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Maud And The Cricket.
"Good night, little Maud," I softly said.
As I tucki (I her up in her litfl- tied,
"Good-night, dear mamma." BIH b.iid tome
"I'm juntas sleepy as I can be."
But I scarcely had shut the chamber door
When lier eager voice called me back once
more:
"O uisunma!" she said, "wi at is it I hear?
That strange little noise so fharp and queer?"
I .iitened, and told her all was still,
SJ AC a merry ci icket piping shrill,
'He is hid away in the closet here
To sing you to bleep, my Maudie,dear."
Then Maud sat up in her nightgown white,
And her grew big and round and bright.
"Nw mamma, please move my little bed
Right up to the closet door," she said.
"Poor little fellow! he wants to speak,
But all he can say is creak, creak, creak.'
And I want to tell him I hear his song,
And ask him to sing to me all night long!"
"I'll leave the door open," I saul, "part way.
And let the cricket hear what you say.
Now, while I go to your baby brother,
Two little crickets may sing to each other."
iJteaidno mote from the little pair
And wtjen I again erept up the stair,
Over the hou-ehold was silence deep
Maud and the cricket were both asleep.
But when sleepy time came to Maud next
night.
She pattered about like a fairy white
Peeped into the closet and over the floor,
"To lind her de ir little cricket" once more.
He was not to be seen in any place.
And Maud l.iy tlovtri with a mournful face
When beneath her crib a voice piper] clear
'Creak, i-roakity, creak! J'ru here! I'm here!"
Then Maudic screamed with surprised de
liglil
And she always thought from that sclf-same
night
That rickets can hear when little girls speak,
And mean a great deal by their "creakity
creak."
9IY MOTHER-IN-LAW.
A W lfe OonriHiHlon.
I did not marry for love. Very few
people do. so in this- respect I am neither
better nor woi^e than my neighbors. No,
I certainly did not many foi love I be
lieve I muriierl Mr. Cartwright simplv
because he asked me.
This w&s how it happened. lie was
Rector of Doveton, and we lived at the
Manor House, which was about ten min
utes' walk from the church and the rec
tory. We had daily seivice at Doveton,
and I neaily always attended it, and it
came to pass that Mr. Cartwright invari
ably walked home with me. It was a
matter of custom now, and I thought
nothing of il: it pleased him, and on the
whole it was lather pleasant to me also.
I must confess, however. I was rather
surprised when, one morning as we got
to the avenue which led up to the Manor
Hou:e, Mr. Cartwright asked me to be
his vile.
I have never been aMe to find out why
I said yes, but I did perhaps I thought
itapityto throw away so much love
peihitps it wa^ because he was so terribly
Crtrncbt that I dared not refuse him
perhaps I lean his pale face, and his
low pleading voice, would ever haunt me
if I rejected Ins love or peihaps it was
because he only asked me to marry him
he did not ask me if I loved him, for I
hink he guelsed I did not perhaps it was
all the reasons put together, but anyhow I
said yee, and in due time wo were mar
ried.
I ought to have been very happy, for
he was a most devoted husbtnd, but I was
not, and though I not notice it then,
I know now that for the first six months
after our marriage he was not happy
either.
It was all my fault, I either would not
or could not love him I accepted all his
devotion to me as a matter of course, but
I made no effort to return it and I am
sure he had found out that he had made
a mistake in marrying a woman who did
not iove him.
One morning, about si* months after
our marringe, he told me at breakfast tnat
he intended leavinsr me alone for a few
weeks, to stay with his mother, who was
not very well. He watched the effect of
this announcement on me, but though I
was really displeased, I concealed my
annoyance, and asked, carelessly, when
he would shut.
He replied, the next day, it I had no
objection, and so it was settled.
He was more affectionate than usual
that day, and I was coldtr than ever 1
only once alluded to his journey, and that
was to ask if I might have my sister
Maud to stay while he was gone.
The next morning I was anxious to
avoid a formal parting, so I diove to the
station with him as the train moved off,
I remembered this was our first pai ting
eince our maniage, and I wished I had
not been so cold.
When I got home the house looked so
dreary and empty, and there was no one
to meet me presently one of the servants
came for the shawls, and with her Nero,
Mr. Cartwright's retriever, which, when
he saw I was alone, set up a howl for his
master. I patted him, and tried to com
fort him, leehng rebuked by his grief,
as he followed me, whining, into the
house. Every room seemed empty, and
each spoke of the absent master at last I
wandered into his study, where he spent
his mornings, and liked me to sit and
work and now 1 remembered how often
I had excused myself, saying I pretered
the drawing-ioom, and this reflection did
not ad I to my happiness.
There was a photograph of me stand
ing on his writing table, and another on
the chimney-piece on the walls hung
two or three of my drawings, which he
had begged ot me when we were engaged
indeed the room was full of remmebran
ces of me: I opened a book I had given
him and in it was his name in my hand
writing, and underneath in his own, 'From
my darling wife/' I laid it down with
sigh, as I thought how carefully he treas
ured every thing I had ever given him,
and how little care I took of all his gifts
to me.
Every thing I attempted, every thing I
looked ac remined me ot hi9 goodness to
me, and of my coldness and ingratitude
to him. At last I went to bed, where af
ter working myself into a fever of anxie
ty lest he should not have reached the end
ot his journey in safety, I at length cried
myselt to sleep.
The next morning I went down to
breakfast with a heavy heart, for I knew
I could not hear from him till the next
day it seemed so strange to breakfast
alone, and Nero seemed to think so, too,
for he was most unhappy, sniffing round
his master's chair in the most melancholy
manner.
My plate, for the first time since my
marriage, was empty, as I sat down to
breakfast, for my husband, who was an
early riser, always had a little bouquet to
greet me with every morning frequent
ly I forgot all about it, and left it to be
put into water by the servant this morn
ing I would have treasured it most care-
fuHy. if he had gathered it.
After breakfast I determined to rouse
myself, and go and visit some of the
poor people in the village, so I filled my
basket with some little delicacies for the
sick, and set oat.
WVierever I wen.!: it was the same story,
all held forth on my husband's goodness
and kindness, for all had been helped by
him in some way or other, and all loved
and respected him. As I listened with
burning cheeks, I felt as if I was the
only person on earth who had treated
him with cruel ingratitude, and I was
trie very person whom he most loved and
cherished.
At last I went home, tired and sick at
heart but there was no one to notice I
was pale and worn out, no one to get me
wine or soup to revive me, no one to
make me lie down and rest, as he woul'l
have done had he been there. O how I
missed him! What a fool I had been!
Was there ever woman loved and cared
for as I had been? Was there ever friend
so ungrateful? Olwhy had I ever let
him leave me? I was sure he would never
vome back. Why had he gone away?
And conscience answered, "You drove
him he gave you all he had to give, and
in return you gave him nothing but cold
looks and unkind words and so he left
yeu to seek love and sympathy from his
mother."
This tnought almost maddened me in
lancy I saw her sitting in my place by
his side, loving and caressing him, as I
had the best right to love and caress him
I pictured her receiving ti nderly the lit
tle loving acts I had received so coldly,
and now I seized with a jealous anger
against her. I mentally accused her of
estranging my husband from me, and oi*
trying to win his love from me, as though
his heart was not large enough for both
of US.
Whan Maud arrived in tho afternoon, I
treated her to a long tirade of abuse
against mothers-in-law in general, and
my own in particular, and I vented all
the anger I really felt against myself, on
the innocent Mrs. Cartwright.
"Why, Nelly," said Maud, '-I thought
you liked Mrs. Cartwright so much, and
thought her so nice, that you even want
ed her to live with you, only your hus
band very properiy, as mamma says, ob-
jected.*'
"So I did," I answered "but I did not
know then she would ever entice my
husband away from me in this way, or,
of course, I should never have liked
her."
"Really. Neil, you are very hard on the
poor woman: for, as I understand, Mr.
Cartwright went to her of his own free
will, because she was not well, and he
thought his company would do her
good," said Maud.
"Nonsense I am sure he would never
have left me alone, unless she had put
him up to it," I replied, rather croisly.
"The trutn is, Nelly, you are so much
in love with your husband that you are
jealous even of his mother and you are
making yourself miserable about noth
ing. Why, Mr. Cartwright will be back
in a fortnight, and I dare say you will get
a letter from him every day so cheer up,
and let us go for a drive," said Maud.
I agreed to this plan, and giving Maud
the reins. I lay bactc and thought of hei
words. Was "she right, after all? Was I
jealous? Was I really, as Maud said, in
love with my husband? Had I only
found it out now I was deprived ot his
company? Was this the reason that I
could do nothing but inwardly reproach
myselt for my conduct to him? And the
longer I thought, the more convinced I
became that Maud was right, that I was
jealous, and that I was in love, as she
called it.
This knowledge did not make me hap
pier, tor I no sooner knew I loved him
than 1 longed to tell him so, and make
up, as far as I could, for all my former
cruelty for I could call my conduct by
no milder word. I passed a sleepless
night, and as I lay awake i composed
various letters of ^ntession, which I re
solved to send the following day but
when morning came my pride stepped in,
*ind I began to feel it would be impossible
co write, and I settled I must wait till my
husband came home, and then tell him
how his absence had altered me,
I got up early and walked out to meet
the post-man, so anxious was I to get a
letter from him it was the first I had
ever received from him since our marriage
and no girl was ever so anxions for, or so
pleased with, her first love-letter as I was
over this.
It was a long letter full of loving mes
sages and terms of endearment, all ot
which cut me to the heart, for they sound
ed like so many reproaches in reality I
think there was a tone of gentle reproach
throughout the letter. He gave me an
account of his journey and of his moth
er's health, begged me to write to him a
few lines every day but he said not a
word about returning.
I spent the morning in answerin it,
much to Maud's amusement, who, of
course, thought I was pouring out vol
umes of love and complaints of my tem
porary widowhood after tearing about
a dozen sheets ot paper, I at last sent a
short note, cool and" with no allusion to
my misery. The more I tried, the more
impossible I found it to write any ex
pression of love or penitence, though I
was hungering to do so.
For a whole week I went on in this
way, suifering more acutely every da?,
and every day receiving long loving let
ters from Mr. Cartwright, and writing
short cold answers.
I lost my appetite. I could not sleep at
night, and the torture I was enduring
made me look so ill that Maud became
frightened, and declared she would write
and summon my husband home, and tell
him I was pining away for him. I for
hade her doing this so sternly that she
dared not disobey me, for I was deter
mined he should never hear from any
lips but mine that at last his heart's de
sire was attained, for I loved him.
At last, when he had been away ten
days, I could bear it no longer, for I felt
I should have biain-fever if I went on in
this way, so I determined to go to Mel
ton, where Mrs Cartwright lived, and see
my husband. I came to this decision one
night, and went into Maud's room earlv
in the morning to tell her my intention.
I expected she would laugh at me, but I
think she guessed something was wrong,
for she seemed glad to hear it, and helped
in i to pack a few things and set off in
lme to catch the morning train.
It was three hours' journey, they
see ned
rhree years to me, for the nearer 1
got to i^y husband the more impatient I
was to see him. At last we got to Mel
ton, a largish town. Of course as I was
not expected, there was no one to meet
me, so I took a fly to Mrs. Cartwright's
house, where I arrived about three
o'clock.
I learnt afterwards that Andrew was
with his mother in the little drawing
room when 1 c?rove
up, but, thinking I
was only a visitor, he escaped into anoth
er room so I found tny mother-ip-law
alone.
By her side were some of my husband's
socks which she was darning, socks
which I had handed over to the servants
to mend, and which I now longed to
snatch away from his mother. His desk
stood open, a letter to me, which he was
writing, lyin!? on it.
The servant announced me as Mrs.
Andrews, my voice failing as I gave my
name, so that Mrs. Cartwright held up
her hands in asstonishment when she saw
who it was.
"My dear! lielly! Has any thing hap
pened? How ill you look! What is it?"
she exclaimed.
I want my husband," I gasped, sink
ing oa to a chair, for I thought I should
haye fallen. Without another word Mrs.
Cartwright left the room I feel sure now
she guessed all about it, and I can never
thank her enough for iorbearing to wor
ry me with questions as to what I had
come for.
She came back in a few moment with
a glass of wine, which she made me drink
off, saying she wonld send him to me at
once if I took it. I complied, and she
went to fetch him in another minute I
heard his step outside the door, nd then
he come in.
Nelly, my love my darling! what it
it?" he cried, as I rushed into his out
stretched arms, and hid my face on his
breast, sobbing bitterly. For some mo
ments I could not speak at last recov
ered myself enough to sob out:
"0, Andrew, my love! my dear love!
can you ever forgive me? I came to ask
you, and to tell you I can't live without
you." I would have said more, bat his
kisses stopped my mouth and when at
length he let me go, there were other
tears upon my cheeks besides my own.
That was the happiest hour or my life,
in spite of my tears and before my mo
ther-in-law again joined us, which she
directly avoided doing till dinner time, I
had poured out all 1 had to tell into my
husband's ears and I had learned from
him that f.e left me to try what effect his
abser.ee would have on me, for he had
felt for some time that my pride was the
great barrier he had to overcome to win
my love.
