Rensselaer Union, Volume 9, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 June 1877 — Page 3

The Rensselaer Union. ■i' an. <ii "a magAS m RENSSELAER, - i.i«. INDIANA.

ON A NAUGHTY LITTLE -EOT,' SLEEPING. 1 Jutrr now I minted from hall end iialr A Joyful treble Unit hid porim At dear to me an that x ave&one ' That tells the world my older care. And little footstep* on the floor Were ntnyed. I laid oxide my pen. Foij{ot my theme, and llxteiled—then Stole xoftly to the library door. No light! no sound! A moment’* IVeak Of fuucy thrilled my pulxes through: " If -no’’- and yet, that fancy 1 d e* A father x blood from heart ana cheek. And then—l found him! There he lay, Surprised by eleep, caught lu the act. The rosy Vandal who had lacked Ills little town, and thought it play: The shattered vaie; the broken jar; A match xtlll smoldering entue floor; The lnk»tund> purple pool of gore; The chessmen scattered uear and far. Strewn leaves of album* lightly pressed Th'S wicked *■ Baby of the Woodx:” In fact, of half the hom-euolil goods This son and belt was aelaed—posseased. ! [Yet all In vain, for sleep had cangbt The hnnd that reached, the feet that strayed} And fallen In that ambuscade The victor was himself o'erwronght. What though torn leaves and tattered book Still testified hi* dee > disgrace! 1 stooped and kbaed the Inky face, With Its demur* and calm (totlook. 1 'V’ 1 • ■ 1 llt ' ‘I 1 ' Then back I stole, and half beguiled My gnilt. In trust that when my sleep Should come, there might be One who'd keep ■ An ennui mercy for Ills child. —Bret Harte, in JUurtier’i Alayaztti* for July.

PROVIDENTIAL JUSTICE.

The Bois dfc Boulogne Is the modern pride of Paris, and it is to: the French capital what Central Park is to New York, extending from the Triumphal Arch, at the head of the Champs Elysees, for a mile or more by a boulevard one hundred and fifty feet wide, into what used to be a thick forest, abounding with game, and the resort of duelists and organized bands of robbers. All this Is changed now; millions of dollars have oeen expended in turning the entire region into a charming park, intersected by beautiful drives, waterfalls, fountains, grottos and flowerbeds, all of which form the favorite drive and promenade of the Parisians. To create this beautiful and extensive pork many of the houses which had stood here and 'there upon the*,grounds were necessarily torn down and destroyed, some of them mansions which had stood for a century, many pretentious buildings belonging 10 noble families, and many of very humble aspect, forming the homes of the middle class of people. Some, indeed many, of these lwuses had their story or legend, well, remembered by the neighborhood, and it is one of these which we propose to relate, as exhibiting a marked instance of providential justice! The Bois de Boulogne was one of the crown domains under Louis Philippe, but in 1852 it was transferred to -the pality of Paris, on the condition that two millions of francs should be expended upon it at once, and that it Bhould be henceforth maintained as a public park at the cost of the city. Then at once commenced the demolition of the buildings referred to, the laying out of broad and attractive thoroughfares, lakes, groves and the like. 80 that the date of Ihe events we describe is scarcely more than twenty years since. In that section of the present Bois de Boulogne nearest to Champs Elysees, there ttood an ancient stone structure which had evidently once been a very pretentious mansion' but which in later times had been reduced in size, and the walls and building generally«had been adapted to the convenience of a modern residence. In effecting this a false wall had been erected on the east side of the building, so as to cover up the rough appearance produced by the removal of a portion of the former edifice on that side. This portion of the building of which we speak was the back paid, and, with this exception, the whole dwelling presented a very neat and handsome aspect.

• J " 1 It ii still remembered that in 1840 this house was occupied by a lady, known as Madame Brienville* and her daughter, a Very beautiful girl of eighteen or twenty, and that the complement Qf the little household was made up by the addition of an elderly domestic, named Nanette Little was known relating to Madame Brienville and her family ; indeed, there seemed to be some mystery connected with them. She was understood to be a widow and to have come here to live from the neighborhood of Lyons, but she had no intimate acquaintances, nor any relatiops, as far as could be discovered ,• The old servant was very retioent, and the gossips could get little or nothing from her concerning her mistress except that they hail all come from the Department of the Rhone. That the widow was possessed of ample pecuniary means was clear enough to her neighbors, for though there was nothing of an ostentatious character in her style of living, still every domestic necessity, and even luxury of a desirable character, were freely enjoyed by the household, except that they kept quite isolated and were satisfied with the servaes of old Nanette alone. Madame Brienville and her beautiful daughter were often seen together among the shaded paths of the vicinity, walking arin in arm, on which occasion the observers did not fall to note the dignity and quiet, distinguished air which seemed to surround the widow, quite as readily as they did the extraordinary beauty of her daughter. Yet the char mb of face and form which characterized Mile. Loise were so marked as to be the theme of universal comment among the people of the neighborhood. In vain were all the attempts of the interviewers of old Jeanette, when she daily went with her basket upon hpr arm to the nearest market. These curious ones were gratified only by a repetition of the old story, over and over again, until they gave up in absolute despair. They had all come from the Department of the Rhone; madamie was a widow. That was the sum total of the information which old Nanette could or would communicate. The natural conclusion was that good and substantial reasons must exist for such reticence, and this acted as a spur to the inquisitive people. to%hom any mystery was a delight. None would have presumed to force their presence upon the distant and dignified Madame Brienville herself. Her neighbors were of too humble a class to call upon tho widow in a social way. And so matters stood up to the spring of 1840, when Nanette, by chance, let out the fact that the family were about to go to the Town of Dieppe, on the coast, for the summer, i 1 hopes it might improve madame’s health. “ Is Madame Brienville ill ?” asked one.

“ Bhe is in delicate health,” answered Nanette. . “ Why does she not call In Doctor Fouchet?”. ''Oh,*he is not ill in the way to reimlre medicine. A liltlo change of climate and scene for a few months will make madame all right again,” answered the servant. “And when do you go to Dieppe ?” asked a listener. “At once.” “To-day?” “ No, but veiy soon. Madame did not say when,” replied Nanette, as she gathered up her purchases and departed. “That woman knows all about the family, but she has been tutored to hold her tongue,” said one neighbor to another, looking after the departing figure. “ She’s a close one,” was the answer. “ I would not like to live alone in the stone house If I were those women; there was a robbery only last week, over the lake, you know.” “ That Is true, and I have seen madame with diamond solitaires in her ears when she has been walking,” remarked the other neighbor. “ It's true the stone house can be fastened up very securely at night; every window has fts bolt and bars and outside shutters, as well as those within.” “ Where’s the house these rogues cannot enter If they have a mind?” asked the other. “To overcome bolts and bars is only the least part of their trade.” 1 “ Yes, and then once inside of the stone house, a robber has only three women to contend with; they have no man there, and the house is rather isolated.” “All of which is probably ns well known to the robbers as it is to you and me,” was the response of the other party. This was all very true, and, as we have intimated, the vicinity of the Bois de Boulogne was a locality with a proverbially bad name, and where the law was very frequently outraged, even in the hours of open day. One would Hardly like to pass among its labyrinths unarmed, after nightfall, in our own time, for the neighborhoods of large cities always have a crop of dangerous and desperate men. Still Madame Brienville and her companions had lived unmolested here for some two years. True, it was observed that at night particular care was taken to fasten up" all the doors and windows in a very secure manner, so that after nightfall no light, or evidence of the stone house being inhabited, could be discovered from the outside. At the close of the twilight hour the place always assumed the aspect of a deserted old mansion-house.

It was on a pleasant morning of early summer of the year 1840, that the neighbors observed the windows of the stonehouse still remained closed and fastened, lone after the sun was up, and quite contrary to the usual custom. One or two stopped, in their daily passage from one place to another, to observe the fact and remark upon it. “ Oh,” said one, “the family have gone to Dieppe, as Nanette said they were to do, though they have slipped away very quietly, that’s a fact. But we know they have been getting ready.” “ They couldn’t do anything like other people; they must even make a mystery of goingaway,” said another. Queer people,” added still another. “ They must have gone in the night,” said a fourth person. ~ “ That’s just it,” responded one of the first speakers, “where there is so much secrecy there is sure to be some good reason for it. No one knows anything about this Madame BrienviHe and her pretty daughter, though she has lived among us these two years and more.” “ She is registeied by the police, and if there was anything wrong about her they would find it out,” said another. “Very true,” responded another of the group, who was discussing the matter. “ Leave madamc in peace. Ifshecliooses to go to Dieppe by night, let her go.” And so the subject was dropped by the neighbors. If anyone asked about the stone house, which presented the aspect of a dwelling hermetically sealed, he was told that the occupants had gone to Dieppe to pass the summer by the seaside, on account of Madame Brienville’s failing health, and so several months passed on. By and by the summer was gone and winter art in, hut still the people who inhabited the stone house did not return from Dieppe. When Madame Brienville had first come to the place, it was remembered by the inquisitive ones that she had purchased the establishment, so there was no landlord to be looking after the rent. There was a neglected and crumbling look gradually settling down over the stone house and its surroundings by the following spring. but, then, that was the owner’s business, and no one need fret over the matter if it tumbled to the ground. A sentiment which the neighbors fully expressed. The isolated situation of she house prevented the fact of its remaining so long shut up from being the cause of much remark, and the years from 1840 to 1850 were full of such stirring experiences in and about Paris, that the old stoue house ceased to be a subject of curiosity even to those in the immediate vicinity. By and by came the preparations for the improvements intheßoisde Boulogne, so long contemplated.

One of the first obstacles to be removed proved to be the old stone house, whica had lain empty these ten years. Inquiry was made aS to the ownership; but the action of the French authorities, when once commenced upon any given purpose, is summary; no delay is permitted, for the-Government is all-powerful. Bo an order was issued to tear down the house without loss ol time, and now that attention was directed to. the building, the authorities were themselves surprised that the affairs of Madame Brienville had been permitted to sleep quietly for so many years without coming under their surveillance. . Curiosity was aroused once more in the neighborhood when it was proposed to tear down the stone house. The usual forms were observed, and a suitable officer was detailed to oversee the solving of this mystery. The doors were broken in very easily, for decay had weakened them, and ere long, they would have fallen from the eating of rust, damp and general decay. Strange was the sight that met the eyes of those that entered there. The dust and mold were many inches deep upon everything. Articles lay about as they had done in every-day use, but coated with the deposit of years. The close, damp atmosphere was oppressive and the stillness ominous! Nothing had been packed away as if for departure or a temporary absence of the occupants. There stood a table with the decayed food in the dishes, the cups and saucers, knives and forks and spoons, lying about as though left there to be clearer away hefore the next meal should be prepared. There was a strange and mysterious suggestiveness of something to be discovered in these signs which met the eye at every tu|n.,

Presently the officers wentup the dusty, creaking stairs, add into the first room or chamber tbey came to. Ah! what do they see that causes them to start so, and to hurriedly address each other? These are men accustomed to all manner of exigenciee, but they almost tiemble with excitement now. Upon the bed they beheld —one of them having thrown open the barred windows—the skeleton of a woman, half clad in a night-dress, the whole under a coating of mold! The mystery was about to be srtlved. Here was the evidence of murder, too plain to be mistaken. Other rooms were hurriedly visited. In that next to the one first examined, they found another skeleton, half clothed - this one lying upon the floor near the door, as If on the way to join the person who had occupied the first room. In the rear room, upon this floor, was found still another skeleton lying cross wise upon the bed, and partly clothed, like the others. These three skeletons were the only occupants of the house. The officers called in some of the neighbors to question them, and at last one or two were found who remembered about Madame Brienville and her family, and part of the mystery began to be unraveled. Here in the first room was the mother; in the second apartment were the bones of the daughter, the once lovely Loise; and in the "third and rear room, there lay across the bed the skeleton of the old domestic, Nanette. Evidences were soon found that showed the house had been robbed, and these women murdered, some ten or twelve years since. Further examination showed that the robber or robbers mußt have entered the house from the roof, as the only window or place of ingress and egress found unbarred was that of a rear one in the upper half-story of the building. After satisfying themselves upon this point, the officials returned to the chambers where the ghastly skeletons lay. The bones alone were left!

The rats and other vermin had eaten every particle of the flesh from the frames years and years gone by. After proper official' action had been taken, the remains were decently arranged and buried. It was more than a nine days’ wonder. The authorities blamed themselves that it was possible such a crime could lie In their midst, as it were, unsuspected for so long a period, and the few neighbors who were left saw how stupid they had been in not directing attention to the missing family. True, they had every reason to suppose that they had gone to the seaside, but then they should have remembered that if this were the case, Mme. Brienville and her daughter would be sure to return at the close of the summer. They saw this plain enough now. The march of improvement, in the meantime, was not stayed; the public laborers cleared the house of its valuables, which were turned over to the public receiver, and then commenced to tear down the old stone mansion. This was the work of not one, but many days. Gradually the structure, stone by stone, floor by floor, disappeared, and was carted from the spot. The authorities had half forgotten the crime which had so long ago been committed within those walls, when one day, as the worker en came upon the foundation walls, the proper officer was hastily summoned to the spot. Another revelation wasi in store for him. ~~ Another skeleton was found! It lay amoDg the foundation stones, and was that of a man, still clasping a box in his fleshless arms, as though even in death and the grave he would retain his ill-gotten booty. The truth was plain at a glance. This was all that remained of the long-ago robber and murderer! It will be remembered that we spoke of a false wall which had been erected to screen the rear part of the old house; it was between this and the main building that the robber’s skeleton was found. In making his escape from the scene of the robbery and murder, by that lofty back window, he had fallen between these walls into a living grave! The l*ox his skeleton arms still embraced contained rich jewelry, diamonds and gold, to possess which he had murdered the three innocent occupants of the stone house in the P.oi? de Boulogne; but providential justice bad been meted out to him in the very hour of his awful crimes!— Lieut. Murray , in American Cultivator.

Introductions.

Social enjoymentisverymuchimpeded in this country hy the want of well-un-derstood rules. Such rules are necessary. It makes but little difference what the rules may be, so long as they are recognized and practiced. For instance, in this country, carriages meeting on the road turn to the right; in England they turn to the left. The rules are equally good ; either,-if observed, will prevent collisions. In France, people moving into a new place call first upon their neighbors; in England, those among whom they come call first. There may be something to choose between these two customs, but either, thoroughly observed, is better than the weak confusion of ideas among us, the result of which is that while anyone may call upon a strange family, scarcely anyone feels it incumbent to call. With regard to these two customs, however, the Frencfi appear to have the better of it. It is natural that persons moving into a town or village should have a greater wish to know their neighbors than their neighbors should have to ltnow them. A i.ew lsmily may be a long time in a place before they are discovered. Time moves very rapidly with persous who are themselves comfortbly situated. Some months will pass before the resolution, lazily formed, to visit the new people will have been carried out. If the Fiench custom prevailed, this impediment to the acquaintance of mutually congenial people would be got rid of, nor would there be any great danger of discomfort lrom the discovery of the fact that the new persons are not of our own sort, for, in one of our American towns, where little is to be gained from society except the pleasure of social intercourse, people, are not apt to wish to go where they are not especially desired. YVe need very much some well defined custom by which the acquaintance of the families one desires to know may be obtained. And here we may observe that there seems to be an impression in this country that there is something criminal, something unworthy and undignified, in the desire to know people. “Modest merit,” it is thought, rather avoids company than seeks it. We are sure, however, that this sentiment, where it is professed, is either hynocritical or immature. No well-constituted young man sees a pretty girl without a wish to be introduced to her, or a uice family without-a disposition to gj to their parties. But notwithstanding the extreme freedom of our society, it is often more uifflculi to manage such matI tent here than in Europe. We are much

In need of one of those customs by which Europeans accomplish these things so easily and so naturally. Of course, st any party it is easy for any man to ask to be introduced to people whom he thinks he would like to know. But it is not so easy (o go to the houses of these persons. This is unlucky, because it often happens that the man i's very well liked and would lie very welcome. But ladies think it wouki be hardly proper themselves to ask a man wtiom they have seen but once or twice. He,on his part, is often afraid to ask lobe allowed to come, because he is not quite sure how hia. request would be received, and even when he is quite sure that he will be welcome, there is a novelty about the proceeding which makes it more or less hazardous. The custom prevailing in many parts of Europe disposes very easily and simply of. this matter. The man has only to leave cards in a day or two at the house of the family to whom he has been introduced. If they want him they will send for him. If they do not, then nobody is made uncomforable. We have said that it is always easy to ask to be introduced to people at receptions and parties. But even this is practically not so easy as it appears to be. New York is subject to constant social vagaries, which come pn the shape of reports as to the latest customs pursued in the drawing rooms of European capitals. One of these is that there shall be few introductions. Some ladies have declined to make any introductions which were not asked for, because, they say, the young men are so rude. The dear old custom of our “ hay-seed” days, still prevalent in some very'rural parts of this country, of introducing everybody to everybody, though no doubt often very absurd, still had its advantages. We think it would be well if more of this old solicitude of hosts for the comfort of their guests had been preserved. As the custom is at present, the man who goes to a house where he knows but few of the people must either pester his hostess for repeated introductions or stand about and glare from the walls.

The French, who have always been the exemplars of the social graces of the rest of Europe, have always regarded the desire on the part of one person to be introduced to another as a compliment to the person to whom the introduction is asked. When a new man is brought into one of the Parisian clubs he is expected to ask an introduction to everyone. The men to whom he negle'cts to ask to be introduced think themselves insulted, and remember the omission against him. The natural obligation is still greater in the society of ladies. It was intended that men should seek women, rather than be sought by them. Chivalry and romance, In presenting man upon his knee or twanging a guitar under a window, no doubt express, with some exaggeration, what is the natural relation of the sexes. Such a posture is certainly better than running away from women or indolently waiting to be attacked by them. It is generally said that we in this country are rather lax in the giving of letters of introduction; that such letters count of less here than abroad. But it is difficult to see why a letter of introduction should not be given with the understanding that it means no more than a verbal introduction. We have, by the way, a custom here of giving letters of introduction unsealed; the custom abroad is to seal tfiem. The foreign custom Appears to us the better of the two. A man does not care to present a letter which he is known to have read, setting forth how accomplished, amiable and interesting he is. And yet he would like to have the person to whom he is introduced duly informed of his various excellent qualities. The result is that his introducer is compelled to write two letters, when one sealed letter would have answered as well. The explanation of our custom of giving Unsealed letters is either that the writer of the letter wishes it understood that he has said nothing of you which he is not willing you should, etc., or that he means, by leaving the letter open, to evince his entire confidence that you will notread it. Should the latter “ fiction” account for the origin of the custom, it is interesting to see how different the result is from the intention. — N. Y. Time*.

Take the Baby.

Oh, yes; take the baby along by all means. Babies love dearly to ride in the cars and toddle about in steamboats. Why, the baby is the life of the party. Have not whole rooms full of people been entertained by one—hour after hour? Sleeping or waking, the Dretty little creature, that can lisp a little English or Frepclt—one can hardly tell which—is the universal delight, and many a party has been stupid just for want of one. In olden times, when they used to journey in stages, a lady who had a sweet little child with her could scarcely call it her own tne whole way, the gentlemen were so fond of carrying, keeping and kissing it. Even the bachelors loved to play with and dandle it on their knees, though at first they might be a little bashful and awkward in taking hold of the strange and unaccustomed thing. But the smiles and winning ways of the baby were always irresistible and sure to overcome at last the most, obstinate. People love babies as they do flowers*. Gentlemen, especially, who like flowers, like babies—the sweetest of them all to carry in their hands—just as they would pm acarnation in their buttou holes.

How babies and butterflies do swarm in summer, to be sure. It is then they are on the wing. Pray do not try to keep them from flying about and alighting here and there when something strikes their saucy, opening and shutting their bauds and wings awhile, then flitting away again. Ye that have babies, do not go pleasuring without them. Better leave your purse behind, kwill be less missed, flie light of your eyes will be quenched and your tongue will miss its inspiration What a literally-everlasting topic is the baby. She does this, she did that. Baby laughed in her sleep! Her mother does believe it was because she saw something which one so lately lrom the skies could only behold. Baoy can say this word, and hides away sometimes from her mamma, though all but her nose and eyes are in plain sight. Ye wuo have no baby don’t know what a fountain of pure felicity it is. The baby is the light and joy of the whole house. The sweet little creature is the brightest jewel in your cabinet, and ornamental to your drawing-room; the choicest garland in your garden; most inexhaustible of enteraining company. There is no solitude where a baby is. Care and trouble disappear at the approach of the laughing little child. She is chloroform to your anxletjes, and exhilarating gas to your pleasure. —Detroit Free Frett. —ln most places “a stone’s throw,” “ five minutes’ walk,” etc., are used for measures for short distances. In Dubuque, however, they speak of a place as being “ within the bawl of a mule.”

Youths’ Department.

FOLLY'S THIMBLE. Haiti) time* for Pqlly Pardoef Only that mqrnlng her mother had said: “This will never do. ’ Here you are, most nine years old and can’t sew with a thimble J'et. You must begin to-day.” And orthwlth a brown towel was carefully basted and placed in Polly's unwilling hands; a thimble (cast aside by sister Jeannie, a world too large for the little finger and half filled with raga to make up for too much room in its upper story) fitted to her d thimble finger,” and the struggle began. And a hard struggle it bid fair to be. Polly had learned to hem and run seams, and was about mastering the art of “ overcasting;” but all had been accomplished without a thimble. She had worn a little hard spot on the palm of her hand which answered veiy well in place of that article—in fact Polly liked’it much better, and declared she “ never could sew with that clumsy brass thing.” And indeed it did prove a decided hinderabce to her progress with the hem. Every minute or two off it would tumble, and lose the scraps of cotton out, and Polly would have inch a time getting it right again. But at last she finished one end of the towel, but there was the other; and Polly thought if she might only throw away that ugly thimble how quickly she could finish it and be free to run out to the beach to play with Jean and 'Pom Jerrold. Just then Tom’s head appeared at an open window. “Isay, Polly!” he shouted, “Come down to the cove and he;p us sail the Dreadnaught. We are going to Switzerland this trip; so come along!” Now this was very kind in Tom, for big boys seldom like to have little girls in their plays; but Tom Jerrold always stood up for Polly, and Polly thought Tom was the nicest boy in all* the world. Polly held up her towel withawoe-begone face. “ Mother says I must finish this before I can do another single thing,” she said; “ and if it wasn’t for this old thimble I could do it in a Jiffy. Bull must learn to use it, so 1 can’t go.” And Polly heaved a doleful sigh, and took the other end of the towel in her clumsy little hands. Of course the thimble fell off again, and this time rolled close to the doorsill, and lodged there. Tom’s face disappeared from the window like a flash, and before Polly knew vrhat he was doing he had darted around to the door, seized the thimble, and put it in his pocket. “ There!” he said with a triumphant smile; “ in two minutes and a half it will be where you’ll never see it again; and, remember, you don’t know where it is and you can’t find it. D’ye see? Now then, rush and get that hem done and come down to the cove. The Dreadnaught is all laden with American produce, but I made Jean wait till I got you to see her go. 80 hurry up, and we’ll wait.” Ana off he darted, leaving Polly to her own reflections. She was glad — just a little bit—that the thimble was gone, but she had an uncomfortable feeling that Tom’s advice was not just what she ought to follow. She would be deceiving if she made her mother think the thimble was accidentally mislaid when she knew Tom had spirited it away, and that with her knowledge. But she was wild to help launch the ship, so she stitched stead i’y while her thoughts were busy with this subject. In a short time the hem was finished. Polly longed to leave it there and steal to the cove without meeting her mother, for she hoped Tom would give the thimble back to her; hut she knew this would never do; so she folded her work neatly and carried it to the “ spring house.” “It’s done, mother,” she said; “and Tom and Jean want me to help sail their ship. Can Igo now?” Tolly looked flushed and uncomfortable. The question she dreaded came: ‘‘ Where’s your thimble ?’ ’ “ Oh,” said Polly, hastily, “ it dropped off my finger and rolled to the door, and i don’t know where it is. I finished the hem without it.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Pardoe, “let it go now; but when you come home you must look for it.” rPolly darted off. glad to get away, but with an unaccountable choke in her throat. The ship was a splendid one, built in imitation of a genuine sailing vessel, and was a present to Jean from his father, who was a sailor and was now off at sea in a vessel of which Jean’s ship was a miniature. Polly’s father was a native of Switzerland, and Polly’s greatest delight was to listen to his stories of his native country, which was to her the most wonderful land in the world. The children were all enthusiastic on this subject, and “playing Switzerland” was their play of plays. A little dell across the cove they named after this favorite country—the cove itself answering to liakc Geneva, and a line of sand hills to the westward they called the Alps. To this port the Dreadnaught was now bound. Tom greeted Polly with a shout and a slychuckle as he inquired if “she had finished up that hem in good style;” and “ how did she like sewing with a thimble? ” Somehow Polly did not enjoy the sport so much as she had anticipated, for that thimble lay heavy on her conscience. "Tom,” said Polly, some hours after, as they were about starting for home, “ do give me that thimble. It’s mean to make mother believe it’s lost, and I’ll just tell her, so there 1” “Can’t,” remarked Tom. It’s beyond the reach of mortal hand. It’s gone where the good thimbles go. Didn’t I tell you you’d never see it again ?” “But,” said Polly, “mother says I must look for it when I get back, and how can I when I know it isn’t there ? Let me tell her about it, Tom, dear, do.” “Don’t you be a goose. Poll,” said Tom; “ don’t call me names, either. Suppose Jean had heard you, wouldn’t he laugh ? If the thimble’s lost, it’s lost, and I’m sure I don’t know where it is just at this moment, any more than you do. Come on, and don’t be silly.” Tom accompanied Polly and Jean to their home, and even pressed his services on them in their search for the missing article.

“ Beats everything where that can have gone,” he said, with a side glance at Polly. “She says it rolled to the door and disappeared, and so it did, sure enough. But it doesn’t seem possible that it shouldn’t turn up with all ibis search, does it, Mrs. Pardoe?” But of coarse they had to give it Up. “Poliy, are you sick?” asked Mrs, Pardoe that night at supper. “No, ma’am,” said Polly, meekly; but she pushed away her bowl of milk almost untasted, and hurried off to bed at an astonishingly early hour for wide-awake Polly. The next morning in canto J.ean, holding in his hand—what but the identical oil thimble that was giving Polly so much trouble. Sne sprang up eagerly. “ Where did you find it?” she cried. “ You’re a pretty girl, you are,” said Jean, “ to pretend you lost it, and then go

er’s truthful girl, arn t you? Funny abojt my finding it, too. Ivh wading out after a shell I saw, and when I had got the shell I saw something shining away off In the water. I couldn’t reach it myself, so 1 uoilered to Joe, and he came off in the boat with the oyster-tongs and fished it up; Wsan’t he mad when he found it was only Jesunie’s old thimble! I’m going to show it to mother,” and off he went in spite of Polly’a declarations that she “didn’t throw it m there, truly.” ’’S’puse It rolled there?” said Jean, scornfully. Mrs. Pardoe looked startled and very sorry. Polly Had always been so truthful that Mra. Pardoe had often said, “when Polly tells me a thing la so. I know it U so;” and now she believed Polly had told her an actual lie. She went and asked poor Polly for her explanation, but Polly only cried bitterly and declared “she didn’t do it, indeed she didn’t.” But no further light could Mrs. Pardoe get on the subject. She took her little girl to her own room And talked to her a long time, but Polly would not tell anything more of the matter. As a punishment, Polly was forbidden to go to the cove in a week, and condemncu to sew three hours each day during that time, and to use the old thimble, too. The next day Polly was seated in her little chair, patiently stitching eome patch-work, when who should appear but Tom. “ Halloo, Polly; Jon’t have to be bothered with any thimble now, do you ?” Polly solemnly raised her finger to hia astonished gaze. “Well,” he burst out, “I never expected to see that again. How did you find it, Polly?” Polly recounted the whole story. “ You see,” she said, with a sage air, “ it’s of no use to try to deceive about things. We are sure to get found out in some way by somebody.” (This was what Mrs. Pardoe had told her yesterday, and she knew it must be the proper thing to say.) • /m. . “ Well, I don’t know about that,” said Tom, “ but, anyway, come down to the beach and help dig up those things we buried in onr mine last week.”

