The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on September 2, 1891 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

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Algona, Iowa
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Wednesday, September 2, 1891
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FARM AD HOME. AtaONA. 1OWA ( 'JVEPKEDAY. 2, 1891* THK WAMiN*6 SUMMfcR. ALLEN f*. pACKAftTJ. Already fades along the path of time. The lavish bloom that marked the summer f The trees are dark with ripened leafage green, The disks of sunflowers glowwi h yelfow sheen, The constellations of tne aster shine And brown and critp grow lowly fern ana The meadow sides are cay with unshorn fringe Of golden-rod and willow herb's bright tinge. By fences gray droop down the clusters high, Of elderberries, and the young grouse dye Their bills in purple juice, and side by side The flocking robins drink the royal tide. The pewee's pensive song along the echoes swell. But. woodland thrneh nan ceased his flute and And mournful as the patter of the leaves The bluebird's shortened carol sweetly grieves. The bobolink with his pied coat has lost The mem lilt that made him once a host, And wlih the buttercups ana buds of June He left his tinkling and his merry tune. The plover chuckles o'er his dainty meals Of locusts, but at the nightfall hour he feele The sense of loss In his aerial flight AH south hegoe* beyond the belt of light. No more the meadow lark, with swelling throat Charms every ear, but wHhn'si range harsh note He Firms among the tussocks of the Held, Whoso blUtltng stubbles-. no .-more fragrance yield. ' •' •' ", • . - j The flicker tries no more hl8,s8ng to sing As swift he flashes oil hit" golden,wJng, From fence to ant hill, His insistent cry Sounds In strange discdrdto the.panser by. The goldfinch gray tilts on the tnistle seed, Andln tirange silence lights on autumn weeds, No more his throat In joyous song-note swells, Each plaintive day isBiiildened with farewells. Along Ihe banks the b'tovirn .minks stealthy Where cardinals, glow and sumacs graceful sweep, • ' • . ' . •'" ' " •. ..„ bright inverted flames blaze* e'er the tide,-, » t { by the brink the fattened raccoonshlde. [•ho summer vanes, the flowers''' ie. Each day , Jrlngs mount-fill signs of fai-well and decay. The wasteful richness fades before our eyes; y . . reaihes outlls lavish life, and eently dies, . ntdying stinunei-hei-alds autumn's httth —tell with the fruitage ol the generous earth, >nd every wnnln&token In the air . Breathes warrant of tho harvest rich and.fnir. 1 • ••- v Springfield Republican. KAltM SOTKS. Are the springs all right in the pastures? .,, , Make the little foal gentle; sugar will do it, and kind words. If possible have the hogs or sheep destroy all windfall? in the orchard. Fur shoulder galls, use carbolic glycerine or vaseline, or simply carbolic grease anil sulphur. Shade is as necessary at this season as water and food. "A merciful man is merciful to his beast." Saddle horses' are growing in favor. With more horseback riding there would be less apoplexy and paralysis. Sore teeth will sometimes malso. a horse carry its tongue out of itsmouth. A harsh bit will do the same thing. , While you have leisure.. put a good quantity of straw or course manure whore it will be handy for mulching the strawberry bed in the fall. Try the experiment of cutting the tassels off a few rows of corn, and compare the results with rows not so treated. For turkey dressing: Take two-thirds, bread crumbs and one-third fresh mashed itatoes, two., eggs, a small piece of but- spason with onions, sage, salt and pep- stir lightly with fork. The Nlmblo Penny. cries' the line npon fotbiddeli . On tne way to and ffoia pasturfe ,the>6 cows pas* aft unfeucen flowct-fjafden and never ftfntest it. Under similar circ-umRtfttices fecfub cows would run r>ot. in t-rainfield and garden. 0 her thing* belng equal. th» volume ot the product of a cb> is in faito to her docility nnd intelligence. _ These two qualities make a strong bovine team.—Arbas. Feeding: Horses Too little discrimination is used in feeding horses. The habit of many farmers is to regntd all their horses alikei so far as feeding is concerned ( without any reference to the sort of work that they are doing. A horse whose work is slow can be givert a more, bulky ration than would be safe for 1 an aniaial that is to work rapidly. Horse owners should understand that it is hbt alone the quantity, or even the quality, of the ration which alone k?eus the horse in proper'condition, but it is rather the quantity of proper food which is fullv digested and then assimilate^ which BUS tains animal life and insures its most vigorous tone. The way in which a horse works, the use to which it is put, lias much to do with its ability to' make use of different sorts of food. When a horse is standing idle, ns many upon the farm will soon be, now that the harvest is over, the daily ration should at once be reduced in ' quam tity and varied in quality. Little grain should be fed. and that is belter: if cooked. Less hay should be given and high mashes of easy digestion should take the place of the usual more solid food. When standing idle cold drinking witter should never be given, as without exercise it is apt to chill the stomach and so induce indigestion and consequent Colic. THE HOUSEHOLD. How 1 Know. EUGENE FIRI.D. ' Because she has sweeter anil fairer grown; UecaiiBe her voice has a tenderer torn;: Jiecaiisu her eyes droop when they meet my own— I know my ; darling loves mol Because her smite is a vision of bliss; Because on her rod lips trembles kiss: Ijocuuse of all that,-and because of this— I know my darling loves me! . ••-,., Because^ tlietouch of her dear inind thrills me; Becmis'e her thoughts lead and her mlml wills me; Because her Mveei presence wil h love fills me— I know I loveu jr darling t Because she makes my poor life worth Its pain; He'runee n soul's striving seem not. 111 vain; Because with her deal- love I live au;ain— ;. 1 know I love my darling! New Orleans Picayune. Faith never stands around with its hands in its ppckets. . , Tho man who gives to the world a good . . . . i i i • I* 'LOVK sTOftV 6n v MobfeRN DAYS and cure ' The "nimble penny" is something for the farmer to kc^pin mind, a,-.well as for the merchant.- While steer" cannot be matured and made ready tor the market in nluch less than three years, sheep are marketable fro'm the age of four months. To turn money often is one of the secrets of financial success. Fall Plowing: I'nys. fall plowing pays especially well in heavy and cold soils. The ground should be thrown up in narrow lands, running with the slope of the surface draining. Fall plowed lands will be drier and finer, and often ready two weeks sooner for working in spring than unplowed ground. I'ulsonouK Weeds. Wijpds in the pasture should not be allowed under any circumstance:-'. There are poisonous weeds that are injurous, even if .they do not cause death, and though the cattle may reject them they will be carried to the barn should any portion of the pasture be mowed as hay, and IIH so thoroughly mixed with the hay as to be eaten. Lime as it Fertilizer. Few farmers give sufficient cr.dit to lime as a fertilizer. • The too prevalent notion •which has been unfortunately spread abroad by some scientific theorists to the effect that its action is only indirect, and that it is not a plant fo.xl at all, is seriously damaging, and tends to mislead ? armers into neglect, of a most valuable Ttiliaer. which is indispensable for'the restoration of fertility.to land which has n long under cultivation. Overfeeding Calves. When' a young culf is gorged with milk, indigestion follows, and the stomach is clogged with a mass of compact curd. The consequence is, says the Marlf Lane Express, that tho animal becomes dull, dribbles at the mouth, and grinds its teeth. The treatment should be to give a teaspoon- full of carbonate of soda, pr saleratus in half a pint of water, which will dissolve the curdle and aid its passage through the intestines. In six hours after give one tablespoonful of raw linseed or castor oil. Offer no food until the bowels arc cleared out, and then give one quart of warm, fresh milk at a meal every three hours. When a calf is drinking milk it should be fed slowly, and at intervals of rest, and cold milk should never be given, as this chills the stomach and provokes indigestion. Full Blood Cows. Besides all their other superior qualities, full blood cows and oxen possess remarkable docility and intelligence, as compared with scrubs. They are more tractable; learn sooner what is required of them; it is scarcely half the labor to teach the heifers to be milked and the steers to be yoked and •worked. They need lesa fence and less oversight to keep them in place. _' One ^eire will restrain full-bloods more effectual. ' than four will scrubs. Curiosity is a quality almost entirely wanting in the former; they take what is legitimately sm placed before them, nob heeding what f \, their neighbors are doing or what is "over J |Jie fence.' 1 A firm possessing 1,200 acres and a dairy of sixtj cows to occupy it in 1 , pprt have removed most of the internal fences "nil ernp'oy a boy-herder instead, as ieing cheayier in several re«pccU than to maintain leucf s. Grain and pasture occupy the same field; and so intelligent art these animals that one seldom ventures thought gives to some body li.'e. Leisure for auen of business, business for men of leisure would many complaints. The right kind of religion doesn't mean twenty- fivrj cents a year for missions and turkey for yourself every Sunday for dinner. Some folks who are always anxious about whether we shall "know each other there," pass their next door neighbors in the street without speaking. Bacon said, .to be free-minded and cheerfully disposed at hours of meales and of sleep and ot exercise, is tin best precept of long lasting. The Education of Girls. The