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MniWMMMHHaHaHfatllB SUNDAY READING. Science and <>od. Professor Tyndal! in the Fortnightly Review. If asked tii deduce front the physical interaction of the brain-molecules the h-ast of the phenomena of sensation or thought, we must acknowledge our helplessness. The. mechanical philosopher, as such, will never place a state ??t" consciousness and a group of molecules in the relate >n nf mover and moved. In passing from the one to the other we meet a blank which the logic of deduction is uuahlc to till. Physical considerations do not lead to the final explanation of all that we feel and know. We meet a problem which transcends any conceivable expansion of the powers which we now possess. We may think over the subject again and again, but it eludes all intellectual oresentation. Having thus exhausted phvsics and reached its very rim. a mighty mystery still loonis beyond us. We have, in fact, made no step towards its solution. We try to soar in a vacuum when we endeavor to pa.-s bv logical deduction from the one to the other. Religious feeling is as much a verity asany other part of human consciousness; and against it. on its subjective side, the waves of science heat in vain. I could see that his ( Carlyle's) contention at bottom always was that the human soul has claims and yearnings which the physical science cannot satisfy. It seemed high time to him( Virchow) to enter an energetic >protest against the attempts that are made to proclaim the problems of research as actual facts, and the opinions of scientists as established science. We ought not, Virchow urges, to represent our conjecture as a certainty, nor our hypothesis as a doctrine; this is inadmissible. 11 -* in fl,i? me ouraen or m? .. connection is as much a recognition of the weakness of science as an assertion of strength. The Helpful niio. " There is a man," said his neighbor, speaking of a village carpenter, " who has done more good, I really believe, in this community than any other person who ever lived in it. He can not talk very well in prayer meeting, and he doesn't often try. He isn't worth two thousand dollars, and its very little he can put down on subscription papers for any object. But a new family never moves into the village that he does not tind them out and give them a neighborly welcome and offer any little service he can render. He is usually on the lookorn** i?? Kis nOW* fit OUl 10 give M.i;u?gi.-io u jn ... church. He i;* always ready to watch with a .-ick neighbor and look after his affairs for him. and I've sometimes thought he and his wife kept houseplants in winter just for the sake of beiug able to send little bouquets to invalids. He finds time for a pleasant word for every child he meets, and you'll see them climbing into his one-horse wagon when he has no other load. He really seems to have a genius for helping folks in all sorts of common ways, and it does me good every day just to meet him on the street." The Way of Joy. Now, our Savior, I think, meant to cover the broader and deeper condition of life, and to, in a measure, take it out of that realm of simple pleasure and the accidents that bring happiness or misery tor the moment, and to show it in its broader relations to the permanence of .. 11fn ,.f There is in the world joy that which may 1)0 compared to a fountain that is ever flowing, that which suggests the thought of fullness, of the preennial. of the eternal. And now, when we once think ourselves away from the accidents of life, from the transitions and circumstances that effect our modes and states, and lift ourselves into the calmer realms of the contemplation of joy, we have then reached a field where we can harmonize all the things in life that we regard as hard, as unplesant, as severe, and see that thev are not incompatible with joy. IM ' As an example, suppose some of the most joyful lives, or the conditions of life under which much of the abiding joy in this world should be found, would be conditions that to the ordinary pleaure seeker, or happiness-hunter, would be entirely devoid of joy. You take the life of a mother ami father, wedded not only in the forms of law, but in the sanctity of spirit and in the courts of heaven. wedded in all that is deep and sacred, lifting up an altar, it may be ever so humble and so poor, kindling the fire and spreading the table, and gathering about tlim.i o littlo crr/.nn of / hilrlr?.n fhr> mother toiling and working through all the beautiful years of younger womanhood. the father giving his strength to hard labor clearing out a farm, laying the foundations for a little peace and rest and plenty when the time of age and feebleness has come ; the parents denying themselves that their children may have days in which to study and prepare 1 themselves for the battle of life; now there is more solid joy in such a life as that, that which is deep and abiding and superior, transcedental to circumstances, than you can conceive of in all this low, plain of life, where men are condition ing themselves upon what pleases and what happens, and if things please they are pleased, and if things happen so and .so why then they say they're happy. I tell you that God never intended to project human life upon such variations and uncertainties, lie intended that man should have joy in hardship and in pleasure." Humboldt's Despair. Alexander JJumholdt says in his posthumous mcnioire : " I was not born in order to Iv the father of a family. I of children a crime. It is my conviction that he is a fool, aiul stiil more a sinner, who takes upon himself the yoke of murriag??a fool because he thereby throws away his freedom, without gain" ing a corresponding recompense ; a sinner because be gives life to children without being able to give them the eertnintv of baoniness. I dosoise humnnit v in .ill its strata. I foresee that our posterity will be far more unhappy than we are; and should I not be a sinner if, in spite of this insight, I should take care to leave a posterity of unhaopy beings behind me? The whole of 4te is the greatest insanity, and if for eighty years one strives and inquires, one is still obliged finally to confess that he has - + - c ??*>/! fAunrl nut nnfli striven im iiunuu^ ?n<? ....... ing. Did we at least only know why we are in this world! But to the thinker every thing is and remains a riddle, and and the greatest good luck is that of being born a blockhead." This conviction is the natural consequence, even for the largest intellect, of having lived eighty years in the world without any belief in the iieing of a God, and without any nobler purpose I than that of self-aggrandizement. Without any higher purpose than to gratify | curiosity, to know why we live in this world, though it bo dignified by the sounding name of advancement of knowledge, life would be destitute of either dignity, grace or importance. Born to be Guillotined. A case is shortly to come before the Paris Assizes which tends to prove that he who is born to be guillotined may expose his life with impunity on the most sanguinary battle-field. Sagnier enlisted at the outbreak of the FrancoGerman war in the now famous Ninth Cuirassiers, quickly ro&s to be a corporal and took part in the heroic charge made bv that reeriment at Woerth. "I heard tfie bullets," he said to the judge, "rattle like hail on my breast-plate." He was unhorsed by a stab from a bayonet and finally picked up from among the dead. As soon as he recovered from his wounds he took service again, and was one of the defenders of Strasbourg. There he was wounded again by a shell splinter, and after the capitulation of the city he was sent a prisoner to Germany and confined in the citadel of Breslau. " On returning to France he settled in Paris and became a whitesmith. As he was a very intelligent and clever workman he might have lived happily and comfortable on his earnings, but he grew discontented, I his temper soured, he imagined himself the victim of perpetual persecutions and [ could not resign himself to the misfortune of not having received the Cross ; of the Legion of Honor for his bravery during the war. He took to drinking absinthe, and his biain thereby became so much affected that he had to be cone?j _ l 1 TTo Uff ; iiueu iu a luiiiuiv/ n^xuui. xju iviv ?? cured and the doctors who have examined him in connection with the horrible crime to which he has confessed state that he is quite responsible for his acts. To come to that crime, here are the facts: On the 12th of August, last year, about 9 o'clock in the morning, a young woman, Mme. Delschaume, was had gone to the cemetery of St. Ouen to pray at the tomb of her sister, who suddenly attacked by a man armed with a hammer as she was kneeling on her sister's grave. The brute, after knocking her down, trod her under foot, and finally, after battering her skull with his hammer, left her weltering in her blood, but not before having robbed her of a cross she wore, and also of her watch and chain. Two other ladies had been assaulted and robbed in the same cemetsry. The police at last succeeded in arresting Sagniet and charged him with all three crimes; for the two last mentioned he was sentenced to three months' imprisonment. As for the capital charge, Saguier explains it by alleging a fit of madness brought on by drink. He said: " J went to the cemetery of St. Ouen with my mechanic's hammer to fasten s\*r\oc r\r? tVio tvravn nf rnv little rlmirrH bUO vivogva vuw V W* "V o ter who died recently. 