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, c , ',.eitti VotttD.
WI-111T DIULIEJES WODIE N /
Not costly dress, nor queenly air;
Not jeweled hand, complexion fair;
Not graceful form, nor lofty tread,
Not paint, nor curls, nor splendid head;
Not pearly teeth, nor sparkling eyes,
Nor voice that nightingale outvies;
Not breath as sweet as eglantine,
Not gaudy gems, nor fabrics fine;
Not all the stores of fashion's mart;
Nor yet the blandishments of art;—
Not one, nor all of these combined,
Can make one woman true refined.
'Tis not the casket that we prize,
:But that which in the casket lies;
These outward charms that please the eight,
Arc naught unless the heart be right.
Elie, to fulfill her destined end,
Must with her beauty goodness blend:
3lust'make it her incessant care
To deck herself with jewels rare;
Or priceless gems must be possessed,
In robes of richeit beauty dressed;
"Yet these must clothe the inward mind,
In purity the most I•eEned,
She doth all thvik, goocti combine
Can man's rough nature well refine—.
Huth ull she tweds in th flail life
To fit for mother, sh; tes•, wife;
Ile who poses:ies such a friend
Should cherish lvell till life doth end.
Woman, in fine, the mate should be,
To nail with aunt o'er rough sea,
And when the stormy cruise is o'er
Attend him to fair Canuan's shore.
itteresting TRisttlizt.
From the ILllll:3ylvanitt
FORTUITE TELLING.
BY -1. W. BENEDICT
THE human heart is ever striving to read
upon the dim and spectral future, the leadings
of the footsteps of life. Is it not !) ? in
your secret and searching communings with
self, did no fleeting vision startle the inquiry
—Why is it that, in every conflict of life,
-thought sends its peering eye to look beyond
the earnest present, yearning to bring back
to the aching heart its hopeful imaginings ?
Your daily hopes and fears, your air-built
,castles, your love of fame, and your love of
self, now buried in the mysteries of time, are
all the overflowings of the heart, in those
yearnings to realize its hereafter—the fret
tings of the immortal to etherealize its mortal
presence, and to break away from its earthy
prison, that it may revel amid the boundless
freedom of the measureless future. It is the
longing after immortality that makes the
soul "shrink back upon herself, and startle
at destruction."
The superstitious and the ignorant feed that
burning desire with the crude charlantry
which advertises the prognostic astrology of
Madame Fiddlefan, just from Paris—or which
holds its court in the dark and dirty cabin,
or cell, of some old mummyfied negross,
whose greasy cards are the only horoscope by
Which she reads human destiny.
It is possible, my dear reader, that you con
ceived, when you read my title, that you were
to be enlightened by the wise cogitations of
some puritan, whose Salem-born hatred of
witches had aroused him to a general assault
upon all the fortune-telling cheats in our
land—that they were all to be served up with
the nicest dressing, and their benighted, fool
ish, crazy customers would each come in for
a full share of his bitter denunciations.—
Such may have been your thoughts. It is an
easy thing to be mistaken.
I am a fortune-teller myself ; and I shall
claim your car. I doubt not I shall astonish
you with the wonderfully truthful predictions
I shall make. Fortune-telling is a science
readily learned and understood. Having
made yourself familiar with the orbit of your
star, not Isaac Newton himself could tell more
truly the pathway of the moon than you can
solve the mystery of the shadowy future. I
have done all this ; and the magicians of old
Egypt, whose wonders frightened the Pha
raohs on their thrones. The witch of Endor,
when she summoned from the past, the aged
Samuel to tell the rebellious king, " To-mor
row shalt thou and thy sons be with me."-
-Nay, the prophets of inspiration, scarcely
told with greater certainty, their changeless
record of coming time, than I shall mark the
destiny of the seekers after the unseen, at my
hand.
A word of caution to the "unto guile,"
whose brows are already scowling at the bold
sacrilege of my tone, declaring that I am not
only no better than I should be, but in truth
and in fact, much worse than I ought to be.
Smooth your brows, I shall invade nono of
the attributes of Deity—l will do no violence
to truth—l claim no supernatural power—l
am in no league with "auld hornie"—l have
no means whereby I draw wisdom from the
skies. lam a plain matter-of-fact man. I
know what I know; and instead of being sel
fish and proud over my wisdom, I am meek,
-frank, and communicative, as well as benevo
lent. I wish that you, and every one of you,
should know just what I know of the future,
and how and why I know it ; that with the
same unerring truth, you can weave the web
of coming weal or woe, just as perfectly as I
can—and for aught I little better.
With whom shall I begin? Who would
first know their dark or shining destiny ?
Your fears tell that you have some misgivings
as to my powers. Fear not, I shall tell only
truth ; and. if you fear that, ask for no re
vealings from me.
Perhaps you, my young friend MAX, would
like to trace the shadows of the Coming ; as
you now look upon the pictures which the
.Past have daguemotyped on the reflective
surface of memory. Would you see the end
of your anxious hopes? I will not answer
you. The veil of your future should not now
be rai:3ed. You are a iLhor 131.11 - 13y':.: 3110-
.:1 50
' 75
: 50
WILLIAM LEWIS,
VOL. VIII,
eyed perch, and I would not dishearten by a
word of doubt, nor would I urge to a more
eager strife by words of cheer or promise,
one whose brow is severely bent to win suc
cess. Your future shall be told at its proper
time. Courtesy bids you to stand aside until
your readers have been served.
Well, here comes one, a boy ! no, nor yet
a man. Tell me your name—the name is
everything and without that I shall tell no
fortunes. Young America. What a quiet,
complacent leer—how jauntily he wears his
hat. lie now knows more than I do, (so he
thinks,) but he does not know what I can tell
him, Twelve years old—a standing collar,
painfully shining hat, a beautiful little stick
a, with an ivory leg and foot for its head—a
segar in his mouth; and listen, he swears
like a man, calls his mother " old woman,"
and his father "gov'ner." Poor thing, it has
got no moustache yet. It needs no silver to
cross my palm to remove the dust of the Pres
ent from the mirror of your Future. Yes, I
see the path you have taken, and I sec where
it ends. Even now you ape the " fast man,"
and are thinking of a fast horse ; if you were
free from the leading strings of the old wo
man, what a glorious "bust" you would have.
You do imbibe a little now. I can see that.
Rum makes a track upon the sands of time
like nothing else. You drink but little. I
know that. It will increase in quantity as
years bring out the beard upon your face.—
Oh, you only drink wine, you say. No mat
ter. It will conic to that burning fire-water,
whiskey, before long. At first the club, the
oyster and game suppers, and night only will
see when and where you are overtaken. The
drunk of darkness leaves its mark in the
morning sunlight, and the broad day will
blush to see such a nice young man, so bloated,
so stupid, so shameless, so near disgrace, so
near crime. That is the terminus of the road
you have taken. The wayside marks ,every
where warn and threaten. Stop I before pre
mature old age, if not pinching want, run
their ploughshare overyour face. A. mother's
tear, a father's commands, have lost their
power, you will not stop! Go on, if you
dare. Death will wave his red light across
your track to tell you of the danger. You
will not heed the signal. Too late ! there,
there you go Time has no record of your
Leisg, only that you lived and died—your
sad example and frightful end—" the man
goeth to his long home and the mourners go
about the streets."
Another ! You want to know what I can
say for you. Well, well, I see enough—have
seen enough, to remove every doubt as to
your future, Sykesy—the name is significant.
Your surly brow—bold, insolent look—rough,
rude, devil-may-care-side-at-time walk, tell
me to what-school you have been. I know
you. I saw you last evening on the corner
of the street, the loudest spoken among a
dozen rowdies. I heard your obscene, insult
ing remark as those ladies passed. I saw
you trip that poor old man, and laugh as his
tottering limbs stumbled over the unseen ob
struction. I saw you rob that young tree of
its fruit, then wantonly break the .tree. I
saw you remove the signal lantern from a
passing train, then sneak away to an " eating
house." Eating house, indeed I licensed un
der the seal of justice to rob you of what lit
tle moral sense you have left—commissioned
to eat out with corroding canker the heart's
best affections—love of God, of country, of
kindred, of self. Yes, I saw it all. Shall I
tell you of your future. I see it clearly. Up
conic the trooping shadows; and drunkenness,
riot, burglary, arson, robbery, murder, pris
ons and the gallows, are reaching their gaunt
fingers to clutch you. Unless you change,
and that speedily, one, if not all, will be in
at your death.