education, the life of to-day women, has unfitted them to be mothers, but the education of today's girls is bringing them to womanhood more perfect specimens of the r kind, physically as well as mentally, strone and healthy in mind and body, able to endure the suffering of motherhood; willing to give a few years of life to producing new life, reasoning witu well developed faculties how to make that new life stronger and more fit to take another step forward. Nothing is more marked in our progress than awakening to the need of less confining clothing for the body, less confining lifo for the physical strength, less_ confining education for the mind. Little uso is there to discuss the relative weight and si/e of the masculine and feminine brain. No arguments pro or con cun prove anything;" those people of the latter half of the next century will know what wo can only speculate on, for the bonds are burst. — S. S.-E. M. TIIK Al'PlYB KHtTTBHS'. Take one cupful of siftc-d flour, one teaspoonful of baking powder, a pinch of salt, two eggs, one cup ot milk, one half • pint of chopped apples. Fry in hot lard and sp.rve with sugar. SOFT FHOSTINO FOH CAKES. Take one cup of sugar, five tablespoons of B'veof, milk, boil four or five minutes, then stir until cold, and pur, on a cool cake. It is better than frosting with eggs, PEACH I'UDDING. Slice a dozen ripe peaches into a deep dish, Spinkle with three tablespoons of white sugar and let them stand an hour. Make a custard and when partly cold turn it over the peaches. Set in a cool place for several hours. BELL'S CAKE, Break two eggs in a cup, add two tablespoons of sweet cream, fill tho cup with sweet milk, add one cup of sugar, one and a half cups of flour, one teaspoon of cream tartar and half a teaspoon of soda. PRIED CUOUMBKUS. Pare fresh, firm cucumbers, and let them lie thirty minutes in cold water; then cut theai lengthwise into thick slices, throw them into ice water, and after they have remained ten minutes take them out and wipe each slice dry with a cloth. Sprinkle with salt and pepper, dredge with flour, and fry brown in butter or lard, I'EACll MERINGUE, Line a pie-tin with .rich paste, glaze, with white of egg, and fill with sliced peaches. Pour over a thickening made by dissolyiner a teaspoonful of flour iu a little water. Stew with sugar, and bake. When done spread with a meringue of three eggs beaten very stiff with a half cupful of powdered sugar. Place in open oven until lightly browned. 'roMA-ro IOMELET. Skin and chop fine a quart of. tomatoes, put them in a sauce pan with a finely-chopped onion, a rolled cracker or two, a little pepper, a teaspoonful salt, and butter the size of a walnut. Cover and let it cook sio.vly an hour. Then add 5 eggs well beaten. Have a hot pan or griddle ready, grease well anil pour in th» mixture after beating together. Cook to a nice brown on one side, foil and brown on the other. To be eaten while hot. "Then, flow you will tin s:mi"thlr.g for me," says Sliss Ueresford, promptly* "Anything" with enthusiasm. "Then t -in.imw you ore tot-time here witltnul tlio HIM s 1 hen r<l you promise Miss F.t/.'.Ti-rald this afternoon.' 1 tler-tone is quite composed, but two little brilliant tlocks of color have risau hurriedly and are now ll.iuiiling themselves o.i either pret.y cheek. She is evidently very seriously in earnest. ,., , . , .. "She asked me for them; shewn! think it so ungenerous, so rude," says Desmond. "Not ungenerous. Sho will never think you that, or rude cither." snys Monica, gauging the truth to a nicety. "Cnirftws, If yon will, hut no more", and—I uvmtyoitto seem careless where sbe is ooneernad. "But why, my dearest?" "Because 1 don't like her; she always treats me as though 1 were some insisjiiiu- cnnt Hitle girl still in short petticoats," says Miss Beresfoid, with rising indignation. "And because—because, too " She pauses In soine confusion. "Go on; because what?" with gentle encouragement. "Well, then, because I know she wants to man-)/ you," says Monica, 'vehemently, but in a choked voice. "What an extraordinary Idea to come Into your hi'iul!" says Desmond, In a choked tone also, but from a different emotion. "What are you laughing at?" severely. "AtmeV" , . „ "My • arllrig, It seems so absurd, ami "IfnrbM you to laugh," In a tone replete with anger but highly suggestive ol tears. "Don't do it." "I'll novel' lauu'h again, my pet, If it of- licnds you so dreadfully." "Butyour eyes are laughing; lean see them. 1 can see a great deal more than you think, anil I know that hateful girl has imulc up her mind to marry you as soon us over sho can." "That will bo never," "Not it' you go, on bringing her roses and thinsrs." 