Rensselaer Union, Volume 8, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 December 1875 — Page 3

RENSSELAER UNION. '■, p, ' ’ —( : i « ■ IIOItUF. K. JAMES, Proprietor? RENSSELAER; - INDIANA.

CUDDLE DOON. by Alex. ANDERSON. . “The hoirnies ciidcjje doonat night Wi’ muckle fancht and dip; ‘ 0, try and sleep, ye waukrife rogues, Your father’s coinin’ in.’ They never heed a word I speak; U I try to eie a froon, I L Bnt ase I hap them up an' cry, * 0 baimies, cuddle doon.’ Wee Jamie wi’fhe curly heid—- ’’ He aye Bleeps next the wa’. Bangs up and cries.: ‘ I want a piece’— The rascal starts them a’. I rin an' fetch them pieces, d.inks, They stop awee’ the soun’, Then draw the blankets up an’cry: ‘Noo, weanies, cuddledoon.’ But ere five minutes gang. weeßab 'Cries pot, true 'neath the clues, ‘ Mither, mak’ Tom ide ower at ance. He’s kittlin’ with his taes.’ The mischiefs in that Tam for tricks, He'd bother half the toon: But aye I hap them np and cry: '0 batruies, cuddle doon.’ At length they hear their father's fit, An’ as he sleeks the door They turn their faces to the wa’, While Tam pretends to snore. ‘Ha’a’the weans been gudel” he asks, > As he pits off his hhoon. ‘ The batruies, Jonn, are in their beds Au’ lang since cuddled doon.’ An’just afore we bed oursele, We look at ■ ur wee lambs; Tam has his arm roun’ weeßab’s neck, Au’ Bab his arm roun’ Tam’s. 1 lift wee Jamie up the bed, An’ i » I straik each croon, I whisper, till my heart fills up, ‘O bairnies, cuddle doon.’ The bairnies cuddle doon at night Wi' mirth that’s dear to me; But sune the big wail’s cark an' care Will quaten doon their glee. Yet come what will to ilke aue, May He who sits aboon Aye whisper, thodgh their jtpws be bauld, ■ O b.iruiee, cuddle doon.’x

KIRBY’S COALS OF FIRE.

Considering it simply as an excursion, George Scott thought, leaning over the ’’side of the canal-boat and looking at the shadow of the hills in the water, his plan for spending his summer vacation might be a success, but he was not, so sure about his opportunities for studying human nature under the worst conditions. It was true that the conditions were bad enough, but so were the results, and George was not in search' of logical sequences. He had been in the habit of saying that nothing interested him as much as the study of his fellows; and that he was in earnest was proved by the fact that even his college experiences had not yet disheartened him although they had cost him not a few neckties and coats, and sometimes too mhy of his dollars. But George had higher aspirations and was not disposed to be satisfied with the ’opportunities presented by crude collegians or even learned professors, and so meant to go out among men. When he was younger—a year or two before—he had dreamed of a mission among the Indians, fancying that he would reach original principle among them; but the Modocs and Captain Jack had lowered his faith, while the Rev. Dr. Buck’s story of how the younger savages had been taught to make beds and clean knives, until they preferred these civilized occupations to their old habit of scampering through the woods, had dispelled more of the glittery and he had resolved to confine his labors to his white brethren. He did not mean to seek his opportunities among the rich, nor among the monotonously-dreary !oor of the city, but in a fresher field. ike most theological students, he was well-read in current literature, and he had learned how often the noblest virtues are found among the roughest classes. It was true they were sometimes so latent that, like the jewel in the toad’s head, they had the added grace of unexpectedness, but that did not interfere with the fact of their existence. He had read of California gamblers who had rushed from tables where they had sat with bowieknives between their teeth, to warn a coming train of broken rails, and when picked up, maimed and dying, had simply asked if the children were" saved, and then, content, had turned aside and died. He knew the story of the Mississippi engineer wlw, going home with a long-sought fortune to claim his waiting bride, had saved his boat from wreck by supplying the want of fuel by hat, coat, boots, weddingclothes, gloves favors, and finally his bag of greenbacks and Northern Pacific bonds, then returning to his duly sans money, satis wife, but plus honor and a*rewarding conscience. When men are capable of such heroism, George would say, arguing from these and similar stories, they are open to true reformation, all that is necessary being some exercises of an influence that shall make such impulses constant instead of spasmodic. <t

