The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on July 8, 1891 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, July 8, 1891
Page 3
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THE UPPERDES MOINES, ALttONA, 10^ A, WEDNESDAY, JULYS, 1891. F A MYSTERIOUS LAKE Strange Flood iu tlie Kalton Minos i California Still Continues. Many Conflicting Theories as to the Source of the Water. Two Men AVho Started on an Exploring 1 Trip Have Not Returned. SAN FRANCISC!), July 1.—Reports from Redland say'the lake caused by the flood- in e of the Sal ton mines is at least ten miles wiae. Among the citizens a great variety of theories are held regarding the source of the water. The finding of a salt •water fish would indicate that it came from the ocean. The specific gravity of the water shows it much heavier than the ocean water, but this is accounted for by the presence of the vast salt beds. The water is but two or three feet deep. It is impossible to determine whether the volume is increasing or not as a strong, shifting wind causes it to recede nearly half a ruilo then ngs it back farther than before. The theory of the water coming from a cloud burst is dispelled by the fact that the water continued to^rise today, when it should f^have been at high water mark . several * days ago. G. W. Debrow, of the salt . works, who has spent several' years at Salton, is bpcoming alarmed at the rise of water. Considerable apprehension was felt this morning over the safety of Road Superintendent Mulville, who, with two boatmen, started last night to explore tho lake in a small boat, The shallow water makes the trip perilous as the wind shifts the waters, and is liable to leave the boat standing far from, the shore, while the soil is o£ a very treacherous nature and would preclude the po&si- bility of wading ashore. The party has not yet returned. GATJDENJNG ABOUT 1'ARIS. Intcrcgtiiie Account of this Industry near that Great City. The gardens about Paris furnish the early asparagus, lettuce and carrots, both from without and from within the walls of the metropolis oi the world—beautiful Paris. And round about her walls are the beautiful gardens, nowhere else equaled, or even approached. Our admiration increases while we observe the extent and blessedness of this city gardening. Admiration cannot be justly withheld. Ten thor"and persons find lucrative employment; in these gardens. Of these the gardeners and their families compose one- quarter. The wives, sons and daughters are employed. The wife generally markets tho vegetables. All sorts of truck -conveyances are employed in the work. Horses 'and truck wagons, mules and carta, donkeys, and carts of huge proportions. Men. women and children buy of the gardeners and sell at stands or from house to house. In the early morning there are thousands of street stands all over Paris whore garden truck is sold upon an appointed hour. When this hour arrives every vestage of litter must be removad, so that oho passer by would not be aware that a thriving business in marketing ba-i been carried on in the clean streets of Paris. Should cupidity or temerity attempt to prolong the market hour, tho police would drive the offenders away, or if tardy or obstreperous arrest them. Women who have a small lot left, and are too anxious to sell out, frequently get into trouble. I do not think that French marketwoinen or fishwomen differ much from those of similar occupations elsewhere. Women are not more prompt to obey the law than men; and they aredess tolerant of restraint. Of the thousands who toi^ early and late in the gardens around Paris, men, women, boys and girls, the msii are the smaller number, the women next, and the boys and girls together make up fully one-quarter of the whole number. The rents of land are high; and, as elsewhere, the nearer the centers of traffic and fashionable quarters, proportionately dear. It is estimated to be wDrtb. 8100 to S250 per acre, A> these prices Americans could not be in- d/ ,ed to invest in it, even for gardening, but it pays. These high prices include the garden plant—a well, pumping nu- ehinery and tanks. Hothouses are not to any great extent included in the garden rates. We need not cross the rolling Atlantic in disgust and dismay to see tho most beautiful, extensive, and perfect hothouses; for botb in commercial industries and in private grandeur we have as elegant hothouses as the world can show. Boston can boast of her magnificent parlor vegetable gardens without a blush; and, nearer home, New York can wear a complacent smile of satisfaction as the crystal orchid conservatories are shown. The hothouses of Jardin des Plantes tu'o not moro beautiful. Ordinarily, the size of the gardens surroundings Paris in an acre and a half each. The largest do not exceed two and a half acres. The plant to carry on the business of the smaller .gardens costs from $2,000 to $3,000. There must be 150 glasses for striking cuttings, 500 glazed frames, 8,000 large bell-glasses, 700 to 800 straw mats, 500 blocks for the frames and glasses, besides the shades, hoes, rakes, narrows, baskets for marketing, ahorse and cart, well apparatus, and a thousand and one other necessaries to run the garden profitable. The straw mats are made to roll up, as they are taken off every morning and rolled over the frames at night. This constant handling occasions an enormous wear and tear. But for the ample supply of long and strong straw, their expense would be fur greater. Oat straw in firance ranges from three to four feet long; whe^it straw from four to five, feet, and rye straw often reacliHS 1% iwt. 1 have nowhere seen such long and heavy straw, nor have I it seen used with such profusion to bed cattle and horses. The straw mat manufacture gives employment to children, women and to old and decrepit men. The by-product of straw is the result of the thorough beet culture. I have given the most trustworthy estimates I could obtain. This •was difficulty, for though every gardener could tell exactly the nunjber andT cost of the articles used by hira.'-'elf. he conld not give much information outside of bis own business. The French gardeners ai o not, statisticians. One freak's (mining in our srand agricultural department by .T. R. Dulse would send the whole p-neratioa of them to the asylum. Statistician* have to be born with the gift, and then go through a laborious course of training. The probable value of the sard™ t>lant in and around Paris exceeds 8200,000,000. The expense of repair and maintenance averages from $300 to $500, or even more, on an ordinary garden plat Our truck farmers on Long Island perform creditable work and secure fair returns for their labor, but our gardeners nround New York get far more per acre. But the French gardeners use three times as much perfectly rottpd manure and enormous quantities of fertilizers and perform nlmo?t incredible labor upon the litl.le patches of land from which two, three and even four crop?! i forced from the fat soil every year. Stnbln manure from horses, cuttle and sheep, and Peruvian guanofrom far-oS South America, besides marl and chemical fertilizers are used with profusion. The faith of the gardnn- is marvelous. He places implicit faith in his hands, his g_nrclen and his Gods; yet, like other Christians, his bitter excretions against rain or frost are not strongly tinctured with piety. The total annual cost of manures for the Paris gardens cannot be far from half a million dollars. The regular laborers in these gardens earn about 40 cents a day with board and lodging. Expert hands get something more. The average cost will be 75 to 80 cents per day. Farm or garden labor is far cheaper than with us; but nenrly all labor is of better quality in France. Though generaly ignorant in art, science, literature, geography, etc., the French laborer is educated to his calling infinitely above those of similiar pcrsuits in America. AN AGATE ITOBKST. Woncl crfnly Itcuutlful A gate From Petrified Wood Itauud iu Arizona. Some wonderful specimens of agate from Arizona were lately exhibited by the well-known house of Tiffany & Co., New York City. ThisJ agate is petrified wood, but like no other petrified wood previously discovered. The coloring is brilliant and beautiful; glowing red and delicate blending and tinting of greys, blues and greens, with here and there a glistening quartz crystal, make a rare coinbjnation. These beautiful slabs, two or.thrpofoet across, were sawn from great stone logs. The perfect'likeness of the tree ia there— concentric rings, the radiatng lines, the rough, gnarled bark, and even every knot has its fa& simile in the stone. Petrifications in wood have been discovered b»fore but they have been in neutral tints; the size and the richness of the coloring are what render this recent discovery remarkable, for previous to this, agates thirteen inches in diameter were considered large. The finding of this age forest, as it might probably be termed, is interesting. When the Apache chief. Gerommo, led the frontiersman such a lively cha.'O in Anzona, he ran better than he knew. During the pursuit of the Indians, the heart o£ the Apache county was penetrated. It was on one of these wild chases that a cowboy named Adams found himself in the remote and before undiscovered petrified forests <of Arizona. As soon as he was able, he reported bis wonderful find to the governor of Arizona. His story was laughed at. "All right,' 1 said thecowboy, "if my story isn't •true, I'll bear the expenses of the .journey there and back." The story was true, and there, prono in tlie depths of the lava desert, thoy s,uv the remains of tho forest, changed into brilliant-hued, translucent agate, held in form by the petrified bark, every riilfr •and knot perfectly translated. For ages the water, impregnated with silica, play•ed over and amongst these forest tree*, wearing the wood away, and, cell by c<'ll, iitom by atom, and replacing it by tho fctono. It in assumed that powerful geysers may have burst forth, and with their healed waters covered this forest, and then, perhaps, after centuries, settled away, leav ing as monuments of their work tliese agate petrifications. Stumps, trees, twigs, fallen logs are all represented in tho beautiful stono. The cutting and polishing of these great agates is a work of exceeding difficulty. Thirty-five days were consumed in sawing across one of the stone logs. No steel instrument can make an impression, or can scratch the polished specimen on exhibition. Diamond dust^and sawa with diamond teeth alone will cut them. Of course much of the work must bo done on the spot. Hence a fortified camp has been set up in the Arizona wilderness, and here are sawn out the blocks and slabs of agate. HOW FISH KAT. Interesting Thlnga for tlie lioyH and GlrlB to Know. The sea urchin has five teeth in five jaws—ono in each jaw—all the five immediately surrounding the stomach, The jaws have a peculiar contraliised motion, all turning inward and downward, so that they also act as feeders. Snails have teeth in their tongues, hundreds of them, but, 0s if these were not enough, some haee them also in their stomach.. The cuttle-fish, which among other strange things always walks with its bead downward, does not chew its food at all, but masticates it with its gizzard. The ray, or skate, has a mouth set transversely around its head, the jaws working with a rolling motion like two hands set back to back. In the jaws are three rows of flat teeth, set like a mosaic pavement, and between these rolling jaws the fish crushes oysters and other inollusks, like so many nuts. ' Tho carp's teeth are set back on the pharyux, so that it may be literally said to masticate its food in its throat. Tue carp, too, is about the only cud-chewing fish, the coarseley food being forced up to these throat.teeth for complete mastication. Some fishes are absolutely toothless, like the sucker and the hamprey; others again have hundreds and hundreds of teeth, sometimes so many that they cover all parts of tha mouth. The great Greenland whale has no teeth, its balen plates, or whalebone, taking their place. Among the center of the palate runs a strong ridee and on each side of this there is a wide depression along which the plates are inserted. These are long and flat, banging free and are placed around the mouth with their sides parallel and near each other. Tho base and outer edge of the platas are of ep,lid whalebone, but the inner edges are fringed, filling up the interior of the mouth and acting as a strainer for the food, which consists of the small swimming mullusks and meduseor jelly-fishes. While the Grrttil ind whale has no teeth, the sperm whale has them in treat quantities on the lower jaw, and uses them, too. when occa-ion requires. On tho other hand the narwhal ver.v seldom develop* mure than ono, the k-ft upper canine. It male s up for the lack ot numbers by tin- t'xtrao;-Unary growth attained by this one tooth. ! t grows out and right forward, on alinew:'K the body, until it becomes a veritablt- .ink, sometimes reaching the leneth of ten leet. The river dolphin of South America has 222 teeth. The sturgeon is toothless, and draws in its food by suction, but tho sharks has hundreds of teeth set in rows that sometimes number ten. * Lobsters and crabs macticate their food with horny jnws, and thoy have also set* of teeth in their stomach, where they complete tha work of chewing. There is a particular kind of crab, called the kinjj or horseshoe crab, which chews its food with its legs. This is an actual fact, the little animal grinding its morsels between its tights before it passes them ove.r to its mouth. The jelley-fish absorbs its food by wrapping itself around tho object which it seeks io make its own. The star-fish is even more accomodating. Fastening to the body it wishes to feed on, it turns its stomach inside out and enwraps its prey with this useful organ. THE BIKO L,AU«HK1). A liorii ITlbbor from Texas Tolls a Corking Snilko Story. I had been hunting along the Llano river in Texas all the morning for wild turkeys without success, and finally threw myself dowii under an oak to rest and imbibe a littio as a precaution against a possible future snake bite. Very shortly 1 saw a big rattler, and a large lump about half way down I suspected was a small jackrabbitt. The rabbit kicked now and then, as though not enjoying tho process cf delutit'.on, but the snake slept ou, writes a New York .Sun correspondent. A slight rustling at toy left caused mo to turn, and I saw tho crested head and twinkling eyes of a chaparal cock peeping around a cactus leaf. Rattlers and cbaperal cocks are enemies, as every plainsman knows. A vision of tho infant chaperal cocks which had fonnd a living tomb in this same snake doubtless fitted before the bird's eyes. After making sure that, his foe slept, the ( bird picked up a dry cactus spine with his bill, danced out on his long legs, and laid it down by the rattler. Then he went back for another, and yet another, until he built a regular wall of sharp spines around the dormant snake. When he had completed the work to his satisfaction he went back to the cactus shrub and waited. By and by a last despairing kick of tho rabbit caused the snake to rise its head. It came in violent contact with one of the spines. It gave the spine one just for luck, and got pricked by another. This made tohe snake furious, and it sent out right and loft wriggling and twisting and putting the whole weight of itself and the jack-rabbit into its efforts. The chaporal cock got so excited that he came boldly out and danced around in high glee. But be made no sound. The snake finally got so irritated that, it threw itself at full length on the spines, rolled around in agony, ard then turned its deadly fangs on itself, and cliod. That was evidently the happiest moment of the bird's life. It danced and cackled and lau-rl-fid. It-was such a contagious laugh that I had to join in, when the bird vanished and I was left alone with' the dead snake. Into the Murk Tunnel. A few days ago I had occasion to travel on one of the great railroads, and wa.s reminded of an incident that occurred souio years before, when, for the first time, I made the same -journey. While sitting in the waiting-room, waiting for tho starting of the train, I observed a party consisting of a gentleman and lady, two little girls sind a nurse. They were evidently a family, well dressed, and of such appearance and manners as denoted cultured, well-to-do people. 1 wondered who they were, but never found out. When we haft taken our places in tho car, tbo nurse and the children wore seated directly behind the parents. Very soon after starting, the mother turned round, took hold of the younger child, and lifted her on her lap, with her face to her own, raised the littio girl's arms and brought them round her neck, and placed her own around the child's body, holding her close in her embrace. Not 'knowing what was before us, 1 was kept in wonder as to what these movements all meant; but as soon as darkness covered us, then'light flashed out of darkness, and I understood. The dear mother feared that the child would be frightened, and so she took her in her arms; nor did tho child by a sound or movement show that she felt alarm. That warm, protecting embrace killed all fear of evil; bow could harm reach her? How could the thought of God hiding some beloved sou), in time of trouble, in his pavilion, in tho secret of his presence, be kept from one's reflections? Has not one of our old English devotional writers, Baxter or Dodridge, said that "when God forsees groat trials for a believer, he takes care to prepare that one by gracious manifestations ?' | The SyHteinatlo Housekeeper! No moro work is undertaken than can be easily done in one day, thereby giving a few leisure moments for reading or for one hour with a sick friend, or a short time in the flower garden. But the mother of a large family often finds her small stock of strength failing from day to day. How necessary for hor to husband the small amount remaining that she may do the greatest possible good to her loved ones. Teach the little ones to share your work by putting their small belonging in their right places, by cleaning the mud _ off from their shoes, etc., thereby training them to orderly habits! Teach the little girla how to sew; give them a small easy task at first, and aside from dressing dolly they may soon be'able to help with the mending and the making of simple articles and the like. By each one taking her share of the work, the family may be lightened, and not all of it fall on mother's shoulders as is too frequently, the case in fact, generally. Not So Silent. A drummer in a a Grand Rapids merchant's store was making some inquiries about his business. "You run this establishment alone, I notice," he begun. "fop." "Anybody in with you?" "Yep." "His name dosen't appear on' your "flope." "Ah! A eilent partner!" "Not much,!. It 8 my wife, 11 MONICA. A r.OVE STORY OF MODERN DAYS. '•1 don't.'' slio says, uiU'Xii.'iT.'niy; »nn then n little smilp of conscious triumph wreathes her lips ns she looks at him, stand- inic mo;:dy and dejected before her. A word from her will transform him; r»!td now, the day lieinsr nil her own, she e:in all'ord to be Ki'iieroiis. Even the very best of \\onu-n can be cruel to their lovers. "1 don't," she says, "not yet. There is something I want to ask yon first." She. pauses in n tantalizing fashion, and plnwvs from tho grass she is still holding to him, and from him back to the grass again, before she speaks. "It is n question," she, says then, as though reluctantly, "but yon look so angry with me that 1 am afraid to nsk it." This is the rankest hypocrisy, ns lie is as wax in her hniids at this moment; but, (hough he knows it, be gives in to i!u> swei-tness of her manner, mid lets his tuuu clear. "Ask me anything you like," he says, turning upon her now a cininleimnoe "moro in sorrow than in anger." "It isn't much," says Miss Ueresford, sweetly, "only—what is your Christian name'.' I have been so loiifjliitf to know. It !s very unpleasant, to be to Uilnk of people by their surnames, is it notl'so unfriendly 1" lie is quite staggered by the exeess of her geniality. "My name is Brian," bo says, devoutly hoping she will not, think it hideous and so see cause to pass judgment upon it, "Brian 1" going nearer to him with half- shy eyes, ami a little r/inifr. mouth that with dillicnlty suppresses its laughter. "How pretty I Brian," purposely lingering over it, "with an 'I'of course?" "Yes." "I'm so glad I know yours nowl" says this disgraceful little eoqnetle, with a sigh of pretended relief. "You knew mine, and that wasn't, fair, yon know. .Besides,"— with a rapid glaum; that might have melted an anchorite and delivered him from the. error of his ways,—"besides, I may want to call yon by it some day, and then 1 should be at a loss." Though by no means proof against so much friendliness, Mr. Desmond still continues to maintain an injured demeanor. Monica lays one little hand lightly on his arm. "Won't you ask mo to call you by it?" sho says, with the, preltiest reproach. "Oh,Monica," says the young man,seizing her band and pressing it .against Ills heart, "youknow your po\ver,be merciful. Darling," drawing her still nearer to him, "1 don't think you quite understand how it is with me; but, indeed, I love you with all my heart and soul." "But in such a littio time! How can it bo true?" says Monica, allhcrgayety turning Into serious wonderment. '"Love is a thing as any spirit free,'" quotes lie, tenderly., "How sball one know when the god may come? It has nothing to do with time. I have seen yon,—It littio matters how often,—and now I love you. Dear heart, try to love me." There is something in his manner both gentle and earnest. Impressed by it, she whispers, softly,— "I lolll try." "And yon will call me Brian'"' "Oh, no!—no, indeed!—not yet," entreats she, stopping back 1 from him as far as ho will allow her. "Very well, not yet." "And yon will go to the Barracks for this dance';"' "I will do anything on earth you ask me. You know that too \\vll, I fear, for my peace of mind.'" "And you won't, be. angry with mo if I don't dance with you there?" "No, I promise that, too. Ah I Hero is Miss Kit coming,—and without the roses,— after all." it, is true she has no roses; she has, indeed, forgotten she even pretended to want tliem, and has been happy while away with her song anil her own thoughts. "I think, Monica, wo ought, perhaps, to bo thinking of going home," she says, apologetically, yet, with quilo a moliiorly air. Has she not been mounting guard over and humoring these two giddy young people before her? "Yes, i think so too;" and the goodness of Kit, and something else, strike her. "If wo are asked to this dance at; Clon- breo, and it we go, I should like Kit to go too," she says in a soft aside to Desmond, who says, "That is all right; I settled it with Cobbetl, yesterday," in the same tone; and then a little moro energetically, as ho sees tlie momenta Jlying, ho goes on, "Bo- 1'uro you go, say one tiling after mo. It will be a small consolation mail i soo you again. Say,'Brian, good-by.'" "Good-by, Brian," she whispers, shyly, and then she draws her hand out of his, and turning to the studiously inattentive Kit, passes her arm through hor.s. "Good-by, Mr. Desmond 1 I trust we may soon meet again," says the younger Miss Berosl'ord, with rather a grand air, smiling upon him patronizingly. "1 hope so too," says Desmond, gravely, "and that next time you will graciously accord mo a littio moro of your society." Quito pleased with this delicate protest against her lengthened absence, Kit hows politely, and she and Monica take their homeward way. Once Monica turns, to wave him a littio friendly adieu, and ho can sou again her soft, bare arms, her pretty baby-neck in her white dinner-gown, and her lovely, earnest eyes. Then she is gone, and her passing seems to him "like the ceasing of exquisite music," and nothing is left himbuttho wall- lug of the rising night-wind, and tho memory of a perfect girl-face that he knows will haunt bin) till ho dies. CITAPTKH IX. Monica and Kit roach the house in breathless haste. It is far later than they imagined when lingering in liappydaUianoo in the flower-crowned field below, and yet not really late for a sultry summer evening. But the Misses Blake are fearful of colds, and expect all tho household to bo in at stated hours; and the Misses Beresford are fearful of scoldings, carrying, as they do, guilty hearts within their bosoms. Tho lamps are lighting in tho drawing- room as they enter, though the windows are open. The Misses Blake both start and look up as they come in, and show general symptoms of relief which is not reciprocated by the culprits. Mrs. Mitchell, the nurse, wlio has followed almost on their heels, stands in tho door-way, with bayonets fixed, so to speak, seeing there is every chance of an engagement. It may bo as well to remark here that Mitchell has not "got on" with tho Misses Blake, having rooted opinions of her own not to be lightly laid aside. The Misses Blake's opinions have also a home la very deep soil, so that the "give and take" principle is not in force between them and tho foreign nurse, as they term Jane Mitchell, though she was bred and born on Devonshire soil. Just now Mrs. Mitchell is plainly on tlte defensive, and eyes her baby—as she still calls Kit (haying nursed her)—with all the air of one prepared to rush la ami rescue her by bodily force, should t<« tin 1 worst. "My dear Monica. \vh it n late ho -r to he abroad!" says Miss i'riscill i, r.'pro'.c ifnlly. "The dew falliii'r, too. which is iiM-Mn;- wholesome. For you, K>t. a m.'iv i-h'hl. It is really destruction. Nurse, as you :;iv there." 1 regard ;!•; Ill" bony Mitchell with distrust and disfavor. "1 think it as well to let you know 1 do not: think this is a proper time for Miss Katherino to be in the open air. It Is far too late." "it isn't late,miss. It isonlynlneo'clock." "Nine o'clock ! What is tho woman thinking n'-out? Nine.I why, that mi-am night 1" "Not at th s time of the year, mUs." "At mil/ tini" of year. 'With all the experience yon SKI/ you have had, 1 wonder you do not consider it a m >st Injurious hour for a child of Miss Katlierine's age to be out of doors." "1 don't hold with m:\kiiuaehild puny, miss. Coddling up, and that sort, only leads to consumptions and assuias, In my hum- opinglon." "I must request Unit for the future you will show deference to our opinion, nurse; which is directly opposed to yours," says Miss rriseilla, straight en ing herself. "I suppose I can manage my own young lady, miss," says Mitchell, undaunted, and now, indeed, thoroughly braced fur conIIlet. "I have grave doubts about that. Mitchell, and at least, yon should not answer me in tills wise." "If I brought my yonngladv safely all the way from Jerusalem, miss, 1 suppose lean take care of her "ere." '•llerear'. 1 '' questions Miss 1'risciila, not meaning to be rude a: all. ".She means Jure," says Miss IVnelope, in n stage whisper. "Oh!" says Miss frlseilla, rather shocked at her mistake, which lias been accepted by Mitchell as a deliberate Insult. "Kalherlne, go up-slairs with Mitchell, and change your .shoes and stockings; they miixt be damp." "1 don't eonsid T Mitchell at all a nleo i ITSOII," says .Miss I'rlseilla, when the door has o o-iv'd upon that, vet'-ran: "but still 1 hope I (Id not otVeud her with that last thought ess slip of mine, H'lt r'ally, over h r. 1 , In Ireland, we are n it uccu-stomcd to (lie extraordinary language iu which Mitchell Indulges at times. .She seems to me to lie saving up her aspirates fora hypolhellcul deirh of that article in the future.'' Miss rr'.seilla Is no pleased with this long word that she quite recovers her temper. At this moment the door is opened, and Timothy enters, bearing not only an air of mystery with him, but, a large envelope. "Why, what istliis at this lime of night?" says Miss 1'risc.illa, who is plainly under tho impress'on that, once the lamps are lighted, it is merging on midnight, She, takes tin; envelope from Timothy, and at the huge rcjjiuie'ital crest upon It with a judicial ox- \ sojor brought il, miss. Yos, indeed, ina'ani. A-hossback ho come all the way from tho liarracks at Clonbruc." Redcoats ut Kossmoyno ai'i! a novolty, ami aro regarded by tho poasantry with mixed feelings of admiration and contempt. 1 think the conlonipt is stronger with Timothy than tlu' admiration. . "From tho Barracks'i 1 " says Miss Priscilla, slowly, tiirniii^ ami twUlhu; tlio lutior between her (Incurs, whll 1 .) Monica's heart boats rapidly. Jtls, it must bo tho Invitation; anil what will be the result, of IIV "Yos, Indued, miss. I asked him what brought hhn at this Irm,', ma'am; bul bo toolc mo mighty short will his answer, HO 1 give ii]) mo questions." Never having been iiblo for IIfly yours to nniko ii)) his mind whether his mislivsses should bo addressed HH miiidoiis or matrons, Timothy bus compromised matlors by putting a "miss" and a "ma'am" into every sontonco ho dedicates to (hum. "Ah, an Invitation from Captain Cobhott for Friday next—inn—urn—four to se.von— nm—um. All of us invited, oven Kit," says Miss Prlse.llla, in a decidedly lively lone. "Mo! am /askod'i'" crios Kit, excitedly. "Yes, indeed, yon nro specially inention- od. Vory nico and attentive, I must, say, of those young men, partleularly when WJ liavo not shown them any kindness as ]/?l. 1 thought that Mr. Kyde a very superior youiii>' follow, with nono of the discourteous anti|iatliy to </(/« that disfigures the, maiinoi'H of tho youth of tho present, day. Pene'^po, my dear, perhaps you had holler inua. oho answer to this. Yours is tho pen of ,<i ready writer." "Very well," says Miss Penelope, . ...IIL; slowly—Oh I so slowly! thinks Monica—and going toward tho davenport. "Is the soldier outside, Timothy?" asks Miss Prisdlla. "Yes, miss, llosiiid ho wanted a bit of writing from yo for tlie captain." "It is a long ride. Take him down-stairs, Timothy, and give him sumo boor, while Miss "Penelope prepares a reply." "Begging your jiardon, miss, mid with duo respects to yo, ma'am, but lie's that stilf in his manner, an' light in his clothes, J. doubt if he'd condescend to on bur the kitchen," "Timothy," suys Miss Priscilla, witNiiiuoh displeasure, "yon have been having hot words with this stranger. What is it all aboulV" "There's times, miss, as wo all knows, when a worm will turn; and tliouiih I'm not a worm, ma'am, no mure um 1 a coward, an a red coat don't cover moro llesh than a black; an" I'm an ould man, Miss Priscilla, to bo called a buffer!" It is apparent to every ono that Timothy is nearly in tears. "A bulferV" repeat* Miss I'rlseilla, with disgust; she, treats the word cautiously, as one might something noxious. "What is a bulferV" Nobody enlightens her; though perhaps Terence might, weiv he. not busily engaged trying to suppress his laughter behind a hii','o Japanese fan. "Perhaps, Timothy," says Miss Pris -ilia, gravely, "us wo all seem in Ignorance about tlio real nioaningof this extraordinary word, you are wrong in condemning it as an insult. It 'initu bo—or—a term of endearment." At this Terence chokes, then cunghs solemnly, mid finally, lowering the fan, shows himself prctonialurally grave, as a set-off against nil suspicious. "I wouldn't pin mo faith to that, miss, if i was yon," says Ityun, respectfully, but with a touch of tho lino irony which is bred and bom with his class in Ireland. "Well, but as wociinnolexplain this wont, Timothy, and you cannot, p.u'haps the best tiling for you to do will be to go to the originator of it and ask Mm what he meant, by it." says Miss Penelope, with quit .-.astonishing perspicacity for/icr. "tiuro I did that same,, miss. Twas tho th'st thing I said to him, ma'am. 'What do yo niaiio, spalpeen, yo thief o' the world,' says i, 'by miscalling a dacent man out of bis name like that?' says J. "Igave him all that, miss, an' a dale more, though I've forgotten it bo now, for the Ityans was alwaya famous for the gift o' tho gab!" "if yon said all that to the poor marine, I think you gave him considerably more than you got," says Miss Penelope, "and so you may cry p;-ac«. (Jo down now, Tiiuojny, and make it up with him over yum- beer." Timothy, though still grninbiin^ in an tin- Uer-lono death and destruction upon the hated Sassomioh, retires dul.bou.My, clo.slni' the door behind him, ° "Now, Penelope," «<i,ys Whs 1'mcilla, With an air of relief, glancing at tbo pens and ink, at which Monica's heart fails her. She has no doubt whatever about the answer bt'lug a refusal, but a sad feeling that sho dare make uo protest rentiers her doubly SOrrOWt'lU. "Ucp.r me!" s,\ys Miss IViiflnp'. I -aninsf baek in h-r chair with p MI «.v.-ll poised between her lingers, anil a ir. nernlnirof plens- td recollection lull up .11 her. "if So'l'.lllS quite like did times-diiesu'i if.'—to bo invited to tlie I'acrarks at C!i>ir>rre." "O'i to." says Miss Triscilla, with nn am .-• .•••;' Mnile. "Vi n remember \v!'.:-n the White-boys were so troublesome, in our dear father's t'.nie, what l.fe (hi-officers station"-.! Imre then, th'.vw illlo 111.-. (Oiui'.ry IMII d. Such r.xils! such daiH'.-s! such kcttle-dr.ims! You can still recollect Mr. HIMWII—mn you not, Priscilla?— fashion,! le young man !" "1'oif have (lie best rlglit to remember him," returns Miss Priscli'n, in n moaning tone. "It would be too grateful of yon If yon did not, considering what a life you led him." Anil at th's the two old ladies break into hearty laughter and shake their heads re- proiu-hi'uMy at each other. "You Immr you broke his heart,' 1 says Miss Priscilla. ' "Tell us about it, auntie," says Kit, eagerly, who is always sympathetic where ro- m nice is concerned; but the old ladies only laugh the more at this, ami Aunt Priscilla tells her bow her aunt Penelope was » very .naughty girl iu her time, and created luivoo hi I ho affections of all the young men that came wi'hin her reach. All this delights Aunt Penelope, who laimhs causiiiu- dly ami makes feeble protest with her hands against this testimony. "Poor fellow 1' sho says, sobering down presently, and looking i|ii!loremorseful. "It is unkind to lan:b when his mime i>< mentioned, lie was killed in tlie Indian Mutiny, Ion,'afterward, in a must gallant charge." "Yes. Indeed."says Miss Priscilla. "Well, well, things it'lll happen, (ioon with Ilia aiiMvor now, IVnolopi 1 , as the. man is wait- Ing and it is wot'nlly 1'ite. .Monica trembles.' lint Kit starts into life. "Oil, ilnn't refuse, A nut Priscilla!" she cries, dan in; from her scat and th'owing her arms round Miss Blake's neck. "/Jim.'t now I 1 do so ircfiiMo go, when I have got my Invitation, and all!" "But " begins MUs Priscilla; whereupon Kit, luhleiiing her hold on her neck, with a view to slaying tiirlher objection, nearly strangles her. "No'huts,"'she says, cntrealingly: "rc,- inotiibtT how disappointed 1 was about Madame O Connor's, and be good to me now." "Bless the child!" breaks out Miss Pr!s- eilhi, having rescued her wiudplp •, and so savnl herself from Instant suffocation by loosening Kit's anus, and then drawing the child down up.m her knee. "What Is she talking about',' who Is going to refuse anything? Penelope, accept, at. one, 1 , - at once, or 1 shall be squeezed to death!" "Then you -it'lll go?" exclaims Monica, joiuinn'the group near the davenport, and turning brilliant eyes upon her aunts. "Oh, 1 urn so glad!' 1 "Why, wo are dying to soo the'inside of the Barracks again, your aunt Penelope and I, especially your aunt Penelope,"says Miss Blake, with a sly glance at her sister, who Is plainly expecting it, "because she has tender recollections about her last visit there." "Oil, now, Priscilla!" says Miss Pouelopn, modestly, bul, with keen enjoyment of tbo joke. After which an acc-.-ptiinco of his kind Invitation is written to Captain Cob-: betl, and born \ to him by the destroyer of Timothy's p,:ace. .,-t»-, J .«^«. To be continual. KOK HA.LK.Y Scvorul KiiloH for tlio Trciidnitnt at Homes Tlllll HofllHM l<) G<>. There is probably no one thing connected with driving or handling hoi UGH which will try u man's patience or bring out what original fin no hah in his composition to a fuller ex cut tbnnt.0 have a horse buck, inn! it is very doubtful if Job's much talked nbont patience would have stood the strain of trying to start a balky burrio. Following are six rules for tho treulment of balky horses which nro recommended by thonccie'.y for tho Prevention of Cruelly lo Animal*. People who are unfortunate enough to own such animals nro rcconimended tc yivo one or ' 'o of Ihosj Miles a (rial, says the Horse» .n. 1. Pat tho hfir.-e upon I ho ueckj examine tho harness curuj'nlly, first on ono side anil then on the other, speaking encouragingly while doing HO; then jump into tho wagon and give tho wortl go; generally ho will obey, 2. A teamster in Maine says ho can start Die most bulky horse by taking him out of tho shafts and making him go round in a circle until ho is giddy. If the lirst danco of this Fort doesn't cure him, tho ficcond will, 8. To cure a balky horn), simply plnco your hand over the horde's HOBO and shut nis wind off until ho wants to ^o, and then lot him go. 4. The brnin of a liorbo seems to entertain but one idea at n time; therefore continual whipping only conGruiH his stubborn jesolvo. If YOU can by any means gi_vo him a now i-ubject to think of, you will generally have no trouble in starting 1 him, A simple remedy is to take a couple of turns of stout twine around the fore leg, just below the luieo, tight enough for the horso to feel it, and tie in a bow knot. At the first cluck he will generally go clanc- ing off and after going a short distance you can tot out and remove the string, to prevent injury to the tendon in your further drive. 5. Take the tail of tho horse between the hind legs and tie by a cord to the saddle girth. G. Tie a string around the horse's ear, close to the head. the UouHe-work, W. F. K., Atlantic, Iowa, writes: An time is money why not bo more saving of it? We hear economy preached on every hand; why should we not practice it in our daily work? Now how much work can we accomplish in the shortest time, but ho - v well can wo perform our work, expending the least amount of labor ind getting most satisfactory results. We all know of times when things seem to go wrong; a misstep hero, a misstep there; lossing instead of gaining time. It is im- {.ofii-ibli! to go in details of work in each Lome; but a few general principles may apply to all: To begin: the putting off until to-morrow what ought to be done today is a poor rule; the present is tbo only time with which we have anything to do, hence we should make tho most of it. System is a most essential element in house-work. Note When to Water u Uorae. ^ Give horses water before feeding. In France bonio worthless horses were killed for direction on purpose to determine the effect of giving water immediately after eating, and some of the grain was found undigested in tho intestines, 20 feet be* yond the t stomach, and it had caused in- fiauiniation of mucous membrane. Iu driving, water often, giving only a little at % time. Give a horse all it will drink when on the road and it will perspire more, mi aot drive as well as though r— : l or two every t py wiles.

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