Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 14, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 December 1874 — Page 3

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

THE CHRISTMAS BABY. "Tha’rt welcome, little bonny brid, But shouldn't h»' come just when tha' did;. Teimes are bad.” —Old English. Ballad. Hoot! ye little rascal! yo come it on me this way, Crowdin' yerself amongst us this blusterin' winter’s day, Knowin’ that we already have three of ye, an' seven, in' tryin’ to make yerself out a Christmas present o’Heaven? Ten of ye have we now, sir, for this world to abuse; An' Bobbie he have no waistcoat, an' Nellie she have no shoes, An' Sammie he have no shift, sir (I tell it to his shame), . , An’ the one that was just before ye we am t had time to name! An’ all o' the banks bo smaahin’, an’ on us poor folk fall; , l _, x An' Boss he whittles the wages when work s to Be had at all; An’ Tom he have, cut his. foot oft, an’ lies m a woful plight. An’ all of us wonders at mornin’ as what we shall eat at night; An’ but your father an’ Sandy a-findin' somewhat to do, An’ but for the preacher’s woman, who often helps us through. An’ but for your poor dear mother a-doin’ twice her part, Ye’d a seen us all in heaven afore ye was ready to start ! An’ now ye have come, ye rascal! so healthy an ’ fat an' sound, A-weighin’, I’ll wager a dollar, the full of a dozen pound! With yer mother's eyes a-flashin’, yer father’s flesh an’ build, An’ a good big mouth an’ stomach all ready for to be tilled! No, no! don’t cry, my baby! hush up, my pretty one! Don't get my chaff layer eye, boy—l only was just iii fiin. “ “ ' ' ~ Ye’ll like us when ye know us, although we’re ===== cur’us folks; —— But we don’t get much victual, an half our livin’ is jokes! Why, boy, did ye take me in earnest? Come, sit upon my knee; I’ll tell ye a secret, youngster—l’ll name ye after /me. Ye shall haVe all yer brothers an’ sisters with ye to play, An" ye shall have yer .carriage, an’ ride out every day! Why, boy, do ye think ye’ll sutler? I'm gettiii’ a trine old," —— — - : : But it’ll be many years yet afore I lose my hold; An’ if I should tali on the road, boy, still them’s . yer brothers, there, " ' An’ not a rogue of’em ever would see ye harmed a hair. Say! when ye come from heaven, my little namesake dear. Did ye see, ’mongst the little girls there, a face like this one here? That was yer little sister—she died a year ago, An’ all of us cried like babies when they laid her under the snow I Hang it !“if all the noli rnenA ever see or knew?" Came here with all their traps, boy, an’ offered ’em for you, I’d show ’em to the door, sir, so quick they’d think it odd, Before I'd sell to another my Christmas gift from “Z“God! Will Carleton, in Harper's Weekly.

AUNT JERUSHA’S CAT.

A New Year’s Story. Little Bessie Atwood had neither father, mother, sister nor brother. She was all alone in the world and was about as miserable as any little girl could be. To be sure, she was well and strong and “in full possession of Tier five senses; but Bessie was twelve years old and realized fully the unpleasantness of her position. Sirs. Murdock had offered her a home for the chores she could do, and Bessie soon found that she was expected to work hard from early in the, morning until the children were all snug in bed at night. The chief cause of Bessie’s trouble was not so much the work, for Bessie was an industrious child; but that she was not allowed to go to school. Mrs. Atwood hadtauMit'herdaughter to read and write a Tittle, and Bessie could do sums in long division and parse easy sentences in her reader. She knew something of geography, too, and had stored away in her little head a clearer knowledge of historical events than is usually possessed by young ladies double her age; but when she came to live at Mrs. Murdock’s all these pleasures of study were forbidden her. — : —- —-—, “ I have no objections to your reading and writing, Bessie,” said the mistress, one day, in answer to the child’s earnest appeal to be allowed some time to improve herself, “after your work is don’e. Of course, you know that I only took you in out of charity. 1 didn’t like the idea of a girl as capable as you being sent to the asylum; but Mr. Murdock isn’t rich, by any manner of means, and you will have to earnwhat you eat and the clothes you wear.” “Oh! Mrs. Murdock,” continued Bessie, pleadingly, “if you only would let me go to schpol part of the day I would be wiffing to work half the night to pay for it. lam losing all my dear mother taught me, and I shall grow up. nothing but a poor, ignorant servant.” “ Well, I declare!” burst in Mrs. Murdock, with flashing eyes and a very red face. '“ If ever I heard such impudence! If not a servant what do you expect to be, Bessie Atwood?” Mrs. Murdock’s tones were intensely irritating, but Bjessie replied, quietly, checking the inclination to cry: “ 1 hoped to be able to tit myself for a teacher, Mrs. Murdock. This is the work my mother commenced.” Your mother, was always too big for her clothes,” replied the mistress, coarsely. For a moment Bessie’s eyes flashed with temper. To hear her darling motherthus insultingly spoken of was rather more than she could bear. It yas on licit lips to say: “ My mother was a lady; but you don’t know what the word means.” I>ut she controlled herself, and went on scouring the kuives, her eyes blindedi with tears and her heart so full of pentup agony that it was all she could do to keep from screaming. “If you are going to snivel, turn your head the other way,” said the hardhearted woman; and with these miserable words left the kitchen. Bessie tried Xo compose herself, and went over all i the things her mother had said to her about controlling her temper and keeping her conscience_void of offense and her heart pure and lovmg. But the dreadful sentences had sjufik deep into Bessie’s sensitive-wuUJ&tid'she found it hard even to ask God to help her to be calm and gentle “ How dare she speak so of my mother? IlotV dare she?” muttered Bessie. Juet Then the kitchen door opened and Aunt •Terusha entered, all out of breath. Aunt -Terusha was an aged Quaker lady, who lived in a small cottage about a quarter of a mile from the home of tligr Murdocks. tshe bad evidently walked very fast, and was laboring under considerable excitement.

“ Has thee seen anything of my, cat, Bessie?" was her first question. , “No, Auntie,”- said Bessie, smiling through her tears. “ I hope you haven’t lost him.” Aunt Jerusha’s cat was her only companion, and was a big Maltese animal that one of her sons had brought her from over the sea. Some of the boys in the neighborhood, knowing how fond the old lady was of this pet, took every opportunity to annoy her by stealing it and carrying it a great distance out of town, and then leaving it to die or get back just as the poor creature was best able. Tom had returned safe from innumerable excursions of this kind, and might perhaps from this, Aunt Jerusha thought, but the poor old woman had a good deal of doubt about it. The circumstances were unusually aggravating. One of the neighbors had seen Tom in the hands of Hal Murdock, Mrs. Murdock’s eldest son; and, as he was a terror to the whole village, the case looked dubious. Aunt Jerusha told Bessie all about it; and Bessie promised if she saw the cat or heard anything of him to let Aunt Jerdsha know immediately. “Thee has been crying, little girl,” said the loving old lady. “Is it because thee has so much to do, dear?” “ No, Aunt Jerusha," answered Bessie. “ I want to go to school. I don’t care so much about the.work, but I can’t bear to think that I must grow up a poor, good-for-nothing, ignorant girl.” And now Bessie was driving back the tears again. “Thee is both right and wrong this morning, little girl,” said Aunt Jerusha. “Right because thee should desire to improve thyself, and should be determined to use all the means in thy power to accomplish it; but when thee sees that all this don’t amount to anything then thee should try and remember that our time isn’t God’s time. Anything that is right and noble we have a perfect right to strive after. If we can’t get it just when we want it that don’t signify that we are never to get it, only that God knows best. He hasn’t forgotten thee, dear. Scour thy knives and wash thy dishes, and be sure that everything thee undertakes to do thee does throughly, never mind what it is. Be faithful over a few things, Bessie, and all that is great and good and true in thee will one day, when thy Heavenly Father sees it is time, be brought into the perfect light. Bear and ibrbear, Bessie, but be true to thyself and thy honest convictions. I was about to say even if thee has to light for it, although fighting is not a part of our creed.” “ Oh! Aunt Jerusha, you have done me so much good,” exclaimed Bessie. “I never will be impatient and cross again, never mind what happens.” “Oh! yes, thee will. Don’t make any such promises,” said Auntie, smiling. “ The devil is a very wily old rascal, and he creeps into very small places sometimes. Remember, Bessie’, if thee sees anything of my cat thee is to let me know right away.” Bessie reiterated her promise, and Aunt Jerusha started for home. All the rest of that day Bessie scrubbed, and sang, and wheeled the baby, and washed dishes; and Mrs. Murdock, whojiad not recovered from the rumpus of the morning, looked on and wondered. She couldn’t tell how a girl with any spirit (and she knew Bessie did not lack spirit) could so soon be good-natured again. Christmas had passed, and Bessie had been quite overlooked. The Christmas tree in the parlor had been loaded down with presents for the young Murdocks, t>ut poor Bessie had had no part nor share in these festivities... True, Mrs. Murdock gave her an old alpaca dress to cut and make over for herself; but this was all. And for this Bessie was not in the least grateful. The next day was'New Year’s, and about as cold as cold could be. Bessie’s poor little fingers were so numb as she made the fire in the kitchen stove that it was as much as she could do to lay the sticks together ; but the child kept bravely on, saying over to herself Aunt Jerusha’s words of cheer which had done her so much good the day before, and after a little was rewarded with a bright fire and a comfortable room. What was that queer sound Bessie heard every once in awhile like something scratching and clawing in the cellar below? She listened and finally opened half of the huge outride door and peered down into the darkness beneath. Just then came a decided and pitiful meaw, and Bessie knew that Aunt Jerusha’s cat was down there. Just then She heard the boys coming down-stairs and had only time to get back to the kitchen before theywere upon her. She heard Hal whisper to Frank as she set the breakfast-table: “ We’ll let him be there till after dinner; and then we’ll take him to the barn and put on those nut shoes, set a match to the end of his tail and send him kiting. Poor old Aunt Jerush, what do you think she’ll say when Mr. Thomas Cat flies-past her house?” The whole plot was thus discovered. How Bessie was to manage to take that cat to Aunt Jerusha or, let Aunt Jerusha know that the animal was confined in the Murdocks’ cellar was more than she could imagine. She could not leave ihe house until after breakfast; and not then if the children were anywhere in the vicinity. About half-past ten —a time that seemed an age to poor Bessie—the boys strolled oil’ down the street. Then Bessie concluded she would tell Mrs. Murdock about the cat and ask her permission to take him to . his owner. This she did very prettily and frankly, and this was the answer she received: “If the boys want to have a little fun with that fussy old woman’s cat it is certainly none of iny business, and if you know when you are well oil’ you won’t make it any of yours-. Just assure as you do you'll get yourself into trouble. The boys expect tc have' a' good time New Year’s Day. Beat up those eggs now, and get all my things togethef for the pudding, and I'll be down in half an hour to make it.” Bessie’s little feet fairly flew over that kitchen floor. She had decided to keep the promise she made to Aunt Jerusha, at all hazards. She thought the subject over in every light, and decided that it was right; and so, after sh£ had arranged everything for Mrs. Murdock, she tied on her bonnet and shawl, took a large covered basket, and went down into the cellar. Poor Tom was securely tied, and she was compelled to go back to the kitchen for a. knife, to cut the cords with. All this necessarily consumed some minutes, and when Bessie emeiged from the regions below, with poor Kitty trembling and bruised in the. basket, it seemed to, her 'hat she was quite as badly frightened as the animal she had in charge. She heard Mrs. Murdock 4*ll after .iter from an upper window: “ Jessie Atwbbd, where are you going? Conn? back this minute!” But Bessie turned neither to the righjt nor left. She didn’t even think oT what awaited her on her return. She had just

begun to congratulate herself that Aunt Jerusha’s cottage would be soon reached —indeed, it was in plain half a dozen boys, blowing tin hornsand hooting and bellowing in the rudest and maddest manner, came rushing toward her. Hal and Frank were among the foremost, and immediately suspected What sl»e had in the basket. “ Give me that cat, you hussy,” shouted Hal, “or I’ll give you a good punch.” All the effect this threat had upon Bessie was to make her hold on to her charge the firmer. “ Meaw, meaw, meaow," squealed Tom, trying his best to get out. “ She heard what we were talking this morning," said Hal. “And thelittle thief worked her cards pretty well; but just before she did she didn’t, eh! Now I tell you, fellers, one of you hold on to her arms from behind, and I’ll have the cat out of the bag in Up to this time Bessie had not spoken a word. Now she said, clearly and calmly: “ Boys, stand aside! Aunt Jerusha came to the house for her cat: and 1 promised her that if I saw him or heard anything of him I would let her know. I am on my way now to keep my promise.” “ But you- won’t be on your way long, not if I know it. Take hold of her, Frank. We’ll settle up some old scores now.” And with this the young desperado dealt her a ringing blow on the side of her face. At the same time Frank and another boy pulled at the handle of the basket, but without effect. “Let go,” screamed one of them, “or you’ll get hurt.” ■ “ You may kill me, boys, if you will,” said she, holding on with all her might; “ but I started for Aunt Jerusha’s with this cat, and if you succeed in taking it from me you’ll do it when I’m dead, not before.” “ That’s the talk, little girl,” said a friendly voice from the rear. “ Got Aunt Jerusha’s Maltese cat in that basket, have you? Now tell me who those. boys are.” Bessie obeyed. She. had never seen this gentleman before, and felt quite sure he was a stranger in the village. “ I’m going to the cottage,” continued the gentleman. “ Come along with me. I’ll see if there’s any law in this town after I see you safely housed.” And the two walked on, leaving the boys considerably crestfallen and not a little alarmed. “ How does thee do, mother?” said the gentleman, walking straight into the house, leading Bessie by the hand. “ Bless thy heart, boy, is it thee, safe home again?” said Aunt Jerusha. “I expected the Lord was preparing this surprise for me.” And the old lady cuddled down in her son’s arms as if there was nothing else on earth to wish for. “ And here is thy cat, mother,” continued the stranger, “ and the bravest little girl I ever heard of. Why, that child would stand at the cannon’s mouth without flinching.” In the meantime Bessie had liberated Tom; and he now purred contentedly on his mistress’ knee. After hearing a full account of the child’s struggle Aunt. Jerusha said, suddenly, taking her son’s hand : “ William, how much money has thee?” “Enough and to spare,” was the quiet answer. “Has thee enough to rear this child as she should be reared —enough to secure her a good home with me and all the advantages that active little brain demands?” “Yes, mother, and nothing would please me so well asto take this responsibility. Little girl,” he continued, “ what do you want most of anything in this world?” “Togo to school,” answered Bessie, simply, “ and have somebody to love me.” Aunt Jerusha wiped her eyes and said: . “ William, this child has been abused. She must never go back. Take off your things, Bessie. This is your home as long as it pleases thee. Thee has done "thy best, and God is always as good as His word. Thee is under no obligation to those Murdocks. I will settle all this business for thee.” And she did. Bessie Atwood is now at the head of all her classes, and no girl in the country has a better home or more "loving care. Mrs. Murdock’s rage was fearful to witness; but there was nothing she could do, as Bessie was not bound to her by the law. So she vented her spleen on chairs and tables and doors, whipped one or two of her wretchedly-brought-up children, spoiled her New Year’s pudding, and finally vowed that when she tried again to be benevolent it would be when her name was something besides Mary Murdock.— Eleanor Kirk, in N. Y. Independent.

Brief Sayings.

Yu kant make a man yure friend bi lending him munny, nofif yu ever stop doing it; but yu may make him yure bitterest enemy. I think it requites a good deal more skill to manage a friend than it duz an enemy. Liars don’t seem to know that everyboddy had rather listen to the truth than to a falshood. Bad men alwuss gro worse. This setting down and waiting for sumthing to turn up iz a good way to ketch the fever ague, or git (stung bi a hornet, or be knokt lied over heels bi a stray mule, but thare ain’t no munny in it. Thare iz but very little truth traveling around loose; two-lhirds ov all the gossip that iz afloat iz either a lie or will be bi the time it haz changed hands once more. Fame that don’t pay a good fair per cent iz a poor artlkle to deal in. Pitty iz too cheap and common to be worth mutch. Everyboddy iz pleased with flattery;it iz only the kind and quality that iz sumtimes offensive. A haff-cdukated man iz like a haffbroke mule; he iz az dangerous to himself az he iz to others. Philosophers are az plenty az tud stools; what the world stands in need ov most just now iz sum good honest workers. He who wont accept an apology ought to forever lose the debt. Apologys are lawful tender. The man who iz the fust to forgive iz the fust to win the'viktory. It iz generally safe to claim a good deal, for men seliluingit more than they ask for. Fortune’s wheel iz allwuz on the move;. beds wins to-day and tails to-morrow An ounce ov pluk is worth more than a pound ov muscle. I hav seen very good-hatured people entirely spilte for all praklikul purposes bi coming suddenly into posseshun ov a pair pv horses and buggy. ’ Familiiritys, even between friends, | must be indulged in with grate caushun. | Good breeding iz nothing more than ! good . sense and politeness properly com\bined. -V -r..: ■■ ‘ • A * . * ’

