Nappanee Advance-News, Volume 6, Number 38, Nappanee, Elkhart County, 18 December 1884 — Page 3

sappanw r % \ VPPANEE. t INDIANA LITTLE BENNIE. ▲ Story in Rhyme of Unole Amos and His Christmas Gifts. I. All through the day the wind and rain Had driven o’er eaoh street and lane Os our big city, till at last The twilight shadows gathered fast. And twinkling through the gloom about The tnlsty city lights shone out; Some from the homes where love and peace Would help discomfort quickly cease; Some from the homes where hand in hand Grim poverty and pain would stand; And some, alas! from haunts where men Forged for their woes new chains again. Amid the crowd that jostled by, With tU-ed feet and stifled sigh. Went Connie Moore, a blue eyed lad,. The only joy his mother had. She was a widow. Day by day She sewed her health and streugth away, While her young son, with anxious heart, To help her bravely tried his part. And walked the busy city through, Seeking some work to find and do. Yet search was vain. Men said that he Looked weak an “errand-boy” to be; Looked sick and small; in fact they had No jobs to give so young a lad. And so with each discouraged night Game tears to dim the blue eyes’ light, While Bennie in his heart would say: “ Please, Lord, do help mamma, 1 pray.” All thro’ this day of chilling rain The boy had tried and tried again “ Odd jobs ” to And, of any kind— Or hard or light, he would not mind. But now, still empty-handed, he Went shivering homeward, wearily. The earnest question on his tongue: “ Mamma, is nine years old too young For work?” “Dear child,” she answered, “ you 1 Are not as strong—alas 1 ’tistrue— As many other boys you meet Bach day upon the busy street. Be patient till you’re older grown. Then mother will not toil alone.” 8o little Bennie’s heart grew sore. He pondered his grave question o’er, ' Till suddenly a happy thought By his quick, eager brain was caught. Nor did he let it go till he Had studied it most thoroughly. He knew—what little boy does not?— Os that most fascinating spot Called “ Country.” Every dear child knows It is a lovely place that grows Outside of city walls ana lies All free beneath the distant skies. Our Bennie had no map to trace A town, locality or place; He only knew that somewhere grew High hills, and happy valleys, too. He only longed, with all his heart. From city ways and woes to part; To go where boys were not so many, And he could earn an honest penny. All night he pondered on his plan Till morning came. Dear little man 1 How quick nis tongue found leave to speak, When mother’s kiss was on his cheek: 44 Mother, dear mother, I must go I” He plead; “ for in my heart 1 know That some kind farmer will employ And And some errands for your boy. Then when the Christmas time shall come I’ll bring my earnings safely home; And you and I, oh mother, dear. Will have a happy Christmas cheer.” “ Ah, Bennie, no! r she sadly said. But Bennie, as she shook her head. Fell back upon his last resource. * Now look at me, mamma, of course, 1 shall be growing strong and well In the fresh air. Yoirfcan hot tell How sure I am that it will be The very best of things for me.” His mother gazed upon him there. The little face was far too fair For perfect h/eeflth, and well she knew The shadow in those eyes so blue. " Can it be God’s own plan,” thought she, “ Which, tho’ it take my child from me Yet offers health and strength to him? Dare I refuse I” Her eyes grew dim. She laid her hand upon his head. 44 God bless you, Bennie, gol” she said. n. Old Amos Green came up the hill From his broad meadow land below, > Just as the setting sun had shed O’er hill and dale its crimson glow. The farmer whistled as he walked, And to his shepherd dog he talked With kindly notice. “ Shep, old boy, Life after all is full of joy. If folks would only look about An’ try to pick its comforts out. Instead o’ grumblin' day by day, ’Cause things don’t always go their way.” Shep wagged his tail, then paused to hark; Pricked up his ears, and with a bark Went bounding forward to the gate, Where he had seen a figure wait. A little figure, thinly clad, A tired, yet a hopeful lad; For on the farmer’s sunburned face, Surprise to kindly smiles gave place. “ Why, bless my soul! who have we here?” Then Bennie, without shame or fear, Told who he was and whence he came; Showed his small feet, so bruised and lame From climbing hills, and walking o er Long roads he ne’er had seen before— Told also why he’d come away From home, in a strange place to stay. • I’ve stopped at many a house to see If anybody wanted me; But I’m too little. Don’t folks know That little boys can biyyer grow?” He stopped and laid his soft, pale cheek Qh Shops broad head. Shep couldn't speak. But with his eyes he seemed to say: 44 Master, don’t send the boy away.” 44 Well, lad, what is it you would do?” Asked Farmer Green. “Stay here with you, And do odd Jobs and things. You'll sue How useful I will try to be,” Was Bennie's eager answer, while He lightened ’neath the old man’s smile. 44 Please, sir, I’m tired with my walk, And most tob tired to even talk!” Then came the farmer's sister, Prue—(Beloved of children were those two. Who in their cheerful home together, Had bravely shared life's changeful weather— Those two alone, and loving all Young folks around, or large or small, Were lovingly-by children claimed, And “Undo, “Auntie,” they were named.) She came. Aunt Prue, and laid her hand On Bennie's brow. “We understand, Poor little boy 1. Don’t tremble so I Amos, we’ll need h s help, I know, As little chore boy. Surely we Won’t grudge tijp pay to such as he.” 111. Now fancy little Ben, each day. His young heart growing light and gay, And more than that, so grateful, too. For all the work he found to do: 44 And, dear momma, it's so much better,” (He told his mother in his letter,) “To live up hero where fields are wide, And there Is lots of sky, beside; And where I know, that every day, It is for you I earn my pay. My farmer is so kind to me! I call him Uncle Amos—he Is that to all the children hero, *• I’m sure you'd love him, mother dear I” All this, and more beside, did Ben In his own fashion write; and then The kind old farmer dropped It in ( The mail box, with a merry- grin, To think how Bennie little knew That with it went—a “greenback,” too. Well, days slipped by. and Amos Green, As it was plainly to be seen, I Grew very fond of Ben, the while Aunt Pruo’s dovotlon made him smile. “ You’ll spoil the boy i” he often cried. “ No less will you 1” Aunt Prue replied. And Ben. except for missing mother, Preferred this home to any other. November’s reign was o’er at last; Tbe “ holidays were coming fast. Each week Bon dropped his pennies in The little savings' bank of tin; Each week he felt its weight again, ’Twas growing heavier, that was plain. How far, how very far away, To Bennie seemed that dismal day Os wind and rain, the last one he Had walked the streets so tearfully; Because he tried the long day through , And had not found u “job” to do! Since then how happy ho had grown, And how the days had fairly fiown With all the chores he had on hand] (He ne’er was idle, understand. While yet one duty was undone Before the setting of the sun.) ; He helped the farmer feed the cows, And helped to turn them out to browse; He took the horse to water, then Rode bare back to the barn again; He fed the chickens every day, And hunted for the eggs so white. And fed the great white pig, and oh! So busy he from morn till night, That Uncle Amos used to say: 44 1 tell you, Ben, Ido not know How I could run this farm if you Were not on hand to run it too.” At Christmas time Ben meant to be With his mamma again. But she, StiU anxious for his health, wrote: “No. * btay till the cold winds cease to blow.” Then, thoughtful, loving Auntie Prue Said : Ben, 111 tell you what we ll do. Send on your money. Don’t you see What a uiee Christmas gift ’twill be For mother from her boy? And more You’ll earn before the winter's o'er At Christmas I will give for you A little party. Just a few Os happy children gathered here To help you taste of Christmas choer.” 44 A Christmas party?” Bennie's eyes Grew sunnv as the sunniest skies. He’d heard <vf such, poor little boy! , But ne’er had tasted of the joy Which Christmas pleasures ever bring Tr hortes whore life s best sunbeams cling. Ar.d so he counted patiently The days ere Christmas time should be, And every evening brought his books With willing heart and cheery looks, To study with kind Auntie Prue, And practice up his writing, too; For very glad was she, indeed, To help him in his every need, Weil satisl'od when on her cheek He and kiss the thanks he could not speak. IV. Ho! for the merry Christmas-time! When henrts must sing and bells must | chime! Our Bennie at the peep of day Threw drowsy thoughts far, far away, And at the window stood to see The rising sun so gloriously Pro<jlaint to all the listening earth: 44 Th's Is tho day of Jesus’birth!” Int i his cloehes he scrambled fast. And down the stairs be flew at last; gisii “Maw/ OMrjstw#*!" to 4mst P;tj§,

The same to Uncle Amos, too; Then out across the barnyard, where He rang his greetings on the air. That all his farmyard pets might know What made his heart with pleasure glow. Throwing the barn doors open wide, He poked his curly head Inside. A merry Christmas, good old Grey 1” The mare responded with a neigh. And Bennie, standing on his toes. Kissed lovingly her soft brown nose. 44 Now then, the first thing I will do . Must be to find for Auntie Prue -Some eggs for that big pudding she Is going to make to-day for me; Oh! shan’t I have”—alas! what thought In Bennie's heart just thdta was born To drive the sunshine from his eyes, And make him sad that merry morn? He knew his mother thought of him, In her poor home, with eyed so dim With unshed tears, she scarce could sen The work she sewed so wearily. No happy Christmas day for her; No joy to make her pulses stir As Bennie's did, nor to her share Would fall his sumptuous Christmas fare. What wonder that all signs of joy Fled from the blue eyes of her boy! 44 But she, has got my money now! ” (Back rolled the cloud from Bonnie’s brow, While dimples gathered thick and fast). “ And I have helped mamma at last!” Oh, sheering thought! Straightway our Bel Became a merry boy again, And when the party was begun. No happier child beneath the sun Could e er be found than Bennie Moore, Who played as he ne'er played before. And oh! the dinner! there they sat, The children—rosy-cheeked and fat. Their appetites far more than able To do full justice to the table. While farmer Green and Auntie Prue Helped them to eat and chatter, too. V. Ho! for the garret dim and wide, Cobwebbed with dust from side to side I Thither the children, girls and boys. Betook themselves and all thoir noise, Intent upon a hunt throughout The time-worn rubbish stored about. What fun they had! and how they played That they were pirates, making raid Upon such prey as came their way. * Till Bennie, with a shout so gay That it went ringing through and through The house, and startled Auntie Prue And Uncle Amos as they sat, Having an after-dinner chat— Discovered In an old-time chest A little sailor suit. In jest He slipped it on. “See, fellers, see! It's almost little enough for me. I’d like to be a sailor boy And go to places far away, And see such lots of curious things As sailors see. I will some day. My father was a sailor, he Was fourteen when he went to sea, I know, because he told me so. But then, you see, he didn’t go As big men do. He ran away— My father did, one summer day, And left his home. I think that I Would rather have stayed to say good-bye. He didn’t tho’, he thought 'twas fun To run away. The thing was done Before he scarce had planned it, see? He used to tell it all to me, And then he’d look so sad. as tho’ Some things had grieved him long ago.” Now it had chanced that Bennie’s shout Had drawn tho farmer from his chair, And hastening to the garret stairs, He paused awhile to listen there. 44 For like as not some mischief they Will do before the close of day,” Thought he, and standing there, had heard Os Bennie's story every word. And still he stood with his gray eyes Grown wide with wonder and surprise. While little Ben, In suit of bluo, Telling his story, little knew Os the one auditor, unseen, Whose listening ears grew sharp and keen. Ben's little heart was stirred with pride, As “Tell us more!” tho children cried; He loved to talk—they loved to ljstcn, And how his eyes began to glisten, As In his childish way he told The story now to him so old. 44 Well, papa used to tell to mo How he grew t rod of the sea. And went back to his homo again. And stayed awhile, and thon—and then Some troubffreame to him. and so He wanted once aga!n to go Away from everybody, and He did so. I don’t understand Exactly how it was, for hob Would often put mo off his knee. And up and down the floor would walk, And stop me when I wished to talk.” The farmer's face grew sad and whito, He clenched his strong hands hard and tight Long yoars ago a wayward brother. The youngest born—whoso widowed mothei Had left him with a dying prayer To brother's and to sister s care— Had quarreled with his brother's will, And run away, alas! and still The grief within tho hearts he left Was such ns then. The hope bereft Os that young brother's form and face StiU held for him a welcoming place Should he return—tho’ years had flown. And of his life no word was known, Till now, the elder brother hoard Thro’ Bennie’s lips, sad word by word. Os him their love had borne in mind, With thoughts so tender and so kind. How plainly now could all be seen By the ejccited Farmer GreeuJ His wandering brother's very name He'd changed, that he might quit all claim To the dear home, and none might know Os him whose pride had fall'll so low. But Bennie still talked on and told How poor they were; so often cold And hungry, too. “But yet,” said he, “ Father was always kind to me And my mammal” “So kind,” ho cried, Speaking the words with boyish pride In that dear father’s love, “that when He died, we scarce could smile again For such a weary while: I know That something vexed him long ago. ’Cause once I heard my mother say: 4 You’ll see your home again some day. 4 4 1 have no home save here with you,' Mj- father said; 4 too proud am I To turn to those I’ve hurt, and cry After so many yoars, for aid!’ These are the very words he said.” With tears upon his sun-browned cheek, Old Amos Green his sister sought. 44 Cornel” a3 she stared at him amazed, “ Dome, see what this strange day has brougb To us.” He led her tremblingly Up the old stairs, that she might see The little “chore-boy” of the farm, Still in the sailor suit arrayed. The farmer grasped his sister's arm: “ Speak, Prue, whoso suit does Bennie wear? 4 She turned, and o’er her face a shade Os anger passed. “How did they- dare To use that in thetr play?” she cried. Old Amos drew her to his side. “ Our long lost brother, dear, is dead! Ben wears—his—father's suit!" he said. VI. * That night a happy little boy Knelt down to pray In words of joy And praise, to the good God above, Out of a heart o’er full of love. For had he not at Auntie’s side Learned how tbe blessed Christmas-tide Had given him a legal right To love his new-found home so bright? And listening to the sad, sweet tale Os his dead father’s boyish years. What gift more treasured than the suit Once laid away with many tears, But which in merry, boyish play, He'd proudly worn that Christmas day? And think you it was long before Ben saw his dear mamma once more? Ah, no indeed i for Farmer Green No moments wasted ere he came To our big city one fine day Another sister dear to claim. He found her.in her lonely room, Just at the early twilight’s gloom, And gently broke the welcome news To her whose heart could not refuse To listen and believe. She heard Him, through, and then at the last word Fainted for joy, for she was weak, E’en while her “ brother ” kissod her cheek But joy won’t kill, they say, and so Her tired heart put off Its woe, And ail her cares and nil her fears Were washed away in happy tears. No need to tell of the glad day When Bennie, rosy-cheeked and gay, Stretched out his arms mamma to greet, ■ And welcome with his kisses sweet To the old home, where Auntie Pruo A sister's welcome tendered, too. No need to tell how Farmer Green— The happiest “uncle” ever seen— The joy ous news spread far and wide, With Bon (to help film) at his side. But this I’ll say, that to tills day Old Amos Green his full heart lifts In loving gratitude for those “ Most unexpected Christmas gifts.” —Mary D. Brine. GAS. The Use of Natural Gas for Heating and Lighting Purposes. The use of natural gas is increasing in the East, and already plays a mbst important part in the system of lighling and heating. It is said by a New York ] newspaper that by New Year’s Dearly ' one-half of the dwellings in the city of Rochester will use it for domestic pur--posesii The same paper says that natural fas was lately introduced into Beaver alls, being used as a fuel by a steel manufactory, whose annual expense for fuel has hitherto been some $75,000. Last month several new veins were struck near Pittsburgh, adding considerably to the supply which that city already possesses. It is asserted that the supply and use of natural gas by the city of Pittsburgh is so large that it promises to revolutionize some of the essential characteristics of that city. Many manufacturing establishments use it for fuel, with the result that a very large portion of the dense smoke which for many years has overhung and destroyed the beauty of the place has disappeared. The cost of this gas is fixed at the same as the ■cost of coal used as fuel; but even at tho' same price there is a great economy. There is no coal to be hauled, no ashes to be disposed of, and perfect cleanliness takes the place of the smoky atmosphere. The use of the new fuel .being a success both in dwellings and manufactories, the only question of importance that remains is fcs to the duration of the supply. Experts claim that there will be no material diminution in the Rp.\t twenty Tintfh

PERSONAL AND LITERARY. —Tho wives of Brigham Young are still mostly all widows. .—The salary of President Jewett, of the Erie Railroad, has been $40,000 a yo.tr for ten years. Mr. Wait, of Connecticut, will be the oldest member of the next National House of Representatives, lie is sev-enty-six. —According to statistics, novels constitute nine-tenths of the books read in England, and nineteen-twentieths of the books read in the world. —The present Emperor of Russia in his earlier days was noted for his feats of strength, and is still one of the strongest men in his Empire of giants. —Ella Maude Moore, winner of a five hundred dollar prize offered by the Youth's Companion for the best short girl’s storv, is-the author of the poem “Rock of Ages.” —Major Edwards, the fat editor of the Fargo (1). TANARUS.) Argus, is believed t<f be the biggest man in the newspaper business in the United States. He is said to tip the beam at three hundred and forty pounds. —Miss Gussic Turner, a bright and vivacious young lady of Philadelphia, followed her lover to* Delaware and was married to him in the county jail at New Castle, where he is serving a three years’ sentence for. burglary.— Philadelphia Press. —Miss Lelia J. Robinson, a bewitching young lawyer of Boston, went out to Seatlle, W. TANARUS., to settle a short time ago. She has been winning cases from the best lawyers of the Territory, and the people now talk about making her a Judge.— Chicago News. —Congressman-elect Morrow, of the Fourth California District, and Mr. Hastings, his Democratic competitor in the late canvass, are close friends, and the first thing Mr. and Mrs. Hastings d'.d after learning the result was to tender the successful candidate a confralulatory dinner at their fine San rancisco residence. — San Francisco Call. —For many years past Alfred Tennyson has signed his name only to letters to his nearest friends. All other communications, including replies to open or concealed applications for his autograph, have been, and are, penned and signed in his name by Lady Tennyson, who writes a bold, strong hand, much more masculine in appearance than the poet’s. —lt may not bo generally known, says the Musical Herald, that Gilbert and Sullivan had a superstition that the letter 44 P” in their titles brought them luck. “Pinafore” made the first great hit, and then came the “Pirates of Penzance” with two “P’s.” Then followed “ Patience” and then “lolanthe,” with the sub-title of the “Peer and the Peri,” again a double 44 P,” and at first they even thougt of adding to this by calling it “Perola.” “Princess Ida” .followed, but the “I” seemed to break the charm. HUMOROUS. —We don't pretend to belong to the high-toned crowd whose breakfast is served in bed; but nevertheless we generally take a roll and a turnover before rising. —Marmalade is made from banana skins in Philadelphia. In Boston it is quite as often papa laid as mamma laid that the banana skin is responsible for. —Philadelphia Call. —No explorer will ever reach the top of the North Pole—if s too cold a climb. We advise our friends to go armed for the present as the author of this is still at large.— The Hatchet. , —“I have no way to pass the time, and it’s tedious,” complained an idle boy. “Go yalk up and down in front of the town clock, and then you’ll pass time, ’’ advised his bright sister Tot.— Golden Days. —A Ready Pair: Ufid as a rose was she, Ren as a beet was he. And the marriage service was duly read. And readily out of the church they sped. I askod the parson the sizje of his fee, 44 1 got not a red,” he answered me. —‘•l’ve said often that 1 would take means to prevent young men from coming around my house,” said a the other day, “and I’ve done it. x My daughter is too young to think of marriage.” "What have you a neighbor; “bought a dog?” “No, I’ve bought my daughter a piano.”— Chicago Tribune. —“I see, Fannv, you are smoking cigarettes. Why do you do that?” asked a Boston lady of a strong-minded female friend. “In the first place, I want to emancipate myself; and, secondly, when I smoke I always think of him,” was the reply. “Anddon’tit make you sick Detroit Post. —An honest farmer was invited to attend a party at the village doctor’s one evening, where there was music, both vocal and instrumental. On the following morning he met one of the guests, who said: “Well, farmer, how did you enjoy yourself last night? Were not the quartettes excellent?” 44 Why, really, sir, I can’t say,” said he, “ for I didn't taste ’em; but thfe pork chops were the finest 1 ever ate.” —Good Cheer. —Mrs. Do Blank —“Poor Clara! My heart goes out to her, but what can I do? Nothing will comfort her.” Mrs. de Pink—“ Clara! Dear me! What has happened? I thought she was happily married. Everybody said it was a splendid match.” “ Yes, that is true; but everybody was mistaken. The poor girl was basely deceived by a designing scoundrel who masqueraded in order to win her young affections.” “ Impossible. I heard he was a plnnuiet 4 .” 44 So we all thought, but it turned out that ho was nothing but a foreign Count.”— Philadelphia Call.

THEJ REVOLVER Result of S omo of the Teachings of Our Time. May we not see, in the recent murderous assault in the counting-room of the San Francisco Chronicle , the result of the teachings of our time? Here is this Spreckels. Like thousands of other young men, he carries a highly-danger-ou& “self-acting” revolver. Should any one apply to him a certain epithet, that man would surely fall under the young man's rapid lire. Why? Because the young man has no respect for the law. He is intelligent. He puts things together. .He says: “Nobody who is anybody is ever hanged. He goes to jail, to be sure, but it makes him a great man. Nobody with money, or whose father has money, is ever convicted.” And is not the lad right? Who, since Dr. Webster, among the better classes, has been executed for murder? And what cowardly assassinations have we not had since the war? Inasmuch as it has been murder or nothing, the jury has always found that it was nothing, or when, after delivering a decision in favor of a defendant, a Supreme Judge has been slain at the foot of his bench,' by a plaintiff, the jury has affected to believe that the' l slayer was crazy at the moment he wreaked his vengeance. Horrible acts among the young men thus educated to lawless wrk are at last bringing the people to their senses. It is no uncommon thing for the managing editor of a great daily to nowadays direct the workers in his telegraph-room that they ‘ cut down the ‘hangings,’ put them in the supplement, scatter the criminal news,” and in other commendable ways distract the minds of the people from the bloody business which hath so informed their eyes that they cfcn no longer see the ligure of Justice sitting tfitg spjtles,— GuirqH,

HOME, FARM AND GARDEN. —Flour is much improved for baking by being heated in the oven till quite hot just before using.— Exchange. —Whether we buv asparagus sets or sow the seeds makes just about one year’s difference as to th ; time of cutting the shoots. — Albany Journal. —When you-have decided what and how much to plant, if you have not the plants, open a correspondence with several leading nurserymen and ascertain where you can do best in purchasing; then give your orders early.— American Rural Home. —When using an axe or hammer, instead of spitting on the hands to get a firm hold on it, use a little lard or other soft grease.or oil—never use linseed oil, as that will glaze it and make it more slippery. Also, if you have dry, hard wood to split, grease the axe with bacon rind.— Cleveland Leader. —Look out for small wastes. Put all tho cornstalks under cover, feed all the soft apples, save all tho hard ones for use in the family, for sale or for stock; put the sound pumpkins where they won’t freeze, so they can be fed to milch cows and other stock; give up whisky and tobacco, and turn everything | Providence sends to the best account. Thus do and sweet will your slumbers be.— Prairie Farmer. —Southern Chicken Pie: Boil a chicken until it is tender, then take a deep earthen dish and put into it a layer of chicken, well seasoned with butter, pepper and salt, then put a layer of cold boiled rice on this, and so on until you have exhausted vour resources, taking care you have a layer of rice on flic top. Put this into the oven and let it remain there until it is very hot and then serve.— Boston Budget. —Com Biscuit: Scald two cups of com meal in one pint of sweet milk. Then stir together three-quarters of a cup of butter, two cup3 of sugar and a little salt, and add to it. Then: add three eggs well beaten, a little flour and half a cup of hop yeast. Let it rise the second time; then roll out, and let rise the third time. Bake and send to the table hot. This amount makes about twenty-five biscuit.— The Household. —Smoked Beef with Eggs: Cut beef in thin shavings or chips, put them into the frying pan and nearly fill it with hot water. Let it boil up once, then pour the water off, and add to the beef a tablespoonful of good dressing or fat for half a pound of the beef. Shake a little pepper over and let it fry for a few minutes over a quick fire, then break two or three eggs into it and stir them together till the eggs are done; then turn it out on a dish for the table. —Boston Olobe. HOW TO SMOKE HAMS. Something; Which Every Farmer Should Know How to Do Properly. The process of sugar-curing hains is as follQWs: The hams are trimmed and rubbed with salt and left to drain on a bench for a day and a night. They are then wiped dry and packed in a clean barrel, and each one is rubbed with salt as it is put down. They are packed as closely as possible. A pickle is made as follows: For each one hundred pounds of meat seven pounds of salt, two and one-half pounds of brown sugar, and two ounces of saltpeter arc dissolved in hot water, and the liquid is boiled for a short time, being skimmed if necessary. It. is then cooled, and when cold is strained into the barrel through a double cloth on to the meat. The meat should be kept three inches under the pickle. It is best to head up'tlie barrel and pour the pickle through a hole in the head, and then cork it tight. Otherwise, a loose head should be put on the meat and weighted down, and a cover put on the top of the barrel. After two months Ihe hams may be taken out, well wiped and rubbed witli ground black pepper, and then smoked. Asa substitute for the usual smoke house, the following is suggested: Smoke a barrel thoroughly with maple or hickory chips (raise the bar'TeF an inch or two from the gwund to furnish draft.) and when smbked sufficiently, sweep out the inside, and give it a slight rinsing with cold water. When you have thus prepared it, pack the hams and shoulders in, flesh side up, and pour over them the pickle in quantity sufficient to cover • them, and your work is done. Tho pickle extracting the desired smoky flavor from the barrel, will carry it through the whole mass of meat, and much more equally, or evenly, than by the usual process of smoking, as the flavor will be as sti|H| in the center as at the surface of th£"fiam. In addition to this even flavoring of the meat this process will be found to be much less troublesome and laborious, avoiding the risk of falling into the fire, of a burning smoke-house, or into the hands of the thieving neighbors, besides escaping the filthiness which is inseparable from the common way of smoking, and its consequent waste when preparing it for the table, as the meat is every way as clean when taken from the barrel as when placed in it. By this process all the expense, labor and trouble of bagging the hams after making, to keep them from the flies, is obviated, as they may be kept submerged in the pickle till wanted, or the last piece is desired for the gridiron, pot or pan. Be sure to smoke the barrel very thoroughly if you would have a strong flavor of smoke in your meat. — Colman's Rural World.

