Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 November 1874 — Page 3

UNION. JAMES A HEALET, Proprietors. , RENSSELAER, - INDIANA.

' A PRB^S-ROjf^in^. foe Transcript of Hpv. 14 says: “ A rich hoax was -sueeeseTOwy perpetrated at the dinner of the Boston Press Club, on Saturday erelong, Several letters were read purporting to come from distinguished individuals, among them ene from Brett Harte, with two ‘ ts,’ inclosing a characteristic poem which' the author of the • Heathen Chinee" would we think be almost willing to claim as indited, if not by himself, certainly by a ‘ double.’ No assertion was made at the table that the epistle or the verses came from Bret Hart with one ‘ t," but all present save the few in the secret jumped at the fallacious conclusion; apd so have several of the papers since. The lines were in fact written over the initials ‘B. H.’ by J. Cheever Goodwin, and all will agree that he was far more than a parodist, and excuse the jocose cheat very willingly."’ The following is the poem : ] ' l Bill was the cuss: Slept all night, on a pile of StockHard as a rock. But what"d he care! He’d no friends That-would make a muss If Ire slept in the streets, So he sends For a pot of beer and a bite to eat In the press-room. Where, with jes’ room To stretch out straight, He'd wait '. 1 Till the boys got round in the upper regions; And bylegions He fed the sheets to tbe hungry maws And iron jaws Of the press. k . . . ■ . ■ You can guess How he loved the machine and his work. He shirk? When he gave his word That settled it sure. Whatever it was You could be poz That he’d do as he said, if it took a leg. Not a peg Would he move, whatever he saw or heard. To break a promise Was farthest from his Thoughts of what was the duty of man, And where the law of right began. One night the boss (Member of Congress, they Bay,) Came down stairs Putting on airs (His Usual way). Pretty soon he came across Bill, who was putting the forms in place. “Bill,’" says he, “ I want a copy brought up to meryAt four o'clock in any case; For ,1 leave at live By an early train, So look alive, Or” —here his language became profane—- “ You"ll do Ft, Bill?” Says Bill, “I will.” That night at just about half-past one The bells begun That awful clangor that tells of fire. Twas oumdd place That was being burnt. When Bill learnt The fact, by his linen coat tail's blaze, The room was getting about red-hot. There was just one spot That the tire had managed so far to spare, And the press stood there. Bill wasn’t a crier, And when he saw There was no use trying to save a thing Out of the fiery dragon’s maw, lie gave one spring For the stock—there wasn’t an atom left. Bill says the heft Of his heart, When lie found there wasn't one Identical sheet that he could use, Was mor’n a tou. I-n his two hours'snooze He hadn’t taken his garments off. They came oil' now. That is, he stripped, as if for a row, Down to the buff. ■ ” r Let us draw a veil, . ■ And end this tale. What a scenethat morning sharp at four! Bill knocked at the door Of the boss’s house and out he came, Not knowing the place was ail aflame; “ Got the paper?” Says Bill: “You’re right: The blamed old office burnt down to-night. There wasn't no one hurt, And I got you a copy.” Here he gave The boss, who w as just beginning to rave, An impression struck off on his shirt. P. S.—’Twas Bill’s shirt, not the boss’s. I tell yon Bill was one of the hosses. Nov. 5,1874.

L’ENFANT TERRIBLE AND THE BAD BOY.

BY CHARLES DIMITRY.

