Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 July 1875 — Page 3

RENSSELAER UNION. m JAMES A HEALEY, Proprietor*. RENSSELAER, - INDIANA.

TRUST. Searching for strawberries ready to eat; Finding them crimson and large and sweet: What do you think I found at my feet, Deep in the green hill-side? Four brown sparrows, the cunning things, Feathered on back and breast and wings, Proud with the dignity plumage brings, Opening their four mouths wide. Stooping lower to scan my prize, Watching the motions with curious eyes, Dropping my berries in glad surprise, A plaintive sound I heard. And looking up at the mournful call, I spied on a branch near the old stone-wall, Trembling and twitting, ready to fall, The poor little mother hir'd. With grief and terror her heart was wrung, And while to the slender bough she clung She felt that the lives of her birdlings hung On a still more slender thread. Ah, birdie! I said, if you only knew My heart was tender and warm and true! But the thought that I loved her birdlings, too, Never entered her small brown head. And so through this world of ours we go, Bearing our burdens of needless woe, Many a heart beating heavy and slow Under its load of care. * ButO! if we only, only knew That God was tender, warm and true, And that He loved us through and through, Our hearts would be lighter than air. —Springfield (Jf ass.) Republican.

A TERRIBLE ALTERNATIVE.

• BY LADY DUFFUB HABDY. “ You seem to be very much struck by that picture,” said my old friend the Colonel (for, as I don’t mean to betray family secrets, I shall speak of him as the “ Colonel” only), at whose cosy nook in Buckinghamshire I had quartered myself for a few days. The picture he alluded to certainly had attracted an unusual amount of my attention, considering that, as a rule, I am strangely deficient in artistic taste. “Well, yes,” I answered, my eye returning to rest on that particular object which had attracted it many times before; “ regarding it as a picture I should say it is by no means the best of your collection, but, regarding it as a portrait, there is something about it that 4 fetches’ me. It is not that the face is either handsome or intellectual, but there is a strange, weird something about it which the artist seems to have caught fresh from the living face and transferred to the canvas, and which all his after art had failed to paint out.” The picture which gave rise to these observations was that of a man certainly not past middle age, dressed in the fashion of the earlier period of the reign of George 111. The face and figure, as regarded mere form and feature, were commonplace enough; there was nothing sufficiently remarkable in the portrait to attract more than a passing observation; indeed, on looking at it, you felt it ought to represent a kindly, genial gentleman; but somehow it didn’t. There seemed to be something behind it, working out through the painted eyes as though it or they had seen what they should not, and were haunted by some awful mystery that would not be hidden even in the grave. Turning my back upon it I shifted the conversation, and my friend seemed by no means displeased to dismiss the subject. We had a long, gossipy chat on many matters interesting to old friends who meet but seldom and with long lapses of time between. It was late before we could make up our minds to separate. At last, as I left the room, candlestick in hand, I could not help, imainst my will, casting a furtive glance at the portrait, and hastily shut the door behind me. I was dead tired, for I had come off a long journey; but when I got to bed it was a long time before I could compose myself to~ sleep, and when I did I was troubled in my dreams. The portrait had followed me up-stairs, slipped into the room after me, and tried to get into the bed beside me; but, failing in that, went and leaned against the wall and came out of the frame and climbed up to the top of my bed, hid in the curtain folds, and multiplied itself by thousands, till the whole atmosphere above and around me was filled with the one weird, strange face. In the morning my friend hoped I had slept well. I told him the sort of purgatory I had endured, adding: “ I am sure there is some grim secret connected with that picture; you may as well tell me what it is. If it is a family secret I promise to keep it sacred.” “ Well,” he answered, after a moment’s reflection, “ there is a painful story connected with it. The portrait is that of my frandfather —Dr. Mathias, let us-call him. [e was one of the physicians-in-ordinary to GeorgellL, which position heoccupied long before lie had reached middle-age. He was a courteous, genial, kindly man, full of those social qualities which make a man a favorite of society. So much I have heard. When I knew him things were different. In the year 17T0, full of high spirits and pleasant anticipations, he went on the Continent for a month’s holiday ; he came back at the end of it an altered man —his genial nature clouded;with an ineradicable gloom. He gave up all practice, all society; bought this place and settled here; he received no visits, paid none; he lived in his library among his books, occasionally taking long, solitary rambles about the country. His nature did not degenerate into harshness, but a strange melancholy possessed him; its cause was unknown, so was its cure. He turned his back upon the world, and, though he was no world-scorner, notliin> r would induce him to enter it again. He was a widower and his only" son—my father—was then a ?boy at Harrow. You may imagine this was not a lively place for a high-spirited young fellow to come home to; they saw little of each other. In duejime illy father married and I was born. Years passed, and one wintry night, when I was about eighteen years old. w 6 received a telegram summoning us here. We came, and were shown into the room where you slept last night. The old min, with the stamp of death upon his face, was propped up on pillows where he had lain for hours, his eyes fixed on the door. Watching for us. As we entered the room his filmy eyes brightened; his eager, outstretched hands trembled as we touched them. With the damp deatli-dew on his brow, his voice quaking, and his whole soul shuddering as he lived over again one terrible moment of his life he told Us the story, which I had better put together in my own words. It appears that duriug lhat momentous visit to the Continent he utft to Naples. ,He was received by the best society, and most hospitably entertained in the most distinguished social, and political Circles,

where lie passed many pleasant hours discoursing and discussing intellectual and scientific subjects—chemistry, surgery, and once, among these things, the use and misuse of iioisons cropped up in the course of conversation; and some one present—a gentleman of some note and importance—asked what was the quickest and easiest death to die. The subject was freely debated. One evening he returned from one of those pleasant gatherings, and in a reflective mood of mind sat for an hour looking over the moonlit city and the beautitul, world-famous bay. It was near midnight when two strangers were shown in to him, who requested his immediate attendance in a case of great urgency. He represented that he was there on a visit ofpleasure, not for professional purposes. They were perfectly aware of that fact, they said; still they urged him so strongly that at last they overcame his scruples, 1 ' and he consented to go with them. A carriage was at the door; he got in first, they followed him, pulled down the blinds, and the carriage rattled away. He did not like his position, and began to suspect that all was not right. They kept utter silence. They seemed to drive a great distance, turning and turning many times. Once he inquired: “ Had they far to go ?” and received the brief answer, “ No.” At last they drove into the courtyard of a great house. The door opened as if by magic. There were no lights, he might as well have been blindfolded; there would have been a total darkness hut for the moonbeams which struggled through the stainedglass window and fell in fantastic shadows at their feet as they ascended the wide stone staircase. On reaching the first landing they threw open a door, and for a second he was almost blinded by the blaze of light that streamed out upon him. The door closed behind him as he stepped into the room. He took in the whole aspect of the room at a glance; it was gorgeously furnished and brilliantly illuminated with wax candles; at a table near the heavily-curtained window a man of stern, commanding appearance sat writing. He raised his head as they entered anu, pointing to the far end of the room, exclaimed: “ Your patient lies there, sir.”

My grandfather’s eyes followed the direction of his finger and observed a woman stretched upon a couch. Where had he seen that face before? Slowly it dawned upon his memory. A few days back lie had been to the theater, and, glancing round, was struck by a beautiful fair face, which for the time fascinated him; lie thought it the loveliest there. He looked on it again now; but how changed! The hands were clasped upon the breast as though in prayer; a dumb, white terror was written on the face; and in the great, uplifted eyes there was a hopeless, de-spairing-agony sickening to behold. He inquired wliat was the matter—how she had been attacked, and, seeing that she was gagged, he begged them to release her mouth, that she might answer liis questions, adding: „ “ I must know something of the symptoms before lean attempt a cure.” “Y6tfr business here is to kill, not to cure, doctor,” said one in a strangely sad tone, which accorded ill with liis stern, fearful phrase. “ Your patient has spoken her last word in this world. She is doomed to die by a secret, though strictly just, tribunal, but we would temper justice with mercy and spare<her the shame and public disgrace. You chn cause her to die easily and secretly; therefore we have brought you here.” “If this lady has committed any crime so great as to deserve death,” he answered, full of compassion for the unfortunate, “ she must meet her punishment from the hands of the public executioner, not by mine.” “By yours, and yours only,” said one of his conductors, gravely. “ There is no time to waste in mere words. She knows she has deserved death, and she knows that she must die.” “God forbid!” exclaimed the physician, a frozen horror stealing over him. The ominous stillness, the grim aspects of the terrible men, struck a chill to his heart. He realized all the horror of liis position.

“A doctor never travels without bis tools,” resumed the stranger; and as he spoke lie turned the lace back from the tender throat, and, pointing to it, added significantly: “Open the jugular vein; it is the easiest and quickest way to die.” My grandfather started back amazed and horror-struck. These were the very words he had uttered during one of those pleasant gatherings at the house of a Neapolitan a few days back. “How dare you propose to me such a crime l .” he exclaimed. “I am an Englishman, and will not commit murder.” “Pshaw! Your nation produces as many honorable criminals as any other. To your work, sir, and quickly. If you have conscientious scruples, remember an enforced sin lies lightly on the conscience; lay that comfort to your soul. No more words,” he added peremptorily—“ not one; this is the time for action.” “ I refuse to obey your cruel command. Let me go.” The man who had been writing, and until now had taken no part whatever in the scene that was passing round him, then rose up and joined the group. Laying his hand lightly on my grandfather’s shoulder, he said: “There is no escape for you, doctor; every moment you hesitate you prolong that woman’s pain. She must die; and you can dispatch her with painless speed.” “ What if I refuse ? You cannot force me to commit so foul a murder.” He pointed; to two swarthy figures (either soldiers or liveried servants of some nobte family—my grandfather could not tell which) who had been standing motionless by the couch, and answered: “Then those faithfnl fellows will dispatch you and afterward dispatch her; they are not professional, and their work will be clumsily done. If the operation be not performed upon your patient before the clock strikes you know' your fate; if you are obdurate remember jou throw away your own life without saving hers. She'is doomed; no power on earth can save her.” • It was vain to speak or expostulate with those fiends in human form. He .felt they were as stern and inexorable as fate. It. was as cruel as horrible and cow*ardly. Five men assembled to witness the professional murder of a young and beautiful’ woman! What had she done? Whom had she offended? Some secret machinery was at work; these men were mere instru-” ments in the hands of a higher power—they had owned as much; they had no personal interest in the matter. They were there to carry' out justice, they said —secretly, it was * true: but tire woman had been lawfully condemned, and the sentence of the law must be privately executed. The woman’s eyes were fixed upon them throughout the whole of “ this conversation, aqd traveled from one • lace to the other in hopeless agony? not a. word passed her ears, and only ure one despairing, changeless expression sat like a seal

. upon her face. She knew there was no escape for her —none. There \ra*. only the one question to be solved: Was she to die by the unwilling hand of a pitying stranger, or be killed cruelly by professional murderers ? What a world of terror must have been compressed in those few moments of her life as she lay watching and waiting there? The clock began to chime the quarters; it was about to strike. At a given signal the statue-like figure stepped forward and rapidly uncoiled a rope with a noose already made; they were about to slip it over his head ana hang him to a beam which ran along the center of the ceiling. The horror of facing a sudden arid violent end seized him —his death would avail her nothing for whom he died. His senses were in a whirl; he threw up his hands and sprang forward. “ I’ll do it!” he exclaimed, and fell on his knees beside her. “They will have your life; I cannot save you, child; but I can shield you from their rough, cruel hands, and put you painlessly to rest. Forgive me, forgive me, for it is in mercy to you that I do this cruel deed.” The white haqd went out to him and closed over his in a soft, forgiving clasp; the agony died out of the sweet eyes* as they rested one moment on his face; then with a low sigh she closed them and turned away her head. In another moment her young life was ebbing slowly away. He remained by her side, holding her hand in his, and watching till all was over. He would not for a second leave her with those stern men, lest a wounding word or rough touch might disturb her on her way from this world to the next. He was conducted from the place in the same way as he had entered it, and when his conductors took leave of him they suggested that it would be well if he would leave Naples with as little delay as possible. This forced murder —for such it really was—lay upon his conscience to the end of liis life, and filled it with one long remorse—a living nightmare—for that scene was always present to his mind. The change that had so long puzzled us puzzled us no more. He could not carry his secret to the grave with him, so gave it into our keeping. “ It’s a terrible story!” I exclaimed. “ And, unlike most terrible stories, it is true,” he answered. “ Come out for a breath of fresh air and sunshine, to blow this gloomy subject from our senses.” — Pictorial World.

