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HORSES AND HORSES.
TYPES OF EVERY DEGREE CAN RE • FOUND AMONG THEM. Beauty and Brains 011 Hoof* Character In Equities Illustrated and Described—The Racine Season—Scenes on the Track— Tlie Gentleman Horse, the Terrier Horse, and Other Prominent Types— Racing Scenes Depicted from Lir. fHE sea so n is season I mean that period of the year that con denses within its I limits the hours and days prized by horsemen; men" I do not mean "lurrsey" men, turf - gam blers, "book-makers,*' and fellows of that ilk, but honest men who love horses as honest horses love true men ahd women. Of course, as there are men and TYPES OF HORSEs!' * men, so tuere are norses and norses, and types of every degree of meanness Can be found among both the two and the four legged beasts, as well as tlioso perfect creations, human and animal, endowed with every mental and phys tpal grace and virtue constituting per fection. The head and face of a horse are as Indicative of the character and disposi tion of the animal as are the skull forma tion and physiognomy of a man, and the skilled can as easily read both, can trace a resemblance between the two, and quickly note similarity of expres sion. In cut No. 1, here given, is a brute, J* BEFORE THE RACE. all vicious and clangorous, without a redeeming feature; No. 2is of almost equally vile disposition; No. 3, a sly, tricky beast; No. 4, a dull, plodding, lazy animal; No. 5, a lively, intelli gent nag, requiring steady' control; and No. (3, an honest, knowing, earn est horse. But of horses, as of men, one cares only to think or write of the best, and of the best only will I write. I would sing the praises of the war horse, so dear to the trooper. Hear how the old cavalrv-man puts it in homely verse to the love of his heart, "Black Bess:" Old girl, that has carried me far and fast, On pawing hoofs that were never loath, Our gallop to-day may bo our lust For me, or for thee, or porchaneo for both. AB I tighten your girth, do you nothing daunt? When you catch a glimpse of the forming lino, And now the artillery move to the front, Hast thou never a qualm, Black Boss of uiiuo? It is daiuty to see you sidle and start, As WO move to the battle's cloudy marge, And to foel the swell of your wakening heart, When our sonorous bugles sound the charge. At the scream of shells and roll of drums. You feign to bo frightened, with roguish glance, But up the green slopes, where the bullet hums, C'oquettishly, darliug, 1 know you'll dauco. Your skin Is satin, your nostrils red, Your eyes like a bird's, or a loving girl's ; And, from delicate fetlock to knowing head, A throbbing vein-cordago about you curls, oui joy o. my urorv. n yuu vnev may. It s little for triumph or rout 1 caro, For there isn't, in all tho world to-day, Such a dear little bridle-wise love of a maro. But war, let us be tnankful, is over for us, and it is to "the turf" we go to-day for beauty and brains on hoofs J Washington Bark Track and tho West Side Course are now attracting tli© thousands who love noble horses. The season is open, and weeks of pure enjoyment are before humans and ani-' mals alike. Our illustrations tell their' own storv; no need to write a line in explanation. To explain, however, how a real man GOING TO THE RAPES. cares for a true horse, I want the reader to visit, on paper, the home of the M Queen of the Turf," MaudS., and the daily life of the beauty, and the reader never lias and never will come into moro honest companionship. Her ladyship lives on West Fifty fifth street, in New York City, in a stately brick building with white stone trimmings, a mansard roof and a front age of fifty feet. The interior of her dwelling is perfection. She is "sweet sixteen" and a Kentucky high-born beauty from the crown of her dainty head to tho tip of her flowing tail. She has the majestic grace of a queen, tho .gentleness of a tender gird, tho intelli: gence of a wise human, the health 01 an athlete, and a record without an equal. Her "quarters" are one and a half inches higher than her withers, which gives her the greyhound sweep, speed and grace. No piece of satin de Lyon ever compared with the lustrous gloss of her dress. In a half-light it is merely brown, line and shining, but in the splendor of sunlight it is cop pery, with the warm, reddish tints of ochre and gold brought out in repousse work. She is peerless. No belle of the fashionable world receives more or better attention. Fancy hand massage for a horse I Thars what Miss Maud gets every morning after her bath to quicken the circulation, and just before going to bed to make her sleep. It is not an all-round-rub-any-way movement, but a careful circuitous motion along her legs and down her tapering ankles. Across her body it is "with the grain," stroke after stroke of the palm of the hand, until every pore of her beautiful skin is excited to action and her nut brown coat shines with nature's lubri cating polish. Maud S. is up at 6 a. m. every dav. and asleep at y p. m. every night in the year. So soon as she wakes tip she must have her drink of fresh wa ter. If it is not coming instanter there is trouble, for she will not be neglect ed. Next slio is rubbed down with a soft cotton cloth, a dry wash; then comes her breakfast—two quarts of oats, sifted and weighed to a grain. Forty minutes is given to dispose of this. At seven o'clock her grooming begins, and for an hour she is rubbed and bathed, her mouth and legs sponged with warm water, her feet washed out, her mane and tail care fully combed, and after being brushed she is soft-clothed and massaged. Her toilet completed, a clean linen coat is buttoned on her, and over this a fine blanket, the weather regulating its weight. Then follows half an hour's rest, and, if sunny and dx - y outside, she is taken around the ring surround ing the stable. This she does not en joy; it is too "slow-going" for her. Next she goes back to her newly cleaned stable, to stand in two feet of fresh straw; the blanket is removed, she is rubbed off again, her ankles bandaged, a muzzle put on to keep her THE WINNER—AFTER THE RU B. Irom eating the straw, and then she is left to herself, for a nap or reverie. At noon the bandages are taken off, and she gets a drink of water, never cold. At one o'clock comes a dinner of two quarts of oats, and at 2, another walk in the ring. Lunch is at 4:30, and consists of two pounds of hay, clean of every hint of refuse. Supper is at 8 p. m., a warm mash of a quart of boiltd oats and two quarts of bran. While the mash is cooling the beauty's beautiful feet are filled with oiled meal and bran, beaten with a little salt to the consistency of putty; tms is starred into tne bottoms of the hoofs, not to soften them, but to cool them and supply tlio moisture they would secure if she were allowed to tramp in the wet pasture like a no time-at-all sort of a mare. If bad weather has kept her indoors some time, the feet are put in wet swabs to keep off fever, for moisture is absolutely necessary. Her feet in or der, a slight massage, and Miss Maud goes down on her fore-knees, stretches her beautiful form out at full length, blinks her blno-brown eyes, yawns, and is off to liorse-hcaven. Tom Mo- Keon, her groom, says that she talks in her sleep and occasionally has a touch of nightmare, then lie comforts her with caresses, rearranges hex blankets and rubs her breast until she drops into quiet slumber. After a drive tho lady is blanketed and taken around the ring to cool off, her back is then rubbed down with a quart of rum, her legs are washed, but not one drop of water goes on her shoulders or back ; her ankles are bandaged and she lies down for a snooze. If the brown beauty is not in perfect | trim, she is dosed, allopathic ally. She is given six drams of aloes to reduce fat; the drug is put in the center of a I ball, size of a marble, mado of ginger, | to warn* aud prevent gripes, and oiled meal. Her head is hung by the sur geon, who, mounted on a stepladder, takes her tongue in his lingers and moves it to one side. The bolus is dropped to the root of the tongue, fin gers removed, and down it goes. Oc casionally a tablespoonful of bicar bonate of soda and charcoal is put in her mash to help digestion; this is her spring medicine. She is never seen without her blankets, unless on the track. In the ring and in her stall she is as carefully covered as a baby, and she has as many wraps as a society bslle has toilets. Her front shoes weigh twelve and one-half ounces, the hind ones seven ounces, of steel, fastened with four nails on the outside and three on the inside, instead of the nine or ten nails generally used. She is driven with the "sharp-bar" bit —the "snaffle" sets her wild to go. Lady Maud hasn't a trick or the first trace of viciousness in her whole make-up. She has her whims, will not be neglected or slighted, is as imperial i 8s imperious, and wants all the atten- | tions and luxuries of life; she kicks if j Sermeals are delayed, will never touch food unless the manger is first cleaned, and would die of thirst rather than STEEPLE CITABINO SOMETHING WILL TUMBLE. drink water another horse had left. She has never, so far as known, felt the lash of a whip. The day she broke the record and beat the world driver lashed the shafts of the sulky to urge her, but her flesh or hair Svas never touched. She would break her heart if struck in anger, and prob ably break the bones and life of the man who struck her—and serve him right. When Maud S. travels it is in a spe cial car, coupled to a passenger traiu, and two men go to attend her. A trip that .costs a human passenger 40 cents Afteh s eitfcze IT ALOHI MORNING WORK AT THE TRACK. is $25 for her ladyship's transportation. Maud S. cost Mr. Bobert Bonner $40,000. He has boon offered SIOO,OOO for her; he would as soon think of sell ing one of his sons. No money can buy her. 'this is an exceptional case, of an exceptional horse, with an exceptional SOMETHING I>l I> TUMBLE. j man, but it serves to illustrate the love (that can exist and the care that can he lavished bv the true horseman upon I the true Horse. — Alex. JJu/ce JJatlie, in Ch icag oJ. rdg er. How <i J'oeni WHS Written. At the age of twenty-one years Will iam Cullen Bryant was licensed to practice law in the courts of Massa chusetts. It was not the calling for which he was fitted; his nature was too shy and sensitive for the life of con flict by which lawyers win fame and fortune; but law seemed to him the readiest means of earning his Iread, while literature, to which he A'ould gladly have devoted himself, offered him the scantiest support. While he and liis father and the other members of the family were dis cussing where he should nail up the sign of "William C. Bryant, Attorney at Law," he walked over the hills to Plainfield, a small village four or five miles distant from Cummington, where his father resided. The motive for the journey was to see what inducements tho village offered for the practice ol his profession. He felt "very forlorn and desolate," for the world seemed dark and his fu ture uncertain. The sun lmd set in a sea of chrysolite and opal, and he stopped to contemplate the brilliant j sky. Suddenly ho saw a solitary wa- j terfowl winging its way along the ho- ] ri/.on, and watched it until it was lost in the distance. Tho contemplation gave him such a stimulus that he went on with new strength and courage, and when he reached the house where he was to stay for the night, he sat down and wrote the lines, "To a Waterfowl," the concluding verse of which expresses tho hope imparted to him by the flight of the lone wanderer: Ho who, from zone to zone, CluirfcH through tho boundless Hky thy certain flight In the long way that I must tread alono, Will lead my steps aright. Mr. Bigelow's "Life of Bryant," to which we are indebted for the story of ♦ho poem's origin,, ulso tells anjinec dote illustrative of the admiration it excited in England. Once, when the late Matthew Arnold was in this country, he was visiting at a home where Mr. Parke Godwin, Mr. Bryant's son-in-law, happened to spend an evening. In the course of the com versation Mr. Arnold took up a vol ume of Mr. Bryant's poem from the table, and, turning to Mr. Godwin, said: ,M Xhis is the American poet." And, after a pause, he continued: "When I first heard of him. Hartley Coleridge —we were both lads then—came into my father's house one afternoon con siderably excited, and exclaimed, 'Matt, do you want to hear the best short poem in the English language ?' , " 'Faith, Hartley, I do,' was my re fc>ly. 'He then read a poem, ' To a Water fowl,' in his best manner, and he was ja good reader. As soon as he had done he asked, 'What do you think of that?' [ "T am not sure but what you are Iright, Hartley. Is that your father's ? ' Vas my reply. " ' No,' he rejoined; ' father has writ ten nothing like that.' Some days (after he might be heard muttering to himself: "The desert ami illimitable air Lone wandering, but not lost." Yet this poem, which many persons deem the best the poet ever wrote, ( slept for three years in the author's portfolio, neither read, seen, nor even Jieard of by any other living soul.