patrons brated > Fam- 3louses, citing a. Fa. 3571 Son, S08, wo prices, jo Bring in new, Pon's Thanking sores iin. 2D, 1 kinds of Go ‘Sen Pours” o handle ught fo osr- Store {1 K a ~ later I \ 1 MOS, ‘do yon be- lieve jn dreanis?” 4 at a to Kill se + ©Two more. In of { secluded by-street hero] was walking {kno and was stabbed ; the fifth, and: 4 and last we: an { Van Orden passed mea {and I knew it was poisoned, it and drank the contents, 2] the while into his alizing that he pitied me, but was urged | on by fate, or whatever you may. call it.” : Ifelt a certain sense of esses creeping over me as my friend congiu In spite of tha fact that I knew, a8 . Bllsgopher, that the five dreams were ve phaniasies, 1 felt, as a friend, a fora of 3 - 4And ivi all” 1 queried, after soling or explaatory to say. © “All of the dreams—ye I{ Frank, “but there is so be- | am not ashamed to say that tell. First, about Van Orden. a philosopher like you, Amos, andso I this series of | dreams impressed me’ deeply. They not only alarmed but bewildered me. they been the same scene repeated—say, y- | the cliff—I would have made a vow, story front, ina he ‘house in a middle-class ‘nei ie ping The windows looked out on a Shor pro- gaic street, and the room was finished in conventional style, - Frank Chessman was * = medical student, now in his last year at college, and he was not at all fnclined to be mystical, nor even speculative. | of 2 fessions, none is so intensely realisti as the physician’s. He cuts and nt to the root, and is so mtent upon pryi into the secrets of tha body that eave little thought to the aysteries of ‘the. soul, The heart is a machine to ‘pump ‘blood, the lungs are chi mical the bran is a mass of gray mat ish decorations with “bodes. olor “skulls; his room might have been a bookkeep" Frank laughed softly, and, I was glad. ‘$0 see, without any trace of uneasiness. 1 had foreseen a discussion on’ matters | about which no man knows anything, and nothing can be more wearisome than that. So I was disappointed when he added. ‘Let me tell you about a sin-- guler dream I had a year ago.’ .BVery well,” IT sesinted #1 bad gone to bed: carly” began Frank, “and I am quite ‘certain that I did not overeat, and I drank no. liquor at all, 1 am equally certain that I was not in debt, love, or bad health. = But I dreamed-— ‘By the-way, did you ever meet Van Orden?” . “Not that I remember.” bered. Him. He was a law student in the university; ‘had a free scholarship from the city, 1 believe; and in ‘many. respects he was a remarkable young man.’ Hows was about my age, but much larger; and I always thought he was too hand- some for a'man.’ He had great black _eyes—soft as an Italian girl’ s—crisp curly. . Hair, and complexion like a peach. Not | @ prig or a fop, mind! He was on the football eleven and baseball 1 nize, ual an all-round athlete aswell.”. “Well?” 1 said, shortly. ] “Well, 1 dreanied about Van Orden. In my dream I was walking along the edge of a great high cliff which over- hung the ocean.’ I do not remember that I ever saw such a place in my waking ‘hours, and when I thought it over after-. ward, I came to the: conclusion that I had read about such cliffs in England and Béotland, and perhaps seen pictures of a similar locality. Me “Very likely,” I assented. “Well, I dreamed I was walking along, when Van Orden came slowly toward me, and as I stretched out my hand to greet him, he seized me around | the body and hurled me. over the cliff. © 1fell down, ‘down, an interminable time, as you dq in dreams, and then, which is very. unusual in dreams, I. struck the water.” ; ¢*And awoke!” 4tNo, I didn’t. "A ambthered feeling came over me, and then I saw my face floating on the surface of the water, and heard a voice say, ‘He has been killed.’ Then I awoke, all in a tremble.” “A disagreeable = dream,” 1 “com- mented, but not unique .or: otherwise “remarkable.” : “Iam aware of that ,” rejoined Frank. ¢‘But it has a sequel. I had another dream 8 week later. *I was in a ball- room having a jolly time, and presently 1 went into the conservatory. 1 may say that in this and the subsequent dreams not once was there anything familiar in. the surroundings, nor did I recognize a face—with a single exception. Ihad | been in the conservatory only a few minutes when Van Orden appeared in a near-by doorway, and shot me, and I died.” ${Good gracious! I exclaitned, invol. antarily.® “Singular, wasn ’% it? Well, a month med I was lying in a ham- . mock in a grove, which, in my dream I knew to be somewhere in. the tropies, when Van: Orden suddenly appeared, and +6One Le 1 cried.” and Van Osten yemied. or. ne ol tie area there was one polpt of | nation.’ .