 Alice Freeman Palmer's Three Rules for Happiness and Excerpt from the Life of Alice Freeman Palmer by George Herbert Palmer, 1908. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. While I was in Boston, writes Gertrude W. Fielder, I had the pleasure of meeting Alice Freeman Palmer. She was a doer of the word and not a hearer only. For almost every week through the hot summer she used to leave her peaceful calm retreat in the country and go to Boston to talk to children of the slums at a vacation school. These schools are kept up through the summer in the poorest localities. The children are given a morning session of music, reading, and pretty watercolor sketches to look at. They can bring the babies with them, and many indeed could not come at all without the little ones. Here is the story as Mrs. Palmer told it. One July morning I took an early train. It was a day that gave promise of being very, very hot even in the country. And what in the city? When I reached my destination, I found a great many girls in the room, but more babies than girls it seemed. Each girl was holding one, and there were a few to spare. Now I said, what shall I talk to you about this morning girls? Talk about life, said one girl. Imagine, I am afraid it is too big a subject for such a short time, I said. Then up spoke a small, pale-faced, heavy-eyed child with a great fat baby on her knee. Tell us how to be happy. The tears rushed to my eyes, and a lump came in my throat. Happy in such surroundings as those in which no doubt she lived, perhaps dirty and foul-smelling. Happy with burdens too heavy to be borne. All this flashed through my mind while the rest took up the word and echoed, yes, tell us how to be happy. Well, I said, I will give you my three rules for being happy, but mind you must all promise to keep them for a week and not skip a single day, for they won't work if you skip one single day. So they all faithfully and solemnly promised that they wouldn't skip a single day. The first rule is that you will commit something to memory every day, something good. It needn't be much. Three or four words will do. Just a pretty bit of a poem, or a Bible verse. Do you understand? I was so afraid they wouldn't, but one little girl with flashing black eyes jumped up from the corner of the room and cried, I know you want us to learn something we'd be glad enough to remember if we went blind. That's it exactly, I said, something you would like to remember if you went blind. And they all promised that they would and not skip a single day. The second rule is look for something pretty every day and don't skip a day or it won't work. A leaf, a flower, a cloud. You can all find something. Isn't there a park somewhere near here that you can all walk to? Yes, there was one. And stop long enough before the pretty thing that you have spied to say, isn't it beautiful? Drink in every detail and see the loveliness all through. Can you do it? They promised to a girl. My third rule is, now mind don't skip a day. Do something for somebody every day. Oh, that's easy, they said. Though I thought it would be the hardest thing of all. Just think that is what those children said. Oh, that's easy. Didn't they have to tend babies and run errands every day? And wasn't that doing something for somebody? Yes, I answered them. It was. At the end of the week, the day being hotter than the last, if possible, I was winding my way along a very narrow street when suddenly I was literally grabbed by the arm. And a little voice said, I done it. Did what? I exclaimed looking down and seeing at my side a tiny girl with the proverbial fat baby asleep in her arms. Now I will admit that it was awfully stupid of me not to know, but my thoughts were far away, and I actually did not know what she was talking about. What you told us to, and I never skipped a day, neither, replied the child in a rather hurt tone. Oh, I said, now I know what you mean. Put down the baby and let's talk about it. So down on the sidewalk she deposited the sleeping infant, and she and I stood over it and talked. Well, she said, I never skipped a day, but it was awful hard. It was all right when I could go to the park. But one day it rained and rained, and the baby had a cold, and I just couldn't go out. And I thought, sure, I was going to skip. And I was standing at the window, most crying, and I saw hear her little face brightened up with a radiant smile. I saw a sparrow taking a bath in the gutter that goes round the top of the house, and he had on a black necktie, and he was handsome. It was the first time I had heard an English sparrow called handsome, but I tell you, it wasn't laughable a bit. No, not a bit. And then there was another day she went on, and I thought I should have to skip it, sure. There wasn't another thing to look at in the house. The baby was sick and I couldn't go out, and I was feeling terrible when here she caught me by both hands, and the most radiant look came to her face. I saw the baby's hair saw the baby's hair, I echoed. Yes, a little bit of sun came in the window, and I saw his hair, and I'll never be lonesome anymore. And catching up the baby from the sidewalk, she said, see, and I too saw the baby's hair. Isn't it beautiful, she asked. Yes, it is beautiful, I answered. You have heard of artists raving over Titian hair. Well, as the sun played on this baby's hair, there were the browns, the reds, the golds which make up the Titian hair. Yes, it was truly beautiful. Now shall we go on, I said, taking the heavy baby from her. The room was literally packed this time, ten times as many girls, and as many babies as your mind will conceive of. I wish you could have listened with me to the experiences of those little ones. Laughter and tears were so commingled that I don't know which had the mastery. End of Alice Freeman Palmer's Three Rules for Happiness, an excerpt from The Life of Alice Freeman Palmer by George Herbert Palmer, 1908. Read for LibriVox by Sue Anderson. Americans lose men and fight in Siberia. From the New York Times, Friday, June 27th, 1919. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Mike Overby, Midland Washington. Four killed, two wounded, and five captured by Reds near Sochen Mine, Washington, June 26th. One officer and three enlisted men were killed. Two men were wounded, and one officer and four enlisted men were captured in recent fighting with anti-Kolchak forces in Siberia. The War Department was advised today by Major General Graves, commanding the Siberian expeditionary forces. All the men were of the 31st Infantry. Those killed were Lieutenant Albert Francis Ward, Corporal Jesse M. Reed, and privates D. P. Craig and Charles L. Flake. Wounded, degree undetermined were Corporal George A. Jensen and private Clarence G. Crowell. The men captured and who at last accounts were still held by the Bolsheviks were Lieutenant Custer Fribli, Corporals E. W. Reed and Harland S. Dahl, and privates Harold C. Bullard and Forrest Moore. They were captured near the Sochen Mine and taken to Novitskaya. Two platoons of the 31st Infantry went there to demand their release, and the Bolsheviks opened fire on them. End of article. It was at the time, when the Army of the Potomac, under McClellan, was lying at Yorktown, that my friend John conceived the idea of visiting his son, who was a private in the Third Pennsylvania Cavalry, and in camp on the peninsula. John was a modest man, and felt timid about the details of the platoons of the Bolsheviks. John was a modest man, and felt timid about the difficulties that he might encounter in getting permission to visit McClellan's camp. And in his perplexity he asked me to go with him. To this I finally consented, and by consenting I was brought for the space of an hour, face to face with the immortal president. At that time almost every county in the north had its provost Marshall and his guard. They looked up deserters and attended to bounty-jumpers, enlistments, etc., and thinking it might be a good thing to have, I got from our Marshall a certificate, stating that John and I were good, loyal citizens, and entitled to all the rights and privileges of such. Armed with this document we set out for Washington, where we arrived in the evening of the same day. The following morning we called at the War Department, were allowed to state our case briefly, and were very expeditiously thrust out again, with an overwhelming conviction that nothing short of our own enlistment would enable us to see the boy or get anywhere near the army of the Potomac. As we left the War Department and walked down the street, we were very near deciding to take the next train for home, when it occurred to us to go to the White House and lay the case before the President. This was a common custom, and although we were not aware of it at the time, Mr. Lincoln had set apart an hour or two twice each week for meeting the public, and this day happened to be one of those selected by him. Sometimes people spent weeks in Washington before they were able to put their cases before him, but, as will be seen, we were more fortunate. To the White House we went, passed the single sentry on guard at the front entrance, and, going in, proceeded to the blue room, where we sat down among some fifty others, all bent on similar missions. After about half an hour, a colored servant came down the stairs and announced that the President was ready to receive, whereupon the whole crowd rushed tumultuously upstairs and crowded into the little office, filling every available seat. The crowd behind pushed John and myself forward and forced us up against the railing protecting the desk, behind which, and within three feet of us, sat Abraham Lincoln. For more than an hour I stood there and studied his face and listened to the conversations between him and the petitioners who came to offer their cases for his patient hearing and final decision. The railing at which I stood ran almost across the room, with a gate at one end, through which the applicants were admitted one at a time. Mr. Lincoln sat at the back end of the enclosure and his secretary at the end nearest the gate. Between them stood a chair in which the applicant sat while his case was under consideration. Except for the guard at the front door, I had seen no evidence of any special care being taken for the President's protection, and it seemed to me that it would be easy for anyone to get in with a throng, assassinate him while presenting papers to him, and escape in the confusion. The latter part of this narrative will show how greatly I was in error as to the measures taken for his safety. The President had just come from a cabinet meeting and looked worn and wearied. His hair stood up all over his head as though he had been running his hands through it, and in this respect he looked not unlike the pictures of Andrew Jackson that we often see. Homely of face, large boned, angular, and loosely put together. His appearance almost justified the jibes and jeers with which his enemies were accustomed to describe him. All but his eyes. Here his soul looked forth, clear, calm, and honest, yet piercing and searching, not to be deceived, yet practicing no guile. There was a manhood in his look no murderer could kill. Cover the lower part of his face, and the expression of the upper part was one of pathetic sadness. Then you saw the burden and the care that were laid upon him. Reverse the process and look upon the lower half of his face, and the expression was humorous and kindly. He sat in his chair loungingly, giving no evidence of his unusual height. A pair of short shanked gold spectacles sat low down upon his nose, the shanks catching his temples, and he could easily look over them if he so desired. As I came up to the railing in front of him, he was reading a paper that had just been presented to him by a man who sat in the chair opposite him, and who seemed, by his restlessness and his unsteady eyes, to be of nervous disposition or under great excitement. Mr. Lincoln, still holding the paper up and without movement of any kind, paused and raising his eyes, looked for a long time at this man's face and seemed to be looking down into his very soul. Then, resuming his reading for a few moments, he again paused and cast the same piercing look upon his visitor. Suddenly, without warning, he dropped the paper, and stretching out his long arm, he pointed his finger directly in the face of his vis-à-vis and said, What's the matter with you? The man stammered and finally said, Nothing. Yes, there is, said Lincoln. You can't look me in the face. You have not looked me in the face since you sat there. Even now you are looking out that window and cannot look me in the eye. Then, flinging the paper in the man's lap, he cried, Take it back. There is something wrong about this. I will have nothing to do with it. And the discomfited individual retired. I have often regretted that I was unable to discover the nature of this case. Next came before him a young man, whose brother had been in the army, and had been taken prisoner, but had managed to escape. Instead of going to the first proper officer he met and reporting himself for duty, he went to his home in the north, and there was arrested by the provost guard and sent back to his regiment, where he was tried for desertion, found guilty, and sentenced to death. His brother, seeking his pardon, had been to the War Department without effect, and came to the President as a last resource. Mr. Lincoln took his papers, which consisted of statements and suggestions endorsed by many adjutants and officers, from his corps commander down to his captain, read the whole mass over slowly, then, taking up the last one, and reading from the endorsements on the back, said slowly, hmm, hmm, hmm. Approved and respectfully forwarded, with the suggestion that if he said, J. L. will re-enlist