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[For The Sunny South.) THE LAST CAMP SONG BY JAY. Crushed to the earth we lie, Who thought to win or die! Hushed is our battle-cry— Proud “Independence."’ Prayers that \ye send on high Gain no attendance; Vainly with ruth-wrung sigh Pierce we the darkened sky,— Rayless our destiny. Bare of resplendence. Vainly the wounded groans. Vainly the bleaching bones Of many martyred ones Oder oblation, And in sepulchral tones— As through the hollow cones Weirdly the tempest moans— Make lamentation. Vainly the widowed. Startled by fancied tread. Lift—each from lonely bed— Love-lighted faces; Vainly their arms are spread For love’s embraces,— Swift is the vision fled! Press hard the aching head, Bride of the martial dead,— Void arc their places! No more shall war's alarms Summon your loves to arms— They from all mortal harms Aye are delivered; Yet shall your eager arms Ne'er more their manly forms Clasp to your bosoms’ charms, Where erst they quivered. Only the grave hath balms For hearts so shivered. Tlie renegade had become suspicious and im patient. As none of the conversation reached him, he called out: “Hi, there, Carson. Come, show yourself—I want to speak to you !” “Keep down, father—as you value your life, keep down !” warned Callie, in a low voice. The Indians on the shore had their rifles pointed at the boat, ready to lire, but they had no chance. “I do not want to talk with you !” called Car- son. “I warn ye, Royce Laskins, that if ye or the red devils on the bank harm a hair of Callie’s head. I’ll take a dozen lives in revenge !” • She shall not be harmed—nonp of you shall By aid- of the setting-poles, the boats were the bark of the logs, and the fierce yells of the TTATT^FIK IT I) I)FP VRTAfFYT against the walls disappointed savages were answered by cheers v. lhllv 1j1 1 lhl - 111 1 1 . forced into the creek and quite of the gtout block-house. By some strange whim, the Indians had left the fort unmolested, and this timely protection of strong logs with its doors and bars intact was in good preservation and ready for immediate use. Dixon was the name of the captain of the strange boat, and in view of the offtbreak of a general Indian war which might last for months, and would certainly last for weeks, he decided that they should all occupy the block-house until it was safe for them to resume their journey. They had several weeks’ supply of coarse provis ions. plenty of ammunition, and they numbered be harmed if you surrender,’’ replied the rene- sufficient to hold the block-house against any gade. “We are able to hold the boat, and we mean to do it!” was the answer. “Think twice before you decide,” called Las kins. “ There are fifty Indians here, and we’ll capture the boat if it takes a month ! If we cap ture it, not a soul of you will be spared !” “Never mind me, father; hold on to the last!” said Callie. “ Ye have the only answer ye’ll git!” shouted the old man. The canoe was drawn back to the logs without another word. Had not the girl been lashed to ordinary attack. “The first thing,” said old Carson, after com ing to a halt, "is to burn them huts so that the reds can't have shelter,” and he started out alone to accomplish their destruction. The huts were all in rifle range of the fort and the Indians, in case of an attack, could secure from the pioneers. The boats floated slowly away, lighting up river and forest as if it were midday, and the Indians ceased their firing. By and by, the boats were out of sight, and then darkness came back, and the block-house stood up as gloomy and solemn as before. It was a lose call, and every heart was thankful that the cunning mal ice §f the red-skins had baffled itself. The burning of the boats put an end to the plans of the pioneers to travel further down the river. They must remain where they were until the war was over, and for weeks after, as but few flat-boats sailed the river, and it was rare that one was for sale. All goods of any account had been removed from both boats, and the horse had been pushed overboard to care for himself in the forest. The loop-holes were so well-arranged that the Indians could not fire .the fort on any other side without exposing themselves to a cross-fire from BY AIRS. A. P. HILL. Indecision. I often find pleasant relaxation from stern mental labor by reading books written expressly for children. How great the contrast between the juvenile literature of the present day and that of half a century ago—in the " good'old times,” when the popular stories for this class of readers were "Blue Beard," “Cindarella." “Old Mother Hubbard,” and others of the same type. They were very entertaining to the young people, and perhaps cultivated the imaginative faculties to a degree, but did not combine very much instruction or elevating moral lessons. Now, the wisest, most famous writers of the day contribute to the children’s libraries some of their best productions. The advance in juve nile literature is so great that children's books are quite as charming to mothers as to the young [Written for The Sunny South.] Callie Carson’s Lovers; OR, FLAT-BOAT, RIVER AM) RIFLE. BY M. qt AD. CHAPTER XVI. Old Carson and his men had a quiet time after the failure of the rafts to burn the boat. From that hour until daylight, the Indians rested, sav ing their ammunition and their lungs. Day dawned serene and peaceful. No attempt had been made to remove the bodies of those killed on the bar, and the dusky corpses lay there exposed to the view of those who peered over the rail. Some were out of water, some partly covered, and the bullets of the pioneers had torn ghastly wounds. Old Carson crossed to the down-stream side and took a long look at the river and the sky. The only thing which would float the boat was a rise in the river. The sky was without a cloud, and his only hope was that some heavy storm above would send down a rise of a few inches. The shores were so quiet up to nine o’clock that the men began to hope that the savages had become discouraged and drawn off. Soon after that hour, it was discovered that the Indians had erected a breastwork of logs in the river about three hundred feet above the boat. While old Carson was surveying the mass, which was not over fifty feet from the shore, a canoe left the bank. Callie sat in the centre, arms and feet tied and her body lashed to the canoe, and Las kins the renegade and an Indian, both on the upper side, pulled the canoe along to and be hind the pile of logs, making the girl’s body shelter them as much as possible. All was ex citement aboard the flat-boat, and the feeling was intensified as Callie and the canoe came in sight again. She was facing them now, and the canoe was being lowered down stream by means of a bark rope held by the pair behind the logs. “Be quiet,—be quiet!” whispered the old man. “She is coming with some message !” Foot by foot, the canoe was lowered down, and finally, when within fifty feet of the boat, it was stopped. Conversation would be easy over this distance, and looking through the loop-holes, the men could see into the girl’s eyes and note her every look. She wore a pale and tired look, but they were soon to find that her brave heart had not deserted her. When the canoe had been fastened to the logs, the renegade raised his head above them and shouted to old Carson: “ Ahoy there ! I want to talk with you !” The old man hardly knew what to do. To see his daughter so near him, and yet to know that she was a prisoner and that he was powerless to aid her, quite unnerved him for a moment, “Ahoy there!” called the renegade again. “I’ll see what he wants, anyhow,” said the old man, and he returned the shout. Laskins mounted 'the logs, and standing up in full view of all aboard the boat, he cried out: "The girl has a message for you. I want to warn you beforehand that a score of Indians on shore have their rifles turned upon her, and if you fire upon me or attempt to rescue her, she shall certainly die !” He waited a moment and then continued: “Now, girl, talk to him.” Speaking in tones which could be heard aboard the flat-boat, but which could not reach the ears of the renegade, she said: “Don’t raise your heads above the rail, or you will be shot from the shore. It is part of the plan to kill some of you.” “I hear ye, gal," replied her father, resisting his inclination to stand up. In a few words, she informed them of the acci dent which had thrown her into the power of the Indians They had offered her no violence thus far, but were furious over the loss of their com panions, and would sooner or later seek revenge. “ They sent me to demand that you surren der,” she added, “and told me to say that they would spare you all. But don’t surrender. The moment you are prisoners, they will slaughter you !” “Callie, gal, have ye seen Will Ross since last night?” asked the father. “No.” “ He went ashore when we heard ye call out, and if thar is a chance for any human bein’ to help ye, he’s the man. He’s probably hiding in the woods, and if ye live till night", ye’ll hear from him.” “ Do not let my situation affect you,’ she said, detecting the anxiety of mind by"the trembling of his voice. “Laskins seems to have great in fluence over them, and I will be spared fora day or two at least. There is a large Indian village a mile or so below here, and there are at least fifty warriors on the bank under the trees. They are discouraged, but they will not go away vet.” “Aye, Callie, I hear every word,” replied the old man as she paused. “I heard them saying that a rise was likely to take place in the river," she continued, “anil if you can hold out another night, I think yon will float away. If the rise does not come, do not surrender under any circumstances as long as you have a bullet left !" “We will not!” answered old Carson; “but I can’t see you drawn back thar in the hands of that white devil!” You can do nothing for me now," she said. le Indians would shoot me if vou made a it, she could have upset it and thrown herself They accomplished their task none too soon, in the water and takeD her chances of reaching The boats were scarcely empty, when the Indians the boat. To upset it, situated as she was, would opened fire from the woods and drove the pio- be to drown herself. neers behind the shelter of the stout logs. When the canoe reached the logs, Laskins was The block-house was two stories high, the sec- enraged over the failure of his plan, and he ond story extending out over the first, and there growled: was no yard or stockade around it. The logs “Not one of them will be alive at sundown!” were pierced at intervals with loop-holes, and The canoe was pushed to shore, and more the one door was strong enough to resist any than one Indian scowled fiercely at the girl, force unless that of a battering ram. All united, Having been untied, she was given into the cus- there were forty-three persons inside, and to se- tody of five or six Indians and escorted back to cure such a prize the savages would be sure to the village. fight furiously and run great risks. Having knowledge now that her lover was in A meeting of the men was held as soon as the the forest, planning to rescue her, Callie felt 1 house was closed, and Dixon was elected to the braver. She knew that Will was cunning and command of the fort, old Carson having plans courageous, and if there was a chance to rescue of his own which prevented him from accepting her. he would be on hand to take advantage the position. The new leader divided his men 1 of it. into small detachments, assigned each a posi- Aboard the boat, the pioneers looked into each tion, and when the sun went down, no block- other’s anxious faces and wondered what would house on the river was better prepared to resist be their fate. The Indians would doubtless a fierce onslaught from the blood-thirsty savages, have some new plan for the night, and could A pretty steady fire had been maintained by the they baffle and defeat it? There were but four, Indians ever since the first gun was fired, and and constant watchfulness was beginning to un- scores of bullets had been buried in the logs; an advantage by occupying them. It was not the defenders’ rifles, and that plan would prob- folks. How dear the household names of Hans long before the flames were devouring them all. ably not be tried. They knew the strength of Andersen, Knatchbull Hergessen, Jean Ingelow, and great clouds of smoke were rising high in the house, its interior "arrangement, and they Miss Muloch, Mr. Frank Goulding (author of air to signal the red skins. were around it in such force that they could “The l'oung Marooners,”) Mrs. Mary Mapes Men, women and children worked with a will practice every strategy which might promise Dodge, and a host of others that occur to me to unload the boats and supply the fort with fuel, success. " which I have not space to mention. The latter— When complete darkness reigned again, the fire of the Indians ceased and their yells were suppressed. Standing at the loop-holes, the block-house defenders listened and watched, hoping for daylight and rest. (TO BE CONTINUED.) [For The Sunny South.) QUEENMARY.” BY ANONYMA. nerve them. CHAPTER XVII Old Carson was terribly anxious about Callie, but less anxious than he would have been had not Will Ross been ashore. The young man was thoroughly skilled in woodcraft, and the Indians would find him both bold and crafty. Before Laskins drew the girl back in the canoe, the father informed her that, should he have the ■ luck to get the boat afloat, he would make a halt but as night came on the firing ceased, and the silence, so much dreaded by the pioneers, set tled down over the forest. The huts were but heaps of nearly burnt logs, and their light made the woods beyond look ten times more solemn and gloomy. CHAPTER XVIII. The men congratulated themselves upon the possession of such stout quarters, so well loca- _ ted; but they realized that the block-house somewhere down the river within ten miles. J would have to be vigilantly watched and bravely There was a block-house less than a dozen miles j defended. | down the river, if he remembered aright, and if | As Dixon’s party came down the river, they j it had not been captured by the red-skins, the found the Indians preparing for war all along, I boat would stop there. If Will succeeded in rescuing her, they would know which way to turn their steps. The forenoon passed slowly away, no Indians being seen or heard from on either shore. Once in a while a yell could be heard in the direction of the village down the river, but it seemed as if the siege of the boat had been raised. About noon, while old Carson was scanning the river up-stream, he uttered an exclamation of surprise which drew all the men to his side. Another flat-boat was coming down—a craft larger than their own! No one was in sight, the steersman having a house erected over him, but it was plain that the flat-boat had a crew. She Jiept a straight course, and in ten minutes was within hailing distance. Raising his bear skin cap on the muzzle of his rifle and waving it around, but not showing his head above the deck, the old man shouted: “Flat-boat ahoy!” “Are you white men?” came an answering shout. “Yes, white men and in trouble,” continued Carson. “We are aground on the bar, and the shore is covered with Indians !” “We will help you!” called the stranger. “ how far out of the channel are you ?” Not over twenty feet,” answered old Carson. and within three days, two or three hundred red skins would gather around the block-honse and exercise all their devilish ingenuity to capture it. The women and children were tired and sleepy, and two hours after dark the men had the rooms to themselves They moved about with silent steps, listened at the loop-holes, and would rather have been subjected to a fusilade than to endure the suspense of the solemn, mys terious silence which prevailed around them. Under cover of the silence and darkness, the savages were planning and executing, and no one could guess where the blow would fall. About eleven o’clock, as the burning logs fell down at one of the heaps and the flames darted up for a moment, one of the pioneers caught sight of fifteen or twenty Indians standing in a crowd. The light lasted only a moment, and then the flame died almost out and,the darkness was blacker than ever. One wall of the block-house was washed by the creek, and the flat-boats rested against this wall. There was a stout door ten feet up from the water, and through this the goods had been passed in. The door could not be opened for fear of a volley, but the men listened closely at the loop-hole, fearing that the Indians were planning the destruction of the boats. And they were. Half an hour before mid- “If ye can make fast to the snag there, ye can \ night, three canoes loaded with red-skins pad- help us off.” | died silently into the mouth of the creek, right Without a man showing himself, the boat j under the walls of the block-house. The dark changed her course, describing a half-circle, and night and the black water concealed the canoes as she neared the snag, a noosed rope fell over almost from each other, and the keen-eyed red- it and the craft was made fast. She was in deep i skins did not see the flat-boats until close upon water, and yet not over twenty feet from Car- j them. They had come prepared to burn them, son’s boat. The rope was hardly taut when and in destroying the boats, they hoped also to there came a fierce yell from the shore and a ; destroy the fort. large body of Indians opened a hot fire. They | One boat was against the wall, the other out- could not" see a living object on either boat, but ! side of it. The canoes were held alongside the We have just arisen from a literary treat, not the less relished from a tardy finding,—the pe rusal of the last production of the poet laureate of England. A book from such a renowned source lias doubtless had many able reviewers and critics, but its reception in England or this Mrs. Dodge—deserves the thanks and patronage of adults and children for a juvenile magazine, pronounced by a popular writer to be “as near perfect as possible. ” An excellent English book of this class has re cently afforded me entertainment and instruc tion. It is well-named,—“Children’s Friend.” A train of profitable thought was suggested by a little story, which I give my readers in part. Said a small boy to one of his play-mates who enjoyed the love and confidence of the whole school, “How is it you never go with bad boys or get into scrapes?” “Oh!” said the other, “that is because I never say no, easy." Bravo, little fellow! Carry out this line of conduct, and in the battle of life you will win and wear the hero’s crown. There was a world of wisdom in that boy’s reply, the value of which is beyond computation. No doubt, the lesson had been country is unknown to us, and we venture to £ive, not a review of the work, but our own im- early instilled into his mind by the precept and pressions of it. consistent example of faithful parents. Every Tennyson, in “Queen Mary,” has departed one will decide that his home-training had been from his role of lyric poet and entered the Shaks- S 0 °d that parental discipline was helping him pearean field of historical drama. The dark pe riod of English history which he has chosen to delineate in verse, receives no glamour of palli ation or excusableness, but the characters and historical incidents stand out in accurate realism and stern truthfulness. There is, however, one exception to his impartiality in portraying char acter. Every reader is forced to cover with a vail of compassion, and even drop a tear for her who knew not pity, and who was a stranger to only selfish tears,—the execrated “Bloody Mary” of history—the central figure of the drama. It is true that the Queen of Philip is described as wearing, on her wedding-day, “red shoes,” as if she had ‘ ‘ waded in blood. ” The shocking to form habits of decision, without which there can be no success in life. There is a class of parents who fail to appreciate the importance of training their children to be guided by princi ples and not by impulse, and who themselves set such examples of indecision and want of firmness as have a life-long influence for evil upon their offspring. “Lo, thou art a landmark on a hill—thy little ones copy thee in all things.” I am reminded of an incident which occurred in the family of a friend, who was a widow. She had a lovely daughter of uncommon intelligence, but with a decided will of her own. The mother was gentle and amiable, and to avoid scenes, had fallen into the habit of yielding to her importu- persecution, imprisonment and burning of un- nitiesin matters where morals were not involved, offending Protestants is faithfully detailed, but without thinking of the consequences. Fortu- they are read without a sickening sense of reali- nately for mother and child, the former received zation. In short, it is simply a gory page of a^ lesson which she was not slow to profit by. history. But when Mary Tudor is depicted in I pon some occasion, one of her daughters her womanly (not queenly) character as the wife school-mates called and invited the little girl to of the cold-blooded Spaniard—unhappy, neg- spend the night with her. To this the mother lected, childless and deserted—we forget that objected, when the visitor took sorrowful leave, she was “flint of flint;” that mercy, that “hedge- Coming out of the mothers room, she was met rose of a soft winter,” never blossomed in her j 3 ) the little girl, who had been anxiously wait- heart; and we fain would weep, our pity culmi- ' ing outside the result of the interview. “What nating in the last scenes, where the haggard, in- did my mother say? was asked. “Oh! she sane Queen sits lowly on the floor with drooping says you can t go. The mother heard this re head, dying, yet still alive to her woes. sponse: “Go back and bey her. She always says The imaginative faculty of the poet seizes this no at first, but keep begging her. She will be side of the character, and so we account for the sure and let me go; she always does. It brought impression. The historian, Froude, excuses the a hlush ot shame to that mother s lace, a pang of atrocities of Mary’s reign by the influence ex- j self-reproach to her heart. “How can I urge erted over her by her advisers and counsellors, m J T child to act always from principle and a Cardinal Pole and Bishop Gardiner. But Pole sense of duty when she so often sees me abandon recommended mercy to heretics; Philip him- 111 y convictions of right for a little coaxing, and self, as a matter of policy, advised tolerance, to rid myself of the petition and petitioner ? Cranmer might have been exiled and not burned What an example of indecision and cowardice I after his recantation. Queen Mary was ever have been setting ! These were the reflections athirst for blood,—an inhuman bigot without of this Christian mother. A new leaf was turned a parallel in history. over in the family, greatly to the advantage of All competent judges, we would suppose, H ie child. Is this kind of experience of rare oc- would accord to this drama the merit of pure currence ? I fear not, with issues less fortunate. they comprehended that one had come to the aid of the other, and they were going to do their best to prevent it. The captain of the strange boat placed his mouth at a port-hole and shouted: “There are five men of us, and we have a horse. We will throw you a rope, and when you have made it fast, we will haul you off.” After a moment, the rope came flying through the air and fell at Carson's feet. He crept along to the bow and made it fast, and called out that he was ready. The boat had worked so far into the sandy bar that there were grave doubts whether she could be moved a foot. The veils of the Indians were latter, and four or five dark figures climbed up and crept along the deck so softly and silently that the ears at the loop-holes ten feet above heard no noise. Some boxes and boards had been left in the cabin, and these were noiselessly gathered together in a corner. The Indians had brought leaves and twigs and a bit of burning punk, and when ready to leave, they knew that the fire would kindle in five minutes. Creeping across the deck, the savages lowered themselves into the canoes and all floated away as silently as they came. “ I've been listening here for half an hour,” whispered old Carson, as he removed his ear from a loop-hole, “and though I haven’t heard fearful, and as they saw the rope thrown, a dozen so much as the breaking of a stick, I feel it in of them left the shelter of the forest, and stood in my bones that the infernal red-skins are prowi the water up to their knees to discharge their ing around !" rifles. it was midnight now, aild time for the plan to A fire was opened from both boats, and two of J be developed if the Indians had one. The chil- the red-skins were killed and one wounded. The dren and most of the women were asleep, and others beat a retreat to their old position, and then the stranger ealled out: “Ready, now—we are going to pull!” The line quivered, straightened, and the boat quivered as it felt the strain. For two or three seconds it was a fight between luck and fate, and then the boat was slowly pulled alongside the other. A great cheer went up from the men, answered bv screams and yells from the shore. The stranger beat had such high bulkwarks that even the horse was hidden from sight, and the men had not seen each other yet. The line was'cast off, and the current carried them down and gradually sheered them over to the other side. When it was safe for them to do so, the the silence was so deep that it weighed like a burden on the watchers. Crackle ! Snap ! Crackle ! “’Sh ! hark !” warned Carson, as the sounds reached his ears. The men looked into each other’s faces and made no move. Snap ! Snap ! Snap ! “I smell smoke [’ ’whispered one of the men. “And there’s fire near oy !” replied Dixon. A moment more and the black darkness began to break away, forced back by the flames, which had taken strong hold of the boat. Then a wild yell came from the savages, and forty or fifty rifles opened fire on the one side of the block- and high art ; and its greatest power, we imag ine, would be disclosed to the cultivated by representation on the boards. If space per mitted, we might advert to scenes and dialogues which would be esteemed by the actor as fitting subjects for the display of talent. The person ation of the Queen, Philip, Gardiner, Pole, Cranmer, and others, would all make interesting and difficult studies for the stage. There is but little poetic fancy in the work. The diction is as pure and pointed as Tennyson’s Refusals are often given to the requests of chil dren in a tone of voice so irresolute and unde cided, that instead of extinguishing all hope and at once putting an end to the matter, the child is encouraged to persevere until the point is gained. Children should be treated as reasonable, ra tional beings—talked to in a way to make them feel that they are so, and that to reach the high est type of manhood or womanhood, they must act from principle, not impulse—that success in is ever wont to be, and there are images of orig- life is won by unswerving truth to God and man. inal beauty throughout : but they do not glitter Their requests should be listened to with affec in perfection as in his lyrics. We would not close without mention of one or two bits of refreshing humor in the sad pages, and the relief furnished by two little songs that are purely Tennysonian—exquisite and musical. [For The Sunny South.) DO NOT BE ASHAMED OF WORK. BY Jj. L. V. tionate interest; when they can be granted with propriety, let it be done cheerfully and in a way to confer the greatest amount of happiness. When upon reflection it is deemed proper to de cline, it should be done so decidedly that it is fully understood that the matter is not open to discussion. Some persistent, obstinate natures require stern discipline, and that “no” should be said with a sort of sledge-hammer emphasis. Let it be done when necessary. In time the les son will be learned that “no” is never said easy— that when it is said it is meant. The love and confidence of the child having been gained, the discipline will not be regarded as tyrannical. To blindly yield to the importunities of children No one should ever blush at being found en gaged in some useful employment, however homely or humble that employment may be. Such a shame is false, and should be promptly . , . . ., , condemned. Honest work is honorable-a mat- ?8 al “ st the dlctat f? °/ judgment, is misguided ter for pride rather than mortification. Desire indulgence “a kindness most unkind; the high station if you will. Ambition is no sin, if f rai t Dead Sea apples, it makes not itself sinful by unholy means. But let your first care be to have your ends worthy and* useful, and then you may be indifferent to their loftiness. If your calling be honest, faith and earnestness will give it a nobility. Devote yourself to it, then, with a stout heart and un blushing face. Regard not the silly sneer, nor the upturned nose of the basely idle who pride themselves on soft hands and peach-down cheeks. You are nobler far than they. The bread of pa tient, humble toil is more to be prized than the dainty viands which those who are reared in lazy luxury parade upon their boards. Public sentiment has undergone and is still undergoing a great change on this subject. Labor Receipts. Pine-Apple Ice.—Grate the pine-apple; add to a large one, carefully grated, two quarts of water; let it set an hour; sweeten well and freeze. Or anges may be used for ices; remove the seed. . Apple Pudding.—Two tea-cups of strained ap ples, two of sugar, one of butter, yolks of seven eggs; flavor with nutmeg; marengue with two whites; bake with or without crust. Mbs. K. Apple Ice.—Grate fine-flavored apples; sweeten well; save all the juice; put all in the freezer; when solid, turn out. Peaches are nice; also apples and quinces mixed, using less quince is more respectable now than it was a quarter of than apple. Mbs. H. Silver Padding.