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THE IOWA VOTER.
gft&BY 15.UtIv.K8, PulilUwiS. noxville, IOWA. Some «T the Different Kin4f of Hen. EY :0I,.. M. LEE. Men arc more alike than women. There u nis to be certain laws or fixed rules whi :-h regulate the former, while the lat ter may be said to constitute an infinite h'i'onteratvm of varieties. THE THOIlOrOIl GOINO BUSINESS MAN i» rather an amusing study. His notes iii vMi- go to protest—in fact, he seldom gives any. He is not likely to be popular with .school girls or imaginative young ladies—there is not enough of the "free lance" about him. A woman does not Jikr to receive a sprawly letteron common paper, commencing "Yours of the '14' instant came to hand this date If you chance to be extravagantly dressed, your intense business friend regards you re provingly, as one who would say, "One half the expense of that suit of clothes ami that watch and chain ought to be at interest." When traveling on bum'twx* he will sit up all night to save $2, and upon 'urning home subscribe $10 (at the ear ned solicitation of a wealthy female pa tron! to the Infant Hottentot Linen Asso (iMtion. lie casts his bread upon tlie waters, knowing that it will come back again after many days. When your thor -going business man tells you, with n i'Kik of placid coldness, that he cannot JK.S 'bly accommodate you in the matter of mat "little loan/' you know it were easier for a camel to puss through the needle's eye (or point, for that matter) than for you to accomplish the aforesaid "little loa.n." Order is his first law, and lie never fails to impress the fact upon all about him. "Mr. Jones will be in at nine o'clock,'' the polite clerk informs you, with a look, as much as to say, "If"you have any loose change to bet against it, I'm your man." If John, the coachman, wen to drive around fifteen minute* late, lie would do so with his official head un der his arm. They are a little tedious and prosy, these systematic people, yet when one is waiting at the bank for a "raise" that will save him from bankruptcy, he will save li.m irom .rn^rup v not sympathize with mt,^ he would reply with an agonized air. "My fellow," I remarked, one day, "it would take too much time pray let me make a monthly deposit of sympathy for you to 'check' on." Since that time, in m\ pres ence, he has eaten and suffered in silence. Your dyspeptic is a thorn in his wifes fleah, file terror of his children and ser vants, and a bore to his friends. His peevishness is of the pugnacious order, and seeks relief in a war of words, lie is not an agreeable companion ev er\ thing he does is afflicted with that yellow cast of his disease. When his sutierings are not the result of continued indiscretions, he deserves genuine pity. TlIK HANOriN'F, MAW is alternately in ee-stacy and despair. He enters upon a project with the enthusiasm UriiVl'X hST treat often wins a victory from sheer lack of caution—his self-confidence sweeping like a tidal-wave over evcrj form of opp -sit ion. When reverses come they are a double defeat because unpro vided for and unexpected, leinperament is his master. The lessons of experience are unheeded, save for the time Ibe.ng He rif/orhet* from good to bad Jut k to good, his face always red with anticipa tion, or purple with unforeseen Your sanguine man is not proper anced. In an undertaking requiring u I thought and earnest preparation, he taKes one-half for granted and trusts to luck for tho accomplishment of the other. THE iNqrisrrtvE MA U worse than a leper. He is "J*"' endless screw. He is like ict«»r Hnon'» No, sir." cashier.1* °I wonder whether these regular «'»hn would 'a stole, though lie tillers w people do not w isli they could lie in bed a half hour Inter now and then, just by the •way of variety? THE I NIXCKY MAX deserves pity. Eevcrythin^ he touches miscarries. He works hard, but does not become rich. He sowrs, but gathers not. Tie Rothschilds are said to give unlucky men a wide berth in business, perhaps on tiif supposition that lack of judgment, rashae-1 or undue caution, inattention, ami wfi'-' of capacity arc the primccauses of .