Rensselaer Union, Volume 8, Number 2, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 September 1875 — Page 3

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

*Hs the golden gieam of an Aufutan day, With the toft rai« raining as if in play; And a tender touch upon everything, As if autumn remembered the days of spring. In the listening woods there is not a breath To shake their gold to the sward beneath; , And a glow as of sunshine upon them lies, Though the gtxn was hid in the shadowed skies. The cock’s clear crow from the farmyard com£s, The muffled bell from the belfry booms, 1..,.. And faint and dim, and from far away, Come the voices of children in happy play. O’er the mountains the white rain draws its veil,And the black rooks, cawing, across them sail, While nearer the swooping swallows skim O’er the steel-gray river’s fretted brim. No sorrow Upon the landscape weighs, No grief for the vanished summer days, But a sense of peaceful and calm repose,’ Like that age in its autumn knows. The spring-time longings are past and gone, The passions of summer no longer are known, The harvest is gathered, and Autumn stands Serenely thoughtful, with folded hands. Over all is thrown a memorial hue, A glory ideal the real ne’er knew; For memory sifts from the past its pain, And suffers its beauty alone to remain. With half a smile and half a sigh It ponders the past that has hurried by; Sees it, and feels it, and loves it all, Content it has vanished beyond recall. O glorious Autumn, thus serene, Thuif living and loving all that has been! Thus calm and contented let me be When the autumn of age shall come to me. —Blackwood's Magazine.

THE CORNET-A-PISTON.

[Translated from the French lor Lippincott’s Magazine.] “ Master Basil, play us a little tune; we. want to dance.” “Yea, yes. Master Basil, play the cor-net-a-piston for us.” “Joaquin studies music; go fetch Joaquin’s cornet for Master Basil.” “ Yes, do; that is right. Will you play something for us, Master Basil?” “ No, my children.” “Why no?” “ I say no.” “And why?” “ I do not know how to play.” “ You do not know how! Oh, what a hypocrite! You want to be begged.” “ Pooh, pooh! We know very well that you were a first-rate musician in the regiment, and that up to this time no one has ever played the cornet-a-piston like you.” “And that you played before the court.” “ And that you have a pension.” “ Come, Master Basil!” “Well, yes, it is true I-did play the corneLa-piston—l was even a virtuoso, aS you call it nowadays—but it is also true that fifteen years or more ago I made a present of my instrument to a' poor man and since then I have not even hummed a note.” “ What a pity! such a great musician!” “ But this evening you will play, won’t you? Here in the country anything is allowable.” “ To-day especially—my birthday.” “ Bravo! bravo! here is the instrument.” “ Y T es, play us a waltz.” “ No, a polka.” “ A polka! not at all —a fandango.” “Yes, yes, a fandango, the national dance.” “I am very sorry, my children, I cannot play.” “ You are generally so amiable!” “ So obliging!” -“ It is your dear grandson asking you.” “ And your grandniece. ’’ “Let me be; in the name of Almighty God, I tell you that I do not play.” “ But why so?” “ Because I have made a vow not to.” “To whom?” “To myself—to one who has gone—to your poor mother, my child.” At these words, spoken in a faltering tone, a veil of sadness suddenly covered all the faces present. “ Oh, if you but knew what it cost me to learn music!” continued the old man. “The story! the story!” shouted the young people—" tell us the story!” “It is in fact quite a story. Listen, then,” said Master Basil. And sitting down under a tree, whilst a crowd of curious young heads formed a circle aroflnd him, he related in these words how he had studied the cornet-a-piston. It is thus that Mazeppa, Lord Byron’s hero, likewise seated under a tree, related one evening to Charles XII. the terrible story of his rid-ing-lesson. But let us listen to Master Basil: “It will soon be twenty-three years since Spain was a prey to civil war. Don Carlos and Isabella were contending for the crown, and the Spaniards, divided into two camps, shed their blood in this fratricidal struggle. I had a friend, a Lieutenant of chasseurs, ip. the same battalion as myself, the most able man I had ever known. We had been brought up together—together we had graduated from college. A thousand times had we met upon the same battle-field, fighting side by side, and we both wished to die in the< cause of freedom. He was even, if you please, more liberal than I. “ Unfortunately, my friend Raymond was the victim of an injustice, of an abuse of authority—of one of those arbitrary acts sometimes committed by high officers in the army which outrage the more honorable men of this noble profession. From that moment the officer resolved io abandon his soldiers, the friend to leave his friend, the liberal to go over to the rebels, the subordinate to kill his Colonel. To God the Father Himself Raymond would not have forgiven an injustice. “ All my entreaties were useless to dissuade him iYoni his project. It was a settled thing; he would change the shako for the berettar— he who Nevertheless mortally detested the Carlists. “We happened to be at that time in the province of Asturias, three miles from the enemy. The night chosen by Raymond to desert had come—a cold, rainy night, bringing with it melancholy thought; we were to tight Ore next day. Toward midnight, just as I was falling asleep, Raymond entered my tent. “‘Basil!’ he whispered in my ear. < “ * Who is there?” “It is I. Adieu!” “ ‘ You are going already ?’ ’ ‘“Yes. Gcod-by;’ ana he grasped my arm. ‘Listen!’he continued- ‘if, as we expect, there should be a battle to-mor-row, and if we meet?-—■' ...' ... “‘I understand; we are friends.” ‘“Well, we will embrace each other