VARIETY AND HUMOR.

—Shoulder seams are cut very short, and the coat sleeves fit almost tight to the arm. —The prospects are that green apples and cholera will be about a month later than usual this year. —lt isn’t any economy to get your wife to cut your liair, because it costs you so much afterward for courbplaster.— Brooklyn Argus. —A Charleston merchant who failed the other day owed $3,785 and his assets were seventeen cents. It takes an Ameriican to do business. » —The people of New Bedford, Mass., are fitting out a large whaling expedition, numbering 111 vessels, for a regular oldfashioned whaling expedition. —Are the people of this broad and magnificent country going to let the grasshopper excitement overshadow potato-bug talk? Naw! Arouse, ye freemenl —A young lady in Alabama said she fuessed she knew' how to shoot a pistol. he doctor w'ho dug the bullet out of her brother’s leg said he guessed so too. —Kerosene oil is recommended as a destroyer of the Colorado potato beetle. Here, possibly, is the new opening which oil-producers have been in seatch of. —A woman marries the first time for love, the second time for a home, and she is in favor of the third term if the man is eligible financially.— Titusville Herald. —Nothing is so calculated to overthrow one’s confidence in human nature as the spectacle of a man poulticing his wife’s throat for the purpose of restoring her voice.

—When a boy falls and peels the skin off his nose, the first thing he does is to get upland yell. When a girl tumbles and hurts herself badly, the first thing she does is to get up and look at her dress. —Canaan Valley, Conn., is the place where they store kegs of gunpowder in a blacksmith-shop, and where the gunpowder, lighted by a spark from the forge, blows the blacksmith and his shop into bits. —There are times when all of a woman’s self-possession and dignity are required. That is when she show's her first baby, a hare-lipped one, to an old beau, whom she had jilted for the sake of her present husband. —California female teachers have always treated the School Trustee’3 boy with the distinguished consideration which, as the son of his father, he is entitled to, and now' they get just as much pay as male teachers. —Upon the death of her husband the lady married his brother, and when a friend saw the portrait of the first husband in the house he said: “Is this a member of your family?” “ It is my poor brother-in-law,” she said. —A young man in Oswego jumped into the canal and ruined a fifty-dollar suit of clothes to save a cross-eyed girl, and then wouldn’t accept a button-string which she collected for him. He said that honesty was its own reward. —“ Well, Neighbor Slummidge, how' much shall I put you down for to get a chandelier for the church?” Neighbor S.—“ Shoo ! what we want to get a chandylierfor? The’ hain’t nobody can play on ter it when ye git it.” —There is said to be a family at work in the cbtton mill in Brunswick, Me., which consists of father and mother and twenty-four children, all the children large enough being at work. The woman is the fourth wife; a brother of the hus band, living with his fifth wife in Montreal, has twenty-five children. —ln sentencing two murderers to be hanged the other day, Judge Reed, of Charleston, S. C., dropped into the follow mg' selection: , This world is all a fleeting show For man’s illusion given. Its smiles of its tears of woe, Deceitful shine,, deceitful flow. There’s nothing true but Heaven. The victims of the law failed tojf look con* soled. • ', „ —The Rev. W. M. Baker wrote to the Independent a story of Phil Sheridan, the events of which he vouches for as occurring within his own experience. He narrates that a young lady, wishing to be taken out fbr a walk by Sheridan, made a request to him to accompany her. Sheridan declined on the plea of* wet weather. A few minutes later the lady detected him stealing out alone, and charged him with inconsistency. Sheridan replied (says the chronicler): “ The weather is too bad for two, but I thought it might be good enough for obe.” This same story, it is

discovered '• was *°ld of Richard Brinsley Sheridan yt a . rs a "°- Tlie Rev - Baker’s revival of it \ 3 , t ‘ ue P&’haps to the prevailing centennial fever. —At the layiv of the corner-stone of Bunker Hill Mom Uie crowd that had assembled to hear Mr ; Webster's oration pressed forward upo* l , e so that it was in danger of giving way. The Chairman urged the ci. °, back, but liis entreaties were ux deeded, and he asked' Mr. Webster’s assist ance. The latter arose and said, in his i najestic way: “ Gentlemen, you must fall hi . •“ "We cannot,” was‘the reply; “it , impossible ; the crowd behind are pushi ?g us f ,,r ' ward.” In a spirit befitting the p. * ace time the great Webster turned upo, n .diem and exclaimed: “Gentlemen, notht n g impossible on Bunker Hill; you must. back.” And back they went, as if ii. ll : pelled by divine force. |

—There is a cqge containing four white mice at the Delta Saloon, Virginia, which are quite a study. After seeing their maneuvers for an hour or two one is not at all surprised at the racket made by mice generally, for during the early part of the evening they take constant and violent exercise. They consume a great deal of water, taking a drink every ten minutes or oftener. It would be supposed that such a small animal as a mouse would not be at all ferocious and aggressive; but such appears to be the ease with the white species, at least. A chipmunk that was put into the cage with those at the Delta was attacked by them all, and very quickly dispatched, without one of the mice being injured in the least by the unfortunate victim. A gray mouse which was subsequently put into the same cage was very roughly handled, being attacked by two of the white mice, who took hold of him like a couple of bull-dogs, and repeated the attack again and again, shaking him by the throat and biting his legs ana tail, the latter being nearly severed from his body. Perhaps white mice, like red ants, are a particularly ferocious species of the genus to winch they belong.— Virginia (Cal.) Chronicle.

A Scene in the New York Police Court.

“ Johnson, the officer says that you were drunk, and that you haven’t drawn a sober breath for a week. How is that, Johnson?” the Justice asked of the next prisoner. “ Yer Honor,” said Johnson, as he dropped one arm over thearail and leaned back heavily on the policeman, who supported him by the shoulder, “ yer Honor, it’s true. I’ve been drunk for a week, as you say, an’ I haven’t got a word to say to defend myself. I’ve been in this here court, I guess, a hundred times before, an’ every time I’ve asked your Honor to let me off light. But this time I don’t have no fear. You can send me up for ten days or you can send me up for ten years; it’s alTone now.” As he Spoke lie brushed away a tear with his hat; and when he paused he coughed a dry, racking cough, and drew his tattered coat closer about his throat. “ When I went up before/’ he continued, “ I alw’ays counted the days an’ the hours till I’d come off. This time I’ll count the blocks to the Potter’s Field. I’m almost gone, Judge.” He paused again, and looked down to his almost shoeless feet. “ When I was a little country boy,” he went on, “my mother used to say to me, ‘ Charlie, if you want to be a man, never touch liquor;’ an’ I’d answer, ‘No, ny>ther, I never will.’ If I’d kept that promise, you an’ me wouldn’t have been so well acquainted, Judge. If I could only be a boy again for half a day. If I could go into the old: school-house jest once more, an’ see the boys an’ girls as I used to see them in the old days, I could lay right down an’ die happy. But it’s too late. Send me up, Judge. Make it for ten days, or make it for life. It don’t make no difference. One way would be as short as the other. All I ask now is to die alone. I’ve been in crowded tenements for years. If I can be alone a little while before I go, I’ll drop off contented.” The shoulder of the muddy coat slipped from the policeman’s hand, and the usedup man fell in a heap to the floor. He was carried to the little room behind the rail. His temples w'ere bathed, and his wTists were chafed. But it was no use. Though his heart still beat, he w r as fast going to join his schoolmates who have crossed the flood. The shutters were bowed, the door was closed. He might die contented, for he was left alone.

Early Birds.