He had judged right. He was too
generous to tell me how much he had
suffered from my indifference, but I
know it must have grieved him terribly.
He is a aifferent man now, he looks so
happy, and I know he would not change
places with any one on earth. We went
ba kto the rectory the next day, but we
could not persuade Mrs. Cartwright to
come with us she said we were best
alone, and I think she was right.
A Day of Jane.
0 happiest day of summer time!
1 see the shadows shift and climb
The peaceful hills, as down the west
The sun goes journeying to its rest,
The river's song is low and sweet,
Where lily-leaves, a fairv fleet,
Are rising, falling, by the shores,
Like bjata adrift with idle oars.
AH day the elves of June have swung
The lily-bells the grass among.
And filled the air with melody
Like that which comes in dreams to me.
And lilac trees from nodding blooms
Have spokeh incense like perfumes,
To lull men in a Lotus dream
Of drifting down an enchanted stream.
The sky has seemed,the whole davthrough
Like a great violet, overturned,
With sunshine filtering through its blue
While carelebS, idle, unconcerned,
I lay among the grass and heard
The happy carol of the bird,
And saw the clouds go drifting by
Between me and the tender sky.
No discord mars the low, sweet tune
To which is set, this day of June,
A poem from the heart oi God,
Wrote out on sky, and tree, and sod,
And I, who love to dream away
The long hours of the happy day,
Have talked with Nature, and have heard
Her voice in brook, and breeze, and bird.
Oh --uch strange things as she has told
The secret of the sunshine's gold
The mystery of the tasseled corn
How roses break apart at morn!
This happy day I have been near
To Nature's heart and felt it beat
So close that I could feel and hear
Her loving thoughts and fancies sweet.
Two itten Make One Man.
One of the pionneer settlers of Ken
tuck was Majory Robert Benham. His
name is associat with the thrilling
stories about the "Bloody Ground," one
of which seeim the climax ot romantic
adventure. He was once left wounded
on the ground by his defeated compan
ions, who had been ambushed by a su
perior force of Indians. Both thigh bones
were shattered, and the Indians were all
around but, fortunately, he was hidden
by the branches of a fallen tree.
The evening of the second day per
ceiving a racoon descending a tree near
him, he shot it, hoping to devise some
means of reaching it, when he could
kindle a fire to cook it. Scarcely had the
report of his gun sounded when he heard
a human cry near.
Supposing it to be an Indian, he has
tily reloaded his gun, in expectation of
soon seeing an enemy. Again he heard
the mournful sound, but much nearer
yet be ventured not to reply.
A third exclamation now came in a tone
of impatience, which made Benham know
that it came from a white man, therefore
he answered the cry, and the town men
soen found each other.
The stranger had escaped from the
battle field with both arms broken by a
shot from the enemy's rifle. The circum
stance "was peculiar.
One with broken limbs, unable to
walk, the other with shattered arms, un
able to load or shoot a gun thus one was
able to supply the other's wants. Ben
ham could kill game, while his new
friend could go in search of it and bring
it to him to cook.
At first great difficulty was found in
getting water, but Benham at length took
his hat, and placing the rim between his
companion's teeth, directed him to wade
into the river and dip the hat into the
water by sinking his head underneath.
The man who could walk was thus en
abled to bring water.
In a few days they had killed all the
squirrels and birds within reach, and the
man with the broken arms was sent out
to drive game within reach of Benham's
gun.
Fortunately wild turkeys were abun
dant and easily driven. In this manner
they supported themselves for several
weeks, until their wounds healed so as to
permit them to travel.
On the 27th of November they saw a
flatboat moving down the river. Benham
instantly raised his hat upon a stick and
cried loudly for help. The crew, however,
mistook them for Indians, and paid no
attention to their signals of distress, but
rapidly made for the opposite shore.
Benham saw them pass with feelings of
despair, for winter was approaching. At
length, after the boat had parsed them
nearly half a mile, he saw a canoe put off
from it and cautiously approach the Ken
tuckey shore, reconnoitering with great
care.
Again he called loudly upon them for
assistance, mentioning his name and using
every means to make known his condi
tion.
A considerable delay and much reluc
tance on the part of the boat crew, the
canoe at length touched the shore and
Benham and his companion were taken on
board in a pitiable condition, almost en
tirely destitute of clothes, one hobbling
on crutches, the other unable to raise his
bands.
They were immediately taken to Louis
ville, where clothes were obtained, and
every kindness snd attention shown them
by their neighbors and friends.
When Ton Were Seventeen.
When the hay was mown,
In the years long ago,
And while the Western sky was rich
With sunset's rosy glow,
Then hand in hand close-linked -we passed
The dewey ricks between,
And I was one-and-twenty,
And you were seventeen.
Your voice was low and sweet,
Your wavy hair was brown
Your eheek was line the wild red rose
Tnat showered its petals down.
Your eyes were like the blue speed well,
With dewy moisture's sheen,
When I was one-and-twenty,
And you were seventeen.
The spring was in our hearts,
And all its hopes were ours
And we were children in the fields,
Among the opening flowers,
Aye life was like a summer day
Amid the woodland ereen,
For I was one-and-twenty,
And you were seventeen.
The years 1 ave came and g^ne,
With sunshine and with shade,
And silvered is the silken hair
That o'er your shoulders strayed
In many a soft and wayward tress
The fairest ever seen
When I was one-and-twenty,
And you were seventeen.
Though gentle changing time
Has touched you in his flight
Your voice has still the old sweet tone,
Your eye the old love-light.
And years can never change
The heart you gave,I ween,
When I wasone-and-twenty,
And you were seventeen.
Dicken's child Characters.
Much of Dicken'a art in painting child
characters, generally lies in this ming
ling the threads of their fate with the
schemes of heartless and villainous peo
ple. Oliver Twist may be cited as an
other example, He too, is the helpless
innocent chila,'exciting one's sympathies
because he is constantly subjected to
heartless and cruel treatment. Mrs. Cor
ney, Bubble, Noah Claypole, Fagin, and
Sykes are his tormenters,the black
shades which by contrast make him ap
pear good and virtuous. Like little Nell,
while he is made the sport of harsh cir
cumstances, he is himself passively, in
stinctly virtuou0.
Though the central
figure of the story, he, too, is only
sketched in outline, while the characters
which darken his destiny are fully and
dramatically wrought out. In some of
his later works the novelist delineates
his children with greater fullness never
theless, in the main, they are all made to
impress one less by the fullness of their
portraiture than by what one perceives
of the creatures who threaten'to make
their lives wretched. As in Turner's
celebrated picture, the slave-ship occu
pies but a slight proportion of the canvas,
which is mainly filled with the mad
waves of the sea, so the children of Dick
ens are small aerial figures floating amid
masses of black cloud painted in to give
brilliancy to their whiteness.
How a Farmer was Swindled.
i treasure up a tree was seen in the
watches of the night by a peddler who
was sleeping in a farm-house in the Shen
andoah Valley, Va. He told his dream
to the famer the next morning, and on
three successive nights he had the same
vision. Tnen he prevailed upon on the
farmer to accompany him to the forest,
where he pointed out a large oak tree as
the one he had seen in his dream. It
was apparently sound at the butt,but about
twenty feet up a limb had been broken
up. The farmer did not feel like hum
oring what he supposed to be a supersti
tious whim, but the old fellow seemed to
have confidence in his vision, and offered
one-half of the spoils if he would help
him to cut down the tree. When the
tree fell there was a rattle of coin near
where the linrfo had been broken off, and
a small hollow was found there. By a
little chopping a large cavity was foundd,
and within was a large mass of silver.
Both seemed wild with delight, and on
counting up found that the pile amount
ed to $5,000. The peddler expressed his
unwillingness to carry around so much
silver in his pocket and inquired where
he would be likely to get greenbacks for
his share. The farmer having consider
able money in his house, immediately
transferred to the peddler $2,500 in pap
er money and took charge of the entire
bulk of silver. The peddler diappeared,
and when his partner attempted to pass
some of ihe silver, lo! it was counterfeit.
He was the victim of a gang of coiners.
.^M.
How funny! If you see a merchant
studying up the sailing days of foreign
steamers, you form a high opinion of his
business but if a cashier does it you
draw your deposit from his bank ia
stanter.Lowell Courier.
HOUSE AND FARM.
Household Kelpes.
Veal Broth.Stew a small knuckle in about
three quarts of wa'er, two ounces of rice, a
little salt and a blade of mace till the liquor is
half wasted away.
Raspberry Shrub.Place red raspberies in
an earthen di6h cover with good cider vine
garnot too strongand let stand twelve
hours strain and to each pint of juice add
one pound of sugar boil ten nutes and
bottle hot.
Cosmetics.If ladies -would eat meat'but otiee
a day, pickles but once a month, aad sweet
meats neyer if they would bathe freely in
cold water, and live as much as possible in
the open air, they would not require any oth
er cosmetics.
Old Potatoes.Peel and boil in salted water
and take up as soon as done, that they may
remain whole have ready some rolled crack
ers and a bea'en egg dip the potatops into
the egg and then into the crackers and fry in
boiling lard.
To Make Silver-Plate Bright.Silver-plate,
jewelry and door-plates can be beautifully
cleaned and made to look like new by dipping
a soft cloth or chamois skin in a weak prepar
ation of ammonia water and rubbing the ar
ticles with it.
To Whiten Porcelain Saucepans.Have the
pans half-filled with hot water, throw in a
tablespoooful of powdered borax, and let it
boil. If this does not remove all of the stains,
soap a cloth and sprinkle on plenty of pow
dered borax. Scour it well."
Queen Puddings.Soak a pint of bread
crumbs in boilintj milk, add the yolks of four
eggs, well beaten to a stiff froth, with four
tablespoocsfuls of white sugar put in the
oven, and bake a very light brown. Flavor
with essence of vanillia or lemon.
Fish as Food. There is much nourishment
in fish, little if any less than there is in meat,
weight for weight. In fact, it may be more
nourishing, because, as a rule it is much
more easily digested. Fish is considered al
most a sp ciflc against scrofulous diseases.
Value of Foot.One pound of corn is equal,
as a food, to four pounds of potatoes, and
more than equal to eight pounds of cabbage,
or to twelve aad a half pounds of turnips.
Meat is not fattening, but is muscle yielding
and strengthing. Grains are fattening.
Itiee Custards.One ounce and a half of
ground rice three ounces of loaf sugar and
one pint of new milk. Boil the rice in the
milk, adding the sugar and a piece of cinna
mon pour into custard cups, in which a lit
tle fresh butter has been melted, and bake in
a. slow oven.
Black Currant Jam.Gather the currants
when thoroughly ripe, and pick from the
stalks bruise slightly, an to each pound of
fruit allDw three-quarters of a pound of
sugar put sugar and fruit in a porcelain
kettle, and boil nearly one hour over a slow
fire, stirrma: constantly.
Bice Waffles.To one cupful and a half of
boiled riv.e add two cupfuls of flour, mix it
with milk. The ba'ter must be rather thicker
than pancake batter. Add a little salt then
beat two eggs very litrht, and stir them in the
last thine, giving it a good beating. Bake in
waffle-irons.
Fried Lettuce.Chop lettuce very fine and,
if liked, the tops of two or three joung onions.
Add two well-beaten eergs and a little salt, put
a piece of butler the size of an egg into a fry
ing pan and when melted pour in the mix
ture. Turn when a light brown and serve
with or without vineear.
To Clean Ornament?.Dissolve a little sal
ammoniac in spirits of wine and wash the
gold in it or try the following method Mix
some jeweller's rouge with a little salad oil
ana with a tooth-brush rub the ornament till
perfectly clean. Then wash it in warm water
with a clean brush and d.y it with wash-leath
er.
Bossolet of Cold Boast Chicken.Mince the
white and good paTts warm the mince in
white sauce well rendered season with mace,
white pepper, nutmeg, and when cold roll
this up with two silver spoons into balls the
size of large eggs wrap these in thin paste
and fry and serve them with fried parsley.
Iced Tea.The tea should be made in the
morning and of half green and half black
make stronger and sweeter than usual pour
into ajug and place in the ice-house or chest.
Serve in gobh-te with small pieces of broken
ice. Lemon Tea.Add a few slices of lemon
and a little juice to tea as made as above.
To Wash Towels With Colored Borders.To
set the colors, let the towels soak iu a pailful
of cold water containing-one tablcspoonful of
sugar of lead let them
remaine
ten
before washing. To make
minutesloo colors
clear and bright, use pulverized borax in the
wash water, very little soap and no boda.
Simple Remedy for Burns.Common
whiting, mixed with water to the consistency
of a thick cream, spread on linen, forms an
excellent local application to burns anil scalds.
The whole burned surface should be covered,
thus excluding the action of the air. The
ease it affords is instantaneous, and it only
requires to be kept moist by occasional
sprinkling of cold water.
Onion Toast.Boil some small onions,
changing the water twice and salting it the
last time. When done, take the onions up with
a skimmer. Thicken the water, which should
be boiled away to about a pint, with a very lit
tle -jorn starch. Add butter, pepper and salt
to taste. Have toasted some thin slices of
bread, lay them on a dish, put the onions on
the slices and pour the gravy over.
Dropped Eggs Have a sauce pan of boiling
water and drop fresh eggs carefully into tbe
water. Let them stand where they will be
hot, but not boil until the whites set. Toast
some thin slices of bread nicely, lay them in a
dish and pour over a gill of rich, hot cream
salted to taste. Take up the eggs with a
skimmer and put an e^ each slice of
toast. Sprinkle a little salt and pepper over
and garnish with parsley if you please.
Raspberry Vinegar.-The following makes
a delicious summer drink by stirring two or
three tablespoonfnl of it into a tumbler of
iced water. Fill a stone jar with ripe berries
and cover with pure, strong cider vinegar let
stand five days and then strain through a
sieve, pressing out all the juice. Allow one
and a naif pounds of white sugar to each pint
of this juice, and boil until the sugar is dis
solved, removing any scum wh-ch may arise.
Take from the fire, boil and seal.
Pineapple and Tapioca Pudding.Soak a tea
cupful of tapioca in a pint of water for two or
three hours, then add one quart of milk to two
beaten eggs, two-thirds of a cup of sugar, a
little salt and a tablespoonfnl of butter bake
in a buttered dish, stirring occassional^ at
first. Whe" done it must be quite stiff tarn
on to a platter and pour over a pint of canned
pineapple or uncooked pineapple previously
cut into little dice, spiinkled with sugar and
covered tightly for an hour or so before using.
Rat Exterminator.This
is how, it is said,
the Germans get rid of rats: A mixture of two
parts of well-bruised common equills aDd
three parts of finely-chopped bacon is made
into a stiff mass, with as much meal as may be
required, and then baked into small cakes,
which are put down for the rats to eat. Sev
eral of the correspondents of the German
Agricultural Gazette write to announce the
complete exterpation of rats and mice from
their cow stalls and piggeries since the adop
tion of this simple plan.
Sham ChampagneOne lemon, sliced, one
spoonful tartaric acid, one ounce ginger root,
one pound and a half sugar. Pour ten quarts
of boiling water on the above ingredients.
When blood warm stir in two gills of home
made yeast, cover with a thin piece of gauze
to keep out the flies and insects, and allow
to stand all day in the sun. When cold in the
evening bottle, cork and wire it, then place
it on the. floor of the cellar. In forty-eight
hours it will be ready for use and will pay the
trouble of making it.
The French mode of killing poultry, causing
instaLt death and perfect bleeding without
disfigurement, is accomplished by opening
the beak of the fowl and with a sharp point
ed and narrow-bladed knife, making an in
cision in the back of the roof of the mouth,
which will divide the vertebrae and cause im
mediate death, after which the fowls are hung
up by the legs till bled. They are the p'eked
while warm, and, if desired, without scalding.
In this way the skin presents a more natural
appearance than when scalded.
Raspberry Short CakeTake a coff ecu of
sour cream a ceaspoonful of soda fl.mr and
and sal Sift the floor and add a lit le ealf
then stir the soda into the cream and before
it stops foaming turn it into tbe flour mix
stiff enough to roll outcareful not to ge
it too stiffinto three or four circles the size
of a small pie-tin: butter each and place on
top of the other bake until weli done in a
quick oven pull the leaves apart and spread
each one plentifully with ripe fruit previously
sweetened with pulverized sugar place layer
upon layer and serve at once with sweetened
cream.
Block Currant Jelly.To every five quarts or
currants allow one and a half teacupmls of
water, and to every pint of juice, when
strained, one pound of sugar. Remove tho
currants from the 6talks, and put into an
earthen dish, with the proportion of water
given cover the dish over tightly, and place
in the oven for one hoar and a half, then
squeeze out the juice through a coarse cloth
bag, and to every pint of juice add one pound
of sugar. Boil from one-half to three-quar
ters o' an hourskimming well pour into
jelly-glasses and tie down.
Venetian Fritters Pick, wash and drain
three ounces of whole rice, put into a full
pint of cold milk and bring it very slowly to
aboil stir it often and let it, simmer gently
until quite thick and dry. When about three
parts done, add to two ounces of pounded
sugar and one of fresh butter, a pinch of salt
and the grated half of a small lemon. Let
it co -I in the saucepan, and when only just
warm mix with it thoroughly three ounces of
currants, four of apples chopped fiue, a tea
spoonful of flour and three or four small, well
beaten eggs. Drop the mixture in small frit
ters, fry them in butter from five to seven
mmutes,and let them become quite firm on one
side before they are turned. Do this with a
slice. Drain them as they are taken up and
sift white sugar over them after they are
dished.