1 "What harm can a simple rose do?" "if you are going to look-nt It In that light, 1 shall say no more. But in. a very little Hum you -will find she 1ms married yon, and tli'un where will you be?". Her jealousy is too childishly-open to be misunderstood. Mr. Desmond's spirits are risins: with marvelous rapidity; indeed, for the past two miuutes ho foels;.as if. he is treading on air. .. . "As you won't have me, I don't much care whcrel shall be," ho says, wili) the. mean hope of reducing her to submission by a threat. In this hope .he is (loom; tl to be disappointed, as she meets his bust; insinuation \viih an unlowerod front. "Very good, yu and'marry her," she says, calmly,'as if church, parson, and Miss Fitzgerald are all wall-in'-! £>r him, in. anxious expectation, round the corner. "No, Isha'n't," says Desmond, changing his tactics without a blush. "Catch moat it! As you persist in refusing me, I shall never marry, but'remain a bachelor forever, for your sweet sake." "Then say you will not bring those roses to-morrow. Or, better still, say you will brills them, and"—all women, even tho best, are cruel—"give them to me he/ore her." "My darling! what an unreasonable thing to ask me!'' " "Oil! i dare say! when people, don't love people they always think everything they do unreasonable." This rather involved sentence seenis to cut Mr. Desmond lo the heart. "Of course, if. you say that, I must do it," he says. . "Don't do it on my account," with a willful nir. "Jvo, on my own, of course." "Well, remember I don't ask you to do it," with the. mint disgraceful ingratitude. "Do as you wisli about it." "Your wishes are mine," he says, tenderly. '.'1 have had no divided exist Mice slnco that first day I saw you,—how long ago it seenis now " "Very long. Only a few weeks in reality, but it seems "to myself that I have known tun]—liked yon all my life." "Yet that day when 1 saw you on the hay- nart is hardly two months old," says Desmond, dreamily. As a bi.-aih of half-forgotten perl'imie, or a long-lost chord fresh sounded, brings bank the memories of a lifetime, so does this chance remark of his now recall to her a scent; almost gone out of mind, yet still fraught with recollections terrible to her self-love, "Two.months,—uuly two?—oh, it must be more," she says, with a pang. Surely tinu 1 oii'.'hl to less MI the. reeling of shame that Qvorpo-.yers her whenever she thiuksol' thai final day. "So wearisome a time, my own?".asks he, reproachfully.' "Ni», it is not that, it Is only . Oh, Brian, that day yon speak of, when 1 was OH that horrid hay-cart, did you—i mnnii—• did I—that i.s—did I look .very nnurac-.-fnl?" The word she is dying to sjiy is disgraceful, but she dares not. "Yes. Terry says that when we were passing you that day I was—was," with a desperate rush, "kicking up my heels 1" She is trembling with .shame and confusion. Crimson has sprung to her cheeks, tears to lier eyes, "I don't believe a word of it," says Mr. Desmond, eouipruheiiding the situation at last. "But, even supposing you wore,—and, after all, that is the sort of thing everjj f>ne docs on a bundle of hay,"—as though it Is quito tlio customary tiling for people generally to go round the world seated on hay- carts,—•"! didn't sue you—that is, your heels 'I mean; I saw only your face,—the prettiest face in the world. How could I look at anything else when I had once seen that?" "Brian!" turning to him impetuously, and laying botli her hands upon his shoulders, "I do think you are the dearest fellow on, earth." "Oh, Monica! am I the dearest to you?" He lias twined his arms round her lissome figure, and is gazing anxiously into her eyes. "Yes,—yes, certainly.'' And then, with & naivete indescribable, and with the utmost composure, sho says,— "I think 1 should like to give you a klssl" Is the blue dome still over his head, or has the sky fallen I The thing he has been longing for, with an intensity not to be portrayed, ever since their first meeting, but has not dared to even hint at, is now freely offered him, as though it were a thing pf naught. "Monica!" says her lover, the blood rushing to his face, "do yon mean it?" He tightens his clasp round her, yet still refrains from touching thu sweet lips so near his own. A feeling of honest manliness makes him hesitate about accepting this great happiness, lest, indeed, he misunderstood her. To him it is so great a boon she grunts t|iat lie hardly dares believe in, its reality. ' , "Of cqurse I (Jo." says Miss Bwesford, distinctly offended. "I-at least, I aid. I 'don't nosy. I always want to j^ss people when I feel fond of tl.iein; but you don'| evidently, or else, perhaps, you aren't really fondofnw at all, in spiui of all you Ur.vo w''i. Nevermind, pon't imt yourself out. it was fiiorfly a passing fancy 611 my part. "Oh. don Viet it pass," exclaims her IOV..T, anxiously. "D.irlinst life, don't you know I have been lonitinsr, loiifflnfl to kiss you for weeks past, yet dan> not because something in your eyes'forbado me? And now. to have you of your own accord rcnlly willing to give my dear desire seenis too much." "Are jon sure that it is that, or " '•My anacl, what a tin -st on I" •'Yet perhaps yon think Don't kiss mo just to obliyy me. you know. I don't care so mue'.i about it as all Hint; but " She finds it impossible to finish the sentence, because ' »»#»*.