-»«uuy being unsuccessful. I have often wondered how my friend Tomkins or Smith could afford to spend so much money on so limited a business. The so lution has appeared under the disastrous heading, "Failure." The unlucky man is a fatalist. lie believes that some men are sure to prosper, while with others it is impossible. He is generally involved, breathing an atmosphere of debt and dif- i ficulty. Being looked upon at the banks as a little "shaky," he is .sometimes una ble to effect a loan that would save him temporarily from ruin. Tilt: KKF.CT AND POSITIVE MAX is a great nuisance. Wliat he doet know he knows with such an intensity of cer tainty that the WCipht of tho «vorlu..»ii»«y hills could not press out one iota of bin stock in trade, lie is essentially a man of •details. Regardless of the opinion of others, he asserts his own with an air of infallibility. There should be a dot over his head, that the world might mark him at a glance as in reality a little i." He is the mortal foe of argument and logic. Ideas petrify in his brain, and occasional ly have to be. pounded or dug out, in which event he lays them away in a sort of charnel-house, hoping the)' may some time come into use. Opposition lashes him into a fury. He is dogmatic, unim aginative, dictatorial and generally hate ful. THE DYSPEPTIC MAN must receive a passing notice. I knew a man who often ale twice the average din ner, or, in other words, two men s din ners, and afterwards made sad lamenta tion that God continued to punish hiin with that "terrible, dyspepsia." That man tried all climes, but his magnificent appe tite folio w ed him. Three limes a day he threatened to "curse God and die, but did neither—don think he had the nerve. Two hundred and fifty times, while labor ing with his pans, he has said to me: "Have vou had the dyspepsia*' I finally came to answer "No,'' in a business tone. "You cannot appreciate my sufferings, you do acquires wonderful shrewdness in the art of "pumping." An army friend relates the following experience on an Upper Mississippi boat": Being in uniform, and having on his cap ploying them wears the the number of his regiment, every indi- than a great rousing lie tol vidual stranger seemed to look upon, him as a sort of a Hip Van Winkle fossil of the volunteer army, stiil wearing the military i harness in delightful ignorance that the groat war chariot had been long ago sold for old iron. One enthusiastic country- as tliev are." man, tiring with patriotic ardor, exclaim ed, "I liked the army, stranger, and wouldn't mind gitin' into it again. Do you reckon I could do it?" "Not the leant doubt, provided you are able-bodied —plenty of recruiting offices in the coun try." Such a "snub"' with most men would be quite sufficient. Not so in this case, for the tormentor replied innocent lv, "O, I meant as an officer." A Chicago to a great deal. "And it is this 'falseness 'drummer," introducing himself by an invitation to "take a drink" (which my friend declined, knowing that ten times the worth of it would be "pumped" out of him), with a sort of knowing look asked Twentieth Illinois." "No, sir was the polite reply. Twentieth Minnesota "No, sir!'' more politely said. "No? Ah! Twentieth New York All that day the impertinent "tourist" seemed to regard him with a puzzled look, as if thinking, "I wonder what State he fn* hail from, anyhow." I could not help blaming my friend for the following: A down-Easter, evidently never so far from home before, confided the astound ing fact that he had a son in the WW, and followed it up with "P'raps yon know'd him." "What name "John Prince." "Why, to be sum he stole the Cap tain's watch, and descfted just before Mal vern Hill." "I vttni! you don't say so!" exclaimed the poor man, much distressed. "I never heard o' that afore. Well Well John allers im* a wild chap, and hain't never been home since the war, though he writ us he got a reg'lar discharge and then to tiiink he went and stole a watch." "May be it was another man of the same name," suggested my friend. Well, now, I never thought o' that— I don't b'leVe don ,t wild. "Now I think of it," said my friend, "the John Prince I refer to had no father I was much amused by a recent article in the (hilu.ni on "One Legged Men." It must have been written by an individual of that class—at least the ''prium rentiffn" must have been furnished by such a one. I know a one armed veteran of the war, who, being something of a wtg, often pretended to be dumb when with slran remaining hand in a sling, improvised vkiih a handkerchief. He used to say he could build a soldiers' home, foundling asylum and an old woman's hospital if the sympathy he received had a money value—even for two cents on the dollar. Much of that sort of sympathy, 'f'» "'V called so, is maudlin to"1, unreal. It is oftener idle an« impertinent cuiioMtv. Mv soldier often electrified the lnquisi ih'c ii) deseribing battles as the colored pictures in shop windows portray them— flags, horses, otlicers, men, cannon and exploding shells mingled in picturesque confusion, while in the foreground tl great General sits upon an Arabian steed (standing upon his hind legs) and holds his sword aloft, for all the world as if he knew some photographic rascal had his instrument leveled on him at that pre cise second, or that a certain Congress ional District of his own State al ready had him in view as their war nuKluhite. IIow proudly, how scornfully lie gazes at the enemy advanc ing in myriads, and charging bayonets al most under his nose. He defies Death himself, and, to prove it, wears a drt** hat and tjiault ttfn (which, perhaps, never hap pened in this country on the battle field, unless accidentally). 