The Grenadiers.
Tranlated trom Heine.
For France two grenadiers held their way.
Had prisoners been in Russia
And sorrowful men they were, when they
The frontier reached of Prussia.
For there they heard of a dire event,
How the world 'gain3t France had rlaen,
her
Grande armee had shattered and shent,
And taken her Emperor prisoner.
They mingled their tears, these two grenadiers
To the sad tale ever returning
Oh would,' Baid one, that my days wera
done!
My old wounds, how there're burning!"
"All's said the other and sooner that
not
I would die like you, never doubt me
But a wile aud child at hime I ve got,
And they mast Btarve without me!"
Hang wife and child! It is something mora,
And better far, that I pant for
Mv Emperor prisoner! My Emperor!
Let them go beg what they want fori
If I die just now, as lis like I may
Then, comrade, this boon grant me,
Take my body with you to France away,
And in France's dear earth plant me.
"The Croix d' Honneur, with its crimson
band
On my heart see that you place It
Then give me my rifle in my hand,
And my sword, around me brace it
So will I lie, and" listen all ear,
L'ke a sentinel, low in my bid there,
Till the roar of the cannon some djy I hear,
And the neigh of the steeds as they tread
there
Then I'll know 'tis my Emperor riding by!
The sabres ring sharply that tend him
And out from my grave full armed snrlng I,
The Emperor! I will defend him!"
Theodore Martin, in Blaektoood.
NotrB for tbe Carm Yard.
The grazing1
cattle should be inspected
daily and the fences also receive attention,
lest they be broken down by the rapid
ly -growing and highly-fed stock. Those
intended for winter slaughter will need
extra food unless the pastures are very
rich and good. The dairy will need par
ticular attention to keep every thing sweet
and good, especially in cheese making a
little saltpetre will help to keep the curd
sweet. The aftermath will be ready in
most cases and will do much to keep up
the yield unless the weather is unusually
dry. Plies are still more troublesome
this month, and the cattle of all ages will
eagerly take advantage ot al shade giv
en them. It need hardly be said that th
water supply should be looked after and
drink carried to ail the stock by hand, if
the ponds fail. Horses are now less
pushed, and will do well on less or no
corn, but only cut forage besides pasture.
The less pasture and the more cut food
such as lucerne, clover, or taresthe more
economical and the more manure it can
not be too well understood that soiling is
comparatively as advantageous for horses
as for horned stock. Washing and dip
ping sneep will be necessary this month,
even more than !ast, and the same time
precautions are needed for those with
la nbs. Fold the early fields, where the
folding plan is follower!, taking the fields
in rotation as required for seeding. Swine
have plenty of food yet, but dairy wash
should be looked after against the time
when there will be less.
Preserved Watermelon Hind.
Pare off the green skin and cut into
strips or fanciful shapes. Line a kettle
with vine leaves, fill with the rind and
scatter a little pulverized alum over each
layer. Covtr with vine leaves three deep,
and pour an enough water to wet that.
Cover closely and allow them to steam
for three hours, without letting the water
boil. Take out the rind, which will be
of a fine green color, and throw it into
cold water. Let it remain in soak,
changing the water every hour, for four
hours. Use four lemons, a quarter of a
pound of ginger and six pounds of sugar
for every six pounds of the rind. Wrap
the ginger root in a musl
bag and boil
in three pints of water until the water is
highly flavored remove the ginger, put in
the sugar and boil and skim until no more
scum arises. Put in the pieces of rind
and the juice of the lemons, simmer gent
ly for an hour take out the rind and lay
upon dishes in the sun until firm and al
most cool, put back into the syrup, sim
mer for half an hour, spread out again,
and when firm pack into bowis and pour
over the boiling syrup.
To UrtRlaof nuia In 6Uarti.
A correspondent recently asked us for
a simple and affeetual remedy for fungus
and mold in cellars. A German agricul
tural journal gives the following: Put
some roll brimstone into a pan and set
fire to it close the doors, "making the
cellar as nearly air-tight as possible for
two or three hours, when the fungi will be
destroyed and the mold dried up. Re
peat this simple and inexpensive opera
tion every two or three months, and you
will have your cellar free from all parasi
tical growth.
St. Erremond said: Affectation is a
greater enemy to the face than the small
pox.
