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-y^kt • - f M MP aooro, VBOUMO- PHIZES. ^ , tfl-V* I tint, ner don't p'tend to i. Jtuoii posted on philosophy Bot there when all I work out MeM of Bay own. And of thin MUM there 1« » few I'.i like to >«Ntt refer to you-- Porvidin' that you don't object To listen clos't and rtekollectt,. I allnn arer that the man • ..'-"v.* Wh> <loo« the very l»e!>t he coi ' - -pr I* plenty good enough to Riiift This lower, mundane h.Ptftnle-- , No matter of his daily walk * , la anbject fer hH neighbor'* talK^ y And critic minds of ev'ry whim J eat all git up and go for him! I km wed a feller onc't that had > T h e y a l l e r - j a n d e r s m i i r h t v b a d , f ; l Aad each and every friend he'd meet ;.; Would stop and jrlve him a receet "*« Fer ourin' of 'ein. But he'd say He kind o' thought they'd go away 1 "Without no medicln'. and 1 toast v- r- i "That he'd git well without one" dostet He kep' a-yallerin' on--and they Predictin' that he'd die some day Before he knowed it. Tuck his bed, The feller did. and lost his head. And wandered in his mind a spell-- Then rallied, and, at last, got well: Hut every friend that Raid he'd die "Went back on him eternally! It's natehural enough, I guests, "When some gits more and some frits IMS, . Fer them-nns on the slimmest side ^ *To cl«iin it ain't a fair divide; 'Lf' And I've knowed some to lay and ii'iffe And nit up soon and set up late, :/f K. To ketch some feller they could hatd'.,' Fer gotn' at a faster gait. , ,, ^ . The signs is bad when folks commwMijt i' A-flndin' fault with Providence, r- And balkin' 'cause the earth don't sllkfo. At every pranein' step fliey take. i '. Wo man is great till he can see •' ' ... How less than little he would be Kf stripped to self, and stark and b^jp' st, b He hung his sign oat anywhere. ; , 4 7 ;;» ; . My rJSctem is to lay aside flon^n^ions, and I>e satisfied; >V Jest do ver best, and praise er blame That follers that counts jest the same.. I've alius noticed great success , " Is mixed with troubles, more er less,. And it's the man who does the best , That gits more kicks than all the rest. yrJiidixutaDhlis Journal. RETROSPECT OF FROG- , TOWN. . to fool me at the last," lie said. "You've spoken in time. I ll bother no more with anything." * "Oh fdon't let the good bargains go," I said, scoflingly; "look out for the tim­ ber and the well and the cow; as for the wife, she's easily enough got; she's the least of alL Only be sure she'* ft good milker." "Stop, Bess," he said, and stamped Ms foot. In the half-darkness I saw his face leap into a glow. "Be quiet, girl, and listen to me. I know what's come over you--it's somebody else you begin to cave for; vou've been won over by the fail-words of Miles the miller; but I warn vou, Bess, rather than see you be­ long to him, I'll kill you both." Now, strange as it may seem, I liked this manner of talk far better than the other, and the more he fumed and crushed thrf tender grasses under his heavy boots, the more my heart warmed to him. I had always to make him mad to get him to show how much he cared forme. If I said nothing to vex him, he'd drone along by the hour about all sorts of miserable drudgery in store for us, and I hated the thought of going from one round of toil at home to an­ other with Billy Bvles. But I went a step too far that night. " We parted in anger, and I went home sad and heavy- hearted enough, but made no sign of sorrow to any one, for I was proud and . , ,. . - „Ti _ . , _ unviolding in my way, and would rather deapondmg heart. ̂ W liy shouldn't little li9v» than <**viiceded an inch to mv I £>° • I had already begun to pull Then at last I gasped out an entreaty for her not to go. "Not go to the funeral!" she echoed. "That's just your way. You never want to put yourself out the least bit to let me have any enjoyment." Enjoyment! I said no more. In truth, the whole village seemed to bo going. Group after group passed our door, and the bell went clanging on. I sank back in my chair in a stupor of resignation; but no sooner had mother and Maria gone out the door than I burst into a passion of weeping. Little Phil ran over to me, and clasped his chubby hands about my neck. ;., "What make Bessy cry?" he askod. "Oh, Philly dear, I cried, clasping htm close, ana rocking to and fro, "Bes­ sie did so want to go somewhere to-day! --down by the water, where the pretty flowers grow, out of the sound of that dreadful bell, and away from those hate­ ful, curious people; down where the frogs are, Philly--the quoer speckled frogs that make faces . at you and sing such funny songs." Jx The little fellow olwrofjed his hands, and then looked pleadingly up in my face. » "Me go, too? Philly go with Bessie to see the funny frogs. Philly be good boy. Please Philly go ?" A throb of hope and joy moved my Anniulinrr WKw 1.*U1A Wlien t was a girl of 181 liwd in a Tillage with the funny name of Frog- 3 'town. It sounds very awkward and •queer to people that know nothing about the place; but really it was the "best name in the world, for the frogs "Were the most numerous, the wisest and l»9t of its population. Wandering down by the water in early springtime I quite learned their language, and feel assured that more orderly, sober, kind­ ly, well-disposed creatures did not ex­ ist. While picking the wet violets from "the boggy banks, stringing meadow- grass into wreaths, and singing to my­ self in the happy way that country maidens do when gruff old winter is gone for good, I often found the funny frogs joining iu with my song, affection­ ately and low, and all in tune. And, one particular night in early June, when the full moon was climbing up in- ' to the sky, the clouds swept softly and ewiftly by, and one little