The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

THE WOODMM. 'Ni^bl inhale* warblfjd witbouf, WuhiH was wet'piug for thee" fib-uluwB of' three dead meos Walked ia the walks wiil: meâ€" Sbiulow* of three «lea<l metiâ€" and thou Waat one at ti» three." Tcrnnyaon. Our viUa^^e, as we have said, btands n a clearLug in a woodland country. Below ua etretchee a great oak forest oo its ancieut bome of clay, and around and alKKve us grow almost every variety of tree. Beeches, with their splendor of autumn coloring, the feathery ash •ad huge chestnut-trees, not the chest- nut only that reminds une in shape of the tree* in • child's toy-box, but the beautiful t^paaJsh variety, its trunk curvLDg flamea. There ia peivhaps no country so mel- tncbuly yet bu fascinating as a forest tDuntry, uor one in which the individual finds his own personality so completely reflected in nature. TJie dweller in the mountains has ever before him the â- rase of the unattainable, as the eternal hills disclose themselves fold behind fold -, but the forests whiaiper to you of your own thought ; what you left in its ebarge yesterday you find again to-mor- row. Your own thoughts are but hidden among (he trees. The forest Is even yet the great fact •bout our country-aide. Down to the year 1700, or thereabouts, the forest had been the Birmingham of England, and even so late as the- last century it saw the smelting of iron and the casting of cannon. Now the fires are out, and the forges cold, the forest seems to have reverted to its original uses. A number of small industries have sprung up anew which give employment to the woodloiider all the year round, and which furnish work to many farm- laborers, when farming uperalione are at a standstill. Occupations are atill more or less hereditary amongst the country folk aboui us, but in no craft is the work carried oo so steadily from father to aon as in the craft of the woodlander. There is |)erliaps a feeling that it is an artist's life, something apart from and •uperiur to the ordinary agricultural work ; perhaps, too, there is an inherited instiiici w bich druws men to the woodi. and gives ibvm what sesus to the vul- gar an almuKt miraculous power of understanding about trees. The wood- lander will tell you, by the appearance of the branches, whether or no a young ook has struck fresh soil, and if so. of what soili he will tell you, by the appear- ance of the bark, whether a rabbit, a hare, or a squirrel has caused certain damages. He knows by the soughing of the wind in the branches what man- ner of tree is near him. Dut of all ihia. aad much more, may we not read in Mr. Thomas Hardy's delightful book "The Woodlandens T" We. however, here arenonoerned with the story of a certain young Asjxh Ualnaker, the tallest, brightest, must intelligent young fellow ot these jiarts. lie lived with his widowed mother in a â- mall house In the woods. It was a must romantic qxit far away from the hjghriiud, far away, indeed, from any ?uoliu pathway. It might have stood or the original bouse in the wood be- longing to the mvthical "three bears" of our childhood. It was perched at t he top of a deep ravine, down which ruitiied a little muuutuin stream, a'nd uu a summer's afiernuon the sunlight flickering up through the banks of larches seemed to linger lovingly on the little homestead. So remote, so soli- tary, BO silent an abode we had never before seen ; but Mrs. Ualnaker laughed •1 Ibe notion of tiUeuue. The forest, she •xplained to us, " was full o' company" when you know how to uudurstaod it, but " mayhap," she said, "you've only lived among folk." Asaph lialnaker's father had been a notable woodman In bis day, and. though he hud never held any official position, his opinion was sought far and near. Lie twl been one of those who in his hot youth bad traiu^ied fourteen weary milMi at night to bring to our village a new maypole to set up in place of the old. A fine, brave, reisolut<) old muxi be was when we knew him. Un- happily he had caught the " copse fever," aucue years back, and every autumn and H|)ring be was ilown