for three years or during the war, a pardon be granted, signed J. A. John Doe Adjutant. I don't know but what I agree with J. A., and if the young man will re-enlist for three years or during the war, I will pardon him. To this the brother very promptly agreed, whereupon Mr. Lincoln, who had been sunk down in his big chair to this time, began to rise, and as I looked, he went up and up and up, until I began to think he would reach the ceiling. But presently he bent over and reached to a pigeon-hole in the desk before him, took out a card, wrote upon it, and signing it. A. Lincoln gave it to the brother, saying, Take that to the ward-apartment, and I guess it will be all right. And with his brother's pardon assured him, the young man, smiling all over, left the room. The next-comer was an Irishman, of perhaps sixty years, who was employed as night-watchman in Washington, and on account of his health desired to get a position as day-watchman in the Treasury. Unfortunately he had nothing in writing to show, and Mr. Lincoln had said that he would not listen to verbal petitions, but must have something in the nature of a brief that he could read, and thus became conversant with the main points in the matter presented to him. As he seated himself, Mr. Lincoln turned to him and said, My friend, what can I do for you? Well, Your Excellency, I am a night-watchman at Mr. Gardner's in the city, and I do be sick all the time, and I think it is the night-work that doesn't agree with me, and I was thinking if Your Excellency could give me a job in the Treasury. Stop, stop! cried Lincoln. Have you any brief to show me? What's that? said Michael. Give me something I can read, said Lincoln. Have you nothing in writing to show me? Sir, says Michael, diving into his breast-pocket and bringing up two worn and torn envelopes whose thickness showed no lack of reading matter. I have two letters from me-bys in the Army, at the same time thrusting them into the President's hands. Lincoln looked at them but did not venture to open them and forced them back upon the reluctant Michael, saying, I haven't time to read a book. Michael returned to the charge and with many Your Excellencies pressed his case so fluently and so rapidly that the President found no chance, whatever, to take part in the conversation for some time when Michael, from want of breath or argument, paused. Then Lincoln. My friend, I don't know you, nor do I know that I ever saw you. I cannot put you in the Treasury without some reference. Suppose I should put you there and you should prove to be a thief and should steal the money. You are," interrupted the indignant Michael. I am an honest man. I believe you are," said Lincoln, but I know nothing about you. Do you not know someone in the city that I also know and who can speak for you? Well, Your Excellency, I know Mr. Graham, beyond on C Street, and Mr. Brown, and Mr. Jones, and Mr. Robinson, and Mr. Swain, the sculptor. Stop!" cried Lincoln. I know Mr. Swain, and if you will bring me a letter from him stating what he knows about you, I will see what can be done for you. Exit Michael, trying to get his boy's letters back again into the pocket they came from. The old boy in Army Blue takes the vacant chair and handing his papers to Mr. Lincoln sits silently waiting their perusal. Having read the packet, the President turns to him and says, And you want to be a captain. Boy! Yes, sir! Lincoln, and what do you want to be captain of? Have you got a company? Boy! No, sir, but my officers told me that I could get a captain's commission if I were to present my case to you. Lincoln. My boy. Excuse my calling you a boy. How old are you? Boy. Sixteen. Lincoln. Yes, you are a boy. And from what your officers say of you, A worthy boy, and a good soldier. But commissions as captains are generally given by the governors of the states. Boy! My officers said you could give me a commission. Lincoln. And so I could. But to be a captain you should have a company or something to be captain of. You know a man is not a husband until he gets a wife. Neither is a woman a wife until she gets a husband. I might give you a commission as captain and send you back in the army of the Potomac where you would have nothing to be captain of. And you would be like a loose horse down there with nothing to do and no one having any use for you. At this point the boy, who had come to Washington full of hope, finding his castle toppling about his head, broke down, and his eyes filled with tears. Whereupon Mr. Lincoln, putting his hand affectionately upon his shoulder, and patting him while he spoke, said, My son, go back to the army, continue to do your duty as you find it to do, and, with the zeal you have hitherto shown, you will not have to ask for promotion, it will seek you. I may say that had we more like you in the army, my hopes of the successful outcome of this war would be far stronger than they are at present. Shake hands with me, and go back the little man and brave soldier that you came. And now came the writer's turn. And remembering the tribulations of Michael, I pulled out my provost-martial certificate and presented it as an introduction. Mr. Lincoln read it, and handing it back to me, said, And what can I do for you? I told him of our desire to go through to the army of the Potomac, and he asked, Have you applied to the war-department? And, being answered affirmatively, he replied, Well, I must refuse you for the same reason that the war-department did. If we were to allow all to go through that wish to do so, we would not have boats enough to carry them. They would get down there and be in the way, and, looking me over, I judge by your appearance you know what it means to have people in the way. At this somewhat equivocal dismissal, I shook his hand and went out. Ruminating on the annoyance that came to him from people who, like myself, took up his time mainly for the opportunity of seeing him, and reflecting that his kindly heart prompted him, in addition to his other burdens, to devote two hours twice a week to listening to the common people who could thus reach him without influence, I marveled at the simple greatness of the man, and the kindly, gentle patience with which he listened to each one, always smoothing over a refusal that his duty imposed upon him, or, by advice or counsel, mitigating the blow that he had to deal. I passed the sentinel at the door, and when next I saw Lincoln, it was as he lay dead in his coffin under the dome of the Cradle of Liberty, Independence Hall in Philadelphia. On leaving the White House, my friend John went to our hotel while I walked over to the long bridge, intending to go out upon it for the view up and down the river. But as I approached it, a sentry stepped out, and, halting me, asked for my pass allowing me to go across the bridge. When I told him that I had no pass, he blocked my way, and refused to let me go any further. Next morning we