The enfant terrible in the first stages of his career has the guise of a little St. John —to borrow a simile from the French —with the unrecognized genius of a Mephistopheles—but of a Mephistophefes'without guile. In liis second stage, however, he loses the artlessness and sweet innocence of the first stage and becomes simply and emphatically a bad boy, who is dangerous without being interesting. The enfant, t rrible proper is a living denial ot the excellence and desirability of truth and candor, as he is the best argument in favor of the hypocrisies of soeiety. Truth bubbles from his lips in confusing words, traustormed by the time it reaches the ear into the voice of accusatory Fate. He is the only inspired oracle that is left to mankind, for he is the only created thing whose instincts arenmerring and who has the hardihood in a world of sham to dare affirm what is, without fear or favor. Before his nimble tongue the humbugs the artificialities the little pretenses with which we mutually close each other’s eyes—all topple to the S round, a wreck of falsehood and detected isguises. If the enfant terrible be silent when the masquerader is around, he is silent because he is thinking; and woe to the pretender whose pretense is not unfathomable to the happily feeble intelligence of this child-seer! His observant eyes, his open ears, his logical mind—for the enfant terrible is nothing if not logical —are constantly at work aiding him to store his mental armory with weapons which shall surely cut sharply when the ready tongue, obeying the call of the inquisitive mind, makes the last fatal use of them. ts? . “ Ha, what’s a rosy-posy?” “A. rosy-posy, my sweetsipeetsy? Wherever could you have heard that wordv John, did you hear that little monkey’s question?” “Eh? Oh, yes!" “ Ma, what is a rosy-posy?” “ Why, you are a rosy-posy.” “ And is Johanna a rosy-posy,,too?” “Johanna? No; why?” Why, because pa he pinched Johanna’s cheeks yesterday behind the kitcshen-dboF - while you was out, and he said, 1 Oh, jrnu rosy-posv, you!’—didn’t you, pa?—and so Johanna must be a rosy-posy, too, ain’t siu.-4>a?” .Heje is a little dialogue which concerns ma: “ Fa, ma was right mad this mornin’.” “Mad? Why, what had you been doing, you little rogue?” “ Oh, ma wasn’t mad with me; it was with Mister Torpeder; Mister Torpeder hearted to kisaina’s hand in the parlor anatna, sl& gnre him a good slap—-didn’t you, ma? - 1 tell you ma was mad with Mister Torpeder.” JVIa, suddenly compelled to make pronoun for the entertainment of an old friend w hom pa has brought home unexpectedly to dinner, consoles herself with the remark, in the hearing of the enfant terible, that the soup will just go round, 1 and adds nervously to pa: ' 1 “How dreadful t*mild it be if Dawkins fl>r souji a second time—sqm), you know, is his favorite dish."