1 nipiisitiveness is the best proof of bad breeding. The inquisitive man is a human mosquito. His buzz is more annoy ing than the bite. You may brush him av, i.y but he returns from another quarter. The only way is to let him "light'_ when everhc will, and then "squelch' him. TLIK 1IONKST MAN"! All! simple Diogenes! Exchange thy lantern for a calcium light andfortity thy failing vision with wondrous lenses—not that the type is extinct. God forbid! I can imagine no conviction more satisfy ing to the human breast than that a friend is near iu whose keeping one's honor, as well as his gold, is entirely safe. Christian is more secure of tkc Heavenly inheritance than an honest man, for he is the very embodiment of Christianity. Though off lie Devi! Fish, sucking your inmost thoughts i *de.tl and the worst of it is that he often U'ts ^.7 ^, more than lie can hold (as was tho ase with Jacky Horner after the absorption of his entire Christmas pie) he is a gossip. Hi trying to worm eut proves that honor i breast When him he is doubly a bore. miliar as the diploma ,. "his hands be hard, and his knees and elbows out, vet he is the living tri umph of the golden rule, loving Ood and man, and doing good to the day of his death.—Ittroit Fru llrt*». Small Deeellfc MEK at first deceive, knowing it: but bv the constant use of deception they cease to even know that they are doing it. Gradually il blinds the IICE p'lSJ very cinerv. moral K-nse. And it is in'this direction that great lies, are less harmful than little ones. Men think more' dangerous, because there are so many of them and because each of them is diamond pointed. And these untruths which are so petty little small that vou do not notice them, and so numerous .A. tl\am a re h» that vou cannot estimate them, -».-«« «v one's that take off the very enamel of the i moral sense-—cut away its surface. Ana men become so accustomed ()i by gbiflin dynamicai Therefore to it, that tliev do not recognize that the y are put, ting things in false- lights, when, by word. indirections, by exaggera- j, |,(.emphasis, by various ver ilu expressions, "in strict confidence up* i tbqr on my sacmi honor, sir," etc., etc. He ttom wan* And those very persons in little things that tends to dim, to ob scure, to almost obliterate, a sense of truth. There are men who have almost entirely lost their sense of proportion, their appreciation of magnitude, and their understanding of the connection be tween cause and effect. Tiny look at everything in the light of what they want, so much that the}- think that is true which they desire to have true.—II. H'. lim-hcr. A Word for the Women. knows to the contrary, while his wife, be lieving him to be rich, has dressed and lived only as his circumstances warranted, doing it, too, only for his sake, that he might not be ashamed to introduce her as his wife. Or if she .. can lovingly control the course of any living—so he cannot have been your j)rop,.r wife. Women are often extravagant. The "Well! I'm glad to hear it, though, to tell the truth, John allers was a"— Here the shrill whistle of the boat came to the rescue, and under cover of it my friend got away. has la-en as extrava gant as he, the fault is usually his, so long as the fact remains that any proper man fact can not be denied Rut that they are more so than men is by no means true. As a rule, every woman wishes to live within her husband's income, and in nine families out of ten all the economizing done at all is done by gers, ami carried a small slate. Now and extravagant. One of these has recently then, to intensify the scene, he had the i told the public through the newspapers how it takes all his income of two thou and dollars to support him as a singh' man, and after looking over his bill of items and finding that it takes fifty-two dollars worth of perfumery every year to keep him sweet, we quite agree with him that he should not marry. A women wcuU !hewife. This constant iteration of the charge against women, however, has secured a kind of passive acceptance for thetheorv, and nothing is more common now than for young men with salaries of two or three thousand a year to lament their inability to marry, because women are so While tliev do not wait for the- last ex tremity of'distress before extending relief, they discover cases of poverty as urgent as any which have been stated, and many only a little less abject, which nevercome (((t*he |tnowi,.,|:c of public functionaries In the relief of such destitution as they find, the se private- charities ex|tend more money annually than is required by the Commissioners of Charities ami Correc tion for all the sick, de stitute, and crimi nals coming into their charge. It is therefore apparent that hardly half the pauperism of the city is u matter of offi cial knowledge, and the gaunt legion of 22.7H2 .starving people is but a fraction of the army of misery which the city »n muster. Another *nl perhaps more sorrowful phase of human helplessness is found in the public hospitals and it is equally eon vine i-ng proof of the fact that New York in her youth is afflicted with the bv scouring, to cut the vc^ry surface of tljHease of pauperism to an extent normal nu-tal down,' what does he do Take a bar of iron and rub it? No he takes oniy small as a st reet, particles* are as M-rism to an extent normal to it city in its 'h-ereptit ude He.h- TUe Hospital, at the:foot of East Twenty Charity Hospital, on two health were self sustaining, but all, with a few exceptions among the victims of is constantly doing uncertain battle with i the wolf at'the door, so that if disabled an- the «-ven for a day they must receive charity. upers anc added to the public burdenF. Besides these, the he»spitals for contagious dis eases received during the year 6,1H5, and the Bureau for the Belief of Outdoor n this *e n*5 they are nieans, they present things, not gimple sickness for whiOi they ^""l'1 a« thev see them, but as they want to sec ,10t provide the means of relief, as they see uiem, Grouping now all the poor for a gen the-ni. v. i ,.t ti.iu nioirnrmlitan misery. I reaUr a**) ft* potty i a* km aD( Lln.t Sic k prescribed for N,*r»0 persons, who become paupers for the hour by some [iOJlOT succored bv private agencies, makiii? a ^rand total of llji.•-?!*(» human Iwings who, ».'1 year 1*70, in this city of New York, were^ the recipi ents of eleniosynary aid. il''8 shows the poverty of "the city complete -, but to see its poverty, its improvidence, and its falsne«ses to which men resort in order that they may reulize their vain ambitious life—these are pernicious and demoraliz, ing in the extreme. And the habit of em haracter mor« told six times ear would do. Yet there are men, who, crime at a glance, add to the figures given if they are convicted of falsehood in a great transaction, would lose their char acter forever. Their neighbors would say of them, "We cannot trust such men Commissioners of Charities, and the 71,- who say they would not trust" them, do not hesitate to indulge themselves in five ..... million petty falsehoods little midgets of only a small fraction less than one-quar ter of the whole population of the city, were dependent during the year, in whole or in part, upon the other three-quarters. lies, in the course of a year. A lion is to be dreaded, to be sure but deliver me from those blood-sucking insects which majte me smart and sutler! A sin gle mosquito is not much but a multi tude of them, myriads of them, amount At (fur Side of yew York" in 1'he Gal axy for March. The Poor Rich and the Man. SOMF.HODV once said that the women of today are so extravagant in dress, and so helpless in other respects, that none but rich men can afford to marry, and foolish ynrd, and there were several wild cherry people have been saying the same thing or I trees whieh bore abundantly around the something vcrv like"it ever since. Every time a man fails in business, people take a mental inventory of his wife's wardrobe, and cry out Poor fellow, he was ruined by her extravagance." No account is taken of his club expenses, or his unnec essary restaurant bills, or his fast horses, or the vanity that prompted him to buy a bigger and liner house than he needed. Nothing is said of the dress-coats made by some Monsieur Snip, who charges an extra price because he calls himself an "artist tailor." The man ma}- have gam bled his money away or have hst it iu reckless stock speculation for till anybody of v would probably give him trouble even with a much larger income than his to draw upon pauperism in Mew York* Wnti.K its pauperism is its shame, the charity of New York is its glory, and covers a multitude of its sins. The city has one hundred and five private chari ties fully organized, and constantly en gaged in succoring the distressed. Such institutions as the Five Points Mission, the Children's Aid Society, the several orphan asyiums, homes for the indigent, and hospitals for the sick, which are mainly supported by private funds, are aggressive charities. They seek suffering instead of waiting for it to seek them, as almoners of public funds must always i do. :nd they find a vast deal more of it. Rich Poor YOUNG men cannot learn too early that money alone does not nmke a torture. A bag of doubloons was nothing to Robin son Crusoe. Whole chests full of gold w ere worth less than a single rough plank to the returning Califoruians when the great steamer was on tire. Money is only worth what it will buy. Old Hen. W was eounted to be a rich man in my childhood. He had money in sticks and many farms with old build lugs oLthcm. lie lived in one of the worst aid rented the others. A few old strag gling currant bushes decorated his front plice. He made butter and cheese, and raii'-d fat cuttle for the market, which all brought him in ready money. Hard drudgery was the order of the day at his house from January to December. He was a hard man to deal with, and furious at every new demand for clothing from I his large family. The lw»ys learned early to shift for themselves, and the poor girls married unhappily to escape from the dismal home of tyranny. B. W "died rich," as the world called it, but i who would covet such riches* There was the poor miller who lived just across the stream, who only owned i his house and little farm, but oh, how much richer and happier he was than the churlish miser! His mse was buried in i roses, and before it were two large and well-kept flower-beds, with no uncommon flowers in them, but Just the ones the childien love best. A grand row of lo- i eust trees shaded the sidewalk, and on the sunny, southward slope were such cherry trees as we s'Jdotn scenotv-a-days. The garden abound.-d in well-pruned cur rant and raspberry hushes, red and whitv and black, and a li»e grape-vine ran over a pleasant arbor. .1 w.ts thirty years ugo, and modern cultivated small fruits were unknown, but M). Mather had made the most out of common material. He had a succession of t'elicious fruits from the time the gooseberries came until the win ter apples wen' gone, and many cups and jars preserves and hags of dried fruit were stored avav in the capacious pantry for winter i»e. Within doors thrift ami tuste and neitness combined to make the home one »f thom? sunny pictures the mind deliglts to recall. When his day's task at the mill was over, you might id ways sec lie cheery miller at work in his garden with hoe or pruning knife, and though ouite poor and compelled tn dress most plainly, there was not a family in the pla-e whose table was supplied so luxuriotsly. mid all from the fruit of his itemenber, young men, it is the little comfort* of life that make you indepen dent ri«h men you may lie poor with The trouble is, men want to live in a i miIlio n-you may be rich on four bun more costly style than their income will dred a j-ear. allow. They hire houses they cannot afford, and buy furniture beyond their means, and "put on style" generally, whiih they can not maintain. Their wives, knowing less than they of the purse-depths at command, accept the husbands' estimate of their ability to live, and they dress as their lords clea'rly wish them to do. And so the crash comes, and "p(»or Charlev" is commiserated, while his little wife s shoulders are sad dluU wiUi the blame—Hearth and Horn*. If yu e»wn a little farm, a beautiful home ttough it be small, a cow, a horse, a gardn full of fruit and vegetables, a poultr\ yard and such like luxuries, you may coint yourself among the rich men. If you would have such an estate, remem ber yot must delve for it. A Plea for Mght Air* BOTin Heaven's name what air, as Miss Nighthgale savs, ran we breathe nt night exe:eptnight air? The e hoiec lies between pure nght air from without and foul night air froii within most people prefer the latter, is true, but it is night air all the same*, 'lough they may not be aware of the fat. Did .on ever test the se two kinds of night a- by going early in the morning into therootn of a person brought up to sleep wh closed windows, and iminedi I ately af-rward into one where the sash has beeilowercd six inches from the top, and raisl six from the* bottom!1 Well, what diiyou find? In one, however pretty ai well arranged, however healthy. neat, an wcll-lucd its occupant, a smell of bed tlies, of damp towe ls, of dust, of I carpet—II slight, but all indicative eif that use-up condition of the atmosphere which iso ital to a sleeper. In the other, i no iM'ttcsituated or furnished, an elastic feeling, perfume of freshness which made brthing pleasant. Was it not so? Or iliilou e ve compare your eiwn sen Hat ions tt»r sleeping in fresh air with those prluce-d after sleeping in foul? How ti of the- failures, the mischances of life, th morning dullness which hin dered thi»r that, the- refusal of the- brain I to work t« critical moment, the apathy, 1 the blindfcs of perception, date back to 1 that unail U-droom which sent us forth i unrefresh to our work, and ushered in i a depressr and discouraged day. Hut it useless to CON tend with so deeply-rotd a prejudice. Eot us go I back to oicxiled friend, who certainly has n day tie claim, though he be denied a nightly c, to our sufferance. How fcof us recognize, us the long winters ens away, and, shrinking from the outwachill, we cower into fire side corners am arm wraps, how day by day we