alot Bellefonte, Pa., December 20, 1901 CHRISTMAS TIDE. There's a littie oid man with silvery hair, An’ a long white beard ’at fiis ’in the air: With twinklin’ black eyes an’ a rosy, red face, An’ onc’t a year he comes to our place. An’ our little maid An’ our little man Ez anxious to see ’im soon’s they can! In the dead o’ night when all's asleep, An’ the cold frost snaps an’ the snow ez deep With a reindeer team an’ a silver sled He comes straight from fairylans, "tis said ; So oar little man An’ our little maid Ez anxious to see 'im—they ain’t afraid ! But you better take keer, fer some folks say ’At ef yer naughty he’ll fy away : An’ quicker’n you kin whistle—phew ! Away he’s gone up the chimney flue ! So our little maid An’ our little man Ez tryin’ to be jest ez good’s they can! But ef your good an’ "bey yer pa, An’ don’t never ery an’ vex your ma, He'll fill yer stockin’s with games en’ toys, An’ nuts an’ sweets an’ all sorts o’ joys. So our little maid An’ our little man Wants Santy to come jes as quiek’s he can! —New York Sun. | AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS. i It is growing dark upon a December af- [ ternoon and a snow is falling rapidly enough to conceal all the bare, unsightly | places in the village of Rainsdale and give | it a gala appearance for the nearing Christ- | mas-tide. A country woman, well muffled in shawl and hood and equally well ladened with bundles is plodding her way along from the little railroad station to a white house at the end of the street. She enters the gate'and proceeds around to the back door, where she lifts the latch with neigh- borly disregard of the formality of a knock. Martha Jackson and her mother are bus- ily engaged in sorting a pile of colored rags preparatory to the manufacture of a braided rug. Several newspapers are spread upon the floor to protect from dust and ravelings the scrupulously clean carpet. Martha arose hurriedly at the entrance of their neighbor, greeting her with friendly cordiality and hastening to help her re- move her wraps. ‘‘My what a day for you to be ont in, Mrs. Williams, ”” she said, as she shook the snow from the heavy shawl. ‘‘Come up close to the stove and get your feet warm and dry,” and she bustled briskly about placing a chair at the oven doorand poking the fire to produce a better blaze. ‘‘My feet ain’t cold,” answered Mrs. Williams, as she accepted the warm seat. ‘I drawed on a pair of Jake’s-old socks over my shoes afore I left the station. I hev Leen up ter the city ter do some buyin’ an’ I told Jake I'd run up here for a little spell hein’ as he bad ter go ter the post of- fice an’ hlacksmith’s afore we can start fer home. ”’ “My land, hut them big stores is a sight at this time of the year,’’ she continued a few minutes later,’’ as Martha hegan gath- ering up the rags preparatory to setting the tea-table.” T declare I jist couldn't git away 'thout spending’ a heap more of money than I laid oat to do, but arter all, I got good bargains an’ being as hoth the children’s a coming home I won’t com- plain fer we’ll hev a Christmas in the old house that they will allus remember. *‘But you would never guess who I saw in one of the hig stores. Why, Jim Car- uthers, I'd never aknowed him if he hadn’t a cotched a hold of me and made me stop and look at him. ‘Is this the way you Rainsdale folks treat your old friends 2 be asked, and I vow T was struck so dumb that I couidn’t speak for a minute. But we went inter a waiting room an’ set down an’ had quite a visit. 1 tell you he looked line. He's growed some whiskers since he left here and maybe he wasn’t dressed swell, though. I did not see a man any- where what compared ter him fer looks. He remembers all the folks ’bout here an’ asked any number of questions. He was taken back ter know that you folks was alivin’ in his uncle’s old house. He in- quired very perticler ’hout you, Marthy, an’ seemed sprised that vou wan’t married per? 3 A dull red mounted to Martha's faded cheeks and she gave a vicious flirt to the cloth she was laying preparatory to setting the tea table. *‘It’s fifteen years since Jim went away.”’ said Mrs. Jackson, musingly. ‘I mind that he was around ’bout just the