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Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MIRAGE. 
At Reggio, on the Straits of Messina, a beau¬ 
tiful phenomenon has often been witnessed. 
Cities have arisen on the calm waters without 
the sound of saw or hammer, landscapes have 
unrolled themselves, richer in natural beauty 
than poet’s most fertile imagination could con¬ 
ceive. Mountains, which seemed enduring as 
ages, have raised their heads in lofty grandeur; 
but scarcely has the beautiful picture presented 
itself when as silently it has vanished, leaving 
not even a retleetion of its beauty nor a ripple 
on the waves, and the waters of Messina lie in 
innocent unconsciousness of the mirage which 
has floated over it 
Travelers on the desert in Arabia, almost dy¬ 
ing for want of water, have been inspired with 
new hope as just before them their eyes have 
caught the glad sight of deep flowing rivers and 
sparkling fountains throwing into the air, with 
lavish hand, the bright drops which would be 
life to them. A few hours march across the 
burning sand brings them to the place. The 
shadow of the trees no longer lies dreamily on 
the green sward, nor waters laugh in the sun¬ 
light. The tired traveler, with thirst unqucnched 
and disappointed hopes, perceives that he has 
been deceived by a mirage. 
The Straits of Messina and the desert of Ara¬ 
bia are not the only places where a mirage is 
seen, but everywhere, where hopes are high and 
hearts are light, where the present confidently 
points to bold triumphs that shall be ourg in the 
future, there, by fairy fingers, is painted a mirage 
whose wonderful beauty shall lead us with un¬ 
faltering steps through yearsof patient inarching. 
Worldly honor has a magic influence on many 
minds. The present is a preparation for the 
future,—a future to consist only of renown, gold¬ 
en crowns and laurel leaves. We long for the 
time when our name shall be the one which all 
shall reverence,—when the world shall honor 
and love us. A few years passed and we hope 
to stand with firm foot on the heights which 
tower so far above us now. Then our hearts 
will be satisfied, —we shall be written “2?fos$f<7.” 
The years, mayhap, bring with them success. 
The golden crown is ours, but it presses heavily 
on aching brows,—the laurel wreath has thorns 
concealed, — cold winds sweep the desolate 
heights. We have longed for and attained the 
place round which so much beauty clustered, but 
the mountains have vanished, the cities are gone, 
the waters of Messina lie in sleeping loveliness. 
The votaries of pleasure witness the same 
phenomenon. To some life appears a gala day. 
the world an immense gas-lighted ball-room, and 
all the characters in it parties for a quadrille; but 
in many cases, before the midnight comes the 
gas-light turns to smoke, the hall stretches into 
a wide world, where, though no great sacrifices 
are to be made, no great victories achieved, still 
the little realities, like grains of - and or drops of 
water, are to be met, which oftentimes reijiilro 
more bravery than the great deeds at which the 
world grows pale. Life is, after all, a very com- 
mon-pluce uflair. It is only a mirage, the hap¬ 
piness lies further on. 
There have been those in the world’s history 
who, not content with plodding on in the usual 
course of mortals, have struck out for themselves 
a bolder path, which they imagined would lead 
to the perfection of all knowledge. Seeking the 
laws by which the universe is governed, they 
have endeavored to read the mind of the Infinite. 
From data, light almost as a breath of air, they 
have revived the languages aud many of the lost 
arts of the ancients. They have reduced the 
sacred manifestations of nature to science, and 
with an intellect which we cannot but admire, 
swinging themselves off from our world up 
among the stars, they have, discerned the rela¬ 
tions of other worlds to each other and to us. 
Ilaving done so much for the conquering of 
ignorance, they have imagined they held lu Lheir 
hands the key to all mystery. Endeavoring to 
turn back the bolt which should let a flood of 
glory in, they find there is something still behind, 
— a first principle on which theory must rest,- 
and with all their knowledge are unable to tell 
even how a blade of grass grows. They have 
retraced the chain as others have done before 
them, or perhaps found a link further toward the 
unknown, but have only learned, “What thou 
knowest not now thou shall know hereafter.” 
