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“THE IIOrSE THAT JACK BlIILT.”
-A l urinns Arconol of the Orlffn of
the Well-Known IXurwry Story.
As the occupations and pleasures of
childhood produce a powerful impres
sion on the memory, it is probable al
most every reader who has passed his
infantile day in an English nursery rec
ollects the delight with which he re
peated that puerile, jingling legend,
‘ ‘ The House that Jaok Built. ” v cry lew,
however, says a writer in the London
Congregational Magazine, are at all
aware of the original form of its com
position, or the particular subject it
was designed to illustrate. I 1 ewer still
would suspect that it is only an accom
modated and altered translation of an
ancient parabolical hymn sung by tlio
Jews at the feast of the Tussovcr, and
commemorative of the principal ovcnts
in the history of that people. Yet such
is actually tlic fact. The original, in
the Chaldee language, is now lying be
fore me, and I will here furnish them
with a literal translation of it, and then
add the interpretation as given by I*.
N. Lebreelit, Lcinsic 1731. The hymn
itself is found iu Sepber Haggadah, vol
nme 23:
1. A kid, a Wd, my father bought
For two iiiocft of money:
A kid, a kid.
2. Then rame iho rat and at* the hl4
That my faUier bought
For two nlecM of money:
A kid, a kid.
Tften came the dog, that hit the eat,
ThAt Ate the kid.
That my father taught
For two piece* of money *
A kid, a kid.
4. Then cam* the aUff, anl beat the dog,
That hit the rat,
That ate the kid.
That my father hi .light
For two piece* of money r
A kill, a kid.
5. Then mme the fire, and burned the aUff,
That l*at the dog,
That bit the cat,
Thut ate the kid.
ThAt my father bought
For two piece* of money:
A kid, a kid.
n. Then mme the water and quenched the fir#
That burned the atatT,
That beat the dog,
That hit the cat. .
That at* the aid.
'That my father bought
For two piece* of money :
A kid, a kid.
7. Then e&tne the ox, and drank the water,
That quenched the fire,
That burned the *UfT,
1 hat b*at the dog,
That bit the eat.
That ate the ktd.
I hat my father taught
For two pieoea of money:
A kid,a kid.
8. Then came the butcher and Blew the ox,
That drank the wa*er.
That quenched the ft re,
That burned the etafT,
That beat the dog,
That bit the cat,
That ate the kid,
That my fattier bought
For two piece* of money:
A kid, a kid.
6. Then came the angel of death and killed the
butcher,
That alw the ox,
That drank the water.
That quenched the ftra,
That burned the aluff.
That heat the dog,
That bit the rat.
That ate the kid.
That my lather ixniffbt
For two piece* of money:
A kid, a kid.
10, Then < ame the Holy One, bleaedd bo He,
Ami kiiltftl the angel of death,
That killed the butcher,
That alow the ox,
That drank the water,
Tint quenched the Are,
Thai burned the tnff,
That Nat the dog,
That bit the cat, i
That ate tho kid.
That my futher taught
For two piece* of money ;
A kid, a kid.
The following is tlio interpretation :
1. The kill, which is one of the pure
animals, denotes the Hebrews. The
father by whom it was purchased is
Jehovah, who represents himself ns
sustaining this relation to the Hebrew
nation. The pieces of money signify
Moses nnd Aaron, through whose media
tion the Hebrews were brought out of
Egypt.
'i. The eat denotes the Assyrians, bv
whom the ten trines wero cornea into
captivity.
:t. The dog is symbolical of the Baby
lonians.
4. The staft'signified the Persians.
0. The fire indicates the Grecian em
pire under Alexander the Great.
ft. The water betokens the Roman, or
the fourth of the great monarchies .to
whom the Jews were subjected.
7, The ox is a symbol of the Saracens,
who subdued Palestine, and brought it
under the ehaliphate.
ft. The butcher that killed tho ox de
notes the crusaders by whom tho Holy
JjQ id we* wrested out 1 a.. ~f
fiio Saracens.
9. The angel of death signifies the
Turkish power, by which the land of
Palestine was taken from the Franks,
and to whom it is still subject.
10. The commencement of the tenth
stanza is designed to show that God
"ill take signal vengeance on tlio
Turks, immediately after whose over
throw the Jews are to he restored to
their own land, and live under the gov
ernment of their long-expected Mes
siah.
From a Russian Railway Carriage.
A dead flat, liarflly broken at distant
intervals by a wave of the ground, by
some long, low ridge, or small, scrubby
knoll; interminable, monotonous wood
land ; not priniß'vel forest, but mere
young birch ami Hr, stunted and ragged,
with here and there a bit of rough
cl aring, n patch of coarse pasture.
Anon, great rye fields stretching beyond
man's ken, checkered here and there by
more or less atiortive attempts at wheat,
barley or potato crops, the ground, as a
rule, without hedge, feuoo or wall—no
body's of everybody's ground—open to
the inroads of cattle ; a sandy, salty, to
all appearance irreclaimable, soil;
a backward, slovenly, cultivation ; the
cattle neither well Wed nor well fed;
everywhere n sense of loneliness; only at
vast distances log-houses aud barns,
mostly on tenon ted ; horses, cows, sheep,
turkeys aud geese in flocks, unattended;
and further off, straggling towns and
villages, with high-domed churches aud
tall factory chimneys; and near the
stations great piles of wood, solidly
ranged in rows of logs of different sizes
aud various colors, as high as houses,
aud not without some architectural pre
tensions, And some artistic attempt at
quaint, tasteful patterns.— A Mummer
Tour through Jiuenio.