And another would see beyond the Present.
You have a genteel look. Smooth hair and
smooth tongue. Mr. Dodger is your name—
a lineal descendant of the world-renowned
Artful Dodger. Look up, I must see your
eyes. Can't you look a man in the face ?
That is a bad sign. You are not bashful.—
I have seen you before. Do you remember
your lewd wink to your companions, while
engaged in your daily vocation, selling dry
goods to the ladies ? I saw it—and I saw
you on Broad street last Sabbath, driving an
old Tiger and a lady by your side. No, you
know it was no lady. That cost you twenty
dollars. Cost you, ah I no, it cost your em
ployer that. You got the money for that
piece of silk that you put up the " spout" of
your Jewish relative. Your "uncle" knew
it was not yours, and so do I. Your future
alone will tell ?jou what it cost you. This is
not all I know. There is a gambling hell, at
the corner of street, up that dark pair
of stairs. Your knock readily admits you.
You arc, received like one of the familiars. I
did not go in. I never do. It is not neces
sary. I know what is done there without go
ing in to see. You did not go there alone.
You took your new clerk—the one from the
country ; and you and the older thieves rob
bed him. You a merchant's clerk by day,
and a stool pigeon at night. Your future is
already told. Thousands like you, have hid
underneath that smooth face and tongue for
years, their crimes. They thought they were
safe. So do you. But tardy justice sent her
detectives, and the pawn-broLer's tickets, and
your " uncle's" shelves appeared as swift
witnesses, and the felon's cell claimed its
treasure. So it will if you do not stop. Stop
now, while you can. A mother's prayer
sometimes comes home to your heart, and
starts a tear. More and more feeble becomes
the memory. It will soon be all gone. Ah,
then, remorse and despair will drag you from
the rigt and buffet you onward Into the
boundless ocean of the hereafter.
But here comes one, who fears nothing that
I can say of him. The exemplary Pinchem
Gripe, Esq. The dram shop—the gambler's
den, and bad company he has ever shunned.
So far that is deserving of all praise. Yet
there arc other things which you do, that
lead to a bitter end. Your besetting sin is
selfishness intensified. When young, you
divided none of your little luxuries with any
of your playfellows. "Keep what you have,
and get all you can," was your motto then,
and has been, and will be fur all time, to come.
t I.wconio reed for
Pc;'t
\ k 44„ 11 -11.
•
•
gain. Should life be spared to old age, your
withered and griping fingers will tighten into
your palm, as the chills of death steal over
you. But this is respectable, you think. I
am now rich and daily add to my store.—
True you have gold ; and I am ashamed to
say, that that gives you position. The world
worships your god. It despises you. What
suffering child of want blesses you for a deed
of charity ? I tell you the drunkard's doom,
the murderer's gibbet blights with no surer
curse the distant future, than a life like yours.
You may imagine that the passion is pleasure,
in the passing Now. Death will tear you
away. You never cared for anything but
self and gold on earth, and the gold only be
cause it gratified self. You did not learn to
love the good and beautiful, the lovely and
the loving. In the dread hereafter your cold
and callous heart will be consumed with its
maddening desire to fasten upon the shadows
of the past,—but gold and its glitter, self
and its sins curse instead of comfort.
But enough. My dear readers, you all see
how I search in the present to find the trac
ings to the future. God's Holy Word tells
the fortunes of us all. "He that sows of the
wind :shall reap of the whirlwind !" The
Young Americas, Sykesys, Dodgers and
Gripes are no imaginary characters. Our
land is full of them; and their past and pres
ent awakens the vision of Future.
11u3,-.T.TNGDox, (Pa.) Tidy 1557.
That the soul is immortal none of us dare
deny. While the sceptic with impious hand
inscribes upon the tombstone, " Death is an
eternal sleep," the disembodied spirit of his
ruined friend whispers in his ear, " Devils
tell me 'tis false."
