Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 16, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 January 1875 — Page 3

RENSSELAER UNION. JAMES A HEALKY, Proprieton. RENSSELAER, - INDIANA.

THE RIVALS. A king of a most royal line Stood at his gate, as history saith; He stretched his hand, he made the sign M To put a captiro there to death. As those who can no further fly Turn sharp and grasp the deadly swords, So the poor wretch about to die Abused the king with bitter words. 41 What does he say?’’ the king began To whom his jargon was unknown. His Vizier, a kind-hearted man, Who knew that language like hie own, Answered him: “ ‘ Oh, my lord!’he cries, ‘ Who stay their hasty hands from blood— God made for such men Paradise; He loves. He will defend the good.’ ” The king's great heart was touched at this; “ TW captive’s blood shall not be shed<’ Then—for a serpent needs must hiss— A rival of the Vizier said: ■“ It is not decorous hat we Whose blood comes down from noble springs, No matter what the end may be, We should speak truth before our kings. ■“ The man who kneels respited here Abused our gracious, clement lord; There was no blessing, 0 Vizier— There was u curse in every word!” , Sternly to him the king: “I see; You speak the truth, no doubt; but still His falsehood better pleaseth me, For he means good, and you mean ill. 41 If I should punish, as I might (Be thankful that I am not just), Your head, when I commanded ‘ Smite!' Would roll before me in the dust!” —Ji. H. Stoddard, in Harjier's Magazine.

MISS ERISM’S CODICIL.

Miss Rebecca Erism, a valetudinarian of sixty, lay dying at her house in town. She had held so tenacious a grip upon life that it was difficult for the two young people to realize the end was so near. These two young people were Gerald Erism, her nephew, and Miss Luane Williams, her companion and nurse. Gerald had seen the young woman every day for the three years she had lived with his aunt, but never until that moment had bestowed a serious thought upon her. He did not even know the color of her eyes till his aunt gasped out a sentence that caused him to look at her attentively. Then he found them shining luminously in the somber gloom of the sick chamber, and something therein forbade him to hate her, although the sentence his aunt had uttered was to the effect that she had left Miss Williams all her money. j “ If you expect to pay for that horse for Emily Thorpe to ride with the money you get by my death,” said the dying woman, “ you’re mistaken.” “You don’t understand,” began Gerald. , ■ the old lady, “ and what I call a post-obit. I found out enough about it to make me put a codicil to my will. That rascally horse-dealer’ll lose his money after all, and Emily Thorpe shall flaunt none of her finery at my expense. I’ve left every penny to Luane Williams!” It was then that Gerald looked at Luane; but his aunt suddenly stretched out her hands to him pleadingly, and finding a gray pallor spreading over her face he knelt down by the bedside and took her cold,'withered hand in his own. “If the horse had been for anyone butthat Emily Thorpe!” faltered the poor old lady. “ Oh, aunt,” said Gerald, “ if you’d let me explain ” “I would if I had time,” she said; “ but I must die now.” In ten minutes it was all over, and Gerald went out of the house with a great ache at his heart. He was very sorry for his aunt; she had been very kind to him—too kind, for she had reared him for the useless life of a drone, when now it appeared he must work for his living like all the rest of the bees. It had hitherto been something of a bore to him merely to spend money, and the fact began to dawn unpleasantly upon his mind that to earn it must be infinitely more wearisome. Walking aimlessly on, his feet took mechanically a familiar direction, and he found himself pausing before a fine house in a fashionable quarter of the city, from which shambled a somewhat bent and awkward figure that presently disappeared in a brougham before the door. Gerald recognized the man as Mr. Badger, the millionaire, and involuntarily contrasted his condition with that of the fortunate soap-dealer. He w r as, however, so absorbed with the direful news he had to tell Emily that before she came into the parlor he had forgotten Badger’s existence. It was singular that her remarkable beauty and brilliant toilet did not appall Gerald at that moment, that the fact of his no longer being able to grace that lovely hand with befitting gems did not prevent him from seizing it in both his own and kissing it rapturously. But for that enchanting moment he was allowed to forget the gloomy chamber where his aunt lay. dead, and the woman that waited there for the money he had been taught to consider his own. “It seems to me that you are very beautifulthis morning,” was all that he could say. Emily drew her hand gently away from his caress. “ Gerald,” she said K “ I have something to tell you.” Her accent was cold. There was something in her manner that caused him to step back and look at with *• dim premonition of what was to come. “ You know,” she continued, “ how bitterly opposed is your aunt to your affection for me. She has told me herself that she will never consent to our happiness. Gerald, I am too fond of you to wreck your whole life. There was but one way to end it all ” She paused. He leaned forward and still kept his eyes, now wan and haggard, upon her face. Then she sank pale and trembling into a chair, and covered her eyes with her hand. She was moved with pity, perhaps, or a vague regret. At last she spoke: “ I have just accepted an offer of marriage.” 0. . “From Badger,” cried Gerald, and walked to the door. “Your prudence.” he added, standing upofi the threshold, “ has served you well: You havejustgot rid of me in time. My aunt sied this morning, and has left every thing she had tt> her nurse and companion.” Then he got out into the street, and walked along with a faltering, staggering step. His- eyes were wild, his face lividly pale. People turned to look at him as he went by, and two or three won-