Christ- mas afore his uncle died an’ that’s heen over fourteen years ago ’cause we moved inter this house fourteen years come next April.” ‘Wal, from what I can guees, be’s made money some way er ’nother,”’ continued Mrs. Williams. ‘‘He looked that way, an’ when 1 asked him how he’d prospered he said he hadn’t no cause ter complain. I asked him ter come up ter the old place once more and he said he reckoned he would. I spose he'll find a power of changes in fifteen years, bunt I reckon there’ll be lots of folks ’ll be glad ter see him. He was allus a mighty fine young man. By the way, Marthy, you an’ him used ter be purty thick, didn’t yer 2" Martha murmured something inaudible as she tied on an old hood before going to the barn to feed the chickens, “I mind that folks used ter say that Jim was struck on Martha an’ on Lon Bickler ter the same time,’’"oontinued Mrs. Wil- {liams. “And Martha treated him so high {an’ mighty, 1 suppose he thought that there was no use trying her; an. Lon went and married that good for nothing Charley Risel, an’ sorry enough I reckon she’s been forit. By the way, hev yer heard lately how Lou was ?” ‘Martha allus goes in ter see her every couple o’ days,”” answered Mrs. Jackson, ‘and Lou don’t 'pear ter get no better. Ol’ Doc Edwards sez she has the consumption, an’ I reckon she won’t hardly last the win- ter out.”’ ‘Wal, poor soul, mebbe it’s jist as well. Lod knows that Charley led her a hard 'nough life while he lived with her, ter say nothin’ hout his runnin’ off with that actor woman and leaving her so; mebbe it’s a mercy if her troubles is cut shors,’’ said Mrs. Williams, piously. ‘What do yer calkerlate ter do fer Christmas, Mrs. Jackson,’’ she added, as a change of sub- ject. “I reckon Marthy ’1l hev ter be up to the church helpin’ as usual. There haint been a Christmas since she was 14 years old that she haint helped to decorate the church,’ answered Mrs. Williams, rather proudly. “Theu I reckon that John an’ his children 1 ‘11 be ter home for dinner, so that we'll hev {a fall day. And I heerd Marthy say yes- | terday that she was agoin’ ter take Lon her { Christmas dinner, bein’ as the poor soul { ain’t able to cook much fer herself.’’ i “I tell you, Marthy has been an uncom- { mon good girl all of her life,” said Mrs. | Williams, emphatically. ‘‘It’sallus seem- | ed mighty queer ter me that she never got | married.”’ ; : “Well, taint that she never had no chances, an’ good ones at that,”’ rejoined Mis. Jackson, a trifle stifily, for her daugh- ter’s maidenhood was a sore subject with her. ‘‘But I thank the Lord Marthy wern’t vever one of the girls that seem~d to ; banker arter men, an’ I haint never had no canse ter regret it.’’ . ‘No, I'm most sure you’venot. It's a good thing fer you, too, that she did stay ter home, fer you would hev heen mighty lonesome 'thout her. But I see Jake a drivin’ in, so I'd better be agettin’ my things on.” and despite all the cordial urg- ings for them both to remain for supper, Mrs. Williams soon took her leave. It took Martha much longer than usual that evening to get through with the barn- yard chores. Mrs. Williams’ sudden men- tion of James Caruthers had upset her and made her feel the need of a chance to re- gain her composure. Fifteen years before, as had been hinted, this man’s name had been much coupled with hers, and despite the good understanding that seemed to exist between him and Lou Bickler, he had said something to Martha the day preced- ing that Christmas, which led her to feel that the all important question was soon to be asked. But at the Christmas entertain- ment the next evening he did not come near her, and the next morning he left the village suddenly with no sign to her. Martha had borne her disappointment in silence, even her mother having had no EE suspicion of it; but after all these years she was angry with heiself that the men- tion of his name could =o affect her. Lou Bickler had been her fiiend froni the time they sat together in the little log school house and though Martha's natural reserve prevented the confidence usual be- tween girl friends, the friendship had lasted through the years,aud in the trouble which came to Lou, Martha’s