God has created and placed man in this
world to be fitted for a higher and nobler es. - -
istence. And, believe me, the soul carries
with it those glorious concepans of the good
and beautiful, when it breaks the fetters that
bind it to the earth and soars aloft to the
spirit land. The human mind, or soul, united
-WI the bodir, is capable of two kind of en
y, is eapa t 3 or two
joyment. That which is more lasting, and
contains happiness approximating to the bliss
of heaven, is derived from the proper cultiva
tion of the mind and heart. That which is
inforioiyand more transitory in its nature, is
the result of gratifying our appetites and in
dulging our sensual propensities. The former
brings with it good health, contentment of
mind, and the numberless blessings which
constitute human happiness, together with
right views of the Deity and reverence for
the good. The latter, though pleasant and
attractive in the season of youth, hides be
neath its hollow smiles the bitterness of re
gret, the curse of crime, the innumerable
evils to which man is heir, and steels the
heart against everything good and lovely.—
Ignorance of the laws by which nature and
all her works are governed, not only deprives
mankind of happiness, but creates countless
groundless fears and superstitions, alike de
structive in their effects, and disgraceful to
beings of so high an order of intelligence as
man. Do you dispute the correctness of my
proposition ? If so, I refer you to the history
of the past in all ages of the world. Yes,
even the escutcheon of our own fair land is
stained with the record of transactions revolt
ing to the enlightened mind. In the early
history of New England, we are Unformed
many poor unfortunate creatures were burn
at the stake; convicted of crimes which it
was not in their power to commit. Do you
ask the cause of this inhuman butchery ? I
reply, it was a belief in the ancient and mod
ern superstition of the doctrines of witch
craft. And hero in Old Pennsylvania, blessed
with light and knowledge, in the middle of
the nineteenth century, are found hundreds,
who, although ashamed to acknowledge it,
cling to the hallucinations and delusions of
the dark ages, and regard the numerous phe
nomena of nature, as so many demons hover
ing around them, endeavoring to lure them
to destruction. Does our country boast of
her free institutions ? Our smiling vales, and
lofty peaks re-echo the anthem of the free ?
And shall we teachers and educators, rest
contented, while the free-born sons and daugh
ters of America lie in chains more disgrace
ful than the serfdom of Russia, and grovel
in bondage more miserable than that of an
cient Egypt? Even the chains of ignorance,
and the bondage of superstition. Teachers,
ours is a work of true philanthropy. Philan
thropy did I say? Yes, of as true a stamp
as that which prompted the immortalized
Howard, disregarding pestilence and death,
to visit the foul dungeons of Europe, and
shed tears of sympathy with the unfortunate
and wretched.
Would we be successful in our noble mis
sion we must not labor for pecuniary advan
tages alone. We must be actuated by nobler
principles, cheered by hopes of a higher re
ward, or our work will be in vain. We have
entered the arena in an auspicious moment.
Our predecessors have wounded the horned
dilemma Ignorance, and frightened the hydra
headed monster Superstition; and if we rush
on them fighting manfully, cheered and en
couraged by our directors and patrons, we
shall cause them to spread their sty gian
wings and bear away the last remains of de
lusion and error and no longer becloud the
brightening of old Huntingdon County.
Fellow teachers—l admit it, I admit it, I
tremble when I think of the responsibility
of our occupation. We are making impres
sions lasting as eternity.
Venus, Orion, Arcturus, and all the sil
very host that now bedeck the ethereal Vault,
shall fade and forever disappear from view.
The glorious orb that lights and heats our
earth shall lose his fiery nature and sink back
into chaos; but the impression the teacher
makes shall outlive the wreck of matter, the
dissolving of the spheres. The influence of
the unprincipled and faithless teacher will
add bitterness to the misery of a world
.of
despair; while that of the teacher whose
great aim is to '` allure to brighter worlds
HUNTINGDON, PA., OCTOBER 28, 1857,
The Teacher's Mission.
jr LEROY.
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-PERSEVERIL
and. lead the way," shall make heaven's high
arches ring with the pean of redeeming love.
Then too we are responsible for the influence
our scholars exert over the minds of the fu
ture generation. if we inculcate right views
of the object of life and impress upon the
minds of our pupils, the duties they owe to
themselves, their fellow men and their Crea
tor, we are not only acting as benefactors to
our own generation, but are smoothing the
path of life for generations yet unborn. 0,
could. we draw aside the curtain which shuts
out the future from our view we could see
enough to urge us on to still greater execu
tion. And although we can never expect to
have our names recorded on the pages of his
tory, or our deeds of chivalry sung in sweet
measures upon the poetic lyre, yet we may
engrave our actions, upon the tablets of many
a heart.