1 had prayed fervently for her. All at once I saw the cross and watch chain of the kneeling lady beside me glisten in the sunshine. A bad thought took possession of my brain, and I struck without knowing what I did." Cause and Cure for Snoring. A writer in the Scientific Monthly tells how the habit of snoring is acquired, and, better, how it may be cured. And first, the cause: The air reaches the lungs through two channels, the nose and mouth. The two currents meet in the throat just below the soft palate, the end of which bangs loose and swings backward and forward, producing the 6noring. If the air reaches the lungs, as it should, through the nose, no noise will be made. If it reaches the same through the mouth the palate will make more noise, since it is not the natural channel, but when it rushes through both these channels, then it is that the sound sleeper banishes rest from the pillows of his companions by his hideous noise. The remedy for snoring is to keep the mouth closed; and for this purpose Dr. Wycth, the writer of the article referred to, has invented an article so cheap that any one can make it, and no snorer should be without it. It consists of a single cap, fitting the head snugly, and a piece of soft material fitting the chin. These are connected by elastic webbing, which is connected with a head cap near the ears. This contrivance prevents the jaws from dropping down, and thereby renders snoring impossible. The great trouble will be to get people to adopt this invention, since the most upright and honest of men and women will rarely, if ever, confess that they snore, and will be very indignant if accused of it. As a further inducement tn flin infrn^nnfiAn rvf tVii c pnnfrirnnna nf V\S vtiv UlVlvUUvlluU \J? kU10VVUI>tll(tUVU VI Dr. Wycth, it may be added that breathing through the mouth is very detrimental to the health, and that many diseases of the throat and lungs are contracted or aggravated thereby. Coon vs. Dog. A coon has the best of a dog when the fnrht is in deep water, as a citizen of Portland, Oregon, has learned to his y?trow. A valuable dug belonging to him went out last week into a field and found flip triK'lr of n eoon wliteh bp followed to the animal's hiding place. There ho began to dig and bark, making the dirt fly in the air until the coon cunningly escaped and ran into a little pond near by, the dog following him. A nard fight then began. The coon seized the dog by the nose nnd pull him under the water. Again and again the dog rose to the surface, and again and again he was puL'ed below il, until at last he had too much of the business, and sank for the hist time from view. The coon v.-ent quietly ashore and disappeared in his hole an harmed AB AULDEK'S GOAT. BT JOBX W. HATTON. J Ab Aulder lived a lonely life, for he oonld no agree With kith nor kin, nor friend nor foe, ao (iron and mean was he; Bat Abner had a weakness for dogs and goats and cats, C And as often as he ate himself he fed the mice and f rats. , He loved his horses, cows and sheep, bnt most of a all a goat, 1; Called Billy, whom he oft declared had sense a enough to vote. 1 If Billy was so very wjse 'twas Abner made him a For everywhere old Abner went the goat was rare t to go. I He taught tho beast to fight the boys, and drivo a them from the place. And laughed until his eidea were sore at many a e frantic race. t Fall many a boy went limping heme to nurse his 1 wrath and pain, q But never loitered thereabout nor pestered Ab J again. \ And when a peddler chanced that way, to vsnd his * wares, 'tis said, He paused without the gate awhile, to feel of 1 Billy's head? ( Which was as hard as any stone?he felt It) hardness, too, J For Billy spread him on the ground and banged, s him black and blue. A Bible agent came one day; a pious man was l?o, But Billy chased him out the yard and up an au>- ? pie tree. T , From which the man of tracts made tracts, im haste to get away, \ 1 When Billy left him for a spell to munch a wisp or < hay. I And when the man of lightning rods came down to. ' Aulder's farm, 1 Old Aimer said the goat was tame, was sure be ] meant no harm; 4 Bat ere tbe peddler drew his breatit, be tbon jnt nir * spine was riven B By something like a thunderbolt, as fast and fiercely i driven. L Now all the neighbors shunned the place; old Ab J was left alone. { In health, in sickness, all the same, none heard his ^ plaintive groan. He almost died when sick one day?none tried his 1 lite to save; i But all agreed that Billy should go with him to the grave. 