star shone up Aloft, I walked through a wide, sweet • pasture filled with buttercups and dai­ ries, and holding one of these last blos­ soms in my hand, I began pulling away *he leave?, one by one, repeating these 4wo names--two names that were ever now in my heart and on my tongne, and I could not tell which I repeated often- «st or loved the best--Billy Byles, the builder, Maynard Miles, the miller; Silly Byles, Maynard Miles: the build­ er, the miller. One by one the leaves went fluttering down the stream--for I -haul TeaeUfcd the water ntw--and at last •OOlv one was left. It was Billv Bvles; -*nd I stood with my hands folded, "thinking of his dark, eager face, -And of all the years since we were cliil- :dren that he had been fond of me. The j again by some evil reminder. It'came have died than conceded an inch to my old lover. And he, alas! was stubborn too, though he suffered sorely. He be­ came moody and idle, and people began to say bad things of him. His° old workshop was boarded up, and he spent the most of his time loitering about the banks of the river where wo had passed so many happy hours to­ gether. Perhaps the mill being close at hand had something to do with Bill's, haunting the water. I don't think I could be blamed for not putting away from me the scant comfort I took in the young miller's pleasant words ami win­ ning ways. It was a rare relief to me to escape the torment and fear that pur­ sued me day by day. I saw that Bill was unmindful of his work, and took no in­ terest in his old thrifty ways, and Heaven knows I was sorry, but now it was too late. He had got himself an evil name, and in our village to do this one might as well be hanged at once. My mother had forbidden my sneaking to Bill, and as for -sister Maria, her whole heart was set upon my chances with the miller. These chances were fast verging to promise; the tender green of spring had ripened to the full form of summer, and now the golden-rods and asters be­ gan to bloom upon the river banks. I went down that way to gather the gay flowers, and kept them but a day or two, when I must needs go for more. I was seldom alone in my idle straying; the young miller had good help, and could always fling off his dusty coat, and shake the white powder from his hair, and help me to squander an hour or two. There was a certain bank that overhung- the stream in easy sight of the mill. There the underbrush was thi"k about us, and the heat of the sun was tempered byva wonderful wicker- work of leaves and branches; the birds sang there soft and low, and the water went rippling by. The miller was a fine, handsome fePow to look upon, with laughing blue eyes, and a woman­ ish winning mou'h that was ever dropping coaxing words of flattery and. lote. I could almost have been lured to forgetfulness of the past, and drifted on with the delight of the sweet sum-, mer days and their fair surroundings, had I not always been driven back frogs began their evening chant--thud, ~tliud, ker-thud, ker-thud; good, good, Tery good. There they were squatting tlie sedgv pools, looking at me with fiheir round gogglv eyes, and nodding •pprovinglv. I fe.t satisfied then that Billy Byles owned every beat of the lieart that fluttered under my muslin $odice, and stopped beating once in "a While to listen for his tread. He said lie would be there in the early evening., pud now the moon had climbed high, And prayeF-meeting would be over be- Jore I could get home; mother would in the shape of the wild, dark face so familiar to me, that seemed invisible to everything and everybody else. I could see it gleam from the branches of the deepest thicket, and moved away many a time from the miller and trem­ bled till it was gone. And often the guide boat of Billv Byles would jut out before us in the stream, and, though he neither looked nor made any sign, it was enough to know that he was watch­ ing and waiting for Heaven knew what. I began to wish that whatever he was -plotting he would do and have done off his apron, my hands trembling with eagerness. In less than half an hour we were hastening away as fleetly as our yearning hearts could desire. Phil was wild to see the funny frogs, and I --well, I scarcely knew what I longed for most. To get rid of the bell, for .one thing--it clanged so of death and all that was dreary and miserable. Scarce had we reached the pathway that led through the pasture ground to the mill when the bell ceased, and a heavenly quiet fell upon evorything. It seemed as if poor Mrs. Barlow must suddenly have got rid of the gating crowd, and the gates of paradise had opened to take her within. Phil clutched at the flowers as we weat along; he laughed and crowed, and my own heart grew glad. At last through the briers and ferns I saw the shining water, the trees above, the trees below, and all of it the. loveliest and brightest of green. At that moment I did not so much care for the handsome young miller; I only yearned for the rest and shade and lazy happiness of it all; and when I reached the bank and found it all alone with its tangles of turf and wild flowers I was quite content. Indeed, it began to be peopled very quickly with the frogs that at first one could not see, they were so of a color with the rest; but presently we espied them one by one squatting upon the opposite bank. Philly was wild with delight; he had never seen so many frogs, nor any of so friendly and sociable a mien. But I held his hand tight within my own, for the water was deep there --deep enough to drown a much bigger body than dear little Phil's. As I held his hands in one of my own, my other one was sud­ denly caught in a ,warm, close pressure, and my heart began to beat, my cheeks to glow. • "My wild rose, my blossom," said the melodious