Yes, when these voices can no longer warn
from the deceptive allurements of depraved
nature, and encourage in the pursuit of sci
ence, virtue and truth; these hands no longer
point out the path that leads to honor and
happiness below, and bliss supreme above,
still shall our memory be cherished, and. our
spirits be rewarded in the full fruition of
Heaven.
SPRUCE CREEK", Oct. 20th
for tliu Globe
Tnn RESULT - 1).: °MO.—Whatever may be
the final result in this State, whether Chase,
is successful by a few hundred, or whether
he is defeated, it will be a substantial Dem
ocratic triumph. The proud majority of
over sixteen thousand, which the Black Re
publicans had for Fremont, has melted away
and will never be heard of again. The
Legislature is certainly Democratic, dad. the
indications are unmistakable that the ten
dency of things is to put Ohio in the Demo
cratic lino. Democrats have every reason to
be satisfied with the result. The Black Re
publicans are in their dying agonies in Ohio.
The strong tide of popular feeling is surg
ing heavily against them. Chase himself
may possibly go into the Gubernatorial
chair, bat he is shorn of all Drestige, and the
small majority is really equivalent to de
feat. It is well known he ran for Governor
in order that it might improve his Presiden
tial prospects by a display of strength in
Ohio. A wretched display he has made.—
He is fifteen or sixteen thousand behind Fre
mont, and. has destroyed their legislative as
cendency in the State.— Cin. Enquirer.
ter'The pavement of London is one of the
greatest marvels of our time. It covers
nearly three thousand acres, two thirds where
of consist of what may be called Mosaic
work, done in plain style, and the other third
of smooth flagging. The paved streets num
ber over 5000, and exceed 2000 miles in
length.
k`RE VOTE FOR. GOVERNOR IN PHILADELPRI.I.
—ln the city of Philadelphia the official
vote is as follows—Packer 27,749 Hazel
hurst 14,355 Wilmot 10,001. Packer over
Wilmot 17,748. Packer over liazelhurst 13,-
349. Packer over Wilmot and Hazelhurst
united, 3,393.
From various sources we make the follow
ing selections of Receipts for the Housekeep
er, which we believe will be generally found
to be practical and valuable. At least we
shall have no objections—indeed would rath
er like it—if only one half of the excellent
lathes—the household chiefs in our commu
nity—would give them all a fair trial, and
send. us samples • of their success I We
promise to give them a fair trial, and enter
judgment as our palate and conscience may
decide.—[ED. Ger. Tel.
Corn Bread---A hint worth Knowing
In an out of the way place up town, there
stands a restaurant of very moderate pre
tensions and unassuming exterior, noted for
its excellence in producing the viand whose
name heads this paragraph. Kentuckians,
Towaians, and others, who have been reared
upon that peculiarly western luxury called a
pone of bread, resort to the spot in numbers
every day to partake of this simple banquet,
which, in its perfection, they cannot obtain
at their ordinary lodgings. The cook em
ployed to prepare it is a negress of elephan
tine proportions who was reared upon a plan
tation in Kentucky. Our travelled readers
will remember the delicious "pone," an arti
cle of food more exquisite to the palate than
is the daily dram of a drunkard—the pone
of bread which graces the tables of western
people on every one of the 365 consecutive
days in the year—the simple pone consisting
of a piece of bread the size of one's hand,
and two or three times as thick, hot as it can
be, and made from the meal of yellow corn
ground coarse. This is the 'western "pone
of bread," the real shawl pure original, gen
uine, nonpariel "awn dodger." As served
to the visitors at the place above referred to,
the article is in its perfection, each-pone be
ing artistically imprinted with the thick
black fingers of the sable cook, the steam
surging upward, meanwhile, from its nicely
browned surface, with a savory odor ten
times more inviting than the costliest dish
ever created by Suer. The corn meal of
our stores is too finely ground to make the
western bread; we must purchase it ground
to order, at a mill, before we can indulge in
the luxurious staple of a western diet.
In order that such as desire to do so can
try the experiment of making the genuine
"corn dodgers," we annex the following re
cipe, which we take from the editorial cel
umns of that valuable monthly, Dr. llall's
New York Journal of Health. Dr. H. is a
Kentuckian, and, in gustatory matters,
"knows what's what :"
" A ouart of Indian meal is put in I
'An) 1) OWL with = m:lch Bal+, r t - 12,e
"Lives of great men all remind us,
We can make our lives sublime,
And departing, leave behind us
Footprints in the sands of time."
2c 'tfit,o3.chtt-pset.
Mzcelleat Domestic .E.E.lceipto.
1
•
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N...--,-,
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taken up with the thumb and fingers; that is
about a teaspoonful; then add as much sweet
milk as will make it up into adherent dough
of which take up a double handful, laying it
over on one hand, and thus carry it to the
pan or skillet for baking; turn it in with one
pat of the hand, and so on, until the vessel
is full, and, with a good heat, let it remain
until the crust is a yellowish brown. Put it
on the table piping hot; press it open; lay in
a large lump of grass butter, just made (if
you can get such a thing,) and it is ready for
demolition.
"Corn bread is best if eaten while it is
hot; it becomes sadden as it cools. The milk
supersedes the use of lard or butter; no wa
ter is needed, although many use butter and
water instead of milk; but the true constitu
ents of a pone of bread are meal, milk, salt,
nothing else. If you add eggs, it becomes
Johny cake, and is no longer a "Pone of
bread."
We fancy that if housekeepers once suc
ceeded in producing this simple article in the
same perfection that we find it in the West,
the artificially white bread from the bakers'
would soon be at a discount.---.Yorth, Anzeri
can, (1"
Take two large sweetbreads, put them into
scalding water. After remaining a few min
utes, take them out, and nut them into cold
water; when cool, skin, but do not break
them. rut them into a stew-man with one
gill and a half of water and season with salt,.
cayenne and black perper to taste. Place
them Over a slow lire, mix one large tea
spoonful of browned :lour with a small piece
of butter, until quite smooth, which add with
a small blade of mace. Stir the butter and
gravy well together, and if not sufficiently
seasoned, more may be added. After letting
them stew slowly for half an hour, set the
stew-tan into a quick oven, and when the
sweetbreads are nicely browned, place them
on a dish, and pour the gravy into half a
pint of stewed tomatoes, thickened with one
desert spoonful of flour, mixed with a small
piece of lutter, and seasoned with salt and
pepper. Thea strain through a small wire
seive into the stew-pan : let it come to a boil,
and stir until done. Then pour it over the
sweetbreads, and send to table hot, in a well
heated dish.
[This: is an excellent way to cook sweet
breads; but we think tomato sauce is injured
and not improved by the "spoonful of flour."
Anything except seasoning pnt into stewed
tomatoes, is a desecration of them.—Ed. Ger
manto2om Telegrapiti
TOMATO WlNE.—Select and mash well
ripened tomatoes ; press out the juice ; add
one pint of water and one pound of sugar to
each quart of juice. Set away in a partially
filled vessel to ferment similarly to grape
wino. After fermenting sufficiently put in
tight kegs, and keep in a cool dry cellar until
Spring, when it may be carefully drawn off
and bottled, adding a small piece of root gin
ger to each bottle. When opened for use, a
brisk effervescence takes place, and to one
skilled, even in grape winos, it is difficult to
distinguish its origin. It is believed that it
can be made equal to the best champaigne.
A SUET, REMEDY FOR A FELON.—Take
pint of common soft soap, and stir it in air
slacked lime till it is of the consistency of
glazis3r's putty. Make a leather thimble, fill
it with this composition, and insert the finger
therein, and change the composition once in
twenty minutes, and a cure is certain. We
happen to know that the above is a certain
remedy, and recommend it to any one who
may be troubled with that disagreeable ail
ment. —Buffalo Attecrtwer.
RECEIPTS FOR BusK.—To one quart of
milk add one pound of sugar and half pound
butter, one pint of the milk must be warmed
to make a sponge of, with yeast and flour,
about as thick as pancake batter, let it rise
all night. When risen enough, warm the
other pint of milk with the sugar and but
ter, put it into the sponge; kneed it, but not
very stiff. Let it rise again; when risen
enough, mould it into cakes as large as bis
cuits, place them in tins and let them rise;
rub them over with sugar and milk. Bake
them in a quick oven. When baked, rub
them again with sugar and milk to give them
a gloss.
