HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Times, 1887-2-17, Page 6The Blitidman s
(Coecteietue)
Peer bliedfoliled oreetitrea thet yOLL L141;f3
OFingiug et every etep in. apprehmision of
the stroke thee perlume te mit to foli tilt
old wee, never reising cep to youe UP*
Nvith tht.,t kuowledge thet yea svill live to
(1HAft.' itA never sure -that yeti will ineot ageht
the frietel you pert with for 411 110HD, f
thOSO hearts to heppiness suffiees. to bonialt
the ehill of an ever presmit demi, what Wee,
eau you form ef the God -like eesurity with
whieli we eujo, y oer sod the livee of
these we love . Yee have sitying ooearth
Teenorrew belonga to Gad but here to-
inortem beloegs to us, even as toelay. To
you, for imme inseruptable limpets he sees
lit to dole oat life moment by =meet, with
no assurance that emelt is not to be the last.
lo us he givee a leretime t wee, titty,
sixty, or meveuty years,—,a, diviue gift in-
deed. A life such 46 yOUrS would, I fear,
seem of little value to ue ; for such a life,
however linsg, is but a moment long, since
that ie kaI you eau comet ou." "And yet,"
I anewered, " though knowledge of the
duretion of your lives may give you, tin
unenviable feeling of (maximum while the
end is fax off, is thee not more then offset
by theelelly'growing weight with which
the expectatiou of the ead, as it draws near,
must press upon?" On the contrary," was
the response, "death, never an object of
fear, as it draws nearer beeomes more and
mere t matter of indifference to the inoribiuml,
it is be lame you live hi the past that death
is grievous to you, All year knowledge,
all your affections, all your interests, are
rooted in the pest, and never dwell upon it,
and on that ace:omit, as life lengthens, it
etrengthens its hold on you, and meinotty
becomes a more precious possession. We,
on the contrary, despise the past, and uever
d'w'ell upon it, Memory with us, far front
being the morbid and monstrous growth ;
it is with you, is scarcely more than a !
ruclimentery faculty, We live wholly in
the future and the present. What with
foretaste and actual taste, our experiences,
whether pleasant or ipainful, are exhausted
of interest by the time they are past. The :
accumulated treasures of memory, which ;
you relinquish so painfully in death, we ,
count no loss at all. Our minds being fed ,
wholly from the future, we think and feel
only as we seiticipate ; and so, as the dyiug
111Eas future contracts, there it less and less ;
about whieli he cau occupy his thoughts. ,
His interest in life diminishes as the ideas
which it suggests grow fewer, till at the
last death Liu& him with his mind a talosie
msa, as with you at birth. In a, word, his
concern with life is reduced to a vanishing
point before he is called on to give it up. ,
In dying he leaves mottling behiud." "And
the alt -death," I asked,—" is there no
fear of that?" " 'Surely," was the reply, '
"it is not necessary for me to say that a
fear which affects only the more ignorant on
Earth is not known at all to us, and would
be counted blasphemous. Moreover, as I
have said, our foresight is limited to our
lives on this planet. Any spec -elation be-
yond them would be purely conjectural,
and
our minds are repelled by the slightest
teint of uneertninty. To use the comeetur-
el and the unthinkable may be called al-
most the same.
But even if you do not fear death for
itself," I said, you have hearts to break. 1
Is there no pain when the ties of love are
sundered ?" "Love aud death are not foes
on our planet," was the reply. "There are
no teem by the bedsides of our dying. The
same beneficent law which makes it so easy
for as to give up life forbids us to mourn
the friends we leave, or them to mourn us.
With you it is the intercoms° you have had
with friends that is the source of your ten-
dernese for them. With us it is the an-
ticipation of the intercourse we shall enjoy
which is the foundation of fondness. As
our Mends vanish from our future with the
appronoli of their deetht the effect on our
thoughts and affectiens is as lit would be
with you if you forgot themby lapse of time. •
As our dying friends grow more and more
indifferent to us, we, by the operation of the
same mw of our nature, become indifferent 1
to them, till at the last we are scarcely
more than kindly and sympathetic watchers
about the beds of those who regard us equal-
ly without keen emotions. So at last God
trently unwinds instead of breaking the
bands that bind our hearts together and
makes death as painless to the surviving as
to the dying. Relations meant Ito produce
our happiness are not the MMUS also of
torturing us, as with you. Love means joy,
and that a'one, to as, instead of blessing
our lives for a evhile only to desolate them
later on, compelling us to pay with a dis-
tinct and separate pang for every thrill of
tenderness, exacting a tear for every smile."
"There are other partings than those of
death. Are these, too, without sorrow for
• you ?" I asked. "Assuredly," was the
replv. "Can you not see that so it must
needs be with beings freed by foresight from
the disease of memory ? All the sorrow of
parting, as of dying, comes with you from
the backward vision which precludes you
from beholding your happiness till it is past.
Suppose your life destined to be blessed by
a happy friendship. If you could know it
beforehand, it would be a joyous expecta-
tion, brightening the intervening years and,
cheering you as you traversed desolate
perioda. But no ; not till you meet the one
who is to be your friend do you know of
him. Nor do you guess even then what he
is to he to you, that you may embrace him
at first sight. Your meeting is cold aud in-
different`It is long before the fire is fairly
kindled between you- and then it is already
time for parting. Now, indeed, the fire
burns well, but henceforth it must consume
your heart Not till they are dead or gone
do you fully realize how dear your friends
were end how sweet was their companion-
ship. But we—we see tier friends afar off
coming to meet us, smiling already in our
eyes. years before our ways meet. We
greet theni at first meeting not coldly, not
uncertainly, but with exelt:ant kisses'in an
ecstasy of joy.. They enter at once into the
full poseession of hearts long warmed and
lighted for them. We meet with that deli-
ritun of temierness with which you part
And evhen to us at last the time of parting
comes, it only means that we are to contri-
bute to each other's happiness no longer.
We are not doomed, like you, in parting,
to take away away with us the delight we
brought our frientle, leaving the ache of
bereavement in its place, so that their last
state is worse than their first. Parting here
if like meeting with you, ca,liti and tonmpas-
slotted. The joys of anticipation and pos.
itemion are the only 'food of love with us,
and therefore Love always wears it mulling
face. With yhti he feeds on dead joy, past
happiness, whieli are likewise the susteriende
of sorrow, No wonder love and sorrow are
so much alike on earth. It is a common
saying among us that were it nob for the
spectacle of the earth, the rest of the world
would be unable to appreciate the goodness
of God to thein; mid who tan say that this
is not the reason the piteous sight is set be-
fore us ?"
"You have told me mervelots things," I
mid, after r had refloated. "It is, indeed,
but reesoestble thet such e race) as yOure
eimuld kok down with wouderizie pity on
the Barth. And yet, befoee 1 grant so
emelt, I want to esk you one question,
There ie known in our' World tt ceetem sweet
ineduese, under the Militenee of which we
forget ell thet is eutoward in net let, and
wenld not clump it for a god's. So her ia
this tweet teadtiees eitgarded by me as alt
eCntilpensatiOn, anti more then it ootoPeuass
tion, for MI their miseries thet if you kuow
uot love as we know it, if this loss be the
price you 1iwe paid for your divine fore
-
eight, we think onrselyes more fevered of
God then you C011ieS5 that lone, with its
reserves, its serpriees, ite inthiteldes, its re•
veistions, is neceseerily hieomputible with it
feresight whioh weighs and measures every
experience in advance," 01 leyeie set.
prisee we oorteinly know uothiug," was the
reply. It is believed by onr philosophers
that the slightest surprise would kill beings
of our vonetibution like lightzung ; though of
course this is merely theory, for it is ouly
by the study of earthly eonditions that we
twe able to form au idea of what surprise is
like, Your power to endure the constant
bulfetings of the unexpected is it matter ot
supreme amazement to us; nor, according to
our ideas, is there any difference between
what you call pleasant and painful surprises.
You see, then, that we OZ411110D envy you
these surprises of love which you find so
sweet, for to us they would be fatal. For
the rest, there is no form of happiness
which foresight is so well calculated to enhance
as that of love. Let me explain to you now
this befells. As the growing boy begins to
be sensible Of the charms of women, he finds
himself, as I dare say it is with you, prefer-
ring some type of face and form to others.
He dreams oftenest of fair hair, or may be
of dark, of blue eyes or brown. As the
years go on, his fancy, brooding over what
seems to it the best and loveliest of every
type, is constantly adding to this dream -
face, this shadowy form, traits and linea-
ments, hues and contours, till at last the
picture is complete, and he becomes aware
that on his heart thus subtly has been deplet-
ed the likeness of the maiden destined for
his fume.
"It may be years before he is to see her,
but now begins with him one of the sweet-
est offices of love, one to you unknown.
\meth on earth Is a stormy period of pas -
don, chaliug in restraint or rioting in suc-
cess. Bat the very passion whose awaken-
ing makes this time so critical with you is
here in reforming and educating influence,
to whose gentle and. potent sway we gladly
eonfitte our children. The temptations
which lead your young men astray havetno
hold on a youth of our happy planet. He
hordes the treasures of his heart for its
coining mistress. Of her alone he thinks,
aud to her all his vows are made. The
thought of licence would be treason to his
sovereign lady, whose right to ail the
revenues of his being he joyfully owns. To
rob her, to abate her high prerogatives,
would be to impoverish, to insult, himself
for she is to be his, and her honor, her
glory, are his own. Through all this time
that he dreams of her by eight and day,
the exquisite reward of his devotion is the
knowledge that she is aware of him as he
of her, and that in the inmost shrine of a
maiden heart his image is set up to recieve
the incense of a tenderness that needs not to
restrain itself through fear of possible cross
or separation.
"In due time their converging lives
come together. The lovers meet, gaze a
moment into each other's eyes, then throw
themselves on the other's breast. The
matclen has all the charms that ever stirred
the blood of an earthly lover, but there is
another glamour of the future. In the
blushing girl her lover sees the fond and
faithful wIft, in the blithe maiden` the pa-
tient, pain -consecrated mother. On the
virgin's breast he beholds his children. He
is prescient, even as his lips take the first -
fruits of hers, of the future years during
which she is to be his companion, his ever-
present solace, his chief portim of God's
goodness. We have read some of your
romances describing love as you know it on
Earth, and I must confess, my friend, we
find them very dull.
"1 hope," he added, as I did not at once
speak, "that I shall not offend you by say-
ing we find them so objectionable. Your
literature possesses in general an interest
for us in the picture it presents to the curi-
ously inverted life which the lack of foresight
compels you to lead. It is a study espe-
cially prized for the development of the
imagination, on account of the difficulty
of tionceiving cenditens so opposed to those
of intelligent beings ill general. But oim
women do not read your romances. The
notion that a man or woman should ever
conceive the idea of marrying a person
other than the one whose husband or wife
he or she is destined to be is profoundly
shocking to our habits of thought. No
doubt you will say that such Instances are
rare among you, but if your novels are
faithful pictures of your life, they are at
least not unknown. That these situationsare
inevitable under the conditions of eartbly
life we are well aware, and jedge you ae-
' cordingly ; but it is needless that the minds
of our maidens sbquld be pained by the
i knowledge that there anywhere exists such
, travesties upon the sacredness of marriage
; as possible.
There is, however, another reason why
we discourage the use of your books by our
young people, and that is the profound
effect of sadness, to a race accustotned to
view all things in the morning glow of the
future, of a. literature written in the past
I tense and relating exclusively to things
that are ended."
"And how do you write of things that
are past except in the present tense?" I
asked.. " We write of the past when it is
still the futbee, and of course in the future
tense," was the reply. "11 our historians
) were to wait till after the events to describe
them not alone would nobody care to read.
etiout things already done but the histories
themselves would probably ba inacenrate ;
forimemory, as I have said, is very slightly
developed faculty with as, and quite too
indistinct to be trustworthy. Should the
Earth ever :establish commumeatton with
us, we will find tier histories of interest ;
for our planet, being smaller, cooled and
was peopled ages before yours, and our
astronomical records contain minute ac-
- counts of the earth from the time it was a
fluid mass. Your geologists and biologists
may yet find a mine of informetion here."
In the eourse of our conversation it came
out that, as it tonsequence of foresight, some
of the commoneet emotions of human nature
are midtown on Alms. They for whom the
futere has iv mystery can, of course, know
neither hope nor fear. Moreover, every
ODD being assured whet he shall attain to
and what not, there mit be no such thin
as rivalehip, or emulation, or any sort of
competition in any respect; and therefoto
all the brood of heartAurnimss and hatreds
engendered on Earth by the strife of man
with man, is known to the people a mars,
save from the steely cif our planet. When
I asked if there were not afterafl, a IN& of
spontaneity, of sense of freedom in leading
lives fixed in all details beforell'and, I was
reminded that there was no difference in
that respect betWeen the lives of the people
0n, earth 1.114. 0r IVIars, betil alike being ae-
eerdieg. to 004'e will .n1 every pertieelan,
knew thet will only after the eVentIS
they liefore,—thet was all. For the eeati
(Ott moved them through their Willa eft he
dierue, ect that they Ited 50 atom set:woof cote-
puleion in what theY did then we on klarth
hieve hi, (*Laying oet tM,Mitioipated line of
action, in eggiee wherc:. our autieipetions
(Mame to. be correct,- SIX the abseil:411g
Intel:eat which the 044- 'Of the Om of them
future livea poseessed. for the people of Mars
my compentoe evoke elogneetly, It was,
he said, like the fitScieetioa of a, mathetne-
ticien of it meet eleborete and exquieite
demonstration, a perfeet algebreicel equation
with the glowiag realltiea of life LP. Oleo of
figures and symbols,
When I itelt if it never oecurred to theca
to wish their foturea different he replied
that each is question could only heve been
esked by one from the eerth, No one
meld have formight, or clearly believe that
-God heel it, withoet realizing Vett the
future is as incapable of being chauged as
the past. And not ouly this, bet to foresee
events was to foresee their togiemi ueeessity
so olearly that to desire themidiffermat was
as impossible as seriously to wish that two
andtwo mede live instenel of four, No person
could ever thoughtfully wish anything dif-
fereut, for so closely ere all things, the
small with the great, woveu together by
God that to draw out the snialleet threed
would unravel creation through all eternity.
'While we had talked the afternoon had
waned, and the sun ha,d sunk below the
horizon, the roseate atmosphere of the planet
imparting a splendor to the aloud cohning,
and is glory to the land and sea nape,
never paralleled by an earthly sunset. Al-
ready the familiar constellations appearing
in the sky reminded me how near after all, I
was to the Earth, for mina the enassisted
eye' could not detect the slightest variation
in their position. Nevertheless, there was
oue wholly novel feature itt the heavens,
for many of the host of asteroids which
circle in the zone between Mars and Jupi-
ter were vividlyevisible to the naked eye.
But the spectacle that chiefly held my
gaze was the Earth, swimming low on the
verge of the horizon. Its disc, twice as
large as that of any star orpianet as seen
rom the earth, flashed with a brilliancy
like that of Venus. "It is, indeed, a
lovely sight," said my companion, "although
to me always a melancholy one from the
contrast suggested between the radiance
of the orb and the beuighted condition of
its inhabitants. We call it 'The Blindman's
World.'" As lie spoke he turned toward a
curious strueture which stood near us,
though I had not before particularly ob-
served it. " What is that ?" I asked. " It
is one of our telescopes," he replied. "I
am going to let you take a look, if you
choose, at your home, and test for yourself
the powers of which I have bested ;" and
having adjusted the instrument to his satis-
faction, he showed me where to apply my
eye to what answered to the eye -piece.
could not repress an exciernation of
amazement, for truly he had exaggerated
nothing. The little college town which was
my home lay spread out before me, seem-
ingly almost as neer as when I looked down
upon it from my observatory windows. It
was early morning, and the village was
waking up. The milkmen were plug their
rounds, and workmen, with their dinner -
pails, were hurrying along the streets. The
early train was just leaviug the railroad
station. I could see the puffs from the
smoke -stack, and the jets from the cylinders.
It was strange not to hear the hissing of the
steam, so near I seemed. There were the
college buildings on the hill, the long rows
of windows flashing back tbe level sunbeams.
I could tell the time by the college clock.
It struck me that there was an unusual
bustle around the buildings, considering the
earliness of the hour. A crowd of men
stood about the door of the observatory,
and many ethers were hurrying across the
campus in that direction. Among them I
recognized President Byxbee, accompanied
by the college janitor. As 1 gazed they
reached the observatory, and, passing
through the group about the door, entered
the building. The president was evidently
going up to my quarters. At this it flashed
over me quite suddenly that all this bustle
was on my account. I recalled how it was
that I came to be on Mars, and in what con-
dition I had left affairs in the observatory.
It was high thne I were back there to look
after myself.
* * - *
Here abruptly ended the extraordinary
document which 1 forend that mornmg on
my (bask. That it is the authentic record
of the conditions of life in another world
which it purports to be I do not expect the
reader to believe. He will no doubt explain
it as another of the curious freaks of som-
nambulism set down in the books. Probab-
ly it was merely that, possibly it was some-
thing more. I do not pretend to decide the
question. I have told all the facts of the
case, and have no better means for forming
an opinion than the reader. Nor do I know,
even if I fully believed it the true account
it seems to be, that it would have affected
my Imagination much more strongly than it
has. That story of another world has, in it
word, put me out of joint with ours. The
readiness with which my mind has adapted
itself to the Martial point of view concern-
ing the Earth has been it singular experience.
• The lack of foresight among the human
faculties, a lack I had scarcely thought of
before, now impresses me, ever more deeply,
as a fact out of harmony with the rest of
our nature, belying its promise,—a moral
mutilation, a deprivation arbitrary and un-
accountable. The spectacle of a race doom-
ed to walk backward, beholding only what
has gone by, assured only of what is past
and dead, comes over me from time to time
with is sadly fantastical effect which I can-
not describe. I dream of a world where
love always weirs a smile, where the part-
ings are as tearless as our meetings, and
death is king no more. I have a fancy,
which I like to cherish, that the people of
that happy sphere, fancied though it may
be, represent the ideal and normal type of
our ram as perhaps it once was, ELS perhaps
it may yet be again.
Terms Cash.
"No use 1" called the feeiner to the you'll
man who was tramping across his farm with
a gun on his shoulder.
"Hcy Speak to me ?"
"Yes, I said it was DO use emir% aroond
here any more.. 'Me old eat is dead."
"I didn't want your cat."
"01, then pet know is cat frozn a rabbit?
'Saute my mittake, but I took yeti for one o
them Hamilton fellers. You can go ahead,
but every time you shoot at one of my
calves fer a b'ar it will cost you •55 and
you'll me a sign of No Trust' nailed on the
barn."
or COMO Not.
"Got any invisible ink ?" he asked of the
stetioner. • .
"Don't think I hew," replied the man
as he scanned. the ebelves. ,
1"Yon don't think you'd see it if you had,
do you?" asked the boy. "What's the use
.of being invisible if you oen be sen?'
•
The Poor Editor,
' She Ogee On the please et set,
A oreete re satin sea fen,
With the inooneeares settle shimee,
On hes bleached golden bait.,
"Met" the edsiteeted, " hee he come
neweet zpns 1 mew ;
Ile thinks 1 ale the fairest girl
That itt bas over seen.
I do not care for reeding, but
DOW read all
AO take snail lOts el treubie for
Ile's an editor man,
o lie is 89 very well inforined.
And 80, 1 wmit to show
That Put well versed iwnakespeare, BUM,
And all the rest, on know,
Oh, there he's coming throngs the gate."
She vent, and Met bun there,
lie kissed her, as he softly stroked
kler wreaths of golden halt
They talked of poetry While ;
Said Milton wasis dove!
And then the poets they forgot
Anti wisperod tales of loYe.
lis whispered "Oh, 1 love yen, dear,
tjay, will you my Wide
84y, will yOU marry me, my duck
eV Musing and my pride?"
she answered, Yes, kil have you, dear,
111 be your little wife,
And I'll stay with you forever,
To the end of your life."
Poor editor, poor editor;
She's got you sale and tight,
And though you soon must pitied be,
It really serves you right.
Upon him she tenderly gazed,
That editor beguiled ;
They kissed each other once more and
The moon looked down and smiled.
Toronto. ILAVDE L. Raman.
oe-
Winter.
Er l:ORA LAUGHER,
•
" Winter is here 1" The sleigh.bells say
As they gaily dash along,
" Begone dull care 1 Be bright, be gay,
Lot life be like our song."
Would our lives be like thejingle
Of the happy, merry bells,
If sorrow nor crime could mingle
Their sad and deep -toned knolls?
Could our lives be pure as snowflakes
O'er which the sleigh.bells
Could we of sin and sorrow knew
Naught on life's rough tide ;
Could we, as the fairy snowflakes,
Dance carelessly along,
Heeding nothing but the murmur
Of the sleigh-beiM happy song.
Dance carelessly along to where
We find infinite rest
In the clear, translucent loveliness
Of a pure, snowflake -like breast.
If the wheels of vice and rankness
Could not glide o'er fallen snow,
Its beauty would be more complete
Than high, now lying low.
Could the gilded sun of passion
Never dart its poison gleam
To melt the pure transparency
Otto a slushy stream
Ah I then the merry'sleigh-bells would
Ring out a song of gladness,
A true, true song, so bright, so long,
With neer a touch of sadness.
Where Can Peace be Found ?
IW MAUDE L. RADFORD, AGED 14.
"Oh 1 Whit can peace be found," I cried ;
"I've Resit .d for it past and west,
I'm weary of thi3 world's trouble
1 Waiis 5 d.,d peace and rest."
I asked the wild, mighty ocean,
Whose murmurings never cease,
" You know many, many things ; you
Can tell me where to find peace."
And the restless waves answered :
" In forgetfulness there's peace."
1 asked a bright, blushing flower,
" You surely caa tell me," I said,
You have watched many, many scenes."
It modestly hung its head,
Then softly, gently whispered:
"itt hope, in hope there is peace."
oThen I turned to a little bird •
That sang near me on a tree;
"You have seen many wondrous things,
You've travelled by land arid sea."
And the bird sweetly sang forth:
" In song, in song there is peace."
I whispered softly to my heart,
"Thou knowest my secret well,
Thou must know where peace may be found
Thou of all others can tell."
And my heart softly answered:
"In love, in love peaoe is found."
Then I spoke to my soul, and said
"01 these things thou should know best
Thou knowest my remotest thoughts'
Thou eanst aid me finny quest."
And slowly name the answer :
"There's no peace save in Heaven."
And I knew that my soul was right.
Of all that had been given,
This answer was best. Peace abides
In no place save in Heaven.
SKATING.
BY JOHN IDIRIE, TORONTO.
Oh 1 for the blue sky, bright and clear,
And the sunshine all around;
With boon companions hovering near,
Skimming o'er the crystal ground 1
Happy are we,
So glad and free,
Bening!
Chasing 1
Away we. go,
O'er ice and snow,
Sliding!
Oliding 1
Whirling around
The giddy ground,
Madly !
Gladly !
Seudding along before the wind,
No thought of care have we ;
Leaving the laggards all behind -
01 1 skating's the sport for inc!
IT.
! for the band of one I love
To guide o'er the glassy sea ;
And press the tiny snow-white glove,
That struggles not to be free 1
Her eyes of love,
Like eters above,
Their light
Makes night
Seem bright as clay 1
Hems fly covey
Lightly 1
Brightly 1
What, merry fun,
We laughing run,
Tripping!
Slipping •
irken homeward. \vette' our moonlit way,
Two paies of skates 1 carry,—
And be of her to mane the day
When skaters two may marry I
Morning and afternoon gloves eothe itt
from four to six button lengths; evening
gloves from fifteen to thirty.
aousmioLD,
GuexpeQted, Oompaq,
A whin-m.014d howritton on this eubject
and many a housekeeper who has found her-
self in it tight place with an unannoweeed
gueM or guests would welcome its 04(1x011t
With great° joy. Have we not, each, and
every 0214 ol 118) With compaoy jit thOpt11`101`
awl misgiviugs in our beerte, atartea for
the pantry te- And that, like Mother Hub-
bard, when we "got there, the cemboerd,
was bare," and diluter, and a good one too,
it necessary of the neer future.
The Canadian heehthe done considerable for
her eettntrY and has never received a tithe
of the homage to whiels ehs is entitled, The
guest who cannot melte is satisfactory dinner
on eerambled eggs, or onselet and baked po-
*Woes, is pot the friend to be reeelyed with
opett arms, And if the lattler shows a half
slice of ham, or some ehavinga of smoked
beef left from e previoes meal, the omelet is
sati
tate in tregret Not with eoreow for its loss, but
wba f oawbile mt:y, sftyl gtionio de
when the hungry guest site ni tato
that it is not ati it was yesterday, crisp and
fill the eye of the beholder with
appetite the more,
Take courage—a,nd a good Itnife—and
stiiip the bones of all the remaining meet,
and with the dresaing, put it in the fryiog
pan or 1' spider," with a little water and but-
ter, and some gravy, if any was left from
yesterday's dinner. Toast sons° slices of
bread nicely, turn hot water over them, and
turn off all that is not immediately absorb-
ed, put the slices on it platter, covering them
with the prepared fowl or chicken, A. little
meat will go a great way preparect in this
manner, and the good claimer be an assured
fact.
Or the quantity of meat may not be suf-
ficient even for this dish, but may perhaps
make enough croquettes to help out the din
ner already planned for the family.
Chop or crumb stale bread very fine.
Also chopenonion, addingthe chickeu picked
from the bones, and season with salt pepper,
and colory salt. Beat up au egg, add it to
the ohicken and bread crumbs, aud moki
with the hands into fiat cakes, or rolls.
Put some butter in the fryingpan, and
i
when brown put the croquettes n, letting,
thorn cook until the surface is browned and ,
crisp. It is not is necessity to cook them in
boiling fat, as so many receipts affirm as I
the small quantities of butter tenders tliem
quite as good gdia much more digestible.
Both of these dishes may be prepared in
a very short time, and have the merit, of
being a little different Iran what comes to
the table every day.
The cams of salmon and lobster which so
many housekeepers keep in the house con-
stantly, are convenient, and many suppose !
them only suitable for suppers, as they seem
rather cold for is dinner dish. Knc.w then, I
that in croquettes they are called excellent, '
made in the same manner as the chicken
above described. 1
An appetizing dish is made by opening a I
can of salmou and draining off the oil. Take '
is baking dish, put in it is layer of bread
crumbs, then a layer of salmon, until the
salmon is all used, the bread crumbs making
the top layer. Heat a large cupful of milk
thicken it with is dessertspoonful of corn
starch or flour, season with butter, salt,
and very little, if any, pepper. Turn this ,
same over the salmon and put in the oven,
letting it remain until brownedon top.
This will make a good meal for seven or
eight persons, and is an excellent substitute
for meat.
We shall hope to give in eucceeding issues I
more "emergency dishes," of which we
think is housekeeper cannot possess too
great a repertoire.
We shall be glad to receive additions to
our own stock, which may be guaranteed to
be good. and in frequent use, as are those
already given.
' Port”Or
C'Clonnell and Moriarity.
hIorierity, an elderly dealer in
marine stores, wile fleuriehed about forty
yeses since street, Dublin, was
femme% for is bad temper and it bitter tongue.
Oe ono oeciesion these, her apeeial gifte vtere
the zubieet of eouvereetion itt the bell of
the likier Covets, wad O'Coetiell uedertook
fox it bet to. Wenn the virago. iChe bet wee
tteeeptea, end the great agitator lievieg
roused tile old lady'a wrath lemet itt 111)011
herasotle1lfZ—s
O'CWhy sure your neighbors
all kilOW very welithet you keep not ouly
a hypotenuse, but that yen have two diem,
atoll) locked up in your mega, and that yoe
go ont tu walk with Owns every Seedily,
you hearties§ old heptagon,"
• Mrs. Moriarity— 'CIL her that, ye eaints
itt glory—oh, there's bad languagp from a
fellow that wants to pass for Intlernan.
May the devil fly away with you, you
mitcher from Munster,. and' make celery -
sauce of your limbs you, imply -mouthed
b°st0'ClioQi°11.n.lejl'1-1iAls, you ean't deny the charge
yon miserable subintaziple of 1\dupiteitte
ratio," •
Mrs. Moriarity-e-" Go, rinse Our mouth
in the Liffey, you nasty tickle-plieher; alter
all the bad words you speak it ought to be
filthier than your face, you dirty chicken of
Beelzebub."
O'Connell--" Rinse your own mouth, you
wickedoninded old polygon—to the deuce
pitch you, you blueternig iuterseetiou of
scenting superficies."
Mrs. Morierity—" You saucy tinker's ap-
prentice, if you don't cease your jaw
But here she gasped for breath, unable
to hawk up any more words, for the last
volley of O'Connell had nearly knocked the
wind out of her.
O'Connoll—" While 1 have a toegue
abuse you, you most inimitable peraphery.
Look at her, boys, thme she staude—a cote
vieted perpendicular in petticoats. There
is containinatiou in her circumference, and
she trembles with guilt down to the extre-
mities of her corollaries. Ah, you're found
out, you rectilineal antecedent and equingu-
lar old hag. "Tib with you the devil will
fly away, you similitude of the bisection of
a vortex.'
Overwhelmed with this torrent of lan-
guage, Mrs. Moriarity was silenced.
Oatehaag up a saucepan, she was aiming at
O'Comaell's head, wheu he very prudently
made it timely retreat.
"You have won the wager, O'Connell.
Here's your bet," cried the gentleman who
proposed the contest.
Original and Tested Recipes,
A 000D PITIMING SAUCE.—One-half cup-
ful sugar, one-quarter cupful butter, or less,
one egg. Flavoring, lemon or vanilla; table-
spoonful of flour; beat all together. Pour
on boilinebwater jest before serving the pud-
ding, andstir thoroughly. Excellent, almost
equal to is custard.
ORANGE SICOW.--Scant half box of gela-
tine, let it stand twenty minutes in cold
water enough to cover it ; drain off, then add
one pint boiling water, whites of two eggs,
juice of two oranges, ancl one cupful of
sugar, beat thoroughly until it becomes a
solid foam, set on ice to harden. e
LOBSTER SALAD.—Chop, not too fine, tho
meat of one large or two small lobsters.
Pour over this is generous quantity of the
shove salad dressing, and mix thoroughly.
Serve in lettuce leaves piled in form of a
pyramid. Garnish with olives, capers, and
squares of cold beet. Be sure that it is very
cold when sent to table.
SAIIOR.—One piut of boiling milk, thicken
with one tablespoonful corn starch, yelks of
the two eggs, one-half cupful sugar. To
serve, pour custard in a glass dish, and drop
the snovs on it Pool two oranges, and re-
move from them all the thick, white skin.,
divide into the smallest sections, and place
at regular intervals in the snow.
AUNT MARY'S BROWN Banstre—One cup-
ful Indian meal, one cupful graham flour,
two -third cupful rye and fill up cup with
white flour, one-balf cupful molasses, one
teaspoonful of saleratus dissolved in is little
hot water, three cupfuls of milk, one tea-
spoonful salt, one ten,spoonful butter. Steam
from four to -five hours. See that the water
does uot stop boiling, or boil entirely away.
SALAD DRESS/NO.—Beat the yolks of eight
eggs, and add to them a cupful of sugar, a
tablespoonful each of salt, mustard, and
black pepper, also a little cayenne pepper,
and half it cupful of cream. Mix thoroughly.
Boil a cupful of butter in one pint and a
half of vinegar. Pour this upon the mix-
ture and stir well. When cold put it in
bottles. This dressing wtll keep for weeks.
Miscellaneous.
Sit down whenever you ean find an op-
portunity. Many stand even when prepar-
ing vegetables for dinner, a work that is
much easier performed sitting,
Do not attempt to dry calicos and ging-
hams out of doors at this season of the year.