The individual who kan coolly wear' a pair ov boots for two years and a haff without having them tapt aint good lor mutch hlse. A lazy man never ought to set up for a raskall; raskality iz bizzy bizzinpss. The cheapest learning i kno ov iz to listep. I am fully satisfied that honesty haz no pedigree; thare iz just az mutch ov it amung the lower az the higher orders. "'Know thyself" iz the hardest lesson that enny human being haz ever undertook yet. Learning iz helthy, but to kno how to use it iz helthier. The man who kant find nothing to do iz* generally mighty fraid he will. To be kontinually reading and never reflekting haz the same effekt on the mind that kontinual eating and no exercise has on the body.— Josh Billinas, in N. Y. Weekly.

A Common Experience.

Mr. Middlerib limped a little when he went home the other night, and he evinced the most feverish haste to get off his boots. Soon after supper he took his razor out of the case, and in response to his wife’s inquiry if he was going to shave snarled out: “Naw-w-w, he wasn’t.” Then she didn’t think to ask him what he was going to do. She w atched him while he bared his dexter foot; then he put his'bare foot across his left knee and made an “offer” at it with the razor, but stopped short. Then he reached under the foot with the »razor and came up on the other side and re mained in that position in deep thought for a few moments. Then he took the razor in the other hand, and, bending forward until all the blood in his system settled just above his eyes and his head was about six inches from the stove, he caught hold of his little toe, twisted it and made a slash at the corn on it with the razor. By this time his head was so hot that the hair was-fairly crackling, so he straighened up and moved back to the other side of the room and testily said that he wished he had 6,000,000 lamps, and he might be able to have one when he wanted to use it. His wife took the lamp from the sewing-table and set it on the floor beside him, and his daughter put another one down behind him. Then he reached h>s barefoot up as near to his hip as he could and made a dive at the corn again. Then he tried holding his foot up in front of him and leaning out after it, but he could touch any part of it with the razor, he said, except the. corn. Then he put his foot flat on the floor and stooped down to it and began carving. His wife and daughter could only tell how he progressed by the sibilant sounds he made by drawing his breath quickly through his teeth. He did this once or twice and suddenly dropped the razor with a brief but expressive remark bearing on the subject of future punishment, and sarcastically wanted to know if he should go down town and buy a rag or could he get one in the house, and two or three old shirts and sheets were instantly tendered him, when he-very carefully; tied up his* thumb, and gazing thoughtfully at the unscathed corn which decorated his toe in all the glory of its untouched hardness said he would employ the services of the first regularly-ordained chiropodist that came along. For if there is anything in the world that can compel a man to go into a variety of painful and ridiculous contortions without accom~ plishing anything it is carving a corn.— Burlington Hawk-Eye.

How the Star-Fish Takes His Oysters.

It is curious to read the silly stories that are told in the name of natural history. There is one that says that the star-fish puts its fingers or rays into the oyster’s shell, and helps itself. From every point of consideration the thing is ridiculously impossible. A more sober judgment is that given by some naturalists, namely, that the sea-star protrudes its great sac-like stomach and envelops to a great extent the oyster therein, and so leisurely digests the mollusk out of its unopened shell, much as a codfish does the shells it swallows. After having seen young star-fishes eat small specimens (that is, such as were suited to their size) of oysters, mussels and scolJops, which I have fed to them in an aquarium, I give the following as based on a number of observations: paving brought the oval, or stomach orifice, exactly opposite the nib of the oyster, the star embraces the bivalve with its five flexible rays, aided by the hundreds of sucking disks on the tiny feet. Thus positioned, the star-fish clings firmly, but keeps itself quite still, and waits very patiently. After a while the instinct of the oyster will be at fault, and it will open as if no enemy were near. At this moment, as it seems to me, is injected from the oral orifice of the star a baleful “ sidereal blast.” It is a something that paralyzes the mollusk; because from that moment the valves of the oyster are opened to their full extent, and the hold of the flexible rays is relaxed. Instantly a singular variation of the performance sets in. The rays are avithi drawn and set back to back—the stomach is protruded, and thf doubled-up star intrudes itself into the oyster, the evicted stomach leading the vvay in the movement, and absorbing its victim. If the famous “ india-rubber man” could throw backward his arms, legs and head, and in this position could then infuse himself, stomach-first, into a partiallyopened Writing-desk, he would rival this i feat of the sea-star, without the villainy of injecting chloroform through the keyhole.—Prof. iMckwood, in Popular Science Monthly. FkW brutal remarks by a fashion critic: “Fancy a fashionable gentlemah with a mess of greasy, filthy false hair hanging over and soiling beyond the limit of decency the collar and shoulders ot a S2OO coat—supposing for the sake of illustration that it would be pos j sible to find one costing so much money i —or,, with his trousers legs trailing in the dust and mud, making his hosiery aud underwear so abominably wet and dirty as to be at once uncomfortable, uni healthy and indecent." , A CHARMING little fish story comes from I Vermont: “ A boy caught an immense I pickerel, wkioh" broke the line and dis- ! appeared. The boy fell into the water : upd sank to t|?e bottom, whereupon his ' brother grabbed him by the hair and . pulled him out, only to find the lost pickerel firmly claspea ip the boy’s arms:” ■ ?• Fat TiiiN't’; : A'V'ermont thief butchered two fax porkers in tbek ’ein off in the night, and hasn’t been heard from since. A nvmber of the California stepm flour mills use wheat straw for fuel in* stead of wood, and effect a great saving.

youths’ Department. FOUR YEARS OLD. “ I'm four years bld to-day, Papa t — - * I guess you didn’t know How very old and big and strong In one night I should grow. For lam night when I went to sleep, Your boy was Only*three! Just see how tall I am to-day— Papa, do you know me? I'm four years old!. “ And now I am almost a man And want a candy store— To sell ice-cream and nuts and figs, % And lots «f good things more! And—Oh!—l want a big black dog To keep bad boys away— A pour, Just as white as snow, To ride on every day— I’m four years oid! ’ * “ I'm sorry forpoor little Ned, Just thmk.As's oaly /w/ But if he lives, he'll grow a man, < And all these nice things do. I’ll give him all my tops and balls. My dresses and my toys. For things like these are very nice To please such little boys!' I’ni tour years old!” “ What! four years old! My little son, You fill me with surprise. Myboy become a man so soon! Can 1 believe my eyes? Ah! golden time,so full of hope. So fresh and sweet and fair! I well remember now the day When 1, all free from care Was four years old!" —Mrs. 11. A”. Turner, in Prairie Farmer.

HIS TURN.

It was the afternoon of the 24th of December, and John, wrapped up in his new overcoat, was going down town with a hop and a jump to spend his last coppers for a Christmas present. He was six years old, and as he went along he tried to whistle “ Shoo. Fly,” like the big boys; and wondered to himself why Christmas didn’t come more than once a year, and if they’d ever get to coming oftener, and if they’d been going on just like this before he was born, as he dodged the mothers hurrying home with dolls’ heads peeping out of newspaper parcels, and fathers with fat turkeys by the legs, and market-women haggling over their poultry, and workmen carrying green Christmas-trees, and stopped to look into the gay shop-windows and at the crowd of good-humored buyers and sellers. He was bound for the silversmith’s himself to buy his mother a real silver thimble to save her gold one, and because he had smelted the other in the shovel over the dining-room fire, in order to turn it into plowshares and pruning-hooks, with the aid of a bowl of cold water, thinking she didn’t need two thimbles and a sewing-machine. He was going to put his purchase into her stocking; when she waked up in the morning wouldn’t she be surprised and laugh to find another silver thimble there, just where her toe ought to be! After he had bought his present the confusion of street-lamps and early twilight and the jostling, hurrying crowd bewildered him, and he struck out by mistake into a narrow alley, where he stopped, attracted by a ragged urchin who was gazing wistfully in at a baker’s holiday display of smoking loaves and tarts. “ I say, don’t you almost taste ’em?” said the urchin, capering first on one foot and then on the other, to keep himself warm. “ They aren’t anything to my mother’s tarts,” answered John, remembering the pantry at home. “ lou ain't hungry, I’ll bet!” “ No; but I’m going home to supper.” “ Wish I was!” “ Why don’t you go, then?” “ ’Cause there ain’t any to go to!” “No supper! Why, everybody has supper, -it’s Christmas Eve, you know!” “ Christmas Eve? What’s that? ” “ Why, don’t you know? “ The night before Christmas, When all through the house Not a creature was stirring, ? Not even a mouse,’ ........ quoted John, ' haltingly. “ When you hang up your stocking, and Santa Claus comes riding over the house-tops when you’re asleep, and puts presents in it! Christmas Eve, when the bells all ring, when—when — “ ‘ When shepherds watched their flocks by night, All seated on the ground, The angel of the Lord came down, And glory shone around !’ Why, you know it, of course. Everybody knows it. It’s in the papers. It’s been ever since ever since —I was born. Last year I had a top and a drum and a horn of candy!” “ I say, where’d you get ’em?” asked the other, eagerly. “ Why, Santa Claus, he brought ’em. What did he bring you?” “Not a red! Where does he live? He’s the chap for my money!” “Oh! he lives way off somewhere, ’mong the Icebergs and things.” “Oh! I spose he’s an uncle of yourn. Jim, in our alley, had an uncle who brought him a guinea pig onct ” “ Don’t you know .'who Santa Claus is?” laughed John, not quite clear in his own mind about the matter, but anxious to enlighten the darkened mind of his a neighbor. “He isn’t my uncle any more than he’s yours or anybody’s.” , “He ain’t nothing to me, no way,” said the other. “ I ain’t never put my eyes on him.” “ Neither have I,” said John. “ Nobody sees him. He always comes after dark, when the children are in bed and i the lamps arg v out and nobody’s looking. | But always puts something into your ' slocking Christmas nights; doesn’t he?” i “ I dunno. 1 never found anything | there—but a hole.” / “Never tound anything in your stocking?” cried John. “ Perhaps you didn’t hang it up in the right place.” “ 1 never hung it up at all.” “O-h! Couldn't you reach? Why didn’t you get your mother to do it for you?” “ I ain’t got no mother. Nothing but a Granny Patch —who ain’t no granny of mine, neither—where I sleep in the garret.” “ Namother! How do you get along?” gasped John. “ Who tucks you into bed, and hears your prayers, and puts out the light for you, and gets your Sunday 1 clothes out of the drawer, and makes the ■ Christmas pudding?” “ I guess nobody makes any pudding ' for me, and I ain’t got any other clothes ! in the drawer.” “ My!” said John, beginning to doubt his ears. “ But you have the wishbone, I don’t you?” brightening, j "The what?” “ The wishbone out of the Christmas turkey. Don’t you know?” f “ Don’t have’ any turkey. I reckon I Christmas ain’t any different from most ■ any day. down in -this alley. I dunno i nothing about iu” “ How awful!” said John. “ I’m dreadfuUsorry. 1 thought there was enough ■*phristmas tet go all round. Perhaps,” thoughtfully—“ perhaps J’ve had more’n my share. I didn’t mean to.” A boy with no mother, and no '“ otbef

clothes,” who didn’t hang up his stocking, nor have any Christmas dinner, nor any golden drehm of Santa Claus, nor any Christmas promises—how did he contrive to live? “ But you’re going to hang up your stocking to-night, ain’t you?” asked John, not fully persuaded that he understood his own ears. “ Twouldn’t be no use unless they was wet," said the urchin. “ Any why, you’ll have a cake and some walnuts to-morrow. Everybody does, ’cause it’s Christmas, you know.” “ I guess Christmas dgn’t come down this way. I’m going to help the baker carry home his beans and bread to-mor-row, though; and he’s going to give me a loaf, and maybe he’ll throw in one of them tarts. Who knows? I say, I wish ’twas to-morrow now.” “And you ain’t going to have any Christmas but a loaf of bread? And no turkey, nor wishbone, and nothing in your stocking, and you’re going to wear your everyday clothes, and they’ve got—oh, dear! 1 should hate to be—l mean I’m dreadful sorry! I’ll tell you what I’ll do! You shall have a Christmas. I’ve had lots of ’em, and I guess it’s your turn now. You shall go and have my Christmas, and I’ll stay here and have yours and carry the baker’s loaves for him!” “ Oh! I wouldn’t be so durned mean!” said the urchin, ruefully. “ It ain’t mean to take Christmas presents, I tell you. Here,jyou just put on my overcoat—’cause there ain’t any other overcoat at home; and you run up to my home—you’ll know it by the fountain that doesn’t splash any more, in the yard; and you walk in at the end door—’cause maybe your feet’ll be snowy—l do; and tell my mother you’re going to have your turn, and you’re going to be me till after Christmas, and I’m going to be you; and,” taking the silver thimble out of his pocket gingerly, “and p’raps you’d better say I sent this. But then it wouldn’t be all your Christmas, would it? No; you may give it to her your own self, and I’ll carry the baker’s loaves, and ” “ I’m afraid it’ll seem wuss a-coming back afterward,” sighed the urchin. And just then John’s father and mother, who had begun to miss him and to worry because he stayed so late, suddenly pounced upon the two, chatting before the bakery window, and carried them both home to keep Christmas. And the urchin’s turn had come indeed; and he never failed of a holiday after that, thoughdie once said “ it seemed as if every day was Christmas since his turn had come.” — Mary N. Preseett, in N. Y. Indeyendent.

The Boy Astronomer.

The first transit of Venus ever seen by a human eye was predicted by a boy, and was observed by that boy just as he reached the age of manhood. His name was Jeremiah Horrox. We have a somewhat wonderful story to tell you about tpis boy. ; , He lived in an obscure village near Li verpool, England. He was a lover of books of science, and before he had reached the age of eighteen he had mastered the astronomical knowledge of the day. He studied the problems of Kepler, and he made the discovery that the tables of Kepler indicated the near approach of the period of the transit of Venus across the sun’s center. This was about the year 1635. Often on midsummer nights the boy Horrox might have been seen in the fields watching the planet Venus. The desire sprang up within him to see the transit of the beautiful planet across the disc of the sun, for it was a sight that no eye had ever seen, and one that would tend to solve some of the greatest problems ever presented to the mind of an astronomer. So the boy began to examine the astronomical tables of Kepler, and by their aid endeavored to demonstrate at what time the next transit would occur. He found an error in the tables, and then he, being, the first of all astronomers to make the precise calculation, discovered the exact date when the next transit would take place. He told his secret to one intimate friend, a boy who, like himself, loved science. The young astronomer then awaited the event which he had predicted for a number of years, never seeing the loved planet in the shaded evening sky without dreamingof the day when the transit should fulfill the beautiful vision he carried continually in his mind. The memorable year came at last — 1639. The predicted day of the transit came, too, at the end of the year. It was Sunday. It found Horrox, the boy astronomer, now just past twenty years of age, intently watching a sheet of paper in a private room, on which lay the sun’s reflected image. Over this reflection of the sun’s disc on the paper he expected, moment by moment, to see the planet Vpass like a moving spot or a shadow. Suddenly the church-bells rang. He was a very religious youth, and was accustomed to heed the” church-bells as a call from Heaven. The paper still was spotless; no shadow broke the outer edge of the sun’s luminous circle. Still the church-bells rang. Should he go? A cloud might hide the sun before his return, and the expected disclosur be lost for a century. But Horrox said’to himself: “I must not neglect the worship of the Creator to see the wonderful things the Creator has made.” So he left the reflected image of the sun on the paper, and went to the sanctuary. When he returned from the service he hurried to the room. The sun was' still shining, and there, like a shadow on the bright circle on the paper, wps the image of the planet Venus! It crept slowly along the bright center, like the tinger«of the Invisible. Then the boy astronomer knew that the great problems of astronomy were correct, and the thought filled his pure heart with religious joy. Horrox died at the age of twenty-two. Nearly 130 years afterward Venus was again seen crossing the sun. The whole astronomical world was then interested I in the event, and expeditions of observation were fitted out by the principal European Governments. It was observed in this country by David Rittenhouse, who fainted when he saw the visiop.— Hezekiah Butter worth,, in St. Nicholas. - ' The Denver News records this incident for the benefit of those who doubt > woman’s constancy: “ A man was about i dyihg in this city, and an acquaintance ! sent the following telegram to his wife, I who was in Chicago: '“Your husband is dving. Come quick.’ Sue coolly replied: »* Can’t go jyov. If he dies hand him over to the Masons; he’s one of them.’ The man died. The wife hasn’t been heard from since?’ , ? ::