Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 5, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 October 1874 — Page 3

RENSSELAER UNION.

JAMES k HEALEY, Proprietors. RENSSELAER, - INDIANA.

WINGS. I had in a cage a little bird ' 1 That sang most delicious songs td me; •The sweetest songs that I ever heard. But alas! what wings, what Wings had he! I had in a purse much shining gold, As bright and shining as bright could be; But there is my purse—it is worn &nd old, With no gold in it that I can see! • I had in my heart a sweet, true Tore; Oh, what a beautiful angel, she! But I heard wings rustling from above,» And all I have left is her memory. I had a dear friend of rarest worth; But a winged ship flew out to sea; And bore him away from me—and from earth. There is nothing but wings as it seems tome!

SLEEP. [Front Dr. Holland's new poem, “ The Mistress of the Manse."] Oh, blessed sleep! in which exempt From our tired selves long hours we lie, Our vapid worthlessness undreamt, And our poor spirits saved thereby Froin perishing pf self-contempt! We weary of our petty aims; We sicken with our selfish deeds; We shrink and shri'vel in the flames That low desire ignites and feeds, And grudge the debt that duty claims. Oh, sweet forgetfulness of sleep! Oh. bliss, to drop the pride of dress, ' And all the shame o'er which We Weep, And. toward our native nothingness. To drop ten thousand fathoms deep!

HOTEL INCIDENT IN THE RIVIERA.

No one who lias sojourned for a while in the Riviera is surprised at the crowds of foreigners that are collected from all parts of Europe into its various nooks and retreats. We English go there to escape mist and log; the Russians, to avoid extreme cold; the invalid Germans, to put a barrier between themselves and the withering east wind. Some again visit it for other than sanitary reasons. Monaco, with its gambling attractions,' entices and detains some, and the mere enjoyment of a climate luxurious even in winter invites many more. We —that is, my wife and myself—were a few weeks at one of the large hotels that are so numerously dotted along this coast. It might have been at Hyeres, Cannes, or Nice, at Monaco or Mentone, Bordigliera or San Remo, Savona or Pegli; or it might have been at no one of all these. We had been staying—it is sufficient to say —at the Hotel du Bon Vivant about a week, when there appeared at the table d’hote a very striking personage. As soon as dinner was over my wife found herself (by accident) near the visitors’ book, and discovered that the new arrival had entered himself as the Baron Mon-teggiana-Tavernelle, We were chiefly English at the hotel, there was no Italian there, and our acquaintance with the national Burke Was limited; so we easily accepted the theory that this lengthy appellation w r as one of the most ancient titles in the land. We -were subsequently informed by the Baron that it was Sicilian, which made our ignorance the more excusable. I don’t think it was his title, or, at least, it was not only that, which made us all so charmed with him. It must have been “ liis noble bearing, his perfect manners, his evident desire to please, his modest evasion of all topics hearing on his own career, and his handsome face. He was apparently about, thirty years of age, his black hair was as glossy as a raven’s plumage, and his black, flashing eyes betrayed a passionate soul; while his thick mustache framed, rather than concealed', a smile that irradiated his intellectual countenance with sweetness and light.” Such at least was the description given of him in one of my wife’s letters to my mother-in-law; and I am glad I happened to look into that letter, as it has saved me some little trouble in attempting to describe him in words of my own. The Baron mixed very little with his own countrymen, and, as I ventured to suggest to my wife, seemed rather shy of them. He pever went to the public amusements and declined to subscribe to the Circolo. She explained to me in

