Original in GOOD HOUSEKEEPING.

IN QUEST OF A JOHNNY CAKE. AND FINDING A GOOD ONE.

N our family, at home, bread made of Indian meal was seldom used, even the "brown loaf" which was an invariable accompaniment to the Saturday night pot of baked beans, was made of Graham flour, so when I had a house of my own and especially a husband who wondered that I could not make Indian breakfast cakes, as well as his sister Hannah Liza, I began to want to make good Johnny Cake. He tried hard to remember his sister's recipe, but never got further than that he was sure she put in a cupful of soda and a teaspoonful of sugar. I being more sure that she did no such thing wrote her on the subject; though to be sure at that time I should not have been so very much surprised if I had found out that her delicate breakfast cakes were made even in the manner he said.

bolted, sifted, kiln-dried meal is superior to the common coarse meal made of Western corn that we in the country are sometimes obliged to use; but better than either is meal made from our own home-ground, small-kerneled northern corn, especially if you happen to live in the country and happen to raise your own corn on your own farm, and if the miller happens to be an acquaintance so you can say to him, "Mr. Dusticote, please grind it extremely fine," then you will get the very best meal for Johnny Cake there is made.

This meal is so moist it heats readily and there can be but little ground at a time, so in view of all these happenings I feel glad we have the convenience of the kiln-dried meal that keeps indefinitely and is always ready for use.

I have never succeeded in making brown bread with this meal, however, that looked or tasted just right. For this I must have the meal from the miller. To make the brown

loaf right it is necessary to have the water boiling before you begin and be sure it does not stop boiling for at least an hour after the loaf is put on to steam.

Use the measure according to the sized loaf you wish to make, a cup making a three-quart tin basin full.

Brown Bread.

One measure of sour milk or buttermilk, two measures of sweet

one-half measure of molasses, two teaspoonfuls of soda (for cup) salt. Steam at least six hours and as much longer as your fire, water and patience last.

I pestered every friend and acquaintance for "rules;" I tried all the receipts in every cook book I could buy, beg or borrow; I experimented with the directions which I found in the "Ladies' Column" of every newspaper within my reach. My book of " tried and true" recipes for cooking grew plethoric with Johnny Cake; there were written rules and printed rules; there were. rules with sweet milk and rules with sour milk; there were rules with cream of tartar and rules without; there were rules with eggs from one to six and rules without eggs; there were rules with sugar and rules with molasses, but through it all that ungrateful man was not satisfied, they were never right, but it would do one's eyes good to see the chickens whose fatness was composed of Johnny Cake.

After ten years' experimenting I have "evolved out of my inner consciouness" a moist, spongy, economical, quickly made, thoroughly good Johnny Cake.

I look at the apothegm "One good turn deserves another" as meaning that a good turn deserves a return, so I want to send you the result of my decade of trials as a little return for the many good things I have received from the magazine.

Johnny Cake.

One cupful of Indian meal, one cupful of white flour, one-half cup of sugar (scant), two cupfuls of buttermilk, two teaspoonfuls of soda, one-half teaspoonful of salt. Simple, isn't it? to try so long after. I have written the rule as being measured in a cup, but in practice I think of it as a "measure," which reflection and practice keeps the proportions right and varies the size of my cake. Sometimes my measure is a tiny teacup-that is when "he" and I are alone-and sometimes it is a pint bowl, but whichever is used, the correct proportions are preserved, only remembering to change the soda and salt.

I found eggs made it dry, the same, also, with sweet milk and cream of tartar. Some people like molasses in the mixture better than sugar. I think it could be used, but it would need to have a little less buttermilk. I have learned, too, some things about Indian meal which aid me many times. The

I am unable to leave my subject until I have given one more recipe which I call my company Johnny Cake. Imperial Johnny Cake.

Two cupfuls of sour milk, one cupful of sweet cream, one and one-fourth cupfuls of Indian meal (bolted), one-fourth cup of flour, two eggs, whites and yolks beaten separately; one large tablespoonful of sugar one teaspoonful of soda. Bake in a sheet in a hot oven for twenty minutes, and do not make a mistake in thinking the cream which will be found in the middle of the cake is rawness, for it is really the most delicious kind ever eaten when prepared just right. -Jessie Merrill Nason.

Original in GOOD HOUSEKEEPING.

MY GREAT AUNT'S PORTRAIT.
I wonder if, some future day,
When looking on this cardboard square,
(My photograph), some girl will say,
(Some slim young maid with yellow hair,)
"This is my great great aunt, you know;
She lived, well I can scarcely tell
Just when, but awful long ago;

The picture's taken very well;

"I mean for those days, but oh, dear,
How quaint and funny it seems now;
And don't her hair look very queer
Cut in a fringe across her brow?
"And goodness me, how dreadful tight
Her sleeves are made; how choking high
Her collar is-so prim and white;
Just fancy now, if you and I

"Should dress like that! We'd scare the town!
It must have been the fashion then;
How did she get into that gown,

And how did she get out again?"
Oh dear unknown, the years will play
The very same old pranks with you;
Some other merry girl will say,

When your sweet picture meets her view,
"This is my great great aunt, you know;
Born-well, I cannot tell the year,
But very, very long ago;

And doesn't she look quaint and queer?"
-Hattie Whitney.

Original in GOOD HOUSEKEEPING.

TABLE TALK.

These tables were stored full, to glad the sight;
And not so much to feed on, as delight.-Pericles.

O be able to say the right thing at the right time is a gift bestowed by nature upon but few persons. It is, however, attainable in a greater or less degree by all. Nowhere is the tact and adaptability of one's words to the occasion put to severer test than at the diningtable. Conversation there has a double weight, effecting the physical as well as the social man. "Eat, drink and be merry" has in its hackneyed embrace an important physiological law. The habitually cheerful, happy-hearted diner has no dyspeptic alarums to answer. Light, gay banter and trivial bric-a-brac of talk are nowhere so excusable, nor quite so fitting as at meal time.

The household that makes a practice of having a jolly season at eating time will always be found to live with less friction and more real enjoyment than that one where victuals are munched in stolid silence by all. I would venture soda biscuit, pie crust and rich cakes in the system of ye jolly eater with less fear than I should trust the strictest dietectic foods in the stomach of a mournful discontent and flaw-finder. The cares of a life time may seem often to spread over the day from entertaining a magnified cloud at breakfast with no counter current of badinage or comfort or cheer to scatter the storm into spray. There is, in fact, seldom a dining room that is not a mission field for some one's deftness at turning the talk into agreeable, sunny channels.

It is not pleasant, and not often profitable for a guest, nor is it advisable for members of the family, to spend the dinner hour in discussing the food that is being put to a legitimate purpose. A lady presiding at her own table has been known to make her cooking, her methods, successes or experiments with one and another ingredient, the pivot on which she balanced almost the entire conversation of the meal. To follow such a course is to cultivate a profligate habit of conversation and to foster criticisms that might be better bestowed. Food finds its ultimatum of use in ministering to physical needs and is out of its sphere when made a leading topic of frequent table talk.

And what so opposed to the details of harmony as an elaborate dinner served in most approved manner but with no corresponding excellency of conversation? What so needless, so out of place, as to give entrance to loathsome subjects at such a time, nauseating the company? What a heedless lack of forethought that allows such an inroad upon the "fitness of things!" A few dishes spared from the table and the time spent in their concoction put into a brief schedule of appropriate topics, to suit the occasion and company, would make a more congruous affair.

Ideas of this nature have been already suggested in GOOD HOUSEKEEPING in the placing of sentiments written on cards at each guest's plate. The reading of these blunts the stiffness of the first moments when the company is seated and leads the way to pleasant and general topics of discussion such as are most desirable. All the cheerful, gay colors of conversation may then display themselves. They are indeed, the desirables of the hour.

Every day table talk can be guided as the members of the family may elect, into profit, frivolousness, or loss. Many a boy and girl receives golden nuggets of information and insight into the current affairs of the day from entertaining conversations which parents lead during the meal hours.

The memory of such a father was Benjamin Franklin's, of whom he thus writes in his autobiography: "At his table he liked to have, as often as he could, some sensible friend or neighbor to converse with, and always took care to start some useful topic for discourse, which might tend to improve. the minds of his children. By this means he turned our attention to what was good, just and prudent in the conduct of life; and little or no notice was ever taken of what related to the victuals on the table, whether it was well or ill dressed, in or out of season, of good or bad flavor, preferable or inferior to this or that other thing of the kind; so that I was brought up in such a perfect inattention to those matters as to be quite indifferent what kind of food was set before me, and so unobservant of it that, to this day, if I am asked I can scarce tell, a few hours after dinner, what I dined upon. This has been a convenience to me in travelling, where my companions have been sometimes very unhappy for want of a suitable gratification of their more delicate, because better instructed tastes and appetites."

A company of busy people, once boarding together, and having little time for reading or study, undertook a light method of turning to profit the three times daily that they met round the dining table. They chose to greet one another at breakfast each with a scripture text or other selection of a thoughtful character; at noon each brought some item from the business world, a current event, scientific fact, literary or art note or some observation of his own; and at the tea table, anecdotes, funny happenings of the day, stray witty sayings and all enlivening talk were in order. The plan quite effectually secured its most desired end, which was, the prevention of "shop talk," that most tiring theme among those already wearied with their work.

Somewhat more amusing than the experience of this club was the outcome of a similar scheme inaugurated by a table of college students. For a time each member displayed his or her familiarity with the learned and wise by reciting a quotation from their writings at the supper table. "Witticisms scintillated" and "a genial flow of spirits" resulted, but one evening the association of ideas became too vividly out of correspondence when a part of the company repeated, verse by verse, Gray's "Elegy in a Country Church Yard." The remaining members groaned most perceptibly and tea table sentiments for a time were with them at a discount. -Jennie Buell.

Original in GoOD HOUSEKEEping.

MAY DAY.

Merry May-day! Merry May-day,
You are with us once again.
Let us crown you, in your hey-day

With the trophies of your reign.
On your brow this fern wreath presses
Like an emerald diadem,

And amid your sunny tresses,

Twines the star of Bethlehem. For your bosom we will cull you

Bluebells, azure as your skies, And the tulip's breath shall lull you, From a bed of Orient dyes. Round your slender form shall cluster King-cups wet with morning dew, And, to mingle with their luster,

Cowslips pale and violets blue. See, the dogwood waves his snowy Banner out with welcome sweet, And the red-bud, gay and showy, Drops his petals at your feet, See the young, fresh grass is springing In the woodlands fair and green, And the bonny birds are singing Songs of love to you, our queen!

-Helen Whitney Clark.

Obtained from the fresh livers of codfish. It is nourishing and fattening to wasted and wasting bodies, badly nourished infants, rickety and scrofulous, consumptives, or those suffering from chronic troubles after scarlet fever, where there occur discharges from the nose and ears, feeble digestion and general emaciation. Dose, from half teaspoonful to a tablespoonful three times daily. For an infant, two to five drops. Its taste is quite disagreeable and many ways have been tried to make it less unpleasant to take. Salt and pepper can be added to it. The best is an emulsion, it is more finely divided and more capable of absorption. Children do not mind taking it unless their fears have been aroused by talking about it. It is absorbed by the skin and may be used this way, by being thoroughly rubbed in. The best time for this is just before retiring. A warm bath should first be taken and then from onehalf to two ounces rubbed into the skin. It is objected to on account of its staining the skin yellow and its disagreeable odor.

Cold Cream.

Ointment of rose water. A soothing application for chapped hands or lips. It becomes rancid when long kept. Corrosive Sublimate.

Bichloride of mercury, a deadly poison, often used to kill bedbugs, etc.; also as a disinfectant. Should not be kept in the house. Cox's Hive Syrup.

A medicine not suitable for family use because it contains tartar emetic, a violently active medicine, not safe except in skilful hands. "Hives" is an old name for croup.

Creosote.

A product from wood-tar. In domestic practice it is used for toothache. Wrap the end of a bodkin or knitting needle with a small piece of cotton and dip this in the creosote, then carefully press the cotton into the hollow of the aching tooth. It kills the sensibility of the exposed nerve-end. If any spills over and burns the gums or lips, rinse at once with cold water. It should be labled, Poison.

Cream of Tartar. (Bitartrate of Potassium.)

This is a cooling, gentle laxative salt; it also increases the flow of urine. It is often given in dropsy. May be given as a drink in fevers, largely diluted with water. A pleasant form in which to administer it is the "Cream of Tartar Lemonade," made as follows: A sufficient quantity is dissolved in hot water; when cold the clear solution is poured off; some lemons are cut up and put into it, and it is sweetened to taste. This may be drunk ad libitum.

Dover's Powder

Contains ipecacuanha and opium. Sometimes taken at the beginning of a severe cold just before going to bed. It had better not be taken without the advice of a physician.

Epsom Salts. (Sulphate of Magnesia.)

A cooling cathartic, but very unpleasant medicine to take. Should not be taken by delicate persons, a milder cathartic is better. Dose-Teaspoonful to tablespoonful in half tumbler of

water.

Fennel Seed.

A very mild aromatic; sometimes made into a tea for babies' colic.

Flaxseed.

This makes a good, soothing drink in sore throat and for kidney or bladder trouble. Pour a pint of boiling water on a tablespoonful of whole flaxseed and let it stand covered for 15 minutes on the back of the stove, but do not let it boil as that would bring out the oil (linseed oil), which is not good to drink. When cold, add lemon juice and sugar. Ground flaxseed is used for poultice; a little sweet oil or lard put over the surface of the poultice before applying it will make it more soothing and more easily removed.

-Elizabeth Snyder, M. D.

THE COZY CORNER.

[In this corner we propose to have pleasant gossip with our readers and correspondents, in passing matters of household interest, and that it may be made an instructive and profitable Household Exchange, we invite correspondence of inquiry and information on all subjects of general interest and value to the Homes of the World.]-GOOD Housekeeping.

We have several contributions for our "Cozy Corner" department, every way worthy of publication, which do not appear for the reason that the names and addresses of the writers are not given. Only such contributions will be printed in any department of GOOD HOUSEKEEPING as are accompanied by the name and address of the writer.-Editor of GOOD HOUSEKEEPING.

POEM IDENTIFIED.

Editor of GOOD HOUSEKEEPING:

I would like to give your readers a "Bellevue Hospital" rule for a mustard paste which never injures the skin. It can be applied day after day without any difficulty. Two tablespoonfuls of mustard, and one tablespoonful of flour. Mix with white of an egg and tepid water. Lay a piece of muslin on a board, spread the paste on thinly, turn over all the edges. Cover with thin muslin or linen. Keep on about half an hour. After removing it wipe the skin carefully, powder, and cover with a handkerchief. MONTCLAIR, N. J.

CODFISH BALLS.

Editor of GOOD HOUSEKEEPING:

M. W. B.

If Mrs. S. E. R. will try the following recipe for codfish balls I think she will say they are the best she has ever eaten. Soak a piece of codfish in cold water six hours, cut into small pieces and put on the stove in cold water, let it boil ten minutes, be sure the bones are all out and then chop fine. Boil and mash potatoes and while potatoes and fish are warm mix together half and half of each, then stir in one egg beaten light, and piece of butter size of an egg. Wet the hands in cold water, make into balls and fry, using as little butter as you can. They should fry slowly and a long time and when done are very light. NELLIE WILLEY. CHICAGO, ILL..

Make of stout, thick woven unbleached cotton, oblong bags a finger longer and wider than the hams to be encased, and boil them in a very strong solution of red peppers, or cayenne pepper if those from the garden are not at hand. When dried, drop in the hams, stitch across the mouth of the sack, gather together in the hand and tie with a strong twine, leaving a loop for hanging. No insect can enter the bag, and the pungency of the pepper will prevent their lighting on its exterior. The sacks will do duty for several years if annually cleansed and re-peppered. Hang the bagged hams in a cool, dry place, if a smoke-house which is the best for them is not conveniently near. This is a long-tested method. MRS. S.

ROCHESTER, N. Y.

ABOUT SOUP.

Editor of GOOD HOUSEKEEPING:

If "Inquirer" from Auburn, N. Y., wishes economical and yet nutritious dishes, why not study up on soups? Mock turtle soup, made from a calf's head is inexpensive and delicious. Boil the frame of a roast turkey, with the stuffing that is left, six or eight hours, and next day make in a black-bean or white bean or tomato soup.

MOCK TURTLE SOUP.-One calf's head well cleaned by the butcher, cover well with cold water and simmer for six or eight hours with a little salt, set away to cool. Next day remove all fat and about one hour before dinner put over the fire, season with a saltspoonful each of mace and powdered thyme. Melt a piece of butter the size of a walnut, and add two heaping tablespoonfuls of brown flour, add soup till it is smooth, and then stir in soup. Use a little of the cold meat for balls, season and stir in yolk of raw egg and drop in soup just before serving. Hardboiled egg can be sliced and put in tureen. Season all with a little lemon juice and sherry-wine. If I wish it extra nice I use half a can

of mushrooms. After making this soup once or twice, it seems nothing

to do again.

THAT LITTLE POEM ONCE MORE. Editor of GOOD HOUSEKEEPING :

C.