About noon he had not been quite so sanguine regarding his mission, and had almost resolved that when they reached Springfield he would return East and join some of his class who were going to the Kaatskill. The sun was then pouring down directly on the boat, the cabin was stifling, the horses crept sluggishly along, the men were rude and brutal, and around him was an atmosphete of frying fish and boiling cabbage. The cabbage was perhaps the crowning evil; for while he found it possible to force his ear and eye to be deaf and blind to the disagreeable, he had no amount of will that could conquer the sense of smell. There seemed to be little, he thought, with some contempt for his expectations, to reward his quest or maintain his theory that every one had at least one story to tell. . It was nfet necessarily one’s own story, he had said, but lives the most barren in incident tome into contact with those more vehement, and have ttye chance of looking into tragedies, _into moral victories and fierce conflicts, through other men’s eyes, lie had hinted something of this to Joe Lakin early in the morning, when the mist was rising off the hills, when the air was fresh and keen, and the sun was making the long lines of oil upon the river glitter like so many brilliant snakes. Joe was the laziest and roughest di the men on the boat, but he sometimes had such a genial and even superior manner that George had felt sure that he would comprehend his meaning. Thus, when noon came, hot, close and heavy with prophecy of dinner, George had sickened of human nature and of physiological studies; but now the sun flad set and a golden glory lit the sky; the fields on one side of the river rolled’away green in clover and wavy in corn, the hills heavily wooded rose high and picturesquely on the other side, and the little island in the bend of the river seemed the home of quiet and peace. The horses plodded patiently through the water, going out on the shallows and avoiding the deeper currents near the shore, and the boys, forgetting to shout and swear, rode along softly

whistling. Over by the hills stood a cottage,'ana in the terraced garden a group of girls with bright ribbons in their hair were jflaying quoits with horse-shoes. A row-boat was carfying passengers over the river to meet the evening train, and under the sweetness of the twilight George’s spirits arose lightly to theiflevel, his old faith returned to him, and he looked up with a real sense of fellowship to Joe, who was filling a pipe with his favorite “ towhead.” f “ It’s a pity you don’t smoke,” said Joe, carefully striking a match and holding his cap before It, “ for it seems a gift thrown away; and this tobacco is uncommon good, though vou might fancy it a notion too strong. I’ve noticed that most preachers smoke, although they don’t take kindly to drinking. I suppose they think it wouldr>t seem the proper thing, .and perhaps it wouldn’t; but there’s Parson Robinson—l should think that a good, solid drink would be a real comfort to him sometimes. He’s got a hard pull of it with a half share of victuals and a double share of children, so the two ends hardly ever see each other, much less think of meeting.” George hesitated for reply. He thought Joe was unnecessarily rough at times, and alluded to tire ministry much too frequently. He had fancied when he left home that his blue flannel and gray tweed, with rather a jovial manner, would divest him of all resemblance to a theological student, and enable him to meet his companions on the ground of a common humanity, especially as he had at present no missionary intentions excepting those that might flow indirectly from his personal influence. Still, while he wanted Joe to recognize his broad liberality, he owed it to himself not to be loose in his expression of opinion. “Well, yes,” he said, slowly, “I suppose it would help a man to forget his troubles for a time, but the getting over the spree and coming back to the same old bothers, not a bit better for the forgetting, would hardly be much comfort, even if the thing were right.” “Maybe not,” replied Joe; “I s’pose it wouldn’t be comfortable if those were your feelin’s, but I reckon you don’t know much about it unless fromhearsav. But I tell you one thing, whisky’s a friend to be trusted”—adding slowly, with a glance at George’s face—“ to get you into trouble if you let it get the upper hand of you. It’s like a woman in that. It begins with the same letter, too, and that’s another likeness!” George made no answer to this joke, over which Joe chuckled enough for both, and then returned to the charge: ■ “ I’ve seen a good deal of life, one way and another,” Joe said, “but I don’t know much of parsons. Somehow they haven’t been in my line; but if I had to choose between being a parson or a doctor. I’d take the doctor by long odds. You see the world’s pretty much of a hospital as far as he’s concerned, and when he can’t tinker a man up he lets him slide off and nobody minds; but the parson’s different. When a man takes sick he lookskind of friendly on the doctor, because,-you see, he expects him to cure him; but when the parson comes he tells him what a miserable sinner he Mkand what he’s coming to at last. Now Oin’t in nature to like that, and I don’t blame the fellows wh<i> say they can’t stand a parson when they are well, but that he’s ■worse than a break-bone fever and no water handy when they’re sick. And I shouldn’t think any man would like to go about making himself unpleasant to others! Leastways, 1 wouldn’t. Kicking Kirby used to say that he’d rather be a woman than a parson, and the force of’ language couldn’t go further than that! He knew what he was talking about, for some of his folks were preachers; and there was good in Kirby, too! People may say what they please, but I’ll allers hold to that!” • 1 “Who was he?” asked George, happy to change the subject, being a little uneasy in his hold upon it, and hopeful of a story at last. Joe looked over the hills. “ Well, he was a friend of mine when I was prospecting for oil once. I allers liked Kicking Kirby.” George sat patiently'waiting, w’hile Joe refilled his pipe, and then began:

“ There ain’t so much to tell, but men do curious things sometimes and Kirby, I guess, was a man few folks would have expected very’much of. There was hard things said of him, but he could allers strike a blow for a friend, or hold his own with the next man, let him be who he might. You see there was a good'many of us in camp, and we had fair enough luck, for the mens over at Digger’s Kun had struck a good vein, so money was plenty and changed hands fast enough. We’d all hung together in our camp until Clint Bowers got into trouble. None of the rest of us wanted to get mixed up in the fuss, but somehow we did, and the other camp fought shy of us and played mostly among themselves; and I’ve allers ■.held that it is poor fun to take out of one pocket to put, in the other. Our boys had different- opinions about it. and some of them held that it wasn’t Clint’s awkward work that they got mad at, but that • they meant to shut down on Kirby. You see Kirby was a very lucky player, and, although pretty rough things were said about it, nobody ever got a clear handle against him, and he wasn’t the kind of fellow that was pleasant to affront. Kirby used to say it was all along of Clint; that he ought to have been kept from the cards, or sent down the river; that we would have had a good run of luck all winter if it hadn’t been for him. I don’t know, the rights properly, but I allers thought it was about six of onefand a half-dozen of the other. Anyhow there was bad blood about it, and that don’t run up hill, you know, and so there was trouble soon enough. The boys got into words one night, and Kirby threw a mUg at Clint, who out with his knife and was at Kirby like a flash. Luckily lor him Clint’s eyes weren't in good seeing order, and the liquorhadn’tmadehisarmany the more steady, so Kirby only got a scratch on his arm. It showed what Clint would like to do, though, and some of the boys made pretty heavy,, bets on the end of it. I stuck up for Kirby, for you see I knew him pretty well, and there was true grit in him; and then, too, he was uncommon pleasant about it, and even stopped saying much about Clint’s blocking up our luck over at the Run. “ Well, just about then Jack White came oyer from Cambria and told Clint that he’d heard that his unsle was asking around where he was. Y'ou see, Clint’s uncle had a store down there and had made a tidy pile of money, and, as he hadn’t any children, he said he wouldn't mind leaving it to ‘him if he was living respectable. Clint had lived with him when he was a >‘boy, but they hadn’t got along very wel|, so Clint ran"off, The old man didn’t mind this, though, and now he wanted to find him. Jack iaid he was sure that if Clint was to go oyer and play his cards right he’d get the money. You may be sure this was a stroke of luck for Clint just then, and he didn’t like

to lose it; but you see he didn’t look very genteel, and he knew his uncle was sharp enough to find it out. He was fat enough, for whisky never made a living skeleton ot him, but it was plain that it wasn’t good health that had made his nose so red, nor fine manners that had given him the cut across his cheek and bruised up his eye. The boys all allowed that he was the hardest-looking chap in the camp, and, if his uncle left him his money, it wouldn’t be on the strength of his good countenance! But, you know, he had to do something right off, and so he wrote a pretty letter to the old man as ever I want to see; but when the answer came, it said his uncle was very sick, and, as he had something particular to say to him, wouldn’t Clint come over at once, and inclosed he’d.ffind the money for his fare. I tell you this stumped Clint, for he’d had another tight and was a picture to behold. “ But here’s where the surprise to us all came in. Clint was pretty well puzzled what to d 0,,, and while all the boys were advising him Kirby spoke up. I’d noticed he was pretty quiet, but nobody could have guessed what he was thinking about. He looked some like Clint, and once had been pitched into by a new Digger Run boy for Clint. The fellow never made the second mistake about them. It wasn’t as though they were twins but they both had brown hair and long beards, blue eyes, and were about the same build, so you couldn’t have made a descriptive list of the one that wouldn’t have done for the other. What Kirby said was that Clint’s uncle hadn’t seen him since he was a boy and he’d expect to find him changed; and although' he —that’s Kirby, you know—had had hard feelin s to Clint, he wasn’t a man to hold a grudge, and he’d let by-gones be by-gc "s. So, if Clint thought well of it, he’d gu over to Cambria, and if he found the land layright he’d pass off for him and make things sure. „ “This struck us all of a heap, for we knew Kirby could do it if he chose and if nobody interfered with him, and that he really could cajole the old man better than Clint could; for when that fellow got wound up to talk he was allers going you five better. Some of the boys thought it rather risky, and they wanted Clint to write and say he had the typhoid fever, and so stave it off until he looked tit to go; but he knew that if he Crossed his uncle now he’d likely enough lose everything, and so he thought it best to make sure and let Kirby go and see, anyhow. One thing that helped Kirby along was that his first wife had come from Cambria, and he’d heard her talk so much about the people that he knew nearly as much of them as Clint did. To make the matter sure Clint stuffed him with all he remembered, and one night we got up a practicing; and we made out that we were the folks, and Kirby pow-wowed to the minister, and old Miss Cranby—that w*as me! —and the doctor, until he knew his lesson and we’d nearly split our sides laughing. “ Of course, seeing the interest we all took in it, we weren’t going to do the thing half, so w-e clubbed together and got Kirby a suit of store-clothes and a shiny valise, ant? he went off as proper as a parson—begging your pardon!—and we settled down again. He wrote pretty prompt, and said everything was going on as smooth as oil. The old man had called out that it was Clint as soon as he saw him, before he’d said a word, and Kirby wrote it would have been kind of cruel to have told him better. So he didn’t. He wrote several more letters, and once Jack White had a letter from his sister, saying that Clint Bowers had come home, and it was said that the old man was tickled to death with his manner, and meant to leave him all he had. This clinched it sure enough, and Clint became tip-top among the boys, and his credit was good for all the drinks he chose to order, and I must say he was liberal enough, and nobody contradicted him. He wrote to Kirby—he w-as all the time writing to him —but this time he told how handsome he thought it was in him to do all this, considering everything. When the answer came Kirby said he didn’t profess much religion, and he thought that, generally speakin’, heaping coals of tire on anyone’s head was against the grain, but Clint was more than welcome to his services.” “He was a good fellow,” exclaimed George. “I don’t wonder you liked him!” “ Yes, I allers stood up for Kirby when the boys were hardest on him. But to finish up, for I’m telling an uncommon long yarn, at last a letter came saying that the old man w-as dead and the money fixed. How much it was Kirby couldn’t say yet, but he meant to hurry matters up, he said. Of course he didn’t put all he meant into plain words, for it wouldn’t do to trust it, and he was allers more careful than Clint, who never knew when to hush. But now Kirby said he have everything straight inside of two weeks, and we weren’t to look for another letter from him. “ .Well, it was surprisin’ how many birds Clint broiled for Kirby the next few weeks. Y’ou see Kirby allers was a gentleman in his tastes, and had a particular liking for birds on toast, and of course Clint wanted to give him a proper welcome home. We knew just when the boats were likely to come, and Clint was allers ready for a surprise.” “ And he came just when he was least expected,”, said George, with a bright smile; “that is the way things always happen ih this world. I am sure of that!” “ Why, no, bless your-heart, he never came back. I allers knew he wouldn’t. He bought a share in a circus with the money, and went down South. They said he married the girl who did the flying trapeze, but I’m not sure about that. Anyway, it appears he done a good business, and I’m sure he’s kept Clint’s letters to him. There was true grit in Kirby. I’ve allers stuck to that! Does the pipe seem too strong for you ? The wind does blow it your way/ that’s a fact.” -‘-Louise Stockton, in Atlantic Montidy.

The Paraguayan War With Brazil.

In traveling in strange land#! you heir many interesting stories, but ore nas made such an impression on me that I cannot forbear giving you a few, items from it. It is about the Paraguayan war. It is said that such fighting never was known. It began about a question of boundaries with Brazil. Lopez, the President, asked for leave to go through the Argentine Republic. It was, of course, refused. He then divided his army of 75,000 men into three parts, sent one to Brazil, one into the Argentine Republic, and kept one at home. Meeting with reverses, he collected all together at home, and raised an army of 150,(XX) men, and they fought like Trojans, or rather like madmen. * The war lasted five or six years, and out Of a pdpulation of 1,500,000 there’ are only--120,000 left, all told, men, women and children, only 40,000 of these being men, and more than half of them are wounded or crippled. Such fighting w-as never known. Canoes struggled against a

Brazilian iron-clad, and succeeded in boarding it and holding it for three hours. Eighty thousand women were marched from the frontiers in such forced marches that many of them fell dead from exhaustion. One General held out for a length of time on a point of land with Brazilian iron-clads on three sides of him and a swamp beyond in which was the Argen. tine army. Ammunition and provisions were short. Repeatedly called on to surrender, they refused, but finally the Argentines prevailed on them to do so. Strange to say, all the fighting was done for tyrants—tor the Lopezes, father and son, were both tyrants of the first water. In this so-called Republic it was tha fashion for the dying fathzr to Itequeath the Presidency to the son; and Lopez IL, who was the cause of the war, punished his unsuccessful agents. The General who surrendered when holding out was an impossibility and the single survivor of the canoe tragedy suffered from his hand, together with their families. He is even said to have sacrificed his brothers and sisters to*his political ambition. Often his armies were forced to live on bitter oranges. Their sufferings were fearful. Finally the tyrant’s day came, and he fell fighting in an engagement, in March, 1870, and his grave was dug on the spot where he fell, by a woman whose history was linked to his, and who,’ people led him on in many of his tyrannical actions. She buried him and her son side by side. Her courage, her suffering and her struggles drew pity from the Brazilians. One is reminded of past ages. Spartans and Trojans are called to mind. Paraguay is at present dead, to all intents and purposes.—Buenos Ayres Cor. Cincinnati Enquirer.

RELIGIOUS AND EDUCATIONAL.

—St. Paul has 2,503 children in the public and 2,349 in private schools. More than 1,600 of the children go to the Catholic schools. .—The Russian missionaries in Siberia report the conversion to the Greek faith of four Buddhist lamas during the month of August. —About 1,400 young men from the United States are now pursuing their studies at the universities and colleges of Germany. —The Baptist Society of Virginia City has made an appeal to the churches for. help. Its members have been greatly-im-poverished by the recent fire. —A bill withdrawing all aid from denominational schools and making educa-tion-compulsory passed the Parliament of Queensland, Australia, recently. —According to the report of the Commissioner of Education the benefactions last year for educational purposes amounted to $6,053,304, against $11,226,977 in 1873. , —The Methodist ministers of St. John, N. 8., have decided to omit reading from the pulpit numerous notices of lectures, entertainments, etc., which they are constantly called upon to advertise. —The Anglican Church Missionary Society has appropriated $25,000 to establish a mission among Chief Mtesa’s people in Africa in addition to the $50,000 given for that purpose by a London gentleman. —Fall River makes the smallest appropriation for educational purposes of any city in Massachusetts—only $9.86 per child—and Springfield the greatest—s 24.64 per child. Boston’s rate is $23.31, Lowell $19.83, Worcester $17.58,’ New Bedford $15.83. —The statistics of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the United States in 1875 show that it has 57 Bishops, 3 Bishopselect, 3,122 priests and deacons, 222,095 communicants, 235,943 Sundav-school pupils, and contributions to the amount of $6,899,305. —The Rev. Drs. Nicolls and Brookes, two of 'the most prominent Presbyterians in St. Louis, h&ve, with the design of reaching the masses on Sabbath evenings and preaching to them'the Gospel, rented De Bar s Opera-House in that city for the ensuing season. —Any woman in Minnesota who is twenty-one years old is eligible to any school-office and can vote for school-of-ficers or on any measure relating to public education. These privileges have been conferred by the adoption of a constitutional amendment at the late election. —Arkansas expects to raise $400,000 this year for educational purposes. The General Assembly adopted recently a memorial to Congress asking that the balance of the public lands in the State, amounting to 8,000,000 acres, be given to the State to form a permanent educational fund. —According to the Boston Pilot there were in 1825, fifty years ago, one Roman < Catholic pries! in Maine; one in Massa,* chusetts, and one in New Hampshirewith eight churches. There are now in New England, according to this authority, one Archbishop, five Bishops, 441 priests, 432 churches, and a Catholic population of nearly 1,000,000.