with it, but his fine constitution and temper- ate haUt soon set him up after tuese periodic attacks. One taring, however, the dread influenza came "at up" as be â- aid, of his usual malarial fever, and, ''Ijeing rining-lime, it ate the heart out ^f biiu," and so he du!d,and was buried kuar tbe other llaluukers, under the treat yew of our churchward. He left I widow and two sons just grown to nauhood. Mrs. Halnaker bad hardly dried her teais and taken up the thread of life igain when asvcoiid blow fell upon her Her eldest eon, the joy of her heart,an(l aow the chief pride of her life, was prougbt home to her one day broken ind twisted out of tlie shape of a man. be had been crUMlied by tbe fall ot a Iree and in the hours of life that re- Uained to tim his mother bad Ijut one limugbt, could breathe but one prayer r-that bis cruel euffuriiigs might have Ml end, and that he, too, might be at vest with bis father in the quiet churchyard. Mrs. Iluluaker's sorrow, in its dignity and siuiplii-ily, set aside all attempts at a vain condolence. " Yes." she would My, " it was kind, very kind, to try to comfort her, but she alone knew what she had lust." She steadily re- •isted all tbe well-meant efforts of friends and iivigbl>ours to induce her to leave her lonely bouse, now darkened with painful memories, and to take a eoltage nearer to the village. She, in answer, would only shake her bead, and rock bers<t|( to and fro in her grief, (iDtil one day aome would-be comfort- er iiersiated over much. Then, rising from her neat, and drawing herself to tier full height, " Ye weary me, wumun, jre do, with y're talkingâ€" 'twas th«>ir buine, and 'tshall be my home I "lis bard, vei'y hard, but I'd scorn myself if 1 could forget. Leave me alone with my. dead." And so the days went on. Mrs. Uai- naktii found an interest in life in keep- ing things within the cottage just as they had been of old, when the jolly wiKxI.sman came ur) tbe glen and whistled tu bis wife to toll her of bis home coming. His cliair was always drawn to the chimney-corner, the list slippers were put btuuly, the old pipe peeped over the le<lg« of the chimnov- bourd. Little by little Asaiib came to understand t hat in no way could he give so much' pleasure to his mother as by sitting in his dead father's chair, and in every way trying to take that father's place. One evening, as he came up tbe steep pathway that led to the Crow's Nest, footsore and weary with the day's work and a long tramp home, bis thoughts were full of his lather, and of how cheerily he had always known to lieguUe the way, if not with much of talk, yet with his robust and sympa- thetic presence ; he rememliered, too, the whistle and the nightly, "Well, dame," which seemed to fill the little parlor with warmth and affection. Poor Asaph groaned and almost with- oi't knowing It he l>lew his father's well-known whistle. The sound startled him, and, angly with himself for his heedlessness, he hurried up to the cottage door, where his mother met him and, throwing herself into his arms, sobbed aloud. But Asaph knew that in some mysterious way, be had given her pleasure, and from that day forth the young vigorous whistle rang every evening through the woods as seven o'clock drew near. It must be remembered that village life in these latter days dues not appar- ently admit of much amusement, and, good mother as she was, Mrs. Ual- naker would ofttimes say "to her son thit it was but a sad lite that he led with a Icwesume old woman. Ue must take up with some bright good girl and get married; and, "Zaph," she would say, " rememkier this: 1 lived with my husband's mother a many years, and was a good daughter to her, an' 1 eh^l! know how to be a good mother to your wife when you gets one. As 1 take no mure pleasure here in bein' mistress, so Oo you bring in a new mistress. 