* * Dexterously, but gently, she draws herself away from him, and stands a little apart. Looking at Her, he can see she is troubled, lie has opened his lips to speak, but by a gesture she restrains him.' "1 kjiow it now," she says. This oracular speecli is accompanied by a blush, vivid as it is angry, and there are x lnrge tears in her eyes. "1 should not have asked you to kiss me. That was your part, and you have taught me that. I usurped it Yet I thought only that 1 was fond of you, lli.il \ on wens my' friend, or like Terry, or—" hero the grievance gains sound, "you slimtld not have kissed me like that." "You didn't suppose I Was goiiiu' to kiss you as Terry might'.'" asks lie, with just indignation, ""lie is your brother; 1 am- not." "I don't know anything about it, except this, that it will lie a very long time before you have the chance of doing it again, "i can't bear being hnmiaV "Lain very sorry," says Mr. Desmond, stiffly. "Iiel me assure yon, however, that 1 shall never cause, you such nnViise again until'you wish it." "Then say never at once," says Monica, with a pout. "Very good," says Desmond. It may now bo reasonably supposed that he has met all her viMiulreiiients, and that she has no further comi'lainls to bring forward; but MUM i.s not the case. "1 don't like you when you talk to me like thill," she says', a'-tiivssiv.'ly, and \vi,h a spoiled child air, glancing at' him from under her sweeping lashes. "How am I to'talk to you, then?" asks he, In despair. "Von know very well how to talk to Miss Kll/gerald," retorts she, provoUingly, and with a bold iiUi-mpt at a frown, Vet there is somelhinv:- about her iiatuhty little fane, n hidden, mocking, ii'ii.sfhievnii.s, yet withal friendly smile as it were, linit disarms her Kpeuch'of its sting and gives Hriau renewed hope, ami courage, Me takes her hand deliberately and draws it unrepnlsed through his arm. "Jji'l, us go up this wall;," he says, "a; leave all angry words and thoughts behind us.' 1 He makes a movement in the direction indicated, and lind-i that she mo\vs with him. lie linds, too, that her slender lingers have dosed Involuntarily upon his arm. I'lainly, she is as glad to be at peace with him as lie with her.' Coining to a turn in the path, shaded by two rugged old apple-trees now growing heavy with their green burden, Desmond stands still, and, pulling Ids right hand in his pocket, draws oiit something from it. AH lie (iocs this lie colors slightly. "Von wear air your rings on your right hand," he says, with loving awUanlness, "and it seenis to me the oilier poor little lingers always look neglected. I —1 wish you would lake this and make il a pr.'seiil to your left band.'' "Tli'tx" is a thick gold band, set with Hire 1 liircre diamonds of great brilliancy in gypsj fashion. "Oil! not/for mo!" says Monica, recoiling, and clasping her hands behind liur back, yet with her eyes lirinly fastened upon tin beautiful ring. "Why not for you? Some day I shall give you nil I possess; now I can give you mil) such things as this," '"Indeed I must not take If," .says Monica but nveiras she utters the hiill'-lienrted i;c fnsal she creeps unconsciously closer lo him and, laying her hand upon his wrist, looks with childish delight and loiu>ng at th glittering stones lying In his palm. "lint I say yon must," says Desmond taking a very superior lone. "Jt is yours not mine. I have nothing to <lo with was never infant for me. tSce," taking ii] her hand and slipping the ring on her en gaged linger, "how pretty your litllo whlti hand makes it look!" II, is always 'a difficult thin.; to a woman to bring herself to refuse diamonds, but doubly dilllcidt once she has seen llicmpijsi- tively adorning her own person. Monica looks at the ring, then sighs, then turns it round and round meuhanlcally, and finally dances at D.'smonil. lle.relnrns the glance by passing his arm round her shoulders, al't;T which there, is never another word said about the ownership of the ring. "But it will jmi. my poor little pigs in the shade, won't it'."' says Monica, looking at her other band, and then at him archly, "Oil! it is lovely— I'lud-yl" •'I Ihink I mi-.'ht have, chosen you a prut- tier line, ha-l 1. i'u.i up to Dublin and yonc to \Val.-rlioiiM 1 myself,"says Desmond;"lmt I. knew if I we.nl I could not possibly get back until to-mon-.Av evening, and that would mean 1'ising two whole days of our precious s.'