went to the depot to take the train home. I bought my ticket, and was hastening to the cars, when I was stopped by a man who, from his appearance, I took to be a well-to-do farmer. He asked if I lived in the city. I replied, yes, but recollecting that I was in Washington and not in Philadelphia, I amended my answer by substituting no. He then asked me my name, which I gave him, and went on to inquire what my business was. At this question I took umbrage and retorted, What business of yours is it what my business is? Upon which he turned up the lapel of his coat and exposed the badge of a government detective. At Crockett's Coon I came down and told him to ask his questions and ask them quickly so that I might not miss my train. He soon got through, and when I was satisfied that I was all right, my provost-martial certificate came in nicely here, I asked him why he had stopped me. He said, You and a companion came to Washington the day before yesterday. You both stopped at the National Hotel, and yesterday you were at the War Department, endeavoring to get through to the Army of the Potomac. Being refused there, you went to the White House and tried to get Mr. Lincoln to pass you through. Being unsuccessful with him, you were next found trying to cross the long bridge. Here I interrupted him by asking what he took me for, to which he replied, I took you for a blockade-runner. I managed to catch the train by running for it, and once seated, with the great dome of the capital fast receding from view, I bethought me that, after all, a single sentry at the door of the White House was perhaps sufficient for the protection of the President, and that possibly all who attended the semi-weekly public receptions were not supplicants by any means. End of An Audience with Abraham Lincoln by T. B. Bancroft read by Rick Rodstrom. Prepare the yeast as for French coffee cake. Beat four tablespoons fulls of sugar to a cream with one cupful of butter and the grated yellow rind of a lemon. Add seven unbeaten eggs one at a time, incorporating each egg thoroughly into the mixture before the next is added. Make a sponge of the yeast, one cupful of milk, scalded and cooled, and one cupful of sifted flour. Let it rise until very light, about half an hour, and mix with a hand into the egg mixture, adding two more cupfuls of sifted flour. Butter a two-pan, put in the dough, sprinkle with chopped almonds, sugar, and spice. Let it rise two hours and bake very slowly. German coffee bread. Scald and cool to lukewarm one cupful of milk. Add one heaping tablespoon full of butter and two heaping tablespoon fulls of sugar. One quarter of a yeast cake dissolved and one tablespoon full of warm water, a pinch of salt, and enough sifted flour to make a soft dough. Let it rise overnight. In the morning, roll out and spread in a flat butter tin. Rub with softened butter, sprinkle with sugar and cinnamon, and bake about half an hour in a moderate oven. Cut into squares and serve hot. German coffee cake. One tablespoon full of butter, one cupful of sugar, one egg, one cupful of milk, and one half cupfuls of flour, one heaping teaspoon full of baking powder, the juice and grated rind of half a lemon. Mix thoroughly. Spread the dough in a shallow, buttered baking pan. Sprinkle with chopped nuts, sugar, cinnamon, and dots of butter. Bake until brown and crisp. Cut in squares and serve piping hot. Austrian coffee cake. Four cupfuls of flour, one teaspoon full of salt, two teaspoon fulls of baking powder, five eggs, well beaten, with two tablespoon fulls of sugar, two cupfuls of milk, and one tablespoon full of softened butter. Mix thoroughly. Spread in a buttered baking pan, dot with butter. Sprinkle with sugar and cinnamon, and bake in a quick oven. Serve hot. Hungarian royal coffee cake. Six cupfuls of flour, two cupfuls of butter, four cupfuls of milk, three eggs, three quarters of a pound one half cupful of sugar, three cakes of compressed yeast, half a cupful of shredded citron, and eight pulverized cardamom seeds. Mix the sugar, butter, flour, and milk thoroughly. The yeast having been dissolved in the milk, previously scalded and cooled. Dredge the fruit with flour and add last. Let rise four hours or more if necessary. When ready for baking, rub with softened butter, sprinkle with cinnamon, granulated sugar, and chopped almonds. Bake in a two-pan or in a ring on a large baking sheet. French coffee cake. Dissolve a cake of compressed yeast in two tablespoons full of tepid water. Add a pinch of salt and a tablespoon full of sugar. Cream a cupful of butter with three-fourths of a cupful of powdered sugar. And add gradually the unbeaten yolks of six eggs, one at a time, and the grated yellow rind of a lemon. Sift two cupfuls of flour into a bowl, and make into a thin batter with the dissolved yeast, and one cupful of scalded and cooled milk. Add the egg mixture and beat with a hand till the dough leaves the sides of the bowl. Add a handful of sultanas, half a cupful each of blanched and shredded almonds, and shredded citron, and lastly, the stiffly beaten egg whites of the eggs. Put into a two-pan which has been well buttered and set in a warm place to rise. Bake very slowly when fully risen and beginning to brown, rub with softened butter and sprinkle with sugar and spice. Vienna Coffee Cake Dissolve a cake of compressed yeast in one cupful of scalded and cooled milk. Add a pinch of salt and one tablespoon full of brown sugar. Sift one cupful of flour into a bowl, add the milk and yeast, beat to a smooth, light batter free from lumps, and set away in a warm place till very light. Add three-quarters of a cupful each of butter and powdered sugar, add four whole eggs unbeaten, three unbeaten yolks, and two cupfuls of sifted flour, working with the hand and adding egg and flour alternately. Incorporate gradually into the risen batter, working thoroughly with the hand. Thread half a cupful of blanched and shredded almonds, a tablespoon full of shredded citron, and half a cupful of cleaned and seeded raisins, thoroughly with flour and work into the dough with the hand. Put into a butter-to-pan or mold and let rise in a warm place for three or four hours, then bake an hour in a moderate oven. When beginning to brown, rub with softened butter, sprinkle with granulated sugar and spice, and set back into the oven until done. All risen coffee cakes will keep well if wrapped closely in a cloth and may be served cold or reheated in a brisk oven for a few minutes just before serving. Berlin coffee cake. Make a sponge with two cupfuls of milk, scalded and cooled, a cake of compressed yeast dissolved in the milk, a pinch of salt, and one cupful of sifted flour. Let rise two hours in a warm place, then add one half cupful of melted butter, one cupful of cleaned and seeded raisins, one fourth cupful of finely shredded citron, one cupful of sugar, and three eggs well beaten. Add enough sifted flour to make a stiff dough, knead thoroughly, roll into a long, thin strip, cut in three strips lengthwise, braid and twist into a ring. Arrange in a circle on a well-buttered baking sheet and let rise till very light, then bake half an hour. It will be more delicate if the strips are rubbed with softened butter before braiding and will come apart more easily. Before taking from the oven, place with sugar and milk, or rub with butter and sprinkle with sugar and spice. Quick coffee cake. Cream one fourth of a cupful of butter with one cupful of sugar, add one egg well beaten, one half cupful of milk, a pinch of salt, and one and one half cupfuls of flour sifted with a heaping teaspoonful of baking powder. Spread in a pan, sprinkle with seeded and cleaned raisins or currants, a little shredded citron, dot with butter, and sift over sugar and spice, cinnamon preferred. Serve hot, cut in small squares. Crullers. Three eggs, a pinch of salt, two cupfuls of flour, three tablespoonfuls of milk, six tablespoons of melted butter, and six tablespoonfuls of sugar. Roll out half an inch thick, cut out with a small cake cutter which has a hole in the center and fry in very hot lard. Sprinkle with powdered sugar. Plain donuts. Sift two teaspoonfuls of baking powder with four cupfuls of flour. Dissolve half a cupful of sugar and one cupful of milk. Add to the milk one teaspoonful of salt, half a nutmeg, grated, and two well beaten eggs. Combine with the dry mixture, roll out, cut in rings, and fry in deep fat. Drain on brown paper. Donuts. Two. Half a cupful of butter, one cupful of sugar, three cupfuls of flour, one egg, and one and one half cupfuls of milk, and a slight grating of nutmeg. Make into a soft dough, roll out, cut into shapes, and fry in hot fat. Sprinkle with powdered sugar. Raised donuts. One cupful of butter, one cupful of sugar, one teaspoonful of powdered cinnamon, and two eggs well beaten. Or roll mixture made ready for its second rising, and let rise an hour or more. When light, roll out, cut into circles or squares, let rise until very light, and fry in smoking hot fat. Let drain on brown paper, and sprinkle with granulated sugar. Light donuts. Three quarters of a cupful of granulated sugar, two eggs beaten separately, one cupful of milk, three tablespoonfuls of melted butter, three tablespoonsfuls of flour, three heaping teaspoonfuls of baking powder, and half a teaspoonful of grated nutmeg. Fold in the stiffly beaten whites of the eggs last, then work in enough, more sifted flour to make a soft dough. Probably about two cupfuls. Roll very thin, cut out, fry in smoking hot fat, and drain on brown paper. This recipe makes about five dozen donuts, and half of it will be sufficient for a very family, unless they are especially fond of donuts. Raised fruit donuts. Cream together one heaping tablespoonful of butter, and one fourth cupful of sugar. Dissolve one half a cake of compressed yeast in one cupful of milk that has been scalded and cooled. Add half a teaspoonful of salt to the milk and yeast, combine mixtures, and work in two cupfuls of flour. Let rise until double in bulk. Add one half cupful of sugar, a pinch of cinnamon, a grating of nutmeg, and a pinch of allspice. One half cupful of cleaned currants, cleaned and seeded raisins, and shredded citron mixed, and a scant two cupfuls of sifted flour. Lastly, add one egg well beaten, knead thoroughly, and let rise until very light. Cut or tear off pieces of dough the size of an egg, drop into smoking hot fat, drain on brown paper, and sprinkle with granulated sugar. Blue grass waffles, two cupfuls of thick sour cream, two cupfuls of flour, three eggs well beaten, and half a teaspoonful of soda sifted with the flour. Mix quickly, folding in the stiffly beaten whites of the eggs last, and bake until golden brown, and crisp on hissing hot, well greased waffle irons. Cream waffles, another one cupful of flour, three tablespoonfuls of cornstarch, and a pinch of salt. Mix one egg well beaten, one scant teaspoonful of soda, and two cupfuls of sour milk, together and gradually combine mixtures, beating hard meanwhile. Bake in hot, well greased waffle irons, and butter the waffles before serving. Feather waffles, four cupfuls of milk, three eggs beaten separately. Add the waffles, two cupfuls of flour, a pinch of salt, then add one and one half tablespoonfuls of rich cream, or melted butter, and sifted flour, enough to make the batter a little stiffer than pancake batter. Add the whites of the eggs last, beaten to a stiff froth, and stir in quickly two teaspoonfuls of baking powder. Georgia waffles, two cupfuls of flour, one and one half tablespoonful of soda, and one egg. Sift the flour and salt together, and beat into a smooth batter with the buttermilk. Add the well beaten egg, then the hot lard, beat thoroughly, add the dry soda, beat hard for a minute or two, and bake in hissing hot waffle irons. Hominy waffles, one cupful of cold cooked hominy, one egg well beaten, one tablespoonful of melted butter, two cupfuls of milk, and two cupfuls of flour, sifted with one teaspoonful of baking powder. Mix thoroughly, and bake in very hot waffle irons, well buttered. Raised hominy waffles, to one cupful of cold cooked hominy, add two cupfuls of scalded milk, in which one half of yeast cake has been dissolved. One tablespoonful of butter, melted, a pinch of salt, one tablespoonful of sugar, mixed thoroughly, and set to rise overnight. In the morning, add two eggs beaten separately, folding in the stiffly beaten whites last, bake in very hot, well greased irons. Indian waffles, one cupful each of flour and cornmeal, two cupfuls of thick sour milk, one cupful of sour cream, half a teaspoonful of salt, one teaspoonful of soda, two tablespoonfuls of sugar, and two eggs beaten separately, the stiffly beaten whites being folded in last. Bake in a very hot, well greased waffle iron, and serve very hot. Kentucky waffles, make a smooth paste of two cupfuls of sifted flour and two cupfuls of milk. Add one half cupful of softened butter, not melted, then the well beaten yolks of three eggs, then the stiffly beaten whites, and just before baking, one heaping teaspoonful of baking powder. Beat very hard for five minutes, and bake in a hissing hot iron. Maryland waffles, beat four eggs separately, the whites to a stiff froth, two the beaten yolks, add a pinch of salt, two cupfuls of milk, and enough sifted flour to make a stiff batter. Beat hard until perfectly smooth and free from lumps. Then the batter by adding gradually the beaten whites of the eggs and a little more milk, then the softened butter and one full cupful of baking powder has been dissolved. Add lastly one tablespoon full of melted butter or lard. Have the waffle irons very hot and well greased, and butter each waffle as soon as done. Crisp, light waffles are delicious when served with cream and sifted maple sugar. Plain waffles, two cupfuls of sifted flour, two cupfuls of milk, melted lard, two teaspoonfuls of baking powder, sifted with the flour, two eggs well beaten and half a teaspoonful of salt. Beat thoroughly and have the irons hot before mixing. Rice waffles, one cupful of cold boiled rice beaten light with one cupful of milk. Add one tablespoonful of melted butter, half a teaspoonful of soda dissolved in a little of the milk, two eggs well beaten and one teaspoonful of cream tartar to make a thin batter. Beat thoroughly and bake in well greased waffle irons. Cream tartar and spices are practically certain to be pure when bought of a drugst instead of a grocer, not knocking the grocery man. Rice and cornmeal waffles, one cupful of cold boiled rice, one half cupful each of wheat flour and cornmeal, one tablespoonful of melted butter, one half teaspoonful of soda dissolved in hot water, one teaspoonful of salt, two eggs beaten separately and enough milk to make a thin batter. The waffle irons must be very thoroughly greased and the baking must be done with great care as these waffles are likely to burn. Swedish waffles, two cupfuls of cream, whipped stiff, one half cupful of sugar, one egg beaten with one fourth cupful of cold water, one half cupful of melted butter or sifted to make a thin batter. Fold the whipped cream carefully just before baking and sprinkle with sugar when done. Tennessee waffles, two cupfuls of sifted flour, half a teaspoonful of salt, one tablespoonful of melted butter or lard, one egg beaten separately and milk enough to make a thin batter. Bake until brown in a well greased waffle iron. Virginia waffles, three eggs well beaten, one half cupful of milk, one half cupful of melted butter, two teaspoonfuls of baking powder, a pinch of salt and enough flour to make a thin batter. Bake in hissing hot waffle irons. End of Coffee Cakes, Donuts and Waffles by Myrtle Reid read by Betty B. Constitutional Law by Jeremy Bentham This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org read by Mike Overby, Midland Washington. In every community in which a constitutional code generally acknowledged to be in force is in existence. A really existing constitutional branch of law and with it as the offspring of it, a constitution is so far in existence. In no community in which no constitutional code thus generally acknowledged to be in force is in existence. Is any such branch of law as a constitutional branch or any such thing as a constitution really in existence? In a community in which as above no such thing as a constitution is really to be found, things to each of which the name of a constitution is given are to be found in endless multitudes. On each occasion, the thing designated by the phrase the constitution is a substitute for a constitution, a substitute framed by the imagination of the person by whom this phrase is uttered, framed by him, and, of course, adapted to that which, in his mind, is the purpose of the moment, whatsoever that purpose may be. In so far as that purpose is the promoting the creation or preservation of an absolutely monarchial form of government, the constitution thus imagined and invented by him is of the absolutely monarchial cast. In so far as that purpose is the promoting the creation or preservation of a limitedly monarchial form of government, it is of the limitedly monarchial cast. In so far as the purpose is the creation or preservation of a democratic form of government, it is of the democratic cast. The Anglo-American United States have a constitution. They have a constitutional code. The constitution is the system of arrangements deliminated in that code. It has, for its object, the greatest happiness of the greatest number, and in pursuit of that object, the powers of government are allotted by it to the greatest number. The French and Spanish nations have constitutions. The English monarchy has no constitution, for it has no all comprehensive constitutional code, nor in short, any constitutional code whatsoever generally acknowledged as such. Nor by any one individual of the individual community acknowledged as such. Hence so it is that of the assertion contained in the phrases excellent constitution, matchless constitution, an assertion by which every endeavor to produce the effect of the worst constitution possible is so naturally accompanied, no disproof can be opposed otherwise than by the assertion of a plain and universally notorious matter of fact, v's that the English people have no constitution at all belonging to them. England, not having any constitution at all, has no excellent, no matchless constitution, for nothing has no properties. If ever it has a constitution that constitution will most probably be a democratical one, for nothing less than an insurrection on the part of the greatest number will suffice to surmount and subdue so vast a power as that which is composed of the conjunct action of force, intimidation, corruption, and delusion. The constitutional branch of law is that branch by which designation is made of that person or those persons whose power it is intended, that on each occasion the conduct of all other members of the community in question shall be subjected. The power which is here conferred is the supreme power. Of the supreme power thus designated that is to say of the aggregate of the operations by which the exercise of it is performed, there are, of necessity, two perfectly distinct branches, the operative and the constitutive. The operative is exercised by the determination made of the all-directing will above alluded to. The constitutive is exercised by the determination made of the individual or individuals by whom the operative power is exercised. Constitutional law has for its object security against misrule, security against those adversaries of the community in whose instance while the situation bestows on them the denomination of rulers, the use they make of it adds the adjunct evil and thus denominates them to others. In a code of constitutional law, as has been already observed, arrangements of two different complexions must have place, one set of the nature of those belonging to the distributive or civil branch of law, having for their occupation the distribution of the powers of government with the opposite and corresponded to burdens, the other set presenting a penal aspect, having for their occupation the giving a description of a particular class of crimes and of the means employed against them in the character of remedies. But that the thread may not be interrupted convenience recommends the placing of what belongs to these crimes in company with what belongs to others in the penal code. On the occasion of ordinary offenses, the persons against whose mischievous enterprises, the security is to be afforded are individuals at large. On the occasion of this particular class of crimes two individuals considered in the character of subjects are added individuals considered in the character of rulers. This distinction the drossman will, when occupied on the penal code, at all times keep in view. In the situation of a ruler as such in a monarchy, no act that he can commit, be it ever so high a degree mischievous, where's the denomination of a crime? King or by what other denomination designated, a ruler can do no wrong. For the same evil act which if committed by a subject would be wrong, becomes by the mere circumstance of it being committed by a ruler not wrong, but right. So far as it wears the complexion of penal law, constitutional law has these two for its distinguishable and contrasted objects. First, the ordering matters so that those who, to some purposes and on some occasions, occupy the situation of rulers, shall in respect to their conduct in that and other situations be liable to be dealt with in the character of offenders, delinquents, criminals. Could the ordering matter so that to acts done in resistance to or for prevention of misrule and that's productive of more good than evil, to such acts of whatever penal denomination they may appear susceptible, no such punishment, if any, shall be allotted as might with propriety be allotted to them if the application of them to the prevention of misrule had no place. Under an absolute monarchy the constitutional branch of the law has, for its sole and actual end, the greatest happiness of the one individual in whose hands, without division, the whole of the supreme operative power is lodged. For decency's sake, the end, thus actually and exclusively pursued, is not the end, professed and declared to be pursued. For the designation of the end actually pursued, regard for decency and conciseness substitutes on each occasion, one or another of a small assortment of phrases, preservation of order, preservation of legitimacy, for example. Under a limited monarchy, the constitutional branch of law has, for its actual object, a more complex object, these, the greatest happiness of the monarch, coupled with and limited by the greatest happiness of the conjunctly or subordinatingly ruling few, by whose respective powers the limitations that are applied to the power of the monarch are applied. Under a representative democracy, the constitutional branch of law has, for its actual end, the greatest happiness of the greatest number. Accordingly, so far as it exists in the utmost degree of perfection, which the nature of the case admits of, the right of indicating, by the respective suffrages, among what individuals the supreme operative power shall be shared, is exercised by all. The concurrence of all in the effective designation of the individual by whom the share in question in the operative power shall be possessed, not being possible, wherever the wishes of one part of those by whom the suffrages are given point to one person while the wishes of the other part point to another, the next most desirable result with reference to the greatest happiness of the greatest number, is that instead of being exercised by the whole number, the power shall be exercised by the greater part of it. Such being the most desirable result such accordingly is the actual result. In a representative democracy, the exercise of this designative power is performed by human judgment. Under a monarchy, it is performed by fortune or providence. The cause being the same, and that cause out of the reach of our knowledge, each man may on each particular occasion do as he is accustomed to do. Employ that one of the two terms, which on that occasion, is regarded by him as best suited to his purpose. Under the exercise made of this power by fortune, the supreme operative power finds itself at the death of the last possessor in the hands of the only child or, in the case of children more than one, living at that moment of the first born of the children of a certain woman. The power of removal is, under the direction of fortune, providence, or by accident, human judgment, exercised by death. In so far as the power of appointment is thus exercised by fortune or providence, no degree of relative inaptitude, short of universally manifest and complete insanity of mind, has the effect of preventing the operative power from finding itself lodged in the hands thus designated and appointed. No degree of an aptitude, short of that produced by insanity as above, takes the power of removal out of the hands of death. The persons in whose hands is lodged the supreme operative power, as also those in whose hands the supreme designative power, appointment of removal included, is lodged, being determined, what remains for the matter of the constitutional code, is in declaring in what manner the power and functions of the persons in whose hands the designative power is lodged shall be exercised, as likewise the marking out into a number of distinct branches the whole mass of subordinate power. The constitutional code might, in a certain sense, be said to be complete if neither any distribution of operative power among subordinate authorities, nor any mode of appointment or removal in relation to the possessors of any such subordinate power were contained in it, for by the description given as above of the supreme power, and the provision made as above for the exercise of the designative power, with relation to the possessors of that same supreme operative power, provision will be made for all such subordinate arrangements as above, as it might be the pleasure of the possessors of those two branches of the supreme power to concur in the making of. End of constitutional law. The death of Charles Dickens by Anonymous from the New York Times June 11th, 1870. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The eminent Englishman of letters whose fame has been acquired as it were under our own eyes, and whose works are more or less associated with the events of our lives are one by one passing away. New authors are constantly appearing in the field, but the few great figures which have been before us almost daily for years past cannot be withdrawn without occasional regrets, like those which we experience when old friends are taken from our side. The death of a man like Charles Dickens seems to create a blank in our own existence. It comes upon us with the surprise which death in the household occasions, when the one inevitable incident in our uncertain lot seems ever new, unnatural and startling. People of middle age cannot but feel that they have grown up as it were with Charles Dickens. The appearance of each successive story from his pen is linked with a thousand domestic recollections, for he was eminently the novelist of the household. The very manner of his death deepens the sense of personal loss. Sudden death seems, indeed, the doom of the literary craft. It is but a few years ago that Macaulay was found dead in his room. To Thackeray also the last messenger came without warning. Charles Dickens has been summoned in a moment, while still in the exercise of his genius, and while the early numbers of his last work are engaging the attention of the world. The genius of Dickens was an endowment which sometimes seemed to surprise himself. He was like a man who finds himself in possession of an unexpected treasure. When still very young he went through much drudgery in a newspaper office, without suspecting that he was destined to achieve for himself a distinct place in English literature and produce a series of books which would win for him an illustrious and an unfading name. It is the accidents of life which decide the fate of men. He wrote some sketches of life in London which were certainly not better than many similar sketches published since. The sketches by Baws are not so good in any respect as Mr. George A. Salas twice round the clock. But Dickens' first attempts brought him to the notice of publishers, and he was asked to write up a set of drawings made by poor Seymour the artist. It may have proved a hard task, but the death of Seymour changed the conditions of the work. The author and not the artist suggested the story, and ever since then the same relationship has continued. The fresh flow of spirits, the love of fun, the fertility of invention, the richness of imagination displayed in the Pickwick papers were never excelled by Mr. Dickens, though he has accomplished great things in other directions. It was the world. Here was a writer who had a totally new set of people to describe, and who had a way of describing them such as no other man ever possessed. If his ladies and gentlemen were rather dull and unnatural, his sketches among the poor were evidently from the life. It was clear, too, that he had an amazing faculty for describing types of men. How many people we have all known exactly like the people who live and move in Dickens' novels? We're almost convinced that it is our very acquaintance whom the novelist must have had before his eye. McCauber, Peck, Sniff, and the rest of the portraits in that marvelous gallery, Shakespeare himself did not draw truer types of character. The fidelity of the model in each case is attested by the fact that it is found in all countries and among all people, and that there are hundreds of men whom we cannot better describe than by nicknaming them after one of the lay secrets of his success in this respect was the laborious manner in which he made his studies. At a certain period of his life there was no man in London better known to the police than Mr. Dickens. He explored the foulest holes of the huge city and knew every dram shop or thieves den in which characters fit for his purposes were likely to be found. Putting on an old p-jacket and a wide awake he would spend night after night in going the dismal rounds of St. Giles, or the New Cut, places compared with which the five points would have seemed a fashionable quarter. These habits enabled Mr. Dickens to become the analyst of the poor in a degree entirely unknown before in literature. He was never tired of making the more fortunate classes acquainted with the misfortunes, the disappointments and the sorrows of those who are alone and friendless in the world. For society he had little taste and society retaliated by never courting him. Mr. Dickens was never a frequenter of gilded saloons. In depicting the lives, thoughts and habits of the upper classes Thackery carried away the palm. But Thackery could never compare for one moment in popularity with his great fellow worker, rivals they never were. Except Sir Walter Scott no writer of fiction has ever done so much to while away the weary hours of young and old as Charles Dickens. In lonely places of the earth his books have been unfailing solace to many in exile, and they have shed hope and light in many a sick room and comforted many an afflicted heart. Over the whole range of the domestic instincts Mr. Dickens possessed a thorough mastery. There indeed was his stronghold. His pictures of interiors will be famous while the world lasts. When he described a room the mere mention of any character who had been introduced to us in it would afterwards suffice to recall before even though years might have passed since we read the novel. Who cannot remember his sketches of the cozy parlors and country ends. He could tell us about a poor man's dinner in a way which was capable of imparting fresh zest to the most jaded appetite. When he touched the deep emotions of our nature his power drew tears from the least susceptible of mankind. What mother will ever be able while the world lasts to read the story of little now who that has lost a child can even hear those names unmoved. Let us say what we will the world is not quite the same after a man is taken from it who is gifted with a genius capable of setting before us almost all phases of human nature. There is a gap which time will cause us to forget but if the lost to mankind does not create an abiding impression it is only because we know that we ourselves are not abiding. That let the pictures be what they may and let he who discloses them to us be ever so gifted the show is one which must come to an end. But were this sense more deeply seated even than it is we could not but realize how much the world loses by the death of a man who possessed the power of laying bare so many secrets of the human heart who could read every aspect of our nature at once the most simple and the most complex of problems and who after amusing us for thirty years died in the state of life. For at fifty-eight a man in England living in the midst of the country and with no unusual cares pressing upon him cannot be called old. Lord Palmerston at eighty was active as a lad. Lord Brohm lived to the age of ninety. Lord Russell at seventy-eight is still quite capable of taking apart an active life. Mr. Disraeli is sixty-five and Mr. Gladstone sixty-one and we all know what they are capable of doing but authors have not discovered of longevity. Yet Mr. Dickens cannot fairly be said to have been overworked for many years past. His closing years were spent in that beautiful part of his native land where many of the scenes of his novels are laid and where it was his wish when his time came to die. In his youth he had chosen a home for his mature age and determined to win it. He succeeded but the days which are swifter than a weaver's shuttle left him little time to enjoy the fruits of his labors. He had known for how could he have written much that stands recorded in his name? As for his faults, who are we that we should reckon them now? He is gone and we all feel that one of the greatest of our number has passed from time with its defective judgments to eternity with its serene and unerring wisdom. Although Charles Dickens is henceforth but a name in the world's history it is a name lit with imperishable renown and it will be spoken with gratitude and affection as long as our language is yours. End of The Death of Charles Dickens by Anonymous Read by Colleen McMahon