THE CHRISTIAN SUN.
r' IN ESSENTIALS, UNITY;
IN NON-ESSENTIALS, LIBERTY;
IN ALL THINGS, CHARITY.
Volume
XX^III.
SUFFOLK, YA., FRIDAY FEBRUARY 6, 1880.
Number 6.
|oetrg.
BENEATH HIS WING.
BY HORATH’tt BONAB, D.D.
I come, 1 rest beneath
The shadow of Thy wing,
That I may know
How good it is
There to abide ;
How safe its sheltering !
I lean upon the cross
^ hen fainting by the way ;
It bears my weight,
It holds me up,
It cheers my soul,
It turns my night to day !
I clasp the outstretched hand
Of my delivering Lord :
Upon i)is arm
I lean myself;
His arm divine
Doth surest help afford !
I hear the gracious words
He speaketh to my soul;
They bantstWear,
They say, “Be strong,"
They make my spirit whole 1
I look, and live, and love;
I listen to the voice
Saying to me ♦
That God is love,
That God is light;
I listen and rejoice.
CREAM OFJTHE PRESS.
—We are very well aware that
there are occasion* when apologetic
preaching is proper; bat after all it
is the doctrinal preaching which
makes a church grow within and
without.—When men are pierced by
the sword ol the Spirit, their doubts
occupy a secondary place, and are
easily dealt with. This is the teach
ing of observation and experience.
Chulmer’s Astronomical Discourses
were all very well, but we saw it sta
ted the ether day that George Muller
bad remarked of liobert Hall (wbo
also lived in Bristol, Eng.), that his
preaching did not convert many
souls. It was splendid, and Robert
Ball was a true man, but it did not
conviuce men of sin. It is not learn
ed discourses, nor hue intellectual ef
forts, that do the work. It is the
mau as filled with the Spirit. Preach
ing is not discoursing ; it is testify
ing ; and what reaches men is the liv
ing witness.—Ventral Presbyterian.
—Scepticism is prevented from
working ont its legitimate results by
the prevalence and power of the
truths, the principles of the Bible.
The air is full of the principles of the
Word of God. There can hardly be
fouud a single man who is under the
influence of scepticism who does not
know aud feel the power of the essen
tial truths of Christianity. The gen
eral morality around him is that
which has been produced by the
Scriptures and Christian example.
He is controlled by it to a large de
gree. The existence aud nature of
God, the governmeut of God, the re
tributions of the future, the Cross of
Christ, and all the meaning and pow
er Christiaus claim for it, the work
of the Holy Spirit, all these truths
are known by him and have their
power over him much as he may op
pose and even deride them. Sj scep
ticism lives uuder conditions produc
ed and maintained by the Word of
God. is restrained, modified and con
trolled by them, and does not bear
fruit alter its kind.—Christian Intel
gencer.
—How any womau Keeps bouse
without the religion of Christ to help
her is a mystery to me. To have to
spend the greater part of one’s life,
as many women do in planning for
meals and stitching garments that
will soon bo rent again, and deploring
breakages, and supervising tardy su
bordiuates, and driving off dust that
soon again will eettle, and doing the
same thing day in and day out, year
in and year ont, until the hair silvers
and the back stoops and spectacles
crawl to the eyes, and the grave
breaks open under the thin sole of
the shoe—oh, it is a long monotony 1
But when Christ comes to the draw
ing room, and comes to the kitchen,
and comes to the dwelling, then how
cherry becomes all womanly duties 1
She i8 never alone now. Martha
gets through fretting and joins Mary
at the feet of Jesus.—Now she can
sing all day long—mending, washing
baking, scouring, scrubbing. O, wo
man, having in your pantry a nesl
of boxes containing all kinds of con
dimeuts, why have you not tried ir
your heart and life the spicery of OU]
holy religion t
THE DEACON’S ROD.
“Spare the rod and spoil the child/
Mr. Hardcap oracularly. He always
quotes Scriptures with oracular so
lemnity.
“Well,” said Mr. Geer, “if I had as
mauy children as Solomon had I
think 1 should use the rod. Cut
with only four 1 can get along very
well without oue.”
“I understand,” said young Whea
ton, “that to be a mistranslation.
The revisers arc going to change it
so as to read: ‘Spoil the rod and
spare the child-’”
The little laugh that followed this
announcement, which was made per
fectly sedately, aroused Mr. Hard
cap’s righteous indignation. Mr.
Hardcap uever gets angry, at least
he says he does not; but he occa
sionally gets righteously indignant
“Makiu’ fun o’ Scripter ain’t no
argyment,” he said. “Any tool can
make fuu o’ Scripter.”
“But, Mr. Hardcap,” said Mr.
Geer, soothingly, “don't you think
that circumstances alter cases !
Don’t you think that in our highest
civilization, with our better develop
ment, with parents better under
standing how to manage their chil
dren, and how to manage themselves,
too, and with children more ameua
ble to reason and affection, we ought
to be able to dispense with the rod,
though it may have been very nec
essary in Solomou’s time t Why,
even the horsebreaker do not use the
whip on their horses any more.”
“No,” said Mr. Hardcap, shaking
his head resolutely, “I ain’t no wiser
uhan Solomon, and I don’t never ex
pect to be.”
We were gathered around the
stove iD the church lecture room,
after the prayer meeting, at which
the topic had been the training of
childred. These supplementary pray
er meetings are ofteu better than
the main meeting which proeedes, as
they say a lady’s postcript is often
better thau the letter. There is
more iu it, and fewer words.
“Well,” said the deacon, who had
hitherto stood an observant but si
lent listener, “1 agree with Mr. Hard
cap ; I believe in the use of the rod.”
“Why, deacon 1” It was a whole
chorus of voices that uttered this ex
clamation.
“I do,” said the deacon, “and I
have a rod ; a good big one ; as big
as my middle finger. And I use it
pretty much every day.”
Amazement defied expression.
The notion of the good natured dea
con beating one of his children with
a hickory stick as big as his middle
finger took away our bread. We
waited developments.
“Though,” continued the deaoou,
“it is true I only use it on oue of the
children.”
Worse, worse 1 Oh, deacon, how
cau you I
“Which one is it, deacon!” said I.
“Jemima Poppenhausen,” said the
deacon.
“Jemima Poppenhausen,” exclaim
ed two or three voices simultaneous
ly.
“Jemima PoppenUausen,” said Mr.
Hardcap, trying to work up a little
righteous indignation, but without
success, and endiug by breaking out
iuto a smile (Mr. Haidcap never suc
ceeds very well in working up right
eous indignation against the genial
deacon). “Jemima Poppeuhausen ;
why, the deacon hain’t got no such
child. It’s just one of the deacon’s
games.”
“Jemima Poppeuhausen,” said the
deacou. “She is the ouly bad child I
have. All the native depravity of
all my children is concentrated in
her. If anybody cries, it is Jemima
roppeubausen. If anybody won’t go
to bed, it is Jemima Poppeuliauseu.
Tot never cries ; Tot is never cross;
Tot never gets balky over lier spel
ling lesson ; Tot never gets so tired
that she cannot go to bed without a
cry; Tot never gets wilful at the ta
ble, and pouts and breaks out iuto a
cry because she cannot have her own
way. Not she. Whenever any of
these disasters happen, Tot has gone
away and Jemima Poppenhausen has
taken her place. And then the rod
conies out of its place in the corner.
It was Tot’s owu plan. She said one
day sho hated Jemima Poppenhau
sen, and that she wished I would get
a stick and heather whenever she
came to the house. So when Tot
disappears, and Jemima takes her
place, sometimes we give her the
stick, and she drives Jemima out of
the room, flourishing the stick brave
ly after her, nud coming back from
the victorious onslaught, her little
tearful face wreathed in smiles.