dered what was sending that man to the devil. He went home and stood by the body of his aunt. There was a singular fascination about this death—something very wonderful and tempting in that mysterious and absolute rest. Suddenly he became master of himself, of the bitterness and despair of the moment. He walked firmly to the door; but a step followed him, and, turning, he saw the pale, perturbed face of Miss Williams. Then he remembered her presence in the room, but his madness and grief had prevented him from realizing it. “ Just one word, Mr. Erism,” she said. “Of course you know that I will not touch one penny of this money!” “It doesn’t matter now,” he replied. “It might as well be jours as anybody’sf’ • , “ But it is yours,” she said. “ Oh, as for me,” said Gerald, “ I shall not want it.” He walked on through the hall. Miss Williams followed him stealthily. He entered his room, but when the door shut him in .Luane remained, haggard and trembling, her ear glued to the cold panel between them. A grim silence reigned about her. She could hear the clock tick in the dead woman’s room below. Suddenly she put both her hands about the knob and opened the door. Gerald turned quickly; there was an ominous click; the pistol fell a little as it went off. The blood soaked through his coat and trickled upon the floor Just as Luane was about sinking at his feet Gerald put out his hand to her. “ An accident, Miss Williams,” he said. “ Please send Adams for the doctor and then help me off with my coat.” This brought Luane to herself. She hastened to do his bidding, dispatched Adams and, returning again to Gerald, stanched the blood with strips of pil-low-case from the bed. When the doctor came she held the light for him while he probed the wound and extracted the bullet. “An inch or so higher,” said the doctor, “ and you would have been buried on the same day with yojir aunt.” “ It was a lucky thing, then, that Miss Williams had an errand to my room when she did,” said Gerald. “As she opened the door my hand fell and the pistol went off.” “ She has unconsciously saved yffiir life,” said the doctor. Then, as Luane left the room, he added: “ She’s the finest young woman I know, and would make a capital nurse in my hospital. Do you know what she thinks of doing now that your aunt is gone?” “ No,” said Gerald, with a grim smile; “ but I fancy she’ll think of something livelier than that.” “ She has such an excellent physique and splendid nerve,” said the doctor. “ But I must go. Keep as quiet as you can and have Adams within call.” That night Gerald awoke with an intolerable thirst; his temples throbbed, his eyes burned. Looking over at Adams, he found that he was sound asleep. This of itself was offensive to Gerald. What business had the man to sleep when he was suffering? How horribly oppressive the stillness was, this semi-darkness and loneliness! At that moment a ponderous snore resounded from the throat of the sturdy Adams, and Gerald almost leaped from his bed. It was like a stab to him; it was unendurable. He stretched over his sound arm, and reaching a pillow threw it with all his might at the unconscious Adams. Blit in spite of the agony the movement cost him it was a futile one. The pillow fell far short of the object on the floor, and Gerald sank back with a groan. But suddenly the soft touch of a woman’s hand fell tenderly upon his forehead, the sweet tones of a woman’s voice fell soothingly upon his ear. “It is time for your medicine,” said Luane, and put the cup to his lips. Gerald drank as if it was nectar. Then he thought his head was too high, or perhaps a trifle low; every moment caused him intolerable agony, but he hated to be alone with Adams again. Besides, he was curious about this Woman. She must have really divined his motive, and come to him to save his life. She was again about to leave him, but he put his hand upon hers to detain her, and found that it trembled a little beneath his touch. “ Your hand didn’t tremble when you held the lamp for the doctor,” said Gerald. “He wants you for a hospital nurse, but I told him you’d prefer something more cheerful.” “ Why, I think I’d like it,” said Luane. “ You know I must do something." “ I don’t see the necessity,” said Gerald ; “ you have my aunt’s money, and it will occupy all your time to enjoy it.” “Your aunt’s money is your own,” said Luane, “ and you insult me by thinking I would take advantage of the poor old lady’s weakness; I never will touch a penny of it. Aind, Mr. Erism, you must, not talk.” “ One word, only one,” pleaded Gerald. “ But for you I might have been like — like our poor old friend .below.” Gerald shuddered and turned pale. “ I’m cowardly enough,” he went on, “ to hate even the thought of it now. HoW can I thank you, Miss Williams?” “By taking what is your own, and using it well and nobly,” said Luane, and vanished from his sight. But as she left him he felt a sudden throb in the hand beneath his own, and saw a quick flaiiie leap into her cheek, a glow to her eyes. “Three long years,” murmured Gerald, “ and I never knew her till now.” Gerald was young and strong, and the fourth day, the one appointed for the funeral, he was able to be up and dressed, and welcome Luane warmly as she entered his room. She looked paler than ever in her black dress, but Gerald thought he never had seen so sweet and noble a face. “ How I would like to go down, Miss Williams,” he said, “and enjoy the surprise of the good people below! I’d like to see them bow and smile to the heiress of my aunt’s fortune. I’m as bad as the rest of them, I suppose, for I feel like making you all sorts of pretty speeches." Gerald paused, and his face grew suddenly grave and tender. “Go now,” he added, “and kiss my aunt good-by for me; tell her I am quite satisfied with everything ” Luane went from the room and down the stairs. For the last three days she had been like one in a dream. It seemed awful to be warm and happy even after she entered the dark, gloomy drawingroom, eVen after she had bent and kissed the cold, stern face for and for herself. “ I will not take it,” she whispered, hot tears raining On the dead woman’s face—l will not take a penny of it; but it has given me such a gleam df happiness. God forever bless you for it!” Then the people began tc pour in, and the ceremony commenced. Lutine’s jvere the only tears that were shed, and the

most of the guests came from civility or curiosity. Miss Erism had taken but little active part in the world for many a year, and the poor lady was very soon put away and forgotten. The most important part of the proceedings was when they returned from the burial to hear the reading of the will. Luane trembled when the pompous lawyer unrolled the parchment and began in a sonorous voice—“ In the name of God, amen!” What would they think of her —what would they say of her? Oh, how glad she was that the only one she cared for in the world knew all about it! how innocent■she was, and how ignorant! But even while she thought thus she heard the lawyer read: “ To my beloved nephew, Gerald Erism, I give and bequeath all my property, personal and otherwise.” Luane could scarcely believe her ears. She listened to the end and heard at last: “To Luane Williams, my faithful nurse, I give a mourning-ring and the sum of fifty dollars.” Then she went up stairs to Gerald. “ The king shall have his own!” she said. “ Only on one condition,” said Gerald; “ I’ll take your money only on one condition.” “You’ll take my money!” echoed Luane —“my poor little fifty dollars!” Luane’s face shone with a profound joy. “ Your aunt left her money where it belonged, Mr. Erism. I have just beard you declared her sole surviving lieir.” Gerald remained stunned and bewildered. “ Where is the codicil?” he cried to the lawyer, who stood at the door. “My aunt left her money to Miss Williams. She told me so when she was dying!” “ Oh, that was when you bought that horse! I was afraid there would be trouble then, but, bless your soul! she got all over that.” “And the money is mine?” cried Gerald. “Of course it’s yours;” and the lawyer went down-stairs chuckling at his incredulity. Then Gerald held out his hands to Luane. “ I was going to be magnanimous enough to marry you despite your money,” he said; “now there is no obstacle to our happiness. Come, my sweet Luane, and bless the life you have given me!” Luane became his wife. Mr. Grundy said that he married her to spite n:mily Thorpe. The lawyer chuckled still more and thought of the codicil. But we know that it was for love, and for love alone. — Harper's Weekly.