reply that he was the only nobleman in the place and was perhaps a little haughty toward his compatriots of a lower rank. He had also informed her himself that he had selected our hotel for the express purpose of mixing with the English, as he was expecting shortly to a governmental appointment, and for the better discharge of his prospective duties a little knowledge of English was desirable. 1 should have mentioned before that I only speak my own language, but my wife can converse in Italian with ease and fluency, and the Baron very naturally talked with her a good deal, and occasionally condescended to speak to me < by her interpretation. Shortly after the arrival of the Baron Monteggiana-Tavernelle we were further enlivened by another. This time it was a Russian lady, attended by her maid. There were no other Russians at the Hotel du Bon Vivant, and she appeared to have come there rather from necessity than by choice, as there were no rooms vacant4n the inn usually frequented by those of her nation-, She declined to enter her name in the visitors’ book, and for the first two or three days dined in her own room and held aloof from the rest of us. This, added to the effect produced by a stateliness, not to say grandeur,of deportment and rich sobriety of dress, prepared us all for the discovery which in a few days oozed out, that she was a Russian Princess, a widow, who wished to remain incognita and to live quietly in the enjoyment of an unfreedom from the obliga tions of nobility—an enjoyment beyond her command at home. We never fully understood how this oozed out. Her female attendant could understand nothing, and therefore could divulge nothing. The maitre d’hotel assured his guests that he knew no more than the rest of the world, and, by his mysterious shruggings, his self-contradic-tions, and, above all, by his manner, impressed us all with the firm belief that there was a secret in hih possession. This, oT course, confirmed the truth of the report, and it became an established fact that the lady was a Russian Princess. After a few days of seclusion she vouchsafed to make her appearance at the table d’hote, and retired with the rest of the ladies to the Salle des Dames afterward. Then it was that the Baron exhibited his inborn as well as inherited nobility. He attended to her table wants, placed her an arm-ebair by the fragrant wood-fire, and, on receiving her thanks in his mother-tongue—bis parents’ pride lxad no doubt prevented him from learn-

ing any other—-lie entered into a respectful and courtly conversation with her. There were plenty of other men in the room who could have done it; but the Baron was naturally the fittest person to begin; and I will give him credit for boundless self-possession—not to call it impudence. The acquaintance thus begun grew with a, tropical rapidity. The cold northern temperament softly but quickly thawed beneath the warm rays of Italian sweetness and light. Fragments of their talk occasionally reached the ears of my wife and others who could understand them, from which it appeared that their main topic was the opera. “Ah, Madame”—he was interpreted to me as saying—“ if I could but he honored with your presence in my box at Florence! The music would be angelic then.” “ The Signor does me a great, favor in expressing the wish.” Yes; it was clear that he was hard hit, and that she knew it, and had no desire to dismiss him, And yet she was in no single point guilty of indiscretion, forwardness, or coquetry, in my opinion. “That woman,” said my wife, “is abominable! Look how-she hunts that poor man down. I suppose she fancies Sicily a nicer country than Siberia, or wherever it is she comes from.” “Well, my dear,” I replied, “it seems to me that the hunting is mutual. Really, I don’t see why he shouldn’t marry her, if they both like it.” “She may be a mere tuft-hunting adventuress, for all we know,” said she. “ I don’t believe in her.” “ Well, but perhaps he knows more than We do.” “I don’t believe in her a hit. She’s hunting him down for his wealth and title, and is as much a Princess as I am!”