are imsibly contenting ourselves with the s.y breathe ejver air which, scarcely tpvated since, supplied our lungs yesday and the day before. "Open tliwind iws, indeed," we cry "why, it'dl we- can do to exist with them tightdiut Yes, btiHradox as It seems, there is warmth in* very cold which an open gen of the crair, quickening thecire u lation amlringing the teui|»eratiire of head, ham and feet into proper bal ance, will tse ]f Induce a gldw which helps the lto re warm the room after its airing, id with the eepiipose of cir culation gohumor come and cheer fulness, artie How we l«lhe se things—how dull we grow stewi&vcr registers, or la:fore an thracite buig stoves. The winter seems to goto us—our wits stiffen and freeze wci't laugh or enjoy, we sini ply endure, and with desperate long ing sit wai for the spring.—" JJonu and Society,i Scribner't, fr/r March. i Youths' Department. VOYAGE OS AX ICE-CAKE. BY CIIAHLEd E. uruo. You boy* Imagine that going to Mft is the 4o,2(.» who during the year applied very nice thing. You sit with your legs for work at the Labor Bureau of the i dangling off the wharf warm afternoons 1 and smell the pine apples and oranges, 840 who became inmates of the various and watch the vessels coming up the har prisons and reformatories of the city, bor with sails spread, and think there in Here we are face to face with the fact that no life like a sailor's. It is natural enough, 2.8,:):!0 out of a population of 94'J.292, or t'»o. 1 used to have the same feeling*. I fan' ied, when I was a boy, that when vessels left the harbor they went where they liked, sailing along the coast and among the islands, and that sailors could go ashore when they pleased, and were as happy as happy could he. lioys have queer notions. They never think of the danger, and suffering, and cruelty on i i mm tteti one end of on board of a ship, of which any sailor, if he chooscs. can tell them. 1 can remem ber just how things used to look to me then. The water seemed so smooth and pleasant just as if it was made to sail on. 1 used to play around the wharves and get into the boats, and imagine myself quite a sailor. I've had my day since then on shipboard, and could tell you stories that would cure you of wanting to go to sea, if Inn s ever could be cured by stories. But they can't, and perhaps the best way, after all, is to let everybody learn by experience. I've never told you about my first voy age. It was a short one and came very near being my last. I was only twelve years old then, and it is nigh forty years ago, but I remember it as well "as If It was only this forenoon. It was in the spring of the year, and Yarmouth Harbor had been frozen over. for the winter had been colder than usual. There hud been a week of warm weather, with a slight rain, and the ice had got considerably broken. Every tide great cakes were carried down tin channel and out to sea. One afternoon your fathe r, who was two years younger, started witli me to see the break up in the upper har« bor. On the way we went past the Widow Wilson's, uud little Benny was play ing in the yard with his sled. When he found out where we were going, he was wild to go with us. He didn't have to ask leave, as his mother was away so he followed us along in great glee, dragging his sled with him, although the ground was nearly bare. When we got to the head of the harbor, the tide was just beginning to ebb, ami the ice was in motion. We stood on one of the wharves for a long time watching the great blocks heaving am! crushing thing to eat and sailing slowly along toward the chan nel, and so out to se.i. About sunset it began to rain, and the wiud ciime up. It wus a long distance home around the bend of the harbor, though our house was iu plain view. If it had only been clear water, and we had had our boat, it would have taken but a short time to reach our wharf. We might ride on the ice," said your father. The idea had never struck me. I noticed that every block struck the shore just be low our house, ami then eddied oil into th" channcl again. It would lie capital. We could have SIK-}I a nice ride and have- it to tell of afterwards. There was a lad detr reaching down the side of the wlmrf, and we climbed down and stood on a tim ber, waiting for a big piece. Pretty soon one came. The end juM touched the wharf and swung around sidewny*. wlcit wric, JUst as it it had been done on purpose-, and we jumped on. It was about twenty feet long, and a little more than half as wide, and just in the middle was a stout pole, standing up liken mast, which had been frozen in. It seemed al most like a ship, and we played we were sailors, and shouted, and sung, And had a splendid time. We didn't get along as fast as we had thought, howe ver, and bo fore we reae bed the place we re we intend ed ft) land it was dark, and the- rain was falling in torrents. We could just see the shore, and the lights, as they begun to come out in the village and we could see, too, that for two or three rod* from the shore the water w.-is filled with small pieces of i e-—too small to bear emr weight, yet large enough to prevent our raft from coining lose in. For a minute or two we remained stationary, and we we ii' in hopes that your grandfather would see us and bring something to help us ashore. Then the huge crake begun to drift again. We shouted, but no aiiHwer came back. The n your father and IJenny began crving but, although I was afraid w- should be carried out. to se a, I tried to keep my heart up. I was in hope-s that we could make them hear at the ove, or that the light house keeper at the Cape might see us. I did not reall/.e the full danger we we-re in. 1 knew it was rough off the- Cape, and I knew, too, tin- ice might break but I hail such strong faith that we should he resetted that it didn't affee-t ni- much. When we got opposite the light we could sec the keeper trimming the lamp. He heard us, and shouted back. We were not a dozen yards apart. I called out our name s, anef begged him to help I us. He tried to launch his boat, hut 1 the ice was piled in heaps by the land i ing, ami all his cndeaveira we re in vain. Then he shouteul that lie would raise an alarm and send boats but I I knew that he had four long miles to go en foot before that could be done and by that time we might be- out of sight. They I could never find us in the darkness, anil the waves would wash us off the moment I we fiot into the open bay. I did not dare to give way before the little boys, but I felt sure that we should never see home again. The water began to grow rougher, and It w as not long before we had to cling to the pole to keep on the ie e. We could not see each other plainly—it was so dark —and the water broke over us every mo ment. The souncl of the fog bell ef the C'apc grew fainter, and at last ceased alto jjH|j-r. Then I knew we were lost. Your waH n j, rHVe ]j U) capacity to^ be amused, i then how he lived through that night. After awhile it stopped raining, and lightened] up fellow—braver and better than I. After he Intel been quite still a long time he began saying the Lord's prayer aloud. He tolel me af- terwards that lie wasn't a bit afraid after that. He knew that God would save us. But poor little Benny Wilson! Every sob went to my heart like a knife. I knew his mother would be nigh distracted when she found out that he was gone. He sat on his s|e with one hand tight hold of mine, and the other clinging to the pole. He was only six years old, and a weakly little chap at that. 1 have wondered many times since HO EXTHA attion and fe:ed given cows that we were not washed off. Every wuvc when dry. v be re-paid next season in that came, I felt sure that we were gone added thriftd produce, but the Ice seemed to lift up with it, and though we were constantly drenched, we managed to keep our place. It seemed as if the night would never go. I tried to make believe I was dreaming, and that was at home abed in my little room ami for a minute it would seem true. Then a wave would come, or little Benny would cry out, and the dreadful reality would I come back to me. Morning came at last, and our cotirag rose with the sun. I stood up and took a. survey, but there \TOS a thick fog, and 1 could see ueii ler land nor vessel. I knevp they would s iul out boats from Yar mouth, and I had been praying that they might, tind us. Once I fancied I heard people calling, and I shouted and listened till I was completely cvha tsted. Then I gave tip and shrunk down again. What with the cold, and fright, and hunger, Ht tie Benny had fallen into a sort of stupor, I had tied ene end of my woolen comfort other to the |Hile, to keep him from rolling off, for the water was growing rougher, ami I was afraiil 1 might let go of him. The feg thickened very fast, and at last we could hardly more than see the end of our raft. All at oiu-c your father started up, uud ut most shoutod: 1 0r round his waist, and tin There's a vessel coming! Hark!" My heart beat so loud that at first I con hi hear nothing else. Then, a mo ment afte-r, the creaking of blocks and the sound of voices came through the fog, seemingly within a few yards. I never tlftuight 1 could shout aa lemd as I did the next second. An answer came back so ar that it almost startled me. They thought, we found afterwards, that they wire running into another vessel. "We're- lost!" I cried ont. "Weare on a cake of ice—ihree boys!'" "Great heavens!" we heard the captain say. Then came the order: Down with the boats!" They struck the water in nearly tho same minute the order was given, and then we heard the stroke of oars. "Where away?" came the voice Again. Hen-!" we both shouted. A minute after we saw the dark side of the lwat as she broke through the feg and slid alongside the ice. 1 shall never for get the astonishment of the men when thev got sight of u.s, or their evcJamatioua of wonder and sympathy as they lifteul UH intothebo.it and pushed for the vessel, which was hardly a dozen lengths away. The captain was a rough looking sort of man, and I was a little afraid of him but when he heard our story, the tear* ran down his cheeks like tain. Go down into the cabin and get some ami dr your clothes," he said, and then tiu*.iing to the mate, wh« had gone aft, lie cried: "Put her away for Yarmouth!" The owner was on board, and wu standing by. That won't do," said he. "The boya sale, nud you can send them back f» "Hi Boston," for it seems the vessel was tieinnd to that port. The captain's eyes Hashed aa he answered You're the owner here, hut I'm the caption. This schooner goes into Yar mouth Harbor to night if she sinks at the wharf, l'xc got tw.» y.«i i^»)eis down on the Cape about the size- ed' them boys, and I'm goin' to do just, what I'd uant anybody else lo do if the y could change places." You know what the oonsequence* will be.'' "No, I don't. And it wouldn't make any difference if I did. I'm able to tako 'em, ami, moreover, I'm willin'. Head her no'th by east!" It would be taking up too much time to tell you how they all tried make na comfortable. We- wen put into bunks while our clothes were dryiuir, having had a hearty meal first, and it wasn't long before we were asleep. When i woke- I found the captain standing by me. "Jump up, my lad," said he. "You're almost home. We're off the Cape n«w, and bv ti o'clock you will he in your father'* house." Your father and Bennv were nearly dressed, and were wild with delight. I'm going to see my mother! I'm go ing to see my mother!" Benny kept saying, as one of the sailors was button ing his jae-ket and lacing up his shoes. Then we scramble on deck. It seemed such a time getting from Bunker's Island up to the channel. Long before we got to the wharf people had spied us thrcaigh their glasses, ami the word had spread. It seemed as if half the town was at tho wharf, and you may be sure your grand mother and Benny's mother were not in the rear. You can imagine the rest as well as I could tell it. It's a part of the ste»ry I always skip. I will only say that Cap tain Crowell, who brought us home, and who wa« discharged at Boston, was offer ed the command of one of the finest brigs that ever sailed out of YHrmouth, and went down in her in a storm off the West Indies, ten years afterwards.—Little Cor ]xmd. Tine Chi I'tion Fungus has been di» cussed by the Mas.Hacim»c-Ms Board of Health, and Dr. J. C. White reports to the Board that he has seen not a few cases of diseascj of the scalp supposed by the patient to have heen caught from some impurity attached to the chignon we»rn. Such fears an groundless. There have been e,bscrve little globular masses upon the shafts of the hair before cleansing, and in cases where such cleansing is not properly clone, also upon the hair after being manufactured into shape for wear. These masses un- composed of the ele ment of a fungus, and the n- is no reason to suppose i' capable »f attaching itself to living tissue- or of creating any disease of the parts with which it might bo brought in contact." The possibility of receiving animal parasites through the false hair worn is a question for ign to the Board, but the Doctor states that the elried sebaceous concretions which form at times upon the shafts of the h.iir, and sre properly called "hair-eaters," and supposed to lie a cause of IDHS of hair, are not that we could sec a little, but it was worse that the darkness. I did not dare to look at tlm water—it was enough to fe el it. So I clung to little Benny, who had cried himself U sleep, and shut my eyes. Your father sat still, grasping the pole with both hands, but never speaking. The strangest thing was to be confounded with anything of a parasitic nature. A STOUEKKKJ'EH at QulnCy, Midi.,! ing a pup that habitually upset the paint cans in the rear end of the store, rubbed the dog's nose in the spilled paint as a re minder that he must not de» so again. B'rently the animal again spilled the paint, and observing that bis master was cngage in waiting on a customer, the docile pup rubbed his own nose in tho mixture and ran howling out the back way. A WHITEK in the Mtdiral Time* (ImetU refers to the fatigue of the limbe produced after a long railway journry aa due mainly to the trembling motion of the floor under the feet, and states tliat, having suffered considerably from this abuse, he was induced to try an air cush ion as a foot-stool. This answered so well that he has never traveled without lining one in this wsy, and found theo& feet to be a remarkable improvement.