At dinner, the catastrophe feared actually occurs. “ Your soud, njy dear ma’am,” blandly observes Dawkins, in * jComplimantary tone, “ is so delightful that I will take the libe'rty’bf requesting just another spoonful, if you please.” “ Oh, ma, how dreadful Mr. Dawkins wants some mote soup, and there ain’t enough 8° round but once!” exclaims the unforgetlui enfant terrible , anxiously looking at the plate that Dawkins extends toward the empty tureen. Maj. Pepper, a well-preserved old beau, precise and formal in manners, fastidious in dress, touchy in disposition, and as vain - as a turkeyqrobbler of his influence widi the sex—Maj. Pepper is a tefl'iously-constant visitor at the house of a certain enfant terrible —a young and vivacious widow. Intentions matrimonial, and in consequence rather bothersome to Trippitt, a young gallant, whose intentions are similar, and whom he always permits to leave the widow’s presence first on the occasion of a call. “ Hangit,” as the Major vigorously remarks to himself, “ I’ll have the last word with the widow if I’ve got to wing that young parrot to have it!” The question with the widow is, how to get rid of the Major without causing ill-feeling. Enfant terrible solves the problem in his own way—rather abruptly, -however. —-———- - Standing with his hands clasped behind him, with his sturdy legs stretched apart, and gazing contemplatively at Maj. Pepper, while that suitor is airily turning a complimentary period, he interrupts his platitudes with: I Maj. Peppers, is you as ole as ole Methusleum?” “ Why, what dy’e mean?” “ Our Susan says you’s ever so ole; she says you’s as ole as the hills.” “ Why, you little— —” “ifu-jor iVp-per!” interrupts the widow, bridling up. “I would prefer that no names be applied to my child! It may be his misfortune that he is intelligent beyond his years, but that is no reason why he should be shamefully spoken to in this way!” “ Shamefully spoken to in this way! Madam, your child may be a prodigy of precocity—and I dare* say he is—but it strikes me that he has been put up to this thing. It was only day before yesterday, while I was waiting for you, that he inquired of me why 1 came to the house so often —in the presence of Trippitt, too, by the way, who had the impudence to giggle behind his handkerchief; and last week when I casually asked him what I should bring him as a present he actually replied that he would like to have a live jackass!” “ Well, sir, I don’t see anything so extraordinary in that answer.” “ Don’t you, indeed, madam? Nothing in the way of a suggestion —of a diabolical innuendo?” “ Goodness gracious, no! But it seems to me, Maj. Pepper, that a person of your age should reflect before beginning to quarrel with a child of four years.” “J quarrel with a child! Why, hang it! —beg pardon -this is worse than the boy’s insolence!” “ Yes, quarrel with a child—l repeat it. And, as regards the age of Methuselah —which the child absurdly twisted it into Methusleum —there was nothing in the question that should have aroused your anger. Nobody knows positively, how old Methuselah was. Some authorities put his age at not more than one hundred and thir ” “Eh? Well, Madam, I have too profound a regard for your sex to allow myself to be vexed at anything a lady may say to me; but, as for this ill-bred little nuisance of yours, I should like to lay him across my knee for a minute or two!" “ Maj. Pepper!” “ Madam —l—l ” Vivacious widow rises, pale and panting. Maj. Pepper rises, as red in the face as the commodity of which his name is the synonym. “It occurs to me, Madam, that this interview had better end here. Goodmorning.” “ And the acquaintance, if you please. Crcod-morning, Major.” The first stage of the enfant terrible may be said to last until the age of seven years; up to that period he may be described as inopportune and artless. As he grows older, however, he becomes, as before stated, simply the “ bad boy,” and generally develops into the open and avowed enemy of his older sister, especially when the latter’s beau happens to be on hand. It is the normal condition of the bad boy to be never allowed to go where he wishes to go; and this is why we uniformly find him expelled from the parlor. To him the parlor is what the seventh heaven is to the followers of the Prophet i but in order that it may present this fascination to him it must be occupied —especially Hty his older sister and her beau. Tte'watehes for the young —or old—gentleman’s coming with pertinacity, and when the latter finally comes he uses every strategy to obtain admittance. He may enter under the wretched subterfuge of inquiring of the beau —as if that person knew anything about it—the latitude of Borneo or the exact temperature of Patagonia; and when his sister (as she invariably does) promptly orders him out, and the beau refers him to the geography he holds in his hand, he retires with an insolent chuckle which brings a blush to the beau’s cheeks. If a sturdy and defiant boy, as he often is, he will force his way in violently when the mood is oh’hiin, and, as lie is never at a loss for ingenious methods of torment, his sister is compelled to cry a truce. It is a great pleasure with the bad boy to be able to out-sit his sister’s beau; still greater is his delight when he sees that he makes them uncomfortable by remaining. On such occasions he is never sleepy, although he nods almost immediately after denying the fact, if charged with an inclination to slumber. He likewise derives great satisfaction from offering to walk off on his ear for the beau’s edification, or from challenging him to a game of mumble-the-peg on the carpet, if in a cheerful mood he will almost invariably appropriate to himself whatever attentions the beau has to spare, to his sister’s utter discomfiture. Nine out of ten men in such a position, noi knowing of the existence of the skeleton in the closet, will pet the bad boy Under the dclnsion that nis friendly notice of the lad will be a passport to (he family’s—and the sister’s—favor. Outside, of gourse, the suitor.anathematizes him as afnghtful little monster"; but it is only when matters have so progressed in his affair that his lady-love is enabled to impart to him in confidence that the boy is the torment of her life that he throws off the ma k and’brutally invites him to go and play sofiiewhere else. The bad boy is most triumphant when he can manage to come into possession of some secret of his sister’s —secret, of