voice, "how could you leave me so long? Ah, now .the %orld is sweet again!" Yes, it was wonderfully sweet. The jnnmeiits flew A.I011 i* on wings of dt>liirht. It was not alone his presence or the dul­ cet flatteries he poured into my willing ears, but everything was so fraught with the power and fervor of beauty and youth and all that was adorable in life. The dingy dolor of the village street, with its funeral throng, was hidden and forgotten; the world seemed only made of joy. How gratefully and caressingly the tall trees l>ent to the water, and mirrored themselves in its shining dept'h! I had given my hands to the keeping and caressing of my companion : I had leaned lazily back upon the trunk of the big tree; I had--God forgive me --long forgotten little Phil. And, gaz­ ing idly down upon the stream, I sud­ denly saw something floating on the away those moments of rest and consolation with the young miller. Mine was a na­ ture that yearned for soft words and caressing, for distraction from homely cares, and, truth to say, for the flattery except that one fluff of yellow hair upon the treacherous water. The young mil­ ler saw it as soon as I. "Great heaven!" he cried, "the child is lost. I can't swim, Bess, not a stroke." I,got upon my feet. "Oh, where is God?" I.said; and, lingering one mo­ ment in bewilderment, I sprang after little Phil. It mattered nothing that I and adulation that had given me a fe-1 ^ ?iroy® own life after that of Ibe there before me, and perhaps sister 5 with it. The awful suspense and dread j tide. The whole grew dark, all black, Jflaria would stop iu on lier^way from! poisoned the happiest moments of my iehurch, and then they would scold, and j life, and, beside, through it all I was so Wonder where I had been wandering in | sorry for him. My heart was all ten- jjjhe dark and the dew. I began to feel : derness to him, even though he should •chilled and disappointed; the song of | murder me, as he had sworn to do. I -the frogs grew harsh and discordant, j could not get strength to put I turned sadly homeward, and had scarcely gone a rod when a light foot leaped down from a neighboring bank, •nd there was Billy at last. Oh, the J>erversene8s .of women! Instead of warmly welcoming him, I turned pout- fngly away, and could find no excuse of tis strong enough to warrant his keep­ ing me waiting. "There are some folks," I said, "would be glad enough to come at my , "bidding." j And'who could be gladder than I?" 1 te cried in return. "Come, now, Bess, j don't mean to say there's a chap far or near cares as much for you as I do? ! ;Tm getting the timber together for our j new house, and was belated in making j a bargain about the well--there's a! fellow out of work will do the job j r-clieap; and I Was looking after a fine j chance of a cow ; there's a trick of t Aldw-ney about her, and I know she'll ! be a rare milker. You can milk, can't I you, Bess?" verislx thirst since ever I had learned I was beautiful. Life was so pitifully short, and beauty so soon on the wane ! But a day came, like other days, without warning of any kind. The sun rose in the morning, the cocks were crowing and flapping their wings, the cows chewed their everlasting cud. the dear little lad. Life was a thing too hideous to hold. I felt this "even as the water poured into my throat and nos­ trils, and was fast strangling the faint beat of my wicked, weak, reckless heart. Then, as if on the far dim shores of paradise, I saw once more the sad dark face of Billy Byles--no longer murder- Breakfast was prepared and eaten and I OU*i sc9w^nf?» gentle and tender, cleared away, and scarce were one set of dishes put aside when another must be brought out. Stewing and baking and all the hot routine of a noonday oneal must be pursued, and when at last th:s v>-as-done, a long overhand seam must l>e finished. And yet this was called an idle day, when I could hope to reach ray paradise down by the water; I thought the time would never A little later on Bill was bending over me with the same look of pity and love that had met my fainting eyes in that last awful minute of consciousness. I threw my arms about his neck. "Forgive me, Bill," I whispered; "for­ give and love me if you can." When he could get his voice to speak he said that, as for loving me, he couldn't help that if he tried. "And as for forgiving, Bess, I need forgive­ ness more than any one. You may as well know, darling, that I planned tot murder you for many a day, and it was only the mercy o' God that led Philly to fall into the water, or you'd 'a l>een dead, along with yonder sprig in th' other room, and by my Wicked hand; that's as sure as there's a God that mended matters the way He did. But I'm cured now, Bess. Marry whom you will. I'll not be here to see. I'm going West to-morrow, Bessie^; and now give me one kiss, for the sake of all that has been between us." Would it be believed that I loved him all the more for his fierce, wild part in the baleful past? Though he had planned to murder me, my heart went out to him in love and submission. The miller seemed eyer *0 tame beside him. He stooped and put his lips to mine. They lingered long-; my weak arms served to bind him. "Oh, B^ss! Bess!" he groaned, and I murmured his xiamc with fond caressing. "Stay, Bill," I said, "and get the timber together again. I'll learn to milk so soon as I got strength." "I'll get the timber togtfher, Bess, but it will be a thousand miles from here. I won't risk it again, Bess, unless you aye content to go away from all all sorts of beguiling*.: ChooSe here and now; will you go, if I wait for you ? Will you?" Bill's was a stern sort of wooing, but I liked it the best; then, and it's served me well this many a year. As I sat here to-night on my wide veranda, and, looking far and near, could see nothing but the fields of grain, and the billowy waves of the blue-grass in which the herds plunge and revel, I found it fair to look upon, but something set me to thinking of the past, and I turned to a handsome young fellow at my side. "Phil, wouldn't you love once more to hear the frogs at dear old Frogtown ?" "Well, no, Aunt Bess. I came to grief once in sporting with those same reptiles, and might never have heard a sound that better suits this glorious part of the country. Listen, Aunt Bess; that's the sound for me," said my nephew Phil. It was the wild cry of the coyote.-- Harper's Weekly. • 1 ' I pulled my hand away from him, and I cnme- ^ knew that gweet words and ' turned my head aside. Had* I waited all this time to hear about his timber, and his well, and the milking of the cow? It was always the way. At home I had nothing but the same dingy round •of duties--washing the dishes, scouring the pans, ironing and baking, while the gentle deference of ,|ove awaited me there; I know the bank was beautiful with ferns and mosses and wild flowers; that the water was stdl and deep, and lovely with tremulous shadows. I was thinking of and yearning for it all. I had taken the last stitch, and had risen .mother did nothing but toil and gossip 1 to.my feet with a sigh of relief, when and scold, and sister Maria, now"that i ^oor opened, and i%4camo sister i; P: she was married, was more trouble than j before, for she had three mischievous •children that she was always leaving at •our door to be minded, while she went •off among the villagers; and here when I had run away to get rid of it all--here with the sweet idle flowers, and the river that did nothing but mslke love to^fclie blossoms on its bank, and the big laity clouds that skimmed leisurelv along, and all the thriftless beauty of nature to coax m away from "the -thoughts of work-a-day hours--here was Billy talking about digging wells, and raising timber, and, above all things, the milking of a cow! "No, I can't milk," I said, "and I ain't ring to leafia; it's tiresome work, and don't see why the milk can't be bought." k "That's not the way for young mar­ ried folks to begin, Bess," he said; and I took fire in a minute, for he'd never aaked me out and out to be married, ta|t seemed to take everything for granted. "And what have young married folks to do with me?" I said. "I am not go- Maria with little Phil---yellow-haired, din)pled, mischievous little Phil. He was my favorite among them all--a lov­ able, , warm-hearted little fellow, that had already "run tome with outstretched hands aud a cry of delight. But I was cold and sullen, and stood there looking at Maria, waiting for what I knew she would ask. Ask?--demand rather; she v«is alway^ bringing the children there for me V<inind. I didn't so much dis­ like the care of little' Phil; at any other time it would have been a pleasure to me; but that day^hat hour, that min­ ute, how could I stay at home? The tears sprang to my eyes, and I began to tremble with grief and disappointment. Then the church bell rang out dole- fully. as if tolling my happiness away. Yes, it was poor Mrs. Barlow's funeral day.. I remembered now, and mother ! was up-stairs getting ready to go. As | for Sister Maria, when did she ever miss i a funeral ? She was already taking off Philly's hat, and putting a gingham apron over his holiday dress. , . . • j Ti.> i j , "Be sure and watch Pliil," she said, ing to be marned. It's bad enough now, I "Don't let him out of your sight, Bess. ^andttwouU be far worse then." He's always getting into mischief of •Then you've been coaxing me on only ! Bome sort." and bending over mine with an unspeak- | able strength of pity and lov«.In his J arms was little Phil, the blue eyes ' closed, and the yellow hair wet and | dank." We were all dead, I thought--I j hoped. I didn't care. I had found I God, and left all with Him. A shrill whisper -awoke me.----And that there child," it said, "in his blessed ignorance wants to go down and play with them there frogs again. After we'd got him rid of the nasty | water, and dried and warmed him, and j put him to bed, he opened his blessed eyes and says to me, says he, ' Grand­ ma, Philly go see the funny frogs, please?' But as for Bess, she's been that way nigh on for twenty-four hours, and the good Lord knows what'll come of it." Mother's whisper cut the air, but it was music to me. Tears of contrition and gratitude rolled one by one from under my closed eyelids. Philly was alive, then, and had suffered no shock in mind or l»ody, since he wanted to,go back to the frogs. WJio had saved us? How had we reached the shore ? "There's an all-seein' eye," pursued poor dear mother, "that watches every­ thing, and them that dolft believe in the orderin' of things can just tell me how it was Billy Byles was there with his boat just in the nick of time. There's a leaven o' good in that there boy, and I believe he'll do well yet. He's sold his land, you know, and starts for the West at daylight to-morrow." "Mother," I said, suddenly lifting myself up on my elbow, and waiting till she had got over her first start to hear me speak, and had caressed and scolded me in a breath, and had de­ clared she would call everybody in the next room--sister Maria and John and young Miles, the miller, and half the village, I suppose--"mother," I said, "IU see nobody but the one to-night; let somebody go for Billy Byles." Promoting Milk. 