Mu. Uobebt tSCHF.NCX, lormeny Amer
ican Minister to England, has been
cured of Bright’s disease by a sole diet
of skim milk. “ I tackled the skim
milk,” he said, “stuck to it, aDd here I
am almost anew man.” Burg eon-Gen
eral Barnes having heard that an old
Virginia doctor liad been very successful
in the treatment of typhoid lever, which
prevailed in the army a few years ago,
asked him his secret “Buttermilk,”
said the doctor. “Get their stomach
&nd bowels in good order and fill them
up with buttermilk.” Barnes adopted
the treatment with great success.
A Dakota farmer has a single wheat
field covering thirty-six square miles.
Midnight in a Vault.
The closing moments of the old year
had arrived. Laurel Hill Cemetery was
wrapped iu the darkness of the night,
aud a heavy fog lmng over the stately
piles of marble which murk the resting
places of the distinguished dead, ob
scuring them from view. Suddenly the
quiet was broken by the tolling bells and
the shrieks of locomotive whistles. Al
most simultaneously with these tokens
of respect to the expiring year a bright
silvery light flashed over a corner of the
city of the dead. A moment later and
all was darkness again. Then tree flashes
followed each other in quick succession.
Presently the din was increased ten fold,
spreading the news that the new year
had come. Again the weird light reap
peared. Its rays encircled a vault. The
iron doors were open, and over the heads
of the group of people who stood in the
entrance, a double row of shelves, nearly
every one occupied by a coffin, could be
seen. The go ip comprised live gentle
men and ala iy, all attired in deepest
mourning.
“ Another year gone and anew one iu
its place,” said the lady, in a low, musi
cal voice, as she gazed pensively at the
cofliu on the third lower shelf to tlia
left.
‘‘One more year,” responded the gen
tleman nearest her, “and we are all here.
How many will bo left at the next ap
pointment.
The mombers of the group looked at
each other iu silence, and then again di
rected their glances to the interior of
the vault. For the next, five minutes
they stood iu this attitude, motionless.
Than the possessor of the musical voice
remarked, as she drew her watch from
its hiding place. “Ten minutes alter
twelve—our mission is ended."
With a last look at the coflin, the group
moved slowly away and entered the
carriages which had been waiting at the
gateway, the grave-keeper, who had
been waiting at a respectful distauco,
swung the iron doors and fastened the
look, the light was extinguished, and all
was gloom.
There is a peculiar story back of the
scene wliich was thus enacted in the
early minutes of 18H2. Back in the ’7o’s
there died in this city a gentleman who
wftß as diutinguished for his peculiari
ties as lie was renowned for his wealth
and good deeds. When his will was
found that he had laid a sacred injunc
tion on his children that so long as they
remained alive they should seo the old
year out and the new one in at the foot
of his coflin. Ten years have passed
away and the injunction lias not once
been forgotten, although the little group
of Saturday night looked upon the
caskets which contained the remains of
four of their family who had iu as many
years followed the father to his long
home. The others are now widely scat
tered. Home of them are located in
Vermont; some remain in this city, while
one lias emigrated so far away as Ne
braska, but at the close of every year
they journey to this city and hold their
family reunion iu the presence of the
dead and under the glare of the calcium
lights.— Philadelphia Record.
Bo Snakes Fascinate!
I havo seen, says Nature, a guinea
pig, after finding no place of exit from
the eage, quietly settle itself down in
the midst of tlio coils of an Australian
constrictor, shut its eyes, and go to sleep.
Ten minutes afterward tho snake had
moved and the guinea-pig was washing
its face with its paws. Not once, hut a
dozen times, a rabbit has nibbled the nose
of a River Jack viper ( Y'ipera rhinos
acros) in a pretty inquiring way, heed
less of the strong blows the reptile
would administer with his snout to tue
impertinent investigator of that queer
looking object. For fully ten minutes,
one day, a rabbit sat gazingat the poised
and threatening head of a puff adder,
now mid then reaching forward to smell
the reptile’s nose, and anon sitting on its
bind legs to wash its ears, and again re
turning to tho “fascinating” object of
its inquiries. If, during that time, tho
rabbit had fallen into tlio state of trance,
it was so soon released from that condi
tion as to be aide to attend to its own
comfort and busy itself shout its toilet.
The birds show no more recognition
than the other animals, of tho dangerous
position in which they are placed. We
see them hopping about on the snakes,
and picking lustily at their scales; sitting
on the branches preening their feathers
and behaving themselves just ns though
no such dreadful (or pleasing V) sensa
tion as “ fascination” was possible. I
saw once a sparrow perened upon the
body of a snake twisted round a branch
and preening itself. By and by a con
strictor crept up slowl v, touched the bird
with its nose, and then throw the erush
ing folds around it. The deliberate ap
proach of the snake and the unconscious
attitude of the sparrow, concerned about
its private affairs, would have staggered
nil ordinary believer in “fascination.”
1 have closely watched the behavior of
snakes intent on feeding. It may lie a
sudden rush, when tho victim has no
time to see its enemy, or tho gradual,
lazy advance of the reptile; in either
ease the doomed victims betray uo sus
picion of danger, at least so far as l have
been able to ascertain, after passing some
hundreds of hours contemplating the
snakes in the ttneqnaled representative
collection of the Z <ological Society.
The Bicycles.
As n mere machine for transportation,
the bicycle is entitled to a high consid
eration. In England,and more especially
in the large cities like Loudon, the
bicycle has taken an acknowledged
place with the cab, the omnibus, the
tramway, anil tho steam-car. lu London
thousands of them are in use by men
who employ them for the same purpose
that they would a saddle-horse. They go
to their business ou them iu tho morning
and return at night, with tho same regu
larity that other men traverse the same
routes by means of the regular lines of
transportation. This is the case often
with men who live as many as from six
to ton miles from their places of busi
ness. They escape the fetid air of the
omnibus, they have uo fare to pay, and
as a rule they make the journey in less
time than they could were they hr travel
by the usual vehicles of transportation.
In this direction the matter of economy
is of no small account. The persoii
who uses a bicycle to go to aud from
his place of business in London, or in
any of the larger cities of the country,
sate not leas than toil cents a day—a not
very large sum, it is true, but one which
pays him from forty to fifty per cent,
per annum on his purchase of a machine,
and gives him the advantage of a most
inspiriting and delightful method of
locomotion.
The experiment of using Indian ele
phants to carry heavy burdens in travel
ing through the wilds of Africa has been
tried by the African traveler, Kankin,
and pronounced a success. The ponder
ous beast travels well, and is proof
agaist the tormenting and poisonous
insects of that country.
Teaching a Calf to Brink.
Those who have had a mournful ex
perience, know that there is nothing more
trying to the soul than the operation of
teaching a young calf to drink. The
process is familiar to every man who has
brought up a calf from infancy. You ;
seize a pail of warm milk, go into the j
stable, catch the calf by the ears, back i
him into a corner and bestride his neck, j
The idiot rather likes this, and while j
you are reaching for the pail, he fcfii- j
ploys his time in slobbering the lower j
corners of your jacket. You discover
what the blockhead is about and bo* lilh
ears. You can’t help It. You feel that
way and let him have it. But the calf
can’t tell for the life of him why he has
been struck, and be gives ft RUtluen and
unexpected “ flounce. He believes ho
will go over and stay on the other side of
the stable, but he doesn’t announce this
beforehand. He starts m the impulso
of the moment and you can’t tell just
when lie arrives there. You ride along
witli him a little way. But the laws of
gravitation ore always about the same. (
Your logs—ono oil each side of the crit
ter—keep up with tlio calf for about a
sccoud. but your body doesn’t. You j
slide over the calf, and your Kick kisses
the floor. Your head is soaking in the
pail of milk. When yon get up you are i
mad—uncommonly so, Milk runs from
your hair and imprecations out of your
mouth. There is buttermilk in your
eyo, and vott solemnly declare yoil will
learn that calf to drink or break ins
blanked neck. The calf doesn’t know of
this resolve, and he glares at you m j
stupid fright from across the stable. Jin
is not aware that he was the cause of
your downfall, and wouders ignorantly
what in thunder is the matter. You
don’t try *o explain it to him, but furi
ously catch him by the oafs, look back
over your shoulder at the milk pail, and
back up toward it, dragging the calf after
you, who bawls out iu a manner which
seems to say, “ Is this tho way you treat
a fellow-creature ?” You again back into
the comer, sling your left log over him
and once more try to get his head iu
chancery. The calf attempts a little
more funny business and plunges sud
denly forward. Y’ou are on the lookout
for breakers this time, and having a Arm
bold ou his ears, you mutter through
your clenched jaws, “No you don t,
honey.” But he does, though, and you
“cross the continent’’ together by the
“ rapid transit” lino. Yon hadn t in
tended to go, but that is where you and
the calf didn’t see it alike. You take bis
view of it a few moments later. You
astride off tho calf’s neck and jamming
the finger’s of one hand into its moutli,
you place the other on the buck of bis
head and above bis nose into the pail
for drink, fully resolved to strangle him,
if he don’t drink. The calf holds per
fectly still—ominously so—and there is
silence in heaven for the space of half a
minute, at the eud of which time the
blockhead, who hasn’t drank a drop, sud
denly makes a splurge, knocks the pail
to “ kingdom come,” milk and all; you
are again reduced to a horizontal from a
perpendicular, and when you rise the
excitement is intense. You have been
soaked with milk, “slobbered” on, and
hurt and abused the w orst way. Not a
drop of milk has gone down tho infernal
brute’s ueck and there he stands glaring
at you, ready to furnish you another free
ride anywhere you want to go. With an
aflidavit you iiang him over the bead
with the empty pail and hobble out of
the pen, mad and hurt nil through, fully
resolved to let your four-footed f.>ol
starve.
An Old, Old Slorjr.
C-o-m-o in ! Well I declare, stranger,
von gave mo quite a turn ! I—l—was
kind of expectin’ somebody, and for half
a minute I thought mebbe ns ’twas her,
hut she'd never stop to knock ; want a
bite aud a sup and a night’s lodging?
Why of course ; sit down, I—a—most
forgot to ask you, I was that tlustrated.
Poor soul! How tired and worn out
yon look ! I can make you comfortable
for the night aud give you a good meal
of victuals nnd a shake-down on the
(hair, but I would hardly like to put you
in Lizzie's room—she was that particu
lar, and your clothes are so wet and
drabbled. Why, woman, what makes
you shake so—ague ? Never heard
toll of any in these parts. Guess you
must have brought it with you. Well, a
good night's rest will set you up wonder
fully, and you can lio right here, by the
stove, and the tiro a smolderin’ will keep
you warm, and the light will be burnin’
till its broad day—broad day !