.ven." This speech pleases .Monica, I think, even more than the ring. "1 am glad you did not go," she says, softly. •'So am I—especially as-—" Hero he pauses, and then goes on again hurriedly. "If I had gone, Monica, you would not have forgotten me?' 1 "How could I forget you in two little days?" "They would have been two very big days to mo. But toll mo, if 1 wero to go away from you for a far longer time—say for a whole month—would you slill bo faithful? Should I find you as I left you,—liulill'ereiit to others at least, if not wholly mine?" "Why should 1 change?" "Darling, there are so many reasons." He draws his breath quickly, Impatiently, "Some day, you may meet some one ulse— more suited to yon, perhaps, and " "I shall never do that." She interrupts him .slowly, but decidedly. "You are sure?" "Yes," The answer In words perhaps Is meager; but he, looking into the depths of her soft eyes, sews a surer answer there, and Is satisfied. The shadows arc, growing longer and slower. Thej- do not dance and quiver now hi mad glee, as they did an hour agonu. "1 think wo must go back," says Monica, with unconcealed regret. "What! you will throw me again Into temptation? into the very arms of the fair Bella?" says Desmond, laughing. "Jluflflot, I beg of you, before it is too late." "After all," says Monica, "i don't think I have behaved very nicely about her. I.don't think now It would bo a—a pretty thing to make you give me the rostis before her. No, you must not do that; and you must not manage to forget them, either, You shall bring the .handsomest you can lind-and give them to her,—but puMtefi/, Brian, just as If there was nothing in it, you know." "Th^re is nothing like adhering to the strict truth," says Brian. "There shall bo nothing In my roses, I promise you,—except perfu::!?." fllArtKU quite close." <wy* ">lr. K • K. in mi Injure-.! • tone. "I wonder what on cn't'i Minium- i O'Connor means by asking her h iv, \v,ic;v . she can lv it" iiinix I'ut a I' c> upo.ia p»'r:c"t i landscape; all tlu-lost of PS arc suhm-U.' , It Is foil.- oV.oi-k, iiml ho- i'!essly wot. The ; soft ruin patters on the haves onlsido. tiie j era-wand all the cnrdon* are drowned in Nature's tears. There can I" 1 no loiimriivc on sunny terraces, no delicious dreaming under shady beech-trues, this lost afternoon. (Jiving In to the inevitable with a cheerful rt'sisnation worthy of record, they have all con''ivtfati"! in theirntnd old hall, one of the "iiit-'f glories of Agiiytihilibesi. Tliroush n vairuc but mistaken notion that It will mid to their comfort and make them cozier and more forgetful of—or n I least more iiitlilVcreut to—the sunshine of yesterday, they have hmlau enormous fire of pine logs kindled upon the health. When too late, fhey discover it to ho a discomfort {bill, with n stoicism worthy a better cause, thcy .iiH'llne to acknowledge their error, and sliuul in groups round the aggressive logs, ;irelonding to enjoy them, but in reality lying of heat. Meanwhile, tho fragrant pieces of pine roar and crackle merrily, throwing shadows ip the huge chimney, and casting bright <loams of light upon tho exquisite oaken iirving of tiie nncle.nt clilinney-ploco that eaehes almost to the lofty ceiling and Is low blaekmied by ago and bountiful beyond lescription. Olga, Iu a sagc-grt'iMi gown, is lying buck Istlessly In a deep arm-chair; she has placed olliowoncither arm of It, and has brought tor tlngiM-s so far toward each other that heir tips toiio.h. llormin Herriek, In a sown of copper-roil is knitting languidly a little tilk sock for thu child nestling silently at nor knee. Monica, In plain white Indian muslin, Is :loiii>; nothing, unless .smiling now and then nt Brian Desmond bo anything, who Is lying >n w be.ir-skln nig, looking supremely happy and full of lU'e and spirit <. lie has come i>ver from Coolo very early, being generously urged so to do by Madame O'Connor when parting with h in last night. Hyde is m>i on tin- Hi-Id, so tho. day Is his o«n. Missl''il/.go.iald is looking rather handsome, in a dress of the very tiniest, chock,; Unit, is meant for a small woman only, or a hild, and so makes her appet'i- several siy.es l.irgt-r Mian she really Is. Die. Konaync, sanding loaning against, the ohiinnoy-pioeo ,is close lo Olga as eli'citm-lauccs will permit, is silent to a fault; and, indeed, every ono but, Mr. Kelly has succumbed to the damp depression of the air. They have had only one distraction all day.--tho arrival of another guest, a distant i-oii iiii of their Innlev-t. who has been landing her Cor a week or so. On inspection she proves lo be a girl ol' ninoltvn, decidedly unprepossessing In appeanim:i.-,—In I'aet, us Mr. .Murphy, the 1ml k-r, -ays lo Mrs. Collins, Ihe hoii-.-vkt'cper, "as ugly as if .she was bespoke.'' A tall girl oppressed by freckles and with hair of a deep—well, let us emulate our polite French neighbors and cull \llilnndar- dciti. "Who is she?" asks Lord Kossnioyne, who arrived about an hour iujo, to Ulic Uo- nayno's discomfiture. "HlH-.'s a fraud!" says Mr. Kelly, indignantly.—"a swindle! Madame assured n-- hist night, a .('.harming girl was coiniiii:, ti turn till heads and storm all hearts; and today, when wo. rushed in a body to tint window and llall'-Micd our noses against, tin panes to see her, Iota oreati::-• \\illi ret 1 hair and pimples '' "No, no; freckled, my dear Ow.-n, 1 ' inl/'r- rupls Olga, Indolently. "It is all the same at a distance! general i'ffi'i-t. fatal in both ease:,," say.-. .Mr. Kelly .ilrily. "It makes one po-i: ! ve!y micom I'ortable to look at her. i co-i.--ldci' her bt.-in^ thru-it upon us Ilk.- this a deliberate insult. 1 think if slm enniinn -s I shall leave." "Oil, dun't," snys Desin-ind, In a lone t agonized entreaty. "How alwnld wo nr.in- aw to gel, on without you?" "lladly, badly, 1 know that," regretfully, ''lint it is a ((iiestion of breaking either your hearts or mine. Soine of us must go to Ihe wall; it would he unfair to lim world to make it me." "1. don't, believe, you will go far," says Miu Jlorrliik, slowly. Kelly glniioe.s at her ijuickiy, but she does not lift her eyes from the lili.lt; suclc, and her lingers move rapidly, easily as ever. "London or I'aris," he says,—"Hie city of l'o..s. IT ilio city of frogs, i don't know which I prefer." •'I! -I tor slay where you are," says Brian. "Well, I really didn't think her so very plain," says Bella Fil/gerald, who thinks it prolly to say the kind tiling always. "A laiWnionth'is an an"liefion, certainly; and as for her complexion—but really, after nil, '.t is bet lor to see it as it is than painted ami powdered, as oiiy sees oilier people." This i.s a I'aint out at Olga. who is fond of powder, and who has not scrupled lo add to her charms by a little touch of rouge now and then when sho felt pallor demanded it. "] think a little artificial aid might improve, pour Miss lJrowne,"says 11 isrmla ller- rick. Miss Browne Is the new airival. "I don't. 1 think it Is an abominable tiling to cheat the pub !•': like that," says Miss Fily.ieriihl, doggedly; "nobody rospt-e.- tiibl.i would do It. Tlio dcHi'lrinuiulB paint and powder." ' "Do they? how do you know, dt-ar?" asks Ulua Bohuii, sweetly. Miss Fily.giM'iild, leellirj; slit.- lias made a fuitx-i>ux, c/ilors violently, tries to gel herself out oC II, and flounders helplessly. Loid Ii'iissinoynt! is looking surprised, Ulic, llo- nayne and Desmond amused. "Kvery ono says so," says tho fair Bella, ill hist, in a voice th it trembles with anger; 'you know very well they do," "i don't, linlo d, my dear Bella. My acquaintance with or—-that .sort of pir-.on bus been limited; I. ([iiile envy you your superior knowledge." Here Olga laughs a litllo, a low, rippling laugh thai comp'cU-s her enemy's defcut. Alter Ihe laugh ihere is a dead silence. "I Ihink sum-body ou^ht to remove, tho poor little child," says Air. Kelly, in a low, Impressive tone, pointing to Mrs. Jlerrlck's litllo girl. At which everybody laughs heartily, and awkwardness is banished. "Browne?—1 know an Archibald Browne once; anyt iin., r to this girl?" asks Lord Uoss moyne, hurriedly, unwilling to let silence sellle down on-them again." "Big man with a loose tie?" asks Ulic. "Vc.-es. There was something odd about Ills iieeli, now 1 remember," says Kossnioyne. "That was her father, tto had an idea he was like Lord Byron, and always wore his necktie Hying in tho wind." "He couldn't manage it, though," says Mr. Kelly, with as noiir an attempt at mirth as ho ever permits himself, "It always Hew the wrong way. Byron's, if you cull to mind his many portraits, always Hew over his left shoulder; old Browne's wouldn't. By the bye," thoughtfully, "Byron must have had a wind o( his own, nuisn't lie? our ordinary winds don't always blow in tho same direction, do they?' "I would that a wind could aviso to blow you In tho same direction, when you are Ui such an Idle moot as now," says Mrs. Herrick, in a low tone. "if it would hlovy mo in your direction, 1 should say u*eu to that," iu a voice as Bub- diwl as her own. "May tho I'litca avert from me a calamity so groat!" "Vou will li.'ive to entreat Miem very diligently, if you hope to escape it-'' "Arc you so very deter,nincd, then?" "Yc ; . Although I fc"l I am mocked by the. hope within me. still 1 shall persist." "You waM.' your lim -." "1 am eitn.en! to wast:- it In such « cause. Yet I am sorry I inn so distastoiul to you." ••Thai is not your f.utlt. I forgive yon ••\Vlwt I 1 * it. Hie", you can't forgive In mo'.'" "Not more than I onn't forglveinanother. 'God made you all, tliorol'uro let jon all puss for men.' i don't deal more hardly with yon thin with tho rest, yon see. Vou are only one of man\." "That is the mikindest thing you over snld to mo. And that i" saying much. Y«-t, I, loo, \\iil hesi-ech the Kates in my turn." "To v:\-.\\t\ yon what?" "The Ii idiiig of >ou in a gentler mind." Tho f.iintost Dicker of a smile t-rosie* her lips. She lays her knitting on her knee for an instant, thai sh.- may the morn readily let hor 11 per lingers droop until they touch the pah- lirow nf th" child at, her feet; then slip resumes it a rain, w.tli a face calm and To be continued. AV S! KA1' JTOU 1.1 KK. KB Orcnt Ilnrhijt 1>« flrn Even n r«rnllol In HUlory. During the pir-jte of l'"ort Henry, at Wheeling in 1777, the fort where Elian.