorty. The little danseuse and three gentlemen acquaintances were drinking coffee and not behaving too quietly. Pretty Fraulein Miller was leaning over her balcony carrying on a conversation with a picturesque Span- . ish youth_ be10w......M05t of the English party had gone sledging and - toboganniHg. Mrs. Reffold had: -invited Bernardine to join them, but she had refused. Mrs. Reffold’s friends were anything but attractive to Bernardine, although she liked Mrs. Reffold . herself immensely, There was no special reason why she should like her; she certainly had no cause to admire her every-day behavior, nor her neglect of her invalid husband, who was passing away, uneared for in the present, and not likely to be mourned for in the future. Mrs. Reffold was gay, careless and beautiful. She understood nothing about nursing, and cared less. So a trained nurse looked after Mr. Reffold, and Mrs. Reffold went sledging. "Dear Wilfrid is so unselfish,” she said. ‘Tie will not have me stay at home. But I feefcvery selfish.” .That was her stock Most people ; : anAwgj-f^ = her-«r saying; “Oh, no, Mrs. Reffold; dqp’t say that.” But when she made' the remark to Bernardine. and expected the usual reply, Bernardine said instead: ■’Mr. Reffold seems lonely.” “Oh. he has a trained nurse, and she can read to him,” said Mrs. Reffold hurriedly. She seemed ruffled. “I had a trained nurse once,” replied Bernardine, “and she could read, but would not. She said it hurt her throat.” “Dea>' me, how very unfortunate for you,” said Mrs. Reffold. “Ah, there is Captain Graham calling. I must not keep the sledges waiting.” That was a few days ago, but today, when Bernardine was playing chess with the Swedish Professor, ; Mrs. TReffold came, to her. There j was a curious mixture of shyness; and abandon in Mrs. Reffold’s manner. | “Miss Holme," she said. “I have thought of such a splendid idea. Will you go and see Mr. Reffold this afternoon? That would be a nice little change for h : ,m.” Bernardine smiled. “If you wish it," she answered. Mrs. Reffold nodded and hastened away, and Bernardine continued her game, and, having finished' it, rose to go. The. Rcffolds were rich, and lived in a suite of apartments in the more luxurious part of the Kurhaus. Bernardine knocked at the door, and the ; nurse came to open it. ; “Mrs. Reffold asks me to visit Mr. Reffold," Bernardine said; and the nurse showed her into the pleasant sittingroom: Mr. Reffold was lying nn the sofa. He looked upas Bernardine came in, and a smile of pleasure spread over his wan fade. 'll don’t know whether.l intrude,” said Bernardino, “But Mrs. Reffold said I might come to see you.” Mr. Reffold signed to the nurse to withdraw. She had never before spoken to

BY BEATRICE HARRADEN.

him. She had often seen him lying by himself in the sunshine. “Are you paid for coining to me?” he asked eauerly. The words seemed rude enough, but there was no rudeness in the manner. —"No, I am -not paid.” she said gently; and then she took a chair and sat near him. "Ah, that's well,” he said, with a sigh of relief. “I'm so tired of paid service. To know that things are done for me because a certain number of francs are given so that these things may be done—well, one gets weary of it; that's all !” There was bitterness in every word he spoke. “I lie here,” he said, “and the loneliness of it—the loneliness of it 1” “Shall I read to you?” she asked kindly. She did not know what to say to him. “I want to talk first,” he replied. “I want to talk first to some one who is not paid for talking to me. I have often watched you, and wondered who you were. Why do you look so sad? No one is waiting for you to die?” ' “Don’t talk like that?” she said; and she bent over him and arranged the cushions for him more comfortably . He looked just like a great lank tired child. “Are you one of my wife’s friends?” he asked. “I don’t suppose I am.” she answered gently; “but I like her, all the same. Indeed, I like her very much. And I think her beautiful.” “Ah, she is beautiful!” he said eagerly. “Doesn't she look splendid in her furs? By Jove, you are right! She is a beautiful woman. I am proud of her.”Then* the smile faded from her face. _