My idea of perfect happiness is the consciousness of having done our whole duty, and the certainty of getting our reward for it. Life is short, but the majority outlive themselves anyhow. It is a great deal easier to be saucy than to be sarcastic; but there is many critics who haven’t discovered the difference yet, and probably never will. The man whom success renders more humble, and at the same time more cautious, is one whom a defeat couldn’t weaken. If a man is going to leave the world and retire into solitude he must take a large stock of virtues with him, for these are the only things he can enjoy there. There has seldom been a great occasion yet but what there has been found some one equal to it, and that one has often sprung from an unexpected source. The man who fully understands a subject is’always satisfied to use the simplest terms to explain it. If you expect to keep yure friend yu have got to see all his virtues with both eyes and his failings with one. J The man who tells you that there ain’t an honest person living has studied his own character too well. Of all created things animate or inanimate, we find no fools except among mankind. He who has the most authority and uses it the least is truly a noble (character. The world have always longed for sensations; if a man could invent a new Punch and Judy, he would be admired more than the one who could make one barrel of flour go as far as two. You can’t separate wit from truth; truth may not be wit, but wit is always truth. Our pashions were not given us to be destroyed, but to be controlled. The man who told us “ that virtue is its own reward,” might have added that vice was too. ” The theory of medicine has cured more patients than the practice of it ever has. No really wise man ever asks questions that he thinks can’t be answered. Silence has been prized more perhaps than it really deserves, but in the case of folly it can’t be commended too much. [ You can’t make an enemy of the meanest wretch with impunity, for the meanest wretch can set fire to your pig-pen just as easy as Anybody. —Josh Billings , in N. T. Weekly.

Our doling Folks. ARITHMETIC. One little head, worth H* whole weight In gold, Over and over, a million tlfues toidTwo shining eyes, full of gletf, Brighter than diamond* ever cotlid be. Three pretty dimples, for fun to slip in, Two in the cheeks and one in the chin. Four little fingers on each bahj^ihnd, Fit for a princess of sweifef Entry-land. Five on each hand, if we reckon Tom Thumb, Standing beside them, so stiff and so glum I

Bix pearly teeth Just within her red lips, Over which merriment ripples and trips. Seven bright ringlets, aayellpw.as gold, Seeming the sunshine to gather and hold.

Eight tiny waves running over her hair, Su nsh ine and shadow, they love to be there. Nine pneAioiJS words that Totty car. say; But she will learn new ones every day. Ten little chubby, comical toes; And that is as far as this lesson goes. — E. S,F., in St. Sieholas for July.

SALT AND SNOW.

BY LUCY J. KIDEK. It was a busy time at the Browns’. Lill was in the parlor practicing “ Last Rose of Summer,” Jenny was making icecream in the kitchen and Benny was helping. “ Why didn’t they buy their icecream?” Why, they lived away uip among the Green Mountains, miles and miles away from any ice-cream- saloon. Isn’t that a good reason? They were going to have a party in the evening; but I’m going to tell voa;about the ice-cream and not about the pairty, for everybody has parties, and it isn't everybody that makes ice-cream. Jenny and her mother scalded the cream and stirred in the eggs and sugar and lemon, and then poured it all into a tin pa - Benny brought in a great pan of snow, made a little bed of snow and salt in a big wooden bucket, set the tin pail over in and piled the snow and salt around the sides, while Jenny began to press it down with her fingers. “ Oh! oh!” cried she, all at once flirting her fingers in the air and rushing toward the stove. “What’s the matter, Sis ? Anythingbit you?” asked her brother. , “Ton needn’t laugh, Benny Brown,” cried Jenny, dancing around. “Just put your fingers in there and see. It’s colder than—^—” Words failed her,; and she squeezed her fingers with an injured air. Benny tried it. r “Why, it’s not so very cold,* skid he. “Fact is, Jen, you girls do scream so easy.” Just then Mrs. Brown came into the room. “ Come, children,” said she, “ you must keep the cream whirling or it will all be spoiled.” Jenny swallowed her wrath, seized the handle of the pail, and began whirling it in its chilly bed, punching down the snow and salt, meanwhile, with the dipper-han-dle.

“Well, Jenny,” said her brother, witha yawn, “ I see you are going to do all the rest, and so I’ll Just see how Lill gets along.” And off he went, turning back at the door to say that whenever they wanted any “ sampling” done he was ready to do it. “Sampling, indeed!” thought Jenny. “He just wants an excuse to taste it. I think I can do that myself.” Whirl, whirl went the pail, while Jenny looked at her red fingers and pondered. “ Say, mother,” she broke forth, suddenly, “ I couldn’t hold my fingers in the snow a minute; but Benny didn’t mind it at all. What makes the difference ?” “He is used to handling snow and ioe, and you are not; but I think even he would have found it pretty cold if the snow and salt had been well mixed.” Jenny meditated, all the while whirling her pail. “Salt isn’t cold,” said she, at length, “ and snow isn’t very cold, and I don't see what makes them so cold when they’re mixed.”