- icth 7/ine acquired dciithlcHS renown, Mnj. MiCulloeh rode throtiKhthe Indinno inves- n(? the plwco, with forty mounted nen, and reai'hod the fort. The men, luniRh closely beset by Ihe Indian!', nnulo heir way info the gale which opened to receive tnom. Hut MtCulloch, like u brave oflicer, was ho hi«t niuii iiml he was cut off from his lien and nearly surrounded by the Indians, lit whecktl mid galloped toward a lofty iiii in tho rciirol Ihr- lort. beset tho whole way by Indians, who mi^ht have killed . mit; but. knowing him as one of the Dnvvopt and most BiieooHsful Indian lighters on the frontier, wished to take lim alive, and gratify their full re- vi'iigii by subjecting him to the severest lorlnroHi Ho intended to ride nlonir (lit! ridge, and then miilio his way to Short Creek; but on gaining the top he found himself headed y a hundred KIIVIIHCK, while the main body were in ku.'ii pui'Miit, in his rear. Ho was hcmmiil in on all sides but the oust, wliore the prc-ciptco was almost per- pondkuhir and thu l»d of iho creek lay like n gulf neatly '200 fncl below him. Thin, too, would have been protccicd by the cautions enemy, but tho jutting crags forbade bis climbing or oven ilcsc-emling it on foot. Ami t'i atlompt it on hyrse- baek seemed inevitable d* nth to both rider and Meed. Hut, with MtCulloch it was only u chimeo of death and a narrow cinuice of lifo. Ho chose like ,1 bravo man. Sittiiifir hhtiHilf Imck in tlio Htuldlo, ami his foot firmly bract il in tho stirrups, with his rilli! in bin left hand and the roins adjusted in his rifjht, he cast ono look nj on tho approaching snvnues, pushed bin spurs into his horse's flunks and mado the decisive leap. In a few moments tlio Indians saw their morliil foe, whoso daring act they boheld with iiHtoniahnicnt. emerging from tho valley below, slnl safely seated on his noble steed iiiul shouting defiance to his pursnniH. Al'lcrtlm escape of McCullrch tho In- diiuiH so! liro lo the cabins and fences out- fide of the fort and then raised tho siege. The defense hail been admirably conducted b> tho garrison in the face of an enemy thirty Union their number. In Iho hotlCHt of tho (iu-ht oven iho females showqd trroat intrepidity, employing themselves *in run- r.inir bullets-, preparing riflo patches and enforcing now lifo into tho Holdi'-s by words of encouragement. lnfid« the fort not ;i man was killed, and only ono wounded, while Iho loss of tho enemy was from sixty to ono hun dred. • 110 U U1 "AST) TJolTlTKiC N* M KET. Girl luid Jrlfli Muldttit at tin Two little girls, each FPVOII years old, ont an Irish IIMSK IIM! th'? other a daughter of Assyria, arrived at tho bargo oilico recently, alono and unattended, af-or traveling thousands of inilnf. Miss Lilly Atkinson, tlio young lady from Iroland, hails from Ballymoto, county Sli(fO, whoro she was born. When her mother died a fpw years ago, Lilly's father cunii) to Anioricii. Ele settled in Colorado Springs, Col., tiiid when ho waa able ho Hint for ins little daughter, who hud been in tho cure of friends. Lilly is a rosy chocked, orifjhl, child, She has bluo eyes which fairly dance in their sockets, arid 11 complexion that would Lie the envy of a ballroom belle. Il"r golden cm Is hang down her back and add to her benuty, When iho landed,at the barge oflic.0 clad in a neat homespun suit she at- Iracted the attention ol all by her win some WIIVH. A card which was hung around her nock by a cord itavo hor namo. and told her destination. Lilly was mithx'lv alone, but sho did not seem to mind it. Sho was forwarded on her journey by tho agents, who took a kindli interest in the little . Nazura Jaha w the name of the demure miss of seven who traveled fill the way from the hind 'jf deserts to America. She is a full-blooded Assyrian, and has large, dark, liquid eyes and long, straight hair. Little Nazura is of a sad disposition. She cried much during her lonir and weury journey and the little creeks wore tearstained when she was landed at the barge office from the steamer Veerdiun. Nazura is bound for Chicago, where she is to meet her father. Sho could not converse with Lilly when they met in the inclosure, but she" bought some fruit from the apple wotnun and gave a peach to the fair Irish girl, after paying for her purchacR out of a dainty littlepocketbook.—New York Advertiser. l.KSSON. Tliurel little girl, don't cry! *V'< They Imve broken your doll, I know; And your lea uet blue Ami your uluy lionise, too, Arellilnj:BOf lung «KO; Jlur cliiklMi trouble* will soon pats by; There 1 litlle girl, dou't cry I There.! llltloulrl, don't cryl Th«y liuvu broken your tlute, 1 know; And tliofliiu, wlldwtiys Of your M!li«olt:irl uixys Are lldiii.'" of long ago; Hut life, iind love will BOOH come by ; There! llule girl, don'l cry! There I little girl, don't cryl They ImvB bioken your heart, I know; And Ihe ruinbow gleuius Of your yomhf ul dreutus Areihingsof Ions ago; Bul heaven holds all lor \vhich you elgh; There! litllo girl, don't cry I — James Watch crvstals are made by blowing a sphere of jtfass about one yard in diameter; after \vhi?h the disks are cut from it by means of a pair of compasses ing a diamond at the extremity pf i &..',..V*i..

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