An exposition is proposed in St.
Louis in 1903 to celebrate the eenten
aisl of t'ue acquisition of the territory
formerly known as Louisiana.
Says the Springfield (Miss.) Repub
lican: "The South is receiving high
praise from the northern press for tho
unanimity with which its Senators and
representatives voted for the $30,000,-
000 appropriation for Motional defense.
The South is tho most interesting part
of this country. It has more inherent
poetry and romance than nil the rest
of the laud put together; its history
contains the most impressive drama of
modern times, and it has produced
statesmen aud soldiers as great as any
in the English-speaking world cinco
Y.'illiam tho Conqueror."
According to the latest available re
turns there are now 434 cotton mills
in this section, announces tho Atlanta
Constitution, operating 95,037 looms
and 3,501,189 spindles. These cotton
mills are parceled out among the vari
ous States iu the folloniug manner:
Looms. Spindles.
Alabama C.lOl 274,10:5
Georgia 17,591 713,411
Kentucky 939 80.C02
Mississippi 2,092 70,002
North Carolina ..23.003 941,874
South Carolina 37.011 1,192,101
Tennessee 3,319 133,800
Virginia 4,909 132,513
Twenty years ago there were harely
more than sixty cotton mills in the
South operating 11,898100 ms ands3o,-
473 spindles. Do these ligurcs not
show that the South is rapidly over
taking Mew England in tho race fcr
industrial prestige?
Says tho Philadelphia Record: "Vdar
measures in tho present stage of civil
iziation aro peace measures. Eng
land's'proposed expenditure of sllß,-
000,000 for naval purposes is rather a
proof of England's growth in com
merce than an indication of prepara
tion for war. Last year England
spent over 8105,000,000 on her sea
gbing force, but she did it to guard a
merchant marine aggregating 9,000,-
000 tons, and a total foreign trade of
more than 84,000,000,000 a year.
England is not a bellicose nation.
Trade, not war, is the heart of Eng
lish supremaucy."
One of the leading French news
papers, the Paris Eclair, gives some
interesting facts iu regard to the in
comes of professional men in France-
There aro from 12,000 to 13,000 doc
tors, of whom 2500 are found in Paris
and about 10,000 in the provinces. Of
this number five or six only make in
comes of from $40,000 to 850,000 a
year, teu to fifteen make from 820,000
to $30,000 a year, 100 make, say, $lO,-
000, 300 make from S3OOO to $5,000,
800 make from SISOO to S3OOO, while
SI2OO earn less than SISOO a year.
Coming to the lawyers, of whom there
are 3000 in Paris alone, there are not
400 of them who make as much as
S2OOO a year. A couple of score make
incomes of SIO,OOO a year. It appears
that when one of these advocates is
made a magistrate his salary is only
from S6OO to SBOO a yeur, while for
the justices of peace—all fully quali
fied legal practitioners—the salaries
range from S4OO to S6OO a year. A
college professor is paid from S2OO to
S3OO a year, a lycee professor from
S7OO to SIOOO a year. The explana
tion of it all is the very simple eco
nomic one that in France the supply
exceeds the demand; twice as many
ioctors, lawyers, professors and en
gineers are turned out yearly as there
are berths for.
Hornless cattle may soon come to be
tho rule rather than the exception.
At all events, it looks a possibility,
6ince dehorning has come to he so
popular. At first tho practice was ob
jected to as being cruel and unnatural.
The early method of dehorning with a
saw was undoubtedly slow and pain
ful, but specially constructed clippers
1 re now used that often remove a horn
in a single second, aud with so little
suffering that feeding is continued as
usual, aud the operation is really
humane, the frequent injuries in herds
from goring being prevented. The
horns havo become utterly useless,
being no longer needed as protection
against natural enemies. Iu calves
less than three weeks old the embryo
horns can be removed with one stroke
t c a sharp knife, or they can be treat
< d with a caustic sufficiently powerful
to destroy them. For three years the
Maine experiment station has de
horned calves by rubbing the horns
four or five times with caustic potash.
In every case but one the operation
has been successful, the calf in tho
exception having reached the age of
thirty-five days before treatment, with
the result that dwarfed horns an inch
or an inch aud a half long were subse
quently developed. A breed from
t'ueso dehorned cattle, born without
horns, is confidently expected.
little roadside cottage, half lii.l by shrubs and vines,
A woman old and feeble, on a faded couch reclines;
je^TR§ * r> Her face is sweet, but sorrow lias left its imprint there,
Aud her voice tells not the burden that her God hath bid her
As I drink the limpid water from the homely, dripping gourd,
) I note ou the wall before me a naked, rusty sword.
a&s jff K * glance at the aged woman, and speaking she bows her head:
===r "One day, sir, I was looking where the road winds over there,
Wishing the war was over and breathing a mother's prayer—
-1" 11 11 I saw a wagon coming, and soldiers, all moving slow.
if ffl T w f rw Mingicj; boy home, wounded—ah! it's many a
Ms grave;
// /, Oh, stranger*inv child was a comfort, but his heart it was true
/ Watching the pearls dron downward over her aged face,
n /1 I mount, and I ride iu silence uwuy from the lonely place.
[I Cut now 1 have reached the willows, and I leap to the shady
ground;
I gather some wayside flowers to throw on his mossy mound.
w ) J I care not if Grant has led him, nor if he has fought with Lee;
(/ J lam an American soldier—aud so was he.
(/ —George M. Vickers.
| THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. 1
H S3
HAD a letter
M W from Sin the
. /f* —I other day, ask
(/ Co ~\ )l ing me on the
(T /-Ctitth 30th to help
decorate the
grave of Absa
' Maybelbetter
4-1 C _4/Jmv tell you some
•' Qjn] R; thing about Sin,
KN and Absalom,
■ • —'"/A-\/ J' 1 ' C and bow his
wf~| grave, all alone
/I A I ' out there among
// p. the sugar trees,
If ij> 0 comes to be dec
s'' t • orated.
Mearly all my
earliest recollections run parallel
with events connected with the war.
There was strife in the air; the senses
were set to martial measure; the
music was that which drum and fife
could interpret; the poetry was of the
strident order; orations dealt iu "war
clouds," "armed hosts" and heroics
generally. The freight trains carried
cannon and recruits to the South,
and Confederate prisoners to the
North. Tiiere was a scarcity of men
in the fields. Women often followed
the horses, wearing the blue jackets
that were cheaper aud warmer than
garments designed for their sex. Boys
too small for severe labor tugged at
harvest work iu summer and sawed
logs iu winter. There were a good
many old men aud u good many crip
ples all over the neighborhood. But
everybody was busy at work in the
daytime, aud intently listening, con
stantly expecting in the night.
My father was away there some
where, but since the battle ot Look
out Mountain we had not heard from
him, and that awful waiting which
was almost worse than the certainty
of death tortured our home every mo
ment of the terribly long day. There
were three boys of us, and the oldest
was not strong enough for the work we
had to do, while the younger ones,
condemned to labor in summer to es
cape want iu winter, would have been
better engaged with toys and play
time. Mother was out early aud late,
wearing her frame and seaming her
face with labor never intended for her.
And we did all we could to help her
in the house and in the fields; but it
was a cruel burden. And added to it
was that dragging wait from day to
day, that watching each distant figure
as it approached, hoping till the last
moment it might bo the one whose
coming meant release from trouble.
And then came Sin.
Sin was aSu ede young woman, large,
fair and strong, capable of auy nmount
of work, accustomed to toil in the fields
as in the kitchen, willing always and
always with a song on her lips and a
smile on the cheeks that would not
cover their pink and white however
the hot snn shone.
Her father and brothers carne with
a colony of immigrants, and they set
tled up there in the maple and walnut
woods alxive our farm and began the
cutting of timber. They could not
speak our language as she could, and
they knew nothing of our laws. They
neglected enlistment and missed the
draft, and lived there in their cabin
ind hewed the forest away around
hem. Mo one visited them, of course,
and they mingled very little among
the older families. There was noth
ing against them, of course. The old
man may have drank a little too much
now and then, but when they left their
chopping for a day's work at a neigh
bor's they were industrious aud faith
ful, aud when they traded it seemed
they were honest. But they were
foreign, and lacked a little of adjust
ment to the status that environed
them.
Boh Elliott came home along about
harvest time-—came home with a very
white face and long thin lingers that
gripped his crutches, for he had lost a
leg somewhere along the front at
Petersburg, and seemed mildly sorry
his life had not gone with it. But he
got over that after a time.
He had been a wild aud reckless
fellow before his enlistment. Most
of the people in our neigbliorbood
were either shocked at his perfectly
lawless behavior, or openly in advo
cacy of visiting him with retribution.
I know wkein he rode his race horse
home from town on Saturday night,
whooping alongside Deacon Craw
ford's market wagon till the dull team
ran away, that some people thought
he should, in the name of public de
cency, be run out of the neighbor
hood. And when he broke up the
"meeting" at Elingrove Church and
whipped the constable who came to
arrest him there was a perfect union
of voices against him.
They accepted his enlistment with
small promise of forgiveness. But
when Captain Kendall wrote home
%fs Jtt "
AND THE STRANGEST MAN THERE WAS OUR FATHER.
that Bob Elliott fought like n tiger at 1
Shiloh anil defended a gun all alone at
Donelson and .slashed his way with <
the Hag wrapped about him through i
a line of confederates at Kenesaw
there wasn't a man in my whole coun- :
try who could remember anything
bad about him. And now that he ■
came home wounded, silent as to the
past—not boastful, simply quiet—he
had a welcome everywhere.
He was at our house a good deal,
for he had soldiered with father, and
it was something to have him explain
the possibilities that life and not
death might still be his portion. Sit
ting there, often in pain, ho watched
Sin at her work, and, as he grew
stronger, tried to help her. And she
liked him. She knew nothing of his
soldier career and, of course, nothing
of the adverse sentiment against him
before his days of battle. She did
jf^Oj
AS ItF. GREW STRONGER ITE TRIED TO
HELP HER.
much to help Uim back to henlthful-
I ness. There was a comradeship be
tween thein. Something in the sol
dier contact which had inured him
I beyond the stage of mourning fitted
! with her nature, not touched by this
I woe of sv suffering but unknown na
tion. A sympathy born of that fellow
ship which was almost indifference to
our common griefs made thorn the best
I of friends.
Along lute in October came a letter
signed Absalom Fox. I remember we
were digging potatoes one day, and
the work was cruelly hard, when Dob
came home from town in a neighbor's
wagon and handed the yellow envel
ope to mother. She gave it to me
while she read the letter. It had a
red flag and blue crossed canuon
printed in the corner. Mother had
sat down at the edge of the field and
was trembling. I did not IOOK at her,
for I knew she was crying aud hur
rying along the illy written lines.
Suddenly she made an odd little
sound and bowed her head forward.
She gathered up her apron and cov
ered her face. I looked at her, chok
ing.
Sm came over, stooped down and
put her arms about her. Bob's
crutches stumbled on the potato hills,
but he turned and hurried away. He
had almost reached the house when
Sin screamed.
"Alive!" she cried. "Where?"
"Oh, I can't see," moaned mother.
ip|j,
AND EVERY YEAR THEY DECORATE TnAT
OEAVE.
Sin tried to read the letter but could
not, aud she waved it at Bob, calling
him back. I can see him now—run
ning as ho called it—hopping with
that one foot whenever it tonched the
ground.
He read the letter. Father was alive
and in prison. Absalom Fox was a
rebel guard, but he had written to tell
us that much. An exchange was ex
pected, and our day o4 jubilee might
soon be promised.
How we blessed the name of Absa
lom Fox. Mother was sick, for the
first time since father went away, nnd
we boys dug potatoes till it was too
dark to see. I was so tired that after
supper I lay down on the floor behind
the stove and went to sleep. Late in
the night Sin took me up in her round,
strong arms and carried me to bed,
singing a Swedish song of happiness.
That was our cold winter,you know.
The snow came early, and it grew
deeper till midwinter. The cold in
creased till warmth |was near impos
sible. Christmas was so severe it
drove all merriment away. Stock
shivered at the point of starvation,and
tires seemed to have lost their powers
of heating.
We had heard no more from the
South, but we watched the papers
whenever those lists of exchanges ap
peared. And at last we saw, while
evergreens were marking yule in
happy homes, that ours—still happier
—would soon be blest.
Holiday week was the lowest deep
of cold. We watched through frost
coated windows day after day the
snow-choked road to the town. But
the year went out and our shadow had
not lifted.
Just at midnight I heard voices in
the house. Mother and Sin were up
and dressing hurriedly. Bob stumped
down and shouted as he closed the
door. Above my excitement 1 remem
bered I was cold. Sin heaped wood
on the tire and then followed mother
to the road.
The night was very still and I could
hear them presently. There were words
of encouragement, sounds of weeping.
Sin's shrill falsetto aud Bob's loud
laugh of cheer.
They came through the awful cold at
last—our people and two strange men.
And tlipy propped them about the tire
and warmed them with food and
brought us children out—and the
strangest man there was oar father!
And the other was Absalom Fox.
How he managed to quit his service
I never knew; but quit it he did. And
he brought his prisoner home through
that polar cold, keeping him, encour
aging him, lying to him a thousand
times to till the failing limbs with
1 strength. And then, when his task
was done, he showed how utterly it
■ had spent him.
Native of a warmer clime, grateful
■ to my father for a service before cap
tivity began, he had braved the winter
i to pay his debt. And with it he paid
1 his debt to nature. For, as the
i spring came, he turned his face to the
- wall and ceased his breathing.
They made him a grave in the ma
> pie woods, where winter's chill aud
t spring's most generous warming met
in a tide like his noble service, and
* placed at his head a stone which told
) his soldier record.
1 Sin has the farm now—Sin and Bob
> I Elliott, and every vear they decorate
that grave and send no reminders of
the swinging seasons. We are scat
tered these years. Father has gone
to an army which always claimed him,
fighting his way through a foe that
could not frighten him, and on those
better heights his life is joined—eter
nally, as I believe—with that of the
woman who bore her burdens and his
while war was raging.
We are scattered, bnt never a May
lias passed but we meet there at the
farmhouse and place a wreath on the
stone—gray now ns its soldier's uni
form—of the man who brought sun
shine into the midst of our dismal
winter.
The National Cemeteries.
The Government has expended 89,-
000,000 on the eighty-three national
cemeteries, in which are buried 330,-
700 honored dead. The most of these
cemeteries are situated on battlefields
of the war, amid beautiful scenery.
The establishment of this system was
begun in the second year of the war,
when ordeis were issued to the army
requiring accurate records to be kept
of all deceased soldiers and their
places of burial, and President Lin
coln was authoiized by Congress to
purchase grounds and have them pre
pared for use ns cemeteries for sol
diers dying in defense of the country.
On the battlefields where the Union
armies won, the interments were so
conscientiously made that over ninety
per cent, of the dead were afterward
identified. Where time permitted,
the Confederate dead were also scrup
ulously buried and their graves
marked, In most of the Southern
prisons the Union dead were buried,
and their names recorded by their
living comrades, often under adverse
and trying circumstances, and in
Northern prisons, ns at Camp Doug
las, Chicago; at Elmira, N. Y., and at
Johnson Island, Ohio, interments of
deceased Confederates were carefully
made und the graves noted for future
identification. In 1803 the first na
tional cemeteries were established at
Chattanooga, Stone River and Gettys
burg, and the one in Arlington was
founded in 1861, and the one at An
tietam in 1865. The most beautiful of
all the national cemeteries, and the
greatest as regards the number of
identified dead, is that on Arlington
Heights, overlooking Washington. It
contains 16,565 interments—l2,2l6
known and 4349 unknown. .Of the
national cemeteries at Shiloh and Get
tysburg, the Shiloh necropolis con
tains 3597 tablets and that at Gettys
burg just five less. The biggest na
tional cemetery in point of population
is the Vicksburg, where 16,639 heroes
sleep.
The Gruncl Army Uuttoil.
J have heard, writes George F. Stone,
of Chicago, that our Lord's prayer has
been inscribed on a disc the size of a
dime, bnt on that Grand Army button
is recorded in ineffaceable and living
characters the history of Grant and
Sherman and Lincoln; of Sheridan and
Thomas and Logan and Custer and
Meade; of Farrngut and Porter; the
history of the campaign of the army of
the Potomac, of the Cumberland and
of the west; of the march to the sea; |
of Shiloh, of Vicksburg; of Forts Henry |
and Donaldson; of Atlanta; of the j
Wilderness; of Winchester; of Fisher's |
Hill and Cedar Creek; of sieges and]
battles and skirmish lines; of "days;
of danger and nights of waking;'' of
weary marches by day and by night, I
in cold and storm and heat; of parting j
of lovers and maidens; of farewells of
husbands and wives; of prayers and
blessings from fireside nnd camp
ascending on high as a divine incense;
of agony and death in prison and in
hospital; of great captains and heroic
•soldiers; of valor on sea and on land;
of the proclamation of Abraham Lin
coln giving freedom to our millions of
a persecuted race and wiping forever ;
from the national escutcheon, human
slavery; of Gettysburg and Appomat
tox; of the downfall of a rebellion; of
a reunited country and of the perpet
uity of the Union with its countless
aud unspeakable and eternal blessing
—a priceless gift from the great Dis
penser of good things unto men!
This record shall never fade away;
it shall grow brighter and brighter as
the years go by, scattering sparks of
inspiration among the generations as
they come and go! And when time
shall be no more, when all things tran
sitory shall have passed away, when
all the sounds of earth have been
stilled, then the bells of heaven shall
ring in commemoration of American
patriotism, and the undying tame of
the American soldier!
Veterans Without Decorations Save Pride.
Among the veterans who wear no
decorations, for whom there is neither
uniform nor regalia, are the aged
fathers and mothers who say with the
persistence of pride: "I gave my two
boys to the war," and they produce
failed daguerreotypes of brave soldier
boys in their new uniforms posed in
military precision to look like real
soldiers. Ah! how many of them died
of that dreaded disease of the hos
pital, that no surgeon's knife could
cure or doctor's potion charm away—
homesickness for the dear mother at
home and for "Letty."
An interesting feature of the post
; office museum at Washington is the
; number of soldiers' pictures which for
want of sufficient postage or from in
sufficient address went to the dead
• letter office and were never claimed.
Almost every year some visitor sees a
. face that reminds him of some one,
! and t)n learning the name is able to
! send word to surviving relatives.
Several times most pathetic scenes
have been witnessed in that room
[ where a mother had found a portrait
; of her darling boy, long since laid to
I rest under southern soil, or perhaps
[ among the "unidentified" dead of the
battlefield. Those pictures are al-
ways given to the friends who claim
them.
The Baffle.
In a glittering glory of diamond daw,
Whore the tall white headstones gleam li
a row,
By the Ivied church. Memorial Day,
With sheafs of lilies the mourners go.
All but one, and she sits alone,
A sad-eyed woman with locks of gray, !
And keeps a trvst of the vanished years
With the dear, dead lover who marched
away.
Her whitened tresses were brown and bright,
Her cheek was pink as a damask rose, I
wfi * lO c * as P e d ner close in a last embrace i
>vhile about them fluttered the orchard's
snows.
The bugle called in the sunlit morn.
Bayonets glistened, and llags were gay,
He turned to wave her a loud adieu—
The brave young lover who marched
away.
To the silent city above the town,
With garlands laden, yet still they pass,
But she seeth only a curly head
And a broken sword In the trampled grass.
She wenveth a wreath of heliotrope,
And heareth even the bugle play
That is mute with rust in the moldered hand I
Of the gallant lover who marched away.
The flowers have fallen about her feet.
Her lips are pale, and her fingers chill,
Far above the blue of the crystal sky
Her spirit follows the bugle still.
Its silvery melody leads her on
'•Till far in a world of fadeless May,
She plights the troth of her youth again
With the handsome lover who marched
away.
There was never a shot that screamed and
fell
And nover a bayonet thrust went through
The dauntless breast of a soldier boy
But it pierced the heart of a woman, too.
From end to end of the land they sit
By desolate hearths, alone and gray,
And wnit for the ghastly bugle-call
And the soldier lover who marched away.
—Minna Irving.
HANCINC A GUERRILLA.
He Accepted Ills Fate Without a Word or
a Tear.
A shot had been fired at us as we
rode along the highway in column of
fours, and a trooper reeled and
pitched from his saddle, shot through
the heart, relates a veteran of the
Civil War. The shot was fired by a
guerrilla hidden in a corn-field, and
we got the order to throw down the
fence and ride through the field. He
was captured at tli£ far end of it, just
as he was about to gain the woods.
He was a man fifty years old, grim
and grizzly and with eyes of defiance.
"Wall, what is it?" lie quietly asked
of his captors.
"Do you live about here?"
"In the cabin down thar\"
"Got a family?"
"Yes."
"Want to bid 'em good-bye?"
"I reckon!"
"Come along!"
The cabin was reached in five min
utes. A gray-haired woman and a girl
of fifteen—wife and daughter—stood
in the open door.
"What is it, Jim?" asked the wife
as the man stood before her.
"Gwiue to kill me, I reckon!" h<3
replied.
"What fur?"
"Fur killin' one of them."
"Hu! good-bye, Jim!"
"Good-bye, daddy!" from the girl.
"Good-bye!"
No hand-sbakes—no tears—no senti- I
meat—no pleading. Ten rods below
the house was a large shade tree. Two
or three halters were knotted together j
—the rope thrown over a limb—a !
noose slipped over the man's head, !
and next moment ho was dangling
clear of the ground. He had no ex
cuses—made uo plea—asked no mercy.
He went to his death with the stoi
cism of an Indian. Wife and daughter
stood in the doorway and saw all, but
there were no tears—no outburst. As
we were ready to ride away the wo
man came slowly down the spot,
looked at the body for half a moment,
and then turned to ask:
"Is Jim dead?"
"Yes," answered the captain.
"Hu!" And she walked slowly back
to the house and entered it and shut
the door, and we rode on and left the
corpse hanging.
The First Parade.
From the time of the issue of Gen
eral Logan's order, it has been ob
served by the Grand Army veterans,
but up to 1882 there is no record of
any general parade. The various posts
clubbed together and paraded pretty
much as they pleased, while others
paraded singly or in pairs. At the
close of this impromptu parade the
posts divided and marched directly to
Rome cemetery, where the graves were
decorated. At that time but little or
nothing was done in the way of deco
rations on the Sunday previous, as is
the case now. This mode of decorat
ing enables the veterans to devote
their time and strength to the day
proper, which is always May 30, ex
cept when that date falls on Sunday.
The first general parade of which
there is any official record obtainable
was in New York in 1882. General
Henry A. Barnum was chairman of the
j Memorial Committee and Captain Ed
ward Brown was grand marshal.
Nearly every post, the National Guard
: and many veteran organizations united
| in the parade, which was very succes-
I fui.
Origin of the Day.
I Tha origin of Memorial Day lies
with the origin of the Grand Army of
I the Republic, in 1866, the year fol
-1 lowing the close of the war. The first
I post thereof was organized at Decatur,
111., April 6, 1866. In May of that
I year the ceremony of decorating the
| graves of the soldier dead was carried
out to a limited extent, but the move
ment was not given full force until the
meeting of the first national encamp
ment at Indianapolis, November 20,
1866. Here Memorial Day may be
said to have been really given birth.
Observed in a small way at first, it
has gradually grown in extent and
honor until now there is bnt one day
in the calendar which it ranks equally
with in patriotic minds—July 4.
Alnskan demand has caused dealers
in evaporated fruit and vegetables at
Portland, Oregon, to double their
plants and the number of their em
ployes.
HOUSEHOLD MATTERS.
Airing the Dining Room.
To be sure of having a successful
dinner in every respect, see that ths
dining room is thoroughly aired for at
least a half hour beforo dinner is
served. The dining-room may well
be a little under rather than a moder
ate temperature, thongh arrangements
should be made to keep the air fresh
without allowing draughts.
For a Clouded l'lutio Surface.
The clouded condition of a highly
polished piano surface is said to coma
from climatic changes. A piano
finisher is authority for the statement
that a clean soft chamois wrung out
of clear water and wiped rapidly over
the surface before a good polish is ap
plied is {the proper treatment to re
medy the defect. A piano polish re
commended by Miss Parloa consists
of eqnal parts of parafiine oil and
turpentine, applied with a soft flannel,
then polished with iinen.
Excellent For an Invalid.
An excellent and strength-giving
soup for an invalid, which should be
given twoor three times a day, is made
of chicken and beef. Clean and singe
a chicken, then cut it in pieces as for
fricasseeing; put it fn a deep soup
kettle; add to the chicken an equal
weight of lean beef cut from the
round; tie n carrot, a leek, threo or
four sprigs of parsley and a couple of
stalks of celery together by winding a
fine string round them, and put them
in the kettle; cover the whole with
cold water to the depth of three inches
and stand the kettle over a quick fire.
As the scum rises skim it off till the
water is clear, then stand the kettle
back and let the contents simmer
quietly for four hours; then lift it
from the stove and strain the soup;
let it cool; then take all the fat from
the top, and as the soup is required
heat it a little at a time in a saucepan.
In heating it do not lot it boil; only
bring it to the boiling point.—New
York Commercial Advertiser.
Rice In Varied Forms.
A competent authority says that, to
gain the best results, rice mnst be
thoroughly washed, and the grains
rubbed between the hands to get rid
of the floury coating, in order that the
rice may not stick together when
cooked. Into a deep saucepan, two
thirds full of salted, boiling water,
put the washed and drained rice
gradually, so as not to stop the boil
ing, and let it cook for twenty minutes
undisturbed. Put a colander over an
other saucepan, turn the rice into it,
cover the colander and leave the sauce
pan by the fire. In this way, the
rice will both drain and steam. Three
things must be remembered: The
water must be boiling, the rice must
not be disturbed during the cooking,
and it must be thoroughly drained.
Baked Rice—Put one small cup of
washed rice in one quart of milk, half
a teaspoonful of salt, a dash of pep
per, and a little chopped parsley, if it
is liked. Batter a pudding dish and
pnt in the rice and milk, drop a few
hits of butter over the milk and place
the dish in a slow oven and hake two
hours. If it browns too fast cover
the dish until nearly done. Serve
very hot with a meat course.
Parched Rice—This is nice with
broiled meats. Boil the rice in
water and drain it well. Put it on a
platter, and when it is cold, separate
the grains carefully with a fork. Put
into a spider enough butter to cover
the bottom of it when melted. When
the bntter is hot, pat in'a little of the
rice at a time, cook it a delicate brown,
tossing it lightly with a fork, so as
not to break the grains. Drain on
brown paper at the mouth o! the
oven, heap it in the center of a small
platter, Bprinkle a little chopped pars
ley on top and serve.
Coral Bice—Pnt into a saucepan
one and one-half cups of stock, on®
cup of stewed and strained tomatoes,
and one enp of washed rice, cover
and cook for thirty |minutes. Take
off the cover, set the pan at the back
of the stove, to let the moisture es
cape for twenty minutes. Heap the
rice in the mound in the middle of a
hot platter, and put broiled chaps
around it, or pnt meats in the center,
and mold the rice for a border.
Rice Omelet—Mix one tablespoon
ful of bntter with one of flour and cook
them over the fire until smooth; then
stir in two-thirds of a cup of milk and
set one Bide until cold, before adding
half a cup of boiled rice and the
beaten yolks of four eggs. Tho last
thing, stir in lightly the beaten whites
of the eggs and turn the mixture into
a battered dish. Stand the dish in a
pan of hot water and bake fifteen min
utes. This omelet must be served as
it is taken -from the oven. Serve with
a sauce made by beating the whites of
three eggs stiff; add to them one cup
of powdered [sugar, and just before
sending to the table stir in the juice
from two oranges and half a lemon.
Rice Balls With Fried Chicken—
Stir into cold boiled rice a little melted
butter and some milk until yon have a
thick paste; add some salt and a little
chopped parsley; blend together with
a beaten egg. Roll these into balls
with the palms of the hands. Fry the
balls in hot fat. Place them around
the edge of the platter on which the
chicken has been arranged, and alter
nate each ball with a slice of crisp
bacon.
Rieh Squares With Chicken—Boil
the grains in milk and water until
tender, then turn into a biscuit pan
which has been wet in cold water;
smooth the rice mixture over the top,
and put to one side to become cold.
When cold, cut it into squares and
roli them in egg and then in crumbs,
and fry them in butter n nice brown
on one side and turn and brown on
the other side. Arrange tho pieces
upon a platter and put a teaspoonful
of currant jelly upon 3aeh.—The
Housewife.