'ggjjy following from the Lon^rrktiive Stock Journal is a good statement of some practical points suggesting the extent to which milking qualities are dependent on treatment and training: "A copious flow of milk, sustained through many months, is a quality which has been produced by art in do­ mestication. Wild cattle rarely provide more than enough milk to rear their own offs})fing, and the flow of it is of comparatively short duration. Small in volume, the milk is rich in quality, but the lacteal organs soon dry off again. This, of course, is in harmony with the requirements of the young ani­ mals in a wild state, and is a correla­ tion of the roving li|e and hap-hazard feeding of the dams. More milk than the capt requires under such conditions would be a waste of material energy which nature does not encourage. It would, moreover, be an encumbrance to the mother. Wild cattle are neither good milkers nor good fatteners, and in parts of England where calves are al­ lowed to run with their domesticated dams generations after generations, the breed of such animals is not famous for milk-giving. Lilce that of the iaare and ewe, the milk is smaller in quantity, rich in quality and of short duration. The desultory and irregular sucking of a calf or foal or lalnb is not^ponducive to the development of a large flow of milk, and it distinctly tends to shorten the flow,. Hand-milking of a similar character has the same effect. Young people are allowed to learn how to milk on cows who are going dry for calving, not on those who are still in full flow. New beginners soon dry up a cow's milk, and bad milkers do the same. "Heavy milking properties, then, arc artificial, in the sense that they have been developed under domestication, and by careful breeding, for a given end; yet, like many other qualities, which are a little more than mere germs of nature, they become hereditary by long usage. Few sorts of animals, if any, are more susceptible than cattle of being moulded into what we want; no physical quality is so easily trained and developed as that of giving^milk. It is a function which constantly varying of itself, can be dwarfed or extended at will. By means^ of careful training, kind treatment and intelligent breeding, : t can be developed and made heredi­ tary ; an opposite system keeps it in a state of nature. The habits of a coV and the food she; receives, have a great deal to do with her milking powers; quick and silent hand-milking does the rest. The" practice of hand-milking cows has all along tended greatly to the development of the lacteal glands, and this development has become her­ editary in some of our milking breeds. The ewes of the Larzac breed of sheep, from whose milk the famous Roquefort cheese is made in France, have been hand-milked for generation, so that their milking properties are now con­ siderable and inherited. By repeated­ ly exciting the teats it is even possible to cause an animal that has ne\;f.r borne offspring to yield a small quantity of milk, and a cow sometimes remains barren several years after having had a calf, giving a profitable quantity of milk all the while." THE FAMILY DOCTOR. A CUBE FOE CORNS.--Carbolic acid, one part; distilled water, glycerine and soap liniment, each ten parts. Apply by means of a piece of cloth or lint, and cover it yell with Bheet-rubber, so that no evaporation may take place. The corn may be soon detached, often .on the following morning. Inflamed and swelled bunions may be treated in the same manner, but, m place of the above mixture, another should be ap­ plied, composed of dilute solution of subacetate of lead, to which may lie added, if desirable, some preparation of opium. AIKING BEDDING, ETC.--The house­ keepers--if intelligent--who make the beds as soon as possible after they are vacated <gpnnot establish a reasonable clann to neatness. The reaselti 'for this may be learned from the fact that, through perspiration, sensible and in­ sensible, more than one-half of all foods and drinks pass off through the al>out 7,000,000 pores of the body! But this flow is not of dissolved food and drinks, but consists of the waste and worn out putrid portions of the body, no longer useful, cast off as worse than useless, poisonous to the body if re­ tained. Hence, the serious effects of a cold in the production of disease--this cold being another expression for closed pores, sometimes retaining from four to six pounds of effete and diseased matter. This is, or should be, constantly passing off, but more rapidly while we are en­ gaged in violent exercise and when warm in l>ed. A large amount relative­ ly must pass off at night, an average of eight hours of unusual warmth. This poisonous matter is absorbed and re­ tained by the clothing, in the meshes of the flannels--«o unwisely worn at night, when no clothing worn by day should be worn---which may be reabsorbed by the vessels of the skin, there being two classes in the surface, one to purify the blood and the other to absorb moisture, etc. If this, refuse and poison matter, ejected by one class as unfit for the sys­ tem, is returned by the other, absorbed from the clothing, of any kind, it is plain that this necessary process of elimination and purification is rendered partially inoperative. Ordinarily there is a quantity of waste matter, the worn- out and useless remains of old particles of bones, muscles, nerves, etc., to cor­ respond with the food daily taken, aside from which fact our weight would vary much from day to day. If, there­ fore, most of our diseases result from cold£, closing in the poisons of the ever- decaying body, it is evident that the re- abaorption of the same identical poisons fiom our clothing must pro- du«e a similar result. For these and similar seasons, it is desirable to allow the bed and other clothing to "air" for some time, as much exposed to the light of the sun--nature's grand purifier--as possible. Such, put in the window, or on chairs near the window, exposed to sun-light and breeze, for at least four hours, will become reasonably purified, this exposure being equal, in one particular, to a washing, 'there is the same necessity for the night cloth­ ing to "air" for the day, so arranged as to admit of the action of light. These thoughts have a special significance in their application to the sick-room. In the more acute forms of disease a large amount of poisonous,matter must natur­ ally pass off--since the body is in a dis­ eased or poisonous condition--in the xrariiig n. itrrer, TUT example, the bedding ought to be changed once in six hours, aired, arid returned to the bed--daily washed. Nature demands purity, a purity unat­ tainable in soiled clothes. Indeed, if the sick could have more pure air, cleanliness, by reasonable washes, more pure water, and less impure whisky, more quiet fcnd refreshing sleep, and less obtained by the stupefaction of opium, more sunlight, cheerfulness and less food when no appetite indicates eating--why--the doctors would have less business. Mother stood a minute, then saying, It's no mqre'n fair and right," she left me alone Watterson on Dinners. The best dinner I can recall was in the woods of Georgia, with James Eus- tis, a staff officer of General Joe John­ son, who afterwards l>ecame a United States Senator, and Harry Yeatman, General Polk's aid-de-camp. It con­ sisted of a single leg of mutton, some hot Wheat bread, a little pure butter, and a half a phial of Scotch whisky, whisky which we had purloined from the General's camp-chest. A good dinner is perfect food per­ fectly dressed; not a great array of dishes. The art of cooking is the first of the fine arts. The first woman in America is not she who bears the most children--a brutal Napoleonism--but she who prepares the best dish; l>ecause, bv this one act, this superior accom­ plishment, she contributes tothe health of her children and the fidelity of her husband. ^ The Shy Author. Hawthorne looked the man of genrus. Once while he was in the Salem cus­ tom-house, the Shakers visited it and were conducted through its various de­ partments. As they left Hawthorne's room, one of them asked who that man with the strong face and wonderful eyes, abiding, "Mark my Avoids, that man will make in some way his mark upon the worli^" 4' "I remember," says Mr. Field, "to have heard, in the literary circles of Great Britain, that since Burns no au­ thor had appeared there with a finer face than Hawthorne's." He was a shv man, and loved to- go on solitary walks. If he was on the highway, and a group of men and wo­ men approached, he would leave the road and take to the fields. During the three years he lived in the Old Manse at Concord, he was not seen by more than a dozen villagers. In general company he was reserved and silent. "Silent as a shadow," is the epithet used by Mr. George W. Curtis to describe how Hawthorne appeared at an sesthetic tea at Emerson's, where notable men and women said fine things. Onee Emerson and Thoreau called on him at the Old Manse. Guests and hosts sat upright as Roman Senators. Occasionally' Hawthorne propounded a question, winch Thoreau answered, and then the thread of the discourse broke short off. Emerson delivered wise sen­ tences, but his host received them in silence. The call was a failure; and was, it is said, the only one in which the silent man was ever involved while in. Concord. But he was a secial man when alone with a friend, whose sympathy was so sensitive that he could understand with­ out being talked to. He once led Mr. Fields to one of his secluded haunts and bade him lie down on the grass, and watch the clouds float above, and hear the birds sing. Then he murmured some lines from Thomson's "Seasons," ,until hearing footsteps approaching, he whispered, "Look, or we shall be interrupted by somebody." The man seemed to be the victim of his sly reserve, and with no power to cast it off when in the pres­ ence of several people. Yet he could laugh heartily. When some one quoted the remark of a butcher, who said "idees had got afloat in the public mind with respect to sassingers." he was hilarious with de­ light. Mr. Fields once told him of a young woman, who, as she placed a manuscript in his hands, said, "I don't know what to do with mvself sometimes, I'm so filled with mammoth thought#." Haw­ thorne nearly exploded with laughter. ---Youth'# Companion. " j.' T a very little water--so little that it will boil away by the time the meat is tender; then put in lumps of butter with the meat and let it brown slowly; there will be a brown, crisp surface with a fine flavor. Serve for breakfast with pota­ toes cooked thus: Choose small on£s and let them boil till they are tender; drain off the water and pour over them, while still in the kettle, at least one tea­ cup of cream; mash them smooth in this. --New York Evening Pont. Names Fer PostoHIces. The Postoffice Department is entitled to great credit for its zealous efforts in shortening the names of new post**) offices. New postoffices are being es­ tablished daily all over the vast terri­ tory of this country, and as the number of postoffices increases so does the dif­ ficulty of obtaining suitable and yet dis­ tinguishing and dissimilar names for them. When an effort is made to have a new postoffice established, it generally happens that by the caprice of some individual or by a desire on the part of the community wishing its establish­ ment for something fantastic or roman­ tic or dignified in the way of a name, a name is selected which, leaving out Of consideration its fitness, ip other re­ spects, is decidedly unfit for a post- office name on account of its great length. Just here we may remark that in its endeavors to secure uniformity the Department itself is somewhat incon­ sistent, as for instance in "borough" as