imate, one ounce. Mix. A
correspondent says: "I have been for a long time troubled with bugs, and
never could get rid of them by any clean and expeditious method, until a
friend told me to suspend a small bag of camphor to the bed, just in the
center, overhead. I did so, and the enemy was most effectually repulsed,
and has not made his appearance since--not even for a reconnoissance!"
This is a simple method of getting rid of these pests, and is worth a
trial to see if it be effectual in other cases.

Mixture for Destroying Flies--Infusion of quassia, one pint; brown
sugar, four ounces; ground pepper, two ounces. To be well mixed
together, and put in small, shallow dishes when required.

To Destroy Flies in a room, take half a teaspoonful of black pepper in
powder, one teaspoonful of brown sugar, and one tablespoonful of cream,
mix them well together, and place them in the room on a plate, where the
flies are troublesome, and they will soon disappear.

To Drive Flies from the House.--A good way to rid the house of flies is
to saturate small cloths with oil of sassafras and lay them in windows
and doors. The flies will soon leave.

Aging Oak.--Strong ammonia fumes may be used for aging oak. Place the
piece to be fumed, with an evaporating dish containing concentrated
ammonia, in a box, and close it airtight. Leave for 12 hours and finish
with a wax polish, applying first a thin coat of paraffine oil and then
rubbing with a pomade of prepared wax made as follows: Two ounces each
of yellow and white beeswax heated over a slow fire in a clean vessel
(agate ware is good) until melted. Add 4 oz. turpentine and stir till
entirely cool. Keep the turpentine away from the fire. This will give
the oak a lustrous brown color, and nicking will not expose a different
surface, as the ammonia fumes penetrate to a considerable depth.

OPPORTUNITY.

They do me wrong who say I come no more
When once I've knocked and failed to find you in;
For every day I stand outside your door,
And bid you wake and ride, to fight and win.

Wail not for precious chances passed away,
Weep not for golden ages on the wane;
Each night I burn the records of the day;
At sunrise every soul is born again.

Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped;
To vanished hopes be blind and deaf and dumb;
My judgments seal the dead past with its dead,
But never bind a moment yet to come.

Though deep in mire, wring not your hands and weep: