A liirth inkts plnco iti Loudon ev ery four Initintis. Yalo cleared nearly tJil.OOl) nt foot ball lust season nud 81,51)) at Loso ball. , M. Do I.appnriiif, tlio French geo log in t, estimates that nil mountains will li worn down to tlio level of the eurrouuditig plain In 4,500,01)0 yearn. Tlio representative of n Hebrew for warding firm states thut tlio Hebrew emigration from Ritsnin iu 1SH4, vol. tintary nu t assisted, amount to about 2oil,000 souls. TllO domestic USPS of asbestos hnvo inorensed wonderfully during tlio Inst few year. It in now mnilo into pniuts, rooting, building material, cements, cloth, hovels, fork", Kowin thread nud a number of other things. Tbo fnmon I'lirtlicnon nt Athens, Greece, wnH seriously damaged by the earthquakes of Inst apring, nnd is do clni'L'il liy a recent examination to he iu a dangerous condition. Immediate btcps nro to bo tnkeii for requiring it. Ztiricli, Switzerland, linn nil "Asso ciiiliou of llouso Owners," with a book of information ou tlio fltinucinl Maud ing, etc., if renters, Iu retaliation, the renters hnvo now nleo formed n floiiriMliing association, with a lint of 'bad" hoiH0 owners, etc. Freueh colonists cost tho nation about one-half of tho amount of the eutiro trade therefrom. In 1837 tho chnrgo in tho budget for tho colonies wns 1,400,000 nnd their trado with Franco was $30,000,000. In 1SSU the charge bad risen to 10,400,000, while tho trade hid diminished to 34,000, 000. Tho femalo staff attached to .the Ceutral TcUgrnph otlice of London aro petitioning tho postmaster gen eral for a marriao portion when they retiro from the serviej to get married. The request is not without precedent. Women typists who rotiro to get mar ried after six yenrs' sorvico nro given one mouth's pay for each completed year of service. Lawyers hnvo nlmost censed to op pear with tho traditional greeu bag o inseparably connected with tho bar in bygoao days. 'With a few excep tions tho members of tho bar hnvo tabooed this badge of tho profession, nud now cling tenaciously to tho leath er grip. They found that tho leather svas more serviceable, and much moro easily carried than tho unhandy cloth bag. ' The Now York Witness siys: Thcro Are a good many unprofitable farms iu Now England, nud other parts of the Hast, but they are so unnecessarily, They have been brought to this pas by attempts to grow grain iu competi tion with tho broad acres and low priced lands of tho West. But they may still bo profitably tilled if tho owners will grow crops that do not eutor iuto such coinpetion. It is said that the breakwater near Plymouth, England, contains as much atone as the great pyramid, 3,8JO,000 tons. But who will dispute for a mo. mont which is the moro useful? ask Tho Presbyterian. Lifo with its po tent forees tuny end in a monumental folly or produce results that shall tell for good on ages to come. Two ap propriations of 25,000 each wore re cently announced. In the oue iu stance tho nppropriator will have a handsome tomb built for his dead body, but in tho other an educational institution is to rccoive the money for a scholarship. I ra Hall Chine, the well-known English novelist whose romances of the Isle of Mun have given him thousands of loaders, has ventured upou the rolo of reformer. He has insisted, announces the San Francisco Chronicle, upou bringing out his latest story, 'The Manxmen," in one volume, although it is long enough to put into tha regu lation three volumes. The old fashion of ctpaddiug out a novel by largo paper and big type appears to be near its end iu England. The public demands free dom front the tyranny and gret'd ol . publishers, but there is danger that in compressing long novols iuto a single volume the publishers may adopt too mall type. We have suffered from the same evil in many of the cheap libraries, but American publishers have demonstrated that a book of 600 pages can be printed ou good paper fair-sized type and . sold at 81. SO. It is this lesson which the English publisher must learn if he is to cater to the new generation, which feels a desire to pwn books ratho.r thau to Lire thein from a great circulating library. . CHRISTMAS. Iter old Father Christ mm, With snnnd of flfs and drums With mistletoe about his broirs, Ho merrily h domes ! Ills arms nrs full of nil (tool ohiar, Ills face with laughter glows I tin shin is likn any household fin Amid th rrunl snow. II Is the old folks' Christmas, H warms their heart Ilk win, Its thaws tlinlr winter Into spring And mnkes their faros shine. Hurrah for Father Chrlstmis I ll ns; nil th merry bells ! And brlnir tha (-raadslrrs all troual To henr the tale bs talis. Here eomes the Christmas anitcl, Bo senile nnd so calm, As softly as the falling; flakes, lis comes with Hutu and psalu, All In n cloud of glory, As once upon the plain, To shepherd boys In Jewry Me brin'.-s koo I nows again i He Is the ynnni folks Christmas t He mules their ryos grow bright With wor!s of hope and tender thought, And visions of delight. Kill to tho Christmas nnijnl t All penes on earth ha brings: lie gathers nil the youths and mnh!s Henenth his shlulni wings. Hero romes tho little Christ-chili', All Innoeonco nn 1 Joy, An t benriinr lfts In either hanl For every i;lrl and boy. He tells the ten ler story About the Holy Maid, Ami Ji sus In the m n ;er, lletorothn oxen laid. Like any llttlo winter blrl, Ho alnirs this swootest sine, Till all the cherubs In tho sky To henr His carol throo? ; Ilaisthechlldr'n's Christmas They come without n cn'l Co gather roun 1 tho gracious ChllJ Who brlngeth joy to n'.l. tut who shall brinii thulr Christmas Who wrestle still with life'.' I.'o grnntslres, youths, nir little folks. Tint they who watte the Jtrlfs The fathers an 1 tha mother Who light lor homes an t broi l, Who wnteh and ward the living, And bury nil the dead. Ah! by thulr side at Christ mts-tl Is The Lord of Christmas stand) lie smooths the furrows from tin brows W.th strong ani tender han is. "I take my Christmas gift." hos.ilth, "From thee, tlrel soul, ho J t hoe Who glvoth to My little on? Olveth unto Me." Philadelphia Ledger. A 0HBISTMAS STEAK N tho morning be fore Christmas Day ten years ago, when I was living in tho Prickly Pear f canon, twenty-nvo Ll7 miles northwest of Helena, Montana, tny wife said to me: "Charley, wouldn't it bo nice if wo had a renisoa steak, too?" The "too" meant in addition to a turkey, a pair cf chickens, a boiled ham, a plum pudding, and I don't know how many kinds of cakes and pies that she had planned for our Christmas dinner. "Well, Nelly, as there's ouly your self and the baby and me to be at dinner, I don't suppose we'd starve without a renison .ceak," I srtid, laughing. "But there'll be some fun getting a black-tailed deer." fc'o I took my Winchester late in the forenoon and started for the mountain, after kissing my young wife and the baby our first. If Nelly had asked for on elephant steak, I daro say I'd have tried to got one. She had come out to the far West with me after I had visited home in Michigan only two years before, and my pride was that she should want for nothing. We had done well from the start, and so we do yet, thanks be to God and steady work in season. The night before I started up the ennon with my rifle and hunting -knife there had been a full of about six inches of snow. This would make it easy to traok game. So I went along in good spirits, struck the foot of the mountain two miles from home, and decided to go tip an immense gulcb straight in front of me. I soon reached tho head of the gulch and tho. top of the mountain. Then I turned around on the back bone of the mountain, and went back nearly in the same direotiou I had come, only about a thousand feet higher. It was here I sighted my game, a fat doe, on the west side of the backbone, just ou the edge of a gulch. This was about three o'clook in the afternoon, and the suu was al ready low. The doe had not seen me, and I did uot mean she should till I could get c'ose enough to make sure of that steak. Bo I worked over on tho east side of th backbone, and went along till I got right on top of a slope di rectly above a great wall of mountain that I had admired on the way up, ; I was then watching for the doe more than for my steps, a ad that CarelessreM nearly finished me. Sud denly my feet slipped, and I went sliding down the steep mountain side. ' 1 was not more than fairly on my Lack when I understood what bad happoned. I had trod on the old drifts of snow which had been melted on the snrfaoe by the Chinook winds a few days previously, and had then frozon again into a hard slope of ice. This was covered by the fresh snow of the night, and so I had not notioed the danger. The fresh snow wont with me. I could not hold on by it at all t and I was making a quick trip down. The slope was about two hundred and fifty foet long. Whore it stopped the straght wall began. It was about four hundred feet high. I slewed round somehow, and wont heels first, then head first, flat on my back. You may suppose 1 had not time to think much on the way down 1 but I saw a great deal. I saw Nelly and the baby all nlono in the honso wating for me. I saw what I should look like after falling four hundred feet on boulders. I saw Nelly's poople a thou sand miles away nnd more, and she with tho baby in her arms and with out ten dollars in the bureau drawer hopiug many a day and night for the bnndlont the cliffs foot to walk in alive. It was had to see all that and feel myself slidiug to destruction. As I slowed round a second time, and found myself going down on my back, feet first, I lifted my head and saw a stunted pine close ahead. My Winchester was still in my right hand; somehow I had clutched it by the muzzle. In a flash I threw out my hand, hopiug to fling the gun around the little pine and stop myself; but the hammer of the gun struck the pine, and the charge was fired into me. The bullet plowed through the mus cles of my forearm, made a flesh I. ft J THE OLD DAYS. Eanta Clans "It does me good to find ono of tueso big old-fashioned chimneys that a fellow can drop into without squeeziug through narrow Hues and grates till one's ribs are almost cracked. Oj, for the good old days when every chimney was a temptation to me." wound in my right side, and cut away my cartridge belt. I had slid about one hundred nnd fifty feet when this happened. The shock of tho noiso and the bullet stunned me, I suppose, for the next thing I knew was that I lay in a clump of small bushes. The suu bad gone down, but there was still a clear afterglow when I came to my full wits, in surprise to find myself alive. For an instant I won dered if I had dropped over the cliff, i I tried to rise, and in doing so looked through the bushes. There was nothing just in front of them. They grew on the cliff's top for about twelve feet wide along its very edge. I had nothing but these frail bushes between me and the boulders far below. Seeing this, I trembled and crouched down. Then I notioed the blood from my wounded arm. It was drip ping to t-e snow at the roots of the bushes, and my movements had already sprinkled many red spots around. I lay a long time in the snow, keep ing my right side to the bushes, for I feared that I should go through if I lay uphill and pressed against them with only the breadth of my feet. Then I lifted up my wounded arm, hoping to stop the flow of red. Per haps the loss of blood ' had helped to break down my nerves. At any rate, I shuddered and shook, and thought I was about to faint. It seemed a great time before ! oould control myself sufficiently to seek for some means of esoape. .. But I did not look down over the ! oliff. It seemed that one more sight of that abyss would lure me to jump over in despair. I looked up the slope. The traok I had made was as if a very wide broom had swept snow off hard, white ice. But I reflected that this was only a thin sheet of ioe cover ing deep snow. I could not break through the slippery crust with hand or foot; but I might 'out holes in it with my pocket-knife, and climb by these. ' Bo I put my band in mj pocket to searoh for the knife. It wan not there. It was not in any of my pockets. I suppose it had slipped out during my hoad-flrst sliding. For a moment hope went out of me. Then it sprang up fresh. My hunt ing knife I How could I have forgot ten it? I put my hand to the sheath. The sheath was empty I Now it seemed certain that I must die; so certain that tho raving spirit of protest was stilled iu my heart. I resigned myself to God. There was nothing to do except go mad or accept my fate, and to accept is to be calm. I think I thon had the very feeling with which so many of the dying turn their faces silently to the wall when told that death is near. Evening had now come on. To the bushes I turned my face, let ting my wonderful arm which pained me little, come to the snow. With thut movoment of resignation my thoughts flew again distinctly to my wife and child ; it was as if my soul sought com munion with them for the end. Then the question as to how I should be found set mo again to trouble. I was lyiug on a place seldom seen by any hunter on tho mountain. If I should remain there my bones would blench perhaps for yesrs unfound. Only tho foxes and the carrion birds would visit them. Thoy might in a season be evergrown by the bushes, and hiddon forever from mortal eye. I pictured the agony of my wife waiting in uncertainty. The shock ing thought that some wicked person might persuade ber that I had de serted her came into my brain. Would it not be merciful to her to rush through or to one side of the bushes nnd fall over the prcoipice? "1,1 Below there on the boulders my body might soon bo seen by some hunter, and c?rtaiuly my clothing and bones would bo found in the spring or soouer. But what of God? In His sight should I be guilty of suicide if I rnticipated by but a little what seemed" my doom? I half-rose in this new agony and put my right hand among the bushes, meaning to loan and peer over the cliff. Now the moon was clear. My hand struck something hard. With a loud cry of joy I found it was clutch ing my bunting-knife! This had slipped out of its sheath during my sliding, and lodged among the bushes. "Praise God from Whom all bles sings flow 1" My heart was migbtly cheered with the sense that He had not forsaken me. As I turned to the steep slide, and began hacking out holes for climbing I had little thought of how small was still my chance of escape. But I was very careful, working there in the moonlight. Should my knife slip from my hand it would hardly be stopped again by the fringe of bushes. Should hands and feet fail of their hold on the slope I might slide aside from the fringe, and go over to death. I pioked and dug till I had three pairs of holes extending as far up as I could reach. Then, when I had moved my feet into tho lowest of these holes, and was outting n fourth pair at my full reach, my new strength loft me suddenly. There I rested, face down, for many moments. Again I set to work ; again I drew myself up; on I went far as my strength would allow ; and again ex hausted foroed me to rest. But now 1 was up twenty-five or thirty feet from the clump of bushes, and the fear that I might slip, slide down and miss them in sliding beoame extreme horror. I oould uot endure this. Very oautiously I let myself down sgain till I lay onoe more among the friendly bushes. The tale would be long to tell bow I went up again and again, eaoh time gaining a, short distance and each time compelled to descend by the fear of losing my grip or fainting and sliding aside from the bushes. My weakness, probably from loss of blood, was suoh as I cannot describe to the under standing of one who has never folt like this. My limbs tremblod as with an ague. And all this time I had to work with and place my main depend ence on my awkward, unwounded left hand and arm. After a long time I reached the stunted pine against which my Win chester had been exploded in my de scout. Then I rested, straddling the tree, holding my arms around it and toward the cliff. Now the moon was often obscured by clouds, a strong wind had risen, and I expected n regu lar Montana blizzard. But it proved to be only a squall, and again I turned to my work. To let go of tho tree and turn round safely put me to agony of doubt, but I did it and lay trombling, face down, with my foet acrainst the tree, till I found strength to hack and dig again. I can remember littlo of what I did after that, till at last I drow mysolf up and lay on top of the mountain. For some time I coul I not move, and when I did stand up I doubted whether I had streugth to esoape, af ter all. My stops were feeble and my brain reeled. But still I staggered on toward Nelly and the baby. It was not till I had passed almost te the foot of the mountain, keeping always in my morning tracks, that I sank down and found myself unnble to rise. Then Nelly came. That brave little wife of mine had actually left the baby sleeping and set out all alone across the snow in the moonlight to track me. She had come two miles. She had begun to climb, the mountain, when I saw her suddenly but a few yards away. The bottlo of tea the carried wrapped in a cloth was still warm when she knelt beside me, and it roused me quickly to somo strength. Certainly she saved my life, for 1 could not have risen again, and should have been frozen to death but for bet bravery. How we got home to the baby is a story I need not dwell on. What Nelly did with all that Christ mas dinner I do not know, for I was sick and senseless for more than two weeks. But in the end I was as well as before, except that 1 had paid a good Winchester and a belt of car tridges for a venison steak that the fat black-tailed doo continuod to carry where it grew. Youth's Com panion. The Christmas "Poiiii ).'' Two old Christmas customs that nre still observed to a considerable extent in certain parts of England are those of the "yule dow," or in modern par lanoe "dough," nnd tho "Christmas pound." The former is a small cake baked in the form of a little baby and intended to represent the infant Jesus. It was customary a century ago for English bakers to present one of these "yule dows" to every customer, but this gift is now made only to children. The "Christmas pound" consists of a pound or half pound of raisins or currants whioh grocers present to their regular patrons for a Christmas pudding. The latter custom is now principally confined to the town of Ripon, in Yorkshire. Though the term "Christmas box1 is not applied in America as it is in England to the gratuities which ae expected and even demanded at the Christmas season by the lotter-carrier, the milkman, the butoher's boy, the district messenger and other equally useful and indispensable member of society, yet the cuxtom of giving them has como to bo nearly as general in the one country as in the other. With us these donations are usually expected before Christmas, or on tho morning of that day at the latest, but in England they are not levied until the following day December 20. Then all who expected them go about and collect them in person, and from this collection of "Christmas boxeV the day after Christmas is known as "boxing day" and its night as "box ing night." : The origin of the term "Christmas box" as applied to donations of Christ mas spending money is uncertain, though antiquarians generally seem to think that it was derived from th oustom of placing money for masses to be said or sung on' Christmas Day therefore "Christ-masses" in a bos, which from this use wasoalled a Christ mass box, a term gradually corrupted to Christmas box, and finally applied to all money given as a Christmas gra tuity. . The Festivity ot Tet Complete. ' Tommy "Come on out au' play." Eddy "I can't.", . Tommy f'Why not?" . Eddy -"Igotsome Christmas thing. wot I aia t broke yet.". ion niK auisEWirc. ;'.rir;Liip.Ajttt ist tca. The ten epicure drinks only the up per layors of the clear amber liquid and throws away the rest bofore hav ing the cup refilled, and according to his beliot tea should never be made in metal, but in porcolain or in the cup from which it is druuk. Tea to attain Us most nectar-like quality should be stoepod for threo mintitos iu boiling water, but on no account boil. The Chinese think that either sugar ot milk ruins the flavor of tea. New fork World. iiETrns or tiED tir.APBttT If the revival of old fashions keeps on ono may soon expect to bo sleep ing iu a four-post bedstead, since al ready tho canopies known to our grandmothers are quito the thing. Nothing can be prettier in a country house than a room in which all tho ao- ces orics are of shoer muslin, finished only with a rnfllo. While heavy bed curtains may be unhealthy, there can bo no po'sShlo objection to tho airy canopy of dotted muslin that may be freshened up as often as the . ownot w ishes and which imparts such an in viting air to a pretty bod. Any one who can use a hammer or screw-driver can make tho frame for canopy. A rod or pole of wood, such as is sold for hanging porticrs, it brncod to tho wall by two pieces of wood. A brass ball finishes tho end. A long milled pieco of dotted muslin is thrown over tho rod and is drawn down at each side, whoro it is held in place by ribbon boas fastonod to a hook sot iu the wall. Another simple way of suspending a canopy is by a nickel chain suspend ed from a hook iu tho ceiling at the end of which is a l irge ring. The canopy was undo of blno and white hechima crepe, which is drawn through tho ring, thon back over the headboard of tho bed, falling down at tho sides, where it is fastened to the headboard by rosettes of blue ribbon. Another lovely canopy was of pale greon mull lined with white, cuught np by a large rosette. The bed was au oid-fushiniicd one, which hud been given a coat of greeu enatuol and touched tip with gold. Cheesecloth wakes pretty drapery, ns it falls iu soft folds and c.iu be found in many desirable light tiut'. New York Advertisers. csLEitv is EiiAi:? rooD. Celery is fust taking a prominent placo among our vegetables, but even yet does uot receive tha attention that its merits demand. As an article of food for those who suffer from rheu matism, nervousness and some forme of dyspepsia, it is invaluable. It is ono of our finest esculents, and once' its merits aro fully known, it will be come a staple instead of a luxury upon our tables. No part of tho plant need bo wasted. Celery greens Wash the blanched and unblanched leaves of. celery and boil in salted water until tender. Drain, press and chop lightly. Season with butter, pepper and silt and tend to table hot. Colery toastCut the celery in small bits aud boil unt.'l tender. Drain off the water and mash the celery. Put it iu tho saucepan with two table spoonfuls of butter heatod ; Benson with pepper and salt Put a teaspoon fill on each square of toast and send to table hot, with thickened milk in separate dish. Celery cream soup Boil one cup of rice iu two pints of sweet milk and one pint of cream. Pnb it through a Biove. Grate thi blanched parts of three heads of celery and add it to the ricoand milk. Add ouo quart of white stock and boil it until the celery is tender. Season with salt aud red pep per and serve hot Celery should lie in cold water threo or four hours before using to crisp it. It should be served with bread and butter, and with out cheese in a small dish, garnished if necessary, with pars ley. It is said that tho odor of onion may be removed from the breath by partaking of raw celery, and from tha hands by rubbing them.with the leave or stalks. New York Press. Celery Mayonnaise. Cut the celery Into inch bits and these into stripe. Put in a salad bowl and pour over it a plain salad dressing of vinegar and oil Drain this off and oover the cel ery with mayonnaise sauce as follows: Two eggs, one-half toaspoonful raw mustard mixed with vinegar, mix in oil drop by drop until the mixture ie thick. Add the yolks ot two eggs well beaten and the juice of oca lem on and one-half teaspoonful ot salt Eeep on ioe until ready to servo, 'hen pour it over the colery and send , 9 table at ouce. '
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers