Rensselaer Union, Volume 9, Number 39, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 June 1877 — Page 3

The Rensselaer Union. lyj £% X 4Jf ':*Jf. WCNHBKLAER, - - INDIANA.

TiW DIBOOYERBR. I hat* * little kinsman ill. Whoa* early summer* are bat three, And yet a voyager is he, :t Greater than Drake or Frobisher — Than all their peers together! He is a brave discoverer, And, far beyond the tether Of them who seek the frozen pole, Has sailed where the noiseless surges roll. ■ Ay, he has traveled whither '! c A winged pilot steered his bark r Through the portals of the dark, fast hoary Munir's well and tree, Across the unknown sea. • 1.,- ' Suddenly, in his fair young hour, Came one who wore a flower, And laid it on bk dimpled hand With thk command: 44 Henceforth thou art a rover! Thou most make a voyage far, Sail beneath the evening star, And a wondrous land discover.” With his sweet smile innooent, 1 ' Our little kinsman went J Since that time no word From the absent has been heard. Who can tell How he fares, or answers well ' * What the little one has found Since he left us, outward bound? Would that he might return! Then should we learn f From the prioking of his ohart How the skyey roadways part Hush! does not the baby in this way bring— To lay beside the severed curl — Some starry offering c ’ Of chrysolite or pearl? Ah, no! not so! We may follow on his track, But he comes not back. '* ( And yet I dare aver y(, " ‘He is a brave discoverer .hi Of climes hk elders do not know; > c l He has more learning than appears On the scroll of twice three thousand years; More than in the groves is taught, ,Or from furthest indies brought He knows perchance, how spirits fare — , What shapes tie angels wear, What k their guise and speech )f. Iu those lands beyond our reach—- <■ • 1 And hk eyes behold Thillgß that shall never, never be to mortal hearers told. . — Edmund. C. Steadman, in Radical Revine.

THE SKELETON IN BULBO’S CLOSET.

Mr. Bulbo was decidedly nervous on this evening. He was more than fidgety; for Reside constant change of position, he cast quick looks behind him, as if he heard some one,; and made many attempts to whistle. His room" was pleasant, his chair comfortable, his tobacco excellent, and his pipe coloring in a most enviable manner; but he frowned as he shifted about, and finally sprang up with a groan. Behind him was a small closet where his bachelor odds and ends were hastily thrust, and now he jerked the door open and eagerly examined the interior. “Such.a fool!” he ejaculated, as he slimmed the door, taking up a book resolutely, determined to read. What was the matter with Mr. Bulbo? He appeared to be well, being rosy and active. He was a pleasant looking man, not yet troubled with age, as he had not yet reached the “youth of forty summers.” He was rather prosperous in'businessj had a pleasant circle of friends and no incumbrances. To look in his frank, sunny face—Wash Bulbo (his name was not an unfamiliar one to patriotic Americans, and had been thus abbreviated) was a good fellow —to interrogate his bright blue eyes no one would suspect that Mr. Bulbo was anything but the happiest of men. But he had a secret trouble which so preyed upon him that he was losing his spirits, and felt as if he was haunted by an actual presence. It pursued him in £he street, sought him in bis office, but was the most vital in its attack in his own room during the hitherto cheerful hours he had spent with his book and pipe. If its dreadful bony form could be shut in his closet—fastened in 1 But 'no sooner was he seated than it would steal ouf, whisper its wretched suggestions in his ear, and would drive him on to the fell deed against his will unless he could find some way to stifle it. It was this that stole Mr. Bulbo’s sleep, destroyed his appetite, and drove him from a state of blissful unconsciousness to a condition of rueful wretchedness. For more than a week he had nailed up the closet-door—gone without his overshoes for that length of time, as they were there bestowed and had caught a bad cold in consequence as perversely enough the weather seemed in league with his tormentors, and storms were rife. He had left town and spent several nights with a friend, but there had been no escape for him, and now he had returned to review the conflict or die. Here he was as badly ofi as before, for there was no use trying to read or divert himself in any way. Borne actual plan fauist be devised and put into immediate execution; and as he walked his room, and threw open all the windows to give himself as much relief as possible, he reviewed the circumstances which had placed him in this unpleasant position. A. little more than a year ago the first stroke had fallen upon him ashe was enjoying his pipe in the twilight. The postman** ring had not hitherto annoyed him, and be gave it no thought as he went to the closet for his tobacco pouch, and E*' ',ly said, “ Come in,” in response to a k which a moment later had jarred oor. But his mood changed as he read the letter which was put into his hands. On breaking the envelope a dainty note. With dark lines of grief on the edges and delicate tracery in feminine hand within, fluttered into his lap, while a heavy, dark-ly-written sheet flopped bold on the floor. He read first a bit from one, then from the other, in some confusion and dismay. The gist of both was that Horace Francis, Up, old friend of his father, had lately deceived and left Mr. Bulbo in charge of his daughter Marv’s property until she should attain her majority. Hearing the fine reports of your business, capacity, and' having been so well beloved of your father, I select you of all other men in the world, Bulbo,” the dying man had written. The fortune was large and had many cumbersome details; fcjlt Mr. Bulbo, for the sake of the trust, and with a certain pride in the appreciation of his ability, gladly undertook to ' discharge the obligation. The isdy had forwarded her father’s letter, and begged that all communications be held with ner lawyer, as she hardly felt like meeting strangers at present. Mr. Bulbo had acquiesced, and for a year now had, with much trouble to himself, taken conscientious charge of the property, often being obliged to neglect his own business, but had never seen the lady, their communication having been entirely through the

lawyer. Wow. In Ids own room, as he thought of the reaaona, he dashed his hands Into his dressing-gown ‘pockets, and fairly howled; in the midst of which ebullition he rqahed into the closet, threw the letters on the floor, and piled boxes, boots, books, everything he could get hold -of, over them. Ah! he, Bulbo! George Washington Bulbo! —a man most scrupulous on such points, could not strangle that shadowless monster? What if he was poor? If he had boen rich he would have done the same—be, who had come and gone in this famous city of Brookley for ten years, treading his quiet path of life uncritfcised. He had never used his modest wit against anyone more than to give a harmless thrust at a fellow-sufferer for the benefit of his pretty, mhch-abused companion at some amiable “ tea-fight," where one’s friends are served up hot with the fragrant urn, and their favorite foibles form an appetizing sauce for the tempting rasher. Why did this come upon him ? He was pursued night and day; the veiy air was full of whispers; even haunted in his own chambers; no secret place where he could escape. "Yes,” every one said, “he will marry her.” “ See how he looks after the property." ** That’s a nice nest egg for him, and no mother-in-law.” “ Observe how the sly rogue keeps the res i away—lucky dog.’’ Then to him: ••When will the happy event come off, eh, Bulbo?” Clapping him on the shoulder, 41 1 say you were born with a gold spoon in "your mouth.” Protestations were of no avail; his most sincere acts were against nim. It was fairly unendurable. Something must be done. He had thought of suicide, but that would never do, for then the voiceful torment would bring up his inanimate body and proclaim in far-reaching tones, 44 He proposed, and she jilted him.” No, no! Mr. Bulbo feverishly paced his room, looking here and there for an escape. At last he stood with his hair bristling wildly, and burst into a loud echoing laugh. The closet door creaked, and he shouted in reply: 44 Ay, come out! come out! I dread you no more! You’re outwitted!” and dragfing a valise from a recess, he began to url'in articles, making the most extravagant demonstrations of delight the while.

Was he crazy? No, but a solution of his difficulty was presented. He would marry some good girl immediately, and then what could they say? He paused for nothing, except once or twice to glare at the closet, until the valise was packed and locked, when he sat down upon it to wipe the perspiration from his forehead, and consider where he should go. Then, in the quiet which ensued, he realized the sacrifice he was about to make. His easy chair so inviting, his dressing gown so comfortable, his fireside so cozy, his belongings so conveniently scattered about, his club meetings, bis pleasant little dinners with a friend or two—all would vanish like a happy dream, to be followed by what unknown, dreadful reality of ahereatter! Well, well, it must be done. He laughed no more as he rose to complete his preparations. His honor was at least at stake. He might sleep then at least. Tedious curtain lectures! These might even be endured if he had his business hours in peace; and Mr. Bulbo’s spirits rose again sufficiently to give the closet door a good kick, and shake his fist At it as he left the room with the traveling gear. The next afternoon he was walking hastily along the quiet street of Miletord. Nothing but the urgency of the case could have kept him up during the journey. It was a dreadful step he had taken, but the disease in this case was worse than pny could be, and called for a violent remedy. Mr. Bulbo was not a stranger in Mileford, having spent some of his early years there, and was soon warmly greeted in Mr. Kopp’s kitchen. The farmer and his wife hailed him as Mr. George, cs they had been in the habit of calling him in earlier days, and Mr. Bulbo, glad to escape from the name which Jiad so annoyed him, begged them not to mention his surname. His room looked out on a quiet meadow, and it was with a feeling of intense relief he missed the smoking chimneys of his usual abode. At tea he was met and was waited upon by Mr. Kopp’s niece, Polly. She had Buch a flow of good spirits that he forgot duty, and entered into a merry conversation, which he unwillingly ended at her pointed suggestion of nis need of a smokd. He joined Mr. Kopp on the veranda, and soon told him of his errand—not the cause, but the plain fact that he was in search of a wife. “ I thought I couldn’t do better than come here,” he said, trying to speak carelessly. “ The fact is, I’m tirecl of living a bachelor life.” Oh, the miserable subterfuge! Mr. Bulbo hated himself for being obliged to resort to it. Mr. Kopp mentioned several names, particularly recommending one young lady whom Mr. Bulbo remembered as a child, and offering to introduce him that evening. “ Won’t you go, Polly?” he called into the kitchen.

“No, thanks,” and Mr. Bulbo felt disappointed and half inclined to give up the venture. Balbo made up a short call, as he felt weary, and as he opened the kitchen door, on his return, Polly sat by the window, singing and paring apples. A nice tittle cot protected her finger from the stain, and she nodded a smiting welcome as she put a bit of apple between her rosy tips. Mr. Bulbo leAned on the chair to chat, and soon asked for a knife, to help. “Butyou’ll have to wear a cot.” “ Put it on,” he responded, stretching out his hand. “They are too small,” she cried, after several mirth-provoking attempts to pjace them. “Can’t something else do?” he helplessly inquired: “ I can’t bear to be idle.” “ Yes; I’ll wind them up in rags,” and her deft fingers soon bound bis hands. It was late when they finished, for Polly insisted that the paring should be perfect, and their aid was required in solving matrimonial questions. Hers only formed a B, at which she was much provoked; but Mr. Bulbo’s was veiy definite. “Is It a P.or an FflLshe asked, puzzling over the letter. “ I declare it’s as much tike an M as anything.” When at last bed-time came, without doubt Polly lighted his candle, and between them they dropped the snuffers three times before he got fairly started. In the morning he must Bee the farm, and as Mr. Kopp’s work was urgent, Polly was impressed to do the honors. On their return the :un was too hot to go out, and it was pleasanter to chat in the sitting room. After dinner came the fascinating sight of Polly with her sleeves rolled up, showing such white arms—all stray locks of her hair tucked behind her tittle ears and away from checks where the color came ana went in a moment—that the dishes might be washed. Then when she disappeared a moment Mr. Bulbo thought he would make a call, but when she appeared in a fresh muslin, was moved to ask if there was not somewhere tor them

