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ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, APRIL 17, 1875.
MARI E. RRYAN, ... Editress.
Our Ideai Maiden and Model Wife.
Time and again have we been asked to describe
our “ideal of woman,” onr “model wife,”
“model maiden,” etc. It is a difficult thing to
do. There are as many types of women as of
flowers, and who shall say that the rose is more
admirable than the lily, or the carnation than
the jessamine ? But then it is permitted to give
one’s own individual preferences—for what they
are worth; and we confess that our taste is for a
sweet woman—not one of the eternally smiling,
sugary sort. They are flat, stale and uninter
esting” in the outset, and are apt, like most
over-sweet things, to turn sour by standing, and
become acidous old maids or shrewish wives.
No, our “sweet woman ” is bright, and cheerful,
and sympathetic, but with a dash of humor and
independence about her — an airy, graceful
sprightliness, like Shakspeare’s Rosalind. She
does not burst on you full-blown, with every
charm and virtue displayed at once, but wins
upon you gradually, opening leaf by leaf like
the English rose, with always some inmost curled
and hidden leaves—some sweet and shy reserve
that never opens except to the touch of sacredest
love and friendship. She
“ Gives a warm baud to her friends, and a smile
Like a generous lady, now and a while,
But the sanctuary heart that one may win
Keeps holiest of holies ever more;
The crowd in the aisles may watch the door,
The high priest only enters in.”
That is our model maiden; as for the model
wife-, she is but the perfect efflorescence of our
English bud. Here is her full-length portrait:
“The true woman and true wife is pure with
out being prudish; her virtue is not the result
of training, but the direct gift of God. She is in
nocent and unsuspicious, and it never enters her
heart to imagine that others are not as herself.
‘ To the pure all things are pure. ’ But her heart"
is tender and merciful. When she hears of
vice—which she seldom does—she is pitiful—
very pitiful. Her nature does not partake of the
just judge who condemns, but of the divine Sa
viour’s, who pleads for criminals before the awful
throne. She weeps tears of sorrow that sin has
been committed, and would be glad if she could
bring the sinner from darkness to light. Mean
while she never thinks of evil unless it is thrust
upon her sight. All her paths, if not strewn
with roses, are at least free from weeds. Her
sky is always blue and the light of heaven visi
ble. She does not sit in judgment on the actions
of her friends, whom she believes to be all good
and true. Her children are not trammeled and
fettered; she believes in them and their good
ness. She does not dream of ruling her hus
band; on the contrary, his wishes have always
been her laws, and she lias known them so long
that every little cranny and crank of his charac
ter is familiar to her, and she lovingly cares that
no irritating element shall disturb him. On his
side, he repays her goodness by unbounded ten
derness and a happiness always regained in the
atmosphere .of home.
“She sees no impropriety in a merry cheerful
ness or in playful familiarities. She rather en- ,
courages the visits of friends and young friends
of both sexes. She enjoys and herself excels in
bandinage. She is the soul of hospitality and her
easy manners set her guests at ease. She is gen
erally clever, always large-minded and often ac
complished. Naturally and without vanity she
displays her own and her children’s talents, and
calls out all those of her guests; jealousy on such
matters never enters her thoughts. With her, as
with the British jury, every one is innocent until
proved guilty. Yet she would shun contact with
aught that was wrong as the ermine which will
lose its life rather than soil its pure white fur.”
Book Notices.
The most fascinating book we have read for a
long while is Mr. Hardy’s novel, “Far from the
Madding Crowd.” It is full of strong, sustained
power; the cliarcters are boldly drawn; the style j
pure, forcible English. We have only one fault
to find—the same fault we perceive in “Middle-
march,”—the characters do not take hold of onr
sympathy sufficiently. We do not enter into
their feelings, their lives, as it is the province
of the novelist to make us do. But the narrative
is absorbing.
In direct contrast to Mr. Hardy's book is
"Mistress Judith—A Cambridgeshire Story,” by
Frazer Tvtler. It is a charming story, though
short and unpretentious, with simple village
folks for dramatis persona’ and the tamest and
flattest of scenery as a setting. But it is a re
freshing contrast to the present spasmodic, fever
ish style of novel-writing. It is a lovely idyl of
village life, with a plot carefully carried out and
characters that assume reality and engage our
warmest sympotliv.
“The Woman of Fire," one of Adolphe Belot's
vivid and highly-wrought romances. It is for
sale by Phillips A Crew.
“Longevity, or the Means of Prolonging Life
after Middle Age.” A book showing much re
search and practical observation, full of valuable
hints on the all-important subjects of prolonging
life and preserving health. It contains much
physiological information and will well repay
perusal. At some other time, we will give some
interesting extracts from this work. It is for
sale at the large and attractive book-store of
Phillips A Crew, comer of Peachtree and Mari
etta streets.
Southern Scenery and I.orations.
Notwithstanding that emigration and increased
facilities for traveling have given to people at a
distance a better idea of the rich resources of
the South in respect to scenery and to locations
for health and pleasure, there still remain many
beautiful spots unvisited by the ordinary tour
ist—many admirable sites for watering place
improvements and health resorts which have
been almost wholly overlooked. Middle Flor
ida, for instance, as compared with other por
tions of the State, seems rather neglected by art
ists, pleasure tourists, scientists and speculative
capitalists. And yet all these would there find
grand materials for the exercise of their taste,
talents and money. Even the wonderfully
unique beauty of “Wakullah Spring ” is com
paratively little known, though no Italian
scenery can surpass that lake of crystal clear
ness and untold depth which, when stirred by
a touch, breaks into a thousand prismatic colors
as though it were the nether heaven which held
all the rainbows that had glittered since the
flood. The curious geological formation around
this lake—in whose vicinity were found some of
the most gigantic fossil remains—should of
itself draw men of science to the spot.
Not far from Wakullah Lake is the once pretty
town of Newport, situated on the St. Mark’s
river, and but two miles from the bay terminus
of a railroad that in a few hours takes one to
Tallahassee, the capital of the State. Here, in
Newport, are mineral springs said to be supe
rior to those of Saratoga, and yet, when we vis
ited this town a few years ago, we found it a
wilderness—lonely as the desert of Palmyra and
sadly reminding one of Goldsmith’s “Deserted
Village.” The streets were grass-grown, the
tenantless houses were gone to wreck, the church
windows swung loose on broken hinges, weeds
flaunted in rose-gardens, oranges lay rotting in
side the once beautifully hedged enclosures, and
the mineral spring itself—a free, bold stream
strongly impregnated with iron and sulphur—
was then in utter neglect. The building which
had covered the deep, crystalline basin in which
we had so often bathed, had fallen into decay,
and nothing was unchanged but the grove of
stately magnolias which embowered the spring.
What a beautiful and valuable health resort a
little enterprise and capital could make of this
place, convenient as it is to the railroad trains
and coast packets, and very near the capital of
the State !
But still nearer to Tallahassee is another point
of interest to the traveler and the capitalist.
This is the beautiful Lake Jackson, in the im
mediate vicinity of Tallahassee—a noble sheet
of water six miles long and three broad, abound
ing in fish, visited by innumerable water fowls,
and affording scenery as lovely as any artist cr
poet could desire, with banks at some points
gently sloping to the water’s brink and bordered
with gleaming sands that higher up give place
to velvet verdure; and at other points broken
into bold promontories and graceful curves with
■ a back-ground of hammock woods rolling away
in billows of variegated green. Around the
shores of this lake it is said “could be made one
of the finest drives in the country,” and the
grand promontory on which is situated the
j once beautiful but now neglected and half-
ruined Whitehead mansion would make the
! “ finest site for a hotel in the South.”
Livingstone’s Opinion of the Negro.
It is universally conceded that David Living
stone was born with a special mission to look
after the welfare of lower races. His attention
i was turned with characteristic earnestness to
the problem afforded by the African race. To
the study of this people he devoted the activity
of his nature and brought to bear upon it his
large philanthropy, his broad human sympathy,
his patience and philosophy. And what is the
result of this—what is his opinion of the negro
as a being susceptible of civilization and moral
rsponsibility ? We find it condensed in the nut
shell of a few suggestive sentences that slip from
his pen in his “Journal.” Here is one alluding
to future plans for missionary enterprise. He
writes:
“Educated free blacks from a distance are to
be avoided. They are expensive and are too
much of gentlemen for vour work.”
This is a serious warning, and must cause the
reflection that if the black when freed and educa-
cated is useless and “too much of a gentleman”
to perform his part as missionary to his igno
rant brethren in Africa, from whence he himself
was liberated, he must be decidedly useless in
any other position. It would be natural to sup
pose that a native black who had received the
advantages of education in a civilized country
would, beyond all others, be adapted to impart
the same benefits to those of his own race.
Upon such a question Livingstone is the highest
authority, and his unfavorable opinion throws a
dark shade upon the prospects of native im
provement.
Another warning of the unfitness of dark and
mixed races for progressive political movements
may be drawn from an expression of Castelar,
who is reported to be much disappointed at the
turn affairs have taken in Spain. He says:
“I have deceived myself in thinking that the
Spanish people could be judged like the other
nations of Europe. It is a Semitic people, full of
the Moorish blood. It will never understand
onr political refinements and distinctions. It
is intransigente. All its opinions are absolute
like its axioms of fanatical religion. My policy
was vanquished. It must have been so: it is a
question of race; Semitism is not republican.
“ Money worship, let us not deny it, is our
national sin. We pay our highest respect to
money, and desiring to be respected, we strain
after the possession of that for which we know
we shall be courted, respected and admired,
though we lack every virtue in the calendar.
We see people—no doubt, charming people—
neglected because they are poor, and we hate pov
erty fos the cruel penalty it inflicts. ”
A useful thing in the long run—breath.
A Summer Land.
In spite of what the critics say about Mr.
Noel's poem of “Livingstone in Africa,” there
are some lovely word pictures to be found in it.
True, these are oftenest oases in the desert of
commonplace, but many of our modern poems
are all desert and no bright spots. Here is a
picture of the summer land where the “birds
have no sorrow in their song, no winter in their
year.” It deserves a place in “Lotos Leaves,”
the new, rich and rare book made up of contri
butions from the first wits and poets of the age,
enriched with designs by most eminent artists—
a choice bouquet of a book, representative of
Nineteenth Century art.
But here is Mr. Noel's picture of the “Land
of the Sun:”
“ I came to pleasant places on my way:
Lawns of deep verdure by a silver water;
Wind-waved savannas, flushed with floral bloom,
Clouded with saffron, or cerulean flowers,
And little silken blossoms of pure snow,
Dying in dews of every dying eve—
Living in all revivals of the morn.
Here, women singing, reap the golden grain,
Or bind in sheaves; here flourish cotton fleece,
Eice, tendrilled peas and pulse and sugar-cane;
While mottled kine, knee-deep in flowering grasses,
At milking time, low to their prisoned heifers,
And merry kidlings frisk at bowered doors.
The men, under some fig's rich canopy,
Sit weaving limber baskets, or a wier
And fishing creel.
“ How wonderful it was to float along the river.'
Dreamily hearing water flash and gurgle
From my canoe’s advancing sides and oars,
Washing among green rushes of the shore,
Wherein winged warblers, plumed in spousal hues
Of green, gold, scarlet, sable, white and azure,
Flashed, thrilled and warbled here in the Summer Land.
Hark! how they sing to soft mates in nests woven
Of green flags, nimble bills have sown with webs;
While sunning them, they preen their little wings,
Showering drops that trickle down the stems.
“In shoals, grave marabouts with red flamingoes
Wade; and behold! yon bird on floating lotus
Leaves walks among the holy white lilies,
Dipping a glossy fold below the ripple.
A snowy ibis, a slim dftnoiselle,
A tall, gray heron, an egret of white plumes,—
These, and the like, stand fairy sentinels
With wavering, bright image down below;
Silent, before a twilit emerald
Of river margin, radiant in bloom,
Yellow milola, blue convolvulus,
Whose vases seem to overflow with heaven.”
Our Correspondents.
Author of “Pussie Duncan."—The specimen
chapter is very good indeed; would' like to see
the whole MS. The synopsis of the plot prom
ises well.
Dr. II. S.—Your good wishes are a cordial to
the heart. Your little sketch-essay is accepted.
It has all the old maltum in parvo of style—the
rare faculty of condensation — of clothing a
thought in few and forcible words. Why should
you feel obliged, though “a grave and gray
haired minister,” to excuse yourself for taking
an interest in stories? The novel is now the
most popular vehicle, not only of sentiment, but
of thought and knowledge—of that knowledge
which is most practical and valuable—knowl
edge of life and affairs, of places and customs,
of human business and human character.
Mrs. Tl., of Marshall, Texas—Your energy is
most commendable. Your cheerful patience
under trials and bereavements that would have
crushed many seemingly stouter hearts into the
dust, makes you worthy of present respect and
future success. As to your question concerning
the “National Copying Company for Pictures
and Photographs,” we cannot give you a satis
factory reply. ' l’ou had best be careful, how
ever; we have heard the company spoken of un
favorably.
Mattie S., of Thomasville.—It was not an “ill
wind ” that blew that fragment of The Sunny
South at your feet. You shall have an unmuti
lated copy, and we feel assured that you will at
once “place it on your list of friends” and your
name on our list of subscribers. We shall be
glad to examine any MS. you may send. No,
we have not forgotten you; memory holds a pic
ture of a gay and graceful sprite that we last saw
flitting among the flowers of her mother’s gar
den, as though
“Lile were all poetry
And weariness a dream.”
From Mrs. B., of Terrell, Texas, comes a let
ter of kindly greeting, saying: “I feel con
strained to write and thank you and Mr. Seals
for starting an ‘enterprise so greatly needed. I
appreciate The Sunny South highly. Your
story is constantly growing in interest, and Mrs.
Hill’s department is always admirable. Her re
ceipts stand the test of trial invariably. Why
do you not publish something more from the
author of the “Sister of Mercy?” I thought
that a charming story. Is the writer the same
Mrs. Messenger that once edited the ‘Kaleido
scope’ during the war ?” We do not think she
is, but she is a graceful writer, as you say, and
we expect shortly to publish a long story from
her pen.
Miss II., of Bock Hill, S. C.—Your first com
munication came to the office before our arrival.
We have not yet found time to examine the MS.
thoroughly because of ill-health and accumula
tion of papers to be overlooked. Will write you
privately soon. The “Sketches of Travel” would
no doubt suit our pages if they were short and
sprightly, as we fancy they would be.
Mrs. M., of Eatonton.—You are very kind and
complimentary, and we regret not being able
just now to comply with your request. The
number you desire shall Ije sent to your address.
As regards the sequel of “Haywood Lodge,” it
has been so often called for that we propose to
publish the entire story re-written and modified
and with the sequel appended. We will begin
its publication in The Sunny South as soon as
“Twice Condemned” is completed.
‘‘Little Mary."-—Your letter is as welcome as
the first violets of spring—the violets you used
to resemble: and like the odor of those “flowers
to childhood dear,” it brings up a dream of the
lovely long-ago when “Little Mary” was the
school pet. It is que£r to know that she is now
a wife and mother.—wee, delicate sprite as she
was! But no doubt she makes a charming
household fairy, and we shall accept her invita
tion to “come and see for ourself” the first time
we can give pen and printers the dodge.
The Spelling Bee.
“Will you go to the ‘Spelling Bee’ to-night?"
asked a friend. “It will make you feel five years
younger.”
And as we felt in need of rejuvenescence, we
went.
A “Spelling Bee !” We had never seen one
or heard one described, but the name had a
quaint sound — a flavor of rusticity in it that
was attractive. We had a mental picture of a
wide hall—a school recitation room, probably—
with benches, desks, a globe lamp by way of
illumination, and a spelling class composed of
big folks and little, with an amused cluster of
spectators—perhaps fifty in number, and plainly
dressed. This picture vanished, presto! as our
cicerone stopped before an imposing building,
where a crowd blocked the entrance and police
men mounted guard. We were ushered at length
into the well-lighted Opera House—an ample and
tastefully-designed building, reminding one of
the Varieties Theatre in New Orleans—and found
it overflowing, lower floors and galleries, with
plumes, ribbons, satin vests, opera-glasses, kid-
gloves—all the accessories of a “full dress” occa
sion; while a sea of smiling faces, young and
old, all turned to the stage, before which a fine
band waft in performance, and upon which sat
the contestants in the spelling match—two com
panies ranged on either side, under distinguished
captains, while the chairman appeared in the
open space between, and walking composedly to
and fro was seen the professor, the master of
ceremonies.
In the back-ground, but conspicuous from
their elevated seats and imposing appearance,
sat the committee—a grave, judicial-looking trio
with three ponderous standard dictionaries open
before them.
The spelling clubs presented a comic diver
sity, being composed for the most part of young
men, but with a sprinkling of eager, wide-awake
faces of Young America, contrasting with their
bearded seniors, and yet more with a represent
ative of the old fogy element in the person of a
bald-headed old gentleman in rusty shoes and
home-made coat — evidently a country school
teacher.
A few preliminary remarks from the professor
(facetious admonitions to “the boys” to hold up
their heads, turn out their toes and speak up in
a manner to reflect credit upon themselves and
their very numerous parents), and the ortho
graphical combat began. Just as the correct
spelling of the “ good boys” began to grow mo
notonous, a word was missed, then another and
another. Each defeated contestant took up his
chair and retreated amid much good-natured
merriment. The audience was highly apprecia
tive, the schoolboys and the old gentleman from
the country coming in for the greatest share of
their sympathy. They insisted on the fairest
play for these, and when they were finally beaten,
consoled them with applause.
Meantime, the work of decimation went on
until the ranks were thinned to three or four on
a side, reminding one of the famous combat be
tween the two Highland clans (recorded by Sir
Walter) when they fought with picked men on a
staked battle-ground, -with the king, court and a
thousand spectators ranged on elevated seats to
behold them—fought till but two stood stagger
ing on the hloody field. That was high tragedy,
however, and this battle of the book-learned was
pure comedy—very funny to grown-up folks and
irresistible to the little ones. Finally, all went
down but three “spellists,” who took positions
and stood the trial with a pertinacity that made
one fear they had resolved like Ulysses (the mod
ern) “to stand it out on that line if it took all
summer.” At last, however, the little editor went
down (on a doubtful word, though), and pres
ently another tripped on the anglicised French
word, “vinaigrette” (a little stone has stumbled
many a thoroughbred who made nothing of
taking bars and hedges), and he retired, while
some pretty girls around us murmured, “What
a pity !” and tried to tell, only they didn’t tell
right, showing how their young sympathies were
moved by—his good looks.
So the field and the victory was left to the one
remaining champion—a Mr. Clayton, we believe.
The prize—a large and handsomely bound copy
of “La Fontaine’s Fables,” finely illustrated by
Dore—was awarded him and bestowed in a neat,
complimentary speech by the Hon. Henry W.
Hilliard, who also delivered the second prize,-—
a copy of Hood’s poems—to the handsome young
man who had come off second-best. Then there
was a short, sharp struggle for another prize to
be awarded to any one who could spell one of a
picked set of words—regular jaw-breakers that
frightened the old schoolmaster out of the ring
and sent the rest off, each “with a flea in his
ear ” and minus the prize. Then we had some
charming music and a graceful little speech of
thanks, and the “Spelling Bee” was over.
Somebody’s Darling.—No matter how low a
man may sink in morals; how terrible the crimes
which he commits; how utterly to be abhorred
he may become in the eyes of the world; or how
regardless of the dictates of reason or the prompt
ings of his better nature, he is “somebody’s dar
ling,” and there is at least within the bounda
ries of this wide, wide world, some heart which
thinks of him with lingering, yearning sympa
thy,—some being who would do him good, and
amidst even the fiercest frowning of a contempt
uous world, would smile upon him with a tender
kindness. Thank heaven, it is so: and that for
the most wicked, desolated wretch there is even
in the world a portion, however small, of sym
pathy and love. Many a reckless, guilty son-
many a wayward, sinning daughter, were they
to return, would find an open door and a warm
heart to welcome them, and though the light
which might guide their footsteps on their re
turn be but the faint glimmering of a wish pen
etrating to the outer world through an unthatched
cot of some lone widow, yet would the welcom
ing grasp of a mother's or sister’s hand and the
affectionate kindling of the eyes be such as
should bring peace and quiet in any bosom.
Josh Billings on the School-Marm.—“ May
kind heaven strew sum kind uv happiness in her
pathway; for she is generally paid poorly, worked
hardly,"and the step-mother to everybody’s chil
dren." She never receives anything better from
the world than the most formal respekt. ”
MRS. A. P. HILL, ... Editress.
The attention of all housekeeperI is invited to this Depart
ment, and the Editress urges them to send her copies of
tried receipts. Let us make this an interesting and prof
itable Department.
Answers to Uorres|M>ndeiits.
To P., Richmond, Va.—A friend informs me
she was able to remove bunions by first soaking
her feet well in hot water; then wrapping a soft
cloth around the foot, keeping the cloth cover
ing the affected place saturated with kerosene
oil. This was kept up all day. I recommend,
also, touching the homy part with caustic: soon
this can be removed and the suffering relieved.
I think, however, they will yet urn unless the
cause is removed. Wearing high-heeled shoes,
thus throwing the weight of the body upon the
ball of the foot, causes the mischief. The part
of your letter relating to dress I turned over to
the Fashion Editress, l'ou write a nice letter.
I hope to hear from you again. Glad you like
The Sunny South.
Dear Editress,—In one of your last contribu
tions to The Sunny South, you say that plants
are purifiers of the air, by absorbing carbonic
acid gas and returning oxygen, so essential to
the life of animals: and you furnish high author
ity for the assertion. Why, then, is it consid
ered unwholesome to keep plants in sleeping
rooms ? E. G.
Answer. — Scientific writers inform ns that
while plants are useful for this purpose in the
day-time, at night the regular vegetable function
is suspended; carbonic acid gas is no longer
withdrawn from the surrounding atmosphere
and oxygen is no longer set free. The deleteri
ous effect of plants in rooms is caused by the
leakage through the leaves of the gaseous con
tents of the sap. Carbonic acid gas is given off
in small quantities at night, and just to that
degree vegetation is injurious in sleeping rooms.
“ Plants appropriate carbon as long as the sun
shines, but the process stops when winter or
night sets in. ” It has been well observed, that
“animal and vegetable life form a grand autom
atic self-adjusting machine.”
Miscellaneous Items.
Clean your tin-ware with soda.
Too much yeast injures the sweetness of bread.
In cooling custards, place the ice over the
dish.
Old zephyrs can be made to look new by
steaming.
Kerosene applied to stoves will keep them
from rusting.
Cold tea- is good to clean varnished paints,
mirrors and window-frames.
Eggs should be well-covered with water when
boiled, or they will be tough.
To destroy roaches and insects, scatter around
their haunts pulverized borax.
Vinegar in the rinsing water for pink or green
will brighten them. Soda will do the same for
purple or blue.
Send a bottle to the butcher; get him to empty
several gall-bladders in it; add a little salt, and
keep in a cool place.
A table-spoonful of ox-gall to a gallon of water
will set the color of almost any cloth. Soak in
it before washing.
A tea-cup of lye in a pail of water will improve
the color of black goods. Nankin should lay in
lye before being washed.
To mend cracks in iron, use equal quantities
of finely-sifted ashes and salt wet to a paste with
water; apply to the broken part.
Carbolic acid will drive off flies and mosqui
toes. Saturate a cloth with it and hang up in
the room. Oil of pennyroyal will drive off fleas.
To remove stains and restore colors destroyed
by acids—Apply ammonia to neutralize the acid;
after which apply chloroform. This will remove
paint from garments when benzine has failed.
To steam potatoes, remove the cover and let
the steam escape; when done, take the vessel in
which they were steamed from over the water.
Set them off on a warm part of the stove until
served.
Japanned tea-trays should not be washed in
hot water. If greasy, a little flower rubbed on
with a bit of soft linen will give them a new
look; if there are scratches, rub over a little
olive oil.
In cleaning steel knives, do not bear heavily
upon them; it dulls them. Never put the han
dles in hot water; clean the ivory occasionally
with diluted alcohol, and then rub with sweet
oil. Remove fruit stains or dark spots with
emery paper.
Ink stains can be removed from carpets or
woolen table-covers by washing the spot in a
liquid composed of one tea-spoonful of oxalic
acid dissolved in a tea-cup of warm water. This
acid is poisonous, and must be washed off after
remaining awhile.
There is a curious legend in an old ballad of
the mediaeval age, viz: In a pageant two beasts
were introduced,—one was called “Bycorne,”
the other “Chichevache.” The first was sup
posed to live on obedient husbands; the latter
upon patient wives. The humor of the piece
consists in representing Bycorne as fat and pam
pered; the other as half starved.
The following receipt is contributed by Mrs.
B.. a lady noted for superior housekeeping:
Yeast Powder.—Take one pound of cream of
tartar, half pound of soda, the same of crushed
sugar, and half pound of flour; sift these well
together*, put in an air-tight vessel. Use two
tea-spoonfuls to one quart of flour,
Hood calls the slamming of a door, hy a per
son in a passion, “a wooden oath."
What is it causes a cold, cures a cold, and pays .
the doctor? A draft. f