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. '