The idea of perfect knowledge proves a mirage. 
The beautiful image which a little while before 
hovered life-like over the waste, seemed near, 
but It is in the hereafter. The sands of Arabia 
are desert still. 
A mirage in the natural world is caused by 
an unequal refraction of light from a real object, 
making it seem much nearer than it is. In the 
mental world it is a distant object which seems 
near, being reflected by the imperfect light of the 
present. Rejecting this explanation, some see 
the mirage as an optical illusion, or the product 
of a lively imagination. You who think so, look 
back into your life of the past week, or the past 
year, aud lot your heart teach you as to the truth 
of it The mystic castle through which sweetest 
music rolled, and daylight streamed in golden 
floods,—the fountains which sparkled in the light, 
throwing pearly drops over your whole future,— 
were these objects of your imagination, or did 
you, looking with prophet's eye into the life be¬ 
fore yon. see that point where the mountains 
stand in immovable grandeur, where towers and 
grand old temples fade not in the twilight mist, 
where fountains never fail nor the rivers cease 
to flow: Though you have reached the point 
where all this beauty seemed to be aud found it 
only seeming as yet, you scorn the thought and 
despise the theory which would teach you it is 
imagination. You know that somewhere, per¬ 
haps away down the years of your life, the cause 
of the beautiful mirage exists, which shall some¬ 
time be to you a reality. x. y. z. 
ADVICE TO FAT PEOPLE. 
BV DIO LEWIS, M. D. 
Perhaps you fancy your shape. You do look 
comfortable and jolly. But, as a physiologist, l 
must find fault with you. Obesity, like emacia¬ 
tion, is a sort of disease — unfavorable to health 
and long life. 
This wmrm weather makes you paut and per¬ 
spire. 
I met one of your number down on the beach, 
the other day. It was a very warm afternoon. 
He was very uncomfortable. We stopped to 
chat a moment, when he exclaimed: 
«I would give ten thousand dollars to lie re¬ 
duced to one hundred and fifty pounds. I pant, 
wheeze and sweat; pant wheeze and sweat every 
time I stir,” and, looking earnestly into my face, 
he said:—“Doctor, what can you do for me? 
What can I take? My family doctor tells me he 
nan give me something that will whittle me 
down; do you think it can be done?” 
“Oil, yes.’’ I replied, “nothing is easier; but 
it is quite unnecessary to take any medicine. 
Suppose, sir, you have a very fat horse—much in 
the condition of yourself—and some doctor were 
to propose to reduce hi3 weight by medicine, 
what would you say?” 
“I should tell him that I could reduce his 
weight by reducing the amount of food.” 
“ Just so; and you would be quite right. Al¬ 
low me to commend the same practice to your¬ 
self. Reduce the quantity of your food one- 
quarter, and I venture to say that in a month 
you will weigh from five lo ten pounds less than 
now. At the end of the first month, reduce the 
amount of your food another quarter. Within 
three or six months you will find yourself 
lighter by twenty to fifty pounds. Your diges¬ 
tion will bo much healthier, your perspiration 
freer, and your activity and endurance greatly 
increased.” 
‘‘But,” said ho, “I don’t eat half as much as 
some thin men whom I know.” 
«This la not improbable; and I presume their 
excessive eating keeps them thin, as, with your 
tendency, excessive eating produces fat. If they 
were to reduce the quantity Of their food, they 
would, like yourself, tend toward the normal 
standard—they would gain in weight while you 
would lose.” 
He promised to try it, and started on. 
In a horse-car, the other day, I met six corpu¬ 
lent. uncomfortable men, all quite sure to die 
prematurely. Every one of them might, in six 
or twelve months, bo reduced to the normal 
standard, aud enjoy a degree of health and ac¬ 
tivity to which he Is now a stranger. Is any 
physiological statement more self-evident than 
that every fat person eats more than he needs? 
“ But,” exclaims some fat woman, who would 
‘•give the world” to bo in good shape, “I cannot 
go hungry and faint forever.” 
This remark shows that you have never tried 
what 1 have suggested. It is only the great 
eater who is troubled with hunger and “gone¬ 
ness.” If you would reduce the quantity of your 
food, even one-half at once, after three days you 
will not suffer from faintness or hunger. The 
man who eats temperately, of un-tiinulating 
food, rarely knows the sensation of hunger. 
In the light of these undeniable statements, how 
silly the practice, common among girls, of .swal¬ 
lowing acids, and other killing things; and among 
men, steeping in tobacco, to reduce the flesh. 
1 have personally known scores of young wo¬ 
men whose health has been ruined by drinking 
vinegar, or eating chalk and other highly indi¬ 
gestible things—all to take away their fat. 
And I have known a still greater number to 
ruin themselves with corsets aud other appli¬ 
ances, in the hope of keeping themselves comely 
and lu shape. 
I have met hundreds of fat men who w r ere 
besmeared and saturated with tobacco juice— 
objects of deep digust to all beholders, a terror 
to all decent housekeepers; peregrinating stench- 
pots—and all to keep their flesh down. 
My poor, dear simpletons, allow rue to pre¬ 
scribe for you. 
Rise early; exercise much, particularly in the 
open air; bathe frequently, rubbing the Bklu 
very hard; but, most important of all, eat plain, 
coarse food, and reduce the quantity until you 
find yourself growing thinner two or three 
pounds per week. Your sluggishness, short 
breath, aud other discomforts will soon leave you, 
and yott will become bright, clear-headed aud 
happy. 
REMINISCENCES OF SIEGES. 
General Grant was forty-seven days before 
Vicksburg, and Gen. Banks invested Port Hud¬ 
son in the last days of June, and the place was 
surrendered on the 8th of July. These are the 
only places where the garrisons suffered from 
want of food. The first place that stood Hinge any 
length uf time was Island No. ID, which was in¬ 
vested about the middle of March, and evacuated 
on the 8th of April. Fort Pulaski surrendered 
six wee ks after its communication was cut off from 
Savannah. Xewbern was captured in the middle 
of March, but Fort Macon held out entire until 
the 2blh of the succeeding month. The first 
demonstrations were made against Yorktown on 
April G, 1862, aud it was evacuated on the fid of' 
May. General McClellan completed the building 
of roads and bridges so as to cross the Chick- 
ahominy in the first days of June, and he was 
driven from the intrenchments before Richmond 
on the last of the same month. General Halleck 
occupied some weeks in advancing upon Corinth, 
through a swampy country, by regular ap¬ 
proaches. It took weeks to reduce Sumter, and 
the rebels gave up in despair all hope of taking 
Fort Pickens. 
FACTS AND FREAKS OF CURRENCY. 
Many things have been used at different times 
as money : cowrie shells in Africa; wampum by 
the American Indiana ; cattle in ancient Greece. 
The Carthagenians used leather as money—prob¬ 
ably bearing some mark or stamp. Frederic II., 
at the siege of Milan, issued stamped, leather as 
money, in 11560, John the Good, King of France, 
who was taken prisoner by the celebrated Black 
Prince and sent to England until ransomed, also 
issued leather money, having a small silver nail 
in thecentre. Salt is thecommon money in Abys¬ 
sinia: codfish in Iceland and Newfoundland.— 
“ Living money’’—slaves aud oxen—passed cur¬ 
rent with the Anglo-Saxons, in payment of debts. 
Adam Smith says that in his day there was a 
village in Scotland where it was not uncommon 
for workmen to carry nails instead of money 
to the baker’s shop and the ale - house. 
Marco Polo found, in China, money made 
of the bark of the mulberry tree, bearing the 
stamp of the sovereign, which it was death to 
counterfeit Tobacco was generally used as 
money iu Virginia up to 1660, fifty-seven years 
after the foundation of that colony, in 1641, 
the legislature of Massachusetts enacted that 
wheat should be received in payment of all debts; 
and the convention in France, during the Revo¬ 
lution. on a proposition of .Jean-Uon-Saint Andre, 
long discussed the propriety of adopting wheat 
as money, as the measure of value of all things. 
Platina was coined in Russia from 1828 to 18-16. 
But the metals best abapted and most generally 
used as coin, are copper, nickel, silver and gold 
—the two first being now used for coins of small 
value to make cliango; the two latter, commonly 
designated, •• the precious metals,” as measures 
of value and legal tenders. On the continent of 
Europe, a composition of silver and copper, called 
billon, has long been used for small coins, which 
are made current at a much higher value than that 
ofthe metals they contain. In China, Sycee silver 
is the principal currency, aud is merely Ingot sil¬ 
ver of an uniform fineness, paid and received by 
weight. Spanish dollars also circulate there, but 
only after they have been assayed and stamped, 
as proof that they are of the standard fineness.— 
As Asia Minor produced gold, Its earliest coinage 
was of that metal. Italy and Sicily possessing 
copper bronze It was first coined there. Herodotus 
says the Lydians were the first people known to 
have coined gold and silver. They had gold 
coins at the close of the ninth century B. C. ; 
Greece Proper only at the close of the eighth 
century B. t;. Servius Tullius, King of Rome, 
made the pound weight of copper current money. 
The Romans first coined silver 281 B. C., and 
gold SOT B. K ’.— Moran on Money. 
GAMBLING IN THE ARMY. 
It may bo interesting to some to know the 
manner in which gamblers are sometimes pun¬ 
ished in the army. 
Colonel C-, of New York State Volunteers, 
having ordered the reading, upon dress-parade, 
of an order in relation to those who were in the 
habit of playing cards and other games of chance, 
to cease the same, and having found the same 
violated by Bonte under his command, ordered 
their arrest and punishment. 
Eight were thus arrested and ordered to be 
punished, three, of whom were sentenced to carry 
rails upon their shoulders attended by a guard 
during a certain number of hours, and the re¬ 
mainder to have boards placed upon their backs 
with the word GAMBLER painted in largo let¬ 
ters, so that their comrades might know the par¬ 
ticular crime for which they w ere punished ; then 
they were marched through the streets of the 
camp attended with a guard and music, to their 
Hhama and disgrace. The Colonel, detesting the 
vile practice, made up his mind to atop it; and 
all who are under him admire him as a man, and 
love him as a father.— American Messenger. 
DRAFT ITEM. 
It is understood that it has been decided not to 
detail any drafted man for special duty, such as 
workmen in Government foundries, military tel¬ 
egraph operators, fee. They are to be placed on 
a footing with everybody else,—pay the $800 or 
furnish a substitute. The Provost Marshal Gen¬ 
eral has also decided: 
1. When drafted men fail to report, the district 
is not responsible for their desertion any more 
than for the desertion of members of its quota in 
the field. The district must, therefore, be credited 
fore them. 
2. The paying $800 for “procuration of substi¬ 
tutes” under the law, throws upon the Govern¬ 
ment the responsibilty of providing such substi¬ 
tutes, and relieves the district therefrom. It is 
paid for “procuration of substitutes.” 
15. The district must present men liable to mili¬ 
tary service, suitable and acceptable, notexempts. 
It cannot present for military service to the Gov¬ 
ernment, men who are exempt therefrom bylaw. 
It must make up for them. 
Close Quarters.— A few nights ago, a rebel 
sung our to a Federal in the ditch below: “Fed, 
if you want me to fight you any longer, you must 
give us a cracker to eat with my mule meat, for it’s 
tougher than alligator. I will give you a plug of 
tobacco for your biscuit.” “Darn your tobacco,” 
said the Fed; “though hand it over, jmt to sec 
wbatkiad o’ chawing you fellows get, and here’s 
your biscuit” With that they exchanged com¬ 
modities on the point of their bayonets. Close 
quarters that—neither of them in sight.— Black 
Hawk Chronicle ( Off Vicksburg). 