1 They'd " kill that goat" when Abner should " pass ( in his checks," they said; . Some favored torture?all agreed to kill the creature ; dead. 1 Now Billy had grown cress of late, for want of ex- 4 ercise: , He hated everything that moved, his master, too, I despised. ^ But Abner loved him all the more, the meaner he behaved, 1 And chuckled at the mischief done, the money he 1 had saved. 4 He swore if Parson Brown would come that way to sing and pray 1 Uo<S till lalm ?nrt Til*nV It dnwn" , next day. Bat Abnsr knew the parson would as lief a whal- J ing co, 1 Like Jonah, as to meet old Bill, and take his head In , tow. The wicked shall not live, 'tis said, but hall three 1 score and ten, j But Abner had grown pretty old, and very gray, la , sin; 1 And the goat was sure the devil's own, If goatn are owned below, And all agreed where At r<er went the goat wee ear* to go. Hard by, a bridge of logs was built, eercx* a ' chasm deep, i And to this bridge old Ab would go to meditate , and sleep. Now Ab had bought some strychnine and eeakud It well in corn To dose a flock of turkeys that belonged to Mrs. Dom. The poisoned grain he placed with core open a corner shelf; No creature know the secret dire, except old Ab himself. Then Abner hied him to the bridge to take his noon-day sleep. While Billy eyed him from afar, so plump, and fat, and sleek. He thought how funny it would be to pounce him In the rear: For Ab had learned him all these tricks, and he should have his share. The neighbors found old Abner dead, down In the , gulch below; "Thegoat 1 The goat!" the farmers cried, "old Billy now must go." i But Billy had forestalled his foee; he'd eaten of the corn His wicked master had prepared upon this fi.tal morn. MORAL. Those who delight In giving pain will soon or late be found Caught in the trap, tor others set, as they go sneaking round. The Moment of Fear. Bonaparte lost four aids-de-camps during the short time he was in Egypt. One of them, Croisier, appearing to Napoleon to lack the proper degree of boldness at the proper moment, he burst o at against him in one of his violent and humiliating attacks of abuse and contempt. The word coward escaped him; Croisier determined not to survive it; he sought death on several occasions, but did not succeed till the siege of Acre. He was in attendance on Napoleon in the trenches there, when such a sharp lookout was kept by the garrison, that if an elbow or feather showed itself ! above or beside them, it was immediately grazed by a bullet. Croisier watcbeci his opportunity and jumped upon the ' platform. " Come down, I command you!" cried Napoleon, in a voice of thunder; but it was too late; the victim ~r r^ii ir a. ul ui9 seventy lcii at ma icei. uiurui, 1 the chivalrous braver of all danger, had also his moment of fear, which lost him the countenance of his general, until displeasure could no longer resist the brilliancy of his achievements. It was 1 at the siege of Mantua, in the tirsn Italian campaign, that Murat was ordered to take charge of a body of troops that were making a sortie from the garrison. He hesitated, and in his confusion declared himself wounded; he was removed from the presence of the general, and in every way discountenanced. In Egypt he v/as sent out on^ the most distant and dangerous services; in short, he more than conquered his character before the battle of Aboukir. on which occasion Napoleon himself was obliged to declare that he was superb. lhe brave Marshal Lannes one day severely reprimanded a colonel, who had punished a young oflicer for a moment of fear. " Shat man." sa id he, " is worse than a Kltroon, wiio pretends he never knows ir." An Elephant Plays Policeman. At the celebrated Eastern circus Orozi, recently performing at l'esth, the attendant was sturtled from sleep by the elephants rising to their feet and trum pcting in a shrill tone, signiticant or great mental agitation. Looking around in the dark to see if some stray dog or cat had got admittance, he discovered a stranger with a dark lantern attempting to enter the property room adjoining. "Without a moment's hesitation, lie loosed the biggest of the three elephants, who marched solemnly out upon the would-be-burglar, seized him by one arm with his potent trunk, and held him fast until the police, whom the attendant had promptly fetched from a neighboring station, came up and took the elephant's prisoner?who had in the i!- 1 !iL mean lime swouueu ?mi irigiu?11110 custody. Havinjr consigned him to the authorities. ,lKiniIy " returned to sleep, conscious of haviiur done his dutv. When Kmperor William,of(ierinanv, was a yountr in.iii, he indulged ina habit of sleeping, all booted and spurred, on a cannon to exhibit his fondness for militarv lire: in his whole career he has always worn uniform and sword. A MIXED AFFAIR. L Providence Yonnc Iedy Ovtwttttof Her Parents and a Devoted Sat tor, for Ik* Choice ot Her Hear*?a Beeklcn Hear*. r [Providence Dlepeteh.l , C A marriage recently took place in this 1 ity under circumstances remarkable for * heir romantic and ^ad interest. The r acts of the case are as ionows: .a. vuuug ady belonging to a respectable and wello-do family, fell in love with a shiftless ' nd good-for-nothing fellow. Being a 1 lassionate young woman, she loved des- j erately, madly I But her father, being ' Iso passionate, but in another way, was J quaily desperate and equally mad. It ia he same old story of a young woman 1 oving some one whom she ought not to. j [he persistency with which the average j roung lady falls in love with all the ' Toothless vagabonds with whom she comes n contact, is, to say the least, remarkable. 1 jri\ehera decent, steady man to love, 1 md she gives him the mitten at once. Ujd flies to the arms of her dissipated j T,?Tmrio, who borrows all her spare chaOi to play policy with, and finally j elojWwith her, can't support her, and ! senSher home for the old man to take :ar<Jp. Such was the case in the pres* . Istance. The father had picked out i nile young man for his daughter's ] oveMnd the nice young man was per* !a*ri^villing to play that part. Ana in ' ootM he was a smart young man, and 1 ov.el the girl fondly and devotedly, rbir&rs remained in statu auo for some ,imej both suitors pressing tneir claims, [hefcne, favored by the father and re- ! Duhfc by the daughter, the other, afthe daughter and repulsed by ihBather. Atl engtb, things came to a :ri?s. There was a stormy interview be.wfrin the old man and the shiftless ovfcl, and the latter left the house just ;hrcLinchcs in advance of the father's x)?J The girl cried, of course, and JireHned to do all manner of desperite^lngs, but finally calmed down, and i '<' later she had promised her hand to ^Riice young man, who was immediiteBthinsportea to the seventh heaven, neWhorically speaking. The father praBd that the other lover might be transported not metaphorically, but litsrafy. The time appointed for the nuptiafctwns drawing near, and the sound of maU .age-bells was almost heard, when m pent occurred which turned all the promised joy to doom and made two lives miserable. The happy lover had taken his promised bride to an entertainment given at the house of one of ruir well-known citizens, and when the " mad, mcrrv music of harp and horn " ! rang out, the couple joined in the dance. In this accomplishment the lady was perfection, and many will remember the belle danecuse, as she was called, who five years ago, was considered the most graceful waltzer in Providence. The heat of the ball-room becoming disagreeable, the young man led his partner out on to a piazza. As they sat there in the moonlight, a man suddenly appeared from around the corner of the building, and walked down a path towards the gate Turning to her lover, the girl remarked, that she had dropped her fan and desired him to go in search of it in the ballroom. He did so, and when he returned the bird had flown. The mysterious Etranger was the dissipated lover, who had thus carried off the prize he had so long been sighing for. Months came ana went, and months were lengthening into years. All memories of the wayvrard girl were shut away by the bereaved lover and the unhappy father, in the chambers of the past; to break out of their confinement, however, when least welcome, and haunt the men who held them there like beings from another world. Nothing was heard from the girl, but amid the troopers of the Seventh Cavalry, who, to tnc tunc of " Garrv Owen," followed Custer in his " * .1 V . . 