What Jo 1 Keep the light a-burnin'
for? Well, now, when folks ask mo
that, sometimes I tell them ouo thing
and sometimes I tell them another. I
don’t know as I mind tollin’you, because
you arc such a poor, misfortunit crea
tor, and n stranger, and my heart kind
of goes out to such. You see, I have a
daughter. She’s been axvay these ten
years, has Lizzie, and they do say as
she’s livin’ in grandeur in some furrin’
place, and she’s had her head turned
with it all, for she never lets her poor
old mother hear from her, and the fine
people she's with coaxed her off unbe
knownst to me, aud I don’t mind telliu’
you as it was a groat shook to me, and I
ain’t the same woman siuoe Lizzie went
out one night, and when she kissed me
said, “ Leave a light iu the window,
mother, till I come back ; ” and that was
tan years ngo, and I’ve never seen her
sb ee, but I’ve burned a light in the
window every night all these ten years,
and shall till she comes home. Yes it’s
hard to he a mother and be disappointed
so. I allowed she was dead till folks, as
seen her well and splendid, told me dif
ferent, nnd I was sick a long time—that's
what made my hair so white—but I hopo
she never heard of it, ’twould have
made her os miserable as I was, and her
flue things would not be much comfort
to her ! Folks blame her terribly, but
I'm her mother, and it just seems as if
I could see her, so pretty, with her long
brown curls, and the smile she had, and
her gentle ways, and I loving her better
than heaven above me ! This is my pun
ishment—to sit alone all day aud never i
go to sleep at night, but I hear her cry- |
ing “ Mother ! mother! where are you?” ;
and if I go once, I go a dozen times to
the door, aud look up and down the
lonesome road aud call, Lt-i-z-z-i-e !
L-i-z-z-i-e ! ” and there’s never any
answer but the night wind moaning in
the trees.
Well, I did’t mean to make you feel
so bad ; don’t cry, poor soul ! You’ve
had enough trouble of your own, I
guess, by your looks ! Your hands are
like ice—and your temples and your
face is white and—and—and—why, what
is this? Yon are not old and your hair
hangs in brown curia—aud your eyes—
Merciful God' it’s Lizzie corn© back to
her mother—it's my child that was lost
and is found—put out the light.
Wtomtno Territory has a population
of 20,814, and its chief cities are Chey
enne, 8,456; Laramie, 2,653 ; Rawlins,
1,491, and Evanston, 1,277, In 1877 the
assessment rolls made return of 90,005
cattle and 67,871 sheep. The official
census now shows 467,864 of the fanner,
aud 832,568 of the Utter,
Advancement of the Race*
.Hopeless people are continually la
menting the decay of the finer qualities
of the race—but those who stop to con
sider the matter will see that there is
no great Cause for such complaints.
There is advancement in all the ways
of life. The general level is on the rise
all the time. A writef in the Popular
Science Monthly says: As an advanced
science implies an advanced art—the
progress of the tfiro being e*et con
ditioned upon each other—so the great
advances of the sciences and arts imply
and Corresponding development of human
intelligence. The principle of action
and reaction prevails in the world of
mind as in the world of matter, and
While the human intellect, by cogent
applications of its powers, has established
multitudinous differentiations in things
once inextricably intermingled, a corres
ponding differentiation an specialization
of its own powers has inevitably resulted.
Bnt specialization of function being the
direct evidence of its greater perfection,
It is ihiiontrOVettible tim* the multipli
cation of specializations of knowledge by
human inquiry lias resulted in improve-
ments of the power of the human mind.
The strain now put on human power to
keep pace with the advances already
made is an assurance that there will
be In the future no lack of occasion for
continual mental development, All de
partments of human enterprise have
in truth been already so marvelously
developed as to defy the Complete grftsp
of any but specialists of more than
ordinary capacity. Croakers may find
fault aud stigmatize the advance of the
age as mainly material. Never did
carping criticism have pOtJref ground
for its averments. The material ad
vance is fully matched by the moral
advance. Proofs of it are so multi
plied as scarcely to deserVe ehumera
tion. Liberty to think boldly aud to
give free utterance to honest convictions
is fust becoming a sacred principle of
society. Liberty of person, and equal
justice—irrespective of rank and wealth
—are now almost everywhere recognized
as divines! principles of government.
The sick and unfortunate, instead of be
ing left to die without aid or to pine
through a miserable existence, are now
everywhere provided for at the expense
of those whom fortune lias subjected to
less severe trials. Sumptuary laws are
now not only known to be useless but
their principle is condemned. Private
war has almost ceased to bo waged; aud
the duty of revenge, once sanctioned by
religion, has given place to the duty
of forV>earance and forgiveness. The
well-being of one’s neighbor is now
universally felt to be the good fortune
lof one’s self. Vast accumulations of
wealth, instead of being squandered in
the purchase of places and Useless de
corations for elevating one’s self above
liis fellows, are now employed in educa
tional, industrial and eleemosynary
foundations.
Indian Courtship.
Among the Northwestern tribes of
Indians innocence is as marked among
the girls as their color. The impression
that the red maiden does not entertain a
high standard of morality is an error,
for she is taught as other girls are, and
grows up with well-developed ideas of
the responsibilities of life, and a firm
resolution to discharge them. Educated
in the faith that she was ordained to
work, she trains herself to undergo hard
labor, and at sixteen years of ago is
sturdy and strong, brave against fatigue
and a perfect housewife,
She may not possess New England
notions of cleanliness, but she takes not
a little pride in her personal appearance,
and in the arrangement of her lodge she
displays some crude ideas of taste and
a certain amount of neatness. If she
marry a white man she makes him a
good wife as long as she lives with him.
His home is her sole comfort and his
comfort her whole ambition. She thinks
of him and for him, and makes it her
study to please him and make him re
spect and love her. She recognizes in
him one of a superior race, and by her
dignity and devotion endears herself to
him, aud struggles to make him happy.
At the agencies of the upper frontier
thousands of men are employed, and it
is not an exaggeration to say that the
majority of them have Indian wives and
livo happily. They are not sought after
by tho maidens, for the Indian girl’s
custom is to remain quiet until after the
marriage contract is made and the mar
riage portion paid over. The husband
must have the dowry, with which he
must invest his projected mother-in
law before the ceremony takes place.
The process is a little out of the usual
run, and a description may be of inter
est:
The aspiring bridegroom must be well
known in the tribe before he can hope
to win a wife. Her people want to
thoroughly understand him, and know
if ho can support not only her, but also
her relatives in the event of a pinch.
He must be a kind-hearted man, with a
temper warranted to keep in any domes
tic climate, and he must have a good
lodge, and at least half a dozen horses.
•If lie be, and have all these, he can
a-wooing go. Selecting the lady, he makes
application to her mother, and at a coun
cil the price is fixed upon.
If the girl be especially pretty, her
mother will demand a gun, two horses
and a lot of provisions, blaukets and
cloth. A gun is valued at SSO, a horse
at S2O, and he must furnish material to
briug the amount up to from SIOO toslso.
Then lie tries to beat the dame down,
and if he succeeds he knows there is
some reason for letting the girl go; if
not, he understands that he is getting a
good choice. The courtship is left en
tirely to the mother— Montreal Star.
Marriage.
Mai ridge is, of all earthly nnions, al
most the only one permitting of no
change but that of death. It is that en
gagement in which man exerts his most
awful aud solemn power—the ;lower of
responsibility which belongs to him as
one that shall give account—the power
of abnegating the right to change—the
power of parting with his freedom—the
power of doing that which in this world
can never be reversed. And yet it is
perhaps that relationship which is spok
en of most frivolously, and entered into
most carelessly and most wantonly. It
is not a union merely between two creat
ures, it is a union between two spirits;
and the intention of that bond is to per
fect the nature of both, hy supplement
ing their deficiencies with the force of
contrast, giving to each sex those ex
cellencies in which it is naturally defi
cient ; to the one strength of character
and firmness of moral will, to the otner
sympathy, meekness, tenderness. And
just o solemn, and jnst so glorious as
these ends are for which the union was
contemplated and intended, just so ter
rible are the consequences if it be per
verted and abused; ior there is no
earthly relationship which has so much
power to ennoble and to exalt.—Jxobcrt
ot%.
Th* influence of atmospheric electric
ity on vines has been tried, and grape®
produced under it have been found to be
richer in sugar, and poorer in acid tbjn
thoae produoed under natural condi
WHERE StX GENERALS FELL, j
IlMd'l Olr|* Arrau * PU, “
ta Ike Bank of III* Ilr|>*lll.
[W. E. Cunmnnham in Ihe Philadelphia Weekly Timti..
We had pressed the enemy for miles
upon miles, and at last had them in a
trap with a river in the rear. At the
sound of a gun in otlr center, which was
the signal, our movement began—officers,
both field and staff and line, in their as
signed places, by Hood** order, leading.
For some distance we moved-, down in
the line of battle, the bands enlivening
the martial scene. Grandly the whole
line swept forward, and, clearing our ,
front of a thin line of battle of tho
enemy, we lot the first time caught a
glimpse of what was iu Otir front. A
single glance was sufficient to understand
the itliole scene and position. From
right to left in a Sefiri-oirele the enemy
were intrenched behind massive xoTtifica
tions, with head logs and abattis, mak
ing a line one and a half miles in length, ;
each flank resting On the river. Hood’s
army moved forward in splendid order,
every brigade, regiment and Company
led by its commander. Across a broad
plain of hall a mile, with no impediment
to secure a direct aim, onward we moved,
and as Loweing pressed forward on the
right a wild yell awoke the echoes of
Harpeth, which, lingering, was caught
up by Cleburne and Brown, and renewed
itself on the left as Bates’ men replied in
thunderous chorus. Our men passed
straight ahead, the line unbroken by the
mtirderous fire of artillery, which swept
the eartli.
“They went as mndt go when forests are
bended, , .
They went as wares go when navies are
stranded.”
The fire of the enemy was terrific; of
ficers and fiiefi went down in great rows.
Lowering surged at the bluff and hedge,
and fell back immediately under tho
parapet. Mortal men could not pass
that hedge, tlleburne and Brown had
swept like a wave and carried all in
front. Adams, Gordon and btrahl held
the works in the center. The firing was
intense, but no artillery on our side
helped the din of battle. Night was ap
proaching, Cleburne, Strahl, Ghist,
Carter and Granberty were dead, while
field and line officers went down by
scores, and the ground was dotted by
the dead and wounded. Still the
I remnants of Strahl and Gordon held the
work in pure desperation. It was cer
tain death to retreat across that plain,
and equally as bad to remain. The
men fought doggedly across the works
without officers, and with no light save
the lurid glare of the enemy's artillery,
which seemed to sear the eyeballs.
The battle of Franklin had been
fought, and the Federal army had
j escaped. We held the field, but at wbat
| a tremendous cost! Six Generals and
| over one hundred field officers lay there
as the result. Our loss was tremendous
, for the length of time we Were engaged.
Our dead and wounded were never ntim
! bered—corporals commanded companies,
1 Captains commanded regiments, and
I Colonels commanded divisions the next
llow Sot to Talk to Children.
One day I sat in a car seat on the
Saugus branch of the Eastern Road,
behind a pale careworn lady who was
taking a little hoy from Boston to Mal
den. As the little boy was of a very
inquiring mind, and everything seemed
to attract his attention, I could not help
listening to some of his questions.
“ What is that, Auntie ? ” the little
boy commenced, pointing Jo a stack of
hay on the marsh.
“Oh, that’s hay, dear,” answered the
careworn lady.
“ What is hay, auntie ? ”
“ Why, hay is hay, dear.”
“ But w’hat is hay made of ? ”
“ Why, hay is made of dirt and water
and air.’
“Who makes it?”
“ God makes it, dear.’’
“ Does he make it in the day time or
in the night ? ”
“ In both, dear.”
“And Sundays?”
“Yes, all the time.”
“ Ain’t it wicked to make hay on Sun
day, auntie ? ”
“O, I don’t know. I’d keep still,
Willie, that’s a dear. Auntie is tired. ”
After remaining quiet a moment little
Willie broke out:
“Where do stars come from, auntie ?”
“I don’t know; nobody knows.”
“ Did the moon lay ’em ? ”
“ Yes, I guess so,” replied the wicked
lady.
“Can the moon lay eggs, too? ”
“ I suppose so. Don’t bother me.”
Another short silence, when Willie
broke out again :
“Bonny says oxins is an owl, auntie ;
is they? ”
“ Oli, perhaps so ! ”
“I think a whale could layeggs—don’t
you, auntie ? ”
“ O, yes—l suesaso,” said the shame
less woman.
“Did you ever see a whale on his
nest ? ”
“O, I guess so ! ”
“Where?”
“I mean no. Willie, you must be
quiet; I’m getting crazy. ”
“What makes you crazy, auntie? ”
“Oh, dear ! you ask so many ques
tions.”
“Did you ever see a little fly eat
sugar ? ”
“Yes, dear.”
“ Where?”
“ Willie sit down on the seat and be
still or I’ll shake you. Now, not another
word ? ”
And the lady pointed her finger
sharply to the little boy, as if she was
going to stick it through him. If she
had been a wicked woman she would
have sworn.
There are eight million little boys like
Willie in the United States and half as
manv in England. —Brocton Gazette.
Emerson and Whitman.
Emerson did not approve of Walt.
■Whitman’s nastiness. We have Walt’s
own statement in the Critic that for two
hours the Sage labored with him to
avoid objectionable subjects. He adds:
“During tkoso two hours he was the
talker and I the listener. It was an ar
gument, statement, reconnoitering, re
view, attack, and pressing home (like aj
army corps in order, artillery, calvulry,
infantry), of all that oould be said against
that part (and a man part) in the con
struction of my poems. More precious
than gold to me that dissertation—(l
only wish I had it now verbatim).
It afforded me, ever after, this strange
and paradoxical lesson; each point of
E’s statement was unanswerable, no
judge’s charge ever more complete or
convincing, I could never hear the point
better put—and then I felt down in my
soul the clear and unmistakable convic
tion to disobey all, and purs:o my own
wav.”
lx was a .French woman who exclaim
ed, holding up a glass of sparkling fresh
water : “Ah ! if it were only wicked to
drink this, how nice it would taste.”
F OSTAGE is cheapest in England and
the United States, and costlier in Russia,
Germany, Austria, Spam, Italy, Bel
gium, Holland and Switzerland' in the
order nspied.
WMhtagtM Etiquette.
Questions of etiquette are sometimes
▼erv troublesome in Washington, and all
the more because very many of the deni
zens of that city, who conus from distant
and rural homes, know and care nothing
about etiquette. How little the honor
able gentleman from Symmes Hole
suspects, as he is asked to take Mrs.
Senator Bed Velvet to dinner that the
chair in which he shall sit, and the lady
whom he shall hand out have been
subjects of long and anxious delibera
tion. It is easy to call on Wormley, or
Welcker, or Pinard, or some other chef,
and order a dinner for twenty. But who
who shall sit where, and shall hand
whom ?—these are the questions which
cause vexation and anguish. A distin
guished official gentleman in Washing
ten gave a noble repast in honor of a
noted guest. It was ordered of the
proper purveyor. “Now, said the
host, when he had bade no expense be
spared, “I don’t know anything about
the business of seating people correctly.
You must attend to that, too. Ine
purveyor went straight to another dis
tinguished man, who had not been in
vited to the dinner because it would not
be agreeable to some other distinguished
man who was invited, and distinguished
man number one was immensely amused
that he was Called upon to seat l- 1 ®
guests at a dinner to which he was not
himself invited.
It is all the more perplexing because,
although Washington is always full of
official persons who are really indifferent
to etiquette, and who greet it with a
hearty democratic laugh, yet because
of its official population there has been
from the first especial attention paid by
experts to the subject. Washington
took grave counsel upon it, and Hamil
ton gave him some canons of behaviqr
in- writing, and there is alleged to be a
more rigid system of social etiquette
among official persons in Washington
than is to be found in any circle else
where in the country. There are
asserted to be due rules for the “first
calling” of Senators’ wives, and the
wives of the members of the Cabinet
and of Justices oi the Supreme Court.
Precedence at table is also a knotty
point involving great trouble of soul.
Some years ago a Senator gave a dinner
to which the Secretary of State was in
vited. When dinner was announced,
the host turned to tho senior Senator,
the dean of the Senatorial Chamber,
and asked him to taae the lady of the
houso to the table. The senior Senator
hesitated, saying to his colleague that
the Secretary of State was in the room.
“ Pshaw 1 we Senators make Secretaries
of State,” was the answer; and the host
insisted that in liia house nobody should
precede the dean of his own body.
—Harper's Magazine. _
Art Thoughts.
The arts are dependent upon the cus
toms and manners of the people.
In Countries where caste prejudice
predominates, we may look for stu
pendous edifices, the work of tho servile
class under the direction of the feigning
caste.
The mighty pyramids attest this truth.
Time was of no value and human servi
tude Und sacrifice of little moment, in
view of the grand monumental result.
The Egyptians took no delight in
commerce or in industrial progress;
they were self-contained, self-immured,
solitary, and it is small wonder that the
King’s workmen should devote a life
time only to the eicavating and the dec
orating of the tomb of the King,
The Greeks conducted the arts into
new channels. The extent of their coast,
and their republican government aided
and stimulated commerce, progress, and
the spirit of research, common to this
people.
With the Greeks nothing was value
less which showed intrinsic beauty.
They had a rare passien for form, for
perfection ; everything useful must also
be ideal, With practice came skill, the
appreciation of time, and the rewards of
industry. In a short space of time they
monopolized commerce, and industry,
and perfected all the arts.
The Egyptians and Hindoos, by caste
prejudice and isolation, never rose higher
than their own barren intelligence
in matters of art. The Greeks had
“ Progress” for a watch-word. Thought
was necessary to progress, and all their
works are incarnations of the best aud
ripest thought of the age in which they
were produced.
With the Greeks a colossus is not
carvcn like a life-size figure, nnd a has
relief which receives direct light differs
from one which receives reflected light.
This is the result of their delicacy of
perception, their minute study of nature,
and the perfection of their technique.
Greek sculpture and architecture owe
their beauty and significance to their
impressiveness, nnd this is due to fidelity
to nature. There they found harmony,
unity, strength, grace, beauty, perfec
tion ; they knew how to translate all
these sentiments of the Creator into
the language of art, and the result was
ideal perfection.
Ideal style may be defined as the cor
rect translation into art of those phe
nomena and attributes of nature which
are significant of action, and perpetuity.
The task of translating and embodying
the eternal creative canons is the prov
ince of genius. And genius is but con
formity to natural laws in applying
them to artistic symbolism.— F. Far
rand Fetch in L dianapolis Ha aid.
A young and sprightly school-teacher
went into a Hackensack drug-store and
thus addressed the clerk : “I would like
a sponge, bath.” “ Ah, oh, a—will you
please repeat; Ido not quite understand
you ? ” stammered the clerk, “ I would
like a good sponge, bath,” again de
manded the customer while a pair of
sharp gray eyes, beaming with xvonder
and impatience, made him tremble.
More dead than alive he managed to
tell his fair visitor his inability to catch
her meaning. “Well, I never! If this
ain’t queer ! I think I speak intelli
gently enough. I—want—you— to
give —me —a — good sponge bath. ”
At this moment the proprietor whispered:
“She wants a bath sponge.” At the
same moment she comprehended the
trouble and fled from the store before
she could be recognized by any one,' but
too late ! A gentleman raised* his hat to
her, passed in and all was discovered.
Noble Nature.
There are persons sufficiently enlarged
to receive blame without pain, aud yet
not be able to resist the excitement of
praise. Nobility of soul, magnanimity,
ward off or counteract the pain that in
smaller souls results from blame; but
the same traits render their pessessor
more quick to the apprehension of a
kind word, more grat fill for a loving
expression, more appreciative of appre
ciation. Why should it be thought an
evidence of greatness to receive both
praise and blame with equal stolidity?
Must our emotional natures die in the
process of our upward growth? Will
they not lather become quickened to
keener enjoyment continually? So
would our susceptibility of pain become
correspondingly quickened, but that our
expanding reason nullifies its effeet. —
Helen Williams.
A Painter’s Dream.
Sir Godfrey Kneller, the celebrated
English painter, once related to Mi
Pope a dream.
A night or two ago, said Sir Godfrev
I had ft very odd sort of dream, j
dreamed that I was dead, and soon after
found myself walking up a narrow path
that led up between two hills, risinv
pretty equally on each Ride of it. Before
me I saw a door, and a great number of
people about it. I walked on toward
them. As I drew near I could distia.
g-uish St. Peter with bis keys, with others
of the Apostles; they were admitting
the people as they came next the door
When I had joined the company I could
see several seats every way at a little dis
tance within the door. As the first, after
my coming up, approached for admit
auce, St. Peter asked his name and then
his religion.