{ skull=~'and it cost me 4 pretty Were. you 1 | the chances considerably. yourself mi A and kept it, to never go near such a ‘plage, but I could not avoid hammocks, by-streets; banquet halls and ‘ballrooms {as well, Without being a downright her- mit.” suggested. “Not absolutely, without” Toaving the university, Yet I determined to avoid | ‘hint as much as’ possible, and I did so. Mind!’ I felt no resentment, butas days passed on I gradually formulated the ter- ri pe o kill me. hundred accidental ways—on the play | ground or in the gymnasium, at 'tabe, in | ibilities. The idea took sucha’ hold of me that I actually turned aside] to avoid meeting him, even in a crowd. He noticed my behavior, I kiow, and } felt justly offended—he has told my. friends as much—but I made no a sides, I wanted him to avoid me, soas to. reduce the chances. © 4] gee; and it seems to hive. reduced’ Van Orden ‘has not killed you.” No, nor never will,” Fran rank lghed. I was rather surprised at change of demeanor, but before I had time to make 8 coment, ; he became. grave agsin. “kiiion,” he said, witha sigh, “there is nothing in. dreams. Ihave told you that I have had five most ‘vivid dreams, 80 "realistic that I cannot recall them without feeling a cold chill creeping over me, and yet they have come to naught.” “Wait a bit,” I objected, becoming at once logical and argunentive, ‘you can- | not be certain of that. 1 will never .be- “lieve that a dream is in any ‘sense’ a “If you had, you would have remem- prophecy of good or evil, oo on your part, you can never be certain that Van Orden. will not kill you until you are drawing the: last breath of a ‘natural decease.” 4Oh, yeés,T can, most wise logician” cried Frank. “You have omitted one ‘major premise—suppose Van Orden dies first” Aly he dead?” 1 cried, in tarn, * For answer Frank turned 1 the stu- dent lamp until the light flooded the apartment, then he took from a near-by cabinet a polished skull,and stood it on the table before him. _ %¥This is Van Orden,” he said briefly. Van Ocden!” 1. repeated, recoiling slightly. “Don’t be’ alarmed,” ” gaid Frank, after an outburst of merriment. I can read your thoughts; Amos. ' No, I did not kill him, although an acute reasoner like ht have argued that I was justified. No, poor fellow”—<dropping again into a melancholy tone—‘‘he died a natural death, if disease is natural.” ¢sAnd how did you bacome possessed of this ghastly memento?” Ina roundabout but perfectly legiti- mate manner, © Van Orden—I told you, did I not?—wasa poor chap, working at odd jobs here and there to pay his board and buy the necessaries of life during his term, and when he died, there was no one to bury him. He was 8 retiring | {fellow—the pride of poverty, you know —and.no one knew where he lived; to tell the truth, no one cared to inquire, and when he was taken sick, he was foo | proud to-appesi to lis. friends for help. ed So he was taken to the almshouse hos. pital when he grew delirious from fever, ‘| and there he died. You know what be-. comes of pauper bodies, don’t youl {P ‘Well, I missed Van Orden, but, under the circumstances, did not care $o inquire about him, and when I next saw his face it was upturned on a dissecting table.” reach'of my hand, and with’ difliculty re- pressed a shudder. +It was a dreadful shock to me for a moment, and then I actually: felt a thrill of joy, something like a murderer who has been reprieved, I imagine. But I Hd not breathe entirely jasy. util T got is in my possession "—tapping the nny; you Know skulls are expensive. I worked over it until I got it into’ excel- t shape—don’t you think” shouldn't éare to keep | it, ” ' 1 said, iL yout” said Reni. in sur is my greatest Ohject-lesson; trying to think of something mare; con- Had. 3 ve adie tiBat you could avoid Van Orden,” I o theory that Van Orden was des- fi: : He might kill me ina | FE the street—I am sure I thought of ahun- 1 ‘dred possi sudden | ¢ { bodies again. il Seman a Dale Sto] am if°it had not not been for tice fol » fool dreams, I would ‘have : wie ower To i ol. keeping my son the skull, which ‘had for me 8 : fascination. tHe wasa noble fellow, and would have made a noble friend. I wish you ‘had known him, Amos; you would have liked him. I look ‘at this every day, and try to picture it ssalive. His mouth, ‘his eyes—? . . “What is that” 1 asked as Frank ut- fore] Ligh epclamation, E in te “I have pricked my I oe socket—a mere Then, rising, he po ps a sigh, _ “Well, wel "Ph. forget i in RE affair has ee tary muy ie Take g a’ ‘del a to go ta oni en hit I asked, quickly: “know?” he rejoined, at) = Such. a promising : but the fund Sa, = Weekly. ‘What could I explain? To re- | Th at | hearse my dreams : as I have done to you, 1 | and offer them as an excuse for my con-; {| duct, would subject me to ridicule. Be- | 3 Bropar ‘the tos of ore and ‘the various strata of rocks. There were the givén quantities ‘of the problem. Em- mons studied them. He arrived af a conclusion that a great fault had occurred in the satly days when the mountains curled ul He pointed where he thought @ veins should be recovered. The miners dug and found the ore The second Leadville be- ‘came greater that the first had been. The Drum: Lummon, near Helena, Mont, is one of the present day. Itis owzed bya company in which Englishmen are largely stock- holders. At one time in its history, years'ago, the Drum Lummon seemed to have fu filled its destiny. - The vein came "to an end. ~ Repeated trials to. re- cover it all failed. The man ment, almost in despair, sent for Clayton. The flannel dhirt expert,” Clagton was celled throughout the Western: camps. He was a mining engineer, self-edncated in the main, but possessed of a great deal of ability. Clayton studied the mine, located the fault, ordered a cross- cut at that particular point and recovered the vein. There have been great fees paid to some mining engineers, for their opin- ions on mines. It is tradition that James D, Haque received a fee of §25,- ‘000 for his examination of the Anaconda mine at Butte, Montana. A queer history the Anaconda has bad. The mining engineers recalled this when they visi the great copper reduction works at Baltimore, where the Anaconda product comes to be treated and burned into sulphate of copper and pure copper. In {the early days of Montana mining the out yellow nuggets on the location of the Anaconda mine. Another genera-. tion of treasure seckers came along and searched for silver, going. down some distance and" getting enough to keep them encouraged. As they followed the silver veins they came to copper, and the richest mine in the world was developed. There is some gold and silver in tha Anaconda product. which comes to Balti. niore} the t value, however, is in the copper. But what of the 2 mining’ | engineer who got $25,000 for his report on ‘Anaconda shen it was a ‘doubtful ition? * Didn't he earn his fee, as Bes six months’ salary of the Presi. dent of the United States? Well, hardly! He reported adversely on the. | Anaconda.—8t. Louis Globe Democrat. 1 looked at the grinning skull within | *: Where Cloves Come From. Two little islands furnish four-fifths of the cloves consumed by the world. * The islands are Zanzibar and Pemba, and a little while ago Atabs found it very prof- itable to bring slaves {rom the on lake to the coast and smuggle ‘them In the night over to Pemba to work on the clove plantations. These farms were very remuunerative once, but the market has beeh overstocked and the price has fallen so low that the clove 1 raisers have decided to diversify thair | crops. Squirrels are Fond of Oranges, When we see oranges falling from | ‘palmetto trees,” says the Halifax (F d | Journal, ‘‘we might think they -b ‘had: notions, | taken to producing that fruit, but a» tion will show us a disap- | of ied-squirrel, looking longingly after | 8 the ‘mandarin Wl tangerine it | had closer inspect || been taken. day.’ | snd not too expensive either. greatest mines in the | getly like felts. A gold hunters panned gravel and worked | OUSEHOLD MATTERS. CE ROUSE ping THE PROFESSIONAL ENTERTAINERS. .: The professional entertainer is the go just now. Hostesses consider that it saves them an immense deal of wear and tear, as she is not obliged to consume her time and lessen’ her own enjoyment by endeavoring to make people have a good time.” This fad is an importation from England, where it has long been ~8t. Louis s Republic. . FrisToRY or MOURNING CRAPE. Mourning crape seems to have been of Japanese origin. In 1743 it was exten- ‘sively produced in England by the Hugue: ‘| not refugees. There has always been a secret in the manufacture, and in old iy apprentices and assistants promised to (reveal certain processes. It is made of silk from which all the gloss has The lightest kind of craps consists of filaments: of silk lightly twisted technically called ¢‘singles.” the thicker kinds two or thres a sre twisted, and the subsequent dress- Ing is with a my preparation. The custom of dispensing with crape is much on the increase, and many women sre content with perfectly plain woolen stufls. —New York World. LACE IN FAVOR. : Lace of all kinds will be employed upon | all: sorts of garments this coming. season. The price of the imitation guipure is marvelously cheap, some of the houses running out lines of wide guipure for twenty-five and forty cents of a deep : width and quite good enough to make : | handsome trimming for cotton and cre- pont dresses. Isaw a lovely new lace recently called Point de Gaze, which is ane of the handsomest laces I ‘have seen, The tint- od guipures—real and imitation—in ecru, gray and green, are very popular. | Cloth dresses ‘and all sorts of woolen | stuffs will be adorned with lace in pret- | srence to any other trimming. Capes and pelerines, cascades and corselets of lace are arranged as the wearer fancies on. any sort of fabric.—New York Herald. RETURN OF THE “BERPEATER.” : In milliner-land the chief event is the return of the Beefeater. It ia to ‘be hoped, however, that beefeater crowns will not become such monstrosities as ‘they did when last in vogite, some twelve years ago. Af present they are wondrous moderate in size and shape. Cloth. hats are most in vogue, and if well made, of a fine material, look ex- pretty combination was seen in one boniet, “which had a “brim of soft, brown plush and a beef- eater crown of ‘pala“blue cloth sewn with gold.” Bows.of gold gallos and blue-and-gold ospreys were its further adornments, ‘Another had a brim of smoke-colored velvet and a crown of pale-blue cloth. A wing and one. large 2 : | single bow of the velvet trimmed it-be:| hind. A pretty hat had a flat brim of | smoke-colored plush and full crow of apricot cloth. It is in theses skilful combinations of materials and color that the whole charm of present millinery lies; and any one with an eye for color, a light hand (this is as essential in mil. linery as ‘in pastry), and a few bits of bright-hued cloth may make herself as fashionable a ha as any.—Detroit Fres Press, THE DOLL WOMAN OF BROOKLYN, There has just died in the City of Churches in her seventieth year a re- markable old lady, known for years as the ‘‘doll woman.” She was Miss Mar- garet Ball, and there is about the story of her life a pathos which would have appealed to Dickens. Indeed, so like was she to the little doll woman whom he immortalized that she was known as “Jenny Wren.” She was one of the early graduates of Rutgers College, was brought up in luxury and lived in the very shadow of the old Lorillard man- sion among the aristocracy of the early days of New York. But reverses came and she was left with an infirm brother and a crippled, decrepit sister to sup- port She opened a little shop at first, ut the big stores crowded her out; her trade fell away and the wolf looked in at the door. Yet she had business ideas { and was ingenious, and from: the time she began making her quaint little dolls she found a ready market for them at the Woman's Exchange. So she lived comfortably in her. little home with her + “babies,” as she called her brother and sister, until just before Chrismas she was taken ill, and after lingering some weeks, ‘died. * Now the firm brother ‘and the deoriplt’ sister ‘are left alone in the ‘world, but with childlike trust they be- lieve that they will -be taken care of,— Chisago Post, WOMAN'S 8 GREATEST CHARM. And this virtue i is the innate woman- is womdaly woman, be she as fair as Helea or as homely as George Eliot; as grace- ful'as Payche or as ruapropossessing as. | Mme. de Sta el. The charm of woman Has ever been . ‘the uppermoss thems of: painters and philosophers. They have dwelt on her beauty of expressions of color, of’ the delical It is this omer that wins love and commands pespect; that makes her strong in" Belpfulncs when concerned for those she loves, yet clinging and trust- ing as a child on the stronger nature necessary for the rounding out of her existence; the womanliness that is her shield in dubious places, and her defense in danger; that makes her gentle and loving, quick of sympathy, patient in endurance, eager to forgive, generous and self sacrificing, and that makes the world lovelier and purer for its exis. tence. | ered over surah gores. | ot course, the harmony must be The womanliness that makes her beau- tiful in the eyes of the men who live for her and die for her as mother, sweet- heart and wife, and ¢‘whose price is far above rubies.”—New York Press. THE NEW STYLES IN PARASOLS. Plain coaching parasols and eux tous have gone into retirement to give place to more fanciful parasols that are neces- sary adjuncts to the elaborate costumes soon tp be worn in the park and for afternoon visits in town and country. “Thin light fabrics—gauze, chiffon, silk mulls; crepe de Chine and net—form the greater part. of the parasols,and are made up in puffs (vertical, horizontal or pyra- midal) by shirring or pleats, with ons or two selvage frills finishing the edge like a flounce, To prevent the shielding canopy being too transparent, these dia- phanous fabrics are usually gathered over an inner layer of thin silk, A puff or large chou is around the top, and an- other is