Rensselaer Republican, Volume 12, Number 13, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 December 1879 — Page 4

JRepubliran. MAJOR BITTERS A SON, ?»***krt —4 Pnjrittm. RENSSELAER,” : : INDIANA

THE "CHRISTMAS-TREE. TnKHK'B a wonderful tree a wonderful tree— The happy children rejoice to aee; Bprtwltna Ha branctoea year by year; It comeerrom the forest to flourish here; Oh, this wonderful tree, with its branches Is always blooming at Christmas-tide. Tta not alone in Summer's sheen. Its boufftui are broad and its leaves are irroen; .It blooms for us when the wild winds Now, And earth is white with feathery snow; And this wonderful tree, with its branches wide. Bear* many a gift for tbe Christtaaa-Ude. 'Tis all altaht with its tapers' glow, ’ That stares on the shining eyes below. And the strange, sweet fruit on each laden bough Is all to be plucked by the gatherers now. Oh, this wonderful tree, with its brunches We haUwit h joy at the Christmas-tide.. And a voice is telling. «• boughs among. Of tbe shepherds' watch and tbe angels song, Of a holy Babe tn a manger low— Tbe beautiful story for long agn. When a radiant star threw its beams so wide. To herald the earliest Christ mas-tide.

A LESSON IN MYTHOLOGY. I urao to her, one summer day, - A little mythologic story About the maid who laughed at love. And ran a race for love and glory. I closed the book. She raised her eyes. And bushed the song she had been humming; Glancing across tbe shady lawn, » 1 saw my wealthy rival coming. _• ‘•These ancient tales, - ’ I gravely said, “ With meaning wise are often laden, Ami A taianta well may stand As type of many a modern maiden. " Minus, of course, the classic sandal Rut with no less of nimble grace, HoW many dainty slippered feet Arc running now that seif-same race! “ Ami when Hippomones casts down ills golden apples, is there ever A chance for love to reach the goal?” With saucy smile, she answered “Never!” I rose to go—she took my band—<O Kate! you ne’er that clasp can sever,) And, ‘•Stay," she said, with sudden blush, •• You fcwnc that I meant—* honfly ever.’ ” ' ' Eliza C. Hall, in Hcrfbner’t Monthly.

WHAT SANTA CLAUS SENT.

The week before Christmas was dreadful dreary. In the first place, father was away. He had been gone almost a month, in search of work, and we were expecting him home every day. In the next place, the wood was most gone, and we didn’t dare to keep a very good fire! And it always seems dreaiy in cold, snowy weather, unless you have a good, roaring fire, I think; especially in a dug-out. ’lt was all on account of the grasshoppers that we had to spend onr second winter in the ,dug-out. We’ had , been brave and patient —father saM so—the first winter. But when the grasshoppers came and ate up all our crop, and we had to give up the hope of a house for that whole year, we al(most wished we were back in Vermont. Then, in the- third place, and lastly, as the minister says; we had nothing left to cat but ppmpkin. And pumpkin—though it’s very nice for pics, when you have milk and. eggs, and pretty good (at least, better than nothing,) for sauce, when you haven’t got any better, and there is nothing left but the Johnny-cake—isn’t so very good for steady eating. And there wasn’t so very much of it, cither; and if that should fail before father came— But mother wouldn’t be gloomy. •• Eat all you want of it. I dare say father will come before it is gone,’’ • she said. “It’s ludky I dried so much.” “And lucky the ’hoppers didn’t like pumpkins,” said my elder brother. Bob, trying to imitate her cheerful tones. “ Bake some for supper, mother. I believe I like it best baked.” “Yes, I’ll bake it for supper; and you and Lizzie shall have all the milk to eat with it. We who are well can do without milk. Can’t we, children?” and she looked round so brave and cheerful at me and Tern and Johnny that we we were jnst\as willing as could be to give up our share of the milk, now that poor Bess, who had nothing but coarse, dry hay and water, could only give a pint twice a day. So Bob and Lizzie had. all the milk that night, and we had only a little salt on our pumpkin: because Lizzie wasn't much more than a baby, and Bob was sick, ever since he broke his leg at the raising. Bob tried to have mother take some of his milk; but she wouldn’t. Nobody complained— not a word—we Should.have been ashamed to; only I grumbled some, to old Bess, the cow, you know, when I was polling down hay for her. I suppose I’m not hardly as brave as the of ’em. At any rate, I often grumble to Bess, when things are hard; and I told her, that time, that there was no fun at all in liv’ing on pumpkin in a miserable dug-out, and I wasn't going to stand it. At least, -I wouldn’t, if I had any- boots to get away in. And I tried’ hard to think 'what I could do. But I didn’t see as there was anything. The neighbors were a good way off, and as poor as we were. All but old Mother Cripsey, and she was too cross and too sting}' to live. No use to eo near her. But when I went in. and was crouching down before the fire to get my fin- ~ gers warm, mother said: “ William, I think somebody ought to go over aflit see if Mother Cripsey needs anything this cold weather. I know it isn’t pleasant sor B you to go there; but it wonhl case my mind to know she wasn’t freezing or starving.” “ How can I go, mother, with no boots .?ut these?” and I held up my right oot. There was a strip of flannel tie<l round it, to keep the sole from flapping back and forth, every, time I stepped, and to cover a big hole that let the snow in. “ You might wear Bob’s best one, per-

“Certain,’'’ said Bob, without raising his head or looking at me. Bob couldn * help being gloomy. because he was sick and pumpkin didn’t agree with him; but he didn't like to have us take any notice of it, so we didn't. I said: “ Well, I s'posed I could go. The only thanks I should get would be to have my head snapped off and get called a E beggar, and asked what I expected te tby coming.” But I was tired of ing cooped up at home, and should be glad or a walk, if I could only have something to walk in. So Bob let me have his boot, and I started. It wks about half a mile and off the road; so I had to make my own path, and the snow was pretty deep. But the sun shone bright and I rather liked the fun of breaking a track. I saw a smoke in Mother Cripsey's chimney, as I came near; so I knew she was all right. You see it wasn't as if she had been poor, for she was the richest one for miles around; only she was most too stingy to keep herself alive. She ent her own wood and carried her own grain to mill, and there was nothing to be afraid of; only, as she would live there all alone, so far from neighbors, mother thought she might fall sick, or get hurt, or something, and nobody find it out till she suffered. So we had to go over once in a while. But all we gos in return was hard words and sneers. Mother often went herself, in pleasant weather. I guess she was rather pleasanter to her. At any rate, mother didn't seem to think her a bad sort of a woman. But, then, mother always thinks better of folks than they deserve. . I broke a path up to the door, and there she was. An old black hood pulled .down over her eyes, a night-

cap raffle, and some kind o« yellow-gray hair sticking out under the edge o? it, round her red, bony face, redder and bealer than ever. Her short striped petticoat came down just below the top of a pair at men's boots. She looked like a Jezebel, or a Witch of Endor, more than like a woman. But I went up to her, and took off my hat, and said “Good-morning,” as polite as you please. I like to be rather politer than common to her; it makes her so scornful. “ Well! what do you want o’ me? S’pos’n you air all out o’ breadstuff!” she began. “1 didn’t say we were all out ma’am!” I interrupted her, though that wasn’t polite, I know. I had to speak pretty loud and fast, or she wouldn’t nave stopped to listen to me. “ I came because mother was afraid you might need somebody to cut wood or something, now that the snow is so deep. She looked sharp at me while I said so much; but then she turned back to the wood-pile and began to chop in a way that made the chips fly, I tell you. I suppose that was to show me how easy she eould cut her wood herself. After she had worked that way awhile she turned round and put down her ax and said: “Come in, will ye?” Sol went in and sat down by the fire. “ I s’pose yer mar thought I had hands like hern, that's jest fit for knittin’ and darnin’ socks, and wanted a man to do such dreadful hard work xs cuttin’ wood enough to keep my own fire agoin’. So she sent you along, heyr

It’s no use to remember and repeat all the hard words Mother Cripsey said to me that day. She was more insulting than ever, accusing me of every kind of a mean motive in coming to inquire for her. I had a great mind to tell her just what I thought of her; and I would but for the thought of how mother would feel if I got downright angry and sauced a gray-headed old woman as, I do think, she deserved. But I held in my temper and just denied all her shameful charges. I swallowed all the hard words I could well stand, and then took rather a hasty leave and started for home. On the way, as I climbed over a fence, I saw something like feathers sticking out of the snow. I went for it, and pulled out a quail, that had been buried and frozen stiff. “That’s for Bob’s dinner!” I said, with joy. and thrust my hand down into the snow to hunt for more,. “Here’s for Lizzie!” I said, as I pulled out another. And down I dived again. Here’s for mother! And here’s for Tom and Johnny!” as three more came to the surface in quick succession. “And here’s for me!” I almost screamed, as a rather anxious search brought up another. I still dug about in the snow, and pretty soon I found one more. “ For father, surely!” I said. Then I could find no more, and sat down to rub my aching fingers. When I had got them warm, I pulled a bit of board from the fence and dug the snow-bank all over thoroughly, and found four more.

“ A dinner fit for a king! A dinner fit for a king!” I cried out loud, as I loolMl at the plnmp beauties lying before me. I found- a bit of string in my pockets, and tied them all together and slung them over my shoulder. Didn’t mother's eyes shine, when I came into the house with those quails! That was “ a dinner as was a dinner,” as Bob said. Of course, we had to go back to pumpkin again next day. Nevertheless, the change was delightful and made the week a good deal less tiying. Christmas Day was Saturday, you know. Thursday morning mother said: “It looks like more snow. I hope father will get here before it storms again.” She was a little nale that morning—poor mother!—though she spoke just as cheerful as ever. I knew and Bob knew the pumpkin wouldn't last till -Christmas Eve. But nobody talked about that. It began to snow at nightfall. I had cut up the last stick of wood, and it was piled up inside the fireplace. We had a stove in front of the fireplace, and the pipe ran into the rude stone chimney. It snowed all night, I suppose. When we wakedin the morning, no light came in at the little square of window. I knew it was morning because the clock struck eight just after I waked. We hail got in the way of sleeping very late mornings, to save the fire. I could just see where the window was. I called to mother. In the day-time there was but one room in the dug-out; but at night a curtain was drawn across one end, that divided off a corner that we called mother’s bedroom. She answered: “ Yes, William. Tm awake.” “ We’re snowed in, I guess, mother.” “It looks like it,” she said. “Build the fire, and I will come out directly.” I got up and dressed myself. Bob waked while 1 was dressing, and asked mo what I was getting up m the night for. I told him it was morning, but we were snowed in. So he got up. too. I went to the door, to see if I could open it. It opened easy enough; but a bank of snow was all there was to be seen. I believe I turned white. I know I shook &s people do with the ague. Ten sticks of wood for fuel, onehalf a candle for' light, and about pumpkin enough for two meals. These were our resources; t and we were snowed in. Mother came out. She was paler than yesterday, but calm and brave as ever.

“ Let’s have a fire, boys, quickly, and we will have breakfast soon. 1 feel sure father will come to-day.” She lighted our one piece of candle. I couldn’t speak. There was a great lump in my throat. Mv shaking hands would hardly lay the sticks for the fire. Mother put the pumpkin on to warm. It was all cooked now. We had only to warm it up. Then she brought out a little handful of cloves, that she said she had found hidden away in one of her trunks. She put them on the table in a salt-dish. “May be somebody will like them f<Jc a relish,” said she, smiling. I wished she wouldn’t smile. After breakfast she read the Bible rather longer than usual. Those psalms—- “ The Lord is my Shepherd,” and “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help”—and something else, I believe; but I can’t remember what. After prayers Tom and I washed the dishes, as we often did, while she put the room in order. When all was done, she put out the light “ I can knit as well in the dark,” she said; “ and I am gotag to tell you a story, so you will not care.” She told us a great many stories that day. I didn’t see why I couldn’t be as brave as Tom. He told jokes and riddles, and helped ever so much to keep the little ones amused. But my heart was like a lump of lead, and I couldn't seem to do or say a thing to keep the rest brightened up or cheer poor mother. Yet Tom knew how bad things were, just as well as I did. Bob kept his face hidden a good deal of the time when there was a light; but when he did show it he looked as if the last day was come. But then Bob was sick, and I wasn’t. Poor Bess lowed for her food and water. We were sorry for her; but couldn’t help her. w We lighted the candle again at dinner. We didn’t have very good appetites. There was enough pumpkin left, so Lizzie had her supper. She went to sleep early, in niy lap; it was so still. The stillness w;v most as bad as the darkness. And now it was Christmas Eve. But nobody said anything about hanging up

stockings. The little ones had nbtbeeh reminded that to-night was the time for that; and we older ones were thinking too much about fire, and food, and tomorrow, even to speak of it. “ Christmas wifi bring father, lam sure,” said mother, after Lizzie was laid in her bed. “ And now hadn’t my little Johnnie better be undressed? Morning will seem to come sooner if he shuts his eyes eariy.” “Me wants my-supper first,” said Johnnie. “ The pumpkin is all gone. But, if Johnnie is brave and patient, 1 think God will send him some breakfast.” “ Does He know the pumpkin is all gone?” said Johnnie, with a quivering /‘Yea. I told Him. He will take care that we have some breakfast. I asked Him to,” said mother, cheerfully and confidently. I wondered if she really felt so sure. I didn’t. “ But the snow is all up over the door, so nobody can’t get in,” Johnnie •aid. “ God can find a man who can shovel away the snow. I guess He will send papa home to do it,” mother said. “ I’m awful hungry!” said Johnnie, mournfully. And then, in a quick, glad tone: “Oh! I shouldn’t wonder if He sent some bread!” Ma, did you ask for pumpkin or for bread?” “For bread, dear. I think it.will be bread.”

“£>h! then Til go to bed quick.” He submitted to be undressed, and wheri his head was on the pillow he squeezed his eyelids close together, determined to sleep, that morning might come sooner. He had to speak once more. “ Butter on it! Did you ask for butter on it, ma?” “ I asked for some meat. A piece of meat would be good with bread. Wouldn’t it, Johnnie?” “ Yes; but I’d ha’ asked for butter, too.” said Johnnie, and subsided again. “We had better go to bed before the room gets cold, mother said, as we sat crouching around the few glowing coals that the last stick of wood had left. “ Mother, how can you be so brave and ouiet?” said Bob, bitterly, with a sound that was almost like a sob. “Hush, dear! Be brave and quiet yourself a little longer. God hasn’t forgotten us. Are you so very hungry?” “It isn’t that. I’ve often been hungrier when I’ve been off in the woods on a tramp. I don’t seem to feel any appetite; but to-morrow —” “ ‘Take no thought for the morrow.’ Let us, at least, try to obey that precept for this one night. Think! It is the night when the blessed Christ-child came down from Heaven. He gave us Himself. ‘ How shall He not also free--8 give us all things?’ Let us not doubt im on this His birthnight. Go to your bed with a quiet heart, as I shall go to mine. There is a glad Christmas in store for us yet.” So we went to bed—if not with quiet hearts, at least with a glimmer of hope, awakened by mother’s strong faith. But we did not sleep. The clock struck eight. There was a sound on the roof. We started up to listen. Yes, surely there was some one stepping above our heads. “It’s fatner!’" was our glad cry. We were out of bed in an instant, and beside the old chimney, which was the only outlet for our voices. “ Father! Father! Are you there?” we called. But no voice answered. Instead, there was a queer sound, as of something rubbing and shuffling down the chimney. “Santa Claus, for certain!” said Tom. Well, it seemed as if it was. First there came a long, narrow bag, covered with soot and ashes. It fell at our feet; but before we could pick it up a plump round package followed it and bounced into the middle of the floor. A second, like it, rolled along after, undoing itself and showing a loaf of brown bread Then came a shapeless package, with a bone sticking out, which Bob caught at, exclaiming, joyfully: “Dried beef. Hurrah!” We kept calling, “Father! Why don’t you speak, father?” at intervals; but got no answer. But we were sure it was he, and with joyous laughter welcomed the bundles as they came down the chimney. A few potatoes, a few turnips, a little soft clean package oi tea, and then the shower of good things was over. But there was no voice yet, and the sound of retiring footsteps left us looking in each other's faces in amazement. “It isn’t father, after all!” said mother, with a good deal of disappointment in her tones. “He woulu never have gone off so, without speaking a word. We fell to eating, with a keen relish. Slices of brown bread and dried beef disappeared rapidly. Johnnie was awakened, to have his share; and we would have waked Lizzie, too, but mother said “No.”

“ Too bad. The last spark of fire is out, or you should have a cup of tea, Marmie,” I said. “Nevermind! This is an earnest of better things. We shall have wood tomorrow. Father will come. You will see. f How thankful I am for this supply. ] And who could have brought itr’ She said these last words over again and again, as did we all. Ido think I, for one, was really thankful to God that night. At last we got to bed again—sooner than we should, I suppose; but the cold drove us there. But sleep did not come to me soon. Wonder and jo/ kept me awake. Was there really a Santa Claus, then? I, a boy fourteen years old, could hardly help believing it. We had not a neighbor, that I could think of, who was neh enough to give us such a bountiful Christmas present. Father came early next day, bringing money that he had earned, and more—a letter from grandma, enclosing a check for a hundred dollars. She said it was her present, and another like it should come in the spring, to help build that house. She had had a windfall, and we should enjoy our share of it at once. It was a joyful Christmas. Mother was right, as she generally is. Our crops were good this year, and our Christmas of the following year did not find us in a dug-out. Mother found out afterward that it was really Mother Cripsey herself, and nobody else, that put those things down our chimney Christmas Eve. She never would have done such a thing for anybody but mother, though, I sm sure. She thinks there is nobody like our mother. And I guess I think so, too. —/oy Allison, in N. Y. Independent.

Oriental Bargains.