Annealing Glass.

When from fluidity glass is cooled to a solid structure in the ordinary temperature of the atmosphere it is found to be very brittle or liable to fracture. If the glass is so shaped as to be of unequal thickness in its different parts it can seldom be cooled w-ithout fracture, and, if unbroken when cool, is liable to fracture with any subsequent change of temperature or by a sudden jar. Often this fracture takes place, in articles of considerable thickness, with an explosive force, perhaps breaking the glass into a thousand pieces. When glass breaks in this manner, it is said to “fly.” In order to prevent such liability to “fly,” glassware is annealed. The process of annealing glass consists in reducing its temperature more slowly than would occur in the gir at ordinary tdinperatures. An oven is so. constructed that the heat of the glass is maintained by a current of heated air in which articles to be annealed are placed, and mechanism so centtrived as very slowly to draw away the ware into currents of lower temperature. Or the ware is annealed in kilns, which are closed and sealed at a temperature a little less than that at which glass becomes plastic, and heated ajr being thus confined the kilns are many hours, often many days, in cooling. The more carefully and slowly glass is annealed, the less liable it is to “ fly.”— Popular Science Monthly. re ♦ -»A Danbury,couple have a nice little daughter of soinp fiv® summers. A lady visitor observed *to the mother: “ What a pretty child you have! She must be a great comfort to you.” “ She is, indeed,” said the fond mother. “ When I’m mad at John I don’t have to speak to him. She calls him to his .and tells him to get the coal, and other things that 1 want. She’a real handy.”

Our Young Folks. THE LOST BABY. Prny. little man, with boots that shine, And brand-new coat and troneers fine, And broad-brim hat as big as mine— Pray, have you seen my baby? Yon’ct know him by hts pin-a-fore. And by the tiny frock he wore. And slippers, pattering on the floor; Say, nave you seen my, baby? His frock was blue, his apron white, His curls were full of yellow light. His eyes were brown, and O, so bright! By those you’d know my baby. He had no pockets, but I see » You have them plenty, one, two. three; He had no coat, but then, dear me! You do look like my baby. Now what is this I hear you say ? You think they must have run away— The frocks and bibs and slippers gay— And carried off my baby? Then,-"pray come here! I plainly see There Is no other way for me Than just to take you on my knee. And play you are my baby. —lda Whipple Benham, in Youth's Companion.

MY COUSIN’S CHILDREN.

I think it is pretty to see little children behave well at the table, and that is why I wanted to tell the Ohio, Farmer young ones what I saw one day last week. There were four of them at the table, Harry, Frank, Minnie and Freddie. ‘Their ages ranged from eleven to three years. The mother said: “Now, cousin, draw your chair up here by the south window, and we will visit while the children eat their dinners.” So we sat down. The door opened into the kitchen, and I sat where 1 could see the children. They came charging into the house without cleaning their feet at all, and rushed up to the table, jamming against each other, and elbowing their way without caring who got poked in the eyes or ribs. “ I’m as hungry as the Black Man,” said Harry, drawing his brows in a scowling, pouting way, and throwing his cap clear across the floor, where it landed among his mother’s geraniums. “ I’m as hungry as an old bear,” said another. “Not half as hungry as I am,” pouted Minnie, “ for you know the ’taters were all gone when I came to the table this morning; and you, Master Harry, had eat ’em too, you old fool, you;” and she thrust her lips out and looked very, very tigiy. “That’s a lie,” Harry plumply retorted. I looked around to see where I had laid my hat; I was horified and almost afraid, and meditated running right off home. 1 had never heard such language between little brothers and sisters. I was scared. “ Children! children!” said the mother, composedly, and from a feeble sense of responsibility—very feeble, I think. Then the clash of rattling chairs and clinking glasses and tinkling spoons and forks began, mixed in with “You!” “ Oh, now I’ll tell!” “ Old meanness!” “Hog, you!” “ Gi’me some!” “Got more’n your share!” “ Mali-ma-h-h-h-h!” Then one ran to the door from feeding too fast; and another one got burnt, and in dire extremity snatched up the nearest glass of water to quench the flame, and for his .over-freedom was cracked on the head with the nearest weapon, which was the large handle of the bread-knife. The mother, a d ear, litt 1 e weak worn an, was so busily engaged telling me about some resolutions passed at a late meeting of their society that the din and confusion did npt disturb her at all, and she only said occasionally: “ Children! children!” “You gave me the meanest piece on the plate,” whined Frank through his stuffy nose, and then he doubled his fist into his eyes and commenced boring for water. “Ma! ma!” called Minnie, “all the water tipped over on to my plate, so it did.” “ Never mind, darling, set it aside and take another plate, that’ll be the way to manage,” said the mother in a sweet, affected voice—softer than the daintiest satin. “You Min!” was the next thing I heard; “you spilt all that mess on the carpet—just see! I can track you from clear round there to here.” “ I don’t care, so now!” was the unctuous answer.

