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THE NATIONAL TltlBTTNE: WASHINGTON, D. C, DECEMBER 17, 1881.
Sometimes if you listen listen
When the sunlight fades to gray,
You will hear a strange musician
At the quiet close of day ;
Hear a strange and quaint musician
On his shrill-voiced fiddle play.
He bears a curious fiddle
On his coat of shiny black,
And draws the bow across the string
In crevice and in crack ;
Till the sun climbs up the isountain
And Hoods the earth with light,
You will hear this strange musician
Playing playing all the night!
Sometimes underneath the hearth-stone, "
Sometimes underneath the floor,
He plays the same shrill music,
Plays the same tune o'er and o'er;
And sometimes in the pasture,
Beneath a cold gray stone,
He lightens up the sinews,
And fiddles all alone !
It may be, in the autumn,
From the corner of your room
You will hear the shrill-voiced fiddle
Sounding out upon the gloom ;
If you wish to see the player,
Softly follow up the sound,
And you'll find a dark-backed cricket
Fiddling out a merry round?
A NARROW ESCAPE
By George II. Coomer, in Golden Days.
While the Cuban insurrection was in progress,
I shipped at Mobile, on board the barque Ocelot,
lying below Dog River Bar, and bound, as her
papers said, for Neuvitas.
No mention being made to me of anything
contraband in connection with the voyage, I, of
course, looked upon it as an ordinary one, and in
all simplicity went down to the vessel.
Soon after reaching her, however, I was sur
prised by the coming off to us of a score of sallow
faced passengers, consisting wholly of middle
aged men, all gabbling in Castiliau, and in their
general appearance completely answering my
idea of Cuban patriots.
i- The circumstance was a little startling. With
"revolutionists above hatches, might we not also
" have arms and munitions below? In short, might
not the Ocelot be carrying aid and comfort to the
struggling forces of Cespedes ? And if so, what a
gauntlet we were to run.
But the barque was already getting under way.
The windlass was clanking, the topsails were
slatting in the buntlines, and whatever the con
sequences to myself, it was now too late to get
Just off Mobile Point, and not two hours out
of port, we were overtaken by a thunder-storm,
in the midst of which a stream of lightning ran
down the main-topgallant mast, while another
played upon the chainsheets of the foretopsail.
The officers all showed great anxiety regarding
the contents of the hold, and presently the first
mate, Mr. Orenburg, a yellow-haired German,
ventured a proposition.
" Dond't ve hadn:t petter j)reak oudt dot keks
of bowders," he said, "unt drow him oferpoart,
sir, vere he dond't drouple in der vet vater no
more, eh ? "
"Xo," said the captain. "Let the powder
aldne. If we go into the clouds we go, that's
"Yell, den," muttered Mr. Offenburg,"vemust
vait dill he gatches, unt den drow him righdt
oferpoart. Yaw, dot vill do, eh? "
" I wish the streaks wouldn't go scooting up
and down them topsail sheets so!" remarked
little Mr. Drew, the second mate, who was a Cape
Cod man, with very quaint ideas of etymology.
" I've seen 'bout 'nuff it." (He would never say
" enough of it.") " I spec' to see them baggernets
coming up through the deck with a rush! "
The squall soon took leave of us, and as the
clouds rolled away upon the gulf we crowded all
sail to the southeast, every one feeling doubtful
and ill at ease.
The war-talk on board of us was incessant.
The Cubans related stirring incidents of the
patriot struggle; and one day I heard the mate,
in return, telling them something of the Franco
German conflict, wherein a brother-in-law of his
had been engaged in " more as dwendty paddles,
unt got gilled mit losing two of his legks."
Mr. Offenburg appeared to think his own hero
ism placed beyond dispute by this warlike record
of his relative, for he added : " So I bees some
vighdter eh, don'dt id?"
Instead of running directly for Nuevitas, the
barque stood in for the Cayos Piomanos, a chain
of islands extending for a hundred miles parallel
with the Cuban shore, and was soon upon the
beautiful water-sheet inclosed between.
Here, with the dusky hills of Cuba upon one
side, and the long line of the Cayos upon the
other, we found ourselves in a position calculated
to keep alive a most keen anxiety.
It was the captain's intention to run close in
with the coast, and, sending on shore the passen
gers and the somewhat large amount of war
material, be off with the least possible delay.
But, at the moment we needed it, the wind
died out, leaving us totally becalmed in the long
and gulf-like basin.
Here and there, a small vessel was in sight,
and at length our commander,'in his impatience
for information, boarded the nearest craft, a little
turtle sloop, about half a mile off. The intelli
' gence with which he returned was extremely
unpleasant. The sloop was from San Juan de los
Eemedios, bound over to one of the Keys, and
the skipper reported that he had the evening
previous been passed by the great ironclad, Isabel
la Catolica, which vessel, he added, was now at
anchor behind a high promontory, not more than
twelve miles from us.
"This is a pretty scrape this is a pretty
scrape 2 " said Mr. Drew, coming forward among
the men. "Here we be, tied by a dead calm, and
fus' thing we know, that old smoke boat'll come
pokin' her nose round the p'int yonder. "We
shall get 'nuff it we shall get 'nuff it afore we
take the turns out o' this snarl! "
The Isabel might, at any moment, get under
way; in which case she must immediately dis
cover us, and would undoubtedly endeavor to
ascertain our character.
Our mere presence in this particular neighbor
hood would be regarded as a suspicious circum
stance, and we had little or no hope that any
respect for the American flag would restrain the
Spanish from searching us.
The contraband freight might, of course, be
thrown overboard, but the unfortunate swarm of
proscribed passengers would still remain, unless,
indeed, we were to send them off in boats a
measure sure to be detected, if not by the Isabel,
by some of the coasters that would report it to
Presently, the shooting up of a heavy cloud
bespoke the approach ot a breeze, but our joy at
the indication was soon dampened.
" On deck ! " called a voice ironi aloft.
"Hello!" responded the captain.
" There's a line of smoke, sir, rising over the
high land, and I can get a glimpse of a ship's
spars moving along where the bluff falls off! "
The "lookout " had been furnished with a good
spyglass, and my heart sank as he spoke. If the
Isabel were really coming, the breeze now at
hand could profit us little, save as it might
enable us to run the barque ashore.
And coming she was, indeed, though so far
away that her huge proportions were but faintly
defined to the naked eye. The sails were furled,
but a volume of smoke, reaching far astern, told
that the engines of the great ship-of-war were in
"We were evidently discovered ; for the moment
a sufficient offing was gained, she altered her
course and headed directly for us the Isabel la
"Would the wind never reach us ? It did so at
last, breezing up very strongly; and, bearing
away before it, we made for the Roman Keys.
But the great, black frogato also had taken
the fresh gale, and all at once was buried in a
cloud of canvas. The smoke line, at first left
astern in the calm, now came soaring ahead of
her with the wind, and, with the motive powers
of both steam and sail, she was gaining fearfully
Ours was a race for life, for well we knew our
doom should she overtake us.
At length a shot whistled past our vessel a
call, as it were, to heave to. But the island for
which we were heading was now close at hand,
and as a second shot followed the first, the
barque struck bottom with a heavy shock.
The Spaniard rounded-to for fear of getting
aground, and three or four boats were instantly
lowered to board us.
Our own boats, however, were already in the
water, and we were pulling for the shore.
In the meantime, a shell went through the
barque's stern, and we heard it explode between
decks with a tremendous crash ; while volumes
of smoke poured through the shattered planking,
as if the vessel were on fire.
Half swamped by the crowding passengers, we
bent all our strength to those white-ash oars that
now alone could save us; and at last, leaping
into the water, tumbled headlong through the
surf, to find ourselves uninjured on the beach.
But at this moment there occurred an explosion
in the direction of the barque, which caused us
to look hurriedly around.
The air was full of fragments. The mainmast
of the Ocelot was blown completely out of her,
and the other masts were falling over.
In spite of Mr. Offenburg's idea, as expressed
at the outset of the voyage, I hardly think any
one could have been quick enough to have
thrown "dot bowders overpoart," after it had
once caught it was so very nimble.
We took to the woods, with fifty Spaniards in
full pursuit. But it was already getting dark,
the cayo was miles in extent, and they lost track
At daybreak, next morning, with the whole
width of the island between us and the Isabel,
we were fortunate enough to find an English
schooner, wrhich, stowing us all on board, took us
over to the Bahamas.
Thus ended the only involuntary voyage I ever
made. Our filibuster o captain is now in a more
legitimate business ; Mr. Offenburg still lives to
tell the story of "how quigk vas dot bowders,"
and Mr. Drew declares he will never ;o attain to
carry comfort to any struggling patriots. He
has "had 'nuff it!"
Man is a two-legged animal, without feathers,
with broad, fiat nails.
The origin of the saying that oysters must not
be eaten during "Months without an R" is found
in Butler's "Dyet's Dry Dinner," written in 1599.
Young men think old men fools, and old men
know young men to be so.
The world is a comedy to those who think a
tragedy to those who feel. Horace Walpole.
Corrupted freemen are the worst of slaves.
Confidence is a plant of slow growth in an aged
bosom. William Pitt ', Earl of Chatham.
"Whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing
well. Lord Chesterfield.
All that is human must retrograde if it do not
advance. Edicard Gihbon.
The writers against religion, whilst they op
pose every system, are wisely careful never to set
up any of their own. Edmund Burke.
All government, indeed every human benefit
and enjoyment, every virtue and prudent act, is
founded on compromise and barter. Edmund
"When bad men combine, the good must asso
ciate; else they will fall, one by one, an unpitied
sacrifice in a contemptible struggle. Edmund
What will Mrs. Grundy say ? Thomas Morton.
Conscience has no more to do with gallantry
than it has with politics. Sheridan.
Not if I know myself. Charles Lamb.
It requires a surgical operation to get a joke
well into a Scotch understanding. Sidney Smith.
We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, nothrcaths ;
In feelings, not in figures on a dial.
We should count time by hwirt-throbs. He most lives
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.
Philip J. Bailey.
Small habits well pursued betimes
Jtfay reach the dignity of crimes. Hannah More.
Care to our coffin adds a nail, no doubt,
And every grin, so merry, draws one out.
Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt ;
Nothing's so hard but search will find it out.
Quite a number of years ago there occurcd in
the city of St. Louis a disastrous conflagration.
It happened late at night, :'iid the occupants of
the buildings were quietly sleeping, unconscious
of the dangers hedging them in upon every side.
Aroused from their slumbers, some effected their
escape, while yet others remained within, a prey
to the devouring element, terrifying the hearts of
the quickly-gathering multitude by their agou
izing cries for succor.
To all human seeming there could be no res
cue. The wall of fire intervened, and beyond it
lay death in its most cruel guise.
Not far away a party of gamblers sat in their
room, engaged in following their usual avocation.
Curiosity led them to the scene of the conflagra
tion. Among their number there was a young man
one of those quiet, even-tempered, imperturbable
persons, not given to boasting, and of whom we,
as a general thing, take little account. He was
not by any means a reckless man he was not an
enthusiast. On the contrary, he belonged rather
to the cold-blooded, calculating class, as men are
divided up in the judgment of their fellows. He
was a gambler by profession, outlawed by respect
able society, and yet doubtless did not lightly
hold his life. It was as dear to him as was their
own to any one of the thousands who thronged
the streets upon that fatal occasion, groaning in
agony because they could render no assistance.
" Those people must be saved ! " I can almost
fancy him saying in his slow, measured accents
as he took in the situation at one sweeping glance.
"Has no one made the effort?"
" It is impossible," cry the multitude. He does
not think so. With him nothing is impossible
until complete failure has set its seal upon the
His arrangements are quickly made, but with
as little show of excitement as though he were
sitting at a friend's table and about to lead the
play in a game at cards.
He enters the building. The lookers-on stand
speechless, breathless, horror-stricken.
Presently he emerges with a something wrap
ped up in blankets in his arms. It is a little
A great shout goes up from the vast throng
He is no longer a gambler ; he is a hero. The
cheering does not affect him. I doubt if it even
sets his heart throbbing faster by a single pulsa
tion, ne places his burden tenderly upon the
ground, alive, saved, and with singed hair and
eyebrows, blackened face, blistered hands, and
smoking garments, that plainly tell of the fear
ful gulf he has just left, turns to retrace his steps.
They seek to dissuade him, endeavor to hold him
back; but others are within the burning pile
awaiting their savior. He will not listen, ne
cannot be restrained. Three times he enters the
jaws of death;" three times he emerges from the
gates of the flaming hell.
' But flesh and blood cannot withstand another
ordeal like the last. His will is adamant: his
heart is strong and tender and true to the noblest
impulse of manhood; yet he is of mortal mold.
He makes one feeble effort to return and falls, a
bruised and blackened mass, beside the forms of
those for whom he has cheerfully yielded up his
He died died a hero such an one as woman
weep over and men have not words to eulogize.
His story has been well-nigh forgotten; his name
even is no longer remembered; but I point to
him and his sublime sacrifice of self for an inter
pretation of the meaning of my text. He pos
sessed courage a strong but tender heart a no
ble, powerful will. He had the true Saxon grit;
he had "backbone."
Backbone, then, as a metaphor, means courage,
determination, endurance, grit. But it has also a
broader, more elevated meaning ; the attribute of
manhood which enables its possessor to have first
a conception of his duty, of what is right, and
then actively or passively work out the problem
as best he may ; but ever keeping the star of duty
for his guide.
Could we but gather up a tithe even of the
incidents of the past where this great moral
quality has been exhibited we wrould be inclined
to wonder that the supply had not become ex
hausted. But the world is full of it now, as it
has been from the beginning.
It is true that there are those who are weak,
who have no more backbone than an oyster out
of its shell, and that there are others whose back
bones are worn upon the outside like the lob
ster's. There are those, too, whose backbones,
like a dromedary's, seem to centre all in one spot
who may be courageous upon occasion, under
the impulse of some great danger threatening
them or touching some particular matter, but
who nevertheless do not possess those qualities
of endurance and nobility of soul which make
men really brave. There is a distinction, too, to
be drawn as regards the character of backbone.
Mere animal courage indicates it, but not the
highest and most perfect type.
A man may charge a battery with the utmost
sangfroid, and yet upon the lonely picket-post,
where he can imagine vengeful eyes ever seeking
him out through the darkness, become a veritable
Or he may rush into the midst of the fight
without one thought of danger, and yet succumb
to his own fears while lying at rest, inactive,
beneath the dropping fire from the enemy's guns.
Old soldiers have experienced this feeling over
and over again, and so have others, although the
motive cause may have been different.
One of the grandest aggregations of " back
bone," one of the finest exhibitions of endur
ance, courage, grit, I ever witnessedwas during
the late war, at the battle of Hanover Court
House. The confederates held a piece of timber
with a heavy force. Running along its edge was
a road ; beyond the road, bordering it in fact, a
wicker fence, composed of stakes driven into a
ridge of earth thrown up from a ditch, inter
woven with brush. Beyond the fence, in an
open field, was the Ninth Massachusetts (Irish)
Regiment. Under a galling fire this regiment
changed front, marched steadily up to the fence,
drove back the enemy, and entered the road.
Here the line was reformed, dressed upon the
colors, and the ranks moved forward as though
on drill or enjoying some holiday parade. There
was "no shouting no cheering. Men fell to the
earth at every step ; they left a crimson coloring
behind them ; but into the timber, through the
timber, they moved like destiny; no one falter
ing, no one looking back. I saw them as their
shortened line debouched into the open country
beyond, and their ranks were as firm, their bear
ing as cool and steady, as when they first entered
the pathway that led to suffering and death for
many a comrade.
I saw the same steady animal courage dis:
played by the confederates at Malvern and Get
tysburg. The late war is teeming with exhibi
tions of great daring, endurance, grit, by those
who fought upon the one side or the other. But
.what is such courage when compared with that
exhibited by those British soldiers when their
ship was sinking? The boats Avere filled with
the women and children. There was room for
not a single person more. The commanding
officer ordered the troops in ranks. They obeyed.
The companies were formed upon the uprier
deck, the men stood at "attention," and the
Birkenhead went down with her living freight
of heroes, and not one coward !
What is mere animal courage when weighed
with that shown by him who stood at his post
firing the signal-gun until the Central America
sank beneath the wave, and sank with her ? or
when compared with that of Dreiker, the draw
bridge keeper, who, as he was closing the draw
for an approaching train, already in sight, beheld
his only child struggling, drowning in the waters
of the Passaic River? If he attempted to save
his boy, the train, with its living freight, would
go crashing through the bridge into the gulf
beneath. If he remained at his post, the darling
of his heart must perish. He remained. He was
a rough, unlettered man ; but he was a hero. He
-knew his duty, and he had the courage, the back
bone, to hold to it, although his parental instincts
and love were drawing at his heart with fingers
What about the miner out in Nevada who, as
he went down the deadly shaft to look for com
rades shut up or lying mangled, dead, a thousand
feet below, said, "If I am not back in ten min
utes close up the shaft?"
Was not he as noble a hero as any ? Aye, no
bler; for his was a voluntary offering in behalf
of his fellow-men.
Such incidents might be multiplied by thou
sands, and yet not yield the grand total of those
entitled to be classed among the world's heroes.
Such incidents are happening every day. Deli
cate, pale-faced men and tender women are bright
ening the history of our race with exhibition of
the loftiest courage the noblest sacrifices of self
alongside of the stalwart and strong among the
They do not court, but boldly meet, suffering
and death, if need be, in the cause of truth, jus
tice, and humanity. They do not provoke it, but
bravely submit themselves to ridicule in the
cause they believe to be the cause of right. And
ridicule is oftentimes harder to bear than many
wounds, or than even death itself.
They possess that which we are apt to term
backbone to the highest degree. It is different
from obstinacy, for obstinacy has no proper mo
tive, no high moral or manly ground to stand
upon. It is different from mere physical or brute
courage, for the latter does not reason ; it is sim
ply itself backbone the moral stamina which
supports the framework of a truly noble, elevated,
and elevating manhood.
Old John Brown possessed it. He was a man
of deep convictions, of earnest purpose; he was a
man as true to his conscience as the needle to
the North Star. There was no bravado in his
speech, no bluster in his acts.
He mapped out his course and followed it
steadily, persistently, to the bitter end. He was
gentle as a child, tender as a woman, and yet
possessed the courage of a lion, together with the
moral stamina necessary to sustain him at all
times and under ail circumstances. He had his
failings, and who of us have not? But his virtues
overshadowed them all. He was a real hero. He
was while he lived an example of genuine cour
age, and when he came to die he exemplified
fully the true nobility of his soul, and left behind
him for the instruction of coming generations the
highest possible type, so far as men may know it
among men, of what we, in the language of met
aphor, term "backbone."
A CLOCK MADE OF BREAD,
Milan has a curiosity in a clock which is made
entirely of bread. The maker is a Peruvian, a
native of India, and he has devoted three years
of his time to the construction of this curiosity.
He was very poor, and, being without means to
purchase the necessary metal, he deprived him
self regularly of his daily bread, which he de
voted to the construction of his curiosity, eating
the crust and saving the soft part for doing his
work. He made use of a certain salt to solidify
his material, and when the various pieces were
dry, they were perfectly hard and insoluble to
water. The clock is of respectable size, and goes
well. The case, which is also of hardened bread,
displays great talent in design and execution.
LINES TO MY GRANDDAUGHTER,
BY WILLIAM B. WHITING, COMMODORE U. S. NAVY.
An old man, dear Caro, who once, long ago,
"A jovial young midshipman," roamed o'er the sea,
Not caring for wreck, "so the wind did not blow,"
With spirits exultant, a rover was he
Sends greeting, as such an old veteran may,
Whose heart has experienced, in his lengthened years,
The bitter and sweet of life's well-chequered way,
The " pleasures of hope," and the sadness of tears ;
Who once sailed so gaily on over life's seas,
His spars all "atanto," his rigging all "taut,"
His sails spreading fair to a favoring breeze,
As onward he glided, with happiness fraught.
Now, sails all worn out, and unrove all his gear,
His yards all "a-cock-bill " that once were so trim,
His hull, " water-log'd," a mere float doth appear,
That once moved so grandly, so stately, and prim.
The "lee-shore " is near, where at last he will strand;
His cruizing is over. No longer can he,
As once was his pastime, the tempest command,
No longer command both the wind and the sea.
But, ere he breaks up, this last cheering he sends
To you, who, embarking afresh on Life's main,
Seek the "Fortunate islands" of Hope, Love, and
Where Truth ever prospers and God still doth reign !
THE GOLDEN FLEECE.
Several versions come down to us of the tradi
tion of the Golden Fleece. The one which is most
generally accepted represents Jason as the son of
JEson and nephew of Pelias, King of Iolcos in
Thessaly. Pelias had dethroned iEson and sought
the life of Jason, but the child w:is saved. His
parents gave out that he was dead, but conveyed
him by night to the cave of the centaur Chiron,
to whose care they committed him. Jason at the
age of twenty went to claim the crown which
Pelias had usurped. That ruler agreed to "ive
up the kingdom provided Jason brought him the
golden fleece from Colchis. One of the myths of
the fleece is that Ino, second wife of Athamas
King of Orchomenus in Bceotia, wished to destroy
Phrixus, son of Athamas, but he and Helle were
saved by their mother, Xephele, who gave them
a golden-fieeced ram she had obtained from Mer
cury, which carried them through the air over
sea and land. Helle fell into the sea, and it was
named Hellespontus. Phrixus went on to Col
chis, were he was received kindly, and sacrificed
the ram to Jupiter Phyxius, and gave the golden
fleece to iEtes, who nailed it to an oak in the
grove of Mars. It was this fleece that Jason and
his companions went in search of. The myths
related that the fleece was watched over by a
sleepless dragon. The leading heroes of Greece
accompanied Jason in the Argo, named from Ar
gos, the son of Phrixus, and the oarsmen kept
time to the harmony of Orpheus' voice and lyre.