The season was now r at its height, and every room was occupied; the very last attic in the Hotel du Bon Vivant being secured by a German Count, the Count Sigismund von Borokopek. lie put down lus name in the visitors’ hook like a man, and his whole demeanor was frank, open, and robust. He was extraordinarily fluent in English, as well as in French and Italian. German, of course, was his mother-tongue, a few dialectial peculiarities noticeable in his pronunciation, arising, he explained, from the circumstance of his being partly of Austrian, partly of Hungarian origin; the Borokopck estates being in fHe" vfcTnity of Tokay. We now numbered about eighty guests, And began to know one another pretty well; hut somehow the Count knew us all better than we knew one another before he had been a w T eek among us. He was a big, burly, fair ffian, so thoroughly British in appearance and in his general characteristics as to render it difficult, Jmt for his proficiency in other lan guages, to believe that he was not a Briton born. He had knocked about the world a good deal, he said. Of the forty years he had passed in it, twenty had been spent in traveling, half of which time had been parsed in England, and a good deaTof the rest in America. Russia, too, he was acquainted witli; and on the strength of that lie introduced himself to the Princess, and was evidently as much disposed to admire her as the Baron himself. Indeed, before very long, the attentions paid by Count Sigismund von Borokopek to that lady began seriously to disturb the serenity of the Baron MonteggianaTavernelle; and, in proportion as their rivalry progressed, so did the interest and amusement of the company progress With it.. , “My dear Charles,” said my wife, “ isn’t she abominable now ? She’s a regular flirt: and at her age, too!—forty, if she’s a day. And after entangling the Baron to go and egg on the Count, and all in public, too! It’s had enough to make love in public at all, but to do it to two men, one after the other 1 say she’s simply abominable!” “ Well, but, mydear.” I expostulated, “ they are both making love to her at the same time. You see, the Count’s castles are much nearer to Russia than Sicily is, so perhaps she prefers to become Mrs. Count, etc., to the other thing.” Those of us who were not in love with the Princess began to wish the absurd affair at an end. The lady was most unfairly fair to each; for she gave each of them enough encouragement to make them savagely jealous of one another, without going far enough with either to "give the other any grounds of complaint. But for her beautiful eyes I would compare her to a tableau vivant of Justice holding the scales. I can, however, safely liken her to Helen; for she was setting by the ears not only the two most interested individuals, but also the whole World about her; and it wanted but a spark to commence a conflagration, certainly an explosion, between the two. We had an American at the Hotel du Bon Vivant, a quiet, thoughtful man, too much of an invalid to talk much, and very reserved in his manners. We little thought that the dreaded spark would be dropped by him; but so it was. The Baron was describing to a knot of us, including the Count, as we were lounging in the entrance-hall after luncheon, his Syracusan villa, with its exquisite gardens. The American was listening with his usual air of abstraction and quietly interposed a question: “ Did I understand you to say that the Villa d’Aosta, in the Strada di Palerma, belongs to you?” “ Si, signor, the Villa d’Aosta you speak of is the one. It is mine. It has been in my family for several generations.” « “ You’ve got a tenant there now who’s a friend of mine ” “ No, signor, no; I do not let my villa, nor other of my residences.” “Well, that’s queer, I consider,” said the American. “ 1 camq, direct from Sicily last month, and a friend of mine was tenant of that villa for ffie Winter, and I stayed a day or two with him in that very house. Guess there’s some bu*kum somewhere!” ———’

Part of these remarks were made in Italian, some ejaculated in English. “ Bagatelle!” replied the Baron; “ you are mistaken, signor! It must have been some other Villa d’Aosta." “No, it wasn’t,” responded the American; “ and for mv part I think you are no more Baron than I’m Julius Ceesar.” He certainly looked oflended, though happily the last sentence was* in English; in fact, he had been so unaccustomed to be contradicted that it positively confused him. And I .could not help noticing that the Count looked excessively tickled, as well as triumphant. That evening, when the Baron advanced to attend the Princess to the salon, she declined his offer to placgthe shawl on her shoulders, as he had always done; and in the most perfect manner, without snubbing or putting him down, allowed him to discover for himself- that she was utterly indifferent to him. It was just as if the moon were to take the place of the, sun fa a quiet and unde-

monWative way, with no explanation given. But of course an explanation was to be demanded, and as soon as the dinner was over the Baron sought and obtained a tete-a-tete in a corner of the Salles des Dames. We all had the decency to read Galignani, or play bezique, or otherwise to throw a veil over our curiosity, as we anxiously watched the development of the plot and tried to hedge our bets before it was too late. Suddenly the Baron started to liis feet and uttered a loud execrative exclamation which I decline to translate. His soul now most clearly betrayed his passionateness, but there was rather more light than sweetness in his eyes as he glared round the room in search of the hapless American. We all sprang to our feet too; the ladies near the door rapidly retreated, and the men looked at one another, halfamused, half-angrily. “ If I knew who had poisoned the mind of Madame I would ‘ dilaniate’ him — tear him in pieces,” shrieked the Baron. “That viperbf an American!” “ It was not the American,” answered the Count, coming quietly out of a recess ; “ I told the Madame what he had discovered.” The Baron so far forgot the perfectness of his manners and evident desire to please as with his open palm to slap the Count on the face. But in another second he found himself in that physical checkmate- known as chancery—he had got his head under his rival’s left arm, who was holding it down to a convenient level for the right hand to bob his nose —and there, before the Princess, in the Salle des Dames, was being displayed a scene from the British ring; chairs and tables going everywhere, as the quadrupedal monster performed its erratic revolutions, amid the screams of women, the shouts of men, the groans of the maitre, and the indescribable cries of astonishment uttered by the whole staff of the hotel, which had been gathered together at the door by the first exclamations of the Baron.

The Anglo-Saxon nationality having, in spite of the principle of non-inter-vention, separated the Latin and the Teuton, the defeated combatant was assisted to his room, and looked to by an English doctor who happened to be at the hotel, and who reported that, with TEe~exceptiorr of • a couple of broken teeth, nothing of consequence was to he apprehended beyond a further requisition of his services at a rencontre of a different character, which, however, would not be possible for some little time, owing to a difficulty the patient had of seeing. And the next morning we found that the maitre had given the Baron notice to quit the Bon Vivant forthwith; and so we saw no more of the Baron Monteggiana-Tavernelle. In ten days or so the Count received a letter from him, dated at Florence. In it the Baron demanded satisfaction, and required that the Count should meet him at Florence, or, if more convenient, at Rome. In reply the latter expressed his readiness for an interview, but positively declined to fatigue himself with an unnecessary journey. The affair could very well be settled in the place where it began. The letter was carefully and fully directed, registered, and posted by the Count himself. * In the ordinary course of events an answer was due in four or five days at the farthest;but a fortnight passed without any, and at length lie received the following, dated at Rome: Sin—l beg to acknowledge the honor which you have done me of addressing a letter to me at mv house in Florence; and must apologize for my inability to understand it. Your name is strange to me; I was never in the place from which you write; I have not been in Florence for several months; and I must conclude that i here is some mistake. It ia possible that my name has been assumed by a rascally valet who robbed me last year of several private papers and a considerable sum of money, but whom I could not conveniently prosecute. Then followed a description which tallied exactly with the appearance of our Baron. It seems that the letter, being registered, had been sent on to the real Baron at his residence in Rome, instead of being delivered to the false one at the address given by him at Florence. The Princess was, no doubt, overwhelmed with shame at finding that she had been encouraging a valet instead of his master; for she at once admitted the Count to the privilege of paying her more attentions than ever. I think, too, she really liked him. Anyhow, he had proved himself substantially able to protect her; and the scuffle with his rival had in no degree lessened him in her esteem.

Of course, we were not behind the scenes, and could only judge of the probable course of events by such little evidences as chance might throw in our way; but it was rumored that the marriage was to take place from our. hotel before Lent. “ The sooner the better,”, said my wife; “if another man comes forward with better prospects she’ll throw over the Count, just as she did the Baron.” “ But, you see, fie wasn’t a Baron, my dear,” 1 remonstrated; “not a real one, I mean, as the children say.” “Well, and perhaps this is not a reai Count.” “ Dear me! what a joke it would be if he turned out to be somebody’s butler! I wish some Yankee would come and ask him a little about his place. We want a little life here just now.” That day we had another fresh face at the table d’hote; this time an Englishman’s. He was taciturn, but liked to look at the company and listen to the conversation, and was much struck with the Count. It occurred to me, too, that the Count noticed him a good deal, so much so as to refuse some of the choicest dishes. But no one conversed with the stranger, and after dinner he retired to his room—the Baron’s old room—and we saw no more of him till the next day at dinner. There was the same curiosity on the »part of tne Count, who, by the way, spoke German exclusively now; but the stranger was absorbed in his dinner. Afterward he strolled into the billiard-room to smoke a cigar. By and by the Count and I went in to have a quiet game, and there we found the new arrival comfortably lolling in an ample rOcking-chair by the fire. The Count played badly, missing the easiest strokes. “ You’re off your play to-night, Count,” I said; “ what’s the matter?” .