a termination, the orthography of wliieh, as given in the official publica­ tion of the Department--the U. S. JPos«; tal Guide--is always given its lengthy and barbarous spelling, but which a time-saving and labor-saving public generally abbreviate to "boro'," or in­ deed dispense with the apostrophe al­ together. But the Department will no doubt awalae in time to a sense of its inconsistent in this particular re­ spect. As we have said, the Department is endeavoring, and very successfully, too, to dispense with much that is superflu­ ous in nomenclature, and to this end, in an application for the establishment of a postoffice in a particular locality, it gives the preference to the shortest name. But brevity is not the only feature which the Department is en­ deavoring to inculcate. In order to meet with certain success the proposed name must be a distinctive one; it must be, as nearly as possible, a name entirely distinct from that of any other postoffice in the State, and it is greatly preferred that the name shall be one not used anywhere else in the country. There is no doubt that these two pro­ visions are wise ones. For it is evident to anyone who lias given the subject careful thought, and it is especially evi­ dent to any. person familiar with the workings of the postal* service, that a similarity between the names of two posi.offices is a cause of great confusion and many delays of mail_matteivand it is equally certain that^tT^hH-ofgreat hardship to business men, and a great loss of time to them to be obliged to cover their envelopes witli such names as Toolesborough, Boonesborougli, Griffin's Cross lioads, Marslialltown, etc., when Tool, Boone, Griflln, Mar­ shall, or some such shorter name might as well be written. Let the good work go on, until postoffice . names can be written on ordinary six-inch envelopes, and thousands of practical and unsenti- effort of nature to recuperate and«[^^tal business men will rise up and - cttil the Postoffice T)er>ftrtment blessed. ~Des Moines Register. CONFEDERATE bonds are again being bought by brokers in Richmond, Va., $7.50 per $1,000 having been paid , re* cently. Basis for a Good Breakfast. Lamb ohops are excellent, cooked in his way: Put them in a frying-pan, with » Animals Not Necessarily Mortal. According to the Journal of Science, all animal life is not, of ne­ cessity, subject to death. Let us sup­ pose, says the Journal, that we are watching through a microscope one of these minute single-cell creatures known as a protozoan. We see it ex­ panding into an ellipsoidal figure, which becomes for a time longer and longer. It then begins to contract about what we may, for the sake of popular intelligibility, call its equator. It assumes the form of two nearly globular bodies, connected dumb-bell like by a narrow neck. This neck be­ comes narrower, and at last the two globes *are set free, arid appears as two individuals in place of one! What are the relations of these two new beings to the antecedent form and to each other? We examine them with care; tlieyare equal in size, alike in com­ plexity, or rather simplicity, of struc­ ture. We can not say that either of them is more mature or more rudimen­ tary than the other. We can find iu their separation from each other no analogy to the separation of the young animal or the egg from its mother, or to the liberation from a seed from ft plant. Neither of them is parent, and neither offspring. Neither of them is older or younger than the other. The process of reproduction, or rather of multiplication, must, so far as we can see, be repeated in the same manner forever. Accidents excepted, they are immortal; and frequent as such accidents must be, the individuals whom they strike might, or rather would, like the rest of their communi­ ty, have gone on living, and splitting themselves up forever. It is strange, when examining- certain infusoria un­ der the microscope, to consider that these frail and tiny beings were living not potentially in their ancestors, but really in their own persons, perhaps in the Laurentian epoch. Times Have Changed. "Fm no hand to complain," he was saying to a friend in the corridor of the postoffice, "but it makes me feel bad to have a man doubt my financial stand­ ing." "Has any one doubted it?" "Well, not in so many words, perhaps, but I can see a great change in human nature. Three or four years ago I could buy a trunk for a dollar, arrive at a hotel in a $000 hack, and live on the fat of the land for three weeks before I had to skip. Alas I how times have changed. Nothing less than an $8 trunk will secure a room, and you can never tell when the clerk will ask you to break a $50 bill in order to size your pile. It makes me feel degraded to have a man doubt me, and I sometimes think I might just as well pay my bill with a bogus check as to slip out the back way and leave my empty trunk to square the account."--Detroit Free Press. A MISSIONARY in Jamaica was once questioning some little black children on the fifth chapter of Matthew's gos­ pel, and he asked: "Who are the meek?" A little fellow answered: "Those who give soft answers to rough questions." THE crops in Hungary have been so productive that there will be a surplus St 15,450,000 centals of wheat and rye after deducting the amount rfecesaary -for consumption. AHD ponrr. POLITICS, nowadays, is like the fan- | dango swings at country musters, the man who is in the top bucket th«« mis- ute is soon down chaffing with the groundlings. IF Jonah had had another fisherman along with him when he was Secretary £ of the Interior the big fish that gobbled him could not have been measured by * any tape line then in existence. WE notice one thing--it takes a very rich man to appreciate the blessings of poverty. Solomoti was worth about 875,000, when he said, "A good name is to be chosen rather than great riches.