Sometimes the mother gets the stick
and pokes Jemima Poppenhausen till
the cry turns iuto a laugh. Some
times we simply put Jemima Pop
I'cnhausen by herself, with the stick,
in the study, and pretty soon Tot
comes in with the stick over her
shoulder, declaring that she dreve
Jemima Poppenbausen up the chim
ney or out of the window. I really
do not know what we should do
without that rod.”
“Do you think that is rightt” said
Mr. Hardcap. “Isn’t it kiuder ma
kiu’ a sport of sin 1”
“The Apostle tells us,” replied the
deacou, “to overcome evil with good.
And if I can overcome a cry with a
laugh I think it is better than to
overcome it with another cry. If!
can pacify the pride and. self-will,
and petulance and auger, and put
them all in au imaginary Jemima
Poppenbausen, and teach Tot to hate
them all, I think I am doing her
more good than by simpiy teaching
her to be afraid to show them out
before me. If I can get her to drive
the devil away I am doiug a great
deal better by her than if I merely
drive it away, or repress it myself.”
“That is what you might call the
scientific use of the ima^!”
said Mr. Geer.
“I don’t know,” said Mr. Hardcap,
“about making some make-believe
child the scape goat for a real child’s
siu.’l
But the scape-goat was a Bible
idea,” said the deacon. “The Lord
used the imagination a great deal in
dealing with the Israelites. When
He wished to give them the idea that
they had completely gotten rid of
their sins, He told the priest to tie a
scarlet thread on the head of a goat
and lead it off into the wilderness.
It was a rude sort of object teaching,
but it accomplished the purpose. Tot
dislikes a pouting, crying, sulky
child as much as you or I do, but we
never dislike our own sins while we
are committing them.” •
“I don’t believe that,” said Mr.
Hardcap.
“Then why don’t we stopt” said
tbe deacon.
“Because—because—wealon’t wan’t
to,” replied Mr. Hardcap hesitating
ly.
“Exactly,” said tbe deacon. “Now,
if I can get Tot to look at herself
when she is pouting, or sulking or
cross, if I cau got her out of her pas
sion long enough to see what an un
lovely thing it is, I have wou half
the battle; and if I cau get her to go
after it with a stick, and drive it
away, I have won all the battle. And
in using the imagination I am only
following the examyle God has set
me.”
“Well,” said Mr. Hardcap, “1 am
going to try the deacon’s stick right
away.”
“One thing said the deacotf, “if
you do, you must keep perfectly good
uatured yourself. A little righteous
indignation in your own heart and
tones of voice will ruin the charm.”
For myself, I am not sure how the
deacon’s stick would do in other
hands. But in the deacon’s hands it
has helped to bring up as delightful a
family of children as it is not often
one’s good fortune to meet anywhere.
—Laicus. in the Christian Union.
THE WORRY OF LITTLE THINGS.
BY THE EEV. WILLIAM AIKMAN, D. D.
We stood ou the church-pdrcb after
all the congregation had gone out,
and were talking for a few moments
in the line of the sermon. It had
been about the cultivation of our
spiritual nature, and how the mass
of men forget, and neglect it, and live
largely and often as if there were no
such things belonging to them. Said
my friend, as a tear glistened iu her
eye, “Does it not seem strange that
so much of our life should be wasted
iu the perpetual thought of little
tbiugs, while we have no time or
stiength to give to the larger ones *
How rnauy are toil-worn, their life
one long struggle barely to live, the
one supremo and necessary eudeavor
being to get enough to eat and be
clothed with, or to feed or cover
those dependent upon them! And
then how this perpetual pursuit and
occupation with small things some
times seems to make us grow small.”
‘Wes,” I replied, “it does appear
so at times. To bo watching the
pennies, to bo calculating whether
you cau afford to spend or not this
quarter of a dollar, does, at first
glance, seem as if it would make us
grow little in soul. But look at it all
around.
“Life is made up of little things—
small breaths and short heart beats.
Food and drink are necessary, and
morsels make them. Yet it has of
ten grieved mo to spend on a piece
of beef large enough to feed the
family wliat would have been suffi
cient to buy a book full of noble
thoughts—the one to vanish from
human sight, the other to live for
ever. But the book cannot be eaten
and the beef must be bought: so I
have pot the grief aside, paid the
price of the dinner, and seen the
great thoughts all lost in the merry
chat of the table from which the beef
has disappeared.
“But who shall say, after all, this
is not bcstt Dealing with larger in
terest does not make one grow large.
A man who is in the habit of dealing
with tens of thousands, and has no
need to watch a penny, often doet
watch it with keener interest than
even you or I ever regard it. Some
how, the large dealings have not
made him large; he even seems to
have shrunk as he touches them.
“Aud freedom from these little
things of life,and leisure to give one’s
self entirely to higher things, do not
practically tend to form uobler char
acter nor more beautiful lives. Look
at monks or nuns. They have uo
care for what they shall eat or what
they shall drink ; the prior or abbot
will take care of all that. They do
not even have to think of what they
’~ru "'R^ar ^ f*>eir clothes are provi
ded for, and the fashion never chan
ges. They have pleutv of time to
give to religious things, aud»yet how
small they grow ! Very much smal
ler than are we who are thrust out
into the small worries of life.
“Nor does contact with these little
things dwarf us. All is in the way
we handle them. I think that I
have seen greater things through my
microscope than I have through a
telescope.
“The little things, after all, have a
lifting power. They are very email
but they are many a time so” heavy
that all we can do is to totter with
them to God. They come so fre
queutly that we have to carry them
often, and so we are often brought
uear to Him. They have brought us
Surely this is something. And we
would not have this experience so
often if it were uot for the little
things. To be brought near to God
is not to be made small but great.
“So I think that it is just as well
as it*is. <->Let the small things come,
but let them beckon or even force us
toward our Father in heaven. They
are perpetual, and so they will make
us perpetually near. We shall in
that all-blessed coutact expand ; we
shall uot contract as we are concern
ed with them.”
“God give us grace for that,” my
friend said as we left the church
porch.
A BOY ALL OVER.
As I was sitting in ray friend’s
room the other day, some one came
np the stairs, whistling a jolly air.
“There comes Ned,” said a lady in
the corner of the bay window, busy
with the worsted work, “and now
everything will be topsy-turvy. Yon
may as well finish your story another
time, for there is no use trying to do
anything when that boy is ’round.”
In came “Ned,” aud embodied
breeze, one of those fluttering, frag
rant, saucy summer breezes, that
scatter your manuscript leaves over
the lawn, as if they were so many
rose leaves—pray Heaven they may
be as sweet!—that toss your bair,
aud flutter your ribbons, if you hap
pen to be of the beribboned ser, and
play the mischief generally with
whatever airy possessions you chance
to have around you. I say Ned came
in like just such a breeze. Everybo
dy in the room was a little afraid of
him, yet the sound of his footsteps,
the echo of his merry whistliug, the
ring of his boyish voice, brought
smiles to every lip, a quicker beatiug
to erery heart; in short, his coming
brought life into the room. In the
course of a minute Ned had stepped
into his mother’s woik-basket, had
tossed his aunt’s ball of pale, pink
worsted to the ceilicg, had pulled the
cat’s tail and teased bis little sister
till she “wished boys wouldn’t boz
zer;” then he sank into a chair and
began to beg pathetically for his din
uer. But at the souud of a comrade’s
voice he dashed out of the room
again, dragging his mothei’s knit
ting after him, and breaking the yarn
by a vigorous kick as ho shut the
door.”
“I should think you would send
that boy away to school, if you aro
going to,” said Aunt Grace, taking a
false stitch in her crocheting, and
making a very bad place. “I would
as soon live with a whirlwind.”
“Ned has wonderful spirits,” said
the mother, joining her severed yarn.
“Truly wonderful,” replied the
aunt, in tones of quiet sarcasm ; “so
wouderful that I wouldn’t like to be
responsible for his future if they are
not toned down pretty soon.”
“I think you are a little hard upon
Ned, sister. He is generous aud
brave and truthful, and-”
“And utterly inconsiderate .of eve
rybody’s feelings or comfort,” inter
rupted the aunt. “What do you
think be did this morning? Came
pounding on my door at five o’clock
—after paper for his kite; and he
knows what a poor sleeper I am, and
how much I depend upon my morn
ing nap!”
“He knows, hut he forgets,” said
the mother, gently.
“1 suppose he forgot when he dres
sed up that bolster, and set it in the
corner of my room, and frightened
nie nearly out of my wits—me with
such nerves that it is all I can do to
get along under the best circumstan
ces.”
“Oh, that was-”
“The mother’s speech was inter
rupted by what seemed a miuiature
hail storm, bnt seemed'to be a shower
of pebbles thrown against auntie's
window, giving the good lady a sad
“start.” Mamma looked grieved and
anxious, and I took up the cudgels
for “that young good-for-nothing.”
“I thiuk, auntie,” I said, “that you
are a great stickler for the best of its
kind in everything.”-^-*——
“OJ course I am,” replied ilie Irate
lady, the flush of aunoyauce fading
from her thin cheek.
“Well, then, you ought to rejoice in
Ned, for you must admit that he is a
boy all over, from the crown of his
cropped head to the soles of bis mud
trackirg feet—no adulterated article
there.”
“What of that, pray ?”
“Why, everything. Heal boy, real
man. All this mischief and noise and
nonsense means courage, enterprise,
will, perseverauce—a joyous, irre
pressible temperament, that sheds
troubles and trials as a duck's back
sheds water. Effervescence now
means fullness by and by. Your jov
ial frolicsome boy, provided he have a
sound, warm heart, and a good
brain, becomes the powerful, genial,
useful mau, with not only the wish,
but the force, to do bis part toward
setting the world right.”
Ned’s mother smiled and drew a
long breath as I linished my little
speech.
“I am glad to hear you say a good
woid for Ned.” she said.
‘‘I don’t wonder,” said auntie,
somewhat softened. “Somebody is
always complaining of him, and wish
ing be would go to school; and yet 1
don’t know what we should do with
out him, after all.”
Aye, there’s the rub—what to do
without him! Many a mother, and
many a sensitive, fastidious aunt,
rubbed aud jarred and fret ft d
through the childhood of their boys,
depriving them of much rightful sun
shine, much needed companionship.
How true to the flag were those blus
tering, careless, troublesome boys.
What courage, what endurance, what
splendid manliness they showed!
How patient were they iu prisons,
how dauntless on the field ! The ir
repressible force that their friends
and guardians sought to bottle up
found, iu the right time, glorious use.
The patience of kindly hearts can
no longer avail for those boys. They
jar upon no sensitive nerves, they
disturb no quiet. But others fill
their places—boys as full of possibili
ties, aye, and every whit as trouble
some, as they. They are Uexe> brave,
big-hearted, hot-headed fellows. Of
ten you are at loss to know what to
do with them, but what could you do
without them.—Mrs. M. L. Butts.
TRUSTING GOD.
To believe that the Lord is at my
hand, and at the hand of the men
whom I most fear or most love, iuflu
encing them and me, connecting all
business aud acts, working together
with men for grand results, which
are to so affect society a thousand
years to come, what an antidote to
fretful carelessness is this! When
you have striven to train your child
as an heir of immortality, with what
freedom from care you can hand him
over to the Lord. When you have
beeu diligent in business all day,
neglecting hothiug, hnrrring nothing
acting as an agent for the Lord, leav
ing all your books and transactions
to his inspection aud protection ;
when yon have had intelligent, faith
ful, trustful carefulness all day, how
freo from fretting care you ought to
be at night 1 When 1 have prepared
my sermon for you, thinking care
fully, reading discreetly, earnestly
striviug to find what is the mind of
the Spirit in the Word of God, and
theu have delivered tho sermon, how
free I should be from distraction of
spirit, for was not the Lord near me
in the study, and “at hand” in the
pulpit 1 To be wisely spiritually
minded is to be serenely lofty.—Dr.
Deems, in Frank Leslie's Sunday Mag
azine.
1 Subscribe for the Sun.
and fireside.
SELECTION OF SEEDS.
It is always important that the:
farmer should select the best seeds |
for planting that he can procure, and
this year especially we hope lie will |
give it earnest attention. Farmers j
must make every effort this year to
increase the yield per acre of their
crops, and the best seed is a very
essential element to that end. Ex
periment has time and again demon
strated that some so! ts of seeds will
yield a larger harvest than others, all
other things equal*, showing that
there is.greater virtue or vitality in
some. '1 his fact makes the selection
of seed a thing of the highest impor
tance. All plants are subject to this
law, therefore farmers ought to take
pains to procure and plant none but
the best they can get. A difference
ot a few bushels or pounds to the acre
in yield decides the question of profit
~^k>ss, many a time; and this year,
when the greatest effort is to be made
by all to increase the yield per acre
and reduce the costs of production,
the farmer cannot afford to overlook
or ignore the character of the seeds
that he plants. The soundest and
heaviest seed should be selected, for
these contain the largest amount ol
vital energy, and great care should
be exercised that they are pure and
true to name. In'planting for grass,
oats, and ganleu trucks this is espe
cially necessary, as adulterations and
frauds in these kinds are often very
great. No farmer has ever yet taken
as large crops from our lands as they
are capable of bearing, and imperfect
aud mixed seed have been oue great
cause of the failure. The farmer
j should practice every known method
of testing seeds, that he may be well
’satisfied of the character of what he
j plants before he plants it. Casting
j on a hot shovel, in which the germ of
| some will burst out; throwing in wa
I ter, in which the best of most sorts
will sink to the bottom and only the
light and chaffy that are unfit fur
seed will float; placing for a day or
two in moist sand in a hot room, or in
a hot-bed, when the germ of the good
will begin to develop; steeping in
water near a hot stove over night,
when the same effect will occur;
planting a few in the open ground in
advance of the season ; splitting the
seed aud examining the germ with a
glass, are some of the methods forde- j
terminiug the quality of seeds. It is!
not a difficult matter if the farmer
will have the patience to atteud to it |
in the right way. This is what is i
•needed. Farmers lack the patient
plodding %‘slow but sure’’ policy that
is ever-at work and ever advancing.
More thoroughness in all things is
what is needed now.—Rural Messen
ger.
Let the Beds be Aired.—It is a
bad plan to make up the beds imme
diately after breakfast. The sleep
ing apartments in the house should
be aired every day. Beds should be
opened every morning to the sun and
to the atmosphere. Do not be in too
much haste to get the;, chambers in
be spread over separate c Lairs,' the
mattresses lifted apart, and the pure
morning air be allowed to get into ev
ery nook and cranny of the room be
fore the beds are made up._Better to
endure a little delay in getting the
house in order than loss of health.
Scrambled Eggs with Dried
Beef.—Shave the beef very fine;
put a table-spoonful of butter in fry
ing pan; set it over the tire, and
when hot put in the beef; heat a few
miuutes, stirring constantly to pre
vent burning; beat up the required
number of eggs and stir iu with the
hot beef; stir altogether until the
eggs are cooked. Serve immediately.
Said1 a Baptist to a Methodist: “I
don't like your church government
It isn’t simple enough. There’s too
much machinery about.” “It is true,”
replied the Methodist, “we have more
machinery than you, but then, you
see, it don’t take near so much water
to run it.”
Those who make candles, will find
it a great improvement to steep the
wicks in lime water and saltpetre,
and dry them. The flame is clearer
and the tallow will not run.
A crop of 25 bushels of wheat to
the acre removes from the soil 22
pounds of potash, IS pounds of phos
phoric acid, and 39 pounds of nitro
geu. _
Lamps'will have a less disagreea
ble smell if you dip your wick yarn
in hot strong vinegar and dry it.
ABOUT HOGS.
The old practice is done away with.
It pays no longer to keep overwin
ter any hogs except those specially
intended for breeding. The most ac
ceptable breeds now can tic made to
mature in eight or ten months. If
one man can make hogs weigh three
hundred pounds in ten months, all
can. Pigs should be given all they
will eat, and of the best kind, from
the hour they begiu to eat until they
are taken to market. They need no
time of rest, like some of the plants
of the vegetable kingdom. Kush
them right through. Never keep
what are called stock hogs. They
should aud must be all fattening
bogs. It is the worst kind of waste
to let pigs get poor at any stage of
tbeir existence. "Besides, w a r m
weather is the best time to fatten
pigs. With warm quarters they can
be safely fattened until February,
and in five eases out of six that is
the best month to sell in. But it is
better to keep hogs too cold than too
hot in their quarters. Keep them
from the cold and snow. Keep them
out of straw stacks and manure
piles. With sulphur aud coal oil
keep them clear of vermin. Feed
and' water them regularly, so that
they will lie down most of their
time. Give them all the surplus
ashes from the house. But keep, if
possible, no hogs over the entire
wiuter. Hogs pay, aud pay largely,
when managed right.—American
Stockman.
WOOD ASHES.
The value of ashes as a fertilizer,
depends principally upon the Potash
and Phosphoric Acid they contain.
The percentage of these varies large
ly, iu ashes from different woods, va
rying horn 10 percent, to 24 per cent,
for the former, and 4 per cent, to 12
per cent, for the latter. This would
give not far from lour to five pounds
of potash to a bushel of ordinary
mixed uuleached ashes, which, reck
■ otied at 44 cents per pound—the pres
ent market value of potash in the
commercial.- fertilizers—would give
the value of a bushel at from 13, to
224 cents. W ith due allowance for
the phosphoric acid and the lime—
the latter making up the largest part
of the ashes—it may be seen that a
bushel of unleached ashes, is worth
from 25 to 30 cents at the present
time. Ashes, to secure the best re
sults, should be thoroughly mingled
with the soil. In this way, the best
physical, as well as chemical effects
are obtained. It is selfievideut that
crops requiring large! amounts of pot
ash, will be the most beuefitted by
the application of ashes, as the root
crops, cabbage, tobacco, etc. Forty
to fifty bushels per acre, is a good ap
plication.—American Agriculturest.
Pudding without Milk or
Eggs.—Make a dough as for biscuits
or to every pint of flour, one teas
poon baking powder, half tablespoon
melted suet or butter, saltspeon of
salt water or sweet cream to make a
soft dough; roll half inch thick,
cover with fruit of any kind, sprinkle
with sugar and roll, pressing the
edge down and ends together; lay a
cloth in a steamer, place the dough
(Tn it and steam au hour. If dried
fi'uits are used, they should first be
stewed. Serve with sauce. This may
be warmed over by steaming. Ex
cellent and may be made with chop
ped suet and steamed three-hour*.
Doughnuts—One cup butter,
four eggs, two and one-half cops su
gar, one cup sour milk, one teaspoon
soda, a little nutmeg; floor enough
to roll. Out in auy shape desired.
Have the lard, (or fat from fowls,)
hot enough for them to rise to the
surface as soon as put in. The re
cipe for “Surprise cake” makes good
oj/ughuuts, with a little less butter
than the recipe calls for.
For Brown Bread,—Three cups
of corn meal; three caps of rye
meal; half cup of graham flour or
wheat flour; two-thirds cup of mo
lassos; one teaspoonful saleratusj
oue quart of water, halt cold and
half hot; mix thoroughly together
and bake carefully iu iron pan, three
hours.
Bread Pancakes.—Cut bread
dough which is ready for baling into
strips of fancy desigus, and drop into
hot lard. When they are a fine
brown, draiu them well, and send to
the breakfast table very hot. To be
eaten with syrnp.
Kibbons of any description should
be washed iu coal soap-suds and not
rinsed.
Subspribe for the Sun if you
want a good family paper.
A