“Beautiful,” he said half to himself, “but hard,” “Come now,” said Bernardine; i “you are surrounded with books and : newspapers. What shall I read to I. you?” I “No one reads what I want,” he answered peavishly. “My tastes are not their taste. I don’t suppose you would care to read what I want to hear.” “Well,” she said cheerily, “try I me. Make your choice.” i “Very well, the Sporting and 1 Dramatic,” he said. “Read every word of that. And about that the- ! atrical divorce case. And every j word of that, too. Don’t you skip, and cheac me.” I She laughed and settled herself ; down to amuse him. And he listl ened contentedly. "j" “That is something like litera- : ture,” he said once or twice. “I can understand papers of that sort going like wild-fire.” .1 When he was tired of being read ’ to, she talked to him in a manner that would have astonished the Disagreeable Man; not of books nor learning, but of people she had met and of places she had seen; and there ; was fun in everything she said. She 1 knew London well, and she could tell him about the Jewish and the Chinese quarters, and about her ad- ! ventures in company with a man : who took her here, there and every I where. ■ She made him some tea, and she ' cheered the poor fellow as he had i not been cheered for months. . “You’re just a little brick!” he said, when she was leaving. Then ; once more he added eagerly: j “And you’re not to be paid, are 1 i you?” ? . “Not a single sou!” , she laughed, i “What a strange idea of yours!” “You are not offended?” he said anxiously. “But you can’t think what a difference it makes to me. You are not offended?” “Not in the least?” she answered. “I know quite well how you mean it. | You want a little kindness with : nothing at the back of* it. Now, i good-bye!” He called her when she was outside the door. “I say, will you come again soon?” “Yes, I will come to-morrow.” “Do you know you’ve been a little brick. ' I hope I haven’t tired you. You are only a bit of a thing yourself. But by JoVe, you knowhow to i put a fellow in a good temper!” i When Mrs. Reffold went down to table-d’hote that night, she met ! Bernardine on the stairs,and stopped j to speak with her. “We’ve had a splendid afternoon,” she said; “and we’ve arranged to go again to-morrow at the same time. Such a pity you don’t come! Oh, by the way, I thank you for going to i see my husband. I hope he didn’t ‘ tire you. He is a little querulous, I think. He so enjoyed your visit. Poor fellow! it is sad to see him so ill, isn’t it?”

CHAPTER IX. BERNARDINE PREACHES. After this, scarcely a day passed i but Bernardine went to see Mr. I Reffold. The most experienced eye dould have known that he was becoming rapidly worse. Marie, the chambermaid, knew it, and spoke of it frequently to Bernardine. “The poor lonely fellow!” she said, time after time. Every one, except Mrs. Reffold, seemed to recognize that Mr. Reffold's days were numbered. Eith^ 1 er she did not or would not understand. She made no alteration in the disposal of her time; sledging parties and skating picnics were the order of the day: she was

thoroughly pleased vyith herself, and received the attentions of her admirers as a matter of course. The Petershof climate had got into her head; and it is a well-known fact some people of banishing from their minds all inconvenient notions of duty and devotion, and ali memory Of the, special objectof their sojourn in Petershof. The coolness and calmness with which such people ignore their rffiponsibilities, or allow strangers to assume them, would be an occasion for humor, if it were not an opportunity for indignation; though indeedjt would take a very tor not to get some fun out of the blissful self-satisfaction and unconsciousness which characterizes thF most negligent of “care-takers." . i Mrs. Reffold was not the only sin- j ner in this respect. It would have been interesting to get together a ; tea-party of invalids alone, and set ' the ball rolling about the respective behaviors of their respective friends. Not a pleasing chronicle; no very choice pages to add to the book of real life; still valuable items in their way, representative of the actual as opposed to the ideal. In most instances there would have been ample testimony —to that cruel monster known as Neglect. Bernardine spoke once to the Disagreeable Man on this subject. She spoke with indignation, and he answered with indifference, shrugging his shoulders. “These things occur,” he said. “Jt is not that they are worse , here than everywhere else; it is simply that they are together in an accumulated mass, and, as such, strike us with tremendous force. 1 myself am accustomed to these exhibitions of selfishness and neglect. I should be astonished if they did not take place. Don’t mix yourself up thing. If people are neglected, they are neglected, and there is the end of it. , To imagine that you or I are going to do any good by filling up the breach, is simply an insanity leading to unnecessarily disagreeable consm quences. I know you go to see Mr. Reffold. Take my advice, and keep away.” “You speak like a Calvinist,” she answered rather ruffled, with the quintessence of self-protectiveness; “and I don't believe you mean a word you say.” “My dear young woman;” he-said, “we are not living in a poetry book bound with gilt edges. We are living in a paper-backed volume of prose. Be sensible. Don’t ruffle yourself on account of other people. Don’t even trouble to criticise them; it is only a nuisance to ypurself. All this simply points back to my first suggestion; fill up your time with some hobby, cheese-mites or the influenza bacillus, and then you will be quite content to let people be neglected, lonely, and to die. You will look unon it as an ordinary and natural process.” She waved her hand as though to stop him. “There are days.” she said, “when

i I can’t bear to talk with you. And this is one of them.” “I am sorry,” he answered, quite gently for him. And he moved away froin her, and started for his usuaL lonely walk. Bernardine turned home, intending to go to see Mr. Reffold. He had become quite attached to her, and looked forward eagerly for her visits. He said her voice was gentle and her manner quiet; there was no bustling vitality about her to irritate his worn nerves. He was probi ably an empty-headed, stupid fellow;l but it was none the less sad to see I him passing away. [ Ke called her “Little Brick.” He I said that no other epithet suited her so exactly. He was quite satisfied now that she was not paid for coming to see him. As for the reading, no one could read the Sporting and Dramatic News and the Era so well as Little Brick. Sometimes he spoke with her about his wife, but only in general tones of bitterness, and not always complainingly. Shejistened and said nothing. “I’m a chap that wants very little,” he said once. “Those who want little, get nothing.” That was all he said, but Bernardine knew to whom he referred. To-day, as Bernardine was on her way back to the Kurhaus, she was thinking constantly of Mrs. Reffold, and wondering whether she ought to be made to realize that het husband was becoming rapidly worse. Whilst engrossed with this thought, •& long train of sledges and toboggans passed her. The sound of the bells and the noisy merriment made her look up, and she saw beautiful Mrs. Reffold amongst the pleasureseekers. “If only I dared tell her now,” said Bernardine to herself, “loudly and before them all.” Then a more sensible mood came over her. “After all, it is not my. affair, "she sgid. And the sledges passed away out of hearing. When Bernardine sat with Mr. Reffold that afternoon she did not mention that she had seen his wife. He coughed a great deal, and seemed txxbe worse than usual, and complained of fever. But he liked to have her and would not hear of her , going. “Stay,” he said, “it is not much pleasnre to you, but is a great pleas-ure,-to me.” There was an anxious look bn his j’aeq, ' look as people wear when fhdy'-tf'ihh to ask some question of great moibent, but dare not begin. At last he seenwd to summon up courage. “Little Brick," he said, in a weak, J

