MOTHER'S THE DEVIL. - In a cabin home of Trumbull County, resided, in the first decade of the century , a family with numerous small children. One autumn the father was absent trying to earn something to carry them through the winter. The best the mother could do to sate the hunger of the youngsters, was to provide them with mush, made from the glazing corn she grated, and milk. This uniformity of diet became, like sixty or seventy successive meals of codfish, to some people, very unsatisfactory, and they raised a rebellion, but it was no use. The good mother was doing the best she could. Finally, one evening the children got together at the side of the house for a discussion of the situation, and one of the boys, with a discernment equal to that of a free silver statesman, solved the question by exclaiming, "I know why we can't have anything better to eat. Mother's the devil," a sentiment applauded by the whole bevy of little folks, whilst the mother sat - a listener - within. It was in the same home, a little later, that the mother had placed five of those kids in their trundle bed, as was her custom, lying "spoon fashion" in order that they might be the more warmly tucked in. One of them was a very nervous, fidgety fellow, named Solomon. Little Sol kept rolling and tumbling about and disturbing matters generally, until the others, in their desperation, cried, "Mother, mother, Tholomon won't lie thspoon." Few mothers or children can comprehend the expedients resorted to in those days in the various domestic relations, in order to get along. The spirit and aptness of the boy of the first quarter of the century, is still fully manifest. In one of our model lake shore villages but recently, for purposes of mutual accommodation, the churches arranged to have their holiday exercises on separate evenings, beginning at the Presbyterian house on Wednesday before Christmas. Thursday morning three sprightly lads were overheard discussing the matter in this wise: - First Boy - "That was just a splendid Christmas we had at the Presbyterian Church last night." Second Boy - "There was no Christmas last night. Christmas is going to be at the Episcopal Church to-night" Third Boy - "Pshaw, I tell you Christmas wasn't last night and it won't be to-night. It will be tomorrow night at the Methodist Church. Our superintendent says so." Second Boy - "Humph, there are two skylights in the seat of your breeches, and my mother don't allow me to play with any such boy." To show the way hot-bed processes, which are becoming much too prevalent in Sunday School, as in public instruction, are occasionally punctured, the following is adduced. Some months ago when the lesson was on John the Baptist, an over-zealous mother in Trumbull County took many different ways to explain to little Fred how the great fore-runner was disposed of, thus completely befogging the childish mind. A day or two later, wishing to test him, she called the boy and queried, "Well, Freddy, how did they kill the Baptist?" Meantime, the man with the horn-saw had operated upon his father's herd, to which Fred had been an eye witness, and it had made a much more vivid impression on his mind than all his mother's illustrations. Studying a moment, he exclaimed, "O, mamma, they dehorned him."