full length on the floor and made him 

 less anxious to look into everything with 

 his nose. 



His master had a book for the butcher 

 and a different one for his account with 

 the grocer. When meat or groceries 

 were wanted it was only necessary to 

 give him a book in which had been writ- 

 ten the articles desired and a basket and 

 away he went. He knew where to go by 

 the color of the book. Often in coming- 



home with meat he was set upon by 

 other dogs who tried to rob him. One 

 day a large hound tried several times to 

 get the meat, but was kept away by very 

 significant growls. Becoming more de- 

 termined he made a final dash, when New- 

 foundland set the basket down and no 

 hound ever got a sounder thrashing. 

 Then with head and tail held high the 

 basket was carried home in triumph. 

 Alvin M. Hendee. 



PECULIAR MEXICAN BREAD, 



Among some curios lately brought 

 from Mexico, is a cake made of the eggs 

 of water beetles. 



This odd sort of edible resembles, out- 

 wardly, a biscuit made of coarse brown 

 or oatmeal flour. In taste it is not un- 

 like the same wholesome article of diet. 

 As a matter of fact, water beetles hold 

 a high place in the domestic economy of 

 the poorer natives of Mexico. 



Their collection is, therefore, quite an 

 industry, and one in which the Indians, 

 particularly, are adepts. 



This is the plan of operation: Reeds 

 are cut and placed along the margins of 



lakes and ponds. Soon these reeds are 

 covered by an incredible number of eggs 

 so minute that it is necessary to shake 

 them on a cloth to gather them. 



These eggs are then put in bags and 

 pounded. 



The result is a coarse flour, which may 

 be cooked in a great variety of ways. All 

 highly nutritious and stimulating. A 

 vast number of beetles are also collected 

 and used as food for chickens, but not- 

 withstanding this immense demand, the 

 supply suffers no appreciable diminu- 

 tion. Louise Jamison. 



NATURE'S GLORY. 



Oh, golden days with cloudless skies — 

 When forests flame with gorgeous dyes ; 

 A touch of wine seems in the air, 

 Fields are brown— pastures bare. 

 Deep purple wraps the distant hills. 

 Gray shadows fall upon the rills ; — 

 Thro' rustling corn the zephyrs sigh. 

 In grief to see fair summer die. 

 These are days of Nature's glory. 

 Sung in song, and told in story 



— J. Mayne Baltimore. 



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