course, so far as the beau is concerned. It is then that he concocts carefullyplanned surprises, and revenges himself for liis expulsion from the parlor by threats Of disastrous "revelations. He treasures .up casual remarks and holds them np before bis sister! as a warning and a terror. So long as, overcoming his natural tendency to proclaim his knowledge of things, the bad boy can refrain from telling what he knows, he possesses In his sister’s secret a powerful talisman wherewith to extort her obedience to his exactions. He is even permitted to enter the parlor freely on his promise, which he ratifies with an “ honest vow,” that he will not stay very long, and that he M ill not pull the caller’s coat-tail, or tickle his ear, making believe it is bugs, or offer to walk off on bis own. If on such occasions the caller be the one. concerning whom the sister may have made the remark which forms the great “ secret,” the bad boy wiH not resist the temptation to swing his legs under his chair and clap his hands together softly, with an “ Oh, I know something, I know something!” and a glance at the beau which says, as plainly as words, “ Wouldn’t' you like to know what it is, now?” If the beau be a little uncertain regarding the opinion entertained of him by the sister—although his vanity naturally- infers that the ©pinion is a favor--able one—he will probably be urgent to know what the bad boy knows. “ Come now, Joey, out with it! What do you know?” he will exclaim. “ Now, Joe,” will the sister say, coaxingly, but trembling in her boots. Beau, more confident than ever, and vastly pleased with himself, continues to play with fire by questioning the boy. “Never mind Sis,” with an arch and significant glance at that young lady, “what is it, Joey?” “Don’t question him, please,” from sister, imploringly. “Well, I’ll let you off this time,” magnanimously, anu with a fine sense of proprietorship in his tone —“ I’ll let you off this time, but some other day, when you are not here, I’ll get Joey to tell - me.” _ „± And so passes away the danger for the moment. . , The time comes, however —as it must inevitably come —when the bad boy, smarting under some fresh injury to Ms feelings, makes the revelation. The -war between himself and his sister, which has been temporarily interrupted by the arrival of the beau, is resumed in his presence. Tne sister imprudently informs him that he is worrying thijj, visitor, and requests him to let the laiter’s ear alone. “ Don’t encourage him, Mr. Bodkin,” she says, raspingly. “ lie ought to be in bed and asleep, instead of troubling people at this hour.” “ Oh,” says the beau, kindly, “he doesn’t disturb me. I rather like Joey’s ways; lie’s got so much life in him, has Joey!” “ 1 suppose,” remarks the bad boy to his sister, “ you’d like him to encourage you, —wouldn’t you? You know w r hat you said the other day.” “ You, Joe! If you dare, now!” “Let’s have it, Joey! What loas it that Sis said ?” “ She said something about you; and she needn’t look at me in that way. I ain’t afeard of her!” “ Go out of the parlor this instant, sir! Do let him alone, Mr. Bodkin. I have no patience with him.” “ I want to hear first what Joey has to say.” __ . . “Well, I think it’s very mean of you to say that, especially when Joe would just as soon make up a story as not. Here, you, Joe, come out!” Dragged to the door, kicking and scratching with all his strength, the bad boy turns at the threshold, and suddenly checks the beau’s laughter with the following crushing revelation, which he shrieks back at him, as the door closes on him: “ Sis told ma you was the biggest fool she ever saw, and she just wished you wouldn’t keep on coming here!” It is well for society perhaps that this type of child rarely carries with him into the arena of mature manhood the traits and the disposition that made liis childhood terrible. If he should progress from the condition of the. enfant terrible into that of the bad boy he seldom adds more to it than the closing dangerous stage of wild young man. As he grows into maturity the memory of Mliat he once was fades away, and he drops quietly into the ways of the orderly citizen and the man of family. Nobody is more astonished than he at the extraordinary forwardness of some children, of the performances and sayings, of the enfant terrible and the bad boy reach his ear. Indeed, he himself may have an enfant terrible at home —his eldest-born—and, if this second edition of his own earlier years should at any time violate the proprieties and throw everybody, parents, guests, and all, into confusion by some artless inquiry or embarrassing remark, he will be the first, probably, to express wonder at the circumstance. “ Wife” (we can imagine him as saying), “that Tom of ours is a most Singular child. Did you hear him to-night when he asked my old friend Jarnagin whether he had two beards, and what he had done with that black beard he wore here last Wednesday to dinner? Who ever would have thought that so young a child would have noticed that Jarnagin sometimes forgets to dye his whiskers? Where in the world could our Tom have acquired this trait of his?” And then the Reformed enfant terrible looks curiously at his wife, who shakes her head, and looks curiously, in her turn, at the little monster in the trundlebed, who sleeps the peaceful sleep of the innocent. “Oh,” exclaims the wife, “look! Is auythingtthe matter with him? See how hard-set his mouth is, and his lips arcmoving.” “ Nothing is the matter with him—nothing, except, perhaps, that Jpe is dreaming about Jarnagin.” Ah, child of shadowy youth! are you looking forward to the future to • see yourself, changing with the changing years, climbing that ascent whereon the rare violets and roses that bloom at its foot are misplaced, after a while, by unsightly flowers and by stinging thistles? Do you see your face, from which the light of childhood has passed away, w ith the shade of later knowledge upon it—the shade which shall gradually deepen ■asthe years of adolescence gather behind you, and which shall grow at last to be an ineffaceable shadow when the world is opened before you? Do you see ho,w, one by one, the brave aspirations of your youth have perished by the roadside, and how the little airy bubbles of hope, light and fantastic as the visions of a dreamer in Cathay, have burst and vanished forevermore? Dreaming of Jarnagin, I wonder? — Appleton's Journal.

PHUNNYGRAMS.

—“You look as if you were beside , yourself," the wag said to a fellow who stood by the side of an ass. —This is the way the Indian magistrates of Natick used to issue their warrants: “You, you big constaole, quick you catchum Jeremiah Offscow, strong you holdam, safe you bringum afore me. Thomas Waban, justice peace ” —The eclipse was not all moonshine, but that talk about the earth’s shadow was humbug. A Chicago girl raised her foot to scratch her ankle, and the foot got between the sun and the moon. — Milwaukee Sentinel. —The typographical fiend has at last come to grief. A printer in the Lynchburg Republican office had his hand disabled the other day by the bite of a coon. He had spelt the animal’s name with ak. And now he bitterly repents it. —“ Didn’t I tell you to have my hot water at the chamber door early in the morning?” savagely exclaimed a gentle- 1 man to his servant. “ Well, didn’t I bring it up over night to make sure on it?” responded the servant, in an injured tone. —A man being interrogated on a trial, spoke several words with great impropriety; and at last, saying the word curiosty, a counselor exclaimed: “How that fellow murders the English language!” “Nay,” returned the other, “ he has only knocked an I out.” —A perplexed sclineider, who had madea garment for a youth and found himself unable to dispose of the surplus fullness which appeared when trying it on the young candidate, declared vociferously: “De coat is goot. Is no fault of de coat De poy is too tin.” —“Jabezi Jabez!” a Sixth street woman was heard shrieking to her husband a little after midnight, “ get up and come to the window; here’s the eclipse!” “All right,” murmured Jabez, sleepily, “ tell ’em to set it on the steps, ’n I’lh look at it in th’ morning. Gu-r-r-r!”— Burlington Hawk-Eye. —Two soldiers were heard conversing during the Mexican war. “ What brought you here?” said one. “To tell the truth, love of adventure. I have no family ties, and I enlisted because I wanted to see some fighting.” “ Alas!” said the other, “ I am a married man, and i came here for exactly the opposite reason—i wanted to see some peace.”

Paper Pellets.

Unless a woman haz a large invoice ov good common sense it iz a dangerous thing for her to be smarter than her husband. Stik and hang, yung man; it iz allwuss the last six inches in a race that wins the munny. Tliare iz nothing in this world more skarse just now than a truly humble man. A man kant tell one lie and then stop, enny more than lie kan tap a barrell ov nu cider and draw just a'spoonful out and no more. Thare never, waz a man yet so ritch or exalted but what the finding a gold doliar on the sidewalk sent a thrill of delite all thrue him. Sum men allwuss site the best on the under side, and yu will notiss one thing, theze men are the hardest kind to whip. Weak persons are the wust ones we liav to deal ivith; it takes sum strength ov karakter to be even a respektable fool. We find full az much in the karakters ov our best friends to reprove az we do to brag on. Thare iz nothing so helthy for enny boddy az good honest abuse. Az long az yu don’t want to borrow ennything yu will find plenty ov folks who are anxious to lend you suintliing. The fust three notes i endorsed i had to pay, and i hope it will be just so with the next j If a nia%ifi?int got strength ov karakter enuff to live down lies and slander, he better leave this world for sum other. Philosophy iz not a cure for ail, nor even euny evils, but it duz take the gaul out ov them mightily. Kuriosity iz the same in_all people ; the vulgar stare M’ith their eyes and mouths wide open, but the refined peek thru a„ crack. Thare iz only one man kan stand ridikule without winceing, and he iz a loafer. Tung man, politeness ig a kard thatyu kan alwuss pla and not make enny mistake. It will allmost win on a hornet or a mule. I hav alius been able to trace mi good or bad luck to good or bad management, and i guess others kan if they will only hunt honest!*^** When a man beats us it shocks our vanity more than it duz our morality. One ov the best things and at the same time the most diffikult to do iz to be humble. Men seldom repent az long az they are prosperous. It takes adversity to bring a person down on his kneeze. - Thare iz nothing as rare az good judgment, nor nothing which most people think they hav got so mutch ov. The person who iz anxious to take a sekret to keep iz the last one Mho ought to be entrusted with it. Thare iz noboddy makes enny more blunders .than those who thiuk they don’t make enny. —Josh Billings , in N. Y. Weekly.

Structure of a Cow’s Horn.

It is often the case that in the commonest objects we may see, if we like, beautiful examples of engineering structures. 1 take the anatomy of the cow’s horn as a good example. A few days since I was inspecting ’'tlie large tanneries of the Messrs. Hamlyn, at Buckfastleigh, on the River Dart, Devonshire. In one of the backyards was a mountain of the skulls and horns of cows.of all sons and kinds. Here there was a treasure worthy of investigation; so I got on to the mountain of horns and skulls and picked out some beautiful specimens which Mr. Hamlyn kindly gave me in order to make sections, etc. I find that over the brain of the cow a strong roof of bone is thrown in the shape,of an arch, so as to form a substantial foundation for the horns. This roof is not solid, but is again strengthened below by a series of bony arches that aie so distributed As jp form of hallow chambers, thus forming a structure uniting strength with lightness. The problem now is, how to fasten the horn on each side on to this buttress. The horn itself must, of course,'be formed of horn proper, t. e., hardened air. In the rhinocerb3 we find a horn composed entirely of a solid mass of what is really a bunch of hair, agglutinated together; but this kind of horn wpuld have been much too heavy for the cow’s convenient use. What is to be done ? Why, hollow out the 'center of the

horn, of course; but stay— this will not do, because how is the horn to be supplied with blood-vessels? in fact, how is it to grow? Let us see how it is done by the Great Designer. . : ' ; ' Cut the born right across with a saw and you; will find inside another horn, only made of bone. If the section is made about one-third of the way down the length of the hprn you will be able to pick out a piec&jpf bone in the shape of a cone on which, or rather round which, the horn proper has shaped itself. This bone fits the cavity with the greatest accuracy; it is as light as the thinnest paper and yet as strong as a cone of tin, It is everywhere perforated with holes, which in life contained the nerves, the veins and arteries, and we know a cow has all these in her hornß; nerves, proved by the fact that cows do not like their horns touched and that they can scratch a fly off' their hides with the tip of the horn; arteries and veins, proved by the fact that a horn, when broken, will bleed, and that the horn of a living cow feels quite warm when held in the hand, besides which the nerves and arteries form a union between the internal core of bone and the external covering of horn proper. If we now cut the rest of the horn into sections we shall find that the inside of the bony part is really hollow, but that very strong buttresses of bone are thrown (about every inch or so) across the cavity of the horn in such a manner as to give it the greatest possible supand strength. I have cut a cow’s orn and skull into several sections to show these- buttresses of bone, and now that the preparation is finished I have- another specimen to show that there is design and beauty in all created objects. —Frank Buckland, in Land and Water.

The Mound-Builders of Ohio.

The first settlers of the Ohio and Mississippi Valleys found various forms of earthworks in the solitudes of the wilderness overgrown with dense forests. It is said that Ohio alone has 10,000 of these in the form of mounds of various sizes, and 1,500 inclosures are scattered through the State. They are found in Illinois, Wisconsin and other Western States, and in the Gulf States, varying in size. Some are small hillocks two or three feet high, while others assume almost pyramidal magnitude, like the, mound at Caliokia, 111., which has a base of more than six acres, a summit “of TteSTT ly five acres in area and a height of ninety feet. One of the most elaborate of all these works is located at Newark, Ohio. It is labyrinthine in structure, containing some fifteen miles of embankment, and after years of investigation archaeologists can do no more than surmise as to what - its uses were. Clearly it cannot have been built for architectural purposes, for the inclosures of which it principally consists have the ditches on the inside of the embankment, while the outside presents no visible obstacle to an invading army. One Of the largest of these inclosures, and the best preserved, is known as the “ old fort,” and stands one and one-half miles southwest of the city of Newark. It consists of a circular embankment of more than a mile in circumference, entirely unbroken except on the side toward the city, where a mammoth gateway, 100 feet wide, was constructed by the builders. On each side of this passage the ends of the embankment project a little from the center of the inclosure and rise to a height of twenty-five feet, while the general height is about eighteen. Upon this embankment, and within the ditch on the inside, the trees are as large as those upon the undisturbed portions of the ground around and within the fort. The citizen still lives in Newark who cut an oak tree upon this bank sixty-two years ago which numbered over 650 rings of annual growth. From this mammoth gateway two parallel walls of earth, a few rods apart, lead to a rectangular inclosure over half a mile to the northeast, which has an area of about twenty acres; beyond which, nearer the city, are still other works, traces of which are somewhat jobUterated. From this network near the city two sets of parallel walls run west more than two miles to another inclosure in the form of an octagon, containing about fifty acres, to the southwest of which, and almost joining it, is another circle about equal in size to the “ old fort.” Both of these are situated on a range of hills. The plowshare has performed its work of demolition to some extent upon the Walls of these latter inclosures, with the exception of one point in the circular embankment. This consists of earth and stone somewhat irregularly built to the height of twenty-five feet, and, as it lies to the extreme southwest of the whole system of works, it is thought by some that this was the watchtower or signal station on the west. When, by whom, and for what purpose these mammoth works were built, are puzzles which have always baffled the skill of archeologists. It is evident that they were built long ages ago, for where the timber has not been removed by civilized man, as in the case of the “ old fort,” dense forests covered the works, which must have required a thousand vear3 to grow where they now stand. It is not altogether unreasonable to suppose that generation after generation of forests hat- grown and decayed upon this soil since it was built by the dusky savages into the form we now find it. Also oth#r things’go to prove the antiquity of these works. The Indian had no knowledge or tradition concerning their erection. Skulls found at the bottom of some of these mounds differ greatly from those of the Indian. Also a species of hemp cloth has been found in some of them, a thing unknoMn to the Indian. From these and many other facts one may reasonably conclude that they were erected by a race of people anterior to the Indian race, whom by common consent we will call the Mound-Builders. For M’hat purpose these works were constructed has not been satisfactorily settled. Some have the appearance of military structures; others look as though they were built for purposes of observation, while still others seem to have ■ been designed for religions or burial purposes. Some mounds have the ; form of birds, serpents, alligators, !or other animals. The “ old fort” at i Newark has a mound in the center sevI era! feet high and about fifty feet long, j built in the shape of an eagle with spread | wings. Upon removing the earth from the top of this mound charred wood and ashes were discovered. What this indicates it is difficult to tell. Perhaps the priest of some mighty nation once offered sacrifice upon this mound in the presence of the assembled thousands. Or it may have been here the concluding ceremony of some national game was performed. Notwithstanding the manner of constructing the works, their appearance is decidedly military. It takes

but little imagination to fill that vast arena with dusky savages, or to believe that the wall was once thronged with a dark array. Perhaps that mighty gateway witnessed the final struggle of an extinct race. One of our bestmstdriana says: ‘ 4 The American Indian, when nr*t known to the whites, was destitute of all knowledge of the arts and sciences.” It certainly was no barbaric skill that could trace out those perfect circles, or survey those rectangles and octagons, much leas control the tens of thousands of laborers that must have been necessary to construct these earthen walls. But it is all a mystery. One can only wonder that such a mighty people should so completely pass away as to leave no trace of their history but these piles of earth.— Newark {Ohio) Cor. N. Y. Tribune.

A Supposed Corpse Comes to Life After Being on Ice for Three Days.

A most remarkable instance of a supposed corpse having been found to possess signs of animation, and really being restored to life after lying on ice for three days, has just transpired at Yonkers, Westchester County. It appears that a seven-year-old child of a machinist named Miller, living on Riverdale avenue, in the city above mentioned, having been in delicate health almost from the time of its birth, was attacked by an unusually severest of Illness last Thursday morning. A physician was called in, and he, after apparently satisfying himself as to the course of treatment to be adopted, prescribed for the little one, and on leaving intimated that he would call again in the afternoon. It is understood that the medicine prescribed was a powerful opiate; but whether this was the case or not, it is asserted that when the medical man called in the afternoon a glance at his late patient induced him to pronounce the child dead. The services of an undertaker were, of course, at once procured, and by him the supposed corpse was tenderly prepared for the last rites, and then placed in an ice coffin until the usual time for interment should have elapsed. A wake was accordingly held, and mourning relatives and friends “ sat up” with the body day and night until Sunday afternoon, the time announced for the funeral. Friends of the family had gathered in considerable numbers to assist in paying tbeir tribute of respect to the sorrowing parents, and, almost everything being in readiness for the committal of “dust tp dust,” the undertaker and his assistant, on transferring the body from the ice coffin to the casket in which it was about to be interred, were struck with astonishment at the peculiar appearance of the remains. It Mas noticed that there was a marked absence of rigor mortis, or that stiffness which is an inseparable concomitant of departed life. This discovery produced an indescribably painful state of anxiety to the parents, while the half-frightened guests crowded around the ambiguous corpse, suggesting various means of testing whether the child was really alive or dead. Three or four physicians were sent for, and they at once commenced a thorough search for any lingering evidence of vitality that might remain in the subject, resorting, among other means, to that of tying a cord tightly on the fingers, whereby it was seen that the nails changed color, plainly indicating that the heart had not ceased to perform its all-important functions. When if became apparent that there was life in the child, the most approved manner of administering restoratives was resorted to, and accordingly a more palpable degree of vitality was produced, although it is doubtful if the little one, who was so providentially rescued from a living tomb, can long survive the protracted freezing ordeal through which it has passed. The child was still alive last evening. —New York Herald , Nor. 17.

Limit Your Wants.

Lord Bolingbroke, in his “ Reflections Upon Exile,” says: “ Our natural and real wants are confined to narrow bounds, while those which fancy and custom create are confined to none.” Young men who are just entering upon life, and forming the habits which are likely to adhere to them to its close, will do well to treasure up in memory these true and instructive words of one of England’s finest writers and most philosophic statesmen 1 “ Our natural and real wanfs are confined to narrow bounds.” It is surprising how little it is that is absolutely essential to man’s existence, and, if he will take an intelligent and considerate view of life, to his comfort and happiness. Intellectual enjoyments are comparatively cheap. The cultivation of the mind, which atfordß the highest and the only enduring satisfaction, can be pursued on an income quite insignificant for the supply of luxuries. Our physical wants are very few if we preserve our tastes simple as they are by nature. To eat, to drink, to exercise, to sleep, to keep warm and to be sheltered; a small sum will supply all these necessities. The pleasures which are pure, and which tend to our improvement, -are within the reach of almost every one. But the wants which fancy and custom create, as Lord Bolingbroke well says, are confined to no bounds. It is against these that young men on the threshold of life should sedulously guard. Beware of luxurious and expensive habits. The gratification of them m> y cost you much of the labor and time which, if given to intellectual cultivation, w,quld be far more conducive to happiness. It is easy to do without that which yoi| have never indulged in. It is hard to leave ofl habits, however extravagant and absurd. When you are to decide about adopting a mode or style ot living, consider well whether it is certain that, without inconvenience, you will be always able to preserve it. The only safe rule is to keep your wants within narrow bounds. —Pen and Pl> w. —ln the ordinary course of business two telegrams were recently sent from New York to London, and answers received to one in thirty and to the other in thirty-five, minutes actual dine. Each message was transmitted 3,600 miles and passed through the hands of eighteen persons. The message and reply in each case passed through the hands of thirtysix persons, and traveled over 7,000 miles in thirty to thirty-five minutes. —The new trade dollar prepared especially for circulation in Japan and China has already displaced $9,000,000 of Mexican coin in those far-off realms. —ln 1873 it cost $63,500 to distribute SB,OOO among the poor of Boston through the interposition of certaii fraudulent charitable societies.