Freezing mimes the colors to fade more
qffickly than anything else. Wash and
hang ep to dry immediately its gaeret or
kitchen,
To renodiate black silk, grate a large
potato, add a pint of water and stile Sponge
the silk with this, using piece of 'black
cloth to apply it Do not iron the bub
roll it on old broom handles, or oe round
smooth sticlts, very tightly,. eta. lay askle
until perfectly dry. It will have au appose -
slice almost equal to netv, and will not lose
its' Stiffness much 8001'101' than neW
A. Crawthers, of Harwood, sold. 616 11„
hog at Teterboro' reeently. tare, and there are sundry strong itiluences
Id le generally expected that Sir Join in shadow bellied him, The story FOCOiV08
Maedonald will be made an Earl this year, it good deel of credence."
RECENT OPINIONS ON LIVE TOPICS.
--
I think the world of to -clay would go mad,
just frenzied with strain and pressure, but
for the blessed institution of Sunday.—Rev.
Brooke .ffe2ford.
We don't develop civilization by driving
a wedge into society, We drive the wedge
tinder the lower strata, and when we go up
at all we all go up together. —Hon. 1?. S.
Horr.
There is no real merit simply in sitting in
a rocking chair and reading the Bible. Some
people do nothing with with their religion
except biliously to enjoy their misery with
it.—Clcristian, Union.
Probably we have enongh, hysiological
_f,
knowledge to effect vast impro, °merit iu the
pairing of individuals, if we em Id only apply
that knewledge to make fitting marriages,
instead of giving way to foolish ideas about
love and the tastes of young people, whom
eve can belly trust to choose their own bon-
nets.—.Posedar SCIORCe Monthly.
Suppose when the trials come you go
about with a long face, moaning over what
hurts you, constantly fretting about your
Josses,disappointments, worrying about
i
!what s inevitable. How much do you gain?
, What is there at the end of the terinoil of
t
j,
mind that you have raised. ut a hundred
, fold more of trouble then , • It needed to
'have had ?—Chri8tian at ir rk.
It is the fashion to talk about the baneful
. effects of reading trash. But trash is a mere-
ly relative word. What is trash to one matt
is net trash to another. Shapespeare's poetry
j would be trash to an angel. It is impos,sible
, to put ourselves in another's place arid
derstand the pleasure and nutriment he may
draw from what is poison to us. The poor
'laborer inny enjoy his crust of bread more
than a pampered monarch does the richest
viands. Yet we pity the laborer and envy
the monarche—Lipplarotes.
Ruin.
In life wo constantly see ruin about us.
We find ruin of business, ruin of character,
ruin of health and ruin of happiness. Most
of these evils are directly caused and con-
troled by man hiniself. This means that
each one largely molds his own destiny. At
least he is the important factor in making
his own life a success We do not, however,
measure man's success by the narrow creed
of dollars and $611,18 ; neither is the applauge
of the world a fair criterion. The ruin
found in men's lives could generally be
avoided. Business wrecks could often be
evadedby judicious management. Although,
sometimes inevitable, yet a business failure
is not fatal to one's existence. Destruction
of character and health are by far the most
, serious clraw-backs to is successful career.
'Building up a good name, results mostly
from the effort of the individual. Let, how-
ever, the decayed germ of corruption enter,
aud ruin is almost certain. Character is
likea dike, which is weakest where the
water luta once broken through, A good
name is as essential a part of a successful
life as good health. Sometimes a person is
not responsible for a failure. Heriditary
' disease and weakness cannot be controlled
by the viethn. Generally speaking, good
health can be preserved or gained by a she
ple obedience to eatural laws. True hap-
piness can only be ruined by loss of health
or character. They are the great combina-
tion which unlocks the door ands suceess
' scape, .
An imperial. Sensation.
A Paris special says " All the week
Paris has been gathering interest in wive
storice that a natural child of the prince
imperial was about to be produeed. °retie-
allY these heve teken form till new their
complete pnblication is only a matter of a
I day or two. The story is given so much
credibility that the Emprese Eugenie has
telegraphed to the Dee de Mouthy to make
strict inquiries. Whet gives weight to it
is the fact that no money is &mended or
apparently desired, and the, effort is contin-
uous to hide the ehild. The mother is a
schoolmistress he Austrelia. Her docu-
meets are in the care of Mr. Reynolds, an
English solicitor, and consist of ttvo letters
and two telegrnante the former unmistaka-
bly in the prince's handwriting, but they
refer only to ttiffing goestions and appoint-
ments, The child, whieh was at lterey, is,
eir was a few days ago, itt the chateau of the
'Marquis cl' Oyley—the Chateau de Sans
Spud, Bellevue,—where there is reason tobo-
hero importent interviews will take place.
The boy is said to troche innige hieroputed