1 w(«iL never be m the way; the place is big enough fur us all." As^tph Had always laughed hitherto, and replied that he did very well as he was â€" he had no time " tu go round courtiu'." His favorite pestime was to go once a week during the winter months to the blacksmith's bouse on the vUlagu green, where the suiith and one or two oth- ers mode music together. The tdock- smiih played the 'cello, and by a genius for discreet omission in the rendering of the printed text, managed tu pruvide a very re<ipecUiblo bass, the 'ceilo was an historic instrument; it had descend- ed in the. blacksmith's family from the days when, with a violin and a viola, it led the bymn-tunes from tbe old church gallery. The smith had taken un- heard-of pauis to luaru to play upon it, and had almost given up the attempt in despair when a musical friend sug- gested to him to paint a long, deep, white bund on either side the strings, and with dark lines mark tbe scale, it cost iuuuense labor to get this done, but it enabled the smith to play certain tunes in certain keys, and, as 1 say, the 'cello always proved tu be a very respectable bass in the village quar- tettes. Uuu day in early spxing, when the air rajig with tbe suiig^ of birds and all the country-side was gay with blubsom, Asu4>h came home somewhat earliei than usual, and prepared himself evi- dently for a formal event. The winter prju-tices hod come to an end, but they were to result in a concert, a real con- cert, which was to be given in a sort of barn at tbit book of tbe smithy, and it had been suggest<-d that, with all tbe i{istrum<snLu ui hand, it would Iw right and prupor to end the even- mg with a dance. ' Zaph" Halnaker looked a fine figure of a man as h<3 hastened down the steep path, dre8.s<:d in his best, for the village merrymaking. Ue wim tallâ€" "a good six feet," he laugbiugly would say, "in tbe moaning"â€" broad sbouldeJ- ed and straight limlied, and his bead, well set upon his sboiihlera, was cov- ered with clusters of dusky fair hair. His features wore not strictly 'hand- Bosne, but his clear, open blue eyes and frank, pleasant smile gave him a title to Im cunsidturd the liest l<K)kuig young fellow of the village. He was dreflsed on this occa-sion in a round coat, a bright colored waistcoat, leggingsâ€" ap- parently he would hardly have known bow to stand upright without his lei gingaâ€" and a n«w blue tie, of wbi the ends hung loose. His moth watched him with pride and souutbi like a n»w jory at her heart as swung down through the wmxls, rying bis violin in a lug upon h| arrns. But his mind was intent uiion otb liuainess beside music that fine sprii evening. On the brow of the hill, whe tbe rood turns to wind through the v lage. staiKis a farm, a homely o world place with high roofs luiil impor ant stacks of chimneyH, the whole hu touched to ruasets and crimsons Iqr tl setting sun. What garden thek was was stoirked with spring flower but tbe great glory of the front cm sisted in a hedge of lilac. Tbe grei tassels of bloom hung hnavlly in rU clusters upon the dark green foHui and motmtcd on a lo>v wooden stab with arm outstretched to pliiok tl lilac and eyes turned upon the row stood a young girl. Her sun-l)onn< liad fallen upon her shoulders, and h round, soft arm, from which the ootto sleeve had been thrust aside, lay ytitU among the flowers, the fairest maj blossom of them all. She hastil jumped from the atook as she caugb sight of Asaph, not, huwuver, before b had seen her and had asked permisaio to come inside the gate. "WhatI Master Halbaker, goin to the musief" said she. "Yes," he replied; "but there's tim enough for that. Mayn't i just ceme ii and help vou gather tbe laylockf I'v lieen wanting to see you, to lelll you I'd got a bird for you o' mother s owi breeding. If it sings like its father, ij slhould make a deal o' music in tb boiue. But, Mercy," be continued, i{ more earnest tones, "you have some'i to say to me first. I've got thfe job » by Almters, and that'll put a good bl o' money in my jxicket, and I've planne( it all so as to sptuid nothing when I'm away; and now that is so. Merry dear, and the bouae is all ready, and mother so anxioufl, won't you say you'll lie mine, and let me go and tell y're fatherf 1 know that you're above me, and that, mayhap, y're father will be lookim* bi^rhnr for ye; but