to go—“ Not but that I ace enough that’s charming bare.” , Polly turned away with a little frown, and Mr. Bulbo was, u usual, upbraiding himself, when a deepening rod on her neck persuaded him that he had made an irrevocable mistake. They went to Lynbrook, and only got home in time for Polly to get tea. After that Mr. Kopp proposed to call on another young lady, but Mr. Bulbo had discovered that Polly sang; and aa music was his great delight, and he made some attempts, though no pretensions in that quarter, he insisted on a song: One followed another, their voices harmonized finely, and another evening was gone. This was the example of many days. Polly had read some new book that had particularly pleased Mr. Bulbo and. she was so lively and piquant it was delightful to talk to her. She was remarkably well educated, which surprised Mr. Bulbo, as Mileford was but a country place. 44 Ah, now. you’d like to ask questions,” she cried, as he let drop something of that kind. “ I was not brought up here, and that’s all I’ll say. Ladies only are privileged to ask questions.” 44 There is one that gentlemen mayask,” softly said Mr. Bui bo, leaning toward her; but she sprang from her seat and ran up stain. 44 Bulbo, you’re a fool I” was the gentleman’s mental comment. “I’m afraid you’re In love—you are, by Jove!” he ejaculated, as he seized the handkerchief Polly had dropped. And pressing it to his lips, placed it in his inner pocket. It was to be feared that was the truth. Mr. Bulbo had been five weeks at Mr. Kopp’s and had entirely forgotten the cause of his coming. He had made hut one call in search of the wife who was to vindicate his character in the virtuous city of Brookley, but had lingered all this time by tho side of a bright-eyed, plump little damsel, who had become a necessity to him, and without whom he felt his bachelor room would be dreary indeed. Why wouldn’t she do as well, better than any one else, for his purpose? She was a darling, would make him happy, refute the scandal, destroy the tenant of that closet—ugh! Yes. yes. But—a blank, great and unspeakable, fell on Mr. Bulbo as he contemplated the idea that she might reject him. Iu all his plans he had never once thought of that. Not that he was overbold; he had no opinion of his abilities, but the extremity had been such that he had never allowed a refusal to enter into his calculations. In the despair that came over him, he went and wandered by the brook until long past tea hour. It was with a fearful heart-throb and a perceptible jump that he saw Polly approaching. 44 Mr. George, won’t you come to tea?” 44 1 won’t come, Miss Polly, mv heart’s Polly”—it sounded horrible, but Mr. Bulbo did not mean it should— 44 unless you will let me go with you,” he replied, seizing her hand in both of Ms. 44 That’s just what I mean to do,” replied Polly, breathlessly, trying to withdraw her hand. 44 I’ve not had mine yet.” 44 No, no; that’s not what I mean. I won’t go unless you go with me —unless we go together—that is, Polly, dearest Polly, I love you, and must hav —e.” And she was folded in his arms. It was bunglingly done, and Mr. Bulbo must have had some encouragement, or else he had forgotten his fears; but Polly understood him and—tea lingered longer still. To Mr. Bulbo’s delight, Polly was willing to appoint an early day; and the nuts were just falling, and the pumpkins had drank their fill of yellow sunlight, and the northern frost winds were making a fire pleasant, when they stood in the ves-try-room of the little church, waiting for the clergyman. 44 Dearest, there is one thing I want to say; my name ” 44 Oh, don’t tease me about that! I never can call you any thing but Mr. George; but I ought to have told you—” 144 Come, Polly!” cried her uncle interrupting her; and in they went, each with something important to tell the other. Polly smiled a little, with a timid flutter; when Mr. Bulbo uttered, in a clear voice: 44 1, George Washington.” And he gave a little start of not entire pleasure, when she said, softly, 44 1, Mary.” 44 1 like Polly best,” he whispered as he threw back her veil and claimed her for his wife.

As Mr. Kopp handed Polly into the carriage. he laughingly said: “ I ought to say Mrs. Bulbo now, I suppose.” “ Mrs. Bulbo!” cried Polly, aghast. “ Yes, darling, that is what 1 wanted to tel) you in the vestry, and now that we are so happy I can endure to speak .of the matter;” and Mr Bulbo told her the whole story. To his surprise Polly laughed until she cried, blushed as if on fire, and as the drive to the honse was short, refused to explain, but ran in and seemed to avoid him. It was not until the hour of return was over that Polly stood alone with him on the porch. Then between bursts of laughter and showers of tears, which were cleared away in the most natural manner possible, she told him. She was Mary Francis ; had feared some one would ask her for her money, and had changed her name and secluded herself here. She had always avoided him, for his name had prejudiced her to think he was very disagreeable. She had meant to tell him of her wealth lust before they were married, that it might have no influence on him, and now he had done just what he didn't want to do. “No, no,” he swore. “Just what he wanted. He had been so happy that he had never thought to tell her his name, and now what difference did it make? They loved each other.” But alas for Mr. Bulbo! He returned to Brookley with his loved and loving wife, and his little world was in flames in a moment. “ I told you so! Wasn’t he a sly rogue to go and marry her secretly ?” Fate was against him, facts were against him. What could he say, how refute ? “ Ah, Bulbo, we saw it all. Bless jou, you couldn’t surprise us; we knew it was inevitable.” He took other rooms; would have eschewed closets, but Polly said they were necessary. Still the phanton pursued him. He lived a long happy life, but to bis good old age could not bear a door behind him; ana as friends never forget, I think we may safely say Mr. Bulbo never got rid of the Skeleton in his Closet

A Cartons Bird Story.

L. Page and son have been cutting wood on Albright's place in the foothills, near San Jose. They had noticed tor several days that a number of birds remained constantly upon a tree near them, some going ana coming from time to time. Upon catting down the tree they discovered a limb with a hollow cavity, some two feet in length and three or four inches in diameter, in which were two full-grown

birds of some goodly-sized species. There was a small aperture through which the birds were supplied with food from their mates. Hie limb was cut and the birds liberated. Thev were neither of them able to fly, having evidently never been out of their Imprisonment. How they came Inside is a question. It is more than probable that the mother bird was small, and though able to make her nest In the hollow of the tree and rear her young, could not extricate them, and they aid not gain strength enough to help themselves until the hollow had so closed that escape was impossible. Those who examined the birds think they are about two years old. They have been fed from their birth by their bird-fellows .through th« aperture in the limb of the free. A nobler instance of devotion even the human family never exhibited.— Ban Jot* (Cal.) Mercury.

What People Say of Us.

A w holesome regard for public opinion is, of course, to he desired, but whenever that regard becomes servile, then It ceases to be a virtue. When we become so desirous of the favorable speech of people as to shape our course with a view to the securing of approbation, without regard to the demands of right and justice, we fall into grave error, and it would be well for us to break treo at once, and act according to the dictates of our own best, judgment, and let public opinion 44 slide.” The world is always ready to judge everybody in season, and out of season—with reason, and without reason. Tongues wiil wag, whether there is anything worth wagging for or not. To live in constant fear of what people may say of us, is like living under the threatening sword of Dam'xfles. And it is a fact that everybody is more or less influenced by this regard for 44 what will besaid.” Not long ago we heard a distinguished literary man say that the Christian religion was not so powerful a force for securing good behavior, as was public opinion. Nine-tenths of the people, he asserted, were kept within the bounds of decency not so much by their religious convictions of duty, as by the fear of what would be said of them. This is a somewhat sweeping assertion, no doubt; hut still, nobody win deny that public opinion is a mighty engine in the world for controlling individual conduct. Every day of our life we are assured of it. People buy and sell, and eat and drink, and wear clothes, and stay at home and go abroad, with reference to it. We call on Mrs. A., and Mrs. A. tells us that she is having her parlors refurnished. Not that the furniture was worn out, but it was old-fashioned, and people would think they were getting entirely behind the times, if they did not fix up a little. We call on Mrs. 8., and Mrs. B. is going to the beach. It is a dreadful bore to go, she assures us, but everybody else is going, and people would be sure to talk is she and B. do not take a little vacation. We call on Mr. C., and ask him to leave off giving wine-suppers and champagneparties ; and he tells us he doesn’t care for such entertainments, he is just as temperate as we are, but everybody has wine at parties, and people would talk if he did not. So we might go on for quires of paper, and bring up instances where people are influenced to do what their consciences condemn, from, the seas of what will be said.

There are some persons, in every community, whose life business it is to go about and tell everybody what eveiyboay else savs about them. Just as soon as one of these human vermin hears anything said derogatory to you, sne will give you a call, and, after a few preliminaries, will open something tike this: “ Oh, Mrs. Brown, I heard something yesterday which made me so indignant. I’d tell it to you, if it wasn't for hurting your feelings. Ido so hate to hurt your feelings! But, there! you needn’t care; of course it’s nothing but scandal; though, on the whole, I’d better not tell it.” And then she sighs, and speaks of the weather, and; of course, yon insist on her telling you; and, after a host of excuses, she informs you that Mrs, P. said that she heard, over to the comer, that you and Brown quarreled tike cats and dogs, ana that you thought of getting divorced from him, and going home to your mother’s. Then you become indignant, and say something hard about Mrs. P., and your disinterested (?) friend treasures it up, and tells it to Mrs. P. the first opportunity. Now, whenever anybody comes to us with the remark, “ I heard something about you,” or “ Do you know what they are saying about yon ?” we put on our dignity, and reply to them: “ We never listen to idle stories of what people say of us—and we consider no person our friend who comes to us with such tales.” It shuts the mouth of the confounded old gossip, and' after that she gives us a wide berth. In the matter of what people say of us. we would dare to do right, in spite of “ they say.” If we set according to our best judgment of what is just and proper, we can afford to leave the result - and whatever people say of us can matter but little when the final accounts are made up.— Kate Thom, in N. Y. Weekly.

A New Cure for Wounds.

As soon as a wound is inflicted, get a tittle stick—a knife or file-handle will do —and commence to tap gently on the wound. Do not stop for the hurt, but continue until it bleeds freely and becomes perfectly numb. When this point is reached vou are safe—tall that is then necessary is to protect it from the dirt. Do not stop short of the bleeding and numbness, and do.not on any account close the opening with plaster. Nothing more than a little simple cerate on a clean cloth is necessary. We have used and seen this used on all kinds of simple punctures for thirty years, and never knew a single instance of a wound becoming inflamed orsore after treatment as above. Among other cases: A coal-rake tooth going entirely through the foot, a rusty-darning-needle through the foot, a bad bite by a sucking pig, several instances of file-sbanks through the hands, and numberless cases of ru*ty nails, awls, etc., but we never knew a failure of this treatment.— Scientific American. —When a fond mother can go into a school-room and whale a six-foot teacher for whipping her boy, it is not wise to say that if she were in politics she could not run a primary meeting.— N. Y. Herald. —Uncle Sam has got mad at the way bis public timber has been stolen in Louisiana, and notice is given that some one will be hurt by the flying chips.— Detroit FreePreu.

Youths’ Department. “A BOOK ABOUT TUB BABY." Now if I could write znoh a story lot you, What a pretty one it would be! And the prettimt thing* they would all be tree. —But can I? Ah, you snail zee. So, the book about Baby muataU be new?— No, not one word of it old? Well, then—why, the Baby’* two eye* they are Una, • And the Baby's one head it le gold. And the Baby hue inch a ted bud of a mouth, Such a beautiful bit of a nose; And where can you find, in the North or the South, Such queer little pig* a* hi* toe*? Oh, the Baby k better than blossom* or bhd*— “Or than honey or orange*?” Ye*. And the Baby tell* tales with the darlings* word*, That mean—what you never can guess! And the Baby believe* he's an angel, no doubt, And want* to go back to the *ky; And that is just what all the trouble'* about, And that is just why be will aryl And the Baby is sweet—from the light on hi* heed To the dimple* that play in hi* feet, Now, mV book is all new, for who ever has said. Before, that—the Baby i* sweet? — Mr*, 8. M. B. Piatt , in Jum Wide-Awake.

DOG SPRAY.

“Here, Spray 1 Come here,, old fellow!” The words, spoken in anr affectionate tone, were answered by a joyful hark, and a large black-and-tan dog sprang into the room, and leaped top against his master, licked his hand and snapped playfully at his feet. His entrance now, when many little folks were having an evening party, was greeted with a lively clapping of hands; for Spray was a great pet, and had been taught by the gentleman who owned him to ao some wonderfol tricks. M any of the company begged that he be allowed to show these tricks, as some of the young guests had never seen them; and Spray’s master readily consented. 41 Here, girl” said the gentleman, in a tone of command, after Spray had been introduced all around; “show me how big people waltz.” Spray pricked up his ears intelligently, and, as his master whistled tome bars or a favorite air, rose on his legs and began to dance around and around, keeping time with the tune. While the little folks were laughing heartily at this clever imitation of a popular amusement, the gentleman suddenly cried, ‘‘Cigars!” "The word was scarcely spoken, when Spray dropped on all-fours, and, raising himself on his fore-paws, walked slowly about the room in that difficult position. “Now, sir,” said his master, when he had done, “we’ll do something harder, Show me how the school master reads.”

Ail Spray’s tittle audience waited with delight to see how he would do this. Lifting himself on his haunches, he stretched out his paws, as if he were holding a school-book, and turning his head aronnd slowly, with a comical air of severity, as if trying to get the attention of imaginary scholars, he began to open and shut his jaws, so as to imitate reading the lesson. “ Big word, Spray!” said his owner, as his pet was thus acting the schoolmaster, reminding him that a long, hard word was near at hand. Spray took the hint, and with a funny look that made all the party laugh, opened his jaws very wide indeed, to show his scholars how to pronounce the hard word properly. The lesson done, and school dismissed, the dog dropped to the floor at a sign, and allowed himself to be petted and praised by the company. “Tell me,” said his master, after a time, “ whether you would rather be a wicked traitor or die for your country?” Spray, on hearing the question, ran around the room, and at last, finding a soft spot on the carpet, rolled over on his back, curled up his legs, and closed his eyes, to show the company that, if he had bis choice, he would die a hero. As he lay this way, the little folks tried to make him move by coaxing and threats; but he did not stir until his master cried “ Police!” And then he sprang up and ran to him, as if for protection from the dreaded policeman. When told that the policeman had gone away, however, he came out from his hiding-place, and turned a somersault on the nodr, as much as to say:

“I’m not a bit afraid! I’ll play as much as I like, spite of all the policemen in the world.” “Go and open that door, sir!” said his master, pointing to the parlor door, that stood slightly ajar. Spray, hearing the command, spraog away from the girls who were petting him, and creeping through the opening into the ball, raised himself on his bind legs, and pushed the dbx wide open agaiDSt the wall. “Now, shut it again, sir!” said his master; and Spray obeyed, forcing his way behind the door, raising himself on his hind legs as before, and slamming it to with a load bang. “That's a good dog,” said his master, patting him on the head. “ Now go over there and bring me your tail.” With that, Spray went into the comer and began to run around in a circle. After doing tbis a good many times, he dropped down on his haunches and made several laughable attempts to catch hold of his wagging tale. At last, seizing it firmly in his teeth, he stood up, and went on turning around and around, just as puss does when she chases after her tail. After turning in this way for quite a while, Spray at last reached the sofa, ou which his master and several of his young companions were seated, laughing at him. and, at the former’s command, let go his hold, and allowed his tail to wag as before. Presently Spray broke away from the hugs &pd petting bestowed upon him by his little friends, and ran up tohis master, who ordered him to show how he wrestled. Banning to the middle of the room, Bpray planted his paws firmly on the carpet, and Kfted one after the other several times, to show how boys change their feet about when wrestling. At length, after showing more such feints, he roiled over and over to show how ooys tumble about when wrestling in a hay-loft or on the long grass. Again escaping from the caresses of the delight* d spectators, after this amusing exhibition, he lay down at his master’s feel. The gentleman then seized Spray’s wagging tan, and making believe to bite it, said: “Shall I bite it? Say, ‘Oh, no!”’ Spray now became rather refractory, and would not at first do as he waatold; but when the older was repeated in a tone of authority, he turned his eyes up to his master’s face, and uttered a 'low whine,

word* '* Ob, nol" * ** Having thus made him plead to be let off, aa well u a dog could, bia master told him to Jump up and make a figure eight; first, however, patting him affectionately, as a reward for Els previous obedience. As his master stood up. Spray walked around, and in and out of l»oth bia feet from right to left; thus following the outline of a figure eight, aa skatera do when cutting it on the ice. Thus ended hls tricks for the evening, and, after betrijj praised and called a “good dog” by bis master, be Join' d in the sports of his young friends, until bia owner Called him to go home.—/. Rted Sever, in St. Nicholas

Kitty Clover.

Kitty Clove* is a pretty child, but she is always in a fret. Morning, noon and night you hear Kitty Clover erying. Her aunty said the;, other day that she thought she really should have to go abroad. She could not live another year in the same house with a girl who was forever in tears. 1 The day begins in this way with Kitty: Mamma says, “ Come, darling, it’s time to get up. The first bell rang five minutes ago.” 44 O, dear!” says Kitty, 44 1 haven’t bad half enough sleep. I can't wake up yet 1” “But, my love, you have not time to lie still. Breakfast will be ready, and you have your lessons to look over, and niate o’clock will soon be heret” Veiy ungraciously Kitty rises. She pokes out first one foot and then the other, and she looks about to see what she can find as a cause of complaint. “ Most I wear that hateful dries?” she exclaims presently, 44 1 want to wear my new one and ruffled apron.” 44 That dress will do yon for this week, dear,” mamma answers cheerfully. But it is no use. Kitty Clover cries. Between daylight and dark she sometimes cries sixteen times. Yet, strange to say, it Is only at home that she behaves so. In school, her teacher tells hs, she is a very good child. Nowhere; except where mamma is, is oar little girl so cross and fretful. . What shall we do with Kitty? We are afraid that a pucker is growing on her pretty forehead, and that the tears will wash all the brightness out of her blue eyes. Is there nothing that Kitty herself could do to help mena this dreadful state of aflaira I—Lucy Hilton, in Chrittian at Work.