1 _ -.t .L- V-ll_ last cxiarge at me oauie u.i me unuw stone, was the man who had run of! with the intended bride of another. A few weeks ago the father was astounded by the sudden appearance of his daughter. Broken in liealth, she had come home to die. Before she died, the old lover, who had waited so long for her, was married to her, and thus was permitted, though but for a brief time, to call her his wife. A Novelist's Powers of Construction. [Aritliuny Trollops in Good Wcrd*.] In these operations of thinking it is not often the entire plot of a novel?tlio plot of a novel as a'whole?that exercises the mind. That is a huge difficulty; one so arduous as to have been generally found by me altogether beyond my . power,of accomplishment. Efforts are j made, bo doubt?always out in the open air, and within the precincts of a wood, ifarafod be within reach; but to construct plot so as to know, before the story begun, how it is to end, has always top to me a labor of Hercules, beyond^w reach. I have to confess that my iHtients are fabricated to fit my incideM. I wrote a novel once in which a ladyMrged a will; but I had not myself dMded that she had forged it till the cl?ter before that in which she confesAs her guilt. In another a lady is made to steal her own diamonds?a grand tour de force, as 1 thought-but the brilliant idea only struck me when I was writing the page in which the theft is disfctflSed. I once heard an unknown critic apuse my workmanship because a certain lady had been made to appear too frdquently in my pages. I went home and killed her immediately. I say this tottiow that the process of thinking to whim 1 am alluding has not generally applied to any great eflbrt of const-Mtion. It has expended itself on the * Mite ramifications of tale-telling; how ! young lady should be made to beha. vcrself with that young gentleman V ^w this mother or that father wouh inflected by the ill conduct or the {'m of a son or a daughter?how these fords or those other would lie mo '''appropriate and true t<> nature if us a on some spceial occasion. Such plotting as these, with a fabricator of fiction, are infinite in numboras they are infiuiUsimal in importance?and are, therefore, as I have said, like the sand of the seashore, llut not one of them can be done fitly without thinkimr. My little effort will miss its wished for result, tin less I be true to nature, and to be true to nature I must think what nature would produce. The Viscount Macduff had the courage to decline Queon Victoria's invitation to become her son-in-law. He is not yet thirty years old and owns a dozen line estates. Poc's Wonderfnl Interpreter. (M?w Tork Sua.] "Do you see that fine looking old iegro coming down the street, with blue :oat and brass buttons, and a slight limp n his gait?" said my friend W , as ve were walking up Main-street, Eichnond. " Yes," I replied. "Well, sir, that was formerly the >ody servant of Edgar Allen, the gentle nan who adopted foe. we taae great pleasure in the old darky here, and lardly a week passes that he does not . issist in some private entertainment Though he can neither read or write, his nemory serves him, and almost all the ooetry Poe taught him he retains, and tie delivers it well. You must know liim." a By this time we had approached, and my friend introduced James Stirling. A [ fine specimen of a negro he was?tall, well-shaped, and but little bowed, though . seventy winters had frosted his hair, and J " tried to twist his joints," he said. He was on his way to Zion Church, where j he was deacon and trustee, and was a i little late. " But I want to inlroduce you to my ? New York friend, who is a great admirer j of Massa Poe's poetry," said W . r That was enough to deter the old teiiow, , and without any seeming pride but all , affection, he removed his hat the second ( time, and stood the rest of the interview , uncovered. We talked long enough for 1 me to get hi9 promise of an afternoon conference at Wallace's tobacco ware- j house, where he was night watchman. : My thoughts all 6ermon-time were of . the negro and; the treat in store for me, and I learned from him afterward that | more of the spirit of Poe than of God ! possessed him through his morning , Bervice. > . .. Two o'clock found me before the long, > low warehouse, and soon the limping . step of the negro sounded but a little i way off. He came wiping his brow, heated more by the excitement that the occasion promised than bv the weavher. A quick recognition and a nasty entrance ana we were alone. He seated me on a rather dilapidated stool in the second loft, and there began his' tale of the * - rr?i l ? x -C poets lire, me inciaenus were ui tuo common sort, of childish scrapes, outbursts of temper, gambling, debauchery, and the end in Baltimore, the sight of which, " thank God, he (Stirling) had been spared." . . ' . These were of no interest to me, for they were out of all reason, and were unlicensed," inasmuch as Poe had had bright example and kindliest discipline. But when the old negro came to reciting Poe's lines, he threw so much fervor into them that I felt the poet's spirit, and remained entranced ana delighted. What a voice, and what control! The telling of "Annabel Lee" was made more pitiful than you can imagine; and