“I am a Roman Catholic," replied
! the spirit.
“Go in, then,” said St. Peter, “aud
i sit down there on those seats on the right
baud.”
The next was a Presbyterian ; he was
admitted, too, after the usual questions,
and ordered to sit down on the seats op
posite to the other.
My turn came next, and as I ap
proached, St. Peter very civilly asked
my name. I said it was Kneller. I had
no sooner said so than St. Luke, who
was standing just by, turned toward me
and said with a great deal of sweetness:
“What! the famous Sir Godfrey
Kneller, from England ?”
“The same,” says I, “at youraenr
ice.”
On this St. Luke immediately drew
near to me, embraced me, and made mj
a great many compliments on the art m
had both of us followed in this world.
He entered so far into the subject that
lie seemed almost to have forgotten the
business for wliicli I came thither. At
Inst, however, he recalled himself, and
Sai -‘ 1 beg your pardon, Sir Godfrey; I
was so taken up with the pleasure of
conversing with you. But, apropos,
pray, sir, wliat religion may you be of?”
Why, truly, sir,” says I, “I am of
no religion.”
“Oh, sir,” says he, “you will be so
good, then, ns to go in and take your
seat wherever you please.”
A Close fall.
The people of a little town in Warrick
County were on the brink of a fragrant
church scandal. Just before the close
of the services, a good brother walked
forward to the pulpit, handed the minis
ter an announcement, as he thought,
and asked him to read it to the congre
gation before he dismissed them. Just
before time was called on the doxology
the minister said ;
‘ ‘ Brother Bramley has handed in the
followingand in a clear voice he read
the note which ran as follows :
My Oivn Pet Bram.— Are you never
coming to see me again ? lam dying to
see my darling once more and gaze into
his beloved eyes. The old mummy that
calls herself your wife xvill never find it
out. How can you endure her ? Come,
darling, to one" who truly loves you.
Your own and only Maky.
The good brother had handed in the
wrong announcement. At the close of
the reading the minister looked horror
struck, the congregation stared at Bram
ley with cold, hard stares and his wife
rose up in her seat and glared at him
like a tigress. Ho was equal to the oc
casion, however, and rising calmly and
with a look of perfect resignation on his
face he said;
“ Brothers and Sisters—lt may ap
pear strange to you that I should ask
our beloved pastor to read such a terri
ble thing as that from the pulpit, but
the best way to fight the devil is to fight
him boldly face to face. The writer of
that vile note is unknown to me, but it
is evidently some depraved child of sin
who is endeavoring to besmirch my
ohristinn reputation. I shall use every
endeavor to ferret out the writer and if
discovered Will fearlessly proclaim her
name and hold her up to the contempt
of all good Christian people.”
He sat down amid the murmur of ap
probation and sympathy, and his wife
wanted to hug him right before the con
gregation. That evening he told the
writer of the note what hail occurred
and remarked with a grin that it was the
closest call lie ever had ill his life.—
Evansville Argus.
Lore in Chicago.
“Is it not beaulifiul, sweetheart?”
“What?” asked George W. Simpson,
looking tenderly into the deep blue eyes
of Daphne McCarthy as they were raised
to his in a nervous, steer-caught-in-tlie
corn way.
“Why the sweet perfume that is be
ing wafted to us on the air,” said the
girl, shifting her chewing-gum as she
spoke. “Do you not feel the sensuous
languor that is all about us—a subtle
perfume that seems to have kissed tlio
air with dewy fragrance ?”
The wistful, fear-haunted look came
again into the man’s face. He sniffed tho
air in several directions and there came
upon the perfect features of liis Wabjsh
avenue face a smile of calm content.
“ Yes, darling,” be said, bending over
the girl, “ I tumble how.”
“And what is this perfume, George ?”
the girl asked. “ Can you not tell me,
darling ?”
“You bet I can, my angel,” replied
George, speaking in tones of passionate
tenderness. “They are going to have
corned-beef for supper in the next
house.”— Chicago Tribune.
Parasols.
“Why, good morning, my dear ; how
glad lam to see yon. Isn’t it perfectly
splendid?”
“Yes, my dear. I called for you to
walk this morning, it is so lovely.”
“But I can’t. I have got one more
lily bud to paint on my parasol before I
can appear on the street with it.”
“Oh, pshaw ! Cicely, you always was
so pernickitv. Just dab one swash with
the brush on it and it wall pass very
nicely.”
The fair artist drew a violet colored
streak of paint criss-cross on one of the
eciions of the parasol and remarked:
“There, nobody’ll know what part of
fhe renaissance that represents,” aud
the two sallied up the street, walking
pictures of grace.— New 1 lavcn Regis
ter.
A Silver Lamp Three Hundred Years
Old.
While engaged in improving the
ground around the old Catholic churc /
in Y’sleta some parties dug out of the
ground a large silver lamp. Investiga
tion and research proved that it had
been brought over to this country from
Spain about 1543 by Cordovan, the
well-known prospector and settler. The
lamp is of the very finest silver and
very heavy and valuable. It was sent
to Santa Fe, New Mexico, where it was
cleaned and burnished and returned to
the church, an object of curiositv as
well as a valuable relic and ornament.
This church was constructed in the
year 1630, under she auspice? of the
Franciscan friars,— El Paso. Timet.