FACTS AND FIGURES.

According to returns to the United States Bureau of Statistics, six hundred emigrants sailed from this port for Sydney, New South Wales, between February 8 and April 14, 1877.— N. Y. Payer. In Italy there are sixty-five elementary schools of agriculture and twelve normal schools. During 1875, there were held among agriculturists 601 conference meetings, or “ Institutes,” as we term them, with an attendance of 2,500 persons. Thb ages of some of the leading men in Europe are as follows: Prince Gortschakoff, 79; Lord Beaconsfieid, 72; Mr. Gladstone, 68; Prince Bismarck, 63; Lord Granville, 61; Marshal MacMahon, 69; M. Thiers, 80; Entperor William, 80; Victor Hugo, 75; Thomas Carlyle, 81; Alfred Tennyson, 67; Bishop Dupanloup, 75; Pius IX., 84; Garibaldi, 70: Earl Russell, 84; Lord Stratford de Redcliffe, 89; and Jules Simon, 62. Somb interesting statistics are furnished by the European press respecting the draining of the Znyder Zee. A dam forty kilometers (twenty-four and three-quar-ter miies) long, Any meters broad at its base and one and one-half meters above the usual level of high water, is to be carried across the gulf. Upon this will be erected pumping engines capable of discharging 1,716,000,000 gallons a day. Estimating the average depth of the gulf at about four and one-half meters, it will take steady pumping for sixteen yean to empty the 'inclosure. The cost of reclaiming the 500,000 acres now under water is estimated at about $87,000,000. •It is confidentally expected that about 480,000 acres will be suitable for agriculture, and can be sold at an average price of SBOO an acre. Thb 28th of April marked the close of what may roughly be called the first onethird of the present year. That one-third embraced some of the coldest weather of the twelvemonth, the most trying winds for consumptive invalids, and the sudden changes ana treacherous storms which induce diphtheria and Us kindred diseases; it may be fairly taken, therefore, as a representative period in the preparation of mortality statistics. Reports received for the seventeen weeks immediately preceding that date give to some of the leading cities of the world the following deathrates respectively: Alexandria 41.4 Edinburg 20.7 Amsterdam 28.2 liibon 34.9 Athena. 20.8 Liverpool 28.2 Berlin.. 27.1 London.. 28.0 Bombay. 56.4 Madina .146.4 805t0n,.... 20.8 Munich... 36.1 Brussels. 27.3 New York 23.8 Calcutta 27.91 Paris 29.4 Christiana 16.4 Philadelphia 22.5 Copenhagen....... 24.98 an Francisco.... 20.4 Dresden... 33.2 Stockholm 30.4 Dublin 29.0 Vienna 86.7 The palm for general bealthfulness, if these figures are worth anything as signs, must be given to Christiana, with its sixteen and four-tenths; and among the twenties, which come next in order, we are glad to see San Francisco leading Edinburgh, and the modern Athens on an equality with the ancient seat of learning and the arts.— N. Y. Evening Pott.

A Family Journal.

In a' certain farm-house twenty years ago a great blank book was kept, and labeled Borne Journal. Every night some one made an entry in it Father sat down the'sale of the calves, or mother the cut of die baby’s eyetooth; or, perhaps, Jenny wrote a full account of the sleighing party last night; or Bob the proceedings of the Phi Beta Club; or Tom scrawled, “tried my new gun. Bully-. Shot into the fence and hit Johnson’s old cat” On toward the middle of the book there was the entry or Jenny’s marriage, and one of the younger girls had added a description of the bridesmaids’ dresses, and long afterward there was written, “ this day father died,” in Bob’s trembling hand. There was a blank of many months after thst. But nothing could have served better to bind that family of headstrong boys and girls together than the keeping of this book. They come back to the old homestead now, men and women with griszlad hair, to see their mother who is still living, and turn over its pages reverently with many a hearty laugh, or tears coming into their eyei. Ills their childhood come back again in visible shape.—Scribner’* Monthly.