sympathy and help bad never been found lacking. "So on this Christmas afternoon she hastened to finish her own dinner that she might the sooner get to the home of her friend. Lou seemed woise that day, and all of Martha’s efforts to soothe her seemed inef- fectual. As the afternoon waned and the early twilight fell upon the two women sitting together, the weaker one slipped her hand into the strong grasp of her friend ‘| and said, falteringly : ‘You have been very good to me al- ways, Martha, and sometimes it comes over me that I hain’t deserved it because I did something to you once that might have made a difference if you had knowed ahout je.” *‘Don’t think that, Lou. Nothing would have made any difference.” ‘‘Mebbe not, Martha, I thought so then or I wouldn’t have done it, truly I wouldn’t, but it was a sin just the same and I can’t die 'thout telling you about it and I do hope that you will forgive me if I hurt vou any, for, remember I always liked you.”? A violent fit of coughing interrupted the frail speaker. When it was over she said : ‘Fetch me that little black box from that top bureau drawer, Martha.’ Martha obeyed, and Lou opened the hox and produced a letter yellow with age, bearing Martha’s name wiitten in a hand that made her heart heat faster. This letter,” said Lou, as she gave it to her, ‘‘was writ by Jim Caruthers, and he gave it to my little brother Dick to give to you on that Christmas afternoon before he went away. and I got Dick to give it to me, telling him I would give it to you my- self, and, Martha, I kept it.” With trembling fingers, Martha opened the letter, and there read the question she had expected Jim to ask her fifteen years ago. The letter hinted at fear of a rival, and asked her if she was heart free to show it by wearing a red rose in her hair that evening. And while she yet read it the door open- ed and James Caruthers himself stood he- fore them. Strange to say, the sick woman did not appear at all surprised. ‘Oh, Jim,” she exclaimed, reaching her poor thin hand towards him, *‘I have pray- ed that you would come back and give me a chance to undo a wrong I done you so long ago. For, Jim, all of the stories I used to tell you about that young preacher from Jonesville coming to see Martha was false, and I only told you them because I wanted you myself, and that letter you sent to her by little Dick I got hold of and I never gave it to her until just now.” There is a silence for a few minutes, the man afraid to trust himself to speak to the woman who has kept him so many years from his loved one, and Martha unable to realize at first the full meaning of the con fession. ‘I see you hain’t agoing to forgive me,’ faltered Lou, as the suspense became op- pressive, “but truly, Martha I thought that you didn’t care for him. You always acted that way, and when I first found it was you he wanted I thought he would come hack to me. Truly, I wouldn’t have done it if I’d thought you cared. Martha, and now I can’s bear it if you don’t forgive | me before I die. Arn’t you ever going to speak to me again,” she added piteously. “It was a mistake,’’ said Martha, slow- | ly, as she again took her poor friend’s hand in her own. “Idid care, but I could not talk about it then so, of course, you could not know. And I forgive you now, Lon, so don’t worry any more about it.’ **And Jim, will vou, too?” asked Lou looking pitifully towards the man. Jim looked at Martha whose eyes drop- ped beneath his soulful gaze. ~“‘I guess Martha may answer for both of us if she will,”” he said. And Lon took his hand and laid Martha's unresistingly within it. ‘Have I made it all right now ?'’ she asked wistfully, “and do you both truly forgive me for all the yeais I kept you apart ? ‘Yes. Lou, it is all right now. Don’t think about itany more. You did not know what it meant to us, or you never would have done it, I am sure.” “God bless you, Martha, you have given me the only thing that could make my Christmas peaceful. All these years when you've been so good to me I have worried over it, but it just seemed that I could not tell you before. And Jim, are you sure that you forgive me now ? I ain’t ashamed tosay now that [ loved you then, but, in- deed, I wouldn’t a come between you if I bad thought that Martha really cared.” *‘It Martha will come to me now, I will forgive you everything,” he answered. And when they took their departure a few minutes later the look of peace upon Lou’s face indicated that Martha’s answer bad been all that could be desired. The walk home that Christmas evening seemed very short to the two who had so much to talk over and explain, but before entering the house James paused. “Martha,” Le said gently, “after all, I was to blame myself, for I should have come to you and not trusted to a letter. It was a case of ‘faint heart,” and I have been justly punished. But dear, we have lost fifteen years. If you really forgive me, prove it by becoming my wife at once. We have nothing to wait for now.” So that evening, at the close of the usual Christmas services, the old pastor who had known Martha from a child, an- nounced a special service to which all were invited. And James and Martha stood up and were married in the old church, decor- ated so daintily by the fair hands of the bride, in the presence of all the friends who had known her from childhood. And all the Christmases that came in after years were the happier for being the anniversary of their wedding day. , MAE RutH NORCROSS. Tree Decorations. In many homes elaborate decorations for the Christmas tree, including a “Christ child,” or angel, are kept on hand from season to season. Where the tree is dressed anew each year, the dec- orations are usually home-made ani much less expensive, Among the pretty and effective trim- | mings are chains of cransberries, strung with a needle on a stout thread. gilded walnuts, cotton snowballs, dusted with diamond powder, festoons of popcorn, bundles of stick candy tied with bright ribbons, gay tarlatan bags filled with nuts and candy, handsome apples ‘and oranges and the German almond-pastry cakes (Marzipan). : Frost powder may he parchased at any of the toy shops and strong alam water be sprinkled over the branches to orystalize. The solution of alum should be so strong that it will dry almost as fast as sprinkled. : 1. {. "Well. by gosh, it’s a fact. As a gen- **You want to look out for to-morrow, Tommy.” "Not on yer life! None to-mmorrow.! I’m Loing to eat a big Christmas dinner.” Tommy, the loom boss, sat on the clerks high stool and toyed with a round ruler of ebony. The clerk leaned back in the pro- prietor’s chair with his feet on the propri- etor’s desk. The three other bosses—the carder, the spinver and the venerable fin- isher, with his steel-rimmed spectacles and white beard—stood up. Out of doors the snowstorm was so great that the air had the vague, pale hue of the robes of ghosts. The sky could not be seen. There was only, up there, that solt pallor, moving twining, like the float- ing garments of a phantasmal crew, and lower down the snowflakes, in infinite pro- cession, falling, falling. The 1iver was black in the white plain. A man came out of the distant forest, and trudged, knee- i deep in snow, over the fields, toward the { town. He bad anax on one shoulder, a little fir tree ou the other. In the warm office of the Blue Mill the | men talked cheerily of oysters, minstrel { shows, cards, mince pie—the usual Christ- | mas matters—and now and then they re- | verted to the loom boss’ abominable week- | Ly habit of getting drunk. | “Some Saturday night, Tommy,” said | the clerk, ‘why not surprise your wife hy taking home to her, instead of the accus- | tomed skate, a piece of jewelry, a bunch of pink roses, or something 2" | Oh, she wouldn’t— » | But just then the grave profile of the re- | turning proprietor passed the window, and straightway, without a word, the bosses ran swiftly fron the office before he saw them, the bespectacled and white-bearded finisher showing. as usual, the cleanest pair of heels of all. But the clerk made it a point of honor with himself to continue the proprietor’s entrance. IL. Next morning Tommy went church with the three older children. in the parlor. He sat, very much crumpled, rather on the hack of his neck than those parts which mankind usually | the stool of the *‘pie-anna’’—as we say in Manayunk. A vast picture of himself glared down at him from the wall. It was an enlargement from a photograph, dome in crayon entirely by hand, which had | only cost, bronze frame and all, three dol- | lars.’ The furnishing of the parlor was in | barmony throughout with this excellent | work of art. Upstairs the hoys played some new game Wi | or other. Es | THE LOOM BOSS, eral thing I get full on Saturday nights.’ to sly | about as aimlessly as the movable glass took off his coat, shoes and made tie when he got back and read the paper and smoked | on ! sits | { upon, and his large white socks rested on | | All sat down and waited. From the turkey a faint, thin, aromatic smoke arose. The hungry children surveyed this perfect Christmas feast and rejoiced. Waiting, they laughed and joked. The mother, calm, looked on. At the end of five minutes the smoke no longer rose from the turkey and the chil- dren were no longer gay. All, now, wait- ed in silence. At the end of ten minutes little Annie and her mother avoided each other’s gaze, because their eyes explained so much. The boys, with vicious smiles, exchanged kicks beneath the table. Only the baby was content, breathing heavily over a mug of pap. At last Mrs. Ryan signed to little Annie. Mother and daughter then began to remove everything. “We'll wait till 1 o’clock for your father; maybe till 2,” Mrs. Ryan explained to the boys, who stamped about and growled. -‘Everything’ll he spoiled, ”’ they said. . “No matter,’ said Mrs. Ryan. VI. An old saw concerning Hogan's beer was " that it contained boxing gloves or ladies’ tintypes; that is to say, it created in the consumer a desire either to fight or make love. There must have heen tintypes in the glasses of Tommy’s friends, for these clever Falls gentlemen nov began to talk in an odd way about young girls they knew, and to ponder over the advisability of a trip to town, In Tommy’s heer were hoxing gloves. He said it made him ashamed to hear such talk considering the speakers’ age and bald heads, and their wives and innumerable children, ‘Chop it off,”’ he roared. He was beginning to perceive that he no lounger enjoyed bis beer or his cigar, but he kept on smoking and drinking, in a kind | of nervous restlessness, hecanse he conldn’t have stopped it if he had tried. He saw that his day was spoiled. * * ¥ No use going home now. He might as well, he ostentatiously, idle for a little whise after | felt. get drunk. | He walked with the caution and uncer- tainty of a hare-legged man in a dark room full of furniture. His eyes rolled eves of adoll. His tongue was so unruly little while, to rebuke someone harshly, in the stienous effort to pronounce some word { he quite forgot what he wanted to say. The heer choked him. The cigar smoke | choked him. He stood, emitting growls as | inarticulate as those of a wild beast. At last he became so wretched that to | abolish everything he ordered on the next { round whisky. In an immense despair he felt this burning draught overpower him, benumb him to the end of his hair, the tips of fingers, the tips of his toes. A | black and horrible abyss vawned for him. * * % He was falling, falling in * * # { | | ith Hogan’s help they raised him rough- : 5 | 1y from the floor and put him on a chair | Mrs. Ryan and her little daughter in the og : ia : ; kitchen, labored infinitely in the prepara- | without interrupting his deep Sleep. | tion of pies, cranberry sauce, turkey, plum | { prdding and vegetables. The baby sat | i solemnly on the floor beneath the tree, in- ! tent uporr a Noah’s ark. Frequently the | little girl or the mother darted over and | extracted from its mouth lions or giraffes, | and there was lamentation for a space. | From all this business Mrs. Ryan found | tir.e, now and again. to pause at the par- lor door and say, smiling at the figure that read and sprawled and smoked in there : ‘*Well, vou look comfortable, Thom- as.”’ She only called him Thomas when she was happy. III. A tap on the window caused the stu- dious loom boss to look up and greet two men of middle age, who stood out in the snow and laughed and beckoned to him. They were brother loom bosses from the Falls, getting up, they explained, by walk ing, an appetite for turkey. ‘‘Come on out an ‘hit one,’”’ they said. “No I can’t; soon.”’ ‘‘Ah’ come on!" ‘Well, just one, mind—down at the corner,”’ Tommy said reluctantly. He dressed, and, from the vestibule, calling to his wife in an embarrassed tone that he was going out for a little while. She dropped everything and hastened to him. ‘Ob, Tom, diuner’s nearly ready. If you go out—I just know——"° ‘‘Annie, I'll be back in fifteen minutes. —honest !”’ But she looked at him miserably. IV. Hogan's was empty when the loom boss- es entered and took their places at the har. They said : “Gimme a heer.” “Same.” ‘Same here.” Hogan set out three thirteen-inch beers and mopped the bar with a nondescript something wet and gray—a towel or dish- cloth perhaps ; perhaps an old flannel shirt or a trouser leg. The men now said . “Well, here’s looking at yon ! “Many happy days!” ‘‘Let er go !”? They drank thoughtfully their eves ris- ing by degrees to the wonders of glassware carved wood, bright metal and odd-shaped bottles of strange foreign firewater behind Hogan. Above all, they were impressed with the lovely winter scene done on the broad mirror in soap. Tommy laughed reproachfully when his treacherous friends proposed another heer. ‘No ye don’t,” he said hurrying toward the door. They rushed him back, but it was hard to make him take that second glass. He took the third much more read- ily, and the fonrth he proposed himself. A frightful argument concerning weav- ing now arose. With flushed faces and bright eyes the bosses smoked cigars very fast, tossed off the thirteen-inch beers easil y and filled the air with queer technical talk about take-up motions, stripper rod, con- My dinner’ll be ready ‘I'nectors, twenty-cut warps, picking shoes, ‘guide wires and sweep sticks. They were perfectly happy, and, know- Ing this, they rejoiced, and were yet amaz- ed and moved that such boundless happiness shonld be theirs. The beauty and sweetness of living they appreciated as never before, and they were filled with joy and pride in the contemplation of their own excellence in all things. Naturally, afloat on the deep sea of hap- piness. Tommy took no note of the arriv- al of noon. cov Mrs. Ryan and the boys brought on the big and tender turkey, the cranberry sauce the vegtables and the celery, and little An- nie put the baby on its high chair, tied its bib and arranged its tray, and mug before it. . The table’s appearance was admirable, flawless. It represented hours and hours of work; also it represented an immense economical and culinary proficiency on the part of Mrs. Ryan. She sat down now listlessly, and waited. os VII. | At 2 o'clock the children drew up to the | table again, and their mother carved the [dry and tasteless turkey, and helped them i to the spoiled vegetahles. Suddenly with- out they heard a chorus of boys’ treble voices, calling : “Walk that chalk-line straight ! Hey, walk that chalk-line straight !”’ Then the door opened. and, smiling idiotically. their father contrived to get in- to the room. From head to foot he wae white with snow, like a snow-man, and he moved himself along with but little more than a snow-man’s power. With his wife’s help he got himself stretched out on the settee and began instantly to send forth loud snores. The children ate on in silence, gazing with large, awe-stricken eyes at the sleep- er, as though he were some fabulous ogre or magician. VIII. ! The man on the settee slept. His face. very pale, glistened as with a fresh coat of oil. His mouth hung open; there was a pinched appearance to the nostrils, and he looked very old. Mrs. Ryan lowered the window; then she resumed her sewing by the lamp. He awoke. His eyes fell on the shaded figure quietly working in the lamp-light, about which there was something tender and good—something full of a home life useful and noble. Remembering at first nothing of what had happened, he felt the vague content of one awakening from a long, deep sleep, and smiled. Then he moved his head a little, and at once a thousand sledges began to hamnier his skull from within, and the nausea aud unutterable nervous depression consequent ou his excess, overwhelmed him. He groaned. His