A sort of sleep lingers all our lifetime about 
our eyes, as night hovers all day in the boughs of 
the fir trees. 
"CAPITAL FUN.” 
It was a little past twelve o’clock, and a merry j 
group of boys were seated on the young grass, 
under the trees that shaded the Academy play- ,, 
grounds. A little later, and they would be scat- ,, 
tered in every direction at their play; but first. t 
they must attend to the contents of the well-filled H 
pails and baskets where their dinners are Btored , 
away. 
“ 1 should like to know,” said Howard Colby, 
“why Joe Green never comes out here to eat t 
his dinner with the rest of us, but always sneaks 
off somewhere till we all get through?” , 
“ Guess ho brings so many goodies he is afraid . 
we shall rob him,” said another. 
“Pooh!” Haul Will Brown, throwing himself ( 
back upon the grass, “more likely he doesn’t , 
bring anything at all. I heard my father say the 
family must be badly pinched since Mr. Green 
was killed; and mother said she didn't pity thorn, 
for folks had no business to be poor and proud.” ( 
“Well,” said Sam Merrill, “I know Mary 
Green asked my mother to let her have her plain < 
sowing to do; but then folks do that sometimes 
that aren't poor.” 
'* Aud Joe is wearing his winter clothes all ( 
this warm weather, and his pants are patched 
behind; I saw them,” said Howard Colby, with 
a very complacent look at his now spring suit of , 
light gray. 
“ i tell you what, boys,” said Will Brown, 
“ let’s look to-morrow, and see what the old fellow < 
does bring, any way. You know he is always in , 
his seat by the time the first boll rings, and we 
cun get a peep Into bis basket, and then be in ( 
season for the roll call.” 
The boys agreed to this, all but Ned Collins, 
who had sat quietly eating his dinner, and taken 
no part in the conversation. Now he simply 
remarked, as he brushed the crumbs from his 
lips, “1 can’t see what fun there will be in that, 
and it looks real mean and sneaking to me. I’m 
sure its none of our business what Joe brings for 
dinner, or where he goes to eat it.” 
“ You're always such a granny, Ned Collins,” 
said Will Brown, contemptuously. “ You’ve got 
every one of your old aunt Sally’s notious.” 
Ned could not bear to be laughed at, and it 
made him a little angry to hear his kind old 
aunt sneered at, but his eyes only flashed for a 
minute, aud then lie sprang up, shouting, “ Hur¬ 
rah, boys, for foot-ball!” and in live minutes the 
whole play-ground was in an uproar of fun and 
frolic. 
The next morning, at the jjirst stroke of the 
bell, a half dozen roguish faces peeped into the 
school room, and, sure enough, there was Joe 
Green, busily plying his pencil over the prob¬ 
lems of the algebra lesson. It was but the work 
of an instant to hurry into tho little clothes 
room, and hooh the whole group were pressing 
around Will Brown, as be held the mysterious 
basket in his hand. Among them, in spite ofthe 
remonstrance of yesterday, was Ned CollinH, 
with his fine face fairly crimson with shame, or 
something else; we shall Bee. 
“it'sbig enough to hold a day’s rations for a 
regiment” said Harry Colby, as Will pulled out 
u nice white napkin. Next came a whole news¬ 
paper, a large one. too; and then in the basket 
was one poor lilUe cold potato. That was all. 
Will held it up with a comical grimace, and the 
boyH laughed arid cheered as loudly as they dared 
in the school house. 
“ See here,” sakl noward, “ let’s throw it away, 
and fill the basket, with coal and things; it will 
be such fun to see him open it” 
The boys agreed, and tho basket was soon filled, 
and the napkin placed carefully ou the top, and 
before the bell commenced tolling, they were on 
the way down stairs. 
Ned Collins was tho last one to leave the room, 
and no sooner did the last head disappear, than, 
quick as a Hash, he emptied the coal into the box 
again, replaced the paper, and half filled the 
basket, large as it was, with the contents of the 
bright tin pail that aunt Sally delighted to store 
with dainties for her darling’s dinner. Ned was 
in ids seat almost as soon as the rest, and all 
through tlmforenoon he looked and felt, as guilty 
as the others, as he saw the sly looks and winks 
that were exchanged among thorn. Noon came, 
and there was the usual rush to the clothes room 
for the dinner baskets, but instead of going out 
to tho yard, the boys lingered about the door and 
hall. Straight by them marched Ned Collins, 
with his pail on his arm. 
“Hello, Ned,” said^Sam Merrill, “where are 
you going now?” 
“ Home,” said Ned, laughing. “ I saw aunt 
Sally making a choice pie this'morning, and they 
can’t cheat me out of my share.” 
“ Ask me to go, too,” shouted Howard Colby; 
but just at that moment they spied Joe Green 
carrying his basket Into the school room. 
“ I should think he’d suspect something,” whis¬ 
pered Will Brown, “that coal must be awful 
heavy.” 
Joe disappeared iu the school room, and the 
curious eyes that peeped through the crack of t he 
door were soon rewarded by seeing Mm open 
his basket. “ Hope his dinner won’t lie bard ou 
his stomach,” whispered Howard Colby. But 
apparently Joe only wished to got his pupor to 
read, for he took it by the eorner.and pulled, but 
it was fast. He looked in surprise, and then in a 
sort of bewildered way, took out a couple of 
aunt Salih's great crispy doughnuts, then one of 
the delicious round pies heihud so often seen iu 
Ned’s hands—bread and butter, and such honey 
as nobody’s bees but hers ever made, and the 
plump, white breast of a chicken. It was a din¬ 
ner for a king; so poor Joe thought, and so the 
boys thought, as they peeped wonderingly from 
their hiding-place. But Joe did not offer to 
to taste it; he only sat there and looked at it with 
a very pale face, over which the tears began 
presently to flow very fast. Then he laid his 
head on his desk, and Freddy Wilson, one of the 
smallest of the boys, whispered, “ [ guess he’s 
praying;” so they all stole away to the play¬ 
ground without speaking another word. 
“ That’s some of Ned Collins' work,” said Will 
Brown, after a while, “ it's just like him.” 
“ I'm glad of it, any way,” srnid Sam Merrill, 
“I’ve felt as mean all the forenoon as if I had 
been robbing a hen roost. The Greens are not 
to blame for having only cold potatoes to eat, 
ami I don’t wonder Joe didn’t want all us fellows 
to know it.” 
“ I like Joe Green best of any boy in school,” 
said little Freddy Wilson, “ and I think it was 
too bad to try to make fun of him.” 
“ Nobody asked you what you thought,” said 
Will Brown, fiercely; “wait till your opinion is 
cal led for.” 
The little boy looked very meek, and ate bis 
dinner in silence, for the fact was Will Brown 
began to feel uncomfortable. 
•• Father says Mr. Green was the bravest man 
in the company,” said Sam Merrill, “ and that he 
wouldn’t have been killed, only he thought of 
every one else before himself.” 
“ I tell you what, boys,” said good-natured Tom 
Granger, “ I move and second that wo are all 
ashamed of ourselves; all in favor of this motion 
will signify it by giving three cheers for Ned 
Collins—there he comes this minute, brimlull of 
chicken pie.” 
The boys sprang to their feet, and swinging 
their caps in the air, gave three hearty cheers for 
Ned Collins, and even Will Brown joined in the 
chorus with as loud a hurrah as any of them. 
Sam Merrill explained the whole matter to Ned, 
and he only said in reply. “I’ve often beard 
aunt Sally say that ‘it was a poor kind of fun 
that must be earned by hurting somebody’s feel¬ 
ings,’ and what aunt Sally says Is ulmost always 
80 .—Ladies’ Repository. 
