JUNE 4f> 
307 
f itearg Utisallattg. 
THE PRESS AND THE PLOW. 
We envy not the princely man, 
In city or in town. 
Who wonders whether pumpkin vines 
Turn up the hill or down. 
We care not for his marble halls, 
Nor yet hie heaps of gold. 
We would not own his sordid heart 
For all his wealth twice told. 
Wo are the favored ones of earth, 
We breathe pure air each morn, 
We sow, we reap the golden grain, 
Wo gather in the corn. 
We toil—we live on what we earn, 
And more than this we do— 
Wo hear of starving millions round, 
And gladly feed them too. 
The lawyer lives on princely fees. 
Yet drags a weary life, 
He never knows a peaceful hour. 
His atmosphere is strife. 
A merchant thumbs his yardstick o'er, 
Grows haggard at hiM toil; 
He’s not the man God meant him for; 
Why don’t he till the soil ? 
The Doctor plods through storm and rain— 
Plods at his patient’s will; 
When dead and gone, he plods again 
To get his leugthy bill. 
The printer—bless his noble sold ! 
He grasps the mighty earth. 
And stamps it on our daily sheet. 
To cheer the laborer’s hearth. 
We sing the honor of the Plow, 
And honor of the Press- 
Two noble instruments of toil, 
Each with a power to bless. 
The bone, the nerve of thiB fast age, 
True wealth of human kind; 
One tills the ever-faithful earth, 
The other tills the mind. 
JOHN ASCOTT’S DAUGHTER, 
BY CHARLES RICHARDS DODGE, 
Author of “ Louise and I.” 
(Continued from page 381) 
CHAPTER XV. 
THE NEW OWNER. 
The day following the sale was cold and dreary. 
It had rained incessantly from day-break, and 
there was every prospect of a long storm. Within, 
without, was dark and gloomy. May was sitting 
by the window, her forehead pressed against the 
pane to cool Its burning fever, and was alone with 
thought. Her eyes seemed to rest upon the bed 
of myrtle trailing beneath the window, but in 
truth they were so filled with the heavy mists 
that hung upon their lids, she saw nothing, nor 
heeded nature’s tears, even, as they fell patter, 
patter upon the sill before her. George had come 
in from his chores quite early In the day, and for 
an hour had been sitting In another part of the 
room In a large rocking chair, hla hands clasped 
together behind his head, his face turned upward 
to the celling. Neither had spoken for me full 
horn- and each felt that but one drop more was 
needed to fill their cup of misery to overflowing. 
“ It is over. May,” said her husband, at length, 
“ and we are Just where we stood a little over two 
years ago." 
“ Yes,” she answered, sadly. 
“ We have lost our home-” 
“But we have health, George—-that Isa great 
blessing in itself. Then you will have all ihe 
money you flrst put Into Maplewood, and a little 
for the two years, hard work. Let us he thank¬ 
ful-” 
It was bravely begun, but her voice faltered, 
and she did not finish the sentence. George arose 
from Ills seat and nervously paced up and down 
the room for some moments, his hands crossed be¬ 
hind him. 
“ if 1 only knew what that dignified old fellow 
was going to do with the farm—” he commenced 
reflectively. “ Skinner Is coming to-morrow with 
the papers, and tnen I suppose, we shall know all 
about It." 
"Yes—we shall know all about It,” his wife 
answered, giving a peculiar emphasis to the 
words. She paused a moment, and then added: 
“And 1 shall leave dear old Maplewood forever.” 
“ it Is that, that makes It so terrible to me,” 
George exclaimed with feeling. “Oh heaven I 
was ever a man’s life more unfortunate.’ 
At this juncture carriage wheels were heard In 
front of tne house. The horses stopped, some one 
alighted and stepped upon the broad door-stone; 
there was a knock at the door and In a few mo¬ 
ments George was astounded to see the tall flgure 
of his father enter the mom. 
“ Why rather!” he exclaimed. 
“ It seems you’ve not forgotten me.” 
“ No, sir. I have not forgotten you.” 
“And I don't Intend you shall,” Mr. Ashton 
answered looking out from under his great shaggy 
eyebrows in the direction of May. •• You're well, 
are you?” 
“Will you be seated, sir?” she asked, starting 
to leave the room. 
“ You’re coming back, ain’t ye ? I want to say 
something to ye.” 
“ l presumed 1 should be Intruding." 
“ Well, no, 1 guess not. Sit down both of ye. 
So you are In trouble, George?” 
“ I have been in trouble, but It Is all over now.” 
“ It Is, eh? That’s all right, aud leaving Maple¬ 
wood won’t come so hard.” 
*• Do you come here to taunt me, father." 
“ Well no, but 1 heard the farm was sold yester¬ 
day, and l came round to see If I could do any¬ 
thing ror ye.” 
“ Rather late for that. You could have helped 
us day before yesterday considerably,” 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
“ Let me see. Six thousand and something It 
went for. That gives you hack your aunt’s money, 
perhaps with Interest, for the two years. That’s 
better luck than might have befallen ye.” 
“ Is that all you have come to say ?” 
“ That’s about all I have come to say to you, and 
after I have had a little chat with your wife 
I’ll go.” 
He turned towards May, and for a moment there 
was an awkward pause. 
“UmphI nemi I never thanked ye for that 
butter you was good enough to leave, with Saray 
for me a year ago. It was very good butter. Hem 
I was sorry when It was gone. I—I—didn’t treat 
you jest right that day, hut fact Is—ahem !—you 
appear to be a different sort of a gal from what I 
thought you were. To tell the truth. I've made 
up my mind that there's a good deal of the Ashton 
about ye—your father was too fond of books to 
suit me—so 1—well—I didn’t like the notion of 
your being turned out of the old place a second 
time, and—there! I guess I d better go home be¬ 
fore I do something foolish. Here’s the deeds. 
May, I bought Maplewood myseir, and as your 
father—poor man—wasn’t able to give It to ye, 
jest take It as a weddln’ present from me, im¬ 
provements and all.” 
“Father i” 
“ Forgive me, May, for the trouble I’ve made ye. 
I’m a crusty old dog, I know, but the sayln’ never 
too late to learn or never too old to mend, or some¬ 
thing of the sort, fits me exactly. We’ll let by¬ 
gones be by-gones and say nothing more about it.” 
“ Father, you have made us happier than you 
can know.” 
*• Never mind the thanks, George. It’s ended 
all right, so we’ll rub out the old score and begin 
again. But I told ye, if you displeased me and 
married the Ascott. gal, not a cent, and I’ve stuck 
to It. I will say for your comfort, however, that 
you’ve run the rarm mighty pretty—all to that 
mortgage business, but It'll be a lesson for ye In 
the lutur’ never to put on Improvements, or do 
anything In fact with ottver people’s money. Not 
even Mrs Ashton’s here. But I’ll warrant ye she’s 
got sense enough to take care of her own—trust 
May for that. Now, daughter. Just let me take a 
look at that young man I’ve heard so much about, 
and i’ll scamper.” 
"Of course you will stay to dinner, father,” 
said George. “ You mustn’t drive hack in all this 
storm.." 
" Of course you will stay,” May urged. “ I’ve— 
more or that butter.” 
“ There, I'll stay,” and the old gentleman’s eyes 
twinkled menlly. 
He stayed to dinner and spent the afternoon; 
then he stayed to tca.^nd Anally stayed all night, 
and as the morning dawned with bright skies and 
a clear, sweet atmosphere after the atom, he 
stayed all the forenoon to go over the farm with 
George. It seemed like a dream to the young couple 
after the dark experience of the last week, and 
It Is safe to assert that three happier people could 
not be found In S-than the three that gathered 
around the family board upon this bright .June day. 
CHAPTER XVI. 
CONCLUSION. 
Five years have passed since May Ashton came 
Into possession of Maplewood. With capital at 
his command George has become a successful 
farmer, and Is accumulating a fair share of this 
world’s goods. Hla father la still hale and hearty 
and takes a just pride la his sou’s achievements. 
He Is a frequent visitor at the farm, spending 
weeks at a time with his children, or to come more 
nearly the truth, with his grand-children, for he 
makes a complete nursery-maid of hims elf upon 
these occasions. 
John Ascott Ashton is a blue-eyed, fair haired 
little fellow, nearly six years old, hla mother’s 
Idol and “ her own boy” In every sense of the 
word. Klbrldge Ashton Jr., almost three, la a 
chip of the old block—a thoroughly wide-awake 
irrepresaable, his grandpa’s Idol of course. 
“ What are you going to do with the boys, 
George?” the old gentleman asked one day, aa 
they were playing In the library. 
“ Bring them up with the Idea that they must 
earn their own livings.” George answered "1 
shall give them liberal educations, and then let 
mein follow the bent of their Inclinations.” 
“ Elbrtdge there, reminds me of his father when 
he was a little cub. 1 guess you had better send 
mat boy to the sclentlfle school, and he'U take 
care of the family one of these days. The other 
fetlosv, though, la an Ascott; he wants regular 
college laruln’ and pornaps someday he'll turn out 
a member of congress or a minister—or something. 
Who knows?” 
William and Charles are Jogging along In busi¬ 
ness with fair success. They often spend Sunday 
at the farm and fire proud of their younger brother 
and his wife. Sarah aud May see each other very 
often aud have grown to love each other al¬ 
most as own sisters. May's old friends at N- 
are still warm and friendly, and George wlU ever 
remember, with gratitude, Mr. De Foudvllle’s 
kind offer of assistance, at the time the rarm 
was sold, even though mo letter was delayed in 
transit until the farm was In May's possession. 
Old Silas Wilkins and his good wile are still 
alive, but George bas leased the farm, allowing 
the old people to remain upon It. The old gentle¬ 
man dues little work, hut he suit continues to give 
good advice and loves an tugument as well as 
ever. Be says he believes In book-farming. “ per- 
vlden a man has got a powerful sight o’ common 
sense Into the bargain.” 
A word for George and May; they have never 
forgotten the lessons oi their early rarm exper¬ 
ience nor the dark cloud that threatened the hap¬ 
piness of their married life. As a pilot learns the 
dangerous reefs and shoals but to avoid mem, so 
they are steering their precious bark, by a sure 
olnirt and compass, over a sunlit sea toward that 
fair haven where storm Is never known. 
Here let us leave them—floating down life’s 
stream together—successful through earnest pur¬ 
pose, happy in their success, mindful of the nobler 
alms of life, whUe living for each other, and 
proving to the world that love and duty ever 
should go hand In hand. 
BREAD-MAKING IN SPAIN. 
The bread In the south of Spain Is delicious; 
it Is as white as snow, close aa cake, and yet very 
light; the flour is most admirable, for the wheat 
Is good and pure, and the bread well kneaded. 
The way they make this bread is aa follows: 
From large, long pa nniers filled with wheat, they 
take out a handful at a time, sorting It most care¬ 
fully and expeditiously, and throwing every de¬ 
fective grain Into another basket. Tbls done, the 
wheat Is ground between two circular stoues, as 
It was ground In Egypt two thousand years ago, 
the requisite rotary motion being given by a 
blindfolded mule, which passes around and around 
with untiring patience, a hell being attached to 
his neck, which, as long as he Is In movement, 
tinkles on; and when it stops he la urged to his 
duty by me shout of “ arra mula” from some one 
within hearing. When ground, the wheat la sifted 
through three sieves, me last of these being so 
fine that only the pure flour can pass through it; 
this Is of a. pale apricot color. The bread la made 
in me evening. It Is mixed with sufficient water 
with a little salt In It, to make Into dough; a very 
small quantity of leaven or yeast, in one batch of 
household bread as In Spain, would last a week 
for the six or eight donkey loads of bread they 
send every day from their oven. The dough made, 
it Is put into sacks and carried on the donkeys’ 
backs to the oven In the center of the village, to 
hake It tnmedtately after kneading. On arriv¬ 
ing there the dough is divided Into portions weigh¬ 
ing three pounds each. Two long, narrow wood¬ 
en tables on trestles are then placed down the 
room, and a curious sight may be seen. About 
twenty men, bakers, come in and range them- 
salves on one aide of the table. A l um p of dough 
Is handed to me nearest, which he begins knead¬ 
ing and knocking about with all hla might for 
about three or lour minutes, and then passes it 
on to his neighbor, who does the same, and so on 
successively until all have kneaded It, when it, be¬ 
comes as soft as new putty and ready for the oven 
Of course, as soon as the flrst baker has handed 
the flrst lump to his neighbor, another lump Is 
given to him, and so on until the whole quantity 
of dough Is kneaded by them all. The bakers 
wives and daughters shape me loaves for the 
oven, and some of them are very small. They 
are baked Immediately .—Colorado Farmer. 
WHAT A VOLCANO CAN DO. 
COTArAxr, In 1738, threw Its flery roekets 3,ooo 
feet above Its crater; while In 1734, the blazing 
mass, struggling for an outlet, roared so that Its 
awwl voice was heard at a distance of more tnan 
600 miles. In 1797 the crater of Tuuguragua, one 
of the great peaks of the Andes, flung out torrents 
of mud which dammed up the rivers, opened new 
lakes, and In valleys 1,000 feet wide made deposits 
«oo feet deep. The stream from Vesuvius, wulch 
In 1637 passed through Torre del Greco, contained 
33 , 000,000 cubic feet or solid matter; and in 1793, 
when Torre del Greco was destroyed a second 
time, the mass of lava amounted to 45 , 000,000 cubic 
feet. In 1760 /Etna poured forth a flood which 
covered eighty-four square miles of surface, and 
measured nearly 1 , 000 , 000,000 cubic feet. On this 
occasion the sand and scoria formed the Monte 
Koslifl, near Nlcholo.su, a cone of two tulles in cir¬ 
cumference. and 4,000 feet high. The stream 
thrown out by .Etna In isiu was In motion at me 
rate of a yard a day for nine months after the 
eruption; and it Is on record that the lava of the 
same mountain, after a terrible eruption, was not 
thoroughly cool and consolidated ten years 
after me event. In the eruption of Vesuvius, 
A. D., 79, me scoria and ashes vomited forth far 
exceeded the entire bulk of the mountain; while 
la 1660 -Etna disgorged more than twenty times 
its own mass. Vesuvius has sent Us ashes as tar 
as Constantinople, Syria and Egypt; It hurled 
stones eight pounds In welg lit to Fompell, a dis¬ 
tance of six miles, where similar masses were 
tossed up 2,000 feet above the summit. Cotopaxi 
has projected a block of 100 cubic yards In volume 
a distance of nine miles; and Sumbawa, In 1815, 
during me most terrible eruption on record, sent 
Its ashes as far as Java, a distance of 3<X> miles of 
surface, and out of a population of 12,000 souls 
only 20 escaped—Weekly JournaL 
FLOWERS. 
Parisians are genuine flower lovers. Even in 
the densest quarters of Paris you may see peep¬ 
ing over lofty walls, or at the bottom of some tun¬ 
nel-like archway, fragments of groves, which, on 
nearer acquaintance, will be round to be cooled by 
fountains and adorned by statuary. Romancers 
exaggerate them Into parks, but as a rule they 
cover only a lew square yards. In the Faubourg 
St. Germain, it Is true, mere are some delightful 
gardens 01 considerable extern, where one may 
walk by moonlight and listen to the buzz or the 
mighty city around. Those who cannot enjoy the 
luxury of a plot of ground make gardens in green 
boxes on their window-sills, or buy pots of sweet 
basil, the heliotrope night-shade, jasmine and 
mignonette at the Qua, aux Fleurs. On certain 
days of the year—mo Ste. Marie, for example, 
every third person being called by that name—me 
streets of Paris resemble a fragrant HI main wood. 
Everybody is moving about, bearing gigantic bou¬ 
quets or portentous pots of flowers, for It is me 
custom to make presents of this kind on such oc¬ 
casions. The imperial flower Is the violet—a sin¬ 
gular desecration of that modest child of me 
woods. 
-- 
HOME. 
I never saw a garment too fine for man or maid 
there never was a chair too good for a cobbler or 
a cooper or a king to sit In; never a house too fine 
to shelter the human head. These elements about 
us, the glorious sky, the Imperial sun, are not too 
good for the human race. Elegance fits mao. But 
do we not value these tools a little more than they 
are worth ana sometimes mortgage a house tor 
the mahogany we bring Into It? 1 had rather eat 
my dinner off the head of a barreL or dress after 
the fashion of John the UaptlBt In the wilderness, 
or sit on a block all my life, than consume all my¬ 
self before 1 got to a home, and take so much 
pains with the outside that the inside was as 
hollow as an empty nut. Beauty Is a great thing 
but beauty of garment, house and furniture are 
tawdry ornaments compared with domestic love. 
All the elegance In the world will not make a 
home, and I would give more for a spoonful of 
real hearty love than for whole shiploads of furni¬ 
ture and all the gorgeousness all the upholsterers 
in the world can gather—Dr. Holmes. 
-- 
VARIETIES. 
If “ conscience makes cowards of us all,” ought 
not the best soldier to be one without a con¬ 
science ? 
If a man can he happy and contented In his own 
company he will generally be good company for 
others. 
To attain long life—love nothing too violently 
hate nothing too passionately; fear nothing too 
strongly. 
Moderation Is the father of health, cheerful¬ 
ness, and old age. Excess has a family too nu¬ 
merous to be counted. 
Edison will next turn his attention to the oon 
structlon of an electric pan-cake machine for Vas- 
sar College.—Boston Post. 
What makes people so discontented with their 
own lot In life, is the mistaken Idea which they 
form of the happy lot of others. 
- 
NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
The Prodigious Adventures of Tartarin of 
Tarascoii- Translated from the French of Al. 
phonhe Dachet 12mo. Cloth, $1,00. Pacer, 50 cents- 
Boston, Lee & Shepherd. 
“ The Prodigious Adventuresof Tartarin of Tar- 
ascon,” by Alphonse Daudet, Is a very picturesque 
book—a very good satire—and admirably trans¬ 
lated. Indeed, Mr. Minot has caught the author’s 
style so well, one might easily believe at times he 
was reading the original. The book differs very 
much from Daudet’s more recent works. It has 
a breath of rresh life about It which If not so fin¬ 
ished In style, Is very charming. The pictures 
constantly bring Gerome to mind. The satire, If 
not original. Is presented In an original way. Tar¬ 
tarin 1 b a would-be hero. -Don Quixote and 
Sancho Panza in the same man: You understand 
whaian Ill-assorted household theirs must be: 
What combats! What altercations! Tartarln- 
Qulxote, getting excited over Gustave Aymard's 
narratives, and crying, ‘ I go! ’ Tartarln-Sancbo, 
thinking only of rheumatism and saying, * I stay !' ’’ 
Tartarln-Quixote persuades himself that he ha3 
been, and fought, and conquered. He tells the 
simple Tarasconlans, who Idolize him, grand 
stories of hts achievements. “ He does not lie; he 
deceives himself. The descriptions of Algiers and 
of African scenery elsewhere are very vivid. One 
can almost see the colors. Of course poor Tartarin 
is cheated and made fun of In all directions. In 
his good nature, generosity and untold wealth, he 
is not unlike the Nabob. It Is a foundation for the 
reality of all future stories from Tartarln-Don 
Quixote. 
The Trnr Slorr of the Exodiin of Israel, to¬ 
gether with a brief view of The History of Monu¬ 
mental Egypt, Compiled from the work of Du. Henry 
Bbtjgsch-bey, edited with *11 introduction and notes 
by Francis H. Underwood. Price $1.50. Boston, 
Lee and Shepard. 
“ The True story of the Exodus of Israel" sounds 
like a ehaUenge, But whatever may be the con¬ 
clusion to which It leads, the main question is—la 
It true? If It Is not true, people may still believe 
that the waves of the Red Sea continue to rollover 
the chariots and armor of the drowned Pharaoh's 
host. If U is true, It will lead to a more reasonable 
Mew of the ancient story. Dr. Brugseh, after 
thirty years of exploration and study, has been 
able to flx the residence of the Israelites tn Egypt, 
and the birth-place of Moses. IlavlDg a thorough 
knowledge of the geography, ancient and modern, 
he shows the errors of the translators and com¬ 
mentators. This account Dr Brugscb declares to 
be wholly in accord with Scripture. The hook Is 
valuable In other respects, especially for the new 
light thrown upon the Immense antiquity of the 
kingdom, and Us wonderful monuments with 
their wealth of historic Inscriptions. It Is Illus¬ 
trated with a map of Ancient Egypt, reproduced 
from the original In Dr. Brugsch's “ Egypt under 
the Pharaohs.” 
Odd or Even, By Mrs- A. D. T. Whitney. Boston: 
Houghton, Osgood A Co. 
This new novel by Mrs. Whitney adds another 
to the flat of her many Interesting productions. 
WhUe free from the sensational characteristics 
of a host of modern books, It partakes or tire 
ireshness of the times. The delineations of 
character and pictures of scenery are points of 
excellence. To be In communion with the 
people and In view ot the scenes so vividly por¬ 
trayed would be a pleasure not always experi¬ 
enced. The reader concludes upon reflection 
that imaginary powers are exceedingly elastic, 
or that the writer’s path In life has lead through 
naught but flowery vales. Her standard of 
morality Is elevated and calculated to Impart a 
lesson wnich none should fall to heed. 
Elsie’s Widowhood. By Martha Finley. Pub¬ 
lished by Dodd, Msad A Oo„ New York. 
This little book is designed to prove a pleasing 
story and also a means of showing how trial and 
affliction may be borne with untiring grace, if the 
, love of Christ be the motive power. 