Every traveler in Palestine learns from experience that he has to pay an ample price for everything he receives and enjoys. There seems to be no fixed price, but the vender or employe Sets all he finds it possible to procure. ut one of his methods, peculiar enough, is to begin his bargain by making no charge. We remember that the dragoman to whom we applied at Nablus to conduct us to Damascus refused at first to make any charge whatever for his senices, but declared he would be amply rewarded for his eight days' going and returning by the mere companionship of a Frank. On urging him to name a price, he put so high an estipaate upon his valuable aid that we werej compelled to forego the pleasure of his company. We found out that it was all a ruse. He was hoping to be offered our price, thinking it might be a large one, and was determined that if it did not suit him be would then

raise it as high as he might see fit. Every one who has traveled at all leisurely through the country has met with similar instances of shrewd bargaining. Dr. Thomson says he has been presented with hundreds of houses and fields and horses, and bv-standers were called in to witness the deed, and a score of protestations and oaths were taken to seal the truth of the donation; all of which meant just nothing, or rather just as great a price as he could possibly be induced to pay. A knowledge of this adroit method of dealing, still current in Palestine, greatly facilitates our understanding <3 Abraham’s ourchase of a burial-place for his wife. Hebron is much the same to-day as in his time. If one were to arrange for the purchase of a tomb for a member of his family, he would likely be told that he could have one for nothing. There is great exclusiveness in the matter of tombs, and a high price is expected. The Hittites said to Abraham, on his application for the purchase of one: “Hew us, my lord: thou art a mighty Prince among us: in the choice of our sepulchers bury thy dead; none of us shall withhold from thee his sepulcher, but that thou mayest bury thy dead.” Beautiful compliment! but only compliment Abraham, however, was too shrewd a man not to see through the trick; so he repelled the liberal offer, but insisted on paying for the burial place. Ephron, with aH due politeness, said: “Nay, my lord, hear me: the field give I thee, and the cave that is therein, I give it thee; in the presence of the sons of my people give I it thee: bury thy dead.” But Abraham understood the proposition for buksheesh too well to accept, and insisted on an outright purchase. So Ephron named four hundred shekels of silver. But “four hundred shekels; what is that betwixt me and theeP’ A mere trifle by name, but a very large price in fact. This, however, was serious business for Abraham, and he made no objection. So he proceeded to weigh out the money, just as men do now in Palestine, with a little pair of scales, to see that none of the coins are clipped. But Oriental custom requires that all the specifications be named in every contract When you buy a house, not only the building, but every room in it must be named, above and below, to the kitchen, pantry, stable and hen-coop. So when Abraham bought a field, he also bought the cave that was therein, and all the trees in the field, and all that were in all the borders round about. Then this sale was effected in public, just as all similar transactions in these days are brought about. When any sale is now effected in a town or village, the whole population turn out to witness it, in the space about the city gate. All the people take part in discussing the matter with as much interest as if they were personally concerned. In this way the transaction acquires legal force; it has many living witnesses.— Dr. J. F. Hurst, in Harper's Magazine for December.

How They Were Taught.

Here is a little story which may give a useful hint to both mothers and children. In an isolated mountain district in Virginia lived the D 8, father, mother and six sturdy boys. Three years ago the money which the father had saved for the education of the boys was lost through bad investment. The farm yielded but little more than enough to support the family. “They must grow up ignorant as field-hands,” said Mr. D . “No,” said his wife. “I will dismiss the servant and do the work. I can taka in sewing, too?” ; “How much would that amount to?” “Then I will hire another servant, give out our own sewing, and teach them myself!” She did it. The training of her boys into men was the most important work of her life. She gave all of her time to it. She had her own ways of teaching. Grammar was not to be taught to the boys until they were over sixteen. “It is an abstract study which a mature mind ean master in two months, but a child's—never,” she said, Botany and geology they studied out of doors. No sum in the arithmetic was worked by the rule, but by the meaning, which she taught them step by step, patiently. “Let us go traveling—to England,” she said, one afternoon. The boys had their maps open before them, while she read a vivid description of England, its crops, climate and scenery. “Suppose we stop over night here at Stonehenge?” she proposed. She had ready half a dozen accounts of Stonehenge and its mysterious Druidical rocks. “Who were the Druids?” The opening chapter of English history was eagerly devoured. Had they not all been to Stonehenge and seen the altars? In like manner they visited in imagination the Roman walls before they heard of Caesar, and Normandy before they followed the Conqueroi across the Channel. Novels, songs, pictures, were called to her aid. The history and geography of each country became a dramatic reality to them. The boys were taught to think, not merely to memorize. Their education is a thorough vitalizing of all the powers of the mind.— Youth' s Companion.

Indian Gamblers.

The Indians have gay times gambling every Sunday afternoon upon the hiu back of town. The gambling is done with bundles of sticks. The Indians range themselves in a circle and keep up a continuous chant as the game proceeds. The Indians of one tribe pool their money against that of the other tribe, and then one of the number “ casts the lot.” The sticks are of hard wood, about eight inches in length, and about twice the thickness of broomstraws. They are all white, except one, which has a black stripe about an inch wide around the center. The dealer places the sticks behind him and divides them into two separate bunches, holding his hands closely about the center. Then one of the opposite tribe makes a guess as to which hand contains the black stick. The sticks are then scattered out on a blanket, and it is thus ascertained which side wins One side retains the deal as long as the other side fails to guess right, but as soon as a good guess is made the deal changes. The dealing side also furnishes the vocal music, which invariably has a tin accompaniment. No word is spoken between the opposite players. Everything is indicated by gesture. To persons who have never seen them gamble in this manner it is an interesting performance.— Arcola (Cal.) Leader.

—Two ladies, both over forty-five, but each still young in her own eatimntion, are traveling on the continent together. They send letters home, of course. Mme. de B. writes to her friend: “I am delighted with my traveling companion. Mrs. de C. is a truly adorable woman. She takes care of me in a most motherly way.” And Mme. de C. writes exactly the same thing to her friend. Naturally the two letters are read to an admiring circle of ladies and gentlemen, and they laugh a good deal over this highly ridiculous pair, each of whom is trying to pass for the other’s daughter.— Forney's Progress. ' —The four largest Presbyterian congregations in this country are: DrCuyler’B, Brooklyn, with 1,685 mem. bers; Dr. Talmage’s, Brooklyn, with 1,658; Dr. Tucker’s, New York, with 1,600; and Dr. Hall’s, New York, with 1,570. . i

USEFUL AND SUGGESTIVE.

It costa no more to raise a good animal than a poor one. The food spent while they are young is repaid cent, percent ▲ favorite cake of ours fa made in the following way: One cup of sugar; one egg;-one half cup of sour mile; a little over one cup of flour; one teaspoonful of soda and one of cream-of-tartar. Bake in a quick oven. This fa nice for jelly-cake, when baked in thin cakes and excellent when chopped raisins are mixed with the jelly. Or, it may be put together with a rich custard, but I often bake in one loaf. Raisins may be added to the loaf if desired.— Cor. Rural New Yorker.. Ths richness of soups should depend upon the stock, that is, the jelly obtained by boiling the meat, and not at all upon the fat, which should be carefully removed. Many people would as soon think of eating a tallow candle, as soup with grease floating on top. It seems fully as palatable to a civilized palate. All sorts of vegetables may be added to the soup, according to the taste of those who are to eat of it. Onions are extremely disagreeable to many people, and turnips arc to others. The vegetables are chopped fine and boiled till well done. Soups may be thickened with rice, barley or vermicelli.- -Exchange. •

Of all men, in all occupations, the thrifty one fa he who never fa idle; yet what a vast difference there is in the distribution and application of this industry! Not every industrious person fa a thrifty one, for the labor may not be rightly applied. The thrifty farmer has adopted his profession as a business, and spares no means or energy to become proficient and successful, clinging to it with a tenacity of purpose necessary to success in any undertaking. Whatever he does bears the marks of hfa labor and direction. He selects all his implements, animals, fruits, etc., with a view to their particular adaptedness to his wants ana circumstances.— lowa State Register. Probably the majority of the people never thought anything at all about the matter, but it fa a very difficult matter to administer medicine to a pig. At a recent meeting of an English farmers’ club, Prof. Mcßride said: “To dose a pig, which you are sure to choke if you attempt to make him drink while squealing, halter him as you would for execution, and tie the rope end to a stake. He will pull back until the rope is tightly strained. When he has ceased his uproar and begins to reflect, approach him, and between the back part of his jaws insert an old shoe, from which you have cut the toe leather. This he will at once begin to suck and chew ; Through it pour medicine, and he will swallow any quantity of it you please.” Christmas Cake.—Three cups of very light bread dough; three cups of sugar; one cup of butter; three eggs; one small nutmeg; raisins; one teaspoonful (scant) of soda, dissolved in a little hot water. Rub the butter and sugar together; add the eggs and spice; then the dough, and mix all thoroughly. Add the soda and beat it well into the dough. Flour must be added to make a rather thick batter—if too thin, it will not bake well. Bake in two loaves. Leave one plain. In the other, put two cups of stoned raisins which have been soaked over night. The dough for this cake should be raised with potato yeast. The cake keeps well, especially if covered with a thin icing. The cake can be baked as soon as mixed, but will be lighter if allowed to stand in a warm Siace for half an hour before baking—uralNew Yorker.

From Litter to Butcher's Stall.

The chief end of a hog, be it thoroughbred or of common stock, is the weight and quality of the carcass. Its value, therefore, depends upon its being well fattened. As less feed is required to gain the object desired in moderately warm weather, no time is to be lost, and healthy swine previously kept in pasture, with abundance of grass and water, put upon full feed now will lay on flesh rapidly. The quantity will vary with different animals, from half a pound to two and a half pounds per day. When taken from grass and other bulky diet to be fattened, the change to a more concentrated food ought to be gradual, with rations increased as cold weather approaches. It should be borne in mind, also that a varied diet not only fattens but insures health. The prudent farmer has on hand crops planted during the summer for the consumption of growing swine. One hundred pounds of pork from ten bushels of com is the usual estimate made by Western farmers who feed whole grain, but given in different form and associated with other food it will produce much more. Methods of fattening swine differ in different sections, though the same general principles underlie all practices. In the New England States, where good pork is made with comparatively little com, the general practice followed is to begin with bran-shorts or .provender, mixed with boiled potatoes, pumpkins, apples and other vegetables, while hot, so as to cook the meal. This mixture is placed in tubs or barrels and allowed to slightly ferment, when it is ready for use. The amount of meal is gradually increased - until near time for butchering, when meal composed of oats, buckwheat and com, or any Coarse grain, well cooked, is given, generally finishing on cooked com-meal alone. The argument in favor of this plan is that, while costing more labor, expense and time are saved. A common practice in the West by stockmen who “stall-feed” cattle is to turn pigs with the cattle whenever Sain-ieeding begins, allowing, say, teen shoats to ten steers. The favorite way is to have two inclosures and each day turn the hogs into the one where the cattle were led the day previous. This enables them to pick up the leavings of the cattle without trampling on the feed until the cattle have had their share. One drawback to this method is, the hogs are not so comfortable as when provided for separately, and ran some risk of being trampled and homed by the cattle. In England the system is more varied. There all kinds of vegetables are cooked and mixed with slops from the house, daily and brewery, and fed in conjunction with rations of grain, either steamed or ground. Grass and clover is also cut and mixed with the feed; in fact, every substance of light cost containing nutriment is employed in the growing and fattening of swine. Coming to the question of the desirability and economy of cooked food for swine, there remains still a wide diversity of opinion among trustworthy and experienced feeders. Surrounding conditions and circumstances must decide this problem for each individual case.

Cora is, of course, the best single fatproducing material for the money in use. While the proper food for fattening, com alone is not the food for Sowth. A variety of diet is essential to e health and proper development of the hog. The use of grasses, peas, artichokes and similar materials, instead of com, for the summer diet of hogs, is the rational and profitable one, and animals having subsisted for months on green vegetables and light food remain healthy through any reasonable time required to become fat, but if fed uninterruptedly on heavy food from the beginning the health wifi yield to such living before there is tame to fatten.

Whale ver the food may be, it should be given in such manner that the animal will not be forced to swallow more filth than feed, and regularity both as to time of feeding and quality and quantity of feed observed. Do not surfeit, but give only such quantity as will be consumed with avidity to insure a sharp appetite for the next ration; perfect development depends not so much on the great quantity eaten as upon the amount thoroughly digested and assimilated. The quantity of food ought to vary somewhat, more being required in freezing weather to maintain animal heat than when the temperature fa higher and the atmosphere u humid. It fa well to place small quantities of salt in swill for hogs, and sulphur may be given in the same way. Charcoal, wood ashes, etc., are also relished as condiments; these and similar materials should be supplied occasionally. Remember that stock suffering from cold cannot thrive, and it fa much cheaper to furnish good shelter and beds than warm the animals internally with grain. —N. Y. World.

Canada Thistles in the West.

I was born with a horror of these weeds. From my good mother I inherited a wholesome fear of the devil and his wiles, and from my father a like fear of Canada thistles. His farm in old Connecticut was well stocked with them, as were all the farms of his neighbors; and though he waged incessant warfare upon them it was ineffectual. For even if he exterminated them from one field the winds of heaven would bring the accursed seeds of the thistle from afar, and plant them once again. So, when he moved to Ohio, forty-one years ago, one of his chief toys was that he had left these pests behind. Hfa views were not so “ advanced” as those of some recent writers in these columns, who seem to think the thistles quite a desirable crop; and so he often “held forth” to me about the pests, and told me if ever one set foot on my farm to sleep not night or day till I had extirpated it, root and branch. Little did I think of the evil day so near. A year ago in August my man and I were mowing Hungarian grass in a large field, each with a team and machine. As we chanced to come near in our rounds, he stopped his team and came toward me with some green thing in hfa hand. Said he: “Do ye know what this concern fa?” “Tes, I do,” I said. “ It’s a Canada thistle, man! Why on earth did you not stop right where you mowed it off, and S’ve me a chance to dig up the root, ree feet deep, if necessary?” “ Why,” said he, “ we have lots of them in York State (he was from St. Lawrence County), and we don’t mind ’em much.’’ “No,” I said, “but you wear buckskin gloves to bind and thrash your grain in! I’ve been there and s6en them do it. I would not have lost the chance to kill that root for a five-dollar bill!”

1 set the figure quite too low. He and I went back to the place he thought he cut the pest, and looked long and faithfully for it. But it lay low, and, like Mrs. Partington’s “feelings,” E roved “too many for us.” Its seed ad come with the Hungarian grass seed, and it had a foothold, and meant to keep it. It believed in the Kansas doctrine of the squatter sovereignty. I hunted for it a good many times, but in vain. I plowed the ground at once, cultivated and harrowed it often and thoroughly, and sowed it to wheat September 23, and flattered myself that I had killed it. Delusive hope! Next harvest (this year) I found it, without buckskin gloves. It was not hard to find. 1 knew just the place where I found it, and knew it for some time afterward. There were about forty of them headed out, blossomed, the seed set; but fortunately not shelled at all. I got the gloves and picked them out from the wheat. They covered a square rod, big and little. The big ones were about forty in number. I picked them out carefully and thoroughly, and carried them to the house and burned every one. If I had missed them, and the seeds got into the straw, chaff, wheat, or manure, my farm would have been well seeded down. I marked the spot where they grew, and in a few days took a long English spade and dug them up. There were one hundred ana thirty-one big and little, some just up and visible’, and others (about forty) that had headed and been cutoff by the reaper. I made thorough work, dug every one, and dug down to the “ double-bow knot” in each. I meant to kill them then and there, and thought I had, and made some original and selflaudatory remarks, such as, “A stitch in time saves nine;” “ Once well done fa twice done;” “An ounce of prevention fa better than a pound of cure,” etc.

Dr. Talmage tells a funny story of an Irishman who had killed a snaae, but was still beating it because the tail still wiggled. Aman said to him, “Why, Pat, what are you pounding the thing for? It is dead.” “Deed is he, thin. I know it sure; but the craythur ain’t sinsible of it!” That is just what was the matter with those thistles./ I had killed them but they were not “sinsible of it.” They came up again before wheat sowing, and I dug them up again deep, abont forty in all. To-day (October 20) I went over and looked among the wheat and dug up thirteen more. I “calculate” to “ fight it out on this line if it takes all”—my natural life. But what I want to know is this: There are “short and easy methods for the Siano,” etc., is there any for the Canaa thistles? Do any of your subscribers who have written so favorably of the thistles -do they want to. buy any [ilants? I think I can supply any negected portions of New York or Connecticut, on reasonable terms. The crop is not much raised hereabouts, and no one is buying the hay, or fodder, or plants, and 1 would like to sell out and go out of the business. If this does not bring purchasers, I can try your regular advertising columns. I learn, too, that a man two miles from here has a square rod of the plants which he is anxious to sell. Seriously, how can we destroy the things? A cat has “nine lives,” butthat is not a circumstance to a Canada thistle. It would be a public calamity for them to spread here, and I leam that the other man is not so thorough as I am. Cannot township trustees compel their extermination now and end the matter? We need advice and sympathy!—Ohio Cor. Country Gentleman.

—The present is an excellent time for cleaning out wells, as in most parts of the West they contain little water. Persons are generally astonished at the amount and character of the filth found in the bottom of wells that were cleaned out the previous season. In addition to offensive vegetable matter there are often dead reptiles, insects and small animals. Still the water in which these creatures have been soaking for months has been used tor cooking and drinking purposes. There are sanitary reasons lor allowing wells to be open, but an open well should have a high and tight curb. The curb, or platform on winch it rests, should also fit tight to the wall of the well. The stones which compose the wall of the well should be laid in hydraulic cement for at least four feet below the curb, and the space between the platform and the wail should be closed with cement.— Chicago Times. . —Senator David Davis has grown in size since the last session of Congress, and has been forced to order a chair for the Senate chamber larger than that which he has occupied hitherto.

Youths’ Department. FATHER CHRISTMAS AND THE STOCKINGS. Wi hangup our stockings on Christinas eve, Jack, Wilfrid, Clement and I One stocking eack at the head of our bed. And this is the reaaoh why: When we are asleep, Father Christmas How he comes we do not know— And he fills each stocking with sugar-plums And with toys from top to toe. On a Christmas eve when we got to bed Our stockings are limp and long. But when we are waked in the early morn They are stiff andswoUcn tosuclMislße ■ FuU of queer lumps. What pleasure! How we king for the laxy sun to rise That we may sec our treasure. Last Christmas eve little Wilfrid thought He’d see Father Christmas when He came. So he kept awake all the night— Except only now and then. Once when a light made him start from his “Old fellow, you’re caught!" be said. How mother did laugh!—she came just to peep At us ad as she went to bed. Who is Father Christmas? Jack says papa. And L too, think so, rather. Wilfle says mother. That’s nonsense, of course, A mother can’t be “father!” Nurse whispers, “ Hush I or may be that elf Father Christmas will be sore - If he hears you say he’s not himself, And he’ll never come any more.*’ So when Jack and Wilfrid, Clement and I About old Christmas wonder, We’re always careful to whisper low. And to get the table under; And that we have not offended him yet, 1 think I may truly say, Else how do those things in our stockings get ’Tween Christmas eve and Christmas nay? —IMUt Folk'* Magatine.

THREE CHRISTMAS TEA-SETS.

This isn’t a play-story. It fa a real, true, live story about three real, true, live little girls whose names are Carrie and Jennie and Gracie, and who live in Be . There! I was just going to tell you the very town where they live, but perhaps that would be a little too bad. Weeks and weeks before Christmas they had been wondering, and guessing, ana hoping what their Christmas presents might be. “Well,” said Carrie (who was oldest), as they sat one day all in a row on the step that led from the bed-room into the kitchen, “I have decided what I want. I shall be perfectly happy if Santa Claus brings me a little tea-set—-a cunning little tea - set with gold bands.” “So I have dfasided!” chimed in Jennie., promptly. “ I shall be as puffickly happy as you are if I get a teaset; only I want mine with red" and yellow posies all over it. P’raps I’ll ’vite you all to my house to a teaparty.” Gracie had never so much as thought of a tea-set before, but she instantly “ dissided ” that she, too, wanted that for a present. “ You hasn’t dissided a bit more than I has,” she cried, jumping up in her earnestness and standing in front of them with her curly head wagging solemnly all the time. “I shall be the most puf-fick-ly happiest of you or Jennie, if Santa C'aus fetches me a tea-set with bands and posies on it. I think velly likely he’ll bring me one with horses, and cows, and dogs, and lallyfunts, besides; any way, more than you or Jennie!” Don’t you believe Santa Claus laughed when he heard that? Of course he did hear it, for on Christmas morning, when they gathered round the table where the presents were heaped up in queer brown-paper bundles, there were the three little tea-sets. “This,” said mamma, holding up a square bundle tied with pink cord, “ fa a present for Carrie.” Carrie had the cord untied and the paper off in a moment, and her eyes danced when she saw the cunning little tea-set with gold bands. “This for Jennie,” said mamma, and Jennie gave a little gasp of joy over the tea-set with red-ana-pellow posies. But before mamma could say Gracie’s name, Gracie had “ dissided,” with her usual haste, that Santa had forgotten her, and tiling herself on her face on the floor, where she squirmed and kicked and screamed till mamma lifted her up with a little settling shake, and gave her the tea-set that was to make her “ the puffickly happiest.” They did not ’eat any breakfast that morning; that fa, at table. They each had a house, and had breakfast alone that morning, and many times after. Gracie’B house was by the low window at the end of the sink; Jennie’s in the corner behind the sofa; and Carrie had hers on the low step before mentioned, leading from the bed-room to the kitchen.

Carrie played happily and kept house with great comfort, but Jennie and Grace were quarrelsome neighbors. Almost every day there was some fuss or other, and one day, just a week after Christmas, mother heard a great uproar in the rival houses. Gracie had been hectoring. She would push the light sofa back till it almost crushed Jennie, tea-things and all. At last Jennie came out and gave her a piece of her mind. “You’re a awful naughty, bad girl, Grace. And now you hear what I say. If you do that another single once. I’ll slap you in the face—hit you a bat right across the face that’ll hurt you real awful! Now you just mind that, Gracie Standley!” Wasn’t 'that dreadful? But it was worse when Gracie did do it once and twice more, and Jennie—oh, she struck her little sister right in the face, as she said, and Grace rolled over among the tea-thingokjth such screams that mamma wondered if her head were broken. It wasnf, but the tea-things were all spoiled; the pretty gift of Santa Claus, with red-and-yellow posies. Gracie’s came to an end in a different way. They had been playing house-keep all one Saturday afternoon. Carrie invited them all to her house, and they had a nice time with frosted cakes and real tea. But Gracie had a selfish fit. “You s’ant any of you belo my party only just my own self!” she said, and so they could only watch her as she got supper, without sharing it with her. “You can have common tea,” she said, scornfully. I’ll have a bestest kind, and I’ll make it just as strong! O-o, don’t vou Wish you had some?” She drank it every bit—the greedy little Grace. They were tiny cups, and she drained every one, smacking her lips over the last drop. This was too much for the children.

“Mother, can’t Gracie give us some of her tea? ” cried Carrie. “ It’s a nice new kind, and she won’t let us taste. She got it out of a bottle.” Mother came out to look. The next minute she had Gracie under her arm and was down stairs where Aunt Chris and Aunt Carlie were. “What shall I do!” she cried. “Gracie has taken half that bottle of laudanum!” They gave her an emetic. It didn’t taste good. Gracie said she should die; but she didn’t. Aunt Carlie held coffee —the blackest you ever saw—under her nose till it made her sick. And they sent for the doctor. When the flurry waa over, and Gracie was well again, she wanted her tea-set. But there wasn’t a whole dish left. Carrie divided. Hers was whole and nice, and she gave two to Jennie, two to Gracie, and kept two herself. And out of all the three, she was the only one who was perfectly happy. Does any one know the reason why? —Annie F Bumham, in Youth's Companion.

Why Boys Should Choose Hard Wort.

There are boys and boys. They are the advance guard of every generation, and their courage and self-assertion constrains society to look out for places for them. Every boy expects to be a man, and a successful one. If the history of a century has convinced him that only about six men in every generation can be President of the United States, he has learned that there are other positions, in abundance, as worthy of hfa ambition, and a good deal more permanent, and always within the reach of him who makes a brave and judicious push forthem. But he does not know that success seldom comes by luck, and that those who have reached the upper rounds of fortune’s ladder have had the longest and weariest climbing, and often the heaviest loads* to carry. To boys who have their fortunes to make, we would offer the advice to learn a trade. And if we had the choice to make for a boy, we should select for him the most laborious in the list of successful and remunerative trades. We would do this for the boy’B good, our reason being that the easy ana’ genteel occupations are over-crowded. A friend tells us that he once advertised for a boy to do chores in a store, in one of the interior cities, .offering the pittance of two dollars a week. In three days he received over two hundred applications, including boys of all ages up to twenty-one. They Were generally American boys, who had been reared to the, idea that labor was degrading. Then he advertised for a boy to learn a blacksmith’s trade, doubling the rate of wages, and in a week received six answers, all of them from boys whose names showed that, they were of foreign extraction. It fa this dread of hard work by our boys that is filling the best places with those who are born and reared to the idea that it fa their first duty to labor. They take up their task and perform it faithfully and successfully, while those who watch for the shifting chances of easy employment sink into dissipation and idleness, and are soon lost sight of in the great vortex of moral and physical ruin that fa always open in large towns and great cities. Or even if now and then one succeeds among the many who fall, there fa nothing attractive in hfa occupation save the opportunity to keep away from grease and dust, and wear fine clothes. Life fa made for something nobler than a constant dodging of the unpleasant conditions that attend a well-earned and honest living. The professional man pays the penalty of hfa unwise choice in poverty and early death. There are ministers preaching good sermons in all parts of the country for less than S4OO per year. There are well educated and able lawyers who do not collect a hundred dollars in their professions, and eke out a living by engaging in insurance, real estate, teaching, literature and anything that turns up. The way of the young doctor to success is through a hard experience of want and penury, unless he has the good fortune to step into some dead or retiring practitioner’s shoes. But the blacksmith finds an anvil always ready, and the shoemaker needs not to look longforan empty scat. Every trade has its period of depression, it is true, but what is this to the waste of a whole lifetime in an unremunerative profession, which racks the brain and brings early death? There is nothing so ruinous to health as mental wear and tear. Gov. Andrew, ’of Massachusetts, Senator Morton, of Indiana, Editor Raymond, of the New York Times, and the late Editor and Publisher of the Patriot, all successful men in their professions, passed away before passing three-score years. They were great workers—not for greed—but to advance •society, civilization, and to benefit their race and generation. > The boy that takes up the trade that imposes the hardest labor, and pursues it with industry and earnestness, has chosen the shortest route to success. Others may win or fail, but he is sure. His work fa always in demand-, for his occupation is never likely to be crowded. And with prudence he will have his competence earned, and pass into the enjoyment of it while those that choose gentecler occupations go on with their life struggle against poverty until Death joins the ranks of the enemy.— Woonsocket (R. I.) Patriot.

A Little Mistake.

A Queer story, one which the Ital-* ians have characterized as being “well/ founded,” if not true, reaches us from St. Petersburg. Lady Dufferin weut to court to be presented to the Czarina. On arriving at the Winter Palace she was shown into an ante-room, as she'' thought, where an aged lady, whom she took to be a mistress of ceremonies, was seated on an ottoman. The lady motioned her to a place beside her, ana entered into conversation, but in a frigid Russian style. The handsome Irishwoman with the Hamilton blood in her veins has a little pride of her own, and thinking the'Muscovite wait-ing-woman was rather patronizing to the wife of an Embassaaor, assumed a “stand-off” air on her side. The ceremonious dame became more ceremonious and almost haughty.. At Jength she raked: “Have you seen my daughter, lately?” “Pardon me, madame,” said Lady Dufferin, “ I fancy we do not move-in the same circle. Pray, who may your daughter be?” > The answer led up to a tableau. “The Duchess of Edinburg,” said the stately old female, who was no other than the Empress of Russia herself.— Paris Cor. Philadelphia Telegraph.

—A Martinique journal avers that an anchor belonging to one of Columbus’ vessels has been found six feet below ground «4n Venezuela, three hundred and seventy-two feet from the coast line. It is of simple form and rude manufacture, the stock being round and eight feet long, with a ring a foot in diameter at one end, and with flukes five feet in length. The weight is eleven hundred pounds. Columbus had, on the 4th of August, 1498, three vessels at anchor off the southwestern extremity of the island of Trinidad, in the natrow strait separating it from Venezuela, and his son Ferdinand relates that a great waveSbuddenly disturbed them and caused such a strain upon the cable that one of them parted. The anchor to which this cable was attached is the one recently dug up. The land in that part of Venezuela has gained so mucn upon the water since that period that gardens are now planted where ships once sailed. —She laid her pretty hand upon her husband’s shoulder. “Henry, love, there’s something the matter with the clock; will you see to it?” . So ho took off his coat, removed the face and fingers, examined the interior parts with a large magnifying glass, blew into them with the bellows, oiled them thoroughly, and did all that mortal ingenuity could devise. But it was of no avail, and so, despairing, at a late hour of the night he went to bed and slept the sleep of the righteous. Next morning at breakfast quoth she, “ Harry, dear, I know what was the matter with the “WellF’ “It only wanted winding.” —Here’s a chance for some of you boys who want to get married: An economic North Wheeling girl has knocked the bottom out of an empty cheese box, and now wears it as a fashionable belt. —Wheeling Bunday Leader.