“ Can’t,” said Polly, soberly. “Why not, I’d like to know? I’ta going back to school next week, and I think you might put off that sewing and have good times while I do stay.”''And Tom pukon an injured look, and began whistling indignantly. Then Polly told him about her "punishment, and no sooner had he learned how matters stood than he rushed off like a boy “possessed,” as . Polly said, and soon came tearing back in great haste. “80 you took all the blame yourself, did you, and made Mother Pardoe think you told an out-and-outer? I always said rou were a splendid girl, Polly, and now say it more than ever. But I’ve made it all right with Mother P., and she’s as pleased as a boy with a brand-new pair of red-top boots to think you’re not so bad as she supposed. She says you needn’t sew another stitch while 1 stay, so come on. Hurrah for our gold mineT” And off he scampered with Polly at bis heels. The day Tom left for school he deposited a mysterious little package in Polly’s hand, with orders to “ not open ittill he had cleared.” It contained a tiny box lined with red velvet, and nestling in its soft bed was the dearest little silver thimble, with “ Plucky Polly” engraved on the side. Accompanying it was a funny, scrawly note, which read thus: “ Dear Pout—Be gars this thimble ioecu’t roll into the cove. To*.” Perhaps it was the new thimble which made learning to sew such a comparatively easy task after this; perhaps it was because Polly devoted herself so perseveringly to her task; but at all events she did learn, and to this day keeps the old brass thimble, in memory of her trouble in learning to use it. and her own little girl now wears the tiny silver one which Tom gave her so idng ago .—Fanny Shore Watrotu, in New York Tribune.

How to Spend the Summer—Tommy Jones' Advice.

Sometimes city boys don’t like to spend the summer at hotels, ’cause there’s so many people to make remarks about how they look and what a dirty face he has, of else frecfcles, and some girls, too. A good way for their mothers to do with them is to find a farm house where they don’t object to children, and ask the folks to take them to board. If you get the right place it’s splendid, for J know. The nicest way to go is in'a boat and then is a wagon; the cars are awful tiresome and thirsty. The farm house ought to have lots of rooms with queer things to look at and play with on rainy days, and the farmer better have: a gun or two to clean. The house I mean has a table all covered with pictures and then varnished ; and I don’t believe you could ever see them all, if you looked every wet day atl summer. Out doors you want a wood ; stone fences, with blackberry bushes and sumac and hazel nuts and wild grapes growing all over and through them; and a hush lot, with great big stones with holes under them —’most like caves—and some hollow trees. You want these to play Indian, and keep house in. Farmers don't like bush lots, but boys do; and so dosquirrels and birds and all your sisters. Nearly every trap yon set catches something, and once it was a skunk. He was dead, and we had a funeral that all the folks m the house came to. Such a long procession t And nobody was sorry, you know. And you must have a brook with stepping stones in it, and other stones, too, and a bridge over It. There are lots of fishes in such brooks—cricks the country people call them—and if you want to see them you can either ait quiet and wait or stand on a loose stone and rock it. :

You can walk down the brook on the stones till you come to the wood; and one boy I know used to tell stories about wild beasts all the way, and then, go into the wood) and roar like a Hon till all the little ones, standing on the stones, grew frightened and cried—almost. Then he came back and said, “ What’s the matter ? J ain’t ’fraid of tigers or anything. 1 Come along!” So we came back and sat under the bridge and ate some cake. That’s another thing; you don’t want folks who won’t let you have anything to eat between meals. The best waj is for them to have the butteary door on the outside and easy to open. Some countryladies know how to make a real nice kind of cake—solid; It tastes splendid sometimes. If the buttery-door slopes when it’s shut it is grand fun to slide down. I know one that shines like everything, and bus not one single splinter in it,. ,j Your mother don’t have a bit of trouble, ’cept to start yon clean in the morning and see your face, and bands are clean meal times, and you wear out all your old clothes. It’s splendid!

Yours truly, ’

—Chrittian Union. —Mexico has a Woman’s Bights, paper, edited by a fair creature euphoniously named Benora ltafaelo Arevala.

T. JOHES.