St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 18, Number 6, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 27 August 1892 — Page 2

the ^ood old times. What easy times our fathers had they lived a natural way, To earn a half a dollar then they had the whole l long day, Some fourteen hours did they have this meager sum to win, The whole, long, blessed day to earn a half a dollar in. How light their lot compared with ours; we have to spurt and spin, We who are granted but six hours to earn twelve dollars in. Two huildred'dollars in a year was all they had to earn. But we mnst earn five thousand—will those old days ne’er return? And they had twelve months to earn it, four- i teen hours to the day, , I But we have to have vacations which steal half i our time away, ' We’ve only six hours in the day and eight j months in the year In which to earn five thousand —ah, too great j the strain. I fear. They bad so long to earn a little, but our bard, life is such That we hate little time to work in order to earn much How rich our fathers were —in time—how prodigal and rich I vvhat vast amounts < f time they gave for small amounts of cash. And how” we sigh for those old days of moderate events, When one had fourteen hours in to which earn bis fill y cent; But now we work like gal ey slaves, and wreck and waste our pow rs For sixty cents in sixty seconds, ah, what a life is ours. —Yankee Blade.

THE DAISY MINE. “Hallo!” exclaimed Joe West aloud, “what’s that?” and he paused in his hurried walk with his head bent forward and his rille grasped firmly in his hands. “Now if 1 didn’t know better, I’d stake my life that was a child’s cry.” Once again the pitiful little wail was repeated, and with a rush Joe tore along that lonely mountain trail like one mad. A sudden turn in the road, and then in the dim light he saw a small object just beyond him. Joe wonderingly bent over it and touched it timidly with his hand, and almost jumped a foot high when his hand came in contact with another i hand, a very small one, vainly reach- j ing heavenward for the help that

came at last. “Bless me!” said Joe on the verge of tumbling over in a fit, so intense was his astonishment. “Bless me! Well I never! A poor little baby!” Then he looked about him in a dazed kind of way for some explanation of the mystery. But the silent old hills told nothing nor the blinking stars over-head. Had the little one been abandoned? if so, by whom? Or had it fallen ■ from some cloudlet overhead? But while Joe was wondering nd trying to get his scattered senses together, the baby renews its wails and tossed its little hands aloft. The ‘ weak voice was faint and hoarse as if ' it had cried a long time. “Poor baby!” said Joe, “what a brute I am, it must be chilled through, and no matter where it came iyum t it’s not going to be left here any longer. ” Then he took off his coat and clumsily wrapped the child in it, i luckily giving it a breathing space in its folds, and awkwardly, but tenderly, he lifted it in his arms and i started toward the camp. “Carrying a baby and a rifle is ! hardly in my line,” thought Joe, a queer smile about his mouth. “but I guess I'll manage it, if I don’t meet a bear or congar.” The warm coat and the protecting । clasp had stilled the cries of the lit- i, tie one and it slept until the camp I was reached. “Hallo, there, Joe, that you? What are you carrying wrapped up in . your , coat, a cub or a papoose?” “Come and see,” said Joe. He stood his rifle in the corner and sat down near the fire and began un-, doing his bundle, while the boys j gathered around him wonderingly. But the light and the noise awoke the sleeping child, and it cried aloud. “A baby! a baby!” They started back as if a canon had exploded in their midst, then eagerly pressed forward once more. ‘ ‘Why—where—how—-” “Wait,” said Joe, 1 found it on the trail about a mile back. ” “Found it —but who —” “We’ll know sometime, maybe. But what’s to be done with the poor little thing, it’s cold and hungry.” “Give it something to eat,” cried Billy Warrington. “Here hand it over to me, I’m used to kids. My step-mother made me turn nurse, that’s why I ran away from home. You’ll drop it Joe, and you’re scaring the poor little thing into a fit.” Billy took it gently and with soft, pats and cooing words soon soothed ' it into calm, and when a cup of milk was placed to its lips, its little hands

grabbed it and the boys had to turn their heads to hide the tears in their j eyes, to see how hungry it really was. ■ •‘Once get its face washed,” said ■ Billy, “you’ll And out she's a little beauty, for it’s a little girl and about two years old. I think. Shouldn't wonder but she can tell her name.” After much petting and a number of watches presented to her, she began to look about her and to make friends. She could only say a few words, “papa, mamma,” and, when asked her name, said “Dada,” or something similar. “It’s Daisy, I think; and you are a little daisy, that’s a fact,” quoth Joe, who was becoming decidedly interested in hisqueer And. “But what’s to be done with her?” said more than one. “There ain’t a woman in camp, and we can’t get one before to-morrow.” Billy here interposed again. “Never mind about women folks. I’ll see to her. We’ll get up a searching party by daylight and we may discover something. Somebody will claim her, she’ll never be left to us.” When the searching party went out they did And something. Only a few yards from where Joe