and continue to fight, each on his own side. As for»nyself I shall surely die, for I will not leave the field without having my revenge on the Colonel. As for you, Basil, do not expose yourself too much. Glory! You see what it is—smoke.’ “ ‘ And life?’ “ ‘ Yes, you are right. Become commander,’ continued Raymond, raising his voice. ‘ The pay — that is a more serious matter—rum, tobacco, pretty women. Alas! everything is over for me!’ “‘Good God! what are you thinking of?’ said I, quite overcome. ‘We both of us have made more than one narrow escape already.’ “ ‘ Well, then, let us name a place to meet after the engagement.’ “ ‘ Wherever you please.’ “‘ In the hermitage of St. Nicholas, at one o’clock at night. If one of us is not there it will be because he could not come; he will be dead.' Is it agreed?” “‘Perfectly. Farewell, then!’ “ ‘Farewell!’ “ We threw ourselves in each other’s arms; then Raymond disappeared in the shades of night. “As we feared, or, rather, as we had foreseen, the rebels attacked us the next day. The action was hot, and lasted from three o’clock in the afternoon until evening. Once only in the melee did I catch a glimpse of my friend Raymond; he wore on his head the little beretta of the Carlists. They had already named him commander; he had killed our Colonel. My luck was not so good. I was made prisoner by the enemy. “It was one o’clock in the morning, the hour of my rendezvous with Raymond. I found myself shut up in a room used as a prison, and in the heart of a small village then occupied by the Carlists. I asked about Raymond. “‘ He is a brave fellow,’ they answered me; ‘he has killed a Colonel, but he must be dead.’

“‘ Why so?’ “ ‘ Because he has not come back.’ “‘ Oh, how much I suffered that night! A hope, however, still remained; Raymond had undoubtedly waited for me at the hermitage, and that was 0e .reason they had not seen him again. ?Hbw*anxious he must have been at not finding me at the rendezvous ?’ I thought to myself. ‘He believes I am surely killed; and, in fact, is my last hour so far off? The Carlists shoot all their prisoners; to-morrow I-must die. It is true that Raymond will Teturn before—but if I die to-day! My God! my God! lam losing my head!’ “ Dawn broke upon me while in the midst of these reflections. A chaplain entered my prison; all my companions were sleeping. “‘I must die!’ I exclaimed, on seeing he priest. “ ‘ Yes!’ he answered gently. ‘‘“What! already?’ “ ‘ No; in three hours.’ “ A moment later my companions were awakened. A thousand cries, a thousahtl sobs, a thousand curses echoed through the prison. “ A man about to die ordinarily seizes one fixed idea and clings to it. Nightmare, fever or madness, that is what happened to me. The thought of Raymond took possession of my mind; I saw him living, I saw him dead—sometimes struggling in the melee, sometimes waiting for me at the hermitage. I was deaf, dumb, insensible—idiotic, in fact. “They took off my officers’ uniform and put on the cap and hood of a private soldier on me; then with my twenty companions! marched toward death. From this number only one, a musician, was to escape his ffoom. The Carlists spared the lives of musicians, not only because these poor devils were scarcely to be feared in battle, but also because they themselves wanted to form bands of music for their own battalions.”

“And you were a musician, Master Basil; that is what saved you!” exclaimed the young folks in one voice. “No, my children,” replied the veteran; “ I was not a musician. The Carlists drew up in line of battle. One platoon was detached, the platoon of execution, and we were placed before it. The number ten was given tb me. I should thus be the tenth man to die. Then I thought of my wife and my daughter—of your mother and'of you, niy child.. “ The execution began. As my eyes were bandaged I could not see my companions. I wanted to count the shots that I might know when my turn came, but before the third report I lost the count. “Ah, those gun-shots! I shall hear them always. They seemed to resound far away, very far away, and all at once to burst within my head. The reports followed each other, however. “‘ It is my turn now,’ I said to myself. The balls whistled, but I was still alive. “‘This time it is surely my turn; it is all over.’ I felt some one take me by the shoulders, shake me, speak in my ear. I fell, I ceased to think; then I dreamed that I was shot dead. “‘Was the dream still lasting? I lay on a bed in my room, the very one which had served as a prison. I saw nothing. I raised my hands to my eyes to take oft the bandage and I found that my eyes were free, wide open, but the prison was full I of shadows. I then heard a clock strike and I began to tremble. It was evening prayers. “‘lt is nine o’clock,’ I thought, ‘but what day can it be?’ “ A shadow more dense than that surrounding leaned over me; this shadow had a human form. My lips unconsciously murmured a name, the name I had incessantly repeated during my nightmare— Raymond. “ ‘What is it?’ said a voice at my side. “ ‘My God!’ I exclaimed, ‘is that you, Raymond? You are alive yet?’ “ ‘ Yes.’ “ ‘ And I?’ “‘You, also.’ j- “ ‘ Where am I, then? At the hermitage? Have I been dreaming, then ? Was I not made prisoner ?’ “ ‘ No, Basil, you have not been dreaming. I will tell you everything. Yesterday in themeieel hit the Colonel; I had my revenge. Then, blinded by rage, I killed, I killed until night—until there no longer remained a single Christino upon the field. When the moon rose I was very weary, but I remembered you; then I directed my steps to.tlie hermitage, intending to wait for you. It was ten o’clock in the evening; the rendezvous was for one. The night before I had not closed my eyes; I fell asleep. At one o’clock I awoke uttering a cry. I looked around and found myself alone. Two o’clock, three o'clock, four o’clock struck; you did not appear. You were surely dead; this thought maddened me. Day dawned at last; I left tlie hermitage and turned toward the village, where my new brothers-in-arms were mustered. They all believed I had been left on tlie field, fhey received me with open arms; they heaped compliments and honors upon me. Then, all at once, while talking to them, I learned that twenty-one prisoners were to be shot that very morning. A presentiment crossed my mind; could Basil be

among them? I. hastened away. The execution was already formed. I heard some shots'; the firing had begun. My eyes sought you, but, blinded by grief, they could not see. Finally, I descried ybii. Yo> were about to be shot dead; there were nst more than two numbers before it came to your turn. What was Ito do? _ I was crazy; I uttered a cry, I seized you in my arms and in an agonized, desperate voice I exclaimed, “ Oh, not that one, my General, not that one!” The General pffcsidingover the execution, who already knew of me through my conduct of the previous evening, addressed me: “Why not? is he a-musician?” This word was to the what the light of day would be if made suddenly visible to a blind man. “A musician!” I exclaimed, “Yes* yes,. my General—a musiciaiT,~n great musician.” As for you, however, you had "fallen senseless. “ And on what instrument does he play?’ 1 asked the General. “On what instrument? On —on the—yes, that is it—that is so—on the cor-net-a-pistdn.” “Doyou need a cornet-a-piston?” pursued the General, addressing the bandmaster. The answer took five seconds—five centuries for me. “Yes, General, precisely,” said the bandmaster at last. “Then let them take this man from the ranks, and the execution proceed without delay.” I lifted you in all haste and taking you in my arms I carried you here.’

“ Raymond had not yet done speaking; I made but one bound and fell upon his neck, crying and laughing at the same time. ‘ I owe you my life,’ I exclaimed. “‘Not quite,’ replied Raymond. “‘Why so?' “ ‘ Do you know how to play the cornet-a-piston ?’ “‘I? No.” “ ‘ Well, then, that is cool!’ “ In fact, my children, I had suddenly become as cold as a marble statue. “ ‘ And music ?’ continued Raymond, ‘ do you understand music ?’ “ ‘ A little, very little; you know well enough what was taught us at college.’ “ Little enough, then, or, to come nearer the truth,, nothing. You are hopelessly lost, Und myself with you; they will call me traitor, and say that I intended t'o betray them. Before a fortnight the band of which you ought to make one will be organized.’ “A fortnight ?’ “ ‘ Neither more nor less, and, as you will not be able to play on the cornet-a-piston unless God works a miracle in your favor, they will shoot us both.’ “Shoot you!' I exclaimed. ‘You—for me, who owe you my life? O no! It is not possible. Heaven would not permit it. In a fortnight I will know music, and I will play the cornet-a-piston.’ “Raymond began to laugh. “ How shall I tell you, my children? In fifteen days—o power of will! —in fifteen days, the nights included—for I did not take a single moment of rest, even to sleep—in fifteen days I learned to play. “ Raymond and I went into the country, and together we passed the whole day with a musician of a neighboring village, wlio came to give me lessons. “‘But why not escape?’you areabout to ask. “Escape was impossible; I was still a prisoner, and closely watched. Raymond would not leave without me. “ I no longer spoke, I no longer thought, I no longer ate, I had but one single idea —music and a cornet-a-piston. I wanted to learn, and I learned. Dumb, I should have spoken; paralyzed, I should have walked; blind, I should have seen. We accomplished everything. ‘ Where there’s a will there’s a way.’ I willed it —that is the great word—and succeeded in it. Children, remember this truth. In this way I saved my life; but I became crazy. For three whole years my fingers never left the instrument. Do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, si, do — the world contained nothing else for me; my life was passed in blowing. Raymond did not forsake me.

“ With him I emigrated to France and continued to play the cornet-a-piston. Everybody thronged to hear me; I was a prodigy, a wonder. The cornet-a-piston seemed to breathe beneath my touch; it sobbed, prayed, sighed, roared—it imitated a bird, a wild beast, the human voice even. My lungs were made of iron. “ Two years passed thus. At the end of this time Raymond chanced to die. The sight of the lifeless body brought back my reason. I took my instrument. I tried to play. Ino Idnger knew how. And now, my children, do>’you care to dance?”

RELIGIOUS AND EDUCATIONAL.

—A single contribution made recently to the support of the Church of England Temperance Society reaches the sum of $5,000. —The only Presbyterian church which received more than 200 accessions during the year 1874 was Dr. Talmage’s Tabernacle in Brooklyn, the number being 238. —The second annual Church Congress in the Protestant Episcopal Church will be held in Music Fund Hall, in Philadelphia, during the second week in November. —The Wesleyaiis have, in the Fiji Islands, 683 chapels, 283 other preaching places, 68 Thissionaries, 893 catechists, 25,620 communicants and 124,304 attendants on public worship. Their missions date from the year 1835. —The Presbyterian papers of this country are still engaged in discussing plans for reducing the representation in their General Assembly. There is a strong disposition shown to retain the principle of the direct representation of the presbyteries. —The passage of the University Education bill in France has led to the formation of a league, in Italy for obtaining freedom of education. The promoters of the league are the members of the Young Men s Catholic Association. At present lay education is under State control. —At the annualj cohyention of tlie Protestant Episcopal Djpcgse of Nebraska, held lately at Omaha, an amendment to the canons of the church -was proposed “ admitting female members to all the rights and privileges enjoyed by male members.’’ Aitor discussion, its further consideration was postponed for one year. —Bishop Cummins, it is understood, will ordain a Missionary Bishop without delay, to take charge of the colored parishes in South Carolina that lately united with the Reformed Episcopal Churcl£~They became dissatisfied with the Protestant Episcopal Church because it delayed the ordination of a Bishop over them, in accordance with their earnest request. . . ii. * ‘ —A judicious method of instruction is thus mentioned in Home and School: “ One plan that I have always found successful is to require different pupils, each in his own language, to explain and illus-, trate matters or doubt, and, if necessary, -,to call upon the listeners to criticise the statements made. By this means not only, are the knotty points made clear, but habits of quick attention and correct judgment are formed.”

Oui* Young Folks<_ * ROLY-POLY. Roly-Poly is three years old. Three years old, and a trifle over; Roly-Poly is round as a ball, Jolly as larks and sweet as clover. Roly-Poly has stars for eyes, A heavenly chin with a dimple in it, Peaches for eheeks, the bud of a nose, And a tongue that is never still a minute. Roiy-Polj’ gets up in the morning— Morning, quoth. I? it’s the crack of the dawn! Dresses himself in a boot and a stocking, , Flies to his sister as swift as a fawn. Pulls at her eyes with his fat little fingers— Crazy for stories, that’s all the matter! “Oh! I am sleepy and cross,” she cries; “You, Roly-Poly, disperse and scatter!" But Roly-Poly’s a resolute tyrant; ■> Fathef and mother are captives wholly: So what can a poor big sister do But yield to a king like Roly-Poly. Roly-Poly’s a man of business: He canters to market on grandpa’s cane, Orders a breakfast of peppermint-candy, And gallops his pony home again. Roly-Poly’s a man of pleasure: Sorrow and care are for grown-up stupids; Pictures aud kisses, toys and caresses, Fondling and fun for dimpjed Cupids. After the sun has gone out of the south. The night comes down on his eyelids slowly; He topples asleep . with his thumb in his mouth— What an iniquity, Roly-Poly! —Olive A. Wadsworth, in Nursery.

A TRUSTWORTHY BOY.

It was on the eve of the battle of Whiteplains. The British army was encamped within two miles of the Americans. The Captains ot the several companies had selected the men who were to act as sentinels during the night. Only one was wanting, and the Captain after diligent search had just selected a very youthful soldier to till the position when Gen. Putnam appeared. He expressed great surprise, and even reproved the Captain for choosing a mere boy to act in so important a service. “We are in great danger of British spies. I beg you to reconsider this matter,” said he. “I would trusKmyself under the very guns of the Britisft fort with Stewart to protect me,” was the reply, and the General was satisfied. It chanced that during the night Gen. Putnam had occasion to enter the lines. As he approached, Stewart, the guard, asked: “ Who goes there?” “ Gen. Putnam,” was the reply. “ We know no Gen. Putnam here. Give the countersign.” “ 1 have forgotten it.” “A pretty story from Gen. Putnam’s lips,” said the sentinel. “ Boy, do you not know.me? I am Gen. Putnam,” replied that officer. •The “boy,” howeyer, was inflexible, and the stout old veteran was not allowed to pass without the watchword. The General felt considerably displeased at first; blit he well knew that the youth had acted strictly according to the rules of war, and the next daj r commended him highly, saying: “We have nothing to fear from the British or any other enemy with such soldiers as you.” Roger heard a friend relate this story. It made an impression upon him, and he talked about it with his teacher. He said: “ I would like to be a soldier and do something brave like that. It would be grand to hear your superior officers speak of you as the Captain and General did of Stewart.” “You can do things as manly and as brave in daily life, and which—if done from right motives—will make your heart swell with pleasure greater and purer than that which would be called forth by the praise of superior officers,’” replied Roger’s friend. “ How so, Mr. Smith?” “ First, let me say, the merit of an act consists not in its greatness in the eye of the world but in the sacrifice which is required or in a rigid adherence to duty under trying circumstances. Would it not cause you the highest satisfaction to hear your father or mother or any friend say.; ‘ I can place the fullest confidence in Roger. He is a boy to be trusted ?’ ” Roger’s eye and cheek glowed with pleasure as he replied: “ Yes; it would, indeed.”

“ Strive, then, always to act so as to deserve such commendation whether you receive it or not, remembering ‘ He that is faithful in the least is faithful also in much.”’ An opportunity soon offered to put Roger’s principles on these matters to the test. Late in the day his mother was called to pass the night with a sick neighbor. In the absence of her husband she had no one with whom to intrust the lit tie ones but Roger and she knew he was fondly expecting to join a skating expedition that evening. It was a recreation which he prized above all other, and for two winter months that had passed there had been no good skating. Now it was excellent and Roger was in full expectation of enjoying it. It pained his mother to oblige him to give it up, and she expressed this to him. It did require considerable self-denial in Roger to make the sacrifice; but, after a brief struggle, he did it cheerfully, saying: “Never mind, mother, I’ll have a good time at home with my books.” , So his mother left him, saying: “Be paHicularly careful of little Clarence, who has been so delicate since the bad fall he had. He is apt to waken with a start, seemingly in great fright. The only way is to take him up and soothe him, singing some of your pretty songs, perhaps. He is so font! of you I do not fear to leave him, but would on no account leave him with a stranger. I am proud that I can trust my boy with such a precious charge, together with dear little Eddie and May.” Roger’s motberjhad been gone but a few moments when a sleigh drove up, and his cousin Sophie, from the city, appeared before him. “Oh, Roger,” exclaimed she, assoonas she saw him, “we have such a treat for you up at Uncle Perry’s. I have come down on purpose for you. Pa Ims brought his big microscope and lots of things to examine. All the cousins are there and we are going to have an oyster supper to finish oil' with, and we want you so much.” “ I cannot go to-night,said Roger, rather sadly. “ Cannot go! That is too bad. And you have been wishing to see the great microscope, and pa is going away to-morrow. He only came up for one night.” i Roger then told his cousin the reason why he could not leave home, after thankWg'her warmly for her kindness incoming for him. “ But, Roger, rather than you should lose this treat I would stay with the children ; for I can see it at any time.” “ Oh, thank you, coz, Roger;

but that would never do. You are not used to children, and little Clarence is delicate and wakes often. Sometimes he is restless most of the night, and would .probably be much more so if he could not see either mamma Or me.” And besides this, Roger thought to himself, although he did not say it: “Mamma gave the trust to me, and nothing would tempt me to yield it to another.” His cousin replied: “ I suppose I am too much of a stranger to little Clarence. It might frighten him to find himself atone with me, and then he would fret himself sick; but lam sorry fob your disappointment, Roger.” Sophie then left with Dick, the manservant, who...had brought her in her uncle’s sleigh. After she had gone a few tears fell from Roger’s eye; but he soon brushed them away, and felt very happy in the consciousness of having acted right. “ I would rather prove myself worthy of trust than see a hundred exhibitions,” said he to himself.

Little Clarence needed his care a good deal during the night, but was quite contented and happy wftlnJiis kind, loving brother, and so were the other little ones. Roger did not expect any reward for simply doing his duty. The approbation of his own conscience, he found, as he had often been told, was better than any re-ward-better even than human praise; although his mother’s commendation of his fidelity and loving care of the children was very sweet to him; especially the words, “ I shall think of this, dear Roger, very often. It has made me very happy." These words recurred to him often, and helped him to be faithful in other duties, at school or elsewhere. Roger did not tell his mother of the little treat which his cousin told hiir. about, and which he lost in consequence of being left in care of the children. He feared it might give her pain to think of the deprivation, so he merely told her of his cousin's visit; but she learned all about it from, others. She fully understood and appreciated the motives of his silence, and was highly pleased with her boy’s thoughtfulness. Meanwhile a pleasant surprise was in store for him. His uncle would not let his favorite Roger lose anything by his fidelity and kindness. He invited him to, his house for a week, and he had not one evening, only, but a good many, with the microscope and other recreations. — Mary A. Hale, in Christian at Work.

Lord Cornwallis’ Day.

I will tell you, my children, about a day they used to celebrate when I was a boy, called “Lord Cornwallis’Day.” It was the anniversary of the day—Oct. 19, 1781—when Lord Cornwallis surrendered with the British army to Gen. Washington, which ended the Revolutionary war and left us a free country, to be no more troubled by England on the ground that we belonged to her. Well, when I was $ little boy I lived in the town of W , very near Concord and Lexington; where the centennial celebrations took place last June, and there they were accustomed to make a good deal of this day, though it is given up now. They used to celebrate in a large field back of a hotel and at the foot of a mountain, and the woods on the mountain came down to the edge of this field. Here there, would be a grand mock fight, between men dressed as Continental soldiers and others dressed as British soldiers and Indians, till, finally, the victory would be won by the Continentals, and then there would be great cheering. I will describe one of these days just as I recollect it, when I was about five years old. The first event of the day that filled me with admiring awe was the fixing up of an elder brother to look like an Indian. He was dressed in a frock with a belt about his body, into which was stuck a tomahawk and a knife. The handles of both were painted red and the blades blue. Over his shoulder was slung a quiver filled with arrows. 1 don’t recollect the color of the quiver, but I can see the red tips of the arrows as plain in my mind’s eye-as if it were yesterday, as they peeped over his shoulder. Thea in his hand he carried a bow. This also had a good deal of red about it. And his face! I confess I was a little scared at first, when he came grinning and scowling at a brother just as big as I was and me, and flourished his tomahawk over our heads. His eyebrows and lashes were stained black, and his face red; and I rather think there were streaks of other colors about his fierce visage, though I can’t remember distinctly. He had moccasins on his feet, and wore I forgot just what on his legs. Well, he started off in the morning, and we (my companion brother and myself) soon after followed. We went up to the field, which I judge was nearly a mile from our house, and there we found old men and women, middle-aged men and middle-aged women, young men and young maidens, and big and little boys and girls. And there were men selling everything that tasted good to youngsters like ourselves; but we had no money to buy, so we could only stand and watch others buy, ard eat and drink.

Presently we heard a distant war-whoop, and, running with all we saw the Indians approaching. They were dressed in all sorts of colors —blue, red, yellow, green, white, and I couldn’t now say what else—with their faces painted in every sort of way; and as they advanced with an Indian trot they kept making the w arwhoop by patting their mouths with the palms of their hands as they let their voices out in cries and yells. I stood near a stone w’all and as they passed over it in their moccasined feet one stone after another would roll or tumble to the ground, until, by the time the last Indian had passed very little of the wall was left at that place. Then they crossed the field and ran into the woods at the foot of the mountain. Soon after There came from the other end of the field, with martial music and stately, regular tread, the British army, dressed in red coats and buff waistcoats and breeches, with epaulets on their shoulders, bright brass buttons and plumes in their hats. .They marched slowly into the woods and joined the Indians, who were occupying a fort that had been built for the occasion. Now came the music of the drum and the fife playing “Yankee Doodle,” and up marched the Continental boys, in their blue coats, with buff lappets, waistcoats and breeches, their knee-buckles glistening in the sunlight, and their plumes waving from their cockade hats, while their epaulets seemed proud to be on their shoulders as the spectators cheered and cheered again. I’ll not be sure, but I rather think, to my boyish fancy, the Yankee soldiers had more uhoot in their looks than the British. Well, they filed into the woods, and present!}’ the battle cqmmenced. Volleys of musketry rang through the forest, and we could see the arrows of the Indians fly through the air. The yells of the soldiers mingled constantly with the Indian

war-whoop, and now and thfen a about arose from the field. At length the smoke of battle hid almost everything from view; and then a sort of dread came over the hearts of us youngsters, for it began to seem like a real battle, and the war-whoops began to have a terrific sound. But all at once there was one great shout, and the air was filled with loud cheering, and the cry arose: “The Yankees have whipped! The British’are beaten!” And sure enough, as the smoke cleared away, we could see the Continental Bluecoats haff won the victory. There was a fraud surrender of the Red-fota and Inians, and with that the great event of Lord Cornwallis’ day was ended. Then I, with my little companion brother, wended my way home, but halfawake to the commonplace realities of the empty streets through which we passed; and along in the evening came our big Indian brother, who washed himself at the sink, making the water in the washbowl all of a streaked purple, as the red and black mingled together from his hands and face.— St‘. Nicholas for October

Your Home.

You all love home, I take it for granted; that is, if that home is at all lovable. Now what do you do to make that home pleasant? Children are toq apt to regard the keeping of a home as a duty incumbent upon their parents, without realizing that they have as much to do with its formation almost as the parents themselves. Home is not perfect without the help of every member of the household. It has been beautifully likened to a karp—it all the strings are attuned in harmony sWeet melody is the result; but if one is out of tune it jars harsh discord upon the senses. The parents’ duty is to furnish a home where the comforts of the body are provided; where the mind is educated and the soul is trained and guided by pure teachings and holy example. The children’s duty is to respond to the efforts pf the parents—to echo, as it -were, the attention and affection shown them.’ Do the wee ones, whose little hands are Too tiny to more than pluck the blossoms by the wayside, remember that they can learn to help keep home tidy by picking up the little things that will get strewn about ? Whose hands so gentle in soothing away mamma’s headache or papa’s frown, as the little one that knows not its own strength? The little boy and girl can do many little tasks deftly—for boys, it is no lessening of dignity to learn to be handy about the house and help mother in her numerous household tasks. The manliest man I ever knew personally, takes laughing pride in his knowledge of housework, gained when he was a boy, the help of a mother who boasted of five boys younger than himself. Then do not hesitate to engage in the many duties that await you in the home; and girls save your mothers every step you can. Be light of heart and quick of foot, that your presence may bring real heartsunshine into the Tiome circle. Be true daughters, true sisters, making all who enter that home circle love and rely upon you. Do not be afraid of work, lest you brown or harden your hands; do not cast upon your mother a task because “ she can do it quicker,” or you “are just going out for a little walk.” It is she who needs the respite most; it is you who can give it her. p Home is not a rose-lined paradise, where all can sit and sing sweet melodies, unruffled by a cloud of care. Home is a place to love in and a place to labor in. The tasty rooms will grow unlovely, the ornaments will gather dust, and the myriad duties of home life will become distasteful and monotonous unless there is an earnest spirit that gives you courage to go on, day after day, with these same unchanging tasks. That courage 7 comes from a higher love than love of self—and when the right love fills the heart, the commonest tasks become glorified and invested with a beauty we never saw before. Then remember, girls and boys, to do your part toward making a home. It is a duty that rests upon each one of you, and unless you fulfil it conscientiously you will loose many moments of rapture and will rob the future of many pleasant and joyous memories, as also the consciousness of having done right.— Annie R. White, in Young Folks' Monthly.

Fierce Sir Thomas.

My next-door neighbor has a cat, Thomas; I call him Sir Thomas; he deserves to be knighted for his virtues. But Sir Thomas is a determined monarch in his own yard; the feline that enters there, on any pretext, cannot retreat too rapidly for self-preservation. A short time ago a kitten was adopted into the family and carefully guarded at first, it being presumed, from the cat’s well-known character, that he would make some very sharp objections. To the surprise of everyone he was delighted with the little creature, and forthwith constituted himself father, mother and friend to it. He will lie on a chair for hours with the kitten asleen in his fond protecting arms. One day the latter, through non-ob-servance of dietary laws, had a fit. Sir Thomas shared in the general excitement, and was observed to treat the invalid with more than usual tenderness afterward. That night, instead of permitting his pet to lodge in the yard with him, as was their custom, Sir Thomas conducted it to the cellar, there snuggling it for repose’in a cosy corner, as much as to say: “You have been sick, dear, and must not expose yourself.’’ Hethen betook himself tojiis nightly quarters without Which facts areas literal as any that were ever sworn tq Our Dumb Animals.

A Man of Nerve.

On Monday forenoon a number of trotters were being exercised at the driving park, among them Effie Deane, driven by the well-known horse-raiser, Alden Goldsmith. The horses were trotting at a live-. ly pace and were all bunched in a heap when one of Effie's reins broke, and Goldsmith toppled over backward, and every spectator expected to see him drop from the siilkyjmd mangled by the feet of the crowd of horses behind. This tragedy was prevented, however, for Goldsmith, whose feet caught in the foot-rests of the thills, recoyered himself and then gave an exhibition of nerve that was most thrilling. The mare, released from the restraint of the taut reins, broke into a run and flew ahead like the wind, leaving all of the others behind. While she was going at this rate Goldsmith crawled over her back until by reaching forward he could get hold of the snaffle of the bit, and then, lying upon her neck, he brought her up with a sudden pull that carried’her almost perpendicularly in the air. He was heartily applauded by all who witnessed Ute daring deed.— Kington. (N. Y.) Fre&nan. —■ ——— —Prof. Tice is for in Texas,