Rensselaer Union, Volume 8, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 December 1875 — Page 1

HORACE E. JAMES, Proprietor.

VOL. VIII.

THE CHRISTMAS TREE. BY MABGABET E. SANGSTER. Our darling little Florence, our blessing and our pride. With dimpled cheeks, and golden hair, and brown eyes open wide To look at every pretty thing, came flying in to me, “0 please,” she pleaded earnestly, “I want a Christmas tree.” “Who put that in your head, my dear? There’s one at Sunday-school, And you will see its laden boughs with lovely presents full.” “ Yes,” said the child, “ but I would like one of my very own, And I will ask my company to come; myself alone. “ I had a dream last night; I seemed out in the woods to be, And growing up right in the snow I saw a splen-’ did tree; 0 Two little angels hovered near, and while I watche.d they spread Their fairy wings, and seemed to make a curtain o’er my head. “ The tree was shining like the stars, with tapers burning bright, And happy faces seemed to glow around it in the night; The little angels talked and talked; they said: ‘ This is the tree That we’ve been keeping beautiful for Florence, dear, to see. We’ll lift it clear, we’ll bear it far, we’ll take it to her door, The prettiest, greenest Christmas tree, we’ll set it on her floor, And if she asks the guests she ought we’ll linger there and sing, Our voices blending m with theirs, as cheerily they ring.’ ” “A lovely dream, indeed,” I said; “but whom will you invite? We’ll find a tree quite easily, and star its boughs -su with light; But baby is not old enough to have her playmates come, And yours are all engaged, my love, each in her own bright home.” “ I thought I’d go to Bridget’s house, and ask her little Kate, And that barefooted boy who sells matches at the gate. And we will dress them up with shoes and stockings, to begin, And give them presents; I will put all my own money in. “ You only ought to see the doll poor Katie thinks superb; Its dingy face is just as brown as some old bunch of herb, V And all the sawdust’s pouring out its broken arm, and yet She loves it, and considers It a beauty and a pet. “ Poor Johnny has no mother. His feet are bare and blue, And his eyes have. such a hungry look when he dares to look at you, I think it would be sweet to give a bit of Christmas joy And happiness—don’t you?—to such a little, lonely boy.” Well, children have their waywith me, and Florence has a way That is so free from selfishness, so gentle and so gay, We love to please her; that’s the truth. We helped her all we could, And half a dozen little guests around her tree there stood. Its branches hhng with golden fruit, dolls and dishes and drums, Elephants, horses, and woolly dogs and boxes of sugar-plums; A trumpet was given to Johnny that terribly frightened the cit. And the top of his Christmas was crowned when we gave him a soldier hat Our ba.iy was charmed with a rattle, and for Florence’s dainty self Was a music-box that played sweet tunes from its niche on a rosewood shelf; And Katie brooded above her doll in a sort of motherly rapture, Holding it close, lest a ruthless hand its form from bier grasp should capture; And Bridget’s jolly, half-moon face beamed over the happy scene— The tree was a tree to be glad about, and Florence felt like a queen. For somehow, not only for Christmas, but all the. long year through, The joy that you give to others is the joy that comes back to you; And the more you spend in blessing the poor, the lonely and sad, The more, to your heart’s possessing, returns to make vou glad.

THE SPALPEENS.

BY MARY C. BARTLETT.

Granny Welch was a funny little Irish woman, who wore a plaid shawl at all times and seasons, and whose tight-fitting hood could not—-indeed, it did not attempt to —conceal the broad white cap-frill which bobbed up and down as she talked, which was pretty often, I assure you. Granny Welch hated boys, all but one; and that was Mikey, the son of her “ darlin’” daughter, who had Jeftther three years ago. “ Mikey isn’t jist but a baby yet,” she would sometimes say, apologetically, to a neighbor;” but if iver he grows into one of them imperdint spalpeens beyant I’ll kill him.” Then the neighbor would laugh, and Mikey would laugh, and finally Granny Welch herself would laugh until her capfrill shook and her bead-like eyes twinkled like a couple of very small stars. Time had dealt gently with theoldlady. He had given her no painful rheumatism, no feeble limbs or stiffened joints. He had onlj r bleached her hair and wrinkled her face and shriveled her up, so that she grew smaller and smaller, until it really seemed as if she might blow away some day, “ when she’d grown old enough,” as Frank Wellington had said. Frank Wellington was one of the boys whom Granny Welch hated. She hated him because he had asked her to “lend him the loan of her shawl” one stinging winter day; she hated his brother Tom because he had said that Mikey looked like a frog in the new. jacket and pants which she had worked So hard to make him; but more than all she hated them both because they were veritable boj r s, or “ spalpeens.” The words were synonymous with Granny ■Welch. It was the day before Christmas, and Mikey sat watohing the stove and waiting for his grandmother, who had gone to church. He couldn’t go out into the street, for his toes wjw;e peeping through his little, worn shoes? “Granny” had promised him a new pair “ when her ship came intil the harbor;” but he was almost tired of waiting for that. Mikey knew very little about Christmas. No one had told him to hang up his stocking and he had heard no hint of presents. He had a vague idea that it must be a good time, because everybody in the court went to church. That was all Mikey knew about the day to which most little people look forward so eagerly. He didn’t like to sit in the kitchen all alone. Granny Welch haff often boasted that the room “fronted the coort and thpre was a great dale of things to be seen from it.” But Mikey found it a lonesome

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place now. The people who came by walked very fast, and had their cloaks drawn tightly about them, as if they were cold. The wind was blowing too. He didn’t like the wind; it made him think of what Frank Wellington had said. What if his grandmother should “ grow old enough” that very day. Dinner time was coming, too, and he was hungry. He began to cry. “Whist, whist, now! Where’s me little man? This isn’t him, sure. It’s a baby we have here., intirely.” There she was —Granny Welch. Just a little old Irish woman —that was all; but to Mikey she was everything—fire and light, and dinners and suppers, aye, and jacket and trowsers, too. So it was no wonder that his face brightened as she appeared. Granny Welch always went along the streets with her eyes on the ground. If she saw a piece of wood large enough to make a blaze, she picked it up. It really seemed as if Santa Claus must have strewn some nice bits in her way this morning, her arms were so full. Among others was a bough of an old elm, which seemed almost like a free itself, it was so tall and had so many little branches, Mikey looked at it with longing eyes. Are ye “wantin’ it, Michael?” t “ I am.” “Ou yer back?” inquired Granny Welch, with a fierce bobbing of her cap-border. “Nc, sir,” replied irreverent Mikey. “ There’s where ye’ll get it, thin.” Mikey laughed. He was very well acquainted with Granny Welch. “ I’ll take it from yer,” he cried, gleefully, suiting the action to the word. “ Granny” caught him in herarms, and gravely administered a few sounding slaps, which didn’t hurt him a bit. “Is it a Christmas ye’ll have?” she asked, when her pretended wrath was appeased. “Yes.” She took dofrn an old skillet from the wall and put it upon the stove, then she dropped into it a handful of corn and awaited the result.

Mikey listened for the popping, and at last it came. When the kernels were “ all snapped out” she took a large needle and some blue yarn and strung them thereon. Then she tied the string to the old bough, winding it in and out among the withered branches, whence it hung in long white loops. “ There’s yer Christmas,” said she, with a satisfied air. “ Look well now. Don’t break it.” He took it in his plump hand. He walked proudly up and down the room, the corn waving gracefully. “That’s a nice Christmas,” said Granny Welch, the queer cap-border bobbing again. “ “ Yes.” “ A nice Christmas. Nice little boys gets nice Chrietmasses.” Mikey’s stout figure straightened. “There’s little Biddy McLaughlin beyant, as cries wid the toot’ache. She gets no Christmas at all. Mind that, now.” Mikey looked sober. The little girl was his best-beloved playmate and he was very sorry for her. He thought of her all the while he w*as eating his dinner, holding his potato in one hand and grasping his newly-acquired treasure in the other. When the meal was over and his grandmother was busy putting away the fragments he took to his little heels and ran across the court to “ Biddy’s part."< Poor Biddy looked up with tearful eyes. “ Toot’ache now?” inquired Mikey. “ It’s stoppin’,” replied Biddy, soberly. “ There are a clove in it.” “ See my Christmas, Biddy.” She looked admiringly. “Come out intil the court, Biddy. We’ll have a percession. Pretind its banners.” ■ “ But I have none,” whined Biddy. Mikey broke his bough in two, scattering bits of wood and kernels of corn as he did so. To arrange the two “ banners” gracefully w*as a work of time, but the children did it, or thought they did it, at last.

The “percession” had been in motion hardly five minutes when it was unceremoniously ordered to halt. “Stand still there! What do you call that ? A string of snow-flakes ? Give us one, won’t you?” The chilaren stood still and looked terrified. ' ~ ‘ “ Oh! Frank! Come here a moment.” Frank came, a merry-faced boy, with clear gray eyes. “ What is it, Tom?” “Just look at those little rats. They’ve a whole string of snow-flakes and they won’t give a fellow one.” “Nonsense!” laughed Frank. “Let ’em alone.. “It’s my Christmas,” faltered Ifttle Mikey. “Aour what?” “ My Christmas.” “ Je-rusalem!” exclaimed Tom, thinking of the stately evergreen, at which he had managed to get a peep, in his parlor at home. “ Don’t you get any presents?” inquired Frank, kindly. “I’m to get a new’ coat,” spoke up Biddy. “ It’s makin’ out of a lady’s dress —good an’ warm, wid quiltin’ in it.” Alas! there was need of it, poor little Biddy. “ I’m to have some shoes —some time,” said Mikey. The gray eyes looked a little less clear. Something dimmed them. For a moment Frank seemed lost in thought; then he suddenly pulled from his pocket a small rule. “Put your foot on this,” said he to Mikey. “Il won’t hurt you (seeing that the child hesitated). Just for a minute. Come!" Mikey did so, wonderingly; and Frank, after examining it carefully, put thq rule in his pocket again, and the bovs walked off. ** What are you going to do now, Frank?” inquired Tom. “ I can’t stand it, Tom,” replied Mark, earnestly. “ Here am I—great man almost, with everything I want. And just think of those little chaps! It makes a fellow feel mean, somehow. Father gave rfffe five dollars yesterday. It was tp go toward my printing-press; but that youngster shall have some new shoes to-day or my name’s not Frank Wellington.”

RENSSELAER, JASPER COUNTY, INDIANA, DECEMBER 30, 1875.

Tom made no reply. He also had a little money, which had been given him to spend as he pleased, and he had noticed what seemed to have escaped the sharp eyes of his brother—viz.: that Biddy’s brown locks were straggling through the many loop-holes in herworn-outhood. “Do girls’ heads have to be measured? he inquired at length. “No. Anything fits’em. Why?” “ Oh, nothing,” replied Tom, carelessly. Half an hour afterward the boys stood again at the entrance of the court. The children were still there but the “ trees” were stripped. Most' of the corn. had found 'lts way into the two little red mouths, which were even now quite full. “Bring those what-do-you-call-’ems here,” called Frank. “ Both of you.” But the “ what-do-you-call-’ems” didn’t move, so the boys went to them. Hastily snatching the “banners” from the bewildered children, they proceeded to tie thereon some queer-looking packages—one suspiciously like a doll, another like a horse, besides a couple of well-filled horns, the contents of which, of course, nobody could guess, and two larger Bundles, which were reserved for the last. .They had fastened them all on securely, as they thought, when snap, snap went the withered old branches, sending the packages ignominiously to the ground, where they lay surrounded by broken twigs and scraps of wood. Mikey gave one cry. It brought Granny Welch quickly to the spot. Her capborder seemed fairly to dance and her little black eyes to flash Are as she caught sight of the boys. “ An’ it’s ye, Frank Willin’ton —ye an’ yer brither—as couldn’t let a poor b’y play wid a few rotten sticks unmerlisted. It’s little enough he has, thin—he nor Biddy nayther. Be off wid yees,” she added, fiercely, raiding her voice. “Go home wid yees, now, or I’ll—l’ll ” The boys didn’t wait until the sentence was finished. They walked away without a word. They were sober and thoughtful that evening. The mother wondered what had come over her fun-loving lads; but she waited patiently for a solution of the mystery. And at eight o’clock came a furious pull at the door-bell. “ It’s old Mrs. Welch, and she wants to see you boys, both of you,” said the father, half-anxiously. “You haven’t been up to any mischief to-day, have you?”

“No., sir,” replied Tom, meekly, while Frank colored up to the roots of his hair. They looked like a couple of culprits as they went into the hall, where sat Granny Welch wringing her wrinkled hands. “ God forgive me for wrongin’ yees,” said she, speaking very fast. “ But whin I seen the shoes foreninst me on the ground I had like to faint. An’ Biddy’s hood’s an illigant fit; an’ she an’ Mikey’s that pleased wid the candy an’ the t’ys they can do nothin’ intirely but jist turn ’em over an’ over an’ laugh like a pair of babies. An’ Mrs. McLaughlin (she’s a babe wid the measles, an’ she can’t leave the night), she sinds ye her bist thanks an’ rispects, and may ye nivef want for a Christmas gift.” Frank and Tom looked at’each other. Neither spoke. “ Folks get that tired of workin’ an’ scrapin’ that they gets hard sometimes,” continued Granny Welch, plaintively. “ An’, ye sees, I didn’t sinse it at all. Ye’ll forgive me, won’t yees, now?” “ Oh! that was nothing,” stammered Frank. “We don’t care a fig about it,” added Tom, magnanimously. “ Thank ye. God bless yees both. I’m very much obliged to yees. May ye live till a hundred Christmases!” and she was “What does this mean, boys?” inquired the mother, when they returned to the sitting-room. “It means—you tell her, Tom.” Tom tried to tell her the story, but he failed signally. Then Frank took up the broken thread of the discourse, with little better result. Between them both, however, the lady at length gained the truth. When they had finished her own eyes were moist. “ I thank God for my boys,” said she, fervently kissing Hie blushing chaps. “ They have made me very happy. This will be a good Christmas for them, I am sure.” And it was. Granny Welch always makes two notable exceptions now when she speaks of “ imperdint spalpeens.” Indeed, she has' learned to like all boys., better for the sake of “thim tinder-hearted young gintlemin, the Willin’tons.”—2F. Y. Independent.

—The letter attributed to Thomas Carlyle, flinging disdain on American colleges, has already been denounced. as a hoax. What he really wrote to President Eliot, under date of Nov. 23, was as follows: “Some days ago I received;your courteous and obliging letter and along with it the university diploma appointed for me on the 30th of June last, which now lies safely reposited here. In return for all which I can only beg you to express to the governing boards of the university my lively sense of the honor they havj done me, and „my cordial thanks for this proof of their friendly regard, which I naturally wish may "long continue on their part. Toward Harvard University I have long had a feeling 'of affection—in some respect almost .generation—and to Harvard and to youpts distinguished President, I now cordially wish all manner of prosperity and good esteem from wise men on- both sides of the ocean.” —The doctors in Tamaqua, Pa., have formed a mutual aid society and issued the following manifesto: “ We,the undersigned, physicians of Tamaqua, have been pressed into the formation of an aid society by our inability to collect medical fees of parties whose greatest desire consists in owing all the doctors and paying neither. We therefore respectfully request all staph parties to make a speedy settlement, as any party whose name is found on more than one physician’s exchange list at any time will hot be able, under any circumstances, to secure the services of any of the undersigned physicians, even for cash, until all bills are paid.*’

Chess.

There is some strong, mysterious fascination about chess —a power more captivating to intellectual minds even than lotteries and games of chance are to the ignorant ana superstitious. It overcomes, one like opium-eating. What is the strange charm, exactly, has, perhaps, never been analyzed—perhaps never will be —but it is a mysterious fascination which enthralls men of all stations, ages, nations and professions. Men, not women. The records of ancient and modern chess-playing have alike been searched in vain to And the name of a single woman chess-player. The names of several lady chess-players are mentioned, to be sure, but none of them as being eminent in the game. One lady, indeed, is mentioned in chess annals who was to beat her husband at the game. That remarkable lady was the wife of Ferrand, Count of Flanders. But this skill on the part of the lady wrought almost fatal disaster to the Count of Flanders, in this wise : They played chess together until they hated each other heartily. The Count hated his wife because she always beat him at chess, and treated her badly in consequence; the wife, on the other side, repaid the treatment in kind by hating her husband back just as sincerely. About the year 1242 Ferrand, Count of Flanders, was taken prisoner-of-war, whereupon his affectionate wife, who might have obtained his release by exerting herself a little, refused to do so in the slightest, and left her liegelord to pine and languish in prison until, it is to be hoped, he learned a better temper. Good enough for him, too. But the ladv of Flanders was an exceptional player for a woman. Writers on chess assert that no woman has ever attained eminent skill at the game. Why? A fool may ask questions that a wise man cannot answer.

The muse of Mr. Charles Tomlinson is of opinion that chess, like arithmetic anciently, is not altogether the proper thing for the gauze-like cobweb of a lady’s mind. Says he: Not there, O lady, is thy mission found, Men love the exciting, intellectual life, etc. Just SO. It is eminently the proper time for some lady having the credit of her sex at heart to buckle on her armor and refute and utterly confound the tradition that women cannot play chess. It is always refreshing to see old traditions slaughtered. There is really something very strange and inexplicable in the fascination which chess exercises over the human mind, and it is not to be wondered at that, in the times of medieval superstitioh, all sorts of witch stores and demoniacal legends clustered around this mystic Oriental game. Satan and evil spirits were always connected with the game as players in these legends; never angels or good spirits, except as they piously endeavored to protect mortal chess-players from the lures of the demon antagonists. The stake for which the demon played was usually the soul of the unfortunate mortal, and, unless angels interposed, it is sad to relate that the demon usually won. Chess absorbs the mind as nothing else on earth. Alfred de Musset, the French poet, spent at least half his life at chessplaying. One writer states that a certain old gentleman played chess from four in the afternoon till ten at night every day of his life, for years. There are many modem amateurs who would like to do the same thing. Herr, a German player, and “ a full-habited man” died in a fit of apoplexy after twelve hours’ meditation over the chess problem—“ White to play and force the game in ten moves.” When it is remembered how losing at chess affects the temper it is not to be wondered at that medieval superstition ascribed the.; invention of chess to the devil. In point of fact, not the least strange of the mysteries attending chess is that, of all known games, chess is the one in which it is. the most difficult for a man to keep his 1 temper after being beaten. From time immemorial it has been conceded that losing at chess is at once the most intensely exasperating and the most profoundly humiliating of all earthly circumstances. It puts the soul of man in a fury in spite of himself. William the Conqueror, like most great warriors, was exceedingly fond of chess, and once, being checkmated by a French Prince with whom he was” playing, was so enraged that he seized the chess-board and flung it at his opponent’s head. The incident caused the two Princes to be enemies ever after.

Being a game of skill entirely, and one in which, unlike the game of lite, the element of chance does not enter at all, of course the losing player is denied the convenient and exquisite satisfaction of cursing his “luck,” and has not the shadow of a peg to hang his misfortune upon outside of himself and his own ignorance, rashness or stupidity. Naturally he is enraged in proportion. How his mind runs hither and thither, like a distracted„ ant, trying to make another responsible for his defeat. Somebody talked to him and disturbed his mighty intellect, his opponent didn’t play fairly 01 he had a headache whep’ he began to play; anything, in short, to fix the responsibility where it does not belong. lii my time I have known players, both men and women, otherwise excellent-tempered persons, on being beaten at chess to upset the phess-board and hurl the unhappy little chess-men across the room in a fury. All-flesh is grass, you see, w;.hen it comes to being beaten at chess. Bishop Olans Magnus relates that in the sixteenth, century it was a custom among the most illustrious Goths and Swedes to test the dispositions of suitors wno wished to marry their daughters by betting the young gentlemen to playing at chess. “For," says the Archbishop, “at these games their anger, love; peevishness, covetousness, dullness, idleness and many more mad pranks, passions and motion’s of their minds ... are used to be seen; as whethet the wooer be rudely disposed, that he will indiscreetly rejoice and suddenly triumph wheq he wins, or whether, when he is wronged, he can patiently endqredt and wisely put it off.” Excellent, verily, and nothing better could possibly be'desired at this day. Being beaten at chess is to the soul of man what testing by torsion is to metals —

measuring all the strength, elasticity and toughness in the grain of the man. He who can bear being beaten at chess goodnaturedly needs no other recommendation as a husband. Take" him quickly ! On the wholeTtt appears that there is but one way for a human being ever to be a chess-player with any satisfaction to himself. That way is, before beginning his chess career, to take a solemn vow and keep it that he will never, under any circumstances, permit himself to lose his temper, no matter how great the provocation is. Almost' everything can be said by a chess enthusiast in favor of this beautiful game, and yet it cannot be denied that skillful and long-continued chess-playing subjects the player* to a fearful mental strain. More than one enthusiastic chessplayer has paid for his enthusiasm with his life. This may be the reason that nearly all famous professional chess-play-ers either die young or abandon chessplaying forever. La Bourdomfhis, the French player, was undoubtedly killed by the mental strain of chess at forty-three years old, while his famous British opponent, Alexander McDonnell, died at the early age of thirty-seven. The two are. buried in the same grave-yard. The greatest chess-player the world has produced was young Paul Morphy, the American, and Paul Morphy never touches a chess-board. When in England he played eight games at once, blindfolded, ana lost but one of them. But he has abandoned chess forever. Happily, the recent report of his insanity is pronounced untrue. Staunton, too, I think it is, the veteran English pjayer, has given u]s chess, pronouncing it the breaker of friendship, the destroyer of good temper, and the promoter of selfishness. Overstrain of chess has produced in these cases an infinite disgust for chess. — Cincinnati Commercial.

A Cafire Dance.

Formed in semi-circular line they commenced their dance. Moving the legs and arms in most wonderful simultaneous motion, they sang over and over again, in varying air and always in minor key, a verse to the effect that “ there are enemies on both sides.” This dance and verse were composed when the present Chiefs father died, and his two sons disputed their heirship. Presently they were asked to sing some other verse, when, to a new motion and a new air, they sang how “if the white man had not come we should eat cattle the whole country over,” another mode of saying that they would be conquerors of the whole ’land, for of course the verse applies not to their own cattle, but to other people’s. During the dance various warriors would dash out from the ranks in front of their companions, and go through a pantomimic performance descriptive of their own bravery, and How they would dispose of an enemy in fight. If the performer was a well-known brave, he would be greeted with the greatest applause from the whole body. When the commander of the left company went out they thundered their approval. In such cases the brave danced into the very center of the circle, but if some young unknown man, excited beyond discretion, came forth, a little feeble applause from his own company was all he could get, and he slunk back into the ranks. The pantomimic action of fighting was always that of stabbing with, never of throwing, the assagad. Chaka taught them to advance in the line of their enemy, and not to think of fighting till they could see the whites of their opponents’ eyes, saying it was a brave man who could look in his enemy’s eyes when each meant to kill the other. Presently the monotonous dance and song ceased, and a man chosen as the spokesman and dressed in white tails with splendid crane’s feathers, which added to his already grand height, advanced into the center of the semicircle, commenced to recite a prose-poem walking up and down, and sometimes even running the while. The speech or recitaftpn was a sort of a hymn of praise relating to the deeds of the Chiefs ancestors, their descent, their prowess and feats in war and council. If translated carefully he said it would resemble one of the most beautiful songs in Scripture—as, for-example, the Song of Deborah. the speech was delivered, its effect was much marred by the constant motion during its delivery, which not only prevented all oratorical art, but put the speaker out of breath. When he paused, or seemed “blown,” a warrior would dash out and perform his pantomime war-dance, as during the previous dance. If a real brave should thus come out the singer would point to him with his stick, but if a man of no note he would take no notice of him, but continue to walk up and down. Presently the song ended, and the whole body saluted the supreme Chief with a loud “ Bayete," the royal salute. — Natal Car. London Times. —Highly-interesting results bearing upon the genrination of seeds have re*' 1 ' cently been developed by certain experiments conducted by M. Uloth. Grooves were cut in a cake of ice, into which seeds of various species were placed and then covered over by plates of ice. The whole was then removed to a cool cellar and allowed to remain from January until the May following. At this time it was found on examination that many of the seeds had sprouted and penetrated the ice with their roots. It is the opinion of M. Uloth that the heat needed for the process of growth was generated by'the seeds themselves in the progress of tlieir development, and that this heat was sufficient to melt the ice about the roots and permit them to extend their axes. The subject has given rise to much controversy and opposing theories. — Chicago Tribune. —Lafayette Cake. —One heaping coffeecup full of flour, one even cup of sugar, four eggs, whites and yelks beaten separately, a piece, of butter the size of an egg, two or three tablespoonftils of sweet milk, two teaspoonfuls of baking powder, or one-half teaspoonful of soda and one teaspponful of cream-tartar, in absence of the baking powder, which must be mixed with the flour. Bake twenty or thirty minutes, according as you divide this into two or three cakes.

SUBSCRIPTION; $2.00 a Year, In Advance.

The richest mines of wealth of a nation are its workshops, its factories and its farms, filled with men of highly-trained and skilled labor, it being a universal law that the world’s great prizes go to the best. This is not simply an abstract question, but one affecting us all in our pros perity and success every day, and every hour of the day, and every day in the year. France, Switzerland, Prussia and Germany have laid us, and are laying us every year, under contributions of millions of dollars for very superior workmanship, taste and skill. Their silks, their laces, their cloths, their china and porcelain, their bronzes, their fabrics in metal and wood and their objects of vertu and art could be largely produced in this country if we had developed and educated our artisans and mechanics up to the same perfection in workmanship that they have in those countries.

Their mode of thorough instruction in their workshops and manufacturing establishments produces men of the highest order of training, ability and skill. If we take, as an example, the small State of Wurtemburg, in Germany, with a population of 1,778,000, we find that they have forty-nine industrial and technical schools for the training of boys add educating them in all the industrial arts. In these schools there is a mercantile and commercial course, and one for the application of chemistry to the chemical arts and manufactures, where there are fifty-one professors and teachers of chemical and physical mineralogy, modeling-rooms, mechanical work-shops, rooms for drawing, botanical garden and astronomical observatory. There are other schools for building instruction and tradesmen, where builders are trained for masters and constructors of public works, etc., and plasterers, carpenters, grainers, painters, smiths, etc., are educated for foremen and masters; and the schools are crowded with those for whom they were intended, while the graduates are eagerly sought everywhere on the Continent fdr their superior excellence. There are also schools for education in all agricultural pursuits, in which practice is combined with theory, they having under their care 400 square miles of territory. These schools are largely attended, for in one year 12,040 persons, in 523 places, were getting a thorough, complete and practical agricultural education. Connected with these schools are institutions for practical training in anatomy, physiology and diseases of animals ; and a smithy is attached, in which 4,000 animals were shod per year. The result of this discipline is shown in the superior skill of the workmen, the excellence of all their works in the arts and sciences and the harmony existing among them. A thorough acquaintance with a particular industry necessitates a wide range through the field of knowledge, and makes a familiarity with all the causes which produces such effects. The brain is the motive power as well as the guide, for it points the way and all things move as it points. Skilled labor is its own protection. While its progress may be temporarily impeded by the glittering tinsel of some superficial work, yet its final success is conclusive proof that “ all is not gold that glitters,” for merit in all things must win.

Carelessness and ignorance are the most fruitful sources of loss of life and property. Proportionately, as the mind becomes trained and disciplined, carelessness ceases; greater care is manifested in the management of all the affairs of life and the products of our workshops. The great hurry, which has characterized our people, to reach results and to accumulate riches causes that neglect and superficial workmanship which is so prevalent. Scarcely a paper is published that does not contain In its columns some startling accident, accompanied by great loss of life, occasioned by defective machinery or ignorance in its management. Railroad collisions nearly ail result from these causes. The disastrous errors which frequently occur in many cities among chemists and druggists arise from an ignorance which never would or could exist if a compulsory and skillful training in schools established for the purpose, under practical as well as theoretical masters of the particular industry sought to be acquired, had been gone through. We often read of the falling of a floor filled with people. This shows an ignorance of building and of the strength of different materials, a knowledge.of which , is so indispensable in this important branch of industry. Schools established for a thorough training in mining would not only save life and property, but cause a more profitable development of our mineral resources. k-

“ Knowledge is power.” It is the liffiV itmg director of the productiveness of ajll labor*. As a knowledge of all the arts, a thorough acquaintance with the laws* (ft’ nature exists, so will be the progress *in improvement in all the affairs of life. Its application to all the industries causes a • greater productiveness from the same labor. It has decreased the labor of farming and increased its producing power. The superseding of the scythe and the cradle by the mowing and reaping machines has enabled a much greater number of acres to be tilled; at the same time a larger value is realized from the same quantity of land. The greater the skill the greater the wages. Every hour spent in improving the mind is a bid for increased pay. " The laborer is worthy of his hire,” and that worth is enhanced just in proportion as a knowledge of his work is great or small. The foreman of a workshop receives greater compensation than any other workman. Why? Because he possesses greater intelligence on all matters connected with the work. This subject is capable of being drawn to a great length; but enough has been said to show* the benefits arising from knowledge and skill in all branches of industry, and that industrial and technical schools should be established everywhere. Enquirer. " , —At Portslade, near Brighton, England, some workmen engaged in building operations have come across curious Roman remains, comprising cinerary urns, containing bones, a water-bottle, plate, etc. Four urns have been recovered, but only one is complete.

NO. 15.

Skilled Labor.