I have no doubt your readers will be interested in the following version of that little poem that has already appeared in your magazine in three different renderings, (Nos. 63, page 261; 66, page 18; and 68, page 76,) for, coming from the source it does, it would

seem to be its original form. My authority is Prof. Rodney Gilsan, M. D., and I copy from page 96 of his "Two Years in Europe." Concerning his visit to the cemetery connected with Greyfriars church near Stirling castle, in the town of Stirling, Scotland, Prof. Gilsan writes, "There are many ancient and modern monuments. Some of the epitaphs are very curious. One of them reads thus:

'ALEXANDER E. MENNESY, Chief Constable, Stirlingshire.
Our life is but a winter day.

some only break the fast and away

others to dinner stay,

and are full fed:

the oldest man but sups,

and goes to bed;

large is his debt

that lingers out the day;

he that goes soonest
has the least to pay.'"

Editor of GOOD HOUSEKEEPING: Although I have long profited by the labors of others in your magazine, this is my first attempt to offer any return. If I have made my directions unnecessarily exact, or too long, please revise as you choose. One pint of milk, scalded and cooled, one pint of yeast, one half pint of melted lard, one pound of sugar, one tablespoonful of salt, one-half teaspoonful of soda, one nutmeg, two eggs, In order to have these doughnuts in highest excellence I prepare a sponge at night, using two or three potatoes, mashed through a sieve, flour and boiling water and a dry yeast cake. The next day I mix the milk, sugar, lard and yeast, using a pint of the light sponge, with sufficient flour to make a not very stiff batter. Place where it will rise slowly. It should be light by evening, when the eggs, nutmeg, salt and soda are to be added, and flour to make as stiff as bread dough-until it can be kneaded without sticking to the hands; knead faithfully until light, from twenty minutes to half an hour. Place to rise in a buttered dish. This should rise to double its size. In the morning turn gently upon a floured board. Roll only enough to cut them the proper thickness. I use a knife to cut them, cutting in squares or oblong pieces to avoid having any small pieces which must be worked together and cut again. I find such apt to crack in the pot fat. Let them rise an hour or two and fry in hot fat. This recipe makes about sixty. It sounds like a long and troublesome task, but I make double this quantity every two weeks and find it very little work. MRS. A. L. S.

WATERBURY, Ст.

ANGEL'S FOOD.

Editor of GOOD HOUSEKEEPING:

I see in the last number of GOOD HOUSEKEEPING that "D." would like the "exact quantities of ingredients used in Angel's Food." Will say get every thing ready and on the table before beginning. Paper the cake pan, but do not grease. Sift the flour once before measuring, then take one tumblerful of the sifted flour and add to it a level teaspoonful of cream-of-tartar and sift six or seven times to insure lightness. Sift the sugar once (either powdered or fine granulated,) and measure a tumblerful and a half of the sugar and mix with the flour and cream-of-tartar. Take the whites of eleven eggs, and beat them to a stiff froth. Add the flour and sugar slowly, beating all the time. Flavor with a teaspoonful of vanilla. Bake about forty minutes in a very slow oven. Cover the cake for the first twenty-five minutes. It should be a very light, delicate brown when done. Let it remain in the pan till cold. Slice with a sharp pointed knife held perpendicular. ly. I will also add a recipe for White Custard that I learned of Miss Corson, and is as dainty as Angel's Food. One pint and a half of sweet cream scalding hot. While the cream is heating put the whites of four eggs in a bowl with four heaping tablespoonful of powdered sugar, and one teaspoonful of vanilla or almond flavoring. Pour the hot cream on the eggs and sugar, stirring all the time. Put the custard in small cups, set them in a pan of hot water, cover with a paper, and bake till like jelly. Do not beat the whites of the eggs or it will be spoiled. MRS. W. T. QUINCY, ILLINOIS.

I cannot see to keep the narrow way,

And so I blindly wander here and there, Groping amidst the tombs, or helpless stray Through pathless, tangled deserts, bleak and bare;

Weeping I seek the way I cannot find

Open my eyes, dear Lord, for I am blind. And oft I laugh with some light, thoughtless jest,

Nor see how anguish lines some face most dear

And write my mirth, a mocking palimpsest-
On blotted scrolls of human pain and fear;
And never see the heartache interlined-
Pity, oh Son of David! I am blind.

I do not see the pain my light words give,
The quivering, shrinking heart I cannot see;
So, light of thought, midst hidden griefs I live,
And mock the cypressed tombs with sightless
glee;

Open mine eyes, light, blessed ways to find-
Jesus, have mercy on me-I am blind.

My useless eyes are reservoirs of tears,

Doomed for their blind mistakes to overflow; To weep for thoughtless ways of wandering

years,

Because I could not see-I did not know. These sightless eyes-than angriest glance less kind

Light of the World, have pity! I am blind. -Robert J. Burdette.

THE KITCHEN ORCHESTRA. When the evening star is peeping in, When the frost on the window pane is thin, And the folk come homeward trooping, Then the kitchen orchestra so gay Wakes music blithe as holiday

When summer boughs are drooping, And its pipe and bubble and ring and call, Oh, home is the sweetest place of all.

The mellow bass of the winter wind
Like a hundred viols all combined,

Rings out in the chimney hollow,
Then the soft, low sing-song of the fire
With the crickets' rude but jolly choir
'Neath the wide, warm hearth to follow,
And its pipe and quaver and rise and fall,
Oh, home is the sweetest place of all.
Then grandma's wheel with its cheery burr,
And pussy-cat's sleepy, treble purr

Have into the chorus drifted, And then in a pause that is soft and still, Baby's coo and the tea-kettle's trill, In a gay duet are lifted. And its coo and bubble and ring and call, Oh, home is the sweetest place of all. The children grow still in the chimney seat, The old folk listen with mem'ries sweet, The young folk hush their laughter, When the fire strikes into a solo fine That wakens the voices of auld lang syne In each old beam and rafter,

And its ring and murmur and swell and fall, Oh, home is the sweetest place of all.

THE WEIGHT OF A WORD. Have you ever thought of the weight of a word That falls in the heart like the song of a bird, That gladdens the springtime of memory and youth

And garlands with cedar the banner of Truth, That moistens the harvesting spot of the brain Like dewdrops that fall on a meadow of grain, Or that shrivels the germ and destroys the fruit,

And lies like a worm at the lifeless root?

I saw a farmer at break of day
Hoeing his corn in a careful way;

An enemy came with a drought in his eye,
Discouraged the worker, and hurried by.
The keen-edged blade of the faithful hoe
Dulled on the earth in the long corn row;
The weeds sprang up, and their feathers tossed
Over the field, and the crop was-lost.

Its cockit little robin!

And his head he keeps a bobbin'! Above the other pretty fowls I'd choose him; For he sings so sweetly still

Through his tiny slender bill,

With a little patch of red upon his bosom. When the frost is in the air and the snow upon the ground,

To other little birdies so bewilderin' Picking up the crumbs near the window he is found

Singing Christmas stories to the children,
Of how two tender babes
Were left in woodland glades

By a cruel man who took them there to lose 'em ;

But Bobby saw the crime,

(He was watching all the time,)

And he blushed a perfect crimson on his bosom. When the changing leaves of autumn around us thickly fall,

And everything seems sorrowful and saddening,

Robin may be heard, on the corner of the wall,
Singing what is solacing and gladdening:
And sure from what I've heard,
He's God's own little bird,

And sings to those in grief just to amuse 'em-
But once he sat forlorn

On a cruel Crown of Thorn,

The wind arose like a beast in pain,

And shook on the billows his yellow mane;
The storm beat down as if cursed the cloud,
And the waves held up a dripping shroud-
But hark! O'er the waters that wildly raved
Came a word of cheer, and he was-saved.

A poet passed with a song of God
Hid in his heart like a gem in a clod.

His lips were framed to pronounce the thought,
And the music of rhythm its magic wrought;
Feeble at first was the happy trill,

Low was the echo that answered the hill;
But a jealous friend spoke near his side,
And on his lips the sweet song-died.

A woman paused where a chandelier
Threw in the darkness its poisoned spear;
Weary and footsore from journeying long,
She had strayed unawares from the right to the

wrong.

Angels were beck'ning her back from the den,
Hell and its demons were beck'ning her in.
The tone of an urchin, like one who forgives,
Drew her back, and in heaven that sweet word
-lives.

bosom.

Draw up thy little table close to the fire and write, Write to me soon in the morning, write to me late at night.

Write to me very often; letters are links that bind

tree,

And carol from the sycamore and chestnut, The prettiest little gentleman, that dearest is

to me,

Is the one in coat of brown and scarlet waistcoat.

to mind,

Giving to kindred spirits lasting and true delight;

If you would strengthen friendship, never forget to write.

-Unidentified.