The Royal Line of Hawaii.

Ka-la-Kaua, pronounced Kaa-laa-Kow-wah, the name of His Hawaiian Majesty, means, when translated, the “ day [of] battle.” The Hawaiians, like the American Indians, name their children after some personal or family peculiarity or some jmportant event. His Majesty’s name is, however, an ancestral one. His predecessors, upon ascending the throne, assumed the dynastic name of Kamehameha; but King David belongs to a different family, and is the first of a new dynasty. When Capt. Cook visited the Sandwich Islands Kamehameha I. was young and not a very high chief; but he was ambitious, ana when he reached manhood he conceived the idea of subjugating the chiefs of Hawaii, on which island he exercised limited sway, and the chiefs of the islands of Maui, Oahu and Kauai. It is probable that these schemes of conquest were first suggested by white men, several of whom rendered him valuable aid in the battles which he subsequently fought. But Kamehameha himself was a man of remarkable abilities. His skill as a warrior, and afterward as an organizer of government, won for him the title of Kamehameha Nui, or “the great.” After conquering the islands he was most successful in conciliating the chiefs and winning the affections of the people, so that at his death he was sincerely mourned by the inhabitants of the whole group. After conquering the islands of Oahu he chose that as his place of residence, and gathered around him, at his court at Honolulu, the chiefs of the different islands. Those connected with himself held the first rank at his court, and they constituted hie royal family. There seems to be a peculiar significance in the name of Kamehameha in view of his achievements. It means The Solitary [one]. At his death his son ascended the throne without opposition, with the title of Kamehameha 11. He and his Queen and suite visited England, and while there he contracted a cold which soon terminated in death. The fact is, it is a dangerous experiment for a Hawaiian ruler to leave his kingdom in the sunny isles of the Pacific to visit a northern climate. The Hawaiians, since the death of Kamehameha 11., have been averse to their Kings visiting Europe or America, and hardly anything less than a political necessity would have brought King David here. The .islanders are extremely susceptible to colds, and when seized with sickness are apt to become apathetic and readily give up to disease. On the Sandwich Islands perpetual summer reigns. The climate is superb, and is said to be as near that of paradise, as can be found on the globe. Then, to add to the difficulty, there is the change of food. The Hawaiians, from the King to the serf, live on poi, a food made from the root of the kalo. It is the national food, for which, when deprived of it, they long with a desire that is inconceivable to Americans. There is no food that can take its place with them. It was these causes, added to a fondness for alcoholic mixtures, which hastened to a fatal termination the illness of Kamehameha 11. in England. Kamehameha 11. died without offspring, and his brother became King, with the title of Kamehameha 111. As he was likely to have no heir by his Queen he adopted a singular expedient to preserve the royal line. It was one, however, not unfrequently resorted to in the olden time. The Governor of Oahu, Kekuandoa, had been one of the suite of Kamehameha 11. in England. He was not himself a high chief, but his wife was of the best blood on the islands—in fact, her blood was as blue as the King’s himself. As the story goes the King tabooed this lady. Under the effect of this taboo (kapu) the Governor was practically excluded from the society of his wife and the King became his successor. The proceeding was sanctioned by ancient usage. A son was born to the Governor’s wife, and he was named Liholiho. As long as Kamehameha 111. lived this young Prince was looked upon as the heir apparent, though he had an older brother, Lot, who, however, had only the credit of being the Governor’s son. ’ Liholiho ascended the throne of the Hawaiian Islands as Kamehameha

IV. Queen Emma, who recently vuited Europe and America, and more recently ■ contested our royal victor’s right to the throne, is the widow of Liholiho. He died childless, and his brother Lot became King as Kamehameha V. The latter’s right to the throne he derived through his mother. For some reason, in the old times it was through the mother that Princes on the Sandwich Islands derive their nobility. The father might be a plebeian, but if the mother were noble she ennobled her children. Queen Emma is a half-white. Her father was a doctor; but her mother had good blood in her veins and her daughters inherited rafik from her. Of course, where father and mother were both noble, as in the case of Liholiho, the offspring would outrank a child of the same mother whose father was of a lower station, as in the case of Lot. “ King Bill,” as Lunalilo was called, was the next occupant of the throne. His reign was a short one. In the estimation of the people he was really a higher chieftain than his predecessor on the throne and ought to have preceded him, but there were reasons for setting him aside. Good blood, however, is getting scarce on the islands. There are but few left who can, by any showing, lay claim to the blood of the chiefs, and Lunalilo conld not be ignored. He was a prince of a liberal mind and much beloved by his people; but his habits were not good. In fact, royalty on those islands has not been remarkable for the excellence of its morals. His Majesty, King David Kalakaua, is a descendant of the chiefs of Maui, one of the finest islands in the group. Though they occupied, in the estimation of Hawaiian genealogists, the first rank among the chiefs of that group, because of their illustrious and pure descent from remote times, yet when conquered by Kamehameha they had to occupy places among the nobles second to the chiefs of the island of Hawaii, Kamehameha’s immediate kindred. — St. Louis Globe.

Lafayette’s Watch.

The Louisville Courier-Journal, speaking of Lafayette, says: “ When the Marquis was on his last visit to this country in 1825 the watch was stolen from him at Nashville; and now a watch, which is with great reason believed to be the same, has been found and handed over to the family of Lafayette in France. After all that has been said and done wouldn’t there be great disappointment if it should turn out that the watch story, so far as its identity is concerned, is a hoax, #r if there should at least be some doubt as to its identity? We will not venture an opinion on this subject, for to be the occasion of any doubt in this matter now would be both cruel and unpatriotic. But there are a few facts, well known to parties in this city, concerning the history of the timepiece which will be of interest in this connection. In 1859 the watch was sold to Julius Mendel, of this city, by a man named Jim Fowler, who came from California and said he got it from a gamblet in a gambling-house in San Francisco, and that he received it in pawn for a small amount of money. The watch bore the following inscription:

Geohoe Washington : to : Gilbert Mortier de Lafayette ; after the Capitulation of Yorktown, : 1771.

“The watch remained several years in Mr. Mendel’s possession, and was regarded of little value except as a relic, and in this particular even it was greatly depreciated because of the doubts as to its identity. It nevertheless attracted much attention, and had its identity been certain there would have been many eager purchasers. Among the number who were anxious to obtain possession of it was Mr. George Wolf, who offered SI,OOO for proof of its identity. Mr. Mendel all the time discredited its identity, and about three years ago sold it to a stranger for the small sum of S4O. The watch was taken to New Orleans, where its 4 fame soon spread, and its identity then seemed everywhere accredited. The result was that last summer Congress appropriated S3OO for the purchase and restoration of the watch to the Lafayette family. It is to be hoped that this interesting timepiece is the veritable souvenir S’ ven by Washington, and probably it is. ut Mr. Mendel doesn’t believe it. He thinks its discovery was a put-up job by a San Francisco sharper. He says4here are many watches of the same pattern in existence, and believes the watch to be bogus with a counterfeit engraving.”

Shooting Ducks.

“ Speaking of shooting ducks,” says Dr. F.< “ puts me in mind of the great storm that occurred when I lived on the island. As you are well aware, ou: island was near by Casco Bay; an awful storm arose, and "was so fierce that it drove tail the ducks in the bay into a pond, covering about an acre, near my house. In fact, so many ducks crowded into that pond that I could not see a drop of water.” “ Sho,” says Smith. “Did ye shute any oi. ’em?” “That’s what I was coming at. I went into the house and got my double-barreled shotgun and discharged both barrels right into the midst of them, but, to my astonishment, they arose in the air, leaving not a solitary duck in the pond!” “ Good gracious! ye don’t say so!” says Smith; “ didn’t ye hev any shot in yer gun, or what w r as the trouble?” “ Well, I was coming to that,” said Dr. F. “It astonished me at first, but as soon as the ducks rose a few hundred yards in the air and began to separate a little the ducks began to drop, and, whether you believe it or not, I picked up twentyfiine barrels of ducks, and it was a poor season for ducks, 100. You see the duoks were wedged in so solid in the pond that when they rose they carried the dead ones into the air with them,, and when they separated down came the twenty-nine barrels of dead ones.” The Troy Tiiaes relates this: “A. young lady in a neighboring village accepted an invitation from a young gentleman to ride, and when the gentleman came with his horse and buggy the lady found it impossible to get in, so closely had she adhered to the prevailing fashion of drawing her dress tightly about her. She asked to be excused, ana going into the house let out two or three reefs in her dress, when she was enabled to get into the buggy.” —A farmer’s daughter has just missed being a heroine. Seeing her father’s barn on fire she got a pail of water, ran toward the blaze,’ and —fainted on the way. The barn was destroyed, and her father, rating her intentions by the low standard of her failure, warmed her shoulders with a strap.

Our Young Folks. LITTLE BROWN ACORN. BY MRS. M. E. C. BATES. LlttlAbrown Acorn swung on a tree, ’ Wnile tbe leaves turned yellow and red. “ Many a day I have been here,” said he, And so, as I'm tired as tirsd can be, I think I will go to bed.” Little brown Acorn let go his hold Of the mother-oak, old and grim. Then down the mossy bank he rolled. And thongh the earth was wst and cold It mastered not to him. Little brown Acorn hid under a gray Mossed rock on the side of the hill. I never have heard that he’s gone away; So should you look there this very, day, I’m sure you will find him still .- Little brown Acorn under the snow, When the winter days are come, While the winds blow high and the winds blow low. While the mornings dawn and the sunsets go, Stays in his chosen home. Little brown Acorn naught will befall Till the stormy months are o'er; But when in the oaks the robins shall call He will lift up his head so green and so tall, Little brown Acorn no more. FouM’s Companion.

LOVE’S LABOR.

“ I cannot wait a minute —the chestnut tree in the mill-path, you know”— and away she darted, swinging her basket so high in the air that the two big apples she had snatched as she ran tumbled out and rolled away. “Yes, I know,” called Alfred, tumbling over the pump-box in his hurry to get a basket and be off. “ Then you won’t get it in after all?” the voice was the mother’s, at the woodhouse door. “ No, not this week; I have fried hard, but the guano is to sieve, and Tim’s being away it cannot get done, I am sorry to say.” “Father’s wheat not yet in!” Alfred stood still on the spot where he had tumbled, and considered as he listened. “ The guano is the trouble, that bothering guano,” and he shook his head dolefully as he called the hens to their breakfast at the wood-house door. “Guano to sieve? Tim’s only twelve, and if he could sieve guano I guess I might, if I am only nearly eight. But the chestnuts! everybody’s going to have such fun.” Thoughtfully he looked over at the top of the big chestnut tree, which he could just see peeping over the poplars at the end of the lane. “ Father,” he said, coming to a sudden resolve, and walking over to the woodhouse door, “ if you will show me how to do the guano I can do it, I guess.” Father laughed and lifted Alfred up in the air with his big, strong hands. “ How much will you sieve, my little man—a pound? Why, boy, your father has a ton to sieve, ana all to do to-day.” —“ Well, father.” • —. — ' — “ Well, you will do a pound?” “ No, sir; I will try to do a ton.” “ Well, you will try hard if you do, my son, and do it in a day. I thought you were going with Margie for chestnuts; the boys and girls of the whole place are to be at the mill-path tree." “ Yes, father, but I would rather sieve a little while. ” So Alfred stood under the shed and shook his little sieve this way and that, and the voices of the merry boys and girls every little while came ringing out so clearly that he would stop to listen, standing on his tip-toes for a minute, looking off at the top of the big round chestnut tree. “ Goodness gracious! Alfred Brandt, you are just crazy.” Alfred sieved away as fast as he could. “ Goodness gracious. Alfred Brandt! I’d be ashamed of myself! And you never came near the chestnut tree. What made you say you were coming when you just did not mean to come at all?” “ I did mean it. I was running as fast as I could, when I heard father telling about not getting the wheat in, and so 1 stayed to help.” “ I never, never saw such a boy; you helping about wheat! Father, I guess, will put you straight up-stairs if he catches you.” “ I guess father knows,” said Alfred, indignantly. “ Father taught me. ” “Well, I’m not going to wait to talk to people who do not keep their promises, and don’t keep their faces clean. I just came home for one minute to tell mother that John Rood’s wagon is going to take everybody up on the hill for a grand time, and John Rood’s going to beat the trees; so good-by.” “ Margie !” “What is it now? Don’t bother me.” “ Margie, would he take me?” “Yes, for sure, if your face is clean; good-by.” - “Margie!” “What, what!” “Margie, are you sure?” “ Yes" —she was gone, giddy as a butterfly; her old hat streamers flying in the air. “ John Rood’s wagon taking everybody; John Rood beating trees!” he could have cried in his excitement. The sieve lay at his feet; the few pounds of guano done laid in a little heap; the great ton was to do, and away off down the mill-path was the sound of voices and the rumble of John Rood’s wagon. A little way to the left, however, was father, busy over the wheat-field; one glimpse of him was enough to settle tne matter. So the sieve rattled, and the guano disappeared from one pile and appeared on the other. The twilight was coming on fast and the children were returning from their day’s frolic as father, having forgotten about Alfred’s effort in the morning, was sighing: “If it wasn’t for that guano I could plafit this week for certain, but a man may work and work and never get things right. This comes of Tim’s being away.” “Father, father!” called somebody over by the guano pile. “I’m tired, boy; don’t bother your father,” , “Yes; but, father, your ton’s done.” “ Oh, goodness gracious, what a fright!" called out Margie, Holding her hands up in horror, her hat dangling over her shoulders, and her chestnutbasket swinging) on her . arm. “ Alfred, you’re the most (dreadful looking fellow ■I ever saw. What’ll your father say?” It was soon known what father would say, for be picked the begrimed Alfred up m his arms and kissed him so tenderly, while he looked in wonder at the sieved ton, thaVMargie had no more to say, and Alfred whispered—his heart throbbing with delight—“ Father, it’s better after all than John Rood’s wagon and the chestnuts.’’— Geo. Klingle, in Hearth and Home. J

How Shot Are Made.

y _ , M ... ... You have all seen shot, and if you are a boy you have probably used it a good many times, to the terror of mother and sisters and the imminent risk of your

own lives or somebody else’s, but bow many of you can tell how they are made? To look at them one would not imagine they had to go through such a long and intricate process to make them the smooth, round, innocent-looking, but death-dealing, things that they are. If you ever come to Chicago one of the first things that will be apt to strike yeur eye is a high, round tower, rising up seventeen stories and almost as high as the highest church steeples, and here is where the shot are made!

The melted lead is taken to the top of this high tower and poured through a colander or sieve, the drops falling down in real leaden rain, nearly 200 feet, cooling as they go, just as drops of rain harden into hailstones, and falling into a tank of water below. Now this might seem a simple and easy thing to do, and so it would be if that were all there was to it. But it is not. The drops of melted lead in falling have a tendency to eool at the bottom first, and so instead of hardening into a round ball the upper part would stretch out like the tail of a comet. Then, again, Imuid metals crystallize in hardening, eac|i particular metal having its own form, ahd it happens that lead crystallizes into cubes instead of globes, so that unless the drops can be made to form into spheres as soon as they leave the colander they will harden into cubes and comets and all sorts of things before they reach the bottom; so it was necessary to search around and find something else which crystallized in a different form in order to counteract this tendency. It was found that arsenic was the very thing. So now a small quantity of arsenic is mixed with all the lead and the little drops form into globes as soon as they leave the colander and most of them harden in that shape. Some are imperfect, however. They are lifted from the water in little cups fastened to a revolving shaft, which also empties them upon metal plates, where they are dried by steam, and then the good and the bad are sepa-. rated from each other. In order to do this a polished iron plate is tilted at a certain angle, and the little balls are made to roll down it. The perfect ones roll so fast and so easily, and get such a momentum, that when they come to the umping-off place they make a bound and go clear over into a bin fixed for them about a foot away. The imperfect ones, the comets and such like, find their tails in the way, and go so much slower that when they come to the end they have only just force enough to drop down into a receptacle at the bottom, and then are melted over and go through the same process again. But the good ones are not finished yet. They are next put into a keg-like cylinder along with some plumbago—and by the way this plumbago comes all the way from the island of Ceylon on purpose—the cylinder is set to revolving very fast, and in a short time they come out beautifully polished and aij ready to be screened. The screening is to separate the different sizes from each other, for several different sizes are made, ranging from buck-shot down to a tiny little ball no larger than a cabbage-seed, and of which it must take several to do much execution. They are now ready to put up for market, and this is not the least interesting part of the whole. Little bags, large enough to hold twenty-five pounds, are hung just below some long iron tubes through which the shot runs and falls into the bags, and when just twenty-five pounds have run in a valve closes, and not another grain can get through. So you see they weigh themselves. Then they are piled into a heap and are ready to be sold, and to go out into the world upon their mission of destruction. Upon the lower story of the building is the immense engine of three hundred horse-power which turns all the machinery and does a large part of the whole work, a mighty servant that labors night and day, only stopping to rest for a few minutes once in a while, never gets tired nor out of humor, never grumbles nor scolds, I never strikes for higher wages, and only asks to be fed and attended to with proper care. This is a very imperfect description of a very curious and interesting process. To understand it thoroughly one must have some knowledge of machinery and of chemistry, and then he «an spend a delightful day in going overthe immense building and searching out its intricacie® —Chicago Advance.

PHUNNYGRAMS.

—“ Sally, what have you done with the cream?” “Sure, ma’am,l took the scum and gave it to the cats.” ' —“I always thought I should never rear that child,” said an old lady of ninety on hearing of the death of her son, aged seventy. —An urchin being rebuked for wearing out his stockings at the toes replied that it couldn’t be helped—“ toes wiggled, and heels didn’t.” —His name was Wrath, and when he asked his girl to marry him she gave him a soft answer, and the soft answer turned away»Wrath. —A Missourian offers $l5O and three mules to any girl who will marry him. But the question'’arises, What can any young lady do with four mules? y —An Irishman, who was drinking the health of a Bishop, gave this toast: “ May your rivirence live to eat the old hen that crows over your grave!” —The opinion is being strengthened every day that the man who first made a shirt to button behind did more for the world than one who has discovered five comets. —A widow was weeping bitterly for the loss of her husband, and a friend tried to console her. “ No, no,” said she; “ let me have my cry out, and then ! shan’t care anything more about it.” —“ Now, Sammy, tell me, have you read the story of Joseph?’’ “ Oh, yes, unde.” “ Well, then, what wrong did they do when they sold their brother?” “ They sold him too cheap, I think.” —Young Idea—“ Grandma, here’s a book called * The Descent of Man’ says men were all monkeys once. Is it true?” Grandma —“ Sakes alive! It must have been ’fore my time. I don’t recollect anything about it.” —Reading the great Spurgeon’s declaration that “ a cigar is a thing to thank God for,” a Liberty street school-boy bought a cigar. He was afterward seen hanging over a fence, but he was not giving thanks.— Rome Sentinel. '! —Old Bachelor Uncle—“ Well, Charlie, "what do you want now?” Charlie—“ Oh, I want to be rich?’ Uncle —“ Rich? why so? Charlie—“ Because I want to be Eetted. Ma says you are an old fool, ut must be petted because you are rich —but it’s a great secret and I mustn’t tell!”