—Four tea-cups of sifted flour, one of butter; cream with the butter two cups of white sugar; beat stiff the whites of six eggs, and add alternately with the flour; sift with the flour a heaped tea-spoonful of cream-of-tartar; a century ago. Yet it has not gone far enough in that direction. We honor wealth enough, perhaps too much. There is too much disposi- setting-poles were put in use to head the crafts house, to prevent any attempt to subdue the t) on think that the man who can accumulate downstream, and Carson’s boat was run along- flames. money can do anything; and the idea prevails, uuul „ uc.a,-,,,-..,™ side of and lashed to the other. Then for the The pioneers knew what had been done, but perhaps too largely, that the man who can make dissolve, in a tea-cup of sweet milk, a level tea first time, the two crews looked into each other’s words of warning from old Carson and Dixon his pennies pounds is the safest individual with spoonfui of soda; add the milk and soda last; faces. Carson climbed aboard, and in a f<=w prevented their excitement from becoming con- w fl om to trust the destinies of a nation. But flavor; bake in a quick oven. Eat with sauce, minutes had related the story of his adventures, fusion. There was water in plenty, but the W e do not hoi r* ■-» uch the humble, plodding and had learned that the strangers were also flames were so well-rooted that nothing could W ork upon whi. u all depends. The professions pioneer families trom up the river, intending to save the boats. There seemed every chance that indeed, we dignify ; but though these may be settle in Kentucky. They had several times the block-honse would go too, as the bullets ot useful, they are not the most useful spheres of been attacked by the Indians, but had thus far the Indians prevented the door from bein successfully baffled every attempt to capture the opened. boat, though losing two men killed. “We have one hope,—the ropes may burn When Carson had told them of the situation and let the boats float away,” replied old Carson, of Callie and Will, and spoken of the block-house ! as the men plied him with questions, below, they readily agreed to halt there if cir- The logs were not yet dry, and they would cnmstances permitted. They were aware that scorch a long time before the flames would take war had broken out all along the river, and were hold. The Indians had made a bad move. The apprehensive of the future. fire had been started in the bow of the boat in- The Indians followed along the bank for four stead of the stern, and before the fire had touched or five miles, whooping, yelling and discharging a log, the rope holding the boat to the walj their rifles, and then seemed to abandon the burned away, and the current carried the craf) chase. Soon after three o’clock, the boats came out into the river. in sight of the block-house, which was discov- The remaining boat was a mass of flame at the ered to be empty, as were the four or five huts bow before the fire had crept back amidships, in the clearing around it. The settlers had re- and after the block-house had been filled with ceived warning by some friendly messenger, and smoke, the rope also parted and let the boat fol- had hurried away, leaving no prey for the sav- low its mate out of the creek. Water was dashed ages, who arrived a few hours too late. society. Tradesmen, artisans and farmers are the ,ne and sinew of the land, and they should be made to feel that there is a due appreciation of the services which they render. Every one should magnify his office whose aim is to benefit his race either in material inter ests or moral progress. These considered, the spade is as honorable as the pencil, the layer of bricks as the holder of iefs. She who wins an honest living by the neeale, if she be faithful and true, deserves our commendation no less than she who sways the sceptre with vigor and judgment. No man nor woman should be held disgraced by his calling unless his calling be disgraceful, and such an one no person should follow. Fouk c : dren were poisoned from eating worm out of the loop-holes to quench the fire eating at lozenges, in Louisiana, dying in a few hours. To Warm over Cold Meats.— Chop the meat fine; add a little minced onion and tomato catsup, salt and pepper; fill the baking dish two-thirds full; add a little gravy or bits of butter; cover to the top smoothly with Irish potatoes mashed fine and moistened with sweet milk; chop very fine two or three hard-boiled eggs; stir them, with salt and pepper, into the potatoes; bake until a crust is formed of a light-brown color. Very little cooking is necessary—not over fifteen minutes. Miss B. Succatash.—Boil a fat fowl. Take part of the liquor in which it was boiled, and put it in a stew-pan; add butter-beans and green com— twice as much com as beans; stew until the veg etables are done; season with salt and pepper. It may require the addition of a little hot water; very little gravy is needed. A nice accompani ment to the boiled fowl, which should be served with white sauce. Tomato omelet is exoellent poured over the succatash after it is put upon J the plate. Mbs. E.