Then for a little while no voice was heard, but the most vigorous smacking was kept up along with the noise made in drinking—the gurgling and the puffing, and even the sounds made as the fluid passed down their noisy throats. Four dogs eating right greedily from four piles of tender bones wouldn’t have made much more noise. Pretty soon one of the children choked and got blue in the face, and to relieve him another one pounded him in the back, and showed signs of consternation. Then another one tipped the Sover into the pickle-dish, and the mt was duly reported to the mother, who said: “Well, well, dears, never mind; eat your dinners, little ones.” Then one of the boys took the last baked potato, and a serious scuffle ensued, and it fell under the table, and they clinched and entangled the table and the dishes in a regular set-to, not unlike a dog-fight. I could stand it no longer, and with a little scream looked all about for my hat. The mother, with serene face, rose and went into the kitchen, saying: “Why, what is it, dears ? Boys! boys!” “Why, the oid blaggard speared into the last 'tater just as 1 was reachin’ for it,” said Harry, with a very ugly, red face, and he scowled viciously at his brother, who had risen from the fray puffing and blowing, with his damp hair all down over his forehead. Oh, you don’t know how angry and ugly those boys did appear. “ Well, children, I am astonished at you,” said the placid mother, kissing one of them and making a vain effort to kiss the other, but he was refractory and pulled back so that her nose just grazed his shoulder, tipping it up somewhat at the end. “ He was to blame!” piped out one. “No I wasn’t nuther. you old goose, you; ’was yer own fault; I had the best right to the ’later.” t “ Boys! boys! you’ll be obliged to retire from the table if you don’t conduct yourselves better,” saju the mother. “ Bet I don’t go,” said Harry, pushing out his thick lips. f “Harrison Wetl/ersfield!” said the mother, reproachfully. “ I’ll show you,”/he muttered. “ Nobody m-Uri/house could make me go’fore 1 go/my dinner,” said Frank, nodding his gead with a dare do it. “Francisco Wayland!” said the wonder 4 ful mother, and then she turned to me and said: “ Some mothers punish their children or every little misdemeanor; I rarely ever whip mine, and I have it to Say to-day that I never yet struck a child in anger. I

think the mother needs to govern herself before she can begin to govern her children.” And there ■ those little miscreants were at the table, striking, and snatching and grabbing at each other’s food, and calling ill names, and really eating their dim ners more like hungry pigs than dear li# tie boys and girls, and I did not dare t£ open my mouth. How often I had seen families of boys and girls quietly partaking of their food, and dividing with each other, and watching to replenish plates for one another—pouring fresh water, or sharing creamy milk, or saying, “This isdelicious; do take some;” or, “ Won’t you share with me?” or, “ Do accept of this fruit, pie ot cake,” in voices pleasant to hear. Now if any little boy or girl who reads this has had a habit of eating fast, ,or in a greedy way, or smacking and guzzling noisily, begin to fight the fault as soon as you go to the table after this. I have seen nice young men who had fallen into the habit while they were little children, and nobody told them how filthy and ugly it was, and they still eat that way; and some of them are preachers, too, don’t you think. Pity—isn’t it? Why, some of them crauncheven bread and butter and tea as if they were full of bones; and a well-bred manor woman can hardly eat alongside of them, for disgust. If a young man eats noisily, and piggishly, and greedily, nobody likes him very well, even though his conversation is beautiful and excellent, and even though he writes peetry. There is such a contradiction that one is repulsed.— Ohio Farmer.

An Icelandic Home.

The boys of Iceland must be content with very few acquaintances or playmates. The valleys which produce grass enough for the farmer’s ponies, cattle and sheep are generally scattered widely apart, divided by ridges of lava so hard and cold that only a few wild-flowers succeed in growing in their cracks and hollows. Then, since the farms must be all the larger, because the grass is short and grows slowly in such a severe northern climate, the dwellings are rarely nearer than four or five miles apart; and were it not for their swift and nimble ponies the people would see very little of each other except on Sundays, when they nde long distances to attend worship in their little wooden churches. But of all boys in the island, not one was so lonely in his situation as Jon bigurdson. His father lived many miles beyond that broad, grassy plain which sti etches from the Geysers to the sea, on the banks of the swift rivep Thiorva. On each side there were mountains sb black and bare that they looked like gigantic piles of coal; but the valley opened to the southward as if to let the sun in, and far away, when the weather was clear, the snowy top of Mount Hecla shone against the sky. The farmer Sigurd, Jon’s father, was a poor man, or he would not have settled so far away from any neighbors; for he was of a cheerful and social nature, and there were few atKyrkedal who could vie with him in knowledge of the ancient history and literature of Iceland. The house was built on a knoll, under a cliff which sheltered it from the violent west and northwest winds. The walls, of lava stones and surf, were low and broad; and the roofs over dwelling, storehouses and stables were covered deep with earth, upon which grew such excellent grass that the ponies were fond of climbing up the sloping corners of the wall in order to get at it. Sometimes they might be seen cunningly balanced on the steep sides of the roof, grazing along the very ridge-poles, or looking over the end of the gable when some member of the family came out of the door, as much as to say: “Get me down if you can!” Around the buildings there was a square wall of inclosure, giv ing the place the appearance of a little fortress. ,

On one side of the knoll a hot spring bubbled up. In the morning or evening, when the air was cool, quite a little column of steam arose from it, whirling and broadening as it melted away; but the water was pure and wholesome as soon as it became cold enough for use. In front of the house, where the sun shone warmest, Sigurd had laid out a small garden. It was a great labor for him to remove the huge stones and roll them into a protecting wall, to carry good soil from the places where the mountain rills had gradually washed it down from above, and to arrange it so that frosts and cold rains should do the least harmi; and the whole family thought themselves suddenly rich one summer when they pulled their first radishes, saw the little bed of potatoes coming into blossom, and the cabbages rolling up their leaves, in order to make, at least, baby-heads before the winter came. Within the house all was low, and dark and dismal. The air was very close and bad, for the stables were only separated from the dwelling-room by a narrow passage, and bunches of dry salt fish hung on the walls. Besides, it was usually full of smoke from the fire of peat, and, after a rain, of steam from Sigurd’s and Jon’s heavy woolen coats. But to the boy it was a delightful, a comfortable home, for within it he found shelter, warmth, food and! instruction. The room for visitors seemed to him the most splendid place in the world, because it had a wooden floor, a window with six panes of glass, a colored print of the King of Denmark and a geranium in a pot. This was so precious a plant that Jon and his sister Gurid hardly dared to touch & leaves. They were almost afraid to smell it for fear of sniffing away some of its life; and Gurid, after seeing a leaf of it laid on her dead sister’s bosom, insisted that some angel, many hundred years ago, had brought the seed straight down from heaven.— Rayard Taylor, in St. Nicholas for January.

The Boston Traveller tells this pathetic story: “Last Wednesday Eddie House, George Mayberry and Frederick Pray, each about eight years of age, living at Quincy Point, went out on Town River on the ice to slide. Eddie, in sliding too near the channel, fell through an ice-hole, and the other two, after fruitless efforts to rescue him, called out for help. Herbert Nott, aged about twelve years, who had just arrived home frbm school, hearing the cries, dashed oft' at full speed, to the great chagrin of his mother, w T ho had charged him to return home immediately at the close of school to go on an errand. She saw him run toward the river, and was planning a punishment for the disobedient but hitherto very obedient Herbert, who, however, had satisfied himself that he was needed mote on the nver. When little Eddie saw him coming, he cried out: ‘ Oh, savh me, Herbert! I shall drown.’ Herbert replied:? No. you won't unless I drown with you? TLen taking George’s sled and pushing) it into the water, tellingjEddie to lay hold of it, he drew him safely out and'took him to his fond mother. Probably Eddie will ba more careful in future.”