1902 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
535 
Aunt Abby’s Tithes. 
“After I joined the church, and so put 
myself down regular on the Lord’s side, 
I began to consider just what I ought 
to do about my charities. I was born 
and raised sort of free-handed—took it 
from both pa and ma. So I didn’t try to 
see how little 1 could give away and 
keep up appearances and satisfy my 
conscience, but how much I could spare 
and yet get along. I never had a head 
for figures. I was always at the toot of 
the arithmetic class—don’t really know 
the multiplication-table to this day, and 
am forever getting mixed up and mud¬ 
dled over the bills at the store or on the 
farm. 
“I knew I must be dreadful particular 
in this matter, and, if I’d got to make 
mistakes I must make them on the right 
side; I mean I must manage to give too 
much rather than too little. One of pa’s 
old sayings was, ‘It’s better to slop than 
to skimp,’ and that’s truer in giving to 
the Lord than in anything else. I didn’t 
like to ask anybody about it. I knew 
better than other folks about what I 
owned, and, particular, how much I’d 
had from the Lord to be grateful for and 
pay back. But still I really didn’t know 
myself just what my income was, nor 
how much I could afford to part with. I 
owned the place where I lived—a little 
house with a few acres of land. I had 
a little money in the savings bank, and 
there were a few other things that 
brought me in something every year; 
but just how much it all came to I didn’t 
know. And again, what part, how much 
of it all, I ought to give back in charity 
I wasn’t exactly sure.. But I thought it 
over, and studied up the Bible, and, of 
course, prayed over it some, and by and 
by it seemed to come to me. I found out 
from the Bible that the least anybody 
ought to give was a tenth of what he 
had. It’s called a tithe in some places, 
but Deacon Blodgett said that was the 
same thing, and meant a tenth part. 
But, as I said before, I didn’t know how 
much property I had, so how could I di¬ 
vide it by ten, and get a tithe of it? 
“Well, I soon saw that the only way 
I could fix it and be certain sure I wasn’t 
skimping the Lord’s share was this: I 
must divide every single thing as it came 
along by 10, and when I’d got the an¬ 
swer to the sum, I must give that away 
right off, before I forgot about it, al¬ 
ways adding a little to it, for fear I 
hadn’t divided right, knowing my bad 
bead for figures. You have no idea how 
well that way worked, and works still, 
for I always do it to this day. I’ll show 
you. 
“There were my hens, for one thing. 
I had quite a lot, and they were good 
layers most times. Well, say I got 15 
eggs one day. As soon as I’d counted 
them I’d divide them by 10. It would 
go once and something over, so, of 
course, I’d call it twice. There’d be two 
eggs that didn’t belong to me, but to the 
Lord or his people. Then there was the 
allowing, as I call it—the adding on for 
fear I hadn’t divided right; and that 
made three. Of course, I picked out the 
biggest, if there was any difference, and 
in some ways or other those three eggs 
went where they belonged. Sometimes 
they were sold, and the money paid into 
the treasury; sometimes they went just 
as eggs to some of the Lord’s sick or 
poor, or to somebody doing his work. 
“Then my garden: the vegetables, and 
the fruit, and the flowers—they were all 
divided the same way, as fast as they 
came on. ’Twas hard work for me, with 
my poor head for figures, to find out 
just how much a tenth part of a bushel 
was, when I had my roots dug—the po¬ 
tatoes and turnips, carrots, and so on. 
I couldn’t do it on paper or the slate. I 
just had to take each bushel itself, and 
lay them out in 10 parts, by looks or 
counting. Then I’d allow, of course, 
feeling pretty sure I’d made some mis¬ 
take, and generally add a little from 
nine of the heaps to the Lord’s pile— 
and there it was, you see, all done. 
’Twas a good deal of work, but real in¬ 
teresting. Pumpkins were easy. They 
were big, and counted quick. Beans and 
peas were pretty difficult, but cabbages 
plain and easy. 
“My posies didn’t bring in any money; 
there wasn’t any sale for such tilings in 
the village, of course, so they must be 
given away just as they were. But 
there were always sick people to send 
a little hunch to, or poor folks that 
hadn’t any gardens, and many, many 
times there were the dead, with them 
they’d left sorrowing, wanting to lay 
something white and sweet and comfort¬ 
ing on their breasts or in their cold, 
still hands. And there was the meet¬ 
inghouse to look out for Sundays with 
the pitcher of Canterbury bells or fox¬ 
gloves or poppies or pinks. Congrega- 
tionals—I was always one of them, you 
know—didn’t put flowers in the meet¬ 
ing-house much those days. But it 
seemed a good thing to me, our Master 
having made so much of posies, and they 
themselves having so many little kind 
of sermons in them. So I begun doing 
it, and somehow nobody stopped me, 
though there was some talk at first, and 
the story got around that Abby Coles— 
that’s me, you know—was going over to 
the Episcopals. Then there was my 
herb corner, where I raised thyme and 
sweet-marjoram and mint and Summer 
savory. I just admired to do the divid¬ 
ing up of that, for it made me think of 
the ‘tithes of mint, anise and cummin’ 
the Bible tells of. You wouldn’t think 
there was much use for such herbs in 
the Lord’s work, but there was. There 
was stuffing for the tenth part of my 
chickens—I didn’t keep turkeys—to have 
sage or sweet-marjoram or Summer 
savory or all turee in, as folks chose; 
and there were the sausages, tithes of 
them to be seasoned up for the minister 
and his big family—he had quivers full 
of children—and for old Captain Lee, 
Aunt Lois Worthy, ’Lias Bates, and all 
the rest of our poor folks. And there 
was hardhack and boneset and mother¬ 
wort, and lots of other curing, healing 
things for the sick and ailing. Dear me! 
my tenth part of that herb-bed had to 
have lots of allowing, to make it go 
’round. 
“Well, so I did with everything, you 
see. The interest I got from the savings 
bank I tithed each time it came in, al¬ 
ways allowing more on that than on 
other things, because of my poor head 
for figures, and my being afraid I should 
do the sum wrong. And so with the 
rent for my pasture that John Walker 
hired for his cattle. He didn’t pay very 
regular, sometimes not at all. But, of 
course, that didn’t make any difference; 
I d got to take a tenth of the price he’d 
ought to ’a’ paid, beside the allowing. 
“Of course, I’ve only told you a part 
of the story. ’Twould take me a year to 
tell about everything—how I measured 
the milk from my cow when it was new, 
and then the cream when it was skim¬ 
med; how, when my pigs were killed, I 
tithed the meat—spareribs, hams, pork 
and all, each by itself. My calves too— 
the veal, the liver and the head. I gave 
a tenth part of the use of my horse—■ 
old Jack—to the sick or poor, the minis¬ 
ter or funerals. I tithed my hay, my 
oats, my buckwheat, and always every 
single time, of course, I allowed, to 
make sure I was right and honest. 
“This rule of mine worked sort of 
queer sometimes, and turned out almost 
comical. I recollect once I’d been busy 
housecleaning, and somehow I’d forgot¬ 
ten how near out the victuals in the 
house was. I went to set the table for 
tea, and 1 found there wasn’t hardly 
anything in the closet but one huckle¬ 
berry pie and three doughnuts. I’d got 
into such a habit of tithing I begun to 
MOTHERS.—Be sure to use “Mrs. Wins¬ 
low’s Soothing Syrup” for your children 
while Teething. It is the Best— Adv. 
divide those provisions right off, though 
I really had done it before on baking- 
day, and sent out my tenth and the al¬ 
lowing. I undertook to cut that pie into 
10 pieces, but you know how difficult 
huckleberry pie is. The juice would run 
so and the berries squeeze out till I 
couldn’t tell one piece from another, 
and, come to the tenth, there didn’t 
hardly seem to be anything to it, even 
with the allowing. So I see I might as 
well take the whole pie, and call it a 
tithe, and I ran over to poor Miss Randy 
Shaw’s with it. When I came back, I 
had another hard sum to do, for there 
were my three doughnuts to divide by 
10! I was too tired to try to uo that, so 
I eat one with my cup of tea, and laid 
away the others for little lame Billy, 
down the west road. 
“There were lots of other things I can 
scursely put into words—sums you can’t 
do by any rule of arithmetic, and yet 
must be taken into account and tithed. 
There were the kind things folks did 
for me, such a heap of them; for every¬ 
body’s always so good to me, and I’m 
sure I don’t know why. Those things 
must be divided somehow, and at least 
a tenth part of them passed on to them 
that needs them. There was my Bible 
and all it holds; that must have its tithe 
sent to those that haven’t got it—the 
heathen here at home and way off in 
distant lands. And my church—I’m 
Congregational, you know—some ways 
I must give part of what I got out of 
that. There was my minister, Mr. Jes¬ 
sup, too. It made me smile for a min¬ 
ute when I first thought of dividing him 
by 10. He was dreadful poor, as far as 
flesh goes, and seemed as though a tithe 
of him wouldn’t go very far. But, dear 
me! the goodness and kind deeds and 
faithful work for his people made 
enough to divide by a hundred. 
“And then—I mean to speak very sol¬ 
emn and with great respect and rever¬ 
ence about this—there was the greatest 
gift I’d had in all my poor, selfish life, 
the Christmas present, as I like to call 
it in my heart. I tried real hard to give 
my whole share and more of what I 
owed him for that, and help folks that 
hadn’t my privileges to get its peace and 
comfort. I didn’t think there was any 
need of stopping at a tenth part in that 
matter. 
“Well, I’ve made a long story out of 
my tithing—haven’t I? But you asked 
mo about it, you know. And it does seem 
to me such a good way to lay out your 
charities, and such an easy one, too. 
For, as far as I can see, it comes out 
just about right—that is, if you divide 
every single thing as it comes along by 
10, and don’t wait or forget. But re¬ 
member, you must always allow, even if 
you think you have a head for figures. 
Seems to me each year, as I look back 
and count up, that my allowance is 
about as big as my tithes, though I don’t 
see how that can be. But I never was 
much at arithmetic—that’s the thing of 
it.”—Annie Trumbull Slosson, in Sunday 
School Times. 
In itself one kind of work is just as 
sacred as another. Preaching sermons 
may be the worst kind of profanation 
and cobbling shoes may be the divinest 
kind of service. The roar of the ma¬ 
chinery in the mill may be a hymn of 
praise to God, while the surging of the 
church organ may be an abomination 
that He cannot away with. Paul sewed 
tents and preached sermons with equal 
fervor.—Rev. S. J. Batten. 
* 
A Generation Ago 
coffee could only be 
bought in bulk. The 
20th century way is the 
I COFFEE 
way—sealed pack¬ 
ages, always clean, 
fresh and retaining 
its rich flavor. 
- - 
TRY GRAIN-0! TRY GRAIN-0! 
Ask your Grocer to-day to show you a package of 
GRAIN-O, the new food drink that takes the place 
of coffee. The children may drink It without Injury 
as well as the adult. All who try It, like it. GRAIN-O 
has that rich seal brown of Mocha or Java, but It Is 
made from pure grains, and the most delicate stomach 
receives It without distress. M the price of coffee 
16c. and 25c. per package. Sold by aU grocers 
MADE $ 105 THE FIRST MONTH 
6. GRAY A CO. 
writes FRED. BLODGETT, of N. Y. J. L. 
BARRIOK, of La., writes! “Am making 
{3.00 to $8.00 every day I work.” MRS. il 
M. ANDERSON, of Iowa, writes: "I 
>3.80 to $6.r>0 a day ” Hundreds 
doing likewise. So cnn yon. 
$6.00 to $10.00 dally made pla¬ 
ting jewelry, tableware, bloy- 
oles, metal goods with gold, sib 
ver, nickel, etc. Enormous de¬ 
mand. Wo teach you FDFF 
Write—offer free. I 11 tLl 
l’l.tlnr Work*. A Blliml Illdff., ( l»rlnn»ll. O. 
The University of Notre Dame, 
NOTRE DAME, INDIANA. 
Classics, Letters, Economics ami History, 
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Civil, Mechanical ami Electrical Engineer¬ 
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Thorough Preparatory and Commercial 
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St. Edward's Hall, fo> boys under 13 
Tho59tli Year will open September 1), 1903. 
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NOTRE DAME, INDIANA. 
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education. Regular Collegiate Degrees 
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free. Address 
DIRECTRESS OF THE ACADEMY, 
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“AMERICAN 
SUMMER 
RESORTS” 
This is one of the most com¬ 
plete publications of its kind, and 
will assist those who are wonder¬ 
ing - where they will go to spend 
their vacation this summer. 
It contains a valuable map, in 
addition to much interesting- in¬ 
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reached by the 
NEW YORK 
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George H. Daniels, General Passenger 
Agent, New York Central & Hudson River 
Railroad, Grand Central Station, New York. 
A Carving Set. 
Every family needs a carving set three 
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Gold-Shell Rings. 
Most people like a 
nice ring. We show 
three styles. These are 
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They are better and 
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Cut a slip of paper the size of finger and 
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