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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.