wife looked calmly at him; their eyes met, and for some unknown reason he felt that he must tell her he loved her and was sorry. He had not told her this for years. It was so true, he thought. she knew it without his telling her. ‘‘Anme,”’ he said, in a hoarse, mournful voice, holding out his shaky arms, “I’m sorry for this. How could I ‘do it, when your’re so good to me 2’ The woman started. She smiled bitter- ly. And then suddenly a paroxysm of weeping seized her, and she ran to him, knelt beside him, and, with her arms around him, r.sted on his shoulder her head, that shook with violent sobs, “Why, Annie,” he said, ‘‘you knew I was always sorry for these things, and al- ways loved—you more than ever?” “Ob, no; Tom, how could I?” : “I was sure you knew it. That's why I never told you-’’ “No, I didn’t know it. I couldn’t know it Tom.” “It’s true, though. You believe it, don’t you?’ ‘Yes, Yes,’ she sighed. ! Nothing to them were the sunken cheeks the gray in the hair, the wrinkles of each other that they saw. They had married young; they had given all their best to one another. Their old love—a finer deeper thing than their young love had heen— their pure and spiritual love could no more be moved by the change that time was working in them than a son’s love for his mother can be moved hy such a change. ‘Over fifteen years,”’ he said. ‘‘I’ve never regretted it, Annie, but I guess you have.”’ “No, Tom; never, never. You've al- ways worked bard. Never, never never.” That Christmas night the loom hoss went to Father O’Mahony’s to swear-off. All of two years ago it was, but so far he has kept that pledge. W. B. TRITES. ——Margaret—Matrimony is not all that it is cracked up to be. Edith—How can you say such things, Margaret 2 = Why, there is Carrie Winter- green. She was married only a year ago, and now she is divoreed, with such lovely alimony !— Boston Transcript. that when he attempted, as he did every | a, . Christmas Goodies. — CRULLERS. One cup of butter, two cups of sugar and the yolks of three eggs creamed together. Dissolve one teaspoonful of soda in a little water and add it, and put two teaspoon- fuls of cream of tartar in a little flour. Add enough flour to make a very soft dough, but one that can be handled for rolling ous. Flavor with cinnamon or nutmeg and cut with hole in the centre. Fry in boiling fat. JUMBLES. One pound of sugar, one of butter, three- quarters of a pound of flour, seven eggs, one teaspoonful of soda, one nutmeg. Make into small cakes in the hand. Do not roll thin. SUGAR COOKIES. One pound of sugar, half a pound of but- ter, four eggs, one and a-half pounds of flour, using part of it for rolling out, half a teaspoonful of soda, flavor with vanilla. Mix the batter the day before you wish to bake the cakes. Bake in a hot oven. Sprinkle with sugar before putting into the oven. SCOTCH COOKIES. Beat together one cup of butter and two cups of sugar, and mix two teaspoonfuls of cream of tartar with half a pint of flour. Dissolve one teaspoonful of soda in a five tablespoonfuls of milk. Beat two eggs light and add them. Flavor with one tea- spoonful of cinnamon or other spices. Mix the whole well together and add more flour from time to time to make into a dough. Roll out very thin and bake in a quick oven. These are very good, and are very much like the old Scotch cakes of which ail children are fond. GINGER HORSE CAKES. Take one pound of butter, half a pound of sugar, one quart of molasses ginger, all- - spice, cinnamon and cloves. Add at the last two and a-half pounds of flour, reserv- ing enough of this amount to rell out the cakes. After mixing stand away until the next day. Roll out very thin and cut out with a horse-shaped cutter. These may be bought at any of the house-furnishing stores and only cost afew cents. They will surely please the children. CANDIES. No matter how much candy you are to make, make it in small amounts. Home- made candy may be made very cheaply if one does not count one’s time. The fancy boubons that at some places sell for $1.50 per pound usually cost hut 25 cents as to raw material. Cheap candies are made of glucose instead of sugar. PEANUT BRITTLE. Put oue cup of granulated sugar in a sauce pan (no water, remember.) Stir rapidly, as it heats, with a wooden spoon. In five minutes it will be a dark-colored syrup. Add a cup of peanuts. Roll them out on your board quickly. Eitherecnt two ways quickly with a long knife or run a confectioner’s cutter (a rolling pin with a row of knives, first one away and then the other, making the brittle into inch squares. All this must be done at a pace that will leave you entirely breathless. A few lightning-like moves and it’s over. Having caught you breath begin to loosen a knife may have to he used even with a roller cutter. Either an aluminium or an iron sauce pan must be used, as 400 or 500 degrees Fahrenheit would ruin one's granite ware. Let it be filled with water immediately, lest cleaning it be impossible. The materials for this most wholesome plateful of candy cost but seven cents. This is, too, the easiest candy to make. If the cutting is to be done with an ordi- nary knife only half the above amount can be made at once. FONDANT. Use good sugar, a very little cream of tartar and water. To each pound of sugar allow a half pint of water and a level salt- spoonful of cream of tartar. Stir until the sugar is dissolved. Then wipe down the sides of the pan and boil continuously un- til the mixture softens in water, that is when you drop it into ice water, it will roll asoft ball. Remember, you must not stir it. while boiling. and you must wipe down the sides of your kettle carefully. Now, when the .mixture will roll into a soft ball when dropped into the water, turn it out into a large dish or on a marble slab, and when cool stir rapidly until you have a smooth, white mass. This may be flavored and rolled into small balls ready to dip into chocolate, or orange, or vanilla covering. Fondant, in a bowl, under a moist cloth, will keep a week. FOR. CHOCOLATE FLAVOR. To a half pound of fondant add two ounces of chocolate. a little vanilla and two teaspoonfuls of water. While dipping keep the fondant over hot water. FUDGE. Pat over the fire a cup of sugar, two ounces of chocolate, a half cup of milk, and boil. It is done as soon as it will harden in cold water- OYSTER PATES. Into a pound of flour chop three quar- ters of a pound of cold, flrm butter, until you have a coarse yellow powder. Have all your utensils cold. Wet the flourand butter with three gills of iced water and with a spoon work intoa mass. Turn upon a floured pastry board, roll and fold then roll again three times, lightly and quickly. Fold and put in the ice-box for several hours. Roll into a sheet half an inch thick, and, with a cutter, cut into rounds, like biscuits. Pile these three deep and with a small ontter press half- way through each pile. Put into the oven which should be very hot-and bake to a light, delicate brown. The pastry should be very light. When done, remove, and lift off the little round in top of each pate. This will serve as a-cover. With a small spoon scoop out the soft paste from the centre, thus leaving a cavity to be filled with the oyster mixture. Cook together a tablespoonful of butter and flour, and pour upon them a cup and a half of rich milk—half cream, If you have it. Stir to a smooth sauce, then add the drained oysters, aud cook just long enough for the edges to begin to ruffle. Now beat in gradually the beaten yolk of an egg; cook two minutes, season with celery-salt and white pepper, and fill the shells with the mixtnre. Fit on the littl covers, and Set in the oven until all are very hot. GINGER CREAM, Put an ounce of gelatin to soak 1n half a cup of cold water. Take one and one-half ounces of ginger and cut it up in very small pieces. Have a pint of double cream thoroughly chilled, set it in a basin of ice and whip to a stiff froth. Then stir in carefully, a little at a time, two ounces of powdered sugar, then a tablespoonfnl of the syrup from the ginger and teaspoonful of essence of ginger. Have the’ gelatin dis- solved in a cup of hot milk and chilled by stirring over cracked ice as it begins to thicken; fold in the cream, at the same time sprinkling in the preserved ginger, Turn into a rock mold and place on ice to - set,
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