LEARNING HOUSEWORK. Girls Should Bo Taught the Importance of Serving an Apprenticeship In the Kitchen. If mothers educated their daughters to think more honorably of housework, we would not have so many inefficient housekeepers, but if the mother is efficient in tho control of her home, she had rather do the work than have the trouble of teaching her daughters, forgetting that this is an injustice to them as well as to herself, and she can no more neglect this part of her education than she can neglect their education from books, and they should be taught to understand that to be an adept in the art of sewing, plain or otherwise, is as great an accomplishment as music and painting, not that I underrate these latter accomplishments, but I consider the former as equal to them, and it seems strange that mothers are so blind to this most essential pars of their daughter’s education. When we contemplate the many unhappy homes made so by the incapacity of their mistress, our best instincts convince us that the training of our girls is absolutely wrong. I once heard a farmer’s daughter say to her mother the week before she was married, “I have never made a loaf of bread or cake.” And she was twenty-three at the time, and her intended was a farmer, and the mother was well assured that the daughter would have to be her own housekeeper. But even in the case of dividing the care of the household with servants, the discipline is better when the lady has a practical knowledge of how things should be done, ana the length of time required in the performance of certain duties; if she has a knowledge of these facts she will be a more kind and patient mistress. While I believe that our girls should be proficient in every department of learning, I think also that they should be taught the importance of scrying an apprenticeship in the kitchen p.t tbj same Farmer*

FOE OUB YOUNG READERS. TELLING SANTA CLAUS. Oocyst Santa Claus: We got them. Hurry’s gun and Charlie’s ship. All our books, and dolls, and candy, Eddie's rocking-horse and whip. But papa says, Santa, darling. That ne thinks you’d like to know What became of all the presents That you brought, a year ago. Let me think; there t cere two dollies; Cousin Ada got one, too, And within a drawer she put It, Where she keeps it, nice and new; But. we couldn’t treat our babies In that cruel, lienrtless way. Why, suppose mamma had done so— Santa, what would people say? Ada thinks we’re so ungrateful, ltut wc tried our best to be Little careful, loving mothers, But—well, Santa Claus, you see, Babies do make lots of trouble, And one very stormy duy, Nellie took hers to the fire. Where it melted ’most away. I kept mine a good while**>nger, ' But her clothes got soiled and torn, " And her hair got all unkrlnkled. Oh! she did look so forlorn! Then mamma rocked over on her, Bight upon her precious head, Bo I cut off one sweet ringlet, And pretended she was dead. Baby’s kept her rubber rattle. And. O Santa, ’tis the truth! There’s a cunning hole; she bit it With her very first wee tooth; I’m afraid we’ve lost the puzzles, And I broke my coral ring—- • Time and change,” mamma says, Santa, “ Will affect ’most everything.” Then that splendid book of pictures— How wo little ones did shout: But we read, and read, and read It. Till twos every bit worn out; Well, we didn't ’sport to keep it ’Zactly new a whole long year. But we know ’most all the stories; " Santa, darling, do you care? SANTA’S HEPI.V. Carling little girls: Vour letter Pleased me more than I can tell, And I learn with satisfaction That you use my gifts so well. Santa thinkßthat dollies played with, Stories read and read again. Will leave Just the right impression Upon busy heart and brain. Mother tells me, precious girlies. That you’re growing every day * Kind and pati>.it, sweet and careful, lipa half unconscious way; Never mind the treasures broken, It was but their outward parts, If the choicest gifts of Christmas You have treasured in your hearts. Do not hoard such gifts, my darlings. Use them, like your toys and books; I shall know how much you prize them From your actions, words and looks. —Kate Lawrence, in Youth's Companion. A " SANTA CLAUS” STORY. The Days’ Christmas Tree, and Who Planned and Made It. At the very tip-top of a very long hill stands a big white house; and at the foot of the hill stands a little house which the winds and rain and sun have painted black. Mrs. Deane, who lives in the big white house, has one little girl, and Mrs. Day, who lives in the little black house, has three. Every Monday morning the three little Days tug a big basket up the long hill to the white house, after the weekly “wash;” and every Thursday afternoon they tug it up again, filled with clothes as sweet and clean as sweet and clean can be. For Nora and Nannie and Bess have no papa, and their mamma has to work early and late to earn clothes for their growing bodies, and bread enough to fill their hungry little mouths. Sometimes there isn’t enough. Now I have come to the story. It was the week before Christmas, and little May Deane, in the pretty sit-ting-room of the house on the hill, was chatting to her mamma and Dicky, the canary, about Santa Claus, and what she was sure he would bring her, when there came a knock at the door. It was Thursday afternoon, and Nora and Nannie and Bess had brought home the clothes. Mrs. Deane asked them in to wait for the basket; and when they were in Dicky sang for them, and May kept up her chatter, tipping her head sideways, and looking like a canary herself, with yellow curls and bright eyes. “What do you suppose Santa Claus will bring you?” asked .she. The little Days stared very hard at each other and at May. Nora answered; she is the oldest: “We don’t know who he is.” It was May’s turn to stare. In all her life she had never before found anybody who didn't know Santa Claus. “Then who gives you things Christmas?” asked she. “We don't have any,” answered Nora, “ ’thout’s sometimes we get our winter shoes then.” “Why, don’t you hang up your stockings?” “No,” said Nora. “Nor have any Christmas tree ever?” May asked. “N<>,” said Nora again; and then Mrs. Dean came back with the basket, and the three little Days made three little courtesies and went away. May stood at the window and watched them go down the snowy road. Her face was very sober. “Mamma/’ she asked, “why don’t Santa Claus ever go to their house?” “Perhaps the chimney’s too small for him,” answered mamma, with a smile. “It isn’t a chimney at all; it’s a stove-pipe,” said May. “May be it is too small.” t She looked out of the window for a long time, without speaking. At last she said: “Don't you s’pose he’d go there this vear if I wrote him a letter and asked him to?” “Perhaps,” mamma answered, “if he had gifts enough in h's pack.” “If he hadn’t, minima, he needn’t come here.” v Mamma smiled. “Then I think he might,” she said. ‘But the stove-pipe —how could he manage that?” May thought a moment. Then she clapped her hands and whirled about like a live top, spinning right up to her mother's side at last. ' “O, mamma, mamma!” she cried, “let me be their Santa Claus and make ’em a tree, like the one Aunt Bella made for me last year, and I looked in the parlor and caught her tying on the oranges! O, mamma, can’t 1, please?— with strings of popcorn and candy-horns and apples? And then I won’t care if Santa Claus, the really-tndy Santa Claus, mamma, doesn’t come here. Can’t I, please?” And mamma kissed her little daughter's lips. “I think you can,” said she. “You may ask papa about it.” “I just the same's know he’ll say I enn!” cried May. And so he did, ("inching her round cheeks red, and teasing her a good deal about getting sooty going down Mrs. Day’s stoveWhat fun it was! May went about ihe house with dancing eyes. You see she had a secret, and id like to know if there ever lived a little girl who didn’t enjoy a secret—such a beautiful secret, too! It was just the best sport to peep into parcels which papa brought home from the village. Then there was the corn to p9p and string, and the apples to get ready) and of course this work would take a great deal of time if you wanted it to (so to bring Christmas, quicker), and string a good deal of corn and tied a good many apples, just as May did. So Christmas came, or the day before Christmas, which is almost as much fun; and May’s papa went to the wood lot and brought home a tree, a trim fitlie fir, with dark green, glossy boughs. He planted it straight and fi* - m in a tiny tub, filled with sand, which May stucK full of twigs and bits of evergreen. “So nice for Nannie to wash her doll’s clothes in,” said she. “It’s just big enough.” She meant the tub. Then she bung the apples and oandy boros 04 tU° branches; n4 the gtrlogs

of pop-corn, like little snow wreaths, and the gifts. There was a warm shawl for Mrs. Day,; a dress for each of the three little girls, a doll with yed hair for Nannie, a tea set for Bess and a pretty work box for Nora. That night, when the stars began to come out, May’s papa took her on the big hand-sled, with the tree, and away they flew down the long hill to the little black house. Papa set the tree, on the step. Then he knocked gently, and whisked May away from the door. What do you suppose Nora and Nannie and Bess said and did when they peeped out and saw the tree? “They just hollered and hollered, and hopped up and down!” cried May to mamma, When papa had drawn her home again. “And then they all took it in and shut the door; O, mamma. I’m so glad I did!” And, after all, Santa Claus paid the "big white house a visit; of course he did. For it, wasn’t really he who made the Days’ Christmas tree, you know—it was only little MayjDeane. —Ada Carlelon. ... SILK. The Beautiful Product of Nothing but a Worm. Do you ever think, children, when your pretty sashes and ribbons are tied on, and you look at them admiringly; that the glossy, beautiful silk is made by a worm ? Some of you may have seen silk-worms, but many do not know what an interesting story their little fife makes. Last winter there was sent me a tiny package of what looked like gray seeds, or beads. 1 1 had to keep them very cold until the mulberry leaves were well grown. Then I put the seeds in a warm place. In a day or two there were myriads of tiny little creatures crawling out from the seeds or eggs. At once they began to eat the. leaves of the mulberry. Day after day they ate, and grew, until they were as large as my little finger, and longer. They ate so much that we were all kept busy feeding them. They would seize a leaf, and leave nothing but the veins in a few moments. If you ever saw a skeleton bouquet you can imagine how they left the leaves. But one morning they did not seem so hungry. They wandered about, and climbed up the bundles of straw I had set for them. In a little while many of them began to spin the most beautiful silken threads, very much as a spider does. Back and forth, over and over, in loops like a figure 8, went their queer “hooded” heads. By and by each one could be seen inside a beautiful silken veil, or shell, about the size of * a large peanut. The worm continued to spin until the veil was too thick for us to see through; but we could hear his “dick, click, click,” as he worked. The worms have to be killed in the case. If they are allowed to live they will break the delicate threads. We did not kill them all, however. I wish you could have seen the room when we gathered the cocoons, which is the proper name for the peanutshaped home of the.silk-worm. All along the ceiling, behind the windowcurtain, on papa’s desk, in baby’s rubber—which she forgot to put away behind the pictures—on ,the cord, under the broom, on the floor, around the door-knobs cocoons, cocoons, everywhere; countless numbers were also hung, like pretty birds’ eggs, in the straws. From tlie.se, after a tew days, came beautiful white moths, not at all like the ugly worms. From tne cocoqm, in which we killed the worms we* reeled the delicate threads from which all ourkilk is made. Is it not indeed a curious story? —Our Little Ones.

A SENATORIAL STORY. The Gentleman from Way Rack Who Was Not So Green as lie Looked. When Nesmith was elected to the Senate from Oregon, in the early part of the war, he had never been in Washington; never been east of the Rocky Mountains, in fact, since he emigrated as a boy to the Pacific slope to seek his fortune. He had never seen a railroad or a locomotive until he struck the Panama Road at the Isthmus, and, as he described himself, was “°;reen as a squash.” Upon reaching Washington, being too bashful to present his credentials and be sworn in at once, he spent a day or two looking down upon that distinguished body from a seat in the gallery, so as to get the hang of things a little before he ventured on the floor. His diffidence wore ofl’after a little, and his great fund of anecdote, his fine vein of humor, his frontier frankness and originality of character and manner, drew around him warm friends of both parties. Standing one day in a group of Senators who had been questioning him concerning his adventurous life, Senator Wilson, of Massachusetts,said: “I understand, Senator, that you had never seen a railroad until you came East, and that everything of that sort in the way of modern improvements was entirely new to you. Now, lam curious to know what struck you as being the most wonderful thing that met your observation on this side of the continent?” Nesmith hesitated a moment, then said: “Well, I spent my first two or three days in Washington up there in the gallery looking at-the Senate, and I think what filled me with wonder was the thought that I, whp went oft to Oregon a few years ago a poor, uneducated boy, should be here as a member of the highest legislative body in the country. That was my greatest wonder. ” “Well—but —I don’t mean that exactly,” said Wilson, who was chiefly curious about what mechanical contrivance or invention had excited most surprise, “but what after that most surprised you?” “Well,” said Nesmith, dropping his serious manner and putting on a quizzical expression, “I think after the sen- . sation of surprise at being here rnyselt what excited most wonder was how the dickens the rest of you .got here.”— Rochester Post-Express. - • m Private Hotels in London. A few London? hotels are very dear, such, for instance, as the elite of the "private hotels” about Piccadilly. In these, which are small, everything is scrupulously neat and; intensely English. There are no public drawingrooms or parlors, but all gitosts are expected to take private ones or whole suites. The attendance is of the best—that is to say, the waiters and maids are more like perfect automat i than anything which discipline has ever produced in humanity. The landlord or landlady is the invisible mainspring of the whole. One may live for months in the house and not be aware of their existence'. These places . are, in fact, a sublimed form of the lodging-house—there is almost nothing about them which sugfests to an American his idea of a hotel. here is often no billiard or smokinglroom, no table d’hote. In these, during the season, the aristocracy, pur sang, can conceal themselves in perfect seclusion from all save those whom they wish to see. Many or most of these are kept by ex-butlers, who have been for vears.in the service of the nobility, and Lave while there married ladies’ maids. Thus they are perfectly qualified in their clientefe. Life in these places is perfectly comfortable, in absolutely good form, but unless one has many friends, intolerably dull. —Boston Advertiser, •m • —lady in Mississippi has 359 ▼!<*> tjes of roses in her garden

TEMPERANCE. A SHORT TALK ON DRUNKENNESS. “ Look Not Upon the Wine when It Is Red.” If I could bring together a thousand boys and girls from one city, and a thousand from another, and so go all over this country, and ask each one: “What do you expect to be when you grow up?” not one would say: “I expect to be a drunkard.” No one wants to be a drunkard. When we hear the name it brings up in our minds a picture of a man in shabby clothes, with red, bloated face and bloodshot eyes, reeling along the streets, saying foolish things, quarreling with those about him, lighting, and at last lying down helpless in the gutter. That is a dreadful sight that nearly all of us have seen, and drunkards must have been just the same in the days of Solomom, although they had no whisky then, and could only get drunk upon wine. Here what Solomon says about these drunkards of his day: “Who hath woe? who hath sorrow? who hath contentions? who hath babbling? who hath wounds without cause? who hath redness of eyes? They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek mixed wine.” But all the drunkards in the world have been made; they were not born so; they have been made out of bright-faced children, with clear eyes, and pure, sweet breath, and strong, steady steps, and happy voices—children who never meant to be drunkards, and who never would have been if they had taken Solomon’s advice. He says there is only one way to be safe, and that is, not to begin, to let the wine alone; not even look at it. He says: “look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth its color in the cup, when it moveth itself aright; at the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder.” This red wine that sparkles in the cup, and has a pleasant taste, is like a beautiful serpent that is moving its glittering coils, and getting ready to bite you. A cluster of ripe grapes is a beautiful thing, and when you crush the grsmes jn your mouth, and swallow the delicious pulp, you are taking what is harmless and nourishing. But is you squeeze out this refreshing juice, ■ and let it stand a very few hours it begins to change. A part of it turns into the poison that is called alcohol; all that puld nourish and feed your body is destroyed, and the juice becomeswine, just such wine as Solomon said bites like a serpent. If you eat an apple, the juice that is ground out by your teeth is exactly the same as that which is crushed out by a cider mill; it is wholesome and nourishing, and you like it, because it is mixed w ith the spicy pulp. But what is called “sweet cider” is this same juice that has stood a few days until it has begun to “work;” that means that a part of it has changed into this same poison that makes it no longer nourishing, but dangerous. The more of the poison there is in it the more it sparkles and the better it suits the taste of those who have learned little by little to love it So, when people say to you: “What harm can there be in the juice of grapes, or in sweet cider?* 1 you can answer them: “No harm at all, if you take them just as God made them. But the juices of the grapes and the juices of the apples begin to change as soon as they are crushed out, and the poisonous alcohol is formed, and then there is always harm in it. If you were dying of thirst it might be worth while to take a drink from a spring that you knew was impure and unhealthy; but with so many good things to eat and drink in the world, do you think it is sensible to drink what may have poison in it just because you are not sure it has? If you let all cider alone you will be sure nevdr to drink the wrong kind, nor let your example lead any one else to do so.” That is about what I would say on the cider question if I were a boy or a girl; and when I had made up my mind I would stick to that course, whatever any one else said or did. Why, one of my neighbors, at great inconvenience ana expense, lias all his water brought from a distance, although ho has a well in his own yard. The water looks pure, and tastes pure, but he knows some wells have poison in them, and he thinks it quite possible his may have, and so he lets it alone. Is he not more sensible than his neighbor who went on drinking the water because he could not see anything wrong with it, until half his family were attacked with typhoid fever? If you mean to take Solomon’s advice, and not even stop to look at this dangerous enemy, that can seem so harmless at first and yet sting like a serpent afterward, you must remember and not go with those who drink wine. Doft’t be found among them; keftp away from them; give them no chance to tempt you; for if the children could grow up right foi one generation, we should have no more drunkards.—Emily Huntington Miller, in Christian Union. LINCOLN ON LIQUOR. A Speech at a Temperance Meeting Thirty Years Ago. Mr. Luke C. Grimes,' formerly City Librarian and an active politician, has for thirty years taken a deep interest, at intervals, in temperance movements. He is at present a member of Perry Lodge, Order of Good Templars, and Great Commander of the Knights of the Cross in the State of New York. During the Washingtonjan Temperance excitement about 1853 or 1854, he was present at a meeting where the late President Lincoln made a speech, and the story of the interesting event, as told by him, is as follows: “One Sunday afternoon in 1853 or 1854, I am not certain of the year,” began Mr. Grimes, “I attended a meeting m the large hall on the top floor of the building on the southeast corner of Broome street and the Bowery, given under the auspices of Neptune Division, Washington Sons of Temperance. The same apartment is used to-day for the meeting of Franklin Lodge of Good Templars. The meeting on the occasion of which I speak was presided over by Daniel Walford, who is stfll alive and engaged in the good work, being a member of Hope Lodge, Good Templars. After an opening address by the presiding officer, the audience was called upon for fiveminute speeches. Many were made, but the material giving signs of being exhausted, Mr. Walford resorted to direct personal appeal, and, addressing a person who was modestly seated in a remote corner of the room, said: ‘Perhaps our friend in the corner will make a few remarks. 1 The audience instinctly, of course, gazed in the direction indicated by the speaker, and saw the gaunt, uncouth form of a very tall man slowly arise from a seat. A half-sup-pressed titter ran through the assemblage at the appearace of the individual. He was clad in homespun garments of a grayish color, which added to the quaintness of his aspect. So leisurely did he rise from his chair that it seemed as though he must be about seven feet high. Ilis complexion was sallow, his cheeks sunken, and his hair and beard were black—the latter slightly grizzled. But the most remarkable feature was his eyes; they were deep sunken in the sockets, jet black, and they glowed like coals of fire, and impressed mo with the fact their possessor \vas pg Qi'(Jip;uy man. Well, ftt

last he had risen to his full -height, and he was seen to be of much more than average stature, but slightly utooped. After a deliberate survey of the audience for a minute or two he began to speak, and-I tell you it was not before the titter I spoke of gave place to murmurs of applause and admiration, and he wasn’t restricted to tho five-minute rule either. I can only give a mere outline of the address. He dwelt, of course, upon the evil effects of liquor drinking, and illustrated his speech with many amusing anecdotes, but one feature I recall very distinctly, and that was a tribute Jie paid to his mother, in which he sahbfhat whatever success he had attained and whatever force ho had brought to bear to resist temptation he felt was due to the principle of selfreliance inculcated by his mother; that she always taught him that he was responsible for his acts, and could do either right or wrong as he should chose. He said furthermore: ‘ln the far West, whence I come, rum has ndtyet made the ravages that mark its dread path in the crowded cities of the Rast, and I trust there shall never be found wanting earnest men to warn the pioneer that his labor will be useless unless he excludes from his presence the dread destroyer, rum! 1 These were the words of the speaker, as near as I recollect; but I recall distinctly the concluding sentence of the speech, which was as follows: ‘I am from the far West on my way to Washington, and my name is Abraham Lincoln. 1 None of his hearers had ever heard the name before, but all realized that the owner was an able man. When the meeting broke up Mr. Lincoln passed out with the crowd, and I never saw him again Until I was introduced to him at the Astor House in 1861, when, as he said, perhaps prophetically, he was on his way to Washington, to the Presidency and to his death.”— N. Y. Telegram. THE MODERATE DRINKER. The Argument for Total Abstinence In a New and Peculiarly Terrible Light. On the question of moderate drinking that eminent authority on physiology. Dr. Alfred Carpenter, writes to the London Times a note which puts the argument for total abstinence in anew and peculiarly forcible way. After saying that this is the age of precise methods and precise instruments, and that recent practice has made great advance in using medicine with precision and certainty, he goes on thus: “The most poisonous articles are thus rendered useful and safe. Tho most valuable medicines are among the most terrible poisons. Morphia is one of these. It is a sheet anchor in some of the most severe and dangerous maladies; yet if the patient has been accustomed to use it daily the physician fails to find it answer in the manner in which he is accustomed to see it act upon those who are not, as it were, acclimated to its use. I am of opinion that alcohol is a most virulent poison, and, under certain circumstances, is a most valuable medicine. The abstainer has the full benefit of its effects when it becomes necessary to use it in cases of illness; but the moderate di'inker throws aways the benefit which it might be as a medicine. No physician is able to use it as an instrument of precision in one who is accustomed to take it as a diet. The moderate drinker submits to the toxic efl'ect of the dose every day, and his nervous system is already somewhat deadened to its direct influence, so that the dose which produces a decided result on the abstainer has scarcely any efl’ect upon the moderate drinker. A larger and more poisonous dose has to be given, with the certainty of some evil resulting from its use. which will have to be removed before the system returns to its normal and healthy standard. “It is an instrument of precision in the hands of a physician when he is an abstainer. It is no longer so to the moderate drinker; and, as a consequence, the latter suffers by having one precise remedy the less which may be used in his treatment when he requiros it.” HE WAS DRUNK. A Man Cuts Himself to Shreds While Crazed by Ram. The pedestrians in Hoboken were startled Sunday night by a man who dashed through the streets wildly waving a bottle in the air and uttering the most unearthly yells. In Garden street the man attacked two young men who barely escaped his fury. He next assaulted a man who happened to come in his way. Finally he turned his attention towards himself. Breaking tho bottle against a curbstone, he gashed his wrists and awns in a terrible manner, the flesh literally hanging from the bone in shreds. In this butchered condition he rang the bell of Rev. Peter Eirich, pastor of the Lutheran Church, at Eighth and Hudson streets. On seeing the clergyman l:e descended tho stoop and again started on his wild career. By this time, however, the town was thoroughly aroused. Four officers found the crazy fellow, who proved to be Frederick ’ Wissenmeyer, a shoemaker, living at No. 154 Garden street. He was seated on the sidewalk watching the blood drop from his wounds. His fury had been spent and he quietly submitted to arrest. County Physician Heifer dressed the wounds and examined Wissenmeyer’s mental condition, lie had been drinking for several days and was on the verge of delirium tremens. A copious dose of chloral and other sedatives brought him back to his senses. He will be arraigned for trial. —lrish World. - Intemperance jfnd Crime in France. Dr. Baron, v a French writer, in a recent work, “Pauperism and Poverty,” shows that the most potent cause of indigence in France is drink, and that, in fact, it produces more pauperism thftn all other causes put together. To those who have regarded France as a temperate country this statement may be surprising, but Dr. Baron further furnishes statistical proof of its truth. Taking the Republ’c at large there is one cabaret, or public house, for every 106 people: while there is one savings bank for every 28,500, and one benefit society for every 54,000. It is estimated that the average expenditure of a superior French workman in drink and gambling (and mainlv in drink) annually is $l4O, though Dr. Baron thinks this an exaggeration. It is interesting to note that he combats the notion that want leads to drunkenness. He holds that improvidence and selfishness are the principal causes of the drinking habit. Crime follows closely on the heels of drunkenness, as shown by the statistics, and both are directly related to the number of public houses. One town in Illinois, with a population containing 3,000 young men, on a recent Sunday had by actual count one hundred and forty young men in attendance at the Protestant churches in the morning, and one hundred and sixtyone in the evening. On the previous evening one hundred and five young men entered a single saloon in this city in only one hour, and there were thirtysix more saloons open at the same time.— Y. M. C. A. Watchman. —. ■> . . ’ A significant statement was lately made by a citizen of Denver, who chanced to have been at one time its Mayor. “Whenever we extend the saloon limit a little,” he said, “we have to add to the police force. And everybody doesn’t scorn to realize -that tho extra policeman costs more in a month fhan tue saloon nets in ft year.”