had picked up the baby, they found a man and a bear, locked in a deadly embrace, a most deadly oue, since both w’ere quite dead. “Poor fellow! he’s been carrying the child, and on the appearance of Bruin, he has dropped it, and—and as you see it has ended like this, even as he felt death overpowering him he has buried his knife in the bear’s throat. He saved his child. But I wonder who he is, and what he meant by undertaking to walk along this dangerous trail with a child, and all । alone.” i When the stage came in that after- ■ noon on one of its tri-weekly trips, : the driver furnished further informa- | tion. “There is an abandoned wagon ; back there at the foot of the mountain, and a dead horse. It’s an o’d rattle-trap and the horse must have died of old age and exhaustion. Apparently the father of this kid has been attempting to reach this place, but who he was or how he came to be with a little thing like that I cannot imagine.” But when they went to the wagon nothing was found save a little box of clothing belonging to the baby which they gladly took possession of. “She belongs to the came, boys,” said Joe; “we’ll have to adopt her. We ought to name the new mine after her. who knows but it woulu be lucky.”

i I “We'll have to leave her in Billy’s • j care until some women folks move in. I hear there are several families coming in a week or two. But the little one belongs to the camp, remember ; that, boys.” The baby throve in that rough but ■ kindly care, and if she had any favor- ! ; ites they were Joe and Billy. “Seems as if she knew I'd saved ' her,” said Joe, hugging her close! < while her little hands buried them- I selves in his beard. “Bless her daring little self, and she’s brought good : luck to us all, for the Daisy Mine; promises to make us all rich.” j But when the next mail came in it । brought Joe a letter that quite threw । the boys back into the land of dis- j

i pondency; it ran as follows: i DoabSib:—l have learned that my unfortunate brother died near your camp some months ago. and left a little child, for j which I understand you have kindly cared. I I will be with you in a few days to claim my ! little neice and to thank you all personally, i Lulu Granger. “Oh!” gasped Joe, “my baby! how can 1 give her up?” and one and all of her rough friends offered a vig- ; orous protest. : Miss Lulu Granger proved to be a ■ little Eastern school marm and quite ! young and pretty. Joe was the one J sent to meet her to try to “buy her I off” as he had put it. 1 “Abandon the child to strangers!” i exclaimed the new claimant, “even for a whole mine, I wouldn't. I'm poor, and she will be a burden to me. but she's mine, you understand. I I thank you very much for all you have ’ done for her. and for your love, but you 1 : will be compelled to part with her.” Joe walked along at her side wondering why she had to be so pretty and so determined about little Daisy, 1 half wishing she had stayed away and half wishing she hadn't. “You see my poor brother and his invalid wife started for the mountains for health and wealth; alas', what a journey it was. But even after the mother died, poor Charlie pressed onward with the baby.” But when they reached the home of.' Mrs. Smith, who of late had been taking care of the child, they found her in tears. “Oh, Mr. Joe, don't look at me. I’m that sorry! I only ’left her just a ■ minute and —and she’s gone. I know j you’ll never forgive me, but I’ve ' looked everywhere and I can’t tind her. ” • “Is there a well—or anything?” i exclaimed her frightened aunt. Joe looked disturbed but not frightened: a sudden conviction took pos- ; session of him. “We’ll find her;some one hasdoubtless seen her:she had too many friends ; to get lost.” | Yet search as they would no little ' golden-haired Daisy was to be found. j “Oh!” sobbed the aunt, “and she l is gone too, what a dreadful, dread- ! fid thing! I came so far to find her, ' I have so little money to remain to | solve the mystery. Oh, dear, dear, what shall I do?” Joe and the young lady had become very friendly during those few days of search and sorrow. He looked down upon her tenderly and growing strangely red said • softly, — “There is away.” i “Away! Ido not understand.” I “Marry me,” said Joe bluntly. “I’m i a rich man, for the Daisy mine is a i

j tremendous success now. I love you. j I love the baby. She wouldn’t have ' to be took away, you know, then.” । “But she’s lost, dead no doubt.” “Indeed she’s not,” said Joe, “its none of my wbrk —I never advised such a cruel trick, but I’m satisffed ;if you marry me we could And her.” The amazed young lady tried to understand him, but failed only so ' far as the offer of marriage was con'cerned. ' She looked up into his bronzed I handsome face and read aright its truth and worth; it was rather sud1 den but she liked him and—and why not?” The soft color and downcast eyes . gave Joe wonderful encouragement, j “Is it yes, then?” he whispered. A little nod was the only answer followed by: j “I do not know you very well, but I I’m all alone, and every one seems to respect you and I like you very much. ” That night over a very private telegraph line a message went. “Joe has solved the problem. H’s going to marrv the aunt and set up housekeepin’ here, you can bring her back.” The next morning Mrs. Smith burst into the young lady’s room with Daisy in her arms.

“Here she is, bless her! I didn’t lose her at all. The boys, some of them, well never know who, just stole her to keep you from taking her away. She’s the pet of the camp, you see, and has a little fortune set aside for her. Ain’t she a darling! , and I found her on the door step this morning.” “But who dared 9 ” “I wouldn’t worry ’bout it a minute. There she is fat an’ rosy as ever. You got her back because you’re goin’ to live here, you see. No tell in’ what would have happened if you hadn't fancied Joe.” “Do you think he knew?” “No, not at first, he guessed purty quick.” “But my dear little one,” whispered the aunt, “I’ve found you at last, you darling! and yes, and I’ve । found more than you. I hear his step, he is coming, how happy I am, little Daisy.”—Yankee Blade. The Origin of Benefit Orders. A humble mechanic jn a small Pennsylvania village, -I twenty-one ' years ago, quietly, variously, and even to hims^N. e Bt^ o u S iy ) touched a spring whiclLJlWn operation a movement whicfin^g proved in itself to be the most valuable and important system of protection for j the home mankind has ever possessed. . He lived to witness the development of his simple idea into the great . Fraternal Beneficiary system. He । saw the armv of brothers from his little band of men in Meadville increase I year by year in numbers, in strength and character, until there had passed . in review before his happy vision al- | most a million of fraternal men enj listed under the standard which he i I had raised, and confident of protec- | ; tion assured to their homes. The | ! records spread before him evidenced j the distribution, by virtue of its sim- , : pie operation, of more than one hundred millions in the homes of the i common people of his country; those ' who needed could have, because the beneficent system had brought the price of protection within the means of । the humblest mechanic at the bench, ’

the clerk at his desk, and the laborer who tilled the soil. A few years ago his spirit was borne by the angels to the eternal realms, there to receive the reward due the faithful who had I served well th di fellow men; and to hear the messages of gratitude which shall arise from thousands of homes I made, and to be made, comfortable by the benefaction of fraternities founded upon his simple plan. His bod}’ was tenderly laid to rest by his mourning brethren. His memory is held in loving remembrance by the fraternal men of every society ami association, and the grand Order which he founded hasereeted, and dedicated by fitting ceremonies, ami with words which will ensure, if^ifliT the material which composes it shall h iv<> ci umbicii •' ■ a magnitii cent monument to'TW’rpctuat' ttre" name of John J. Upchureh^^j. nuskell Butler. “ Hi- Own Servanb^jl^^ When Honore de Balzac, the novel- i ist. stated in early life his wish to be- , come a literary man, his father, who ' had destined him for the bar, was shocked and disappointed. Still, he ! gaxe the boy two years in which to prove his flttuess for a literary life, and Honore was accordingly installed . in an attic near the library where he i proposed to work. His mother believed that a little hardship would soon bring him to his I senses, but the correspondence which he thereupon began with his sister shows the man who was afterwards to attain distinction in hischosm work could afford, as a youth, to scorn such trifles as waiting upon himself. In the very first- letter he confided to his sister the news that he had taken a I servant. He writes: “He is named Myself I And a bad bargain he is, truly! Myself is lazy, clumsy, thoughtless. His master is hungry or thirsty, and often enough Myself has neither bread nor water to give him, he doesn’t even know how to shield him from the wind which whistles through the door and window. As soon as lam awake, I [ ring for Myself, and he makes my bed. Then he sweeps the room, and clumsy he is at it. “ ‘Myself.’ “ ‘Yes, sir.' “‘Look at that cobweb with the big fly buzzing in it till lam half giddy with the noise, and the fluff under the bed, and the dust on the window panes!” “The lazy beggar gazes at me and doesn’t stir, and yet, in spite of all his defects, I can’t get rkkpf that unintelligent “Myself!” And the same stupid *TMyself ” it

was who afterwards enriched French literature with a series of wonderful works. Serfdom in Siam. The King of Siam is said to perambulate the streets of his capital disguised in plain clothes for the purpose of learning the true condition of the people and initiating reforms, ! several of which have already been ! started. The chief evils in Siam are serfdom, slavery, the farming of taxes and the corruption of justice. Serfdom is universal, with the result that | a man is quite uncertain when he may call his time and labor his own, ; for so many months in the year he is bound to serve his chief, and at any | time he may be called on for “special King’s service.” For instance, when a King is on his travels every district through which he passes is called upon to supply him with food and transport. If news comes that a prince or high official is traveling it I is not uncommon for owners of boats to request a European subject to take temporary charge of them, while they themselves disappear in the juni gle. Elephants can always be taken | fur the King’s service,

HOME AND THE FARM. A DEPARTMENT MADE UP FOR OUR RURAL FRIENDS. Rainy Days Can Be Improved Where a Good Wood House Is at Hand—Time to Cut Hay—Good Portable Fence, Etc. A Wood and Post House. It will pay any man who owns his farm to build a post and wood house, says Farm and Home. A diagram is given herewith for a complete house for this purpose. The main part is 36 by 72 feet with an L of 18 feet. The central part of the main building is 18 by 24 feet, and is devoted to unsawed wood and unprepared posts, where a supply of dry wood and seasoned posts can be had at all times. Near the driveway in this room are placed trusses on which to summer the post racks. There is no partition between this room and the driveway. At the right of this is a room 24 by 26 feet for posts after they have been sharpened and prepared for use.while i at the left is a room of the same di- ■ mensions for wood after it is sawed (™“d ; WtU DUD, KM | and split ready for the stove. A drive- | way 10 feet wide runs the full length j । of the rear and has a sliding door at ; ; each end and large double doors in I i the middle just opposite the supply i ; room. In the front are two rooms | each 12 by 24 feet, between which is I ! a wide arch where thestove is placed. | The est room is devoted to the prep- • aratior. of posts and in one coiner is a device for sharpening them, an engraving of which is shown. It is con- I

structed by taking two posts 8 by 8 inches and setting firmly in the ground wide enough apart to receive a vice as shown in the cut, while the top ends are bolted firmly to the joists. At the foot of these excavate a hole about 3 feet deep, put ting in the lot tom coarse gravel ami on top of that a block, sawed from Ihe butt of a wellseasoned elm log.and t< 1 1

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in firmly around it, tramping the I earth down. In sharpening p -sis put one end in the \ ce and s. rew up tight. The other end is raised on the block, which is a little dlskimron top tmHHiiml Timo wtrrnrvh mr-a man to work- Without stooping mu h. In this way one man can ' sharpen posts as fast as i twom the old-fashioned way, and do ।it better. In another corn r of this room is placed a furnace and kettle i for heating tar for painting the ends !of the posts, while in another corner iis placed a work bench. The right room is for sawing and splitting w od. On one side of this room is a large patent saw. The wood is ■ sawed, split and placed in a cart ami j wheeled to the wood mom ami piled o u up in a neat manner. In these two I rooms are also kef ‘ all th • to 1- peri taining to chopping and repairing. In the general supply room fence . boards, wire nails, etc., are placed where they will always be dry. The . loft can be used for this purpose if : necessary. In this room are also ; kept the post driving cart and the transfer cart and log sled. In the I spring and fall, after repairing the j fences, gather up all the refuse maI terial, such as posts, nailsand boards. I and draw them to this room. The beauty of this building is that :no time is lost. Bainy days can be improved in the wood house sawing, splitting and carting to and from the sawing room. A yard can also be made in the back of the house if wished, to which all heavy timber can be drawn in the winter time. A sled for such a purpose is shown here. The cut explains itself. The building which I have described can be built of cheap lumber, it not being necessary to have any part warm except the work and sawing rooms, whicn will bo used a great <lo.nl dur-

ing the winter. Build a cupola on top to help the looks of the building, paint it all over and you will And it will prove useful. proAtable and ornamental. Time for Cutting Huy. We take the following paragraphs . I from an exchange: “There is a right ; and a wrong time to cut hay. r I heoretically, grass mown when approaching rhe blossom stage is worth 25 cents per hundred for feeding, while ' the same grass cut after bloom is । worth S cents on the hundred pounds '' —a very material difference. Moreover good bay is worta several dollars per ton more than poor hay, and the whole difference in prior may be made in the curing.” We are inclined to think that there is nothing theoretical about the matter: the question of the relative value of hay cut at the proper season, or much later, becomes one of fact and ' , not of theory. Al! the evidence that i । chemistry can offer goes to prove the , I fact that the early cut is superior to ’ ■ the late cut: but it is also true that i in the curing nrly cut may be so in--1 jured as to be of no greater value j than the late cut. Observations on I

the effect of feeding of the two kinds are fully sufficient to establish the fact; on going a step further observation of the desires of the animal will be sufficient to determine the question of the comparative value of the ; hay made from early or seasonably cut or late cut hay. A Great Change. The change that has taken place in well ordered dairies with respect to the treatment of milk is notable. The new science says, make the time as short as possible between milk pail and package. Instead of oeing controlled by the weather, and at its ; mercy, the goo I dairyman now with . tanks, creamers, starters and aerators| controls the milk and its product, and j gets uniformity every day in the j year. The closer the extremes of making are brought together, the better for the texture and flavor of the butter and cheese. For years it has been supnosed that cold was the great remedy for all threatened disaster to milk and cream, but now it is found that cold only prevents the germs of ferment from activity, and when the cold is suspended the milk goes to the bad all the more quickly. It now seems that aeration, thorough airing of the milk, not cooling it a great deal, is far better. Its odors are eliminated, the bacteria are pre-, vented from developing, and in all ; respects the aeration has been an ele- j ment of decidedly favorable influence 1 upon the milk and its after products, ! notably that of cheese. The best of j it is, aeration costs nothing save a j few moment's time and the steady use of a gallon dipper to lift and pour ■ the milk in the can until every drop ! I of it has been brought under the in- ’ fluence of the oxygen of the air.— ! Practical Farmer. Good Portable Fence. The form of panel for a portable ■ fence shown in the illustration has the important merit of being wind proof, for according to the American

Garden from which the engraving is | reproduced, the wind cannot over- i turn it. as it can other styles of port- I able fences. It is so simple that no! directions other than the picture will i 1 e required for its construction. Poultry Raising. I like poultry as an adjunct, bet-1 ter than poultry exclusively, writes an experienced poultry raiser. A ! but ter, <gg and fruit farm makes a grand combination, and they work well together. Poultrv and fruit. iMWy and vegetables, ui ntici .i ...i r.. 1U1 44»v graiKi ’ schemes. 1 have in my mind's eye ; a young man that started on five acres of land. He planted a half acre in blackberries, half acre in raspberries, half acre in strawberries. ' and a half acres of gooseberries and ■ currants. Two in all were devoted to berries. One acre he put in a variety of garden truck, and two acres devoted to poultry, stables, and his residence. He kept three cows, a horse, two hundred fowls, and four brood sows and a boar of the ChesI ter White breed. All through the live acres, whercever there was suffi--Ich ut room, he planted fruit trees. What i> the harvest? He has eggs, ami (ouitry, and fruit, and milk, an i pork, and some vegetables for sale ; throughout the year, and lie is comfortably fixed. But you ask. how i does this work' with the poultry farm? As he must not depend entirely upon the poultry for expenses of living, etc., he reduces the cost, by making each branch of the business pay a certain percentage of cost. And 260 hens give him better returns, as they can be more readily attended to. ■ More poultrv would only increase the expense without sufficiently helping I the income. Os course all this: may i not sound like a good poultry article, j but it will serve as an example of how poultry is best made to pay. Farmers, when they take good care of their stock, always make the most money out of them. Drinking Fountain for Chicks. Take an emptied tomato can. bend in the ragged edges where it has been • opened, make a hole in the side one- I quarter of an inch from the edge; All '

it with water, put a saucer on it, and | quickly invert both. The water will ’ then stand in the saucer constantly at the height of the hole, writes J. Bollinger in the Practical Farmer. ; Chickens can drink, but cannot get ; in the water which will always remain clean Little chickens are not in danger of getting drowned. It is a grand, good thing. Advice to Fann Hands. When you have secured a good place learn the condition of the farm and the household regulations. Know your place and always be in it. Do not be inquisitive about the private affairs of the family, and be careful how you talk of them to outsiders. Some things may not exactly suit you, therefore, you will do test not to he i forward in makingcomplaints. Think

about the time when you will have charge of a farm and be at the head of a family. You may-discover much now that you should then imitate, much that you should avoid, and I much that will suggest new ideas. It will be best not to have much debate with your employer about the l est ways of doing any work. While you may think you have a better method than his, you will give better satisfaction by yielding to him. Treat all the family with respect, and for the time feel as if you were one of them as far as your position allows. Politeness consists in attention to I trifles, and by this attention you will i gain respect and earn for yourself a : reputation that will be invaluable.— I Stockman. Slieep and Swine. Have you set apart a clover lot for the hogs? A pig may be taught to hunt—for a living Allow no hogs around the stock watering tank. The cheapest pork is made by using the clover pasture. Some grow peas and let the fattening pigs harvest them. See that the ewe mother has plenty of clean water to drink. Give the young lamb a little wheat j bran or oatmeal to lick. I The greater the number of pigs the 1 more food the sow needs. A well-fed pig ought to make at I least a pound of grain a day. Neither hogs nor cows should be . kept in solitary confinement. Keep your pigs dry, but give them | all the water they want to drink. I Never confine the brood sows to a ■ dry lot barren of grass or green forage. The largest amount of food consumed does not always give the best returns. Pigs weighing 200 pounds when five or six months old are profitable. This is possible. The scale test is the only satisfactory way of determining the value of । any way of feeding.

I- - - — - — No matter how much slop is given i daily, be sure that hogs have all the j pure water they will drink. It is an erroneous idea to think that a hog will thrive upon any kind i of feed if he only has plenty of it. Whex it comes to breeding and feeding hogs on the farm, theoretical , knowledge is of little practical value. Hints to Housekeepers. Ix warm weather put eggs in cold । water, as they will froth better when । broken. A bit of charcoal held in the mouth and slowly chewed will remove the ‘ offensive I reath after eating onions. A of butter, in cnlinarv, ^’'’'■y^roun^l as much aboveU^^ ige oi the spoim®^ 1 h . lio Lt 1. * below. ~ ■i s A io n i r rnr ( water, a teaspoontui ol atui Lu a ! of water, applied to the hair two or 11 three times a week. A hole in black silk or satin can often be nicely mended by placing a piece of court plaster on the wrong side. A weak place in kid glovescan also be strengthened in the same way. A c arpet, particularly a dark carpet, often looks dusty when it does i not need sweeping; wring out a sponge quite dry in water (a few drops of ammonia helps brighten the color) and wipe off the dust from the carpet. This saves much labor in sweeping. Bright sunshine, it is said, will nearly always entirely remove scorch which has been made by using an over-heated iron. Frequently a shirt j bosom, apparently almost ruined, has been brought back to its pristine whiteness by a liberal application of this remedy, which Dame Nature provides for us so liberally at times. Few things are more slovenly than a wall with holes in the plaster, yet such disfigurements are likely to occur from the blows of heavy furniture, hammering of picture nails in wrong j places and from various other causes. Such places should be mended at once with plaster of paris, mixed to a thin paste with water. It is best to i mix only a little at a time, as it sets so rapidly that it becomes too hard to handle in a few moments. Apply it and smooth it down with the blade I of a knife and cover up the spot with a piece of wall paper matching the pattern on the wall as you paste it on, and the spot will never show Miscellaneous Recipes. White Cup Cake. —One cup fresh butter, two cups white powdered sugar, four cups sifted flour, white of tlve eggs, one enp sweet: mlVr, two teaspoonfuls baking powder, one tea-

spoon extract of lemon. Gooseberry Fool. —Make a smooth boiled custard and set on ice to cool; have an equal quantity of stewed i gooseberries, well sweetened and also cold; mix the custard and gooseberries together, putting in a bowl or glass dish, and set on ice till wanted, and then serve with a basket of fresh cake. Spiced Currant Jelly.—Press the juice from ripe currants and strain; ] ut in a kettle; let come to a boil,add i a joundof sugar to a pint of juice, with a tablesoopful each of extract of cinnamon, nutmeg, and mace: let boil Ave minutes. This jelly is excellent served with mutton, buck, i venison, or other game. Currant Pie. —One cupful if ripe currants, one cupful of sugar, two eggs: line the pie-plate with a nice paste and sprinkle a little Hour over it: spread the currants on this; beat the sugar ami yolks of eggs together and pour over the currants Boil about twenty minutes! Beat the whites of the eggs to a stiff froth with two tablespoonfuls of sugar, spread over tlie pie, set it on the top grate . and brown a little.