on the handle. Thenew shapes are of medium size, less like an umbrella than those of last summer, and have sight gores gracefully curved from center to tip. A. great deal of jot is used for decor- ating parasols, in ornaments of flour-de- lis shape, stars or bow-knots. For all- black parasols moire will ba liked with a plain edge, or bordered with lace, also polka-dotted satins with large and small dots together. Turquoises as large as nail-heads are on the black net parasols to bes used by those wearing colors. Small sprays of heather or other flowers are fastened in net covers that are gath- Chevron-striped silks make pretty waving lines around plain parasols of tan, cream, blue-gray or cardinal shades. Changeable taffeta - silk parasols for general use are in the closely rolled shapes, or with club sticks: and tops. Sun umbrellas of blue, car- dinal or black silk in twenty-four to twenty-six inch sizbs are rolled slenderly, i ed handles of cherry, ar wood. Filigree silver is applied #0 other plain ‘wood | handles, while those with crooks of ivory or colored horn ‘are studded with small fleur-de-lis of god or silver.—Harpet’s Bazar, : ; FASHION NOTES. Tet bonnets are fashionable, Princesse effects are very stylish, Brocaded silk for party dress is the rage. Sponged cloth is used for hat trim- mings. Blue and mediun shades of green are in favor. Gauntlets reaching to the elbows a-a exceedingly: {ashionable. The present fashionable bodice is as nearly seamless as possible. ‘White silk, corduroy and velvet are popular for evening dresses. Heart-shaped lockets, in gold and gilver, ate the fancy of the hour. Blue serge makes one of the prettiest and most serviceable street dresses. Girdles of jet, dull gold and mlver are to be worn upon the street as well as in the house. For informal outings, driving, and go forth, the loose-fitting jackets will be in general use. A new fashion in color is a ¢ombina: ‘tion of blus and yellow, or black and fawn color. Very few of the new costumes show a lining, being simply faced and worn over: a petticoat of silk. Velveteen is to be used for seasonable suits. Narrow passementerte or gimp is used for trimming. Handsome cashmere shawls are being made up into street gowns, the border forming the . bottom of the skirt and a a side panel. Some skirts have a width of four and a half, or even five breadths at the lower part, narrowing in the sloping to. thres or more, according to the use or not of gathers or plaits. ‘The breakfast and lounging jacket has grown in’ importance until it has suc- ceeded in capturing the prettiest fabrics in the market. A lovely material espe— cially fancied by those women who can buy without counting the cost has the (appearance of highly wadded silk, The powdered with delicately toned blossoms. A profusion of lace and knots of ribbon add to the beauty of these house fancies. A great many jackets with pelerine effects will be sesn upon the promenade during the coming season, « These wraps are so constructed that viewed from the front they appear to be composed of a = +1 series of shoulder capes, but a glance at | the back shows that they end just at the arm-hole, When the background of the | materisl will allow the combination, two ‘and even three shades are employed, but perfect {if one does not hs the prettingss | of the say Sas ¥ utter 3 Stoves, 1 . 1 There is always favorite tint is an ivory white sarface THE IDEAL, WELSH RAREBIT. if any “gudewife” desires to compobe- 8 “poem” of a Welsh rarebit within five: i | minutes without any trouble™or old ale, tlet her adopt the following modus. op+ lerandi, and I can assureher that if altesr ‘partaking of the: ambrosia, there be 8 gourmand who will pass an adverse erit: icism and not pass his plate for more, 18 you please, I have yet to find him. I know whereof Ispeak,forl have the whole gamut of chop-houses from) Sixth avenue to Wall street, from 7 2 M. to 2A. M., and never a better have X. selished or digested, too, than this one;. prepared a la Bohemia in a frying-pams over a small gas stove for want of any: thing else, First have your plates hot, put on your previously prepared toast orslices of dry- wheat bread if it so pleases you, then keep all warm. Now take one pound of good American cheese, not soft like putty, nor so hard that itis very brittle. Cut rind off thick and break or cok cheese in pieces the size of walnuts, or smaller if you choose: = Butter your "pol ished pan over a hot fire; A teaspoonful’ of butter suffices, as too much butter makes the bit too rich.. Put into your cheese, stir and when melting add two or three large tablespoonfuls of milk and keep stirring till all is melted and well blended, or, as a celebrated chef de cuisine expressed it to me, amalgamated —with the accent on the mate; then, when it ‘boils and bubbles,” add oné tesspoonful of Worcestershire sauce or English mustard, whichever you prefer. Pour it over your toast, and let each par-. ticipant apply his or her own salt. If the cheese is too fresh and soft ther rarebit becomes stringy. = To avoid this | ' you ‘may, when it is finished, stirin & beaten egg; but this is no more a Welsh rarebit, shows that your cheese was faulty, gives 1t a decidedly different flavor, and for many is too rich. Accord- ing to whether your cheese is hard or soft, more or less milk is to be added, Anybody with a little common sense, after once attempting the above method. of procedure, will be an expert in judg- ing . the kind of cheese to use and how much milk to'add so that the rarebit be— ‘comes neither too thin nor too thick. Its always better to add at once what- ever quantity of milk be required, — New- York World. . HOW TO USE STALE BREAD. The question has been recently asked, ‘What can be done with stale bread? -It would be almost easier to answer the in- quiry, What cannot be done with it% The same correspondent who propounds- the query refert to having burned bread, because she knew of no way in which'to- utilize the bits and scraps that were left over. Does she not tremble lest there- may fall upon her the fate indicated by- the proverb, ‘‘Wilful waste brings woe- ful want?” In the well regulated: kitchen not a fragment of bread: is.- thrown away = or destroyed. plenty of use for the large pieces, for they can be made: into Swiss pates, milk toast, etc., to say nothing of puddings and brews. ‘Bat: the hardest, stalest scraps may be dried in the oven and crushed with a rolling pin to make crumbs for breading cro-- quettes, chops, cutlets and the like. An excellent use to which to put the bread that is sliced for the fable and not even taken from the plate is ‘to cut it into: small diamonds or squares. - These may then be dried in the oven to a very deli- cate brown and put away ina jar to serve as croutons for pea, bean and tomato soup. ‘Since there seems to be a gi®@ deal of ignorance as to the uses to whieh stale bread may be put, a few recipes may not come amiss. Swiss Pates—Slice stale bread abont. two inches thick and with a biscuit cut- ter cut the centre of each slice into a round. ‘With a smaller cutter. mark a circle on this and scoop out the crumb: from it to the depth of an inch and a, quarter, If this is carefully done there: will remain a firm bottom and sides to- the shell of bread. ' Lay the shells in a. shallow dish and pour over them a raw, - sugarless custard made in the proportion: of two eggs beaten light to. a pmt of milk, - This should be enough for fix or’ six pates. Let them soak this tor an hour, turning them once. They must be handled very care- fully or they will break. When they have absorbed all the custard take them up one at a time on a cake turner and slip them into fat hot enough: to brown ina second a bit of bread. dropped into it. Do notlet them crowd: one another. They will color quickly, and be done in five or six minutes. Take them out with a skimmer or split spoon, and let them drain on paper laid in a. colander. These may. be filled * with: creamed oysters or. “sweétbreads, or: stewed mushroones as an entree or side dish. = Thus treated they make an excal- lent luncheon -or supper dish. : Or they may be filled with jelly, jam. ‘or marma- lade, ‘and be served as a desert. Fried Bread—This is an excellent breakfast dish, and is. made by soaking slices ot bread i in a custard made as de~ scribed in the recipe for Swiss pates, flouring the slices lightly and frying them “as you would hominy or mush. Apple Toast—Toast thin slices of stale bread and spread with butter. Take as. many apples as you desire in quantity, ent in thin slices and stew in saucepam- as quickly as possible.. "SBweeten; mash. fine and flavor with mitmeg. While toast and sauce arg hot spread. the saugp on the toast and serve. . * Bread and Apple Piidding—Mix one - half cup of sugar and one-half a Salt ~- spoonful of cipnamon. « Melt one-haif * cup-of butter and stir into it one pint ¢£ soft bread ¢rumbs; prepare two pintsof © sliced apples; buttera pudding dish; put - in a layer of crumbs, then sliced apples. sprinkled: with sugar, Repeat layers of crumbs, apples and sugar until your material i is used. If the apples are nok juicy add half a cup of” cold water: . Cover with a thick Tayer of cr imbs, and. to prevent . burning. protect with a time. for a few minutes until it bexin to bakes An houf’s baking will suffice. Serv with Stouts, New Yorke Recorder,
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers