The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa on March 20, 1895 · Page 3
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The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

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Algona, Iowa
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Wednesday, March 20, 1895
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Page 3
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THE tlEHJBLlCAft. ALGONA, IOWA, WEDNESDAY. MARCH 20. 1895. The raitt fell in sudden showers on his cap attd shoulders, the wind swept toward him in boistroUs gusts from time to tittle, and he Was wholly indifferent to both. The sea was roughened by tossing surges, and of a \eaden tint, the sky was gray, while the countryside had assxtmed the yellow hues of wet roads and drenched gardens. The scene was ugly, and even dispiriting, robbed of sunlight and a blue heaven, but the heart of the young officer rejoiced. He stepped along briskly and hummed the Swallow waltz Had Dolorea slept soundly after that dream of dreams, dancing at a real ball? Would she be glad to see him? How would the old :nan receive him? The near future unfolded before him clearly, as he rashly imagined, composed of stolen interviews, engagements for the next day on shore, letters, and all the idle and delicious dalliance of a love affair with a charming and innocent young #irl, whose dark eyes had opened wide with astonishment when he entered the garden gate, with her grandfather for the first time. He was prepared to develop a thirst for archaeology, and stock his cabin with headless idols, ana terra-cotta jugs, if necessary, in order to further propitiate Jacob Dealtry, and establish a footing of intimacy in the house. These meditations brought the young man to the garden door in question. He rapped on the panel. There was no sound Of movement within the enclosure. He repeated the knocking, for their was no bell on the premises. Florio uttered a shrill bark in the interior of the tower. The visitor waited with a smile on his lip, and eager expectation in his eye. Dolores must have heard the summons, and would hasten to open the gate, accompanied by her faithful dog. Lieut. 'j Curzon felt a sentiment of affection •J^for the little animal awaken in his breast for announcing so promptly his • arrival. - - ' /< - • "• >' No "light footstep approached the 'boundary and the succeeding stillness seemed to denote complete desertion. The sanguine countenance of the young man lengthened. Apprehension seized him. His sensibilities being highly wrought by a new and absorbing life interest, and therefore prone to swift extremes, a fear of some accident or misfortune smote him, He pushed the sunken door vigorously, and some slight obstruction of fastening yielded to the "blow* Then\he entered the enclosure and gazed, about him. The aspect of melancholy desertion of the Watch Towei^struck him forcibly, and re- <?urred to his mind on a subsequent occasion. The grey sky lowered' above the structure, forming a fitting background for the dilapidated masonry, wluch was fiirrowed 'arid stained by '"the^ storms of many years. The very 1 garden, borrowing, a sombre shadow ?rom £he temper of the day, appeared 'unusually unkempt and dishevelled. Moisture -hung • on the tendrills of vines^ and dripped from the twigs of r* the trees, like human tears. The , t ' water in the fountain was stagnant, ;J' opaque, and of a greenish-yellow ^rfcue, "What a dreary hole!" thought the with involuntary repug? HQW had Dolores thi'iven amidst such Unconsciously he made y> •.«£ ™bi: 3§D r# k* -i £88 r~H/iT'? • TO> Good morning," replied Dolores, stifling a second yawn. "Lazy girl!" he exclaimed, laughing. "You have been asleep. You are not yet awake." "I was so sleepy after breakfast," she admitted, smiling. "What is the matter with Florio? Do you not find grandpapa in the garden?" "No. The entire place seems to be deserted." "Perhaps he has gone to the town while I was asleep. Wait, and I will come down stairs." 8he passed her hands over her small head.to smooth the tangled hair, and withdrew from the casement. The next moment she returned with a little, mutinous grimace of vexation. "My door is fastened," she explained. "Fastened?" he repeated, in surprise. "Do you mean to say you are a prisoner in your chamber" Dolores nodded. "Grandpapa is often like that. I can never find the key, and yet he locks my door on the other side at night. If I ask the reason, he is very angry." "Perhaps he fears you may fly away," Arthur Curzon suggested. "Oh, no! I have no place to fly to," she answered, with unconscious pathos. "Then he suspects that some lover will carry you off, true Corsair fashion." Dolores dimpled into smiles, and rested her arms on the ledge of the window. "There's no danger of grandpapa's losing me like that," she said demurely. "The Corsairs do not want me, either." ,"0h, Dolores! if I were a Corsair, I Would carry you off in my arms to my ship, and we would sail away to the Happy Islands." "The Happy Islands," she echoed, half-dreamily. "Our Knight would not permit it, for he guards the Tower." "Your Knight? My dear girl, who on earth are you talking about now?" She raised her finger with a warning gesttire. "Our Knight, of Malta. Have you not seen his portrait on the wall?" "Oh!" said' the ypung man, relieved. "And, you know, the grand dtike spoke to me in Spanish, and I could understand him very well, although I seemed to have forgotten all,",she continued in a tone of confidence. "What did 'he talk,about?!? interposed the lieutenant, with a slight frown. " "About Spain, the churches, the pictures, and the ladies " "Ah* the ladies," with a sarcastic emphasis. "Then I knew that the knight spoke to me in Spanish in my dream," said the girl "You see, he must have been one of the Spanish knights." The sailor sighed. : "Am I not even to shake hands with you this morning, dear Dolores?" he demanded, tenderly. "I could climb up *> you with the aid of a rope or a bench." "Or I could jump to the ground,", supplemented Dolores, merrily. 'We might have made a turn of the- Swallow waltz together around the garden," he said,.regretfully. "Yes." How pretty she was up there in the window, just beyond reach, and how tantilizing! "I have brought you some sweets. Can you catch the package? Well done',.little girl! That is not all. How would you Jike to go to the opera on Thursday night, when a new singer is to make her debut?" "Oh!" exclaimed Dolores, while the color in her cheek ebbed and flowed rapidly. She had caught the package of swe,ets, but paused • before unfolding the paper, The good age of the fairy tales had surely returned to the earth. Supreme delight of her imagination! To be present at the debut of . the Signorjna Giulia Melita seemed the very summit of happiness to the girl at the moment, "Grandpa wjll not like it," she Added, wi£h a, s,ig-h, • , •'He'shalllikeit," said Lieut, Cur. zon, resolutely, "J will order the idols of the twelve 1 children of the sun Qt hiin^w.i|h QV without Meads," ' , *'H9W g'qod; you, are,!" \sjgjhpd ,'ftgam, and' 1 opened which qootamed an almond , more or less tough of tex- and ieslpid, in flavor, and closely tp the Mgdjgiya.; hQfley paste. "I have nothing el*e." She said, with graceful depreciation. "If you would be so good as to accept it. I gathered it this morning." He received the gift in his outstretched hands. "Perhaps grandpapa was vexed because I climbed on the chair, and told the knight about the ball, and the prince who spoke Spanish." continued Dolores. "Can he have locked the door for that reason?" "I do not understand his motive for locking the door. Dolores, I have so many things to tell you, and now I must run away to the ship." She gave him a roguish glance be i neath her long eyelashes. "You cruel girl! You are laughing at me," he exclaimed, ruefully. "I believe you are glad to be a prisoner so that I cannot reach yon. '• ''Perhaps," she'said, with bewitching gravity. ' 'Ah, I should know how to punish you for your nattg-htiness if I could gain your side. 1 fear I might kiss you," '•Would you?" with dimpling smiles. "Dolores, do you love me?" "I think so. How am I to help lov ing you—a little?" The moisture of unshed tears softened the luster of the dark eyes. Then there was silence between them, a mute gaze eloquent of all unspoken possibilities, that rendered the brain of each a trifle giddy, and caused tumultuous heart tlu-obbings. Space no longer divided them, and they circled softly together amid the roseate clouds, of a boundless imagination to the measure ot divine harmonies. Jacob Dealtry entered the gate. Lieut Cur/.on turned to him, and insisted on shaking hands, a ceremony to which the old man submitted with a singular limpness. Then the visitor repeated his invitation to the opera on Thursday evening. Jacob Dealtry listened without consent or refusal, his features remained vacant and abstracted, and he rubbed his fingers slowly together. "Would you like a stone slab, with a tolerablv clear Phoenician : inscription carved on it'. 1 " he inquired abruptly. "Oh! Grandpapa! What can an officer do with a tombstone on board ship?" cried Dolores, reproachfully, from the window. "I should like the carved stone very much," said Arthur Curzon, seriously. "I could make a giftof it to the British museum when I return home." "Eh! To be sure!" assented Jacob Dealtry, with animation. When the sailor walked back to the town he reflected, with a certain element of satisfaction, on the circumstance of the grandfather's locking up Dolores in the Watch Tower on the occasion of his absence from home. MATRONS AND MAIDS, tP YOU Do NOt kNOW BEANS READ AND LEARN. Methods of Freiiarlne the Boston Colonial Tea—.4 Woman of tort^ Snm- —Selecting a 1'elt. 'INSISTED ON SHAKING HANDS." The place was suited to such Oriental espionage of the female members of a family. Possibly the precaution was an evidence of his affection and care for his grandchild. Was he not wise to thus protect her from the intrusion of ruthless mankind? He opened the orange and ate it with rare enjoyment. The spicy fragrance of the golden rind, the luscious sweetness and richness of flavor of the ripe pulp, seemed to him refreshing, incomparable. He had partaken of strange and tropical fruits in all portions of the world, yet none like thi* tiny . ball, which had garnered and transmuted ' sunshine to its own usea in the neglected garden of Jacob Dealtry, In the aromatic scent of the outer peel he inhaled the perfume of Dolores' beauty, and in the muslcy fruit he already tasted her caresses, He flung away the rind. The next time they met he would surely win from the pouting, red lips a kiss,, He looked no further in advance on the path of life than that. ", i ', AH Q$(\ rrjflK, ii pl&y o4d trj'cks on sometimes," said a lady of another ..,..., fashion, ' 'but the queerest I §ver heard of was perpetrated by i&a. western " t>o toa Know There are a great many people who would feel inclined to resent any imputation of want of knowledge concerning beans, yet there are a great many varieties of this plebeian vegetable that are still unknown to the every-day cook. The stranger in a large New York grocery will be like* ly to notice a basket of brilliant green beans. These are the flageolets of the French cook. They are not raised in this country, but are imported in a dry state from France. Their bright, even color makes them an attractive object, and anyone who has eaten beans ''panaehees" at Delmonico's would hardly recognizo the flageolets as the main ingredients in the mix* ture. The French cooks do not soak their beans as long as we do, and they do not always succeed in completely conquering the natural toughness of this dried vegetable. A flageolet is properly cooked in the same way as the white bean, or as dried peas. Wash them thoroughly, and put a pint of them to i soak in three pints of cold water over night. In the morning- drain them, put them over the fire in three fresh pints of cold water, and let them simmer very slowly, covered until they are very tender but entire. They must not be boiled to a porridge. It will take usually from au hour and a half to two hours' cooking. At the eucl of .this time drain the beans again. Mix two tablespoons of butter with a quarter of a cup of the water in which they have been cooked. Acid two teaspoons of salt, a tablespoon of chopped parsley, and a pinch of white pepper. Toss the beans in this mixture over the fire for a minute or two and serve them. The dried flageolet is not often used for soup like the white Breton bean nnd the red bean. The red harieote or kidney bean is also a French bean that may ba found in most of our grocery stores. We believe, however, that it is usually raised in this country. To cook these red beans, soak them over night as you do the flageolets. Drain them and cover them with fresh water in the morning. Add to them a tablespoon of butter, and a small white onion in which a clove is stuck, and let the beans simmer slowly for half an-hour." Add half a wineglass of good red wine, if you would cook the beans in pure French fashion. Let them cook . an hour longer'af ter •adding the wine; drain them again, though the liquor should be nearly all absorbed. Add a tablespoon of butter and toss the beans over the fire for about five minutes. ' They should be served as hot as possible. Our American method of baking the white b?ans seems to be the very best method of cooking. them—far better than any fricassee or stew of 'beans, though they may be cooked in exactly the same way as the green- hued flageolet. It requires an intelligent New England housekeeper, however, to know the best kind of white beans. Throughout Lhe middle states the large white kidtiey bean is the only white bean sold. In Boston and "down East," where the cooking of the white bean is an art, nothing but the small pea .bean is used, and the coarse white bean is rejected by all wise housekeepers. It is possibly needless to say here that it is not necessary to add pork to a dish of •baked beans, and those who entertain a prejudice against the meat of the pig may well substitute a lump of butter, Measure out a quart of white pea beans. Put them to soak over night in three quarts of cold water, The orthodox dish to bake them in is an unglazed pipkin of earthenware, with a handle and cover. In the morning drain them and rinse them thoroughly in clear cold water. Then put fchera back in the pipkin in which they have been soaking, add a tablespoon of salt, and an even tablespoon of molasses, and a teaspoonfui of mustard, Stir all thoroughly around ia the pot, Put a heaping tablespoon of'butter down in the center of the beans- Cover them with cold water, so that it rises two inches above them, Put them-, in a hot oven at 8 o'clock in the jfljoreing, and 'let them cook steadily till 5 in the afternoop, re* Bewwg"tb,e water as often as it boils offl them. •« ket tijem brown down in the pot the .Jast "hour, aoi they will be. done at g o'clock, The fiwa|»B»l|lp at , A har&* vyqyIcing- 1 ° " V ,|.'jitttf -\ WQRey* 'She fll i» £- f =«— rw-—- - •-•••f-j.T Sri- "a»T ' T^P^rta* , 18 JftpkeiJ,; Se i?»9Ck|4' sSh^j^^jbismSTT? .. £Qi»plBtely and $Rd, t to 4ie he expressed will, ^Jjk seemed el a 4/iflg- the Nebraska, Kansas, Oregon, Washttif* ton and Sfew York) the existing law is that the father of a minor child has sole legal authority over such child and has the absolute right of its custody and its service and the fruiW thereof, and the Sole right to indenture, except under certain circumstances. In several states women are striving to have a change made ia this ruling and in Pennsylvania esjje* cially there has been vigorous action taken lately. The P6 nnsylvania Women's Suffrage associa tion, the Pennsylvania Women's Christian Temperance union, and the Civic club of Philadelphia- have indorsed a set of amendments wh ich are to be presented to the legislature to the end that hereafter married women of good character who are mothers shall have the sama rig hts enjoyed by the father under the law. A Colonial Ten. Church entertainments in which children take part are always attractive, and a colonial tea given by little people is one of the most delight* ful suggestions that can be offered, says the L aclies' Home Journal. Chil dren from five to ten years Of age should be chosen, and their costumes ought to be suited both to the colonial period and to the characters assumed. The costumes should be true in every d3ta,i 1 to the period represented. If it is not possible or practicable to hire costumes, they may be all, even to the wigs, designed and made without 1 he aid of a cos- turner. Patterns for each garment required may be ordered by mail at leading pattern stores. The special ! features of the ente rtainment are the supper or "tea," march, music, history or story and tableaux vivants. Tables, conveniently low to accommodate guests in kindergarten chairs, arc spread with simple but palatable food. A s lately squire and dame preside at each table, dispensing hospitality to their tiny colonial guests after the fashion of their day, small serving men and maids in costume assisting. Whil e the children are enjoying their supper their elders may be served in less formal fashion. After supper the children may engage in marching for fifteen or twenty minutes, then take part in a series of tableaux representing various scsnes in colonial life. Those should be selected which represent the fortunes of domestic life in its happiest moods. The following order of arrangement is excellent: First, an orchestral or piano arrangement of national airs. Second, a brief story explaining the tableaux about to be given. Third, tableaux. The stories must be simple in form, easy rhyme being preferred, spicy, amusing and well told. They may be read, but it is far better to select good reciters from the colonial band, giving to each a story to be rehearsed at the proper moment. The tableaux n: ay be arranged behind the curtain, while the musical numbers and stories are bein g rendered before the assembled company, so that there may be no tiresome waits between the story and the picture:;, ' A Woman ot Forty Summers. Full of outline and fair of face, V Swinging her fan with Ian. f?uid grace, White arras gleaming through folds of laoa, A woman of forty summers. ' No thread of white in the auburn hair, No line of age in the forehead fair, A life tmmarred by touch of care. In spite of her forty summers. A husband-lover and children sweet; Pleasures to charm and friends to greet, Roses scattered before her feat, > Through each of her forty summers.' Summers all, for no winters bold Have snatch ed her sunshine and made her cold: Have :lcilled her roses- and left her old; Nothing she knows but summers. ; Nothing she knows of laden cloud, Ot freezln* air and tempest }oud, Of snows that weave,for hope a shroud; Her life has been only summers. So calm she sits in the balmy air. No soryow3 to fret, no cross to bear, A summer idyl, a vision fair, This woman of forty summers. Yet cold and bl »st but make us stronj, After the s>now the robin's son?; To the fullest life by right belong The wintery a* we 11 as summers, And they whom fam e shall parva in stona The women whom men would fane enthrone, The women whom Q od has stamped his own, Live winters as well m summers. — Jenness Midler Monthly, Selecting a Veil. It may make a pretty woman homely, if taken at haphazard, and certainly can improve a homely one if bought with taste and skill, Black, brown, white and navy hlue veils are worn, but the favorite veil \n Paris ie one of a black groun d having small white sprays and border. A »ream white is blooming, unless the wearer is very pale and with faint'colored eyes an4 hair, Blapjj gpes with all hats aod, is, very fashionable, but it ia the oomjftgn opinion that it ages one, The, spotted tilack. |s more becoming- tha]0&e jj}j^ ( aij<l if th<i ' a roojio'uju;^! ''goioV she ga he. uses few, w itt**i«. May—What a wonderful t!on Mr. l>e feilHon hafi! Agnes Ccoldly)—Why? Did fie tell you thtt y>ou were pretty? May (more coldly)—No; he said that he thought you would be a good Urif* for somebody—else. "ad* Denied. Colonel — Are you one of the vanced" women, Miss Passe? Miss P. (haughtily)—indeed I am fiat* I was 23 last birthday. Before the Stot-m Broke. "That remains to be seen," Said Dick, absent-mindedly. "-What remains?" Mrs. Ifl6ks asked, eying him. But before he Could reply* she caught sight of a velvety daub of green paint on the seat of your pants. Deft tied. "isn't this a cold snap? 1 ' said Dusttf Rhodes. "That's what it is," replied Fits! Willlam, and then the two worthies pro* ceeded with their investigation of the honest worklngman's dinner pall. Paradoxical. Jack—I don't think I care for the nev< woman. Jess—Why not? Jack—She Is usually too old* : ~" u -J the Very Naturally. Miss Perlque—In New York do prominent social lights smoke? Miss Caustique—Yes, particularly, after they have been turned down- A Practical Mind. Newsboy—I'll give yez a paper for a tart. Uncle Zeke—Go 'long. I don't want to wrap up anything. Not Unusual. Friend—You must make allowances for your husband's shortcomings. Mme. the Countess, nee Gotrox—But the more I allow him the shorter he comes. The Reason. Newly Married—My mother-in-law ia coming to visit us for a month. Friend—You don't seem very sorry. Newly Married—No; she can cook. The Difficulty. • ''You say you can spell his name, and yet you don't know it. How is that?" "Well, you see, his name 'Isjelther Smith, Jones or Brown; I don't know, which." c The Secret Out. "What is the secret of Fanny Jinki* wonderful social : success abroad? I hear that earls, dukes, lords and princes are literally falling over each, other to propose to her." ' "She gave it out that she was the daughter of a police captain.' 1 A Frost. • ... The peer proposed (the debutant 1 Had wealth and he had blood) But found his hopes the next instant' were all nipped in, the bud. I No Doubt of :It, Smith—I see where a Khode Island man has successfully experimented with an air ship. What do you think of'it? Jones—Rhode Island, eh? Hum, well, I call that flying in the face of Providence. Had Him There, ©Id Man Gradley (testily)—Confound your impudence, sir. I've forgotten, more than you'll ever learn. Tom Larkey (cheekily)—That may; be, old man, but I know more than you can remember. > Why 1$ Was. Editor—Smith, what do you mean by; saying that De Smudge was the Jadies' 1 lion at the reception la,st night?, I was there and did not see a single woman near him. ""* > Society Reporter—Of course not; ladies are afraid of lions. A Protest. , , .',' Uncle Mose-^-JJab I <3e right to be, * tried by a jury of ma peers? justice—Q£ course you have,, ' .v j Uncle Mose—Weil, dere h&iR't a mm, of dose twpjbe <Jat hain't Jps- *cM fi k.u,ns in de jas' fo' we^ejss, to ma' «^»*»«~ < f f v<.^gra >>i ..?#" • ; 'li Easy Attsrr HUls-po you tbtaifctbat .-, ,.„, ,.„ , *> «•» w «h 'm^Awftti, >^l, r ''.'.&t ^[ >. i.'i '* • +iM ] '£<M be able Mars? --,— ^wffitftitofo^ »jn»^.iiWt* ore

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