To MARE SANDTVITMES.—Rub one table
spoonful of mustard flour into half a pound
of sweet butter; spread this mixture upon
thin slices of bread; from a boiled ham, cut
very thin slices, and place a slice of ham be
tween two slices of bread prepared as above;
cut the Bandwitches in a convenient form and
serve. Some chop the trimmings of the boil
ed ham very fine, and lay them between the
slices of prepared bread. This is a good
dish for lunch, or evening entertainments.
FOR PRESERVING CITRON.—Soak them in
salt water three days; change the water ev
ery day. Let them remaiu in clear water
one day, after which boil them in water with
oyster shells until tender ; take them out and
put them in alum water, let them soak one
hour. Make syrup, allowing one pound and
a quarter of sugar to a pound of citron.—
Let them boil in the syrup half an hour.—
The citrons arc best kept until the month of
rebuary before preserving.
STurrro Pzrrrots.----Wash and drain large
peppers, cut a small piece from the top of
each, cutting around the stems and take out
all the seeds; till with chopped cabbage sea
soned highly with alsnice, cloves, salt, and
mustard seed: sew on the top pieces which
have been cut out; place in jars with the
covers off and cover with scalding vinegar,
pressing them down every day for a week.
To PICKLE RIPE CCCIIMBERS.—Pare the
cucumbers and take out the seeds; turn over
them a weak brine ; let them, stand twenty
four hours; rinse them, then turn boiling al
unm water over them; cover with cabbage and
peach leaves and let them stand till cold,
slice them.; to two quarts of vinegar add. one
pound of sugar, and cloves. cinnamon and
ginr , or root to your tate. Tarn the vinegar
181
Editor and Proprietor.
SA - .. - ee'i:breads with Tomatoes.
How TO MAKE TEA PROPERLY.—The proper
way to make a cup of good tea is a ittattGr
of some importance. The plan which I have
practised twelve months is this: The tea pot
is at once filled up with boiling water, then
the tea is put into the pot, and is allowed to
stand for five minutes before it is used: the
leaves gradually absorb the water, and as
gradually sink to the bottom ; the result is
that the loaves are not scalded as they are
when boiling water is poured over them, and
you get all the true flavor of the tea. In
truth much less tea is required iu this way
than under the old and common practice.—
Rechanye.
CIDER WINE AND CILAKPAGNE.—An excel
lent article may be made by adding three
pounds of sugar to each gallon of clarified
cider, letting it stand three months to fer
ment. By bottling the above, and adding to
each a small lump of sugar, a new fermenta
tion will be excited; Wire down the corks
and you will soon have fit for use, proper
sparkling eider champagne.
PEAR MARMALADE.—A very excellent mar
malade may be made with pears, to use in
making tartlets. Boil six good sized pears
to a pulp, weigh them, take half their weight
of sugar, put it into a saucepan with a very
little water, boil it, and skim it while boil
ing; when boiled to a crack add the pulp of
the pears, give it a boil, and add about four
drops of essence of cloves ; when it is cold,
it is ready for use.
NO. 19,
SOrT GINGERBREAD.—Two eggs, two small
tumblers of molasses, a pint bowl of water,
a lump of salon:oas of the size of a small
butternut, dissolved in water, half a teacup
of butter; stir in the least Hour that will en
able it to bake well ; one teaspoonful of cloves
add ginger if preferred. Bake in pans.
Winsa Thinurr.—Cut up half a pound of
new cheese, put in a lump of butter as large
as an egg, a teaspoonful of mustard, set it
over the fire in a tin pan stirring till thor
oughly melted; have ready two pieces of
bread toasted, spread the Incited cheese
thickly over the toast, place it before the fire
to brown and serve hot;
GOOD PUMPKIN . Pie WrinouT Etas.—One
quart of boiling milk, two soda or Boston
crackers rolled fine, put to the boiling milk,
two teacups of strained boiled puMpkin, lit
tle salt, one cup of sugar, extract of lemon,
little ginger. If this quantity will not mako
two pies, put in a little cold milk. Bake in
a hot oven.
Pursed ED PUNKIN.—Cut a good pumpkin
in strips like citron, sprinkle sugar on them
over night, pound for pound, and the juice
of four lemons, in the morning, boil the peel
and a little ginger root, and add to the syrup.
Boil the pumpkin till tender, then turn on
the syrup boiling hot.
WEDDING C.1.K.E.-011C pound of flour, one
pound of sugar, one pound of butter, two
pounds of raisons, stoned, three pounds of
currants well washed, one and a quarter
ounce of mace, one ounce of nutmeg, ono
and a quarter pounds of citron, half gill of
brandy, a few cloves. Bake in largo loaves
three hours.
FRlTTErfs.—Beat six eggs until quite
light, then stir in'uont pint of cream, one tea
spoonful of salt, half a grated nutmeg, and
sifted flour enough to Make a thin batter;
stir it until it becomes smooth, then drop it
by spoonfuls into hot lard, and fry, and
serve.
MOLASSES PrE.—Take nine tablespoonfuls
of molasses, six tablespoonfuls of good vin
egar; ono and a half tablespoonfuls of flour,
a small piece of butter, a few slices of lemon
or grated lemon peel; cover with a rich paste.
This is decidedly the best substitute for apple
pie.
SNOW BALL PUDDING.—Pare and core
large mellow- apples, and enclose them sepa
rately in a cloth spread with boiled rice;
boil them one hour; dip them in cold water
before turning out. Serve them with cream
sauce.
CnAcKtut PIE.—Two soda crackers soaked
in one cup of warm water, one small tea
spoonful of tartaric acid, or lemon juice, one
cup of sugar. Season and bake as an apple
pie.
MOLASSES COOKIES.—One coffee cup of mo
lasses, half a cup of butter, three teaspoon
fuls of soda, ono and a half of cream of
tartar, flour enough to roll out.
Poor. Ctrs.—Onc pound salt fat pork, and
one pound of
.raisins, chopped together fine,
two cups molasses, one cup boiling water,
one teaspoonful of soda, five and a half cups
of flour, and plenty of spice.— Cor. Co. Gent.
COCOANUT CA KE.—Three cups white sugar,
half cup butter, three and a half cups flour,
one cup milk, the whites of six eggs, one tea
spoonful extract vanilla, one teaspoonful salt,
one teaspoonful soda, two teaspoonsful cream
tartar, one grated nut.—lb.
HARD GINGERBREAD.-011C cup butter, one
cup brown sugar, one cup cold water, ono
cup molasses, one teaspoonful saleratus, or a
little soda, ginger to the taste, and flour
enough to roll out easily.—lb.
JELLY OAKE.—Three cups white sugar, ono
cup butter, one cup milk, four cups flour,
six eggs, well beaten, a little spice. Drop
three tablespoonsful in an ordinary sized
cake-pan.—Th.
CLAMPSED CIDER.--Mix one quart each of
lime and clean, dry ashes, and two quarts of
new milk. Pour these into a hogshead of ci
der just from the press. In ten hours it is
fit to rack.
MILK. RATIIS.—LoIa Moutez, in her lecture
on beauty, tells a story of a certain city
where the use of milk baths, by ladies, for
the preservation of their beauty, became so
general that it produced a scarcity of the ar
ticle, and finally the police discovered that
the dealers obtained their supplies for tea
and cane by purchasing of servants what
had been used for their employers' bath !
A Yankee made a bet with a Dutch
man that he could swallow him. The Dutch
man lay down upon the table, and tho Yan
kee, taking his big toe in his mouth, nipped
it severely. " Oh, you aro biting me," roared
the Dutchman. "Why, you old fool," said
the Yankee, "did you think I was going to
swallow you whole ?''
,terA printer not long ago being "flung"
by his sweetheart, went to the office and tried
to commit suicide with the " shooting stick,"
but the thing wouldn't go off. The devil
wishing to pacify him, told him to peep into
the sanctum where the editor was writing
duns to delinquent subscribers. Ho did so,
and the effect was magical. Ile says that
picture of despair reconciled him to his fate.
1 11 fellow, in Brooklyn, N. Y., has been
compelled to pay tilsO damages, to a woman,
for spitting, in her flee. Served him right.