“ Don't mind me, gentlemen,” said the stranger; “ I hope my being here don’t make the Count nervous " —he put a very remarkable emphasis on the title. “I, don’t play the Continental way myself, though I do see a good many queer games at odd times. Now, was you ever in Scarboro’, sir?” addressing the Count. “No! Leeds? No! Hull, where the steamers start for Bremen? No! Manchester, perhaps? No! Not been to Manchester? Then,” lie had been sidling gradually nearer and nearer the door as he talked, and was now between it and the Count. “ Then suppose you and I

go back together, Mister ‘Alexander Jenkinson, on the warrant I’ve got against you for forgery of a check on Gleeson’s Bank at Manchester for £8,500! O yes; it’s all right, audit’s no good makings row. My name’s Inspector Rawlings, of the detective police, and me and mv man here have had a pretty hunt after you; he and the gendarmes are waiting for you outside the door.” Poor Princess, with two strings to her bow, and both of them rotten! Still my wife; wouldn’t pity her yet. “ But, my dear,” I expostulated, “ the poor thing will have to marry some Russian now, perhaps a Laplander, or one of those fellows that drink train-oil with their dinner. And she such a monstrous fine woman, too, to say nothing of her rank.” However, we had but little further Gjill on our sympathy, for the next day she left the* hotel. “So the Princess is off,” I said to the maitre the same day while paying my weekly bill. “ Monsieur said ” “ I said the Princess is off—-gonej allee, sortie , partie, you know.” “Oui, oui; but then, the Princess; who does Monsieur wish to say, Princesse?” “Why, of course the Princess of—well, the Russian Princess that didn’t marry the Baron of the ” “Ah. bah! Who would call ner a Princess?”" “ Why, you made us believe she was,” I indignantly rejoined, “by making believe she wasn't." “ But Monsieur remembers without doubt that I said she was not a Princess?” “So you did; but there’s a way of saying no and looking yes.” “ Pardon, Monsieur! The lady desired repose and to he in particular; and I—l1 —I assisted that she should so be.” “ Well—now she’s gone in fact, what is she?” “ Monsieur, she is a teacher of the dance at Marseilles.”— Chambers' Journal.

A Dangerous Experiment.

the steamship Queen, which left New A'ork on the 10th inst., there was as one of the passengers the noted Paul Boynton, pearl-diver, life-saver, and manfish in general. He leaves on a dangerous experiment, which is none other than to make a sea voyage in a life-sa\4ng suit. It is his intention to drop overboard not less than 200 miles from land, either after leaving New A’ork or before reaching Liverpool, when he will be left to the mercy of the waves until he shall meet with a passing vessel. Mr. Boynton is confident that he will come out all right in the matter, and prove the value of the dress. This is a rubber suit of armor of peculiar pattern, containing compartments, which, when inflated, it is claimed, are able to float a man of any weight in safety. The one taken by Boynton will weigh fifteen pounds, and he carries with him in a rubber bag two dozen signal lights, tw« pounds of cheese, six pounds of crackers, one piece of Bologna sausage, one ax and one bowieknife for sharks, signal flags, rockets, an extra suit of clothes, and a large doublebladed paddle with which to propel himself. Mr. Boynton is of fine physique, and weighed about 180 pounds. On the Jersey coast he claims to have saved seventy one lives.

A Pitiable Case of Destitution.

Last Saturday, a lean, lank horse, drawing an old, rickety wagon, bright 1 have been seen going at a snail’s pace through one of our streets. In the wagon might have been seen the sunburnt, liungry-looking faces of a half-dozen children, and a woman walking bareheaded carrying a sick child. Two men and another woman completed the party. They passed through town and stepped in the lot just north of Grover’s grove, and the woman started out through town to make known their condition, and beg something to satisfy lhe crav-ngs of hunger. She told a pitiful story of poverty and want; how they traveled fron Kansas, having lost everything there, having their house burned, and that they were now trying to get to Chilieothe, Mo. When they arrived here they had had nothing to eat for twenty-four hours. As soon as their condition was known a number of our good people sent them food, clothes and bedding, and a collection was taken up for them at the Presbresbyterian and Methodist Churches. Too much praise cannot be accorded to the good ladies who so generously assisted these poor people, and who sent them on their way fed and 1 decently clothed. They told a terrible tale of the suffering and destitution which prevail in Kansas, on account of the drought and the ravages of the grasshoppers, and thousands of people are leaving there and returning to this State and going further east. — Warrensburg (Mo.) Democrat.

PHUNNYGRAMS.

—Two young ladies holding converse over a new dress —“ And does it fit well?” asked one. “Fit! yes; as if I had been melted and poured in.” —A little boy couldn’t remember the text exactly, but thought it was something about a hawk between two pigeons. It was, “ Why halt ye between two opinions. l ’ - —* —“ There was an old family fuel between them,” was what a witness in a Chicago murder case said to the jury. The Judge asked her if she didn’t mean “feud,”and she asked him who was telling the story. — Independent. —A lady lately remarked to a wellknown professor whose services' she had just engaged: “ You wall be pleased with my daughter as a pupil, I feel sure; *she is exceedingly clever, and has such a nice heavy touch for sacred music.” —A Pennsylvania seven-year-old was reproved lately for playing outdoor with boys; she was too big for that now. But with all imaginable innocence she replied: “ Why, granma, t,he bigger jve grow the better we like ’em!” Grandma took time to think.

. —How comfortable for a young wife to feel that her husband is a bountiful and that she will never want for the necessaries of life! A newlymarried man was recently directed by his wife to older some yeast, and,not having a very well defined idea of the article, he told the baker to send up three dollars’ .worth. At nine o'clock next morning three men might have been seen tugging a cask of yeast up the front steps of that man’s house. There is a house at Hanover, N. 11., covered with pine shingles that were put on the day of the battle of Bunker Hill, nearly 10*6 years ago. —The silk factories of New Jersey employ 7,000 girl 3.

Our Young Folks. TWO LITTLE FOLK. '. ‘ BT ROSA OKA HAM. _l_ Up in the tree-bough? a wise little bird Sat chirping, one bright summer day; A-bobbing and twisting his funny brown head In step with hts riotous lay— For never was bird-chant More jolly triumphant, More foolishly merry and gay. “T\vee-dee-dum,” he sang, “Oh, how happy am I, In this beautiful world to be! I wonder who makes it so green and go sweet, For a poor little bird like me— And if every new-comer Has such a bright summer— Twee-dee-dum, twee-dee-duiu, twee-dee!” Down under the boughs, a wee little girt Sat sobbing that bright summer day, A-rnlliing and tucking her once pretty face In a most disagreeable way— Though never had maiden So very grief-laden More cause to be happy and gay. “ O dearie,” she sobbed, “if chocolate-creams Only grew right up here in the trees! I never can do as I want to, at all, I never can eat what I please. I can’t have but tweuty A day when there’s plenty, No matter how hard I may tease !■ “ Twee-dee-dum, twee-dee,” chirped the wise little bird From his perch in the sycamore tree; “ How strange, in a summer so green and so sweet, So sober a maiden to see—- - A sober, gray maiden - So very grief-laden— Twee-dee-dum, twee-dee-dum, twee-dec!” So, merry and happy, the wise little bird Sam.' the hours away in the tree ; And still piped the maiden her sorry “O dear, What a stupid old world to me I” And learned not the lesson. The wonderful lesson. Contained in liis simple “ twee-dee.” —Little Comoral.

FIRE-SCREENS.

BY LUCY J. RIDER.

“Nonsense! That’s too thin!” exclaimed Lewis, throwing down his book ia some excitement. Lewis’ mother looked around from her sewing. “ What is it?” said she. “Why, mother, just listen;” and, picking up his book again, Lewis read: “ ■lt was at least ten miles to the nearest shore, and late at night, so we built a roaring fire on the ice out of the broken sled, and wrapping our buffalo skins around tnr lay down -to sleepand," mother, he goes right on to tell of Cutting'through the ice, and then he finishes off by declaring that his whole story is a true one!” and again the book went down. “Oh!” said Mrs. Morrell, quietly; “I understand now. You mean that the ice of your storv is too ‘ thin.’ I thought at first it sounded like slang.” Lewis colored and laughed a little. “ I’m sorry, mother, but the fact is, such a yarn as that would make a minister forget. I like a made-up story well enough, when a fellow knows what it is, but when a man says he tells the truth, I like to have him tell it.” “Well, what is the trouble with this man’s Story?” “ Why, Mother Morrell! a roaring fire on ice arfoot thick! In the first place I don’t believe they could build a fire at all on ice; the ice would melt and the water would put it out. But, s’posing they could* how long would it take a big fire to melt through a foot of ice?” Mrs. Morrell did not answer, but there was something in her quiet smile that made Lewis feel a little uncertain. “Say, mother, wouldn’t it melt right through?” - J ust then a new idea popped into his head, and he jumped up, knocking over the fire-screen in his hurry, and scaring Johnny’s kitten almost out of her senses. “I’ll find out,” he exclaimed, “ this very night. There’s a tub of water frozen over in the yard, and it isn’t eight o’clock yet.” “ Le’ me go, too—mayn’t I, ma?” asked Johnny, getting interested, now his kitten had run off under the sofa; and, permission being granted, ofl they went. In a little while they came back with rosy faces and numb fingers. “ We built a fire right in a tub!”shouted Johnny. “Lt did burn,” oiried Lewis. “ The ice was so thin it wouldn’t hardly bear the wood, but we made a little pile right in the middle, and it all burned out and didn’t melt through • at all!” and Lewis sat down on a stool, put his feet to the fire, and shielded his face from the heat with a a paper. “ Yes,” put in Johhny, “ it shined just like the Fourth of July, and we warmed our fingers; didn’t we, Lewie?” and he spread his little red hands toward the fire to warm them again. “ Fourth o’ July! you don’t very often get such cold weather as this Fourtht o’ July.” “ Johnny means it was a nice bonfire,” explained the mother. “ I peeped under the sticks to see why it didn’t melt,” said Lewis, “ but I couldn’t find out. It looked wet at first, and I thought ’twas going, but it didn’t even wet the ashes through. It was very strange.” “Very strange,” echoed little John, looking thoughtful. “Why do you hold that paper before your face, Lewie?” asked Mrs. Morrell. “So I can get mv feet warm without burning my face all up.” “ Oh! then the heat don’t go through the paper?” - “ No, ma’am, not much.” es “Well, the reason why the ice .didn’t melt was that there was a fire-screen like your paper between it and the fire.” Lewis came round on his stool very suddenly, and Johnny was so surprised that he forgot to warm his hands. “ Why, mother, there wasn’t anything at all between ’em. The fire was right on the ice,” cried Lewis. “ I thought you said the ice melted a little.”

“ So it did, at first.” “Then wasn’t there a layer of water over the ice?” j “So there was,” nodded Lewis. ‘ Well, that was the fire-screen that kept the heat from the ice, and it was a much better one than your paper is.” “ Why-ee!” exclaimed Johnny. •-» “ Now.” continued Mrs. Morrell, “isl only had a deep dish of thin glass I could show you with the thermometer how perfectly a little water will protect anything from heat. I would fill the . dish with water, and ” “ Look-a-here, mother, why can’t we use this case ?’’ cried Lewis, carefully lifting the glass cover, from a beautiful wax cross that stood on the table. “Turn this over and it makes a nice dish, and we won’t break it.” * “Isl was sure we wouldn’t break It,” said Mrs. Morrell, “it would be just the thing, and 1 guess we’ll run the risk. Lewis, bring in a pitcher of water and a match; and, Johnny, run to papa's office and ask him to send me a bottle, of ether," t When, they cable hack Mrs. Morrell I took the thermometer from the mantel