low voice, *|l have something on my mind. You won’t laugh I know. You’re not that sort. I know you’re clever and thoughtful, and all that; you could tell me more than all the parsons put together. Ik no wyou' r e clever; my wife says so. She say’s that only a very clever woman would wear such boots and hats.” Bernardin esmiledL „ “Well,” she said, kindly, “tell me.” “Yom must have thought a good deal* I suppose.” he continued, "about life and death,’ and that sort of thing. I've never thought at all. Does it matter, Little Brick ? It's-too-late now, L can't begin to think. But speak to me;, tell me what you think. Do you believe we are glad to behave less like curs and brutes? Or is it all ended in that lonely’ little churchyard here? I’ve never troubled about these things before, but now I am so near that gloomy little churchyard— well, it makes me wonder. As for the Bible, I never cared to read it. I was never much of a reader, though I’ve got through two or three firework novels and sporting stories. Does it matter. Little Brick?” “How do I know?” she said gently. “How does any’ one know. People say they know; but it is all a great mystery. Everything that we say can be but a guess. People have ; gone mad ovejr their guessing, or i they have broken their hearts. But ' still the mystery remains; and we? can not solve it.” “If you don’t know anything. Lit- i tie Brick,” he said, “at least tell me what you think; and don’t be too learned: remember I am anly a brainless fellow. ” . He seemed to be waiting eagerly for her answer. “If I were you.” she said, “1 should not worry. Just make up yourTnind to do better when you get another chance. One can’t do more than that. That is what I shall think of: That God will give each of us another chance, and that eaph one of us will take it and do betier--I_an_cL you and every one. So there is no need to fret over failure, when one hopes one may be allowed to redeem that failure later on. Besides which, life is very hard. Why, we ourselves recognize that. If there be a God, some intelligence greater than human intelligence, he will understand better than ourselves that life is very hard and difficult, and he will be astonished not because we are not better, but because we are not worse. At ledst, that would be my notion of a God. I should not worry if I were you. Just make up your mind to do better if you get the chance, and be content with that.” “If that is what you think, Little Brick,” he answered, “it is quite good'"enough for me. And it does not matter about prayers and the Bible, and all that sort of thing?’’ “I don't think it matters,” she sard. such things mattered. What does matter, is to judge gently, and not to come down like a sledge-hammer on other people’s feelings. Who are we, any of us, that we should be hard on others?” “And hot come down like a sledgehammer on other people's. feeliugsjL. lie repeated slowly. “I wonder if I have ever judged gently.” “I believe you have,” she answered. He shook his head. “No, ” he said; “I have been a pal -. try fellow. I have been lying here, and elsewhere, too, eating my heart away with bitterness, until you came. Since then I have sometimes forgotten to feel bitter. A little kindness does away with a great deal of bitterness.” He turned wearily on his side. “I think I could sleep. Little. Brick,” he said, almost in a whisper. ‘ ‘I want to dream about your sermon. And I’m not to worry, am I?” “No,” she answered, as she stepped noiselessly across the room; “you are not to worry.” CHAPTER X. THE DISAGREEABLE MAN IS SEEN IN A NEW LIGHT. One specially fine morning a knock came at Bernardino's door. She opened it, and found Robert Allitsen standing there trying to recover his breath. “I am going to Loschwitz, a 'fillage about twelve miles off,” he s?iid, “And I have ordered a sledge. Do you care to come too?” “If I may pay my share,” she said. ‘ "Of course,” he answered: “I did not suppose you would like to be paid for any better than I should like to pay for you.” Bernardinelaughed. “When do we start?” she asked. “Now,” he answered. “Bring a rug, and also that shawl of yours which is always falling down, and come at once without any fuss. We shall be out for the whole day. What about Mrs. Grundy? We could manage to take her if you wished, but she would not be comfortablejsitting amongst the photographiooappatatus, and I certainly should not give up my seat to her.” “Then leave her at home," said Bernardine cheerily. And so they settled it. In less than a quarter of an hour they had started; and Bernardine leaned luxuriously back to enjoy to the full her first sledge rifie. It was all new to her; the swift passing through the crisp air without any sensation of motion; the sleepy tinkling of the bells on the horses’ heads; the noiseless cutting through of the snow path. All these weeks she had known nothing of the country, and now she found herself in • the snow fairyland

of which the Disagreeable Man had often spoken to her. Around vast plains of untouched snow, whiter than any dream of whiteness, jeweled by the sunshine with priceless diamonds, numberless as the sands of the sea. The great pines bearing their burden of snow patiently,.. others less patient, having shaken them-; selves free from what the heavens had sent them to bear. And now the streams, flowing on reluctantly over ice-coated rocks, and the ice cathedrals formed by the icicles between the rocks. And a 1 ways the same silonce. save for the tinkling of the horses’ bells. - On the heights the quaint chalets, some merely huts for storing wood; -on-others. farms, or the homes of same dark brown, almost black, betraying their age; others of a paler hue, showing that the sun had not yet mellowed them into a deep rich color. And on all alike, the fringe of icicles. A wonderful white world. It was a long time before Bernardine even wished to speak. This beautiful whiteness may become monotonous after a time, but there is something very awe-inspiring about it, something which catches the soul and holds it. The Disagreeable Man sat quietly by her side. Once or twice he bent ; forward to protect the camera when j the sledge gave a lurch. ! After some time they met a proi cession of sledges laden with timber; I and August, the driver, and Robert i Allitsen exchanged some fun and merriment with the drivers in their quaint blue smocks. The moise of the conversation, and the excitement of getting past the sledges, brought Bernardine back to speech again. ------------ •‘I have never before enjoyed any thing so mueh,” she said. "So you have found your tongye," he said. “Do you mind talking a little now? I feel rather lonely.” This was said in such a pathetic,’ aggrieved tone, that Bernardine laughed and looked at her companion. His face wore an unusually bright expression. He was evidently out to enjoy himself: “You talk,” she said; “and tell me all about the country,” (TO BE CONTINUED.)

OLD MAMMY'S VIGIL.

A Pathetic Story of a Southern Land Boom. Clarksdale. Miss., Special, June 19. A rich syndicate desired to buy a plantation belonging to John Clark. On the plantation, in a lonely cabin, lives Aunt Dilsie, an aged colored woman, and near by. is the grave of her former master’s daughter. Her bld master told Aunt Dilsie she could have the place, but she must guard the little grave. When the offer.cf sale came, Clark went to see Aunt Dilsie to tell her the piece would be sold. She looked him straight in .the eye and said: “Old marsta put me heah to mine little missus grabe. an’ heah’s wha ole marsta fin' me when his speret comes. Yo’ kan’t selluis place.no how. Marsta John.” Then she threw herself upon the mound, and Clark could hear her talking to her dead mistress. “Dey wanted to sell yo’, but,bress de sweet missus, dey nebber sells yo’ grabe while Aunt Dilsie lib. Ole marsta gib me dis place an’ heah’s wha’ I stays till Gabriel wakes us all up in de mawnin’ an’ I put my missus in de arms of ole marsta, jess as he uster hoi’ her. Bress yo’ soul, honey, did you t’ink Aunt Dilsie let ’em sell yo’? Don’ yo’ min’. Dey ain’nliftin' goin’ to hu’t yo’ -while Aunt Dilsie heah.” The next day Clark again called on Aunt Dilsie to argue with her and insist that she had no title to the place, and that he would give her a much better home. She replied: “Marsta John, yo’ kan’t sell dis place nohow. Ole Marsta gib it tc me, an’ yo’ don’t do nothin’ with my little missis, who done sleep for thirty years right whah dese brack hands helped dem lay her. Dar she be, an’ heah I be when ole marsta die, an’ heah he fim’-ws- when he comes. I don’t know nuffin bout nc title an’ dem highfalutin’ tings, but Ido know dis cabin am mine, an' heah dis babin stays till I tote de little missus 'cross de ribber. May be dark night, Marsta John, when Gabriel come, an’ how my little missus goin’ to do lessen her ole brack mammy heah to holp her? G’long, Marsta John! I ain’ goin’ hab no words about it.” And the sale fell through, Clark refusing to disturb the spirit title. In a storm which came through Clarksdale a short time afterward the cabin was blown down, but still Aunt Dilsie refused to leave the spot, and another was built where the old one had stood. One morning net body was found stretched upon the grave of her young “missus,” and now the little girl and her black mammy rest side by side, awaiting the trumpet call. This is a true but pathetic story of the recent land boom that struck this rqgion a short time ago. Chauncey M. Depew is having a mausoleum built in the Peekskill cemetery as a memorial to his deceased wife. In this little rural burying ground rest the bodies ol all his ancestors. The grave of his mother is marked by a handsome monument, and it is his wish to similarly ornament that of his wife. Tin design selected is severely classical and,-simple, and the mausoleum will be constructed in solid granite, tc last for all time. Its cost will reach about $20,000.

A TOBACCO HEART.