“ It’s the melting of the snow that produces the cold,” replied her mother. “ The melting of the snow?” Jenny was more puzzled than ever. Mrs. Brown smiled;but, seeing Jenny’s eagerness, she set about explaining it in earnest. “ What is cold ?” asked she. “ Cold ? Cold is—it’s—why, it’s where there isn’t any warmth.” “ You’ve hit it exactly. Cold is the absence of heat. Like the zero in arithmetic, the word is nothing in itself, but only shows the absence of something. Now, anything that will take away heat will produce cold! will it not?” “Yes’m.” “ Well, the snow must have heat in order to melt, and it takes it from whatever is most convenient, in this case from the cream, as it can draw it better through tin than through wood. After a while the cream will lose so much heat—that is, get so cold—that it will freeze.” Jenny jerked up the cover of the pail. “ Sure enough,” she cried, “it’s beginning to freeze now around the sides. And oh! mother,” snapping up a bit on the end of her spoon, “ it’s just splendid. But, mother,” she resumed, shutting the pail again, “ I can’t see what the salt has to do with it.”

“ Salt has a great liking for water. You know how quickly it will dissolve in it. And when the salt is mixed with snow' it seems to compel the snow to melt —that is, become water —in order that it may unite with it.” “ But does the heat really go into the snow to make it water?” __ '' “Yes, I think it’s correct to say that; though we mustn't think of heat as a substance or body; I’ll tell you how it might be proved. Heat is measured by the thermometer, We speak of degrees of heat, just as we speak of quarts of water or bushels of corn. Now suppose you were to put a pound of snow into a kettle and build a good fire underneath. The thermometer dipped into thesnow would show just thirty-two degrees of heat, but during every minute that the snow was melting a certain, number of degrees*of-heat would pass from the fire into the snow—say ten degrees; then it would take just fourteen minutes to melt the snow, and how r much heat would pass into the snow V” “Let me see. Ten times fourteen—a hundred and forty degree^-’’ “ Yes, but the thermometer dipped into the water just as the last snow' melts would still stand at thirty-two degrees.’’ “What has become of the heat, then?’’ It is all taken up its changing the snow to water. It doesn’t show by the thermometer, so the wise men call it 'latmt or hidden heat. Latent means hidden, 3'ou know. We are kure that that amount of heat has actually passed into the snow,

just as much fire the temperature will rise exactly 140 degrees in fourteen minutes. “ It doesn’t make any difference about the measuring. If you should put two quarts of water into a can you would know it was there, even though the neck should be so narrow that you couldn’t get your quart cup in to measure it.” I could turn it out and measure it.” “So you J* 11 * n this case.” * “ Oh, mother/” _ t . “Certainly you call, JJ thawing takes m heat, won’t freeMri* send n out again ? hen water freezes 8 jsvea up every de- *«*'«* heat » took up W ftawing?” .Well, then,” said Jenny, struggling with the novel idea, “I should thiflk we might boil water by it. Boil one dish of water by freezing-another! Just think of it!”

”It does sound odd; but it might be done, I'm sure. Part of the water would give it? extra heat to the other part. Just as if I wefe to give yon my shawl on a cold day, you would he warmer, I colder.” “ That’s why father carries water into the apple-cellar, to keep the apples from freezing. The writer will freeze first, and give out heat to make the cellar warmer for the apples/’ “ Right,” said Mrs. Brown. “ And can you tell why there’s such a chilliness in the air on a bright day in spring, when the sun shines and the snow melts fast ?” “Yes, the melting snow takes the warmth out of the air,” said Jenny, eagerly. « “ How’s the ice-cream?” cried Benny and Lill, coming noisily into the kitchen just then. “ let’s try ft.” I have not stopped to tell you of the many times Jenny had already tried it during the talk with her mother. Now, upon opening the pail, it was found frozen hard, and after they had all liberally “sampled” it, as Benny said, Mrs. Brown pronounced it “done,” and it was carried down-cellar, bucket, snow and ail, to wait the evening. Then Jenny tried to repeat what her mother told her and- got very much mixed up. Only one thing was plain,, she wanted to try the snow and salt again on Beamy’s hand. ‘“Barkis is willin’,’” said' Benny, stretching out his hand with the air of a martyr; “but you neadn’t think you’re going to make me scream.” Jenny spread a layer of dry snow ®n the back of his hand—” that’s the tenderest place” she said—then a layer of salt. Benny never winced. Another layer of snow and, salt.was added, while the girls looked eagerly in his face for signs off yielding. “Itpricks a little; that’s all,” said he. “Well, that is strange,” said Jenny. “ I couldn’t bear it a minute. Mother,, do come and see.” The moment Mrs. Brown looked at 1 Benny’s hand she noticed a peculiar whiteness spreading over it. “Why, Benny!” she cried, brushing away the snow and salt, “your hand! is freezing.” Sure enough, a large spot on his-hand was perfectly bloodless. “It can’t be frozen,” said he: “I haven’t been two feet from the stove.. Besides, it didn’t feel cold.” “It froze so quickly that you didn’t feel it; but it is surely frozen. Here; dip it in this cold water.” Benny obeyed, and as the blood gradually returned it began to sting and smart. It became purple and swollen and Jenny wanted to poultice it. But he declared he “ wouldn’t he such a baby;” so he braved it through, though the pain Was- quite severe for two or three days. They never tried that experiment again; but Mrs. Brown taught them another. In ai tell quart cup, filled half full of dry snow, they threw' half a teacupful of salt, then, turnihg a little water on the kitchen floor,they set the cup down in it, stirred the mixture, and waited for developments. First the cup became covered with frost, like the glass of a window one cold morning, and Lill wrote her name on it—a thing she wasn’t allowed to do on the windowpanes. The snow began to look damp and heavy. “See,” cried Jenny, “it is melting already, and drawing in heat from all around to help it turn to water.” She tapped the cup lightly with her fingers, she gave it a vigorous pull by the handle; but it did not move, ft was froeen fast to the floor. And, though there was a hot fire within two feet, it did not thaw up for hours. Indeed, I believe it was still there when the first comers of the party made their appearance;.hut I’m not sure. How long do you suppose you could make a cup stay frozen to the floor in your house?— N. T. Independent.

The Uniformity of Compliment.

Taine says: “ Anything is better than etiquette. Walk on all-fours, if it please you; take off your coat, your boots, everything you please, only do not recite readymade phrases. Last winter I gave a successful evening party. My rooms were decorated with tropical flowers, and there was some rare Cape wine. A week later I wished I were out of Paris. I could not enter a drawing-room without receiving a compliment, always the same, and I grew gradually savage. When a man or a woman approached me I caught their phrase in advance, could see the particular grimace, the kind and quantity of the smile, the twinkle of the eyes, the depth of the lines about the mouth, the movements of the hips, the twist of the loins, the sharpness and the crescendo of the voice. Ino longer saw the face of a sensible man, but the mug of a monkey making grimaces, or the mummery of a danc-ing-doll pulled by a string., I ended in becoming as mechanical as they. I constructed a phrase with variations, which I used as a parry to the thrust of compliments. I recited it, listening to the sound of my own voice, and counting the trinkets qf mv adversary’s watch-chain. One should keep a secretary, whose business it should be to pay and receive compliments for him from ten o’clock till midnight every evening during the season.” —Honey comes originally from the roots of plants, and undergoes processes during the formation of the flower, and that which is gathered up by the bee is an excess, and not essential to the development of the fruit or flower. If not saved by the bee it would waste its sweetness on the desert air. - —A man named F. J. Bolen, of Mobile, Ala., Committed suicide in New Orleans recently because the lady whom he loved would not marry him. He had been a cripple from childhood, and the young lady rejected him oh that Account. ——— —A second Lambeth Conference is called for 1877—t0 which all the Anglican Bishops will be invited. The first was held at Lambeth Palace (hence the name of Lambeth) in 1867. Legal Fobgers—Blacksmiths.