ye'll never finda man to Utve ye lietter, an' I'll wait on ye, an' ivarn •' ye, and Mercy dearâ€"--" How it was they never knew, but Mercy dropped an aprunful of great branches of lilac, and found herself gathei-ed into Asaph's strong arms and her bead upon his shoulder. • - The course of true love never ilid run smooth, and, favorite us he was of the country-side, Asai^ bad his difficulties. Mercy's father expected her to marry money and keep a maidservant, tu have farm-servanu under bur, and to be a ibriviog farmer's wife as her mother had been before her; but Mercy was his favorite ^ild, and there was no deny- iiig that young Asaph was a credit to the place, an<l might in time liecome a man ot importance and command in the woods. Uo a sonoewbal reluctant con- sent was won from the parents, the marriage was to take place early in the next spring, and Mercy was to spend iho long uays in sewing for her new home, while Asaph went up to Abeters for the copse worki Once or twice in tbe autumn Asaph came home, but it was a lung tramp front Absters, and he resolutely denied himself the hire of any sort of convey- ance however httmble. Tbe folk in our village ore not given to letter writing, and, though Asaph so far forgot himself as to send one letter to bis sweetheart. It would have been considered beneath his dignity, as a man of sense, to write oftener. Mercy hemmed and sewed, and stitched and blushed, as she jput In the red letters on the household linen which joined their names together â€" and so autumn and winter came and went. Tbe weather was chiLl and very dry, when one day in early spring a rumor come to the village that a man was very illâ€" of fever, so it was saidâ€" up at Abaters, and thit there were cbiUlren down with it, too. The nearest du^tor was com- municated with, and he, saddling bis horse, at once rcd« ap. Abaters is the nacue given to a strag- gling collection of rough bouses on either side a greeu In-iw. It cjin in no sense be called a viiiai^'-; .here is neither church nor scb'uL, nor, more wonderful still, public bouse. The whole hillside is dense forest, but on the edge there is a clearing running for about three quarters of a mile, with scattered bouses on either side the green way. The houses are not regu- larly inhabited; tbe i>opulatian ^is a wandering one, the whol'- i)la(ia,,though strangely fascijiating, is lonely and very wild. When the worthy doctor arrived he inquired first after tbu cbU<lran, and found that several of th«m were down with typhoid fe^ver, fortiuiately, as it seemed to him, of a mild type. He had almost forgotten the e-xlstence of tbe supposed adult patient when a big lad ran to tell him that tbe man was took, very lad like." The doctor asked to !•' taken to his quarters, and was greatly surprised to be told that he had nu iiuarters, and that he could not see bim. "No quartersi" said tbe doctor. "Why, where does be lodge, and, pray why can't I see himf" "Well, dy'er see, it's this way," said tbe tall liid; "many of >>ur folk in tbe forest they don't lie o' ni^lits in hou.<«!8; and this chap ha was doin' it on the cheap for his marriage, :iud so he just took a fox hole and th-ro be be, and tbei-^ be mun bide, and .ve can't get to see bim." "Good bravensl" shouted the doctor; "Imt I must see himâ€" take me to the place." The la<l accordingly led the way off the main track to whttre a deep cutting bad been made for hauling timber, and there the sand-banks lay high and ste<'p. Looking up he saw what the AN EPICUIUAN ODK. There is soulful zest in a plover. And th« uuun is not bndly stuck Who tears Ibe canvas cover From off a canvas-back duck. And just a single word to tbe wise â€" It's a lucky day for you When you pick up the terra-pin that litis In the rich and savory stew. And th)H Teod bird (who isn't a spar- row) Has a sweetness all bfis own. As sweet as the splendid marrow. In the de{>ths oi a weU-grilled bone. But these dainties are rank and bitter. And tbiPtr finest witchery poles. In the light of the golden glitter Of the rabbit that comes from Wales. Iwy called "fox-holea." but which, in truth, looked much more like tbe nests made by some gigantic form of sand- martin. Each hme was stiff ioiently wide to enable a man tu cret'p in ou all fours, and was deep enou^rh, he was assured, inside to enable him to stretch himself at full length. Kudu beds, indeed, but protected from wind and weather, and warm in the sheltering 8an(L "He's in there," s-xid the lad, joint- ing to one of the largest of the boles, "an' he's very liad; be cries and moans something fearful, but ye can't get In." "Can't 1." said th« doctor, and striiH ping off his coat h« prepared to climb th^ lank. "It's very narro^^," he exclaimed, when bia eyes were on a level With the hole, and he could mv something like tbn <lark foi-m of a m.tn lying inside; "but I'm only a little one' â€"and with much care and precaution be crawled over the poor helpless Ixjdy. When flor two or thiw" momBTits he itap- tlQ vn WOU'U a^^ i|, "as it was his father whistun',"""'! thought it mtist he for rae, but it was him he wanted, an' I think it can't be very long now before ho calls me, too." Conductor (to traveller who lias just ilighted u cigar)â€" You are not in the smoking car, sir. TravoVr (coraplacently)â€" 1 know it; I never gn into one; it iiCM'ays mokes me sick to go where others are nmoklng. GAME AND ITS TREATMENT. Tlxi care of tbe game larder is a seri- ous addition to tbe housewife's cares. An important question with all game is tjiat of keeping, fur on it in a great measure depends the goodness of the bii-dfi. An overhung wild duck becomes a horror ; whereas a pheasant if not well hung has not so much flavor as a good fowl. Tbe older a bird is tbe longer it wUl have to bang if it is to be eatably tender. The length of time this hanging can last must depend on the taste of the consumer, on tbe weather, and tbe age of the iMrd. As a general principle, it is pretty safe to take about a fortnight, though under favorable conditions ;'-'>y wUl keep good for a mucb " .agcr time. A game larder should be in a cool, dry place, and a current of air is in- dispens.'ible for the safe keeping of game. Care and attention are required regarding the weather, for a sudden change from Iroety cold to muggy damp will be sufficient to " turn " game almust at once. Another point is to leave the game as long as possible un- plucked and undrawn. When these processes are necessary the bird should be cooked directly. The experienced housekeeper can tell tbe bird's age by its plumage, etc., but for the ignorant the safest test is to lift it by the lower beak, which when the bird is young will snap off short ; with all young birds tbe legs are smooth land the quill feathers short. When in condition the breast will be Lord and firm, and well covered with flesh. As a gi-neral rule tbe hen birds are the most tender and juicy. When prepar- ing game for cooking it should never be washed inside. When it is in a state to require washing to make it fit for tbe table it is not in a condition to be ' used. \Voo<lcock, snipe, golden plover and landrail are not drawn. Such birds I should be tiuseed with their h<uids on, I the some rule being often applied to ! tbf^ black cock. G;'.iae of all kinds requires careful cooking for though it should rare'y be ; un<l«rdone, if overdone it dries and j tougbt^ns very quickly. Wild duck, teal 'and widgeon are the exceptions, and I should he distinctly underdone. When- ever possible, game should be roasted at I an open fire, but wbi\re the oven is \ used, the birds should be placed in a ; double roasting pun, with water bo- i tween the two pans, and extra care must lie bestoweid on tbe Insting, a i point often forgotten by cooks. Most i g.^me is improved by having a slice of fat iHicon, cut in rows of diagonal slits, Btrew'e<l over the bre;ist, and in the ca.se of (juail, ortol.ins and othnir Kinall birds a vme leaf greatly improves the flavor. IleoUy ko(kI game is so fine in flavor th:it in the eyes of a cannoia.>ieur it is little short of a crime to serve it in any way but loast or Imj'iIimI; still where thiore is a plethora of ^ame, or ol<t birds hj.ve to \te uhc<I up, it is well ti» remem- : bor thit gtune soup and pie, with the addition of mushrooms, bjtra, oysterx, ' etc., are both toothsome and easily P^*- I p<ired. Itecipi« for the prcjiarafion of such dishes are given in every cookery book, an<l it is not nec««.s.T.ry to repeat them. A dish very seldom seen may be mentioned, which is nothing mure than tlu> well-known "hotpot" u^ode inab- S4)lutely tbe same way as when pre- pared of lieef ur mutlun. For old birds the, French dish, " Perdrix aux choux," can be confidently recommended. CoUl g:une c;in lie n-nde.red very ap- petizing by lieing cooked with good brown g.xnie ftauce, stiffened with aspic .jelly or plain melt«Ml gelatine, ar with tomato aspic or as a mayonnaLs<>, with an acc«n|)€iniment of salad of any sort, and a garnish of hard l>oLled eggs, an- chovy fillets, stoned olives, etc. The usuail arcomjMiniments of simpliy cooked birils are fried bread erunibs, bi'ead sauce and gravy, none of which should be put into the dish with the bird. To those may be added the alioes of friiMl hrtvul on which the bird is often dished, and the seasoned watcircresH which is so often used .as a garnish with roast partridge, quail or pheasant. For buxls which are served undrawn tlvf slice, of frie<l bread ia a necessity, and should lie placed under tlie bird while cooking to re<Mdve the gravy which exude.s from it. Sometimes hot bultere<l toast is U'w'd instead of fried bread, but many oil>ject to this on ac- count of its extnvine riiihnesa. Either cruml« or bread aaiiO(> badly ma<le is sufficient to H|)oil the dish. For tbe crtinibe rub a thick slice of hre<ul freed from crust IhrouRh a wire sieve on to a baking tin, adding one oufloe of butler or clarified drip|)ing for e^icb half-pint of" criunbs: set them in tbb oven until the fat is ansnirbe*!, stir- ring it occasionally. Th« crumbs must Ui nrown ami crlsj>. Drain thera cm a piece of kitchen paper, before the fire, dust thipm lightly with a little pepper, and sptrve In a hot dish. For thiR bread sauce Iiolluphalf a pint of milk witbasmall shallot .stuck with a clove, and directly it oomee toatmilstir in one ounce »f fresh butter, and two ounces of fresh white bread crumbs, pre- viously rublied thiougli a wire sieve, and let It all iKiil togethor for about fifteen minutes. Then add a coupQe of spoonfuls of cream or milk, boil it for five mlntit«e, season to taste, remove the shslllot and pouring any hot saur« into a tureen or K>uvinK anv hot Mucf int oa tureen or )at. the tatter sbouM be thoroughly scalded out to insure its being suffi- cfently warm not to chUl its contents. Iwvttention to this rule is often thtt cause of failure in sauoes. Tbe water cress should be thoroughly washed, gently dried or well shaken, sprinkled with oirand vinegar, with a seasoning of salt and black, freshly ground pepper,and well tossed to insure ita being equally covered with the dress- ing. It should be broken up into neat pieces. Quitrtered lemons, or limes, and cayenne, or preferably either Nepaul or coralline pepper, should always be hand- ed with roast duck or teal. Pheasant is best when plainly cooked, though old liirda taste better braised or boiM, and served with stewed celery, soubise or chestnut sauce. FOR THE COOK, Sausage Meat.â€" Take three pounds of lean fresh pork, aud one holf pound of leaf lard. See that all is free from sinews, gristle, and bits of bone. Chop all very finely. (A chopping machine costs very little, saves time and la- bor, and does the work l«tter than it can be done by band.) â€" A<ld two spoon- fuls of salt, half a spoonful of pepper, two large spoonfuls of powdered sage, and half a tea^ipoontul of ground gin- ger. Mix all together well and put into strong cotton cloth >)aKB twelve inches long and four inches wide when laid flat. Rip the bag open, turn it back and cut the aam-age in one inch slices. Head Cheese.h-Clean the bead well, and having taken out the eyes, hoiiJ, well salted, till the bones easily drop out. Then drain tbe meat, and sea- son with the various herlis, till the taste is satisfactory. Chup aM very fine, and add eight large finely rolled crackers. Sage and sweet marjoram are general- ly used, bcaides salt, and pepper. Put) into moulds and press for two or three days. it ia to be served cold, cut in siHces. Savory Meal.â€" This is made the same as head cbeeae, only the cracker crumlis are omitted, and yellow cornmeal is stirred in instead. The meat, ihow- ever, is returned to the li<)Uor in which it was boiled, and all this is made quite thick with tbe cornuieaj, and all slow- ly cooked lor an hour, then poured into a large ImjwI to cool. To serve, cut in slices and fry brown and crisp. 'This is an especially Western dish and will keep a month in cold weather. i Pea-s Pudding.râ€" Cover a half pint of dried peas with a quart of water and soak over night. In the morning, drain off the water, cover with fresh cold water, bring to lx)iling point and simmer for about three quarters of an hoax, until the pea^ are tender. Then press through a colander. Add to ihein wtule hot. a tablespoontul of butter, teaiypounful of talt and da&h of pepper. Now, put this into a bag ana ue tigbiuy. Put tbe bag in a steamer and steam cuutinuousily for one hour. Just before the time of serv- ing have cut into very thin slices, with tie grain of the onion, four giMid-siz- e.l unions. .Shake them apart, put them iuio tbe (rying basket and plunge them intu smoking hot fat. In a min- ute they will lie dry and crisp. Turn into a coilander and dust with salt. Dish the pudding, put over the unions and serve. Cream Cake or Pie.â€" One cup of sug- ar, two eggs, a piece of butter the size of an egg, two and one half cup-j of flour, two tea^ipoonfuU of baking powd- er, one cup of milk. Bake in two paiui and split when cool. If granulated sugar is sprinkled over liie lup it will form a nice crust. Cream fur firll- ing: One and one half cups of milk boil- ed and made very sweet. TIbicken with BIX tea-i|)oonfull3 of corn starch which have tieen di««iilved in a little cxjild milk. Add two well Ix-aten eggs and a little Halt and cook it ><ligbily. Flavor and spread between the cakes. SELECTING THE TURKEY A turkey that bus lieen kiMed a day or two and kept on it« shows a wrin- kled, dry skin, split open in many places. For tenderness there are three infaMible tests. The. first is the flex- ible cxmdition of I be bit of gristle that lies under the skin at tbe iioint of tbe wishlxme. Tbe second is by easily lireakiug the under blM, and tbe third is tbe size of a suiaM bony knob that api>ear» on the bacik of the leg, just a half inch above tbe foot. All these lettls can lie personaMy made, and if gristle and bill are tender and the knob on tbe leg no larger than a small pea the turkey was of last spring's hatch- ing and wilt uarve like cheese. THR FIH.ST TOOTH. " Oi-landu," she exclaimed, " tbe baby hcis a tooth I" " Has be I" was the response in a tone which betrayed no emotion. " You don't seem a bit surprised." " I'm not surprised. All babies have first teethi. If this one didn't have any I'd manage to get up some excitement, miybe." " I thought you'd Iw ple4ieed and hap- py about it. "No; I don't see that it's any occa- sion for ectpecial congratulation, Tbe baby bnsi my sympathy." "Sympathy I What for?" " For having bis first tooth. He has just struck tbe opening chapter of a long story of trouble. Pretty soon bv'U have other teeth." " Of course he will." " Every one he cuts will hurt him. Then bis second teeth will come along and pusbi These out. That will hurt bim again. Some oit tbe new ones will come in crooked, like aa not, and be will have to go to tbe tlentist and have a bUxsk and tackle adjusted to them to haul them around into line. Then he'll cut bis wisdom teeth. That'll hurt bim some more. After that he'll have to go to the dentist and let him' drill boles and hammer until his face feels like a great palpitating stone quarry. I wouldn't want him to go through lite without teeth. But 1 must say that I don't see any occasion foi.- the customary hilarity over an event that means so much in tbe way of sorrow and humiliation." r