They visited Lemnos, and remained there a time;
then they came to Samothrace, and proceeded to
several places, lengthening their journey and
multiplying their adventures. AVhen they reached
Colchis at last iEtes promised the fleece to Jason,
provided the latter would yoke to the plow two
fire-breathing bulls and sow the dragon's teeth
left by Cadmus in Thebes. Medea, who was the
daughter of iEtes and a powerful enchantress,
promised to aid Jason if he would wed her, and
the hero accomplished these labors. iEtes again
plotted against Jason, who, however, by the aid
of Medea, seized the fleece, and carrying it on
board of his ship, set sail, accompanied by the
enchantress and her brother Absyrtus. They
were pursued by iEtes, when Medea killed her
brother, and threw his body into the sea, piece
by piece, thus delaying the King, who stopped to
gather up the remains, leaving the xVrgonauts to
escape. After many months of toil and numer
ous trials they at last reached Iolcos, and the
Argo was consecrated by Jason on the Isthniu3
of Cornith to Neptune.
In a small German town an inkeeper, to get
rid of a book-peddlers importunities, bought an
almanac from him, and putting it in his pocket
left the inn, his wife just then coming in to take
his place. The woman was then persuaded to
buy an almanac, not knowing that her husband
had one already. The husband shortly return
ing and discovering the trick, sent his porter to
the railway station after the peddler, with a mes
sage that he wished to see the latter on impor
tant business. "Oh, yes," said the peddler, "I
know, he wants one of my almanacs, but I really
can't miss my train for that. You can give me a
quarter and take the almanac to him." The por
ter paid the money and carried the third alman
ac to the innkeeper. Tableau!
THINGS TO MAKE A NOTE OF,
Egg Loaf. One pound of dough, two ounces
of butter, two ounces of pounded sugar, two
eggs. Beat all well together, in a basin, in the
same manner as eggs are beaten, only using the
hand instead of the whisk ; set in a plain mould
to rise for three-quarters of an hour, then bake
in a quick oven. When cut, it should have the
appearance of honeycomb. This is a very nice
breakfast cake, and will make delicious toast
Plain Puddings. Bread-crumbs, put into a
pie-dish, with alternate layers of stewed apples
and a little sugar, when baked, make an excel
lent pudding, the juice of the apples making the
bread-crumbs quite moist.
Smothered Steak. Take one dozen large
onions, boil them in vary little water, until they
are tender. One pound of steak, season it with
pepper and salt, put it in a pan with some hot
beef-drippings, and fry it till it is done. Take it
out, put it on a dish, where it will keep hot.
Then, when the onions are soft, drain and mash
them in the pan with the steak gravy, and add
pepper and salt to taste. Put it on the fire, and,
as soon as it is hot, pour it over the steak, and
Ham Cakes. A capital way of disposing of
the remains of a ham, and making an excellent
dish for breakfast, is: Take one and a-half
pounds of ham, fat and lean together; put it into
a mortar and pound it, or pass it through a sausage-machine.
Soak a large slice of bread in a half
pint of milk, and beat it and the ham together.
Add an egg, beaten up. Put the whole into a
mould, and bake a rich brown.
Onion Sauce. Boil some onions in milk, with
pepper,- salt, and nutmeg. When quite done,
pass them through a sieve. Put some butter and
flour into a saucepan; when the butter is melted,
and well mixed with the flour, put in the pulp of
onions, and add either milk or cream, stirring the
sauce on the fire, until it is of the desired con
sistency. Potato Noodles Grate one dozen of boiled
potatoes, add two eggs, a little salt, half a cupful
of milk, enough flour to knead stiff, then cut in
small pieces, and roll long and round, one inch
thick; f-y in plenty of lard to a nice brown.
Poor Man's Soup. Pat one ounce of butter
into a saucepan, with three large onions, shred
fine and fry them a pale brown color; add half a
tablespoonful of flour, stir for a few minutes, but
do not allow the mixture to darken ; then add one
quart of common stock, previously flavored with
carrots, turnips, celery, leeks, and parsley, boiled
in it ; stir until the soup boils, and season it to
taste with pepper and salt. Peel one or two po
tatoes, cut them into small dice, and put them
to boil with the soup. Cut some crusts of bread
in long pieces, the size, and half the length, of
French beans, dry- them in the oven, and, at the
time of serving, throw them into the soup ; then
stir into it, off the fire, the yolks of two eggs,
beaten up with a little milk, and strained.