so were many other of the shorter poems. But "The Bells" went beyond all my idea of human power. "' Massa Poe' had told him that there was no use trying to make sleigh bells, but had made him stop and listen to all fire and funeral bells." And well had he studied them, ana wnat a aengm 11 musi nuvu ueeu < for Poe to hear him imitate them, making them near or distant. "With poor acoustics, still he made fhat old loft ring out his pleasure, his fear, or his grief, as ^he poet had taught him to feel and express them, until, with dying measure and echo, he pronounced: " To the moaning and the groaning of the bells!" and burst into tears. The " liaven " was given in a mood of reverie until the first response of the bird, then jocularity, then with great seriousness, and, finally exasperated to madness, the interpreter threw the box, that had served him as a Beat, and rostrum, at the imaginary bird, and fell prostrate. His voice in the last lines weakened to a husky whisper, and his eyes wandered with the " shadow on the floor." I have seen Salvini in " Civil Death," and can only instance him as an approach to that negro's abject terror and surrender. Would Do for a Juryman. Council: "Do you know anything of this case?" " No." " Ever read of it?" " No." " Ever read anything?" " No." "What! Never?" " No." [Applause.] " Have you formed any opinion as to this case?" " No." " Any opinion about anything?" " No." " Never have opinions?'' " No." "What! Never?" " No." [Applause.] a V 1 t>1 tf " JiiVer aearu x nuuum j " No." Groans. Remarks?" No wonder he didn't do it. 8old." " No sympathy with anything pertaining to the public interest?" " No." "No information, no knowledge, no opinions, no taste for reading, 110 desire to know what's going on in the world?" * None whatever.'' fcGood. You'll do fura juryman. You are accepted." Hamlin and Lincoln. rPvAbttif* : Senator Hamlin says that while vicepresident his relations with Mr. Lincoln were always amicable; Mr. Lincoln often consulted him. "I was always more radical than he was," says Mr. Hamlin; " I was urging him. he was holding back on his problems, and he was the wiser, probably, as events prove. I desired to arm the blacks and issue the proclamation sooner than he did, and was always for urging. I was the first person he ever showed the proclamation to. I saw it before he submitted it to the cabinet. Ke met me oue day and said, ' Where will you bo this evening? 'I am going ? ' * " f +Atl?n ' r VAnlio/1 ' Va tt/-\1 i ii ro UUt U1 wm 11, Jl IV^IICU. JLWj TVU UiV not, sir.' ' Indeed I am, sir, unless you command me.' 'Well, I do command you. 1 want you to spend the evening with me at the Soldiers' Home.' T met him at the executive mansion, and we started to drive to the Home. As booh as we had smarted, he drew from his pocket the rough draft of the proclamation and read it over to me. Naturally 1 was delighted, and told him bo. He was much moved at the step he was taking." WIDOWED. BY A. B. BOYLE. She did not sigh (or death, nor make sad moan, Turning from smiles as one who solace fears, But filled with kindly deeds the waiting years; Yet. in her heart of hearts, she lived alone, And in her voice thcro thrilled an undertone That seemed to rise from soundless depths of tears^ As, when the sea is calm, one sometimes hears The long, low murrain of a storm, unknown Within the sheltered haven where he stands, While tokens of a tempest overpast The changing tide brings to the shining sands; So on the surface of her life was cast, An ever present shadow of the day, When love and Joy went hand in hand away. Scribnerjor October. The Nude?Moralists and Artists. [Appletoa's Jonrmal.] It must be remembered that while rtists, and possibly art critics, are com>etent judges of all purely artistic maters, are final authority as to the draw aL- ?:iliA +Vta Hg, LI1U CUllipUSlUUUj bUC U?H*r vwv?i \jy vuv exture, and the tone of any painting, hey are even less competent than laynen to pronounce upon its moral effects, in all art-features artists are experts; >ut in effects upon morals they are not xperts?they are even partial, oneliaed judges, their personal interests Deing largely concerned in the verdict. The true experts as to the morals ol i work of art are students of morals, those persons who make a study of the operations of the mind, of the natural tendencies of emotion and passion, of the laws of ethics. These are the only persons who can be accepted as authority m any auestion of morals. This fact needs to be enforced, inasmuch as great mental confusion exists thereto. It is continually assumed that the opinions of artists and critics of art are authorita - *--l- -f TViJn w? live as 10 me cecwNyu? u& an. ^ a singular mistake. Mr. Page's opinion of the excution of Titian's Venus is entitled to very great respect; but Mr. Page's opinion as to the moral effect of Titian's Venus is worth very little by the side of Dr. Crosby's opinion on the Bubject, just as Dr. Crosby's opinion as to the color and drawing of any performance is of no authority whatever. This distinction has not, we believe, been pointed out and yet it is a very clear one. People, being dependent upon certain authorities for instruction in the principles oi art, have come to believe that tneir domain extends to the morals of art. What, we have to ask, is the opinion of experts in the matter? What do moralists say about the influence of nude art in morals? Now, there are two classes of moralists that are almost unanimous in their judgment: First, there is the whole body of the people, who, without special training, nave yet the instincts that comes of moral culture; second, there is the whole body of teachers of ethics, the specialists who make the study of right and wrong the business of their lives?and these two classes are nearly of one mind as to the propriety of nudity in art. The instinct of modesty, for instance, is very powerful in women of all classes and grades, and we may be sure that the mothers, wives and sisters of men are here nearly oi one mind?altogether of one mind, if we except the few, who, being artists or connected with artists, or otherwise under the influence of the art theories or the day, have forced down their instincts and brought themselves, by a series of sophistries, to think things which in their heart of hearts they do not believe. If the instincts of modesty are not so powerful in men as in women, they are still very general, and, until reasoned away bv artistic sophistries, are sure to be shocked at those displays in art which in real life are never permitted. The natural instincts of men and women are thus in accord with the deductions of moralists. A Strange Animal. A strange animal has been discovered In Berks county, Pa. The " what is it" is represented to be about four feet tall, long arms, with but two talon-like fingers on each paw; feet without toes, furrows on its head, body smooth and naked, quite yellow, looking as if it had been wallowing in clay. Jared Rissmiller heard of the animal. It had run up toward a Mr. Schmehl with extended paws, and then darted into a cornfield ana was TUa +u?a man fUan uranf 1U31 IV T1CTT? XUC b)T V UiCU bUCIl "? jj y in search, and discovered the animal on the other side of the field lying near the fence. It reared up on its hind legs like a man. Rissmiller says it is yellowish brown in color, has no hair, small eyes and face, arms about fourteen inches long, legs somewhat longer, the hands and feet resembling those of a human being and has two hornson the top of the head. Why the Pyramid Was Built. It was built to supply the Egyptian public with the means "of sliding down hill in a country where snow never falls. The Egyptian who paid the requisite entrance fee was allowed to ascend the pyramid by the stair-case, and then to slide down the polished granite side, plunging pleasantly and harmlessly into the sand at the foot. No sleds or other apparatus are needed. The Egyptian simply sat down on the warm and comfortable granite, and slid down without any unpleasant friction. Doubtless, this was a fashionable amusement for both mxcs and all ages, and the builders or Inocnna nf tho ftrpftt Pvramid Sliding: Bank must have made a good thinT out of it. Railroad Velocipede. A novelty in the matter of railroad inventions is what may be very properly termed a railroad velocipede. Its weight is about one hundred pounds, and is destined solely for the use of the supervisor of the road, to enable him to travel from point to point for inspection or other purposes. The vehicle has three wheels, two of which run on one rail of the track and one on the other. It hasa seat for one man, though it might well carry two. It is very easily operated, and is run on almost the exact principle of the ordinary velocipede. With a strong, muscular man to move it, it will make a speed of fifteen or eighteen miles an hour. I.iuibnrger Cheese. 8avs the New York Star: J.imhurger cheese now made in this country is 9H1U U? IK >u | >v r i 111 JL1I CUTV rejH'Vt I o that produced abroad, especially in the {>eculinr .-mell which distinguishes limiur;rer, and which in the America a articles is slid to be of such an exquistely horrible nature a* to drive the most, stolid l.hitelnjuHi wild with delight.