PONTO AND THE MINK. 
Ponto was a faithful old dog; one of the good 
kind that never killed sheep, nor annoyed his 
neighbors by sneaking around their doors. He 
was very jealous too about his master’s premises. 
Minks and muskrats found no homo around tho 
“Hill-side" goose-pond. Ho was led to regard 
them as bis special enemies. One made holes 
iu the dam, uud the other destroyed the ducks and 
goslings. When Ponto barked wo always knew 
that there was something wrong. One day how- 
everwbileall were busily engaged in making hay, 
his well-known call was heard. There was dan¬ 
ger of a thunder-storm,and no one could be spared 
to answer it at the time. For more than half an 
hour we listened to bis prolonged bow-wow-wow. 
This at length ceased, and in a few minutes was 
changed into a most piteous and smothered howl. 
All said that the old dog had found something, 
but no one could go and inquire what It was. 
Noon came and then at intervals only could we 
hear his smothered cry. The boys could stand 
it no longer, and when the diuuor hour sounded 
Dan and Henry went down to the pond. Guided 
by the wailing yelps they soon found Ponto, his 
head and fore-shoulders burled in ahole. As tho 
boys came down and he heard their footsteps re¬ 
verberating over him his tail assumed Unaccust¬ 
omed wag, and a ill tie motion of his hind feet 
showed that he was making an effort to draw 
himself out. This, however, was only followed 
by a more piteous howl. “What could be the 
matter?” Henry said;“something must hold him. 
Perhaps an otter.” Whenever they attempted 
to pull him out he only howled the louder. Dan 
at length commenced digging down with a stick, 
where he judged Ponto’s nose would be. He had 
gone nearly through, and was pushing away the 
earth carefully when the dog, bleeding and cov¬ 
ered with froth and blood, drew himself out and 
fell almost exhausted into the water. There was 
no mark about his jaws, buton openingliis mouth 
his tongue was found bitten through in the Centro, 
about an inch from the end, The conclusion at 
which we arrived was this. Ho had found tho 
mink that bad destroyed so many goslings, and 
driven him into a hole. The boys knew that it 
was a inink by the smell. Becomingtired of bark¬ 
ing when no one answered he detennind to sit 
down and watch his prisoner. For this purpose 
he stretched himself out half way In the hole that 
he had dug panting with heat, and his tongue hang¬ 
ing out of his mouth. While in this position the 
mink, watching his chance, seized hint. For the 
remainder of his life poor Ponto bore tiie marksof 
that unhappy day. Often have we distended his 
jaws with pride to show the scar. Hr never barked 
afterward, however, without receiving an answer; 
nor did ho ever fail to do his duty when a mink 
showed himself on the premises.—American Ag¬ 
riculturist. 
The Blossoms and the Leaves.— When the 
blossoms Fell off in May and remained withered 
and pale, the leaves raised their voices. These 
weak, useless things, though just horn, fall al¬ 
ready to tho ground. See lmw we stand firm 
and survive the Summer’s heat, ever growing 
fatter and broader and brighter until, after long 
mouths of service, with brilliant colors and un¬ 
der the salute of the storm artillery, we go to 
rest But the fallen blossoms said, “gladly we 
fall, after w« have brought forth the fruit.” 
To still, Unnoted, and quickly vanishing ones 
in lowly dwellings, in bumble stalls, nncarod for 
in high places, — ye noble well-doers without 
name in history, be not ashamed at the pomp of 
rulers and palaces, at the triumphal arches over 
the victims of battle, be not ashamed — Ye are 
the Blossoms .—Jean Paul. 
Though we travel the world over to find the 
beautiful, we must carry it with us, or we find it 
not. _ _ 
Confidence—B etter to be despised for too 
anxious apprehensions than mined by too confi¬ 
dent a security. 
