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Once, (nr look in the h:td*'d y<ar», When life war young and gay. Them csnw a maid with aunny I'jir And eves like- sapphire*. bright and rare, And manners blithe and debonnaire. Who stoic my heart away. Tlkhw happy tinicH with hurrying feel Went flung all too fast A» o'er (he meadow* sweet with hay We often look our wistful wav And swore to love, come what come may, lu vowa that did not hist. THE MADE TO ORDER KIPLING. By Edward Boltwood. ON hia way tip ill Hie elevator lairing, for. tlie twentieth Jinn*, rend the advertisement 1,-i the morning l.y.nler: I,iml One hnittlretl dollars reward will lie paid for Hie rehifti tis the MS. of .an unpublished eple lioetlt in thrt— e into* by Mr. Kudyard Kipling, failed "England, I Bcspise Time!” 1,«.<l by It messenger between <‘it.v Ilall and Twenty third street. The MS. ran be made of no commercial value except by Scott »V boring, tilt thorn' a gen tH. literary brokers and sell era of mniutserl|it on commission, St. bonis Building. Boom 111. When boring burst Into the otliee. ' Heolt was nlreudy Hitting at Itis desk. “Andy," wild boring, "I see It's in print ” •'Yes, mid I wish It wasn't. We'll get into trouble over dial lake, just iis sure tin the world." boring laughed as lie whirled Ills chair to the proper height, .and sal down opposite bis disconsolate pari ner. Why. II was your own proposition." lie said, "and a belter advertisement couldn't be Invented." "I know that, Hugh, nut it's a He. (list's all It Is. Wliat !f Kipling ever h ars of IIV" "lie Isn't very likely to bear of It lit Australia. Besides, we can always say dial Somebody has Imposed upon ns. can't we'/ You wait unlit business begins In pick up. After reading that every editor in the city will want to hnow what else we have for sale. And us for the authors well, agents that lo op Kipling poems mi hand will have more than they enn do. We'll have to biro an extra office before the week Is toil " Heolt sighed and rolled his morning Cigarette between bis lingers, but In the net of striking a match lie win Interrupted by a inesae,tiger boy. He broke open the envelope, and thru tossed the’ Inelosttre over to boring. Hugh looked itt it eagerly: "The Mcßcrlbhtu Oopipany present their compliments to Messrs boring A Sentt, mid will be desirous of see .lug Mr. Kipling's poem, mentioned in Ibis morning's bender They take the liberty of lidding that th y are anxious to secure any other works of cole bm(od anlhors which Messrs boring A Scott may have in their hands for tlispo 11." boring snorted excitedly. "Hill wlmt can we say to 'em'" asked Amly. helplessly, alter the men pointer bail retired "We haven't got h manuscript that's worth a cent, and you know it." "Oh, don't wrtrry!” boring ex chi idled. "The authors will have that ml pointed out to them, as well as the publishers. I shouldn't be surprised It itielmrd llardlng hello, beta's all ot bee'" A second messenger, a note from Pouhh pnge A Harolure. Even Scott's heretofore doubtful eyes gleamed at this “Now," he said, "I guess they'll pay some attention to u* Hugh, this |s fmmi'tise, so long as \\v don't get I'oubd out." "Never you mind about that. Come In' It's probably lit" grfat American novelist." tin! the caller was no( a novelist, he was n sharp faced young reporter lor Hid bulling I inverse. t 'nine C see 'hodt this Kipling llneiu," said he. ginring at boring throng'll « pair of very thick eye glasses. "Course It's matter 'f great fcert'rnl lut'rost. Anything y' waul tell th' Ini verse'" Hugh cleared In* thmnt and glanced at Itis partner, but the latter gentle man only ruse hurriedly and looked out of the window with an Impressive itIV of abstraction The rapid spoken toad from Hie Cniverse pulled up a eilair and produced a dirty note book "You! see." faltered boring, "1 I did Hoi read the poem I l— " "'"ft.mt want you t' recite It." the reporter said “Only few things no’s ary for a story. What's poem about? When was t written? How much 's *t worth? What's style? Why'd Kip Hug d'splac Kngtaud ?” Hugh Interrupted him, under the tuiililitf of a Itappv inspiration. "I'll tell you." lie suggested, "this Is rather a delicate business matter You'd better let me draw up a a sort o( statement I'll bare it ready in an hour." •>» K," assented the newspaper man "You'll agree C give out nothin ».|»e f th' other boys? They’ll all be round " "The same Information will lie glv eu to nil the papers," boring declared, me bout ' "ll" si," said the I'niverse. and Sh. turned the doot "What are we going to do?" ened And' “Those pirates are bound to get up some kind of a story It will rt..o us—our rvp.nation and alt that." "1 know what I'm going to do." A.id 1 ring *to g ng t.i get away LOVE THE VICTOR. We will not Illume melt other, dear— .Vay, nay, we both were wrong— And now we both are old snd free, bove on re more finds us out, you see, And warms our heart with melody, And sings his old sweet song. So now we two are one agiin. We'll thank our happy lot. And let the gloom of weary years. With all their sorrows and their fears, Their e.tiking earns and blinding tears, Forever he forgot. —Herald Hayward, in Mail and Express. front here, run to flic nearest hotel, tint! work out a story. You bold the reporters till 1 get back. I can't think here, it’s impossible. Keep lip your nerve, my son. It's all right." He jumped up from his chair and Into his overcoat and out of the office before his astonished partner could main* an effective protest. “If Mark Twain and Anthony Hope conn* in,” ho called back front the cor ridor, “fell 'em we'll s<dl tlielr stuff on a ton per cent, commission.” But Hugh, in reality, did not feel in a facetious mood. lie crossed the street to the Jefferson House, sat down in the writing room, and chewed the end of a penholder. The longer lie thought of it the more serious seemed the situation. A ludicrous ex posttre of the false advertisement would disgrace Andy nml himself be yond hope of redemption, their dis tinguished references would fall upon them indignantly, their career In the literary and publishing world would end forever, lie anathematized Scott for suggesting tin* crazy scheme, and himself for executing It and the thoughtless spirit of enterprise which had made tnem overlook the dishon esty of the tiling. Anti then he set himself to the composition of a sec ond He to save the first. lie finished It on time and smiled complacently at the result. II filled only Iwo sheets, and yet was Impreg nable in its simplicity. He put the statement in his pocket, tint! returned to the office. When he entered he found three or four men disposed on a row of chairs at one end of the single room. In the opposite corner sat a little old man, very much out at elbows, stroking his gray hair thoughtfully with a roll of blue paper. Scott was lit Ills desk. A stout, bearded individual disengaged himself from tin* row of men in wait ing .and greeted boring effusively. "I'm Connors," he said, "Connors, the literary critic of the Daily Specta tor. Allow me lo congratulate you. Mr Fairing, upon the recovery of your treasure." "What!" gasped boring. "It's been found,” explained Andy, in a voice that suggested a man tie llverlug bis last speech on the scaf fold “The poem, you know, the eple Hi" Kipling, 'England.' you know, ‘I Despise Thee.’” Hugh's horrified gaze turned me chanically toward the shabby person in the corner, who thereupon arose and leaned diffidently against the wall, shifting the bhie manuscript from out* hand to the other. “Tiiß Is Mr. Zenker." went on Scott. "1 told him that I couldn’t pay liitn the reward until you returned." "Certainly not,” boring put In. hard ly knowing what In* was saying. "It's absurd. There-- there must be some mistake " I,idle Zenker coughed an apology behind (lie roll of manuscript before speaking Then he said: "How do you know, sir, begging your pardon, without a read out of the poem? Will yon look at it. sir'.'” boring did look at It. The manu script was pen written In a neat copy ist’s hand. It was properly signed. The three cantos were bound separ ately. It answered the description as advertised In every particular. "Os course," suggested Mr. Connors, pompously, "the Interest of the press ill your story determines at the res toration of this gem to its rightful owner. But if any extracts front Mr. Kipling's lines are available for pub lication " "By no means,” said boring, who had found Ills breath. Due after the other the reporters started to go out; obviously there was no meat in this liusluess at pres ent. But suddenly the I’ulvorse man turned to Zenker. "Say. cup'll." he asked, "where d‘ you hang out?" Mr. Zenker bowed eagerly. "The Pelican Hotel, gentlemen," he replied, “on the Bowery. 1 van give i you, I dare say. some striking particu lars of this incident, being an old journalist myself. But mutually lam not at liberty to speak without the permission of .Mr. Ivipllug's agents here.” "Well, I'll look you up anyhow," ! grumbled the re|H*rter. "Hood-morn ing." The representatives of the papers ; withdrew without a word About the statement, and boring tore it up while lie »tarvd at Me Zenker. Mr. Zenker I had red eyes aud a trembling chin. ! His clothes were shiny aud dilapi dated. and a t, -nial odor of alcohol ! clung about them. "When did you see onr advertise ment?" said t.ormg. sharply. "At four o'clock ties morning." "Aud you!vc written that poem sitn-e then?" S r The rv-1 eyi * blinked euu ning'y lUe lead it ' ! S.V.t Now Andy wtti the literary expert of the establishment. Before embarking with boring he had been for years nn editorial reader in the biggest periodi cal house In the country. He had not finished the first canto of the poem when he jumped from his chair in sur prise. "The very Dickens, It is Kipling!” he cried. "It’s the best stuff I ever saw." “But it can’t be Kipling,” said Hugh. “It's as much Kipling.” quavered Mr. Zenker, “as the poem you adver tised one hundred dollars for, gentle men.” The eyes of the two partners Hashed messages between them. "He’s on,” said the eyes of boring. "He’s worth buying,” said the eyes of Scott. Mr. Zenker, in the mean time, steadied a trembling hand upon the hack of itis chair. “book here,” Andy demanded, “do you write much of this kind? Be cause if you do, we'll waive the Kip ling question.” "My work is most Irregular, sir,” the little man replied, “most irregular. And I do not get on well with editors, r am not a favorite caller in publish ing offices.” “I should think not.” Hugh thought. “Still, I have some tilings which I could show you. I left them in my overcoat at the Pelican.” “Well, bring them In here,” sug gested Scott. “Unfortunately, my coat, is held for room rent," objected Mr. Zenker, mildly. Forty cents. I thiuk.” "You go and get your verses,” said Hugh, giving hint two or three dol lars. “And the reward for this Kipling epic?” added the poet. “The report ers, you remember, have my address.” “If you’ll keep your mouth shut, it will be worth your while.” Andy was the one who made this acknowl edgment. “I think we understand one another.” Mr. Zenker buttoned his ragged coat over Itis blue manuscript, murmured bis gratitude, and departed. As for llie younger men, they spent tlieir lud chcon hour in telephoning a revised “statement” to the newspapers which made such an unimportant story out of the episode that not a line about the occurrence appeared in print. “Has Zenker showed up?” inquired Hugh the next morning, before he had fairly closed the office door. Scott handed him the Leader, and pointed without comment at a city item in brevier type; "A well-known Bowery character named Zenker was burned to death hist night In his room at the Pelican Hotel. While intoxicated the unfor tunate man is supposed to have over turned an oil stove. The fire destroyed more than half of one floor, including tin* effects of the lodgers, before it was extinguished.” boring whistled. "You'd do more than whistle,” sighed Andy, “if you'd read that poem.” “Which was written to out- order,* concluded Hugh. “Poor old Zenker! What a story Kipling might have made of him!" —New York Independ ent. Icp CavAi In Milliip. Being a rock State, Maine abounds in eaves, of which the outside world knows very little. It is true there are no caverns like the Mammoth Cave in Kentucky or tlit* buray Caverns in Virginia, but some of them are very picturesque and awe-inspiring. The tlreenwood Ice caves are sufficiently interesting lo be better known than they are. These natural curiosities are about n dozen in number, Walley's Cave being the largest. It is a double storied cavern, the lower chambers be ing some four hundred or five hundred feet in length and about twelve feet in width. The exit is at the top of the mountain. The upper chamber is very much smaller, and is connected with the first by a passage large enough for half a dozen persons to pass abreast. One of the eaves is shaped like a well, aud is from twenty to thirty feet in depth. There are regular steps, which wind around the sides to the bottom. Here are two chambers run ning ill opposite directions, one of which leads nearly to Observation llock. It is called Snake Passage, and to pass through it one is obliged to crawl on hands and knees. The other chamber leads into a cav ern which is large and somewhat tri angular, having several chambers, one of which connects with Well Cave. The walls of this chamber rise upward seventy-five feet or more. In some of the caves ice uiay In* seen all the year round, and torchlight produces a beautiful effect upon the glassy Ice and the cavern walls. There are two great rifts in the mountain, one ruuning northerly and the other in the opposite direction. These are great curiosities and attract the attention of all who visit the caves. Amphitheatre Cave is really a great depression in the mountain over looked by Table Bock, the highest of a series of rocks or ledges that con vey the impression of rows of benches. Altogether, the caves are well worthy of a visit. A Substitute For Canv.ft. An ingenious and economical way of preparing a substitute for a canvas for oil painting purposes is to take ltussia sheeting, a wide material re setnbling burlap, only of a more even and better grain, and cover a stretcher with it. Give it a coat of white paint | of the ordinary kind and let it dry. Then give it another coat. It will then ! have an excellent surface for painting. l*ot*onlnc lit* Mtml. 1 When a married man goes to see his M.;>. Itis wife looks for signs upon hi* j r**!urn that they have poisoned his mind.—Atchison Globe. CREMATION'S ODD PHASE WAY IN WHICH PEOPLE DISPOSE OF THE ASHES OF THEIR DEAD. On» Widow Credited With Katin;: the Ashen of Her liuMband Many Ashen bl attered to the AVI fid*—>l>odie» l rom Abroad to He Cremated. A good many queer things have hap pened in connection with cremation, hut perhaps the strangest of them all was the case of Mrs. Matilda Frunee fort, relates the New York Sun. Ma tilda ate her husband, which sounds cannibalistic, hut isn't. In 1890 Mr. Francefort left his rphere of usefulness in Brooklyn and his soul, it is to lie hoped, soared to a better world. As for his body, they took it to Fresh Fond and cremated it. Then his widow went after* the ashes and took them carefully home with her. All widows do not. Some don’t even buy a niche for thr... at the cre matory or pay storage for them iu the cellar. But Mrs. Francefort was different. She got the ashes of the late Mr. F. and carried them home in a japanned tin box, like a tea canister or a spice box. Perhaps that was what sug gested to the sorrowing widow the dis position she should next make of them. At any rate she decided to eat them. There was much to be said in favor of this plan. It was economical. She would save the expense of an urn and a niche and a monument by being all that herself. Then, too, she and the dear cremated had lived together for thirty-one years and she was lonesome without him. She was informed that the ashes would enter permanently Into her system, and it seemed to be a clear case of eating your c-ako and having it too. Anybody could see that under the circumstances it was the only way of keeping the family to gether. Having decided to eat her husband the next question was the manner in which he should he served. Mrs. Francefort went over his qualities with a sorrowful heart, lie laid been a witty man, there was always a spicy flavor in his conversation. Mrs. Francefort made a note: “Spice.” Then she defied anybody to say that he had not been the salt of the earth. Another note: “Salt.” Still she had to admit that he had a bit of a temper. Note number three: “Pepper.” But then, he was always sweet to her. Final note: “Sugar.” Clearly, Mr. Francefort’s post-mortem specialty should be in the condiment line. Mrs. F. determined to make a seasoning. So she put a pinch of him in her cof fee at breakfast and sprinkled him lightly over the boiled shad. At lun cheon he went into the tea, and con tributed distinction to the lain!) stew. At dinner—well, at dinner the supply of Mr. Francefort's ashes went down iu more ways than,one. And what ever the gentleman may have done in life, there is one thing sure, he never disagreed with his widow when he was dead, though a little of him did perhaps go a long way. People who take to cremation seem to have a fondness for having their ashes scattered to the winds. There was tiie first man who was cremated iu this country. That is to say, the first iu recent times. Toward the end of the eighteenth century a Southern er by tlie name of Lawrence left a re quest to be cremated. His sons built a furnace especially and the first crema tion—not Indian —took place on Ameri can soil. But in 1876 Baron von Palm was cremated in lJr. Lemoyne’s private crematory at Washington. Penn., and his ashes were scattered upon the Hud son Biver. Then there was Ernest Rosin, who, in 1897, stood on the Eads bridge over the Mississippi and poured his father’s ashes into the stream be low. In both cases the dead men had asked to be thus thrown adrift. It is said that Joaquin Miller has made a similar request. Another case of the same kind was tiiat of William Petersen Appleby, an officer in the Mexican and the Civil wars. His body was cremated at Fresh Pond in 1898 and the widow took the ashes to her home iu Hemp stead. Her husband had asked her to scatter them abroad on the first windy day after his cremation. She waited until a gale was blowing, and then in tlie presence of some of her husband's friends held the ashes out by handfuls and let the wind blow them away. At Bromberg, Germany, iu 1897, the ashes of one Robert Arons were sold it public auction for $3.75. The pur chaser was uot a member of the dead man's family. The records stop short there, and one is left guessing who wanted the ashes badly enough to pay $3.75 for them. It would seem, too, that there must have been more than one bidder, for $3.75 would hardly have been offered as u starter. 'the remains of Alible Sage Richard son, the writer, who died in Italy, were brought to this country to lie cre mated. They were incinerated at Fresh Pond. Her brother died from the shock and was cremated on the following day. Kate Field's body was also brought home to be burned. She died in the Sandwich Islands and was buried there. It was a long time before her friends got the money together to tiring the remains to this country, but It was finally done, and they were cre mated at Sau Francisco. Mrs. Whit ing. to whose efforts the carrying out of Miss Field s wishes were due. Dr. ught the ashes from San Francisco to Boston in a handbag filled with flowers. The ashes wore finally buried at Mount Auburn beside the grave of .V iss Field's mother. Emma Abbott, the singer, tsas cre mated at use Washington Crematory. An interesting item about this case is the c-stiitii ss of the gown in which the body was burned. I: was an imported go.vn of silver and gold brocade, and the papers of that date placed its cost at *3OOO. That may have been a trifle high, but the gown was certainly wortn a great deal. A peculiar case was that of J. Z. Davis and his wife. Davis was a Cali fornia millionaire. The wife died first. She was cremated, and her husband put her ashes in a box twice the uspal size, because he intended to have ids own mingled with his wife’s when he should die in his turn. When he did die it was in Philadel phia, and the undertaker’s first orders were to embalm the body. He had no sooner embalmed it than he received orders by telegraph to cremate it. So he cremated it. Then he was instruct ed to send on the ashes, hut this he declined to do until his bill for em balming and cremating had been set tled. In the meantime trouble over the dead man’s will had broken out iu California, and nobody was paying bills just then. So a peculiar state of affairs came to pass. Tlie urn with the wife’s ashes —which rattled lonesomely around in their ample receptacle—was produced as evidence in court, while the husband's ashes were held in Phil adelphia as security for the undertak er's hill. Apropos of California cremations, there was that of Durrant, the young murderer. The crematories in San Francisco were so squeamish that they refused to burn the body, and the father had to take it to Pasadena. The medical men of the State had been keenly interested in the young man, and were anxious to have the brain for examination. Tlie family was determined they should not get it. So the father did not let the coffin out of liis sight until he saw it placed In the retort of the Pasadena crematory. I’et animals have sometimes been cremated, lint tlie prize instance of this kind was when a rich London woman had a pet Yorkshire terrier, named Monkey, cremated, and the ashes placed in a S3OOO urn. Branch 90 of the Cigarmakers’ Inter national Union Is at tlie Labor Ly ceum in East Fourth street. On the top of a desk there is, or was not long ago, a novel exhibit. It was a collec tion of fifteen cans and one urn. con taining the ashes of sixteen members of tlie union. In a vault alongside of the bowling alley in tlie Avion club house there is a similar collection of the ashes of dead Arlonites. Helen Bertram, one of the Boston ians, was credited with carrying her husband’s ashes in a chamois bag sus pended from a gold chain around her neck. As the ashes from a full grown body weigh from three to five pounds it is doubtful if the singer carried more than a small sample of her hus band with her in that way. It is by no means uncommon, though, for surviv ing widows 1o carry the ashes of the departed with them whenever they travel. Klood Oranges From Italy. It was reported in Germany some time ago that a great portion of the blood oranges which are imported from Italy are colored artificially. To test this assertion two well-known German chemists made many experi ments in coloring oranges. The experi ments consisted in injecting the red coloring matter into ordinary oranges. The result was that through all ex periments not one injection succeeded in coloring tlie whole orange propor tionately. When the coloring material was injected through tlie skin of the fruit, the pigment failed to diffuse and limited itself to the point where it was introduced. When the coloring was injected into the poles of the orange only the white fibre which is in tlie axis of the orange, was colored, and sometimes the coloring found its way between tlie part's of the orange. On the strength of these experiments tlie chemists make the rssertion that the artificial coloring of blood oranges is Impossible after picking. It is equally impossible to color the oranges on the tree by injecting the coloring into its roots, for it would Injure the tree, and the effect of the coloring material would he lest before it reached the fruit. Dominated by IlyateroKenic Germ. The standard joke about the French man who got “extenuating circum stances” iu his trial for the murder of his parents on the pathetic plea that he was an orphan, says the Westmins ter Gazette, is not so far removed from the truth as might be imagined, ac cording to the story told in the Paris letter of the Daily Chronicle. A man was tried for parricide, and the medi cal expert declared that the prisoner, instead of being punished, was to be pitied. He was dominated by hystero genic germs and anti-peristaltic symp toms, and the idea of “suppressing his father for the benefit of his family” was a thing that grew and had to be completed. We quite agree that many crimes arise from physical and mental defects reacting on each other, but it Is hard on the unfortunates who are “suppressed.” The case reminds one of the system in ‘'Erewhon." where moral offences are treated as physical complaints. Clergymen Collect Their Own Due. An extraordinary survival from tne primitive tradition of the clergy open ly collecting their own "dues” in kind from the people may now be seen in full swing iu the rural districts of L'pper Savoy, iu Switzerland. Every year about the middle of October, clergymen, attended by youths bear ing sacks and baskets, go from village to village, receiving the contributions of their parishioners. No sort of con sumable commodity comes amiss, though money is most favored, and every evening the sack or basket goes back heavily loaded. These contribu tions are a popular test of respectabili ty. and many a housewife lias been known to borrow the whole amount of her offering to the parochial ile um Dent. Modern Kook Shelves. Among the modern ideas of furnish fngs, plainness of effect has a prom inent part. One of the latest and most favored ideas for a library is to have perfectly plain pine book shelves, which any carpenter can put up, stained to match the woodwork of jthe room, to fill every available space in tlie room between doors and windows, forming a continuous line of books. They should not run up very high, though, about four feet, or per haps a trilie more. The Arrangement of IFalla. Hall curtains may be hung from swinging brackets, to be pushed back fiat against tlie walls when a freer passageway is needed. These brack ets are often used In apartments where the parlor and dining-room are just by the front door, the bed-rooms and bath beyond. Perfect privacy is then secured the tenant, and a pret ty interior is suggested to the visitor. The quality of tlie curtain must de pend upon tlie surroundings. Some times a heavy tapestry can be used, a velvet or a silk, but oftenest a sim ple hanging serves every purpose. There is a transparent Japanese silk showing painted flowers or figures, which in many places is better than anything else. The hall is not dark ened by it, and at the same time no visitor can see through it. The gen eral effect is apt to be enhanced by a small table in front of the hall cur tain, and if the other appointments of the house justify the use of cathe dral and church lamps, one of these suspended from the ceiling by the cur tains, with pieces of brass or of pot tery on the table, "-ill be found most interesting. For tlie most part, how ever, the simpler the arrangement of tlie table the better, a crystal vase with fresh cut flowers or a palm be ing all that is needed.—Harper’s Baz ar. On Keeping Cut Flowers. A woman who has given much thought and care to flowers gives some valuable suggestions Tor preserving their beauty as long as possible after cutting. She says: The ends of the stems of all flowers should lie cut off before they are placed in water. It is better to strip the leaves from that part of the stem which will be immersed. Do not allow the ends of the stems to rest on the bottom of tli» vase. In cutting the ends, snip them off at right angles to the stalk. Change the water each day, and at tlie same time again cut tlie ends of the flower stems. Do not place flowers near or under lights—gas or lamp—when it can be avoided. Maidenhair fern should be kept rolled up in moistened paper and on the ice, or, with the stems in the water, in a cool place, until ready for use. Iu this way it will last for some time. Mignonette is generally grown in a cool house, and for this reason often droops when first placed in a heated room. It is well to put it in the ice box, in water, for a time, when it will revive, “harden” and, if properly cared for each day, last a long time. Many flowers do more satisfactorily if placed in water, with the chill off until the -stems have become filled, and are then allowed to stand In an ice chest, or very cool place, for a time. Roses will occasionally revive if placed iu ice water—always with the ends of the stems previously cut. Never place cut flowers in a draught or in sunlight—New York Tribune. clil RECZIPES Corn Soup—Cut green corn, In sea son, or canned corn, chop it fine. Put this in the kettle and to one quart of corn add two quarts of sweet milk, u little salt and pepper, and a table spoonful of butter. When this has boiled five minutes, add a teaspoonful of flour that has been mixed with half a cupful of cold milk. 801 l one minute longer and it is ready for the table. Cliickeiv Cutlets—Take some nice pieces of iioiled chicken. Soften some butter, but do not melt it, and spread on each piece of chicken. Have ready beaten two eggs: dip the chicken in the egg hatter, then into cracker or dried bread crumbs, which have beeu rolled tine. Have some butter hot in the spider, enough to cover the chicken; put the chicken iu and fry brown, then turn and fry the other side. Peach Cake—After you have mixed the dough for light bread, take a piece as large as a quart bowl, and work imo it half a cup of sugar, half a cup of butter and one egg well beaten. When thoroughly kneaded let it rise, work it down again, and roll it into a ibiu sheet. Lay It in a well greased pan and cover the t ip with peaches that have been pared and cut iu ii:.l . Press the peaches down into ti: • dor.-;/. rinitle lib -rally with >.•... I a ob nainon, and is light, bake in a moderate oven.