* --?Hurdette. A WRITER in the London Field says . that no two tigers are alike.1 Well take his word for it. We're not going to take the trouble to monkey with a couple of tigers just to gratify ar^ ephemeral curiosity.--Boston Post j AN Arkansas boy remarked to iiis father, who was in the field "cradling1' wheat: "Sav, pap, why does your cra­ dle cut unwillingly?" "Because it's dull; I reckon," replied the old man. "Ho," said the boy,' "because it goes against the grain." AN Englishman, writing on the sub­ ject of the solanum tuberosum, says 4<Shakspeare mentions potatoes twice." ' We suspect the waiter didn't hear him the first time he mentioned 'em. A fee - of a shilling would have made Ids hear-» injg more acute.--Norristown Herald. SHE was weepiaj? like a cat'raot, And I neared the maiden sad, . ,; _ Wondering what could !k» her sorrow,« i ',: -; F6r my sympathy she had. "i > " /;•Queried I, "Girl, ha»t thon anguish?'* ,.v Whereupon her eyes did flash, ' :•'/ > ' As she wiped her nose, and blubber^1 • * "Give's & rest! I've lost mv mash I" --The Judge. • A JOLLY-LOOKINO Germari was quietly walking down the street when he was approached by a man who said: "Hal­ lo, Joe! what rtre you doing here?" The German looked up aud said: "But I am not here at all." "Not here?" said the man; " what do you mean by that ?" "Yell, now, you see my name is not Joe, and so how could I be here ? You must mean some Other man." "THOSE people," said the pastor, sol­ emnly, after giving out his text, "who are either too poor or too stingy to afford fly screens at home are perfectly welcome to sleep in this church every Sunday morning." And then he went on with his sermon, but he preached to the wide-awakest congregation a good man ever looked down upon.--Hawk- eye. MOSE ScHAUMBtTRGr, the Austin-ave- nue merchant, is strict in regard to the personal appearance of his clerks. Ho was very much opposed to his clerks wearing a mustache, and when one of them ap]f!ied to him for permission to raise a mustache, lie said: "Dot yash all right," "you shoost raise so much viskers as you please, so long as you don't wear 'em in the store during pishness hours. Texas Sift- ings. "WHAT is the appearance of a ghost?" asked an Austin female Sunday-school teacher of Johnny Fizzletop. "It is red like your brother's nose," answered the little cherub. "Johnny, you must not jlj.se such language; it is horrible," said the teacher. "May be it is painted white like your cheeks," remarked Johnny, pensively. "Johnny, I shall be compelled to dismiss you, if you use such language again. You ignorant little wretch, don't you know the ap­ pearance of a ghost is invisible."--Tex-r as S if tings. "DID the bye get off?" inquired Mrs,, MulligaA of her husband, on his re­ turn'from the police court; where their son Teddy had been prosecuted for an assault. "Did he get off?" replied Mr. Mulligan; "faith an' he did, an' the Judge he says, ' 'Twas a foine batin' ver gave the gossoon of a Riley, an' it's meself that will be giviii' yer $7 and the the costs for doin' it.' Faith an' I think we'll soon be seein' him, for the officer took him out the back way, to show him the shortest way home, I'm think- in'." Teddy was absent several weeks, however.--The Judge. Not to be Discouraged. At Dalton, Ga., they pointed out an old darkey who was to be married that evening, and I took a seat beside him on the depot platform and said: "Uncle Reuben, is it true that you are" to be married to-night?" Yes, sah--yes, sah, you's hit it 'zactly right, sah." ^ "Were you ever married before?" "Why, bress your soul, boy, dis will be my fo'th wife!" ? "How long since your last one died?" "Jist free weeks nex' week Saturday." . "Isn't it pretty sudden, when you* have been a widower only two weeks ?" "I reckon not, sah. I doesn't see how I kin help de ole woman any by trab- lin' round alone." "And they tell me you are over 70 years old!" "Yes, sah--I'ze risin' of 73." "And you don't even Own a chicken?" - "No, sah." . And the bride is as badly off as your­ self?" "Jist zactly sah." \ "Don't the future look a littlp dark to you?" "See lieah, white man," replied the old chap, as he slid to the ground and brushed the dust off his coat-tails, "I doan't like dat sort o' argyment! Ize ole an' poo' an' doan' know much, but I ain't de sort of a mule to take a fo'th" wife widout making all jangements to board wid her fadder an' gin him my note wlieneber anytliin' am due! Spose Ize gwine to be sleepin' in fence-co ners an' libin on green apples kase my las' ole woman tuk a noshen to die? No, sah! I isn't that sort of a mourner! Ize got to that age whar' Ize got to be tooken car' of if I has to mar'y free w'ves to do it."--Detroit Free Press. What She Thought of Heaven. Speaking of spiritual consolation, and the comforting assurance that the eternity of the just shall be blessed, a Chicago clergyman told a story that is worth printing. There was an old lady in his church who was noted for her penuriousness as well as her piety, and while talking with her about her hope of the hereafter, he asked: "Mrs. S , did you ever' stop to think what will gratify you most in Heaven?" "Oh, yes," she exclaimed, "it will be such a cheap place to live in!"--Chi' cago Inter-Ocean. THERE are on file in the office of the Comptroller of Connecticut incompli­ ance with the requirements of the State law, the names of nearly or quite 3,000 depositors in the savings banks of the State whose deposits have remained un­ called for and have not been increased otherwise than by the accruing interest for twenty years past. The amounts thus unclaimed range from a Tew dol­ lars to $3,346. „ Y