and put it, wrong end up, into the ghuacase, which was turned over, making & deep, round-bottomed dish. This she held steady on the table, and desired Lewis to pour water into it till the thermometer was covered. “ Now, Lewis,” said she, “ I will keep the dish steady, and you may pour a little of this ether on the water. You kqow ether don’t mix with water, and, as it’s lighter, will all stay on top. Then light the match and hold to it, and it will take fire and burn like coal-oil on the water; and if any heat passes down to the bulb of mercury the thermometer will show it. How far is the bulb below the water, Lewis?” “ It’s only just covered. Hadn’t I better put] on a little more water?” “ No, if it’s fairly covered that’s all that is necessary. Now, Johnny, it shall be your work to look through the side of the case, and tell us if the mercury in the tube moves. How does it stand now?” “ Seventy-one,” said Johnny, twisting bis head round to read the inverted figures. “All right. Now, Lewis, turn slowly, and be careful and not smell it.” Lewis, trembling with anxiety, turned a little from the ether-bottle on the water. “That’ll do,” said his mother; “now light it.” Scratch! crackle! went the match in Lewis’ eager fingers, and, with a little pufk the ether burst into a light, wavy flame. “ Oh! oh!” exclaimed Johnny. “ Look! look!” cried Lewis, in great excitement. “ Does it stir?” “ You can too, while it’s burning,” said Mrs. Morrell. Down went the boy on his knees by his brother. “ Does it stir?” “No, no! not a bit,” cried the boys—nor did it stir at all, though the ether burned son* time. “ My gracious!” said Johnny, when the flame finally died avray. “It looked just as if the water was burning. But wasn’t it pretty?” Mrs. Morrell lifted the thermometer and put her finger on the bulb.-The mercury rose to ninety degrees. “ See,” said she, “ even the warmth of my finger raises it twenty degrees, and the intense heat qfthat burning ether would have sentTt up a great ways If it had reached it; but that little layer water kept it all away.” “ I wouldn’t have believed it,” said Lewis. “ But see here, mother, will a layer of water protect wood or anything else from the heat just the same as ice?” “Yes, of course.” “ Then it will keep heat from passing through to other watpr, won’t it?” “ Yes, if you can keep your different layers of water perfectly still.” “ Well, then, I don’t see how in the world you can ever heat any water. I should think the layer of water next to the bottom of the kettle would prevent all the rest from getting any of the fire.” “ Yes; but the idea is, you can’t keep your different layers of water separate and quiet when you apply the heat from below, because warm water is lighter than cold, and the layer on the bottom, instead of lying still and protecting the rest, rises to the top as soon as it gets heated a little, giving place to another layer of cold; which gets warm and rises in the same way; and so the story goes on till all is warm.” “ Sure enough,” said Lewis; “ that’s as plain aa it can be.” “ Let’s see if we can’t make it a little plainer,” said Mrs. Morrell. “ While we have this bell-glass we may as well use it.” So saying, she filled it again about half full of water, and producing from her work-basket a paper of coarse gray powder she sprinkled a little into the water. It floated slowly down and finally settled in a little heap at the bottom. “ What’s that?” asked Johnny, who was a good deal more interested in the experiments than in the explanations. “It don’t make any difference what it is,” replied his mother. “Any coarse powder that don’t dissolve in water and isn’t too heavy would do just as well.” Mrs. Morrell then held the cover directly over the gas-jet. As the water over the flame became heated it rose nearly to the surface, carrying the bits of powder with it. Then it fell gracefully over like a fountain, and sank slowly down by the sides of the dish to the bottom again. . “Oh, how pretty! It’s as nice as a fountain!” cried the boys. “Itiaa fountain,” said their mother, “ only it’s in water instead of in air.” “ And there’s one of these fountains every time any one heats water,” said Lewis, admiringly. “ Does it, mamma? Does the water go just so in all the\big black kettle?” queried little John. “ Yes, dear,” said mamma. “ But, Lewis, don’t you think you owe your magazine-man an apology for calling his story ‘thin?’” Lewis turned around to the magazine, still on the floor in the corner, and, making a very low bow, “ I’m very sorry that I called yon thin, old fellow,” said he; “ you’re all right, it seems, and it’s somebody else that’s thin, after all. So now, if you’ll excuse me, we’ll Shake hands ana call it even.” So saying, he picked up the book, shook it vigorously, and laid it on the table. „ Johnny laughed. Then he gave a great yawn. “ Come,-Lew. let’s go to bed,” said he. —Christian Union.

Working men are apt to consider that their occupations alone are laborious, but in that matter they are mistaken. Labor of mind is generally even more fatiguing than labor of the body, and it is quite erroneous to suppose that others do not work as well as we do simply because their work is different from oars. Labor is the earthly condition of man, and, until the nature of man is changed, the want of something,. to do will produce all the horrors of ennui. Gambling and other reprehensible dissipations are all owing to the fact that human nature cannot support a state of idleness. T —A Detroit gentleman who purchased a box of peaches at the Central market, the other day, looked around for a boy who would carry them home, and presently he found a ragged lad seated on a bench eating the last remnant of a pear. The man asked him if be wouldn’t like to earn ten cents by carrying the box to such a number and street, and the boy promptly replied that he wouldn’t. “Why?* queried the man. “Why?” echoed the boy, “ because dad died the other day and now I’m head of the family, and bow’d I look iuggin’ peachea. around?" . '