Thousands of Americans Can’t Get Insurance Because Tobacco Has ( Destroyed the Heart Action and Wrecked the Nervous System—No-To-Bac Works Many Miraculous F . Cures, Delanson, N. Y. —Engineer O. N. [Bates stepped off Engine No. 47*. with a long oiler in one hand and a ‘bunch of blue waste in the other. Not a bystander there could help remarking his youthful, healthy look and active.vigorous movements, and contrasting his appearance with Etns condition two months ago. ' ?Say, Colonel, how well you look!” - “Yes, I am well: better than I have been for years.” “What have you been doing?” “Oh, not much. No-to-bac cured me of the tobacco habit and braced -me mentally -and—physically. —ln—fact, made me a new man in more ways than one. I had no appetite* couldn't sleep: now I sleep like a baby and eat three times a day with a relish, for the first time in years. My heart action is regular and no longer a bar to in ere ased 1 ifeffnsur-" ance. Yop know the throttle pulling requires a pretty steady nerve, and my nerves are O. K. now. One box and a quarter of No-to-bac cured me completely in ten days, after using tobacco forty years. No-to-bac is sold by all druggists and made by the Sterling Remedy Com□any of New York and Chicago. You ought to get one of their little books called 'Don’t Tobacco Spit and Smoke Life Away,’ and post yourself. They send them free to my one that.writes. It cost me .2.50 to get cured, and I spent three' Or four dollars a week for tobacco. If I had failed to get cured I would have gotten my money back, as the makers guarantee three Sure any case. I have recommended he use of No-to-bac to fifteen of thej noys on the line, and every one of them, so far as I know, has been! ’ured.” The cab bell rang, the engineer' .‘limbed up quickly on the footboard/ ind the big train rolled away.

“Doing” a Ticket Agent.

One of the ticket agents of the Michigan Central railroad, at a certain town in Canada, was an airy, independent young man, who began work with the idea that he ran the whole line. “The boys” had numerous complaints against him, and mpre than once he would have caught it in the ear had he not beon fenced in where he could not be got at. One evening five or six of us happened to meet there as we came in on cross roads, and we soon got on to the fact that the general manager and two or three other officials pf the road were in the ticket office. We laid our heads together and put up a job. We all had thousand-mile tickets, but each of the six went to the window in turn and bought a ticket for the nearest station east or west. When all had been served the first went back to" the window and said: “Young man, I think you made a mistake.” “1 guess not.” . _ “I’ve got a ticket to C—. That’s thirty cents. I gave you and you gave me ninety-two cents back.” “Humph! That’s funny!” muttered the young man, as he took in the change and corrected the alleged error. Then the second went up and said: -j~ .“Young man, I don’t, want to beat this railroad, I bought a ticket to R—, which is twenty-five cents; gave you half a dollar, and you handed me out sixty cents.” “1 did, eh?” queried the agent, as ho flushed up and took in the change. Then the third, fourth, fifth and sixth man went up ‘ with a similar story. The big officials were taking it all in, and they got very nervous. -The young man was whiter than chalk at the end of it, and he was not wrong in believing that he was doomed. Nextday he was replaced, and 1 learned a few weeks later that he had quit running a railroad and gone into a woolen mill. It cost each of us a small sum out of his own pocket to work the snap, but it was pro bono publico and worth double the amount. Exchange.

The Science of Pop Corn.

In what condition is the starch}' in-; terior of the grain just before it ox-: plodes? The common experience of the kitchen and laundry will help us I here. In making the mixture for stiffening clothes, the laundress puts starch into water and boils it, and wo' all know that in '"this process thestarch loses its powderly character and' becomes blended with the water into a' pasty, translucent mass. The effect, upon the individual starch-granule is ai softening and considerable increase! of its bulk and, finally, its ruptureq and diffusion through the water.; While we cannot see the inside of the! grain at the critical moment when it has all .but burst, we may, in view of what we now know, probably surmise the-truth. It is not very likely l that, as the grain gets hotter and hotter, and the moisture present ini the cells, or in the stdrch granules; themselves, softens them first, and : then, when the heat becomes too groat’ to permit its remaining in the fluid; state, it suddenly turns to steam, and; the now plastic ihsrch exp inds in every, direction, forming the vesicles shown in the figure, losing at the same time, of course, the moisture and thqs becoming firm and brittle again? This! is the conclusion to which I have been' brought, and I think of wonderful phys-; ics of popped corn with-great satisfac-' lion whenever I shake my popper over glowing coals. — —s——— There are only two royal scientists living at the present time worthy of the name. Ono is Prince Albert, of Monaco, well known for his deep sea ro marches, and the other is the Archduke Ludwip Salvator, of Austria, a couragopi|s traveler, and a by ne means contemptible natura hL