— Youth's Companion.. Compensation. News came that a baby had been born in the Nelson household, a dear little girl, with blue eyes, but, alas! with a misshapen foot that would cause her to limp all her life. When grand ma read the message she went to her own room without a word, and the young aunts busied themselves with j their work, looking suspiciously moist j about the eyes. That night, however, J Edith Lee came limping in with her | two crutches, and was told all about . it, because she was the dear family I friend and knew all the homo secrets. J "And you feel dreadfully about it, I don't you ?" asked she, patting one of ; grandma's withered hands. J "Yes, my dear, we do: how could we ' kelp it ?" "She will suffer so!" "It will be so hard for her when she grows up!" said the aunts, mournfully. "Now, my dears, just listen to me," said cheerful Kdith. "She will be sor ry, and sometimes mortified when she remembers she's not like other people, but she will have a great many com pensations. "Hook at me! I've stumped through life on helpless limbs, and tho conse quence is that I trust tho world and love it. Other people get blue, and say they can't believe in people. I re ceive so much kindness every day I | know that the world is full of warm, j loving hearts. When I make a jour- I ney, 1 find the merest strangers willing | to carry my bundles, check my bag | gage, help me into tho cars, and give j me the best places, j "I've heard some of you complain of the railway men who have 110 hesitation in running you down with a baggage truck. Those same men push the truck up to me, and ask if I won't get on and ride to the car or carriage. Teamsters pull up their horses to let me cross the street. Waiters in hotels give me a seat near the door, so that I need not walk further than is absolute ly necessary, and in the summer, when we are in the country, not a farmer passes me without begging me to ride. "Now, all this is because I am lame. Tho very sight of my misfortune ap peals to every heart, and the conse quence is that, as I have told you, I believe in the world and the warmth of its sympathies. That baby will have the same experience. The' wind will be tempered to her in precisely the same way, and when she is thirty, as I am, she will say, 'Why, it's a beautiful world!'" "Bless you, dear," said grandma, warmly, "I shouldn't wonder a mite if she (lid!" And they were comforted, remember iing the mercy of God in making merci ful people.— Youth's Companion, Not Kvon Standing-Koont. Friend—What luck did you have with your show last night ? Thespian—AVhy, we had to turn lots of people away. They couldn't even get standing-room in the house. F.—Yon don't say? You feel flat tered, donbtless, over such success? T.—Not exactly. You see, tho owner of the hall wouldn't open the doors without being paid in advance, so heithor the company nor the audience could get in. A SAILOU camo to a minister to be married, but when asked if ho would take tho woman to be his wife, looked blank and said, "I would like to know 'first what you are going to say to she." WE love characters in proportion as they are impulsive and spontaneous. The less a man thinks or knows about bis virtues the better wo liko him. THE GALENA STATUE OF GRANT. Herewith is given a copy of the stat ue to be erected in Galena, 111., by H. H. Kohlsaat of Chicago. It is to be cast in bron/.e, about eight feet high, the pedestal to be ten feet high. The city of Galena has decided to purchase two blocks of land in the center of the city, tear down the buildings upor them, and make a pleasure resort oi about six acres, which is to be known as Grant Park. The sculptor is Jo- ; hannes Gelert of Chicago. The statue 1 will be unveiled next April or May, and Mrs. Grant, who has seen the model and approved it, has promised to be in Galena at that time. Some orator ol national fame will deliver the address, and the President and his Cabinet will be asked to become the guests oi Galena. Do Right for Right's Sake. We are in receipt of a letter asking us, "What make. 1 } people do right?" How under the sun does the writer of this epistle suppose we know what causes influence people in doing right? —if, indeed, anybody does do right, which we might be seriously inclined to doubt if we "took stock" in the uni versal cry about the wickedness of this day and generation. We have asked some people of our acquaintance the question, aud find that most of them do right because they expect to be rewarded for it. At least they have quoted to us innumer able texts of Scripture bearing on that point, and all pointing toward the re wards of the just. Now, it strikes us that this is an in finitely selfish way of doing things. If you feed Mrs. A., who is starving, be cause you expect, either in this world or the next, to be rewarded for it, you are only selling your good deeds for a price. You are not pitiful of her suffer ings, you are not charitable toward her because it is your duty, but simply because you expect that you will real ize benefit from your benevolence. Is this true charity ? Is this love toward your neighbor? Is this the spirit of the Divine Master, who taught us to do unto others as we would they should do unto us? It seems to us that the only true way of doing right is for right's sake. With out an eye to the rewards, or to the punishments, which may await us, to deal justly and mercifully with every living thing, to do no act of malice, to wound the feelings of no one intention ally, to let no selfish love of ease, or pleasure, deter us from what we deem is right. Yes, that is our idea of the way to do right. We may be in error, but it strikes us that it is rather a little soul which is continually looking out for rewards, or dreading the punishments. It is like making a bargain, and say ing, if I will be good you will reward mo, thus and so; and if I am bad, then I must look out for chastisement. We do not like that kind of doctrine. We want to do right, not because it is respectable; not because we shall faro better for sodoiug in this world; not because we shall be happier hereafter for it; not because people will talk about us if we do not; not because we belong to the church, and our minister preacheß it, but because it is right to do right, and because God has com manded us to do it. And to the man properly constituted there is no happiness like that which comes from right actions, guided by right motives. And whatever may be that man's theology, he is on the right road if he does right for right's sake.— Kate Thorn, in New York Weekly. Ny Ten Yards. A danger escaped often alarms far more than one endured. "If I'd ha' knowd how hard 'twould be to live through 'em," said an old lady, in re counting her troubles, "I never should ha' lived." "Among the Selkiik Glaciers" contains the description of a narrow escape in their icy fastnesses : As we descended the glacier, we stopped, when we had accomplished live hundred feet, to take a reading of (the thermometer, and found that the (temperature was eight degrees lower .than at the summit of the pass. :Further down it felt still colder. Our tracks were quite visible till we came jto a steep part of the glacier, where 'the snow was blown off the ice, and numerous crevasses stood wide open. Finally we reached a natural gateway 'in the cliff, and quitted the glacier. Then came the descent along the top of the moraine, and down to its lower termination. The ice of the main glacier had been broken down the moraine, and some crevasses formed regular ice caves, easy of access. Not wishing to get our clothes wet, as we had no way of dry ing them, and needing them to sleep in at night, wo proposed sleeping in one iof these ice caves, and giving the weather a chance to clear. Wo were, of course, aware of tho danger of stones falling from the ice above, so 110 doubt the idea was totally lacking in that prudence with which tho traveler be equipped. However, we got our lesson. Wo had just diverged from our track, and were making our way over some debris to get to the cave, when crash! came down ten tons of rocks and ice from the glacier above, right across its mouth. If we had been ten yards 'further! This thought flashed through our minds simultaneously, and was ex pressed in our faces as our eve met, LETTERS FROM THE CORNERS. Mr*. ISoggti and Iler " Fate " Go Walking NECK OR NOTHIN' HAI.L, I KILKENNY CORNERS, F maj beieave, B^ie finely kim down Bap Pin8 ap P in an lier hare up in curl "Me an Mr. Cruck- air a goin out walkin this arf ternoon," ses she; "lie wunts to see the city, an he ses mebby lie'l sturt a dancin class; land sakes! I wush he wood, an then I cud lam to dance," ses she, a eatin anuther gem fur her brekfus. "I've alw'ys jest pined fur to lam how to dance." "Yes, you'd cut a purty figger," ses Willam Henery; "ef you'd lam to dance, why I'd think Burnim's big elephant cood," an he dodged as she threw a muttun rib at him, but it hit him on to the year, an he hopped aroun an hollered. "Youch! youve busted my year pan for shore. I kaint here a mite outin thet year! I'll hev you sude for dam midge, I swow I will." "Youd make a good dancin techer," ses Sally, "youre HO lively." But he wus kindy huffed an went off down to the store. "O, Bhody, wunt you let me hev Tommy's dog to go long with me when Mr. Cruckshin an me goes out a walk in ?" ses Sally, purty quick. "I've herd o' folks thet wanted a dog to keep the boys away," ses Bhody, "but 1 don't see why you shud nead one when Cruckshin is along." "O, you don't understand; ets fur stile. I wunt liim to no thet Ino what stile is," ses she. "Well, I don't no es I keer, but Tommie ull raise Cain ef enny one elts fetches his purp, an he's so wild I dun no es you kin do ennytliing with him, no how," ses Bhody, es she went out in the kitching to make some pise. An so Sally she hunted Tommy up an baiged an pled with him till he finely agreed to let her take him, pur vidiu she cood ketch him, if she'd give him 10 sents. So she got a peace o' rope frum the calf's halter an called, "yer Twist, yer Twist," thet was the dog's name; but he woodnt kim fur her, so she run him under the porch an crawled partway in after him; she cot him by the tale an hind laig au pulled him out, but he yalped awful. She got the roap onto him arftor a while an tide him up to a post into the back yard an give him sum cole vittles, but he woodnt eat a bite. Directly arfter dinner Mister Cruck shin cum; he looked uglier, aud slim mer au grayer then ever. Mis Boggs was a settin in the parlor a waitin fur him, an every littl bit the dog in the buck yard ud giv a yowl. "See hear, Mis Boggs," ses Tommy, a pokin his hed in to the dore, wliare Sallv an her bow wus a settin, "ef you hurt my dorg you'll hev to gimme anuthern." Purty soon they started, Sally a lioldin on to his arm with one lian an a pullin the dog along with tothern, an she wus a talkin fit to kill. The dog woodn't walk a paig, but every little bit she'd give him a jerk an he'd yowl, an then stan still until all the slack in the rope wus gone, then she'd jerk 'im agin: finely the dog got mad an he made a grab fur Cruck shin's laig, an pinched him sum, an he jumped an hollered an grabbed the caf o' his laig, an the dog snapped at Sally'B lieals, an she let go him to climb a dry goods box, an ho tucked his tale an run fur home, an Sally kim down an thay went a limpin off aroun tho corner. Bhody an me thot it had disabled him fur dancin, but it hedn't, fur when thay kim home Sally coodn't talk about notliin else but Crucksliin's dancin class. Muchly yourn, HESTER ANN SCOOPKR. Cornfield Philosophy. Tlio longest way round may be the easiest way found, but it is not always the quickest way to reach your destina tion. Green apples do not give the small boy any trouble unless he eats them. Do not bank too heavily on the man who wears a clean shirt. Possibly he did not pay the washer-woman for making it clean. It is well that the world is neither so had as some folks think it nor so good as some folks would like to have it. The man who pavH his debts is not so commendable as the man who does not make any. The saying that poets are horn, not made, is shoving considerable respon sibility off on Nature. Dead men tell no tales, hut they are able to trouble the living very fre quently. Conscience is the great liver regulator. Lots of rain will make corn grow, hut it makes weeds grow also. If an honest man is the noblest work of God. what can he said of the oue who is dishonest? The hank robber is not in favor of a higher tax for a better police force. The vine will climb a crooked pole as quickly as it will one that is straight. The industrious hen does not require a patent nest to induce her to lay eggs. \Vlilte anil OeaL Mr. Harrinon Weir, President of the National Cat Club, England, ways in his book, "Our Cats," that a white cat of the long or short haired breed is likely to be deaf. Should it have blue eyes, the fancy color, it is almost cer tain to be deaf. Mr. Weir, at a cat show, purchased a white cat, a beauty, loving and gen tie, for the low price of two guineas, When he got it home the cat proved tc be "Btone deaf." Then the trouble began. If shut out of the dining-room, its cry for admis sion could be heard all over the house, for, being deaf, it did not know the noise it made, though its owner often wished that it could hear its own cry. When it called out as it on his lap. it called with ten-cat power, and its commanding voice caused it to be named the "Colonel." One day a friend saw the "beauty,'' and admired it so much as to accept it as a gift, even after being told that il was "stone deaf." A few days aftei Mr. Weir received a letter from the friend, offering to return the loud voiced cat. "Give it to any one you please, but don't return it to us," was the reply. The "Colonel" was given to u deal old lady, and both were liappy. THE consciousness of duty performed gives us music at midnight. CORKER TAKES A PLUNGE BATH. figL EER Mr. Editer: The flood gates are . "l pi opened and the rain A-IT V'-jl I|descendth in tor ents and our tater .■■'To.. patch is a float. For 6 months it Vk has ra ' n6| l more or Qjk^ ess —in many eases X more, in others \ ■ I*~ -7 jfe-' less but in all ijn* cases we cry * If enough —O, yes! enough! Ever sinoe last fall it has rained and been muddy almost incessantly and unin terruptedly. Corn is just being planted; oats are drownin, but still monopolies are flurshing. Wheat 80 cents at the st ation, n butter 10, n eggs 10, while on the other hand coffe is *25 and sugar is still cornered. Some tliin's got to be done, or bust. Farmers' alliance to the rescue!! Alliances are forming all over the State n Miller I'urvis is organizin em right n left. Farmers are wakin up, n it's high time. I went to hear Purvis the other night. On my way over I had to cross a ragiu streem on a log. On this particular evening the streem was howlin. The water came up to the log almost. I got down n crawld carefully out over the roaring cataract. Presperation streamed from every pore in millions of tiny jetts. A slip and I was lost. I aliped. Ker-chugg I went head furst into the roaring oataract. My ears ' 7/^ seemed like a railroad train; water rored in my mouth, my eyes and nose. I gurgled and spurted and strangled, but to no purpose. It seemed a young eternitey before I come to the top, but fl come up finally and struck out bravely for the shore. With Herculaneean efforts I grabbed a root and pulled my self on laud more alive than dead, but the adventure had dampened my spirits for the night, and as I wended my weary way home my reflections were to the effect that there is "many a slip a 'twixt the cup and the lip." But when I got on dry clothes 1 felt better. Now you must —; excuso this short letter, for it had quit raining ana v I must go and let /V*J off the water from my corn ground. Excuse haste and a bad pen. Yours affectsliionatl •, FIZZINOTON CORKER. N. 13.—We are all well and hope these few lines may find you all enjoy ing the same blessing. F. C. Indian KOKIIIIOHH. It is vain to Bujq>ose that uncivilized races will get good from our teaching, and ignore the evil involved in our ex ample. Bishop Whipple, who gives in the North American Review an ac count of his experience among Minne sota Indians, says that the Dacotalis once held a scalp-dance near the mis sion house. The Bishop was indignant. He went to Wabasha, the chief, and said: "Wabasha, you asked me for a mis sionary and teaolier. I gave them to you. I visit you, and the first sight is this brutal scalp dance. I knew the Chippewa whom your young man have murdered. His wife is orying for her husband, his children are asking for their father. Wabasha, the Great Spirit hears his children cry. He is angry. Some day he will ask Wa basha, 'Where is your red brother?'" The old chief smiled, drew his pipe from his mouth, and said : "White man go to war with his own brother in the same country; kill more men than Wabasha can count in all his. life. Great Spirit smiles; says, * Good white man! He has my book. I love liirn very much. I have a good place for him by and by.' The Indian is a wild man. He has no Great Spirit book. He kills one man ; lias a scalp dance. Great Spirit is mad and says, 'Bad Indian! I put him in a bad place by and by.' Wabasha don't believe it." The Indian has a keen sense of humor, and never fails to see the weak points in his adversary's armor. Old Shali-bah-skong, the head chief of Mille Lac, brought all his warriors to defeud Fort Biplev, in 1802. For this act ho was promised the special protection of Government, and told that his people should never be removed. A few years later, an agent was sent from Washington to ask the Ojibways to cede their land, move north and settle on a worthless strip of ground. This man called a council of Indiaus, and said to them, "My red brothers, vour great father has heard how you have been wronged. He said, 'I will send them an honest man.' He looked in the North, the South, the East, and the West. When he saw me he said, 'This is the honest man whom I will send to my red children.' Brothers, look at me. The wiuds of fifty-five years have blown over my head", and silvered it with gray, and in all that time I have never done wrong to any man. As your friend, I ask you to sign this treaty." Old Shah-bah-skong sprang to his feet and said, contemptuously : "My friends, look at me! The winds of more than fifty winters have blown over my head and silvered it with gray, but they have not blown my brains away!" The council was ended. IT is the old man who has shunned work all his life who is continually say iug: "That boy ought to be set to work aud kept at it." Two PROBLEMS of tiie luture—What shall we do with the manly young (woman and with the effeminate young 'man?