The Exeter Advocate, 1896-7-9, Page 6,..41•Mo•••
LIFTED BY LOVE;
Or, How the Wharf Waif
Became a Princess.
l'OBLISUEDBZ seemer, fs,an.A.NOEILENT.
(comets uane)
We passed under the bridge, snorting
as the, funnel was lowered, and then as
the smoke blew away something seemed
to smite my heart, like the blow of a
great hammer, for, looking back, I saw
the blinds a all the windows drawn
down.
"Great heaven, Tares is dead!" That
was my first thought, and then, divin-
ing the truth, I said to myself, "The
czar has conquered,"
But this end. of all happiness was too
terrible to be accepted while any spark
of doubt remained, and I tried to cheat
myself with hopes—as if mere belief
could alter the course of inevitable fate.
or hope undo what was done. I tried to
explain the drawn blinds by supposing
a less dreadful calamity. Poor old
Mere Lucas was gone.
"Yes, yes." I said to myself, grasping
at this possibility, "Mere Lucas is dead,
spoor soul!"
Leaving, the boat at Vauxhall pier, I
burried along Millbank, repeating this
phrase again and again like a charm;
and °roams: Lambeth bridge drew near
the old house. still striving to believe
that my eyes had deceived me, yet faint
with dread.
I could go no farther than the corner
opposite the house. Its aspect of deso.
latiou paralyzed my limbs and forced
ene to cling to the wall for support.
'There was no sign of life in it. The
shutters of the living room were closed;
the blinds of the windows above drawn
he bulbs Tares gave me to plant in the
boxes on nay window sills the last week
I was with him had flowered and faded.
The withered blooms hung over the
edge. Even the foliage had drooped for
want of attention. At the corner of
Perry street one of the carmen from the
pottery was packing jars in his van.
Heedless of the risk 1 ran—for there
seemed no longer any need of disguise—
tottered across the road, and in a voice
made weak and tremulous by emotion I
asked him if he could tell nae where
Mme. Lucas lived.
"Mine. Lucas," he responded careless-
ly, still packing away the jars. "Oh,
she's gone away. She used to live in
the house down there as is shut up now.
She's been gone ever since Christmas."
"Dos—does any one else live there
now?" I faltered.
Look here, missis," he added,
straightening himself aud scratching
Ids head, "you're upset my counting
along with your Questions. Here, Bill
Wright," he called to a young man who
was arranging more jars against the
wall, "here's a party wants to know
something about Mme. Lucas."
"I only wanted to know where I could
find her," I said timidly.
"She's living now down in Surrey
along with Mr. Tares," said William
'Wright.
"He is not dead?" I gasped.
`.1 haven't heard of his dying, mum,
though I know he was very bat before
I.ie left."
My heart leaped at this. Oh, if Tares
were only ill there was yet hope!
"Can you tell me where I can find
him—elme. Lucas, I mean?"
"I know it's Woking way where they
live now, Betterford I think's the name
of the place, but I can't be sure."
"Here," said the carman, "ran round
to the hoffice, old lady, and ask for Mr.
/Kavanagh. He knows. Hand. us up
them quarts, Bill."
At that name I recognized the rash-
ness of my folly, albeit neither the car
-
=an nor William Wright had seen
through my disguise—the reckless mad-
ness into which my fear had led me.
Nevertheless within an hour I was on
xny way to Betterford.
CHAPTER XL.
A STRANGE DXSCO VERY.
It was dark when I reached Wolfing.
'The ticket collector at the station told
sme that I had to go three good miles.
He had heard there were new people at
iietterford Grangebut didn't know
their names, though he was -told thev
'were foreigners. The Grange was this
side of the village and the first house
after passing the "Wheatsheaf," which
was about half way, and I couldn't miss
it, as it stood just on the edge of the
,nommon as you come through the fir
woods. With this information I left
him, and following his direction came
at last upon the open common, and
there, standing back from the road, was
the Grange—its twisted chimneys and
xe.anv gables thrown into relief by a
•background of moonlit cloud.
The front faced the common. Look-
ing through the iron gates up the yew
sbordered carriage drive 1 saw a light on
the lower floor. I felt that Tares was
there. Clinging to the bars of the gate,
I gazed at the light with such joy as I
, think they must feel who reach a shrine
after long and weary pilgrimage.
I gave myself up to sentiment and
suffered my emotions to have unre-
strained. play. Solitude, the stillness of
the night, the slowly creeping clouds
that mounted the heavens, the feeling
of unattained and yet unattainable hap-
aainess—all conduced to this devotional
ecstacy, Tares was playing the viola
in that room. A low, sad sound reached
may ear. It might have been celestial
music, it was so pathetically beautiful.
' I listened in tame, not knowing that
Tares played, and the sound rose like a
ory of despair, filling my heart with
such woe that I could bear it no longer
and turned away.
I found lodging that night at the
'"Wheatsheaf.' Early in the morning I
left the inn to return to London.
"It's a little better than two miles to
the station." said the landlord, "but you
Teal catch the up tram nicely if you
step out a bit brisklike.
Anxious now to get back and learn
the result of the solicitor's application
to Mr. Lazarus, I ran, as soon as I
turned the bend of the road, that I
might not miss the train. But presently
the sound of wheels behind obliged me
to change my pace to one more in keep-
ing with the character of a gray -headed
woman. The sound drew nearer and
neater; a couple of shaggy dogs raced
by me, and then, as I turned my head,
the carriage rattled past. It was an
'open carriage; a gentleman and a young
lady sat on the back seat. She was ou
the further side, and speaking to him ;
her face was toward me, hie inclined
!toward her in a listening attitude. They
' did not notice me— the smile on their
faces was unchanged—but at the sight
of them I stopped as if lightning from
the lagAve4s had Pilot clowu tuld.,atrucl;
me, for in that omentary glance I
recognized them lac a. He was Tares—
she Judith! I st od bya roadside
watching the receding carriage in blank
dismay, till the curve of the road hid it
from my sight.
What did it mean? I asked myself in
a frenzy of jealous terror. Why was
Judith by his side, smiling in his face?
Had she taken my place, having lost
Gordon? Had Tares given up all ex-
pectation of myreturn and, made her
mi
his co
panion n my stead? Had he
gone still further than that aid made
Dher his wife? That was the more pro-
4tbab1e supposition. Judith was not
It homeless, friendless waif, to whom
such & position could be given as the
sole escape from destruction. With the
conventional views of her class, she
would consent to live under his roof
only as his wife. Where were they go-
ing now in that carriage? To the sta-
tion undoubtedly, and thence to Lon-
don. I might see him again at the sta-
tion if I hurried. But I did not stir
from the spot. The thought of seeing
him again with her cut my heart like a
sharp knife, I felt it would. be better
for me if I never saw him again. Better
for him too.
Suddenly it occurred to me that if Ta-
res and Judith were gone to London
Mere Lucas would be alone. I might
call upon her and make enquiries, tak-
ing care to conceal my identity and my
purpose in case there might yet be ne-
cessity for concealment.
The iron gates were unfastened. I
passed through and walked up the broad
path to the house. There was no need
to assume the infirmity of age --my steps
faltered with quaking fear; my failing
courage gave me scarcely the strength
to ring the bell when I reached the
house. Through the glazed doors I saw
Mere Lucas coming across the hall in
reponse to my feeble summons with
ponderous step, her white cap with
the strings tied in a broad bow under
her double chin first catching my eye
She opened the door and greeted me
with a serious inclination of the head,
her full lips pursed rip and a slight ex-
pression of mistrust upon her face as
she took in my shrinking attitude and
shabby appearance.
My back was to the light. She could
not recognize me, and it was only na-
tural that she should receive me in that
manner, but the strangeness of it fright-
ened me—I was so used to think of her
beaming with kindness and genial
warmth. Everything had changed so
in these past few months that a return
to the happy conditions of old seemed.
impossible.
I tried to recollect the phrases I had
rehearsed for the occasion corning
along, but my memory played in false,
and after staminering a few incoherent
words in French and English I aban-
doned the attempt to disguise myself in
desperation and cried in a broken
voice:
"Oh, Mere Lucas, don't you remem-
ber me?"
She started—her lips fell—she turned
me quickly to the light and exclaimed:
"Mon Dieu! It has come to this.
You have returned?"
For a minute astonishment bewilder-
ed her; the muscles of her face were
agitated by conflicting emotions; then,
recovering' her Self possession. she com-
posed her features and with severe gra-
vity told me that monsieur was not at
home.
el know he is not," I said. "I have
seen him. He passed. me in the road. I
did not speak to him. I did not wish
him to know me."
"One can tmderstand that," she re-
plied significantly. "Has madame come
to speak to me?"
"Yes, yes, Mere Lucas," I faltered pit-
eously.
Her coolness and formality perplexed
me. I could not understand why she
called me madam, now that I had.
revealed myself. My embarrassment
touched the good old woman, and she
broke the painful silence.
"Monsieur is quite well?" she asked,
with hesitation in her voice.
"Monsieur?" I echoed interrogatively.
"M. Gordon."
"Yes, but it is a long time since I left
him, and I have traveled a long, long
way to come here, and I find everything
changed and altered, and—and---" im-
pulsively giving way to my feelings, I
sobbed—''and I am wretched. and un-
happy."
I rose and went toward her, and she,
springing up, broke through the barrier
of reserve and clasped me in her arms,
shedding tears of affectionate sympathy.
"Ala, ray poor dear," she whimpered,
we are wretched and unhappy, all of us,
and this is no time to bear grudges, one
against the other. My heart melted the
moment you told me who you were, for
I know how cruelly you must have
suffered to come down to this. But I
felt that I ought not to forgive you all
at once for deceiving us as you did, and
look you it seemed as if you had no
feeling for any of us not to send one
word to us in our trouble. No matter.
That is all past, and we will forget it as
best we can. There, there," said she,
drawing me down on a chair close by her
side and nursing my hand on her knee,
"we are friends again, but you must
not expect me to feel just the same
toward you as if nothing had happened."
Then, still surveying me with pitying
astonishment, she said, "And is it true,
my poor soul, that your hair has turned
gray through all these hardships?"
"No—that is false hair. I don't want
anyone to know me."
"No, no, of course not."
"I didn't intend to let you know me,
but I could not hely it."
"I promise you I will tell no one. No
one shall hear a word. of this from me,
no, not even my poor master, and for a
very good reason—it would break his
heart to know that his little friend as he
used to call you, had come down so low.
What a wreck! What a, ruin ! And to
think that I am to blame for it all!"
"Certainly. Didn't I do all in my
power to throw you. together? Did I
ever let him go up to see M. Tares before
he had gone into the front room to pay
his respects tie you.? Didn't I flatter
myself from the very first that he would
make you his wife in the end?"
'Se, who?" I asked in bewilderment.
"Why, that M. Gordon to be sure.
Whom else could I mean?"
I saw at last what was in Mere Lucas'
mind, and tha discovery took my breath
away.
"And. does Tares believe also that we
eloped in that way—Mr. Gordon and I?"
Mere Lucas shrugged her shoulders,
spread out her hands, subdued an in-
voluntary chuckle that shook her abun-
dant pereon, and then, with becoming
gravity, replied:
"Mon Dieu! what else could he be-
lieve?"
"Tares thinks I left laim to do that?"
netnennereUnpreeduleusly,
I fancy Mere Lucas thought I was '
now going a little too far, for she said
in a tone of expostulation:
"Be reasonable, now it's all over,
madame. You must not expect too
much. To be sure, ray dear master has
never uttered a 'word that betrayed the
slightest suspicion of your fault, but
what could he think? You and M.
Gordon disappear the same evening
without leaving a word behind you, and
all that we ever heard of you afterward
is that M. Gordon lrew all his money
out if the bank the ty after your flight.
For a week before he came to See you
every day, and your behaviour was so
odd as even to perplex me. You go out
together one evening, and the next day
you are so ill that anyone gould see
something serious had. happened—that
some final arrangement had been made
and some great event was about to take;
place. Come, come, madam! And how
can one doubt what has happened when
everything is done so secretly, and no I
word of excuse or pretense is sent to'
give things a respectable appearance
afterward., look you?"
CHAPTER XLL
PAST EVENTS.
I should certainly have blurted out
the whole truth to clear myself and.
Gordon from this monstrous impute- '
tion, but that while I was pausing for
the words to come Mere Lucas said:
"One may live to be 60 and yet be no
wiser for it, look you. An old wonaan
naay mistake the good for the bad and
the badfor the good like an inexperienced
child. Lood, for example, how shamej
fully I misjudged that good. M. Kava-
nagh."
Again that name brought me to my.
senses.
"Do you see Mr. Kavanagh often?" I
asked.
"Oh, there's not a week Passes but he
comes down to spend a day or two with
us. I don't know what we should do
without him in our misfortune."
I looked aroud, at a loss to know what
misfortuue she alluded to.
"It seems very pleasant here," I ven-
tured to observe.
"Pleasant is not the word for it, my
dear, it's a paradise," she said in & most
melancholy tone, "I should like you to
see the rooms. They are beautiful, and
it is no trouble to keep them nice, for
here there is no dust, no smoke, no
einuts, and the linen keeps its oolor and
does not need washing every day. And
the garden! it is a real picture already
with spring flowers. And there' are
birds an every bush. That is one of the
reasons why 11,1. Kavanagh bought it,"
"Mr. Kavanagh bought it?" I said in
perplexity.
• 'He bought it for my poor master, be-
cause, look you"—the old woman
paused, her thick lips quivered, and she
Put her apron to her eyes and sobbed—
"because he said he must go where he
could hear the birds."
I was touched by the old wonean's
grief, though still at a loss to under-
stand the cause of it.
"And there's a kitchen garden," she
pursued somewhat inconsequently.
"The young radishes are ready for the
table, To look at them gives one an ap-
petite." ,
She dzied her eyes, but in the same
mournful voice continued:
"A poultry yard, too, and the fowls
are laying more eggs than I know what
to do with—delicious eggs, with white
like a curd. You saw the carriage?"
eyes. )1
`M. Kavanagh,found that for us also,
and Johnson, the driver, a most oblig-
ing man, who manages the garden and
is always willing to do anything for
me."
She heaved a quivering sigh and shook
her head mournfully.
"Perhaps you don't care for a country
life?" I suggested..
"Non Dieu! I would never leave it
for an hour if 1 could help it.
"Do you find the house too large? is
there more than you can do?"
"Nota bit. The house is large, to be
sure, but we only occupy part of it yet
awhile. M. Kavanagh said we must
have plenty of rooms for friends when
they come to see us, but up to now the
master has not had. the wish to invite
many people here. It is enough for him
to see M. Kavanagh now and thernand
to have Miss Judith to walk with him
and to tap the piano in the evening."
"Miss Judith!" They were not mar-
ried then. But my jealousy leaped into
flame again as I learned that Tares was
satisfied with her society alone, and an
envious pang shot through me to know
that she had found a means of pleasing
him that was beyond me.
"Does she play well?" I asked hoarse-
ly.
Mere Lucas' lip twitched again.
"I can't tell you," she said. "When
they begin to play music, I go up to my
room. It is more than I can bear."
"Is she always here?" I asked.
"She has been here ever since
Christmas, and that was all through M.
Kavanagh, for, you see, she was a gov-
erness at his sister's, and he persuaded
her to let Miss Judith come, seeine4'that
the master could not do without some
one. She has gone up to London to-
day."
"I saw her."
"There are pigeons, too," More Lucas
proceeded after a moment's somber re-
flection. "I heard the young one
squeaking up in the hayloft a week ago.
I must ask Mr. Johnson to fetch them
down for me when they're big enough
for the spit. Yes, there is everything the
imagination can desire here; but, mon
Dieu. what are all these things worth if
one hasn't the heart to enjoy them?"
"But," I urged in perplexity, "why
haven't you the heart?"
"Because it is living --because it has
feeling in it," she replied fiercely.
Then, seeing by my face that it was not
want of feeling that made me dull, she
said.:
"You know what has happened to the
master?"
"I know nothing. I came here to
learn what hat passed since I went
away."
'You saw him this morning?"
"For anaoment. He was smiling, I
thought"
"What my poor dear! You have
heard nothing? It was in the papers."
"I have not seen any papers. I have
been—a long way from England."
`Forgive me,she said eannestly, tak-
ing. both my hands and looking with
pity it" my face, "forgive nae. I thought
you must know, and that your heart
had grown selfish, benumbed with its
own pain. Oh, my dear friend, if it is
still sensible to the misfortunes of
others, you have a terrible grief to bear.
From my soul I pity you
"Tell me all I entreated.
"Mon Dieu! You shake like a leaf
What ca,n I say to give yon courage?
How can I heeler?"
"Tell me all," I repeated. "Begin
from the day I went away."
"Our troubles began then, to be sure.
CONTliviTrn
PIERRE AND JEANNE.
A Story of Devoted Friendship Between a
Cat and a Bird.
Some time ago, in a quiet little corner
way down on Rue Royale, X chanced,
upon a queer little Creole creature, whom
the neighbors call "Mamizelle." If there
was ever any name attached, it must
have been in prehistoric times, for now
there is not even a sign upon the door of
the little balm shop where Matnizelle sells
bread and cakes to the neighborhood.
Very good bread and cakes they are, too,
as I can testify, for recently I have 'found.
Mainizelle's cosy shop a. very comforta-
bla resting piers after a morning's tramp
in quest of -news. In this way 1 have
come to be pretty well acquainted with
Manfzelle and Pierre, the cat, and
Jeanne, the bird.
Pierre is a handsome black and white
follow, with a noble head, and he and
the little canary, Jeanne, 'were about the
same age Mamizelle told me jia her
pretty patois how devoted the two pets
were to each ether, and I myself saw fre-
quent evidense of their kindly relation-
ship. In a quiet corner of the little shop
I have seen Pierre and Jeanne taking
their breakfast together, from the same
plate, and by and by, when the cat
would be dozing in the sunshine, the
bird would bop about him, or cuddle up
seug and comfortable between his out-
stretehed paws. When Manezelle was
busy so that she could not keep an eye on
the little bird's safety she weealcl swing
the cage in the donrway, while Pierre
would strotnh himself on the floor be-
neath, keeping guard over his friend.
And woe betide the stray cat that wan-
dered that way. Pierre was always on
the alert for squalls, and if the cat came
too near to suit him he would seed
Jeanne hustling into her cage while he
chased the offending feline off the street.
Just this very thine happened yester-
day for the thousandth time, probably,
but for the first time on record grief fol-
lowed the move. Pierre and Jeanne were
taking their usual monde,"''game in the
sunshine of the little shopdoor, when a
big brindled stranger appeared on the ban-
quet without. Straight as a die, .Teanee
was in her oage and Pierre had gone in
hot pursuit of the brindle. The chase was
a hard. one'bl
and. amizelle says Pierre
must have
been gone a long time, but
she was busy serving customers, and by
and by noticed Jeanne heppinetVzout the
counter. Thinking, of ci-nirse,that Pierre
had returned she took no blether notice
of the bird. A little later, however,
hearing a dreadful commotion out on
the banquet she ran out to witness the
sad. little tragedy which I, too, arrived
just in time see, but too late to pre-
vent. Taking advantage of Pierre's pre;
tracted absence an ugly tortoise -shell
from the next block strolled up. to the
little shop in search of Jeanne. Finding
her out hopping about and. unprotected
he began siege at once, no doubt.
Alarnizelle and I arrived just in time ti
see the tortoise -shell pdtmce on poor
Jeanne as she sat perched on the top of
the swinging cage and bear her with him
to the pavement. Before either of us
could interpose the deed was done and
then in a moment there came Pierre
rushing round the corner, and as quick
as a flash he had taken in the situation.
With one fierce breed he sprang upon
the tortoise -shell and. swept poor Jeanne
from his clutches. For a brief moment
he sat guarding, her,
but that moment
was long enough to tell him that he was
too late.
Then letting Mainizelle take the little
corpse from under his paw he swooped
down upon the tortoise-sholl. It was
only for a little while, bet when the bat-
tle was over both cats lay dead on the
pavement. Pierre had laid down hie life
to avenge Jeanne's death, and thegittle
Mamizelle mourns both her pets.
One Leg, a Crutch and a Wheel.
Everybody who happened to be on
Madison avenue in the vicinity of
Twenty-ninth street Monday morning
viewed with undisguised interest and
amusement a bicyclist who was spinning
down the avenue at a lively rate. The
wheelman had only one leg, but he was
riding with all the assurance and ease of
an expert, and he evidently could have
"scorched" had he so desired. Be had
on a tasteful, quiet bicycling suit, and
his one leg was neatly encased in half a
pair of knickerbockers. Across the han-
dle bars of tile wheel lay a crutch. , At
Twenty-sixth street he alighted easily and
gracefully, leaned his wheel against the
,curbing, adjusted his crutch and hobbled
intota cafe. When he came out the peo-
ple who had seen him dismount had
gathered in a little crowd in the interest
of science to see him mount his wheel
again. It was a very simple perform-
ance. He gave a glance of mingled amuse
anent and triumph at the crowd, put his
Loot on the step of his machine, grasped
the left handle bar firmly with one hand,
gave a vigorous push with his crutch and
glided easily away. "That's easy," he
shouted back over his shoulder to the
crowd.
The people looked at each other in
astonishment. "Well! well!" said the fat
man who had been one of the most in-
terested observers, "the cripple may
throw his crutches to the winds. That
eoheme discounts a wooden leg."—New
York Tribune.
A Garden Barometer.
One of the simplest of barometers is a
spider's web. When there is a prospect of
rain or wind, the spider shortens the
filaments from which its web is sus-
pended, and leaves things in this state
as long as the weather is variable. If the
insect elongates its threads, it is a sign
of fine calm weather, the duration of
which may be judged of by the length to
which the threads are let out. If the
spider remains inactive, it is a 'sign of
rain; but if, on the contrary, it keeps at
work during a rain, the latter will not
last long, and will be followed by fine
weather. Other observations have taught
that the spider makes changes in its web
every twenty-four hours, and that, if
such changes are naade 131 the evening,
just before sunset, thenight will be clear
and beautiful.
To Prevent Brass Tarnishing.
To prevent brass from tarnishing after
polishing with any good paste, apply a
soliition of a quarter of an ounce of shel.
lac to quarter of a pint qf methylated
spirit Set in a glass bottle and cork.
Pour off the clear fluid and apply to the
brass with a camel -hare brush. Before
doing this heat the brass, if possible,
and again after painting over with var-
THL G7i\RDE-1\1
GOOD INSECTICIDE,
-Directions for the Use of Tobacco Dust for
toes tilt au VII Xnsoot.
A reader asks me whether tobanco
dust should .be applied to vines when
they are wet with dew or when they are
dry. This moves 'De to say that the to-
becoo dust or the bone meal, or the mix -
Imre of both, is not intended as a coatiug
for the leaves, which would make them
Poiaonous or unpalatable, but as a cov-
ering for the soil, that will make the at-
mosphere very uncomfortable for all in -
seats and worms. I like to have the ma-
terial remain dry and dusty as long as
possible.. In that .ease it has a more thor-
ough effect on bugs and beetles that have
hard shells. The wet tobacco, or tobacco
tea, or even the fumes of wet tobacco,
are very unwholesome to the soft -bodied
insects,worms, eta. I find that cucumber
beetles do not like to work • in dust, and
least of all in toliaaay dust When I put
this latter Inch deep around 'melon or
cucumber plants, the yellow -striped
beetle promptly takes its departure and
will stay away as long as the tobacoo
remains dusty or as long as it gives off a
stronet'tobaceo smell.
tetzne repeat, too, that this same
waste material is one of our best and
eheapest general insecticides. We can use
It both under glass and in open air.
By all means keep a good supply of it
on bent Possibly you can get sweepings
from a near cigar factory, or you may
buy the material by the barrel at about
$2.50 or three dollars. It will last you
for years and help you to keep the prem-
ises clear of the various pests thet prey
upon your crops and animals. 11 you
scatter tobacco dust by hand or with bel-
lows, over your rows of peas, just at
nightfall you can kill the slugs that are
so often eating all the lower foliage off
and greatly damage the crop. Or it you
dust it ha the same way over your cur-
rant and gooseberry bushes when in-
fested with worms, you will quickly see
the worms disappear. In the same way
you can quickly kill all the leaf -eating
worms and slugs on your tree, and
bushes everywhere. The tent caterpillar
and the fall web -worm, and all other
caterpillars on trees and plants, give up
the ghost within a few minutes after
corning in contact with tobacco dust.
And besides all this, tobacco dust is
worth about what it costs as a fertilizer.
We can also control, in ' a 'Demure, at
least, the most up.manageable pests of
our gardens, namely, the flea beetle and
the cabbage maggot. But in order to
make thorough work, in ridding the
plants of these pests, We have to be very
liberal In the use of tobaco dust. For
instance, if we throw a good, big hand-
ful into the heart of the cabbage plant
or eaulifinwer plant, or on a choice seed-
ling potato, we may be quite sure that
the flea beetles will leave, for a time at
least, and if we apply the same quantity
to the stem of a cabbage or cauliflower
plant, we may be sure the :maggots will
not tigerish there for awhile,—Practical
Farmer.
INSECT DESTRUCTION.
In Russia a patent may be taken out,at
the pleasure of the patentee, for three,
now. fravr nan 1 *often tha hiavire I
A. Simple Device Which Will Prevent It
Most Eftectually.
Gardeners aro often pestered by small
inserts eating young plants. To prevent
the destruction nail two half -hoops to-
gether at the center and sharpen the
ends. Press the end into the ground over
the plants and throw over them cotton
mosquito netting or cheese eloth. The
edges may he held down by drawing dirt
on them. Sueh protection is better than
boxes, as it lets in air and sunlight. The
frames can be kept for use from year to
year.—Farm and Home.
ONION SETS.
How to Raise the Little Onions One Gets
for Seed In the Spring.
The Rural New Yorker says that in
order to get onion sets the gardeners sow
blank onion seed early in the summer,
either buoadcast or in rows, and so thick
that the onions have no room to grow
large.
Gather the little bulbs in the fall,
leaving the outer husk undisturbed, and
keep in a dry place. A woman who was
particularly successful in raising onion
sets for naarket always kept them where
they froze in the winter, but under no
consideration would she allow them to
be disturbed until thawed out lest ib
shonld set them to rotting. I dare say
freezing was no advantage, but ;tate this
to show that under the restriction indi-
cated it was seemingly not a disadvan-
tage, When the weather became warm
she rubbed off the loose, dry outer cov-
ering, and her onion sets were bright
and ready for market. There are two
other ways of growing onions save direct
from seed. The potato onion grows'in
clusters under the ground. These little
bulbi are planted in spring to produce
large onions; the large onions are planted
the next spring and form the little
dusters. The top 0111011, Egpytian or
perennial tree onion, produces, instead
of ordinary seed, clusters of little onions
on top of the stem. These may be
planted in spring like (mien sets. The
old root is a perennial, and besides in-
creasing by top onions, also sends out
new bulblets at the root. A bed of this
species, once established will remain
year after year, furnishing onions for the
table earlier tau any other kind.
What the Bridegtoom Pays.
There seems to be a treat deal of un-
certainty existing as to the pecuniary
part which a bridegroom takes in his
ownwedding. At a recent very swell
affair the two young people about to be
united in the holy bonds of wedlock sat
down deliberately and totaled up the en-
tire expenses of the wedding—they
amounted to a large sum, to be sure—
and then divided thenevenly between
the two men—the father and the groom.
In point of fact, and as a matter of good
taste, he should pay only for the carriage
• which takes the bridal couple from the
church and to the station, with all the
fees incidental to a church wedding and
the gifts of flowers and jewelry to the
ushers and bridesmaids. This ought to
be his sole money outlay, besides his
present to the bride herself. His expenses
come afterward.
DEVICES FOR PRUNIN3.
'Three Contriyance$ Which Savo Much
bee tied Annoyance, '
Numerous have been the inventions
for enabling a person to steed upon the
ground and pi -ane 'small 'branches from
tile tops of trees, or from other situa-•
thins out of rowel, , Same of these ma-,
chines work.fairly well when the braneh
is srnall and easily cut off, but they fail,
more or less in the case of more serious
Pruning. A simple device is shown in,
the engraving that is easily made at
home, and that will do good work, even
if the branch to be cut is 0103 large. It
is a square or round polo of any desired
length, of hard wood, with a narrow,:
;sharp little saw fitted into one end. of it.,
Such a saw can be made out of a thin
strip of steel, or a piece of an old narrow
saw can be utilized. The other saw fig-
ured is an ordinary handsaw, with a
portion of the back cut out, to permit
easy working where the space for using
a saw is limited. No one will realize un-
til he uses a saw how much of a conven-
ience it is in this shape. The other device
Is for use in cutting out blackberry and
raspberry canes. A thin bit a steel, or a
scythe point bent into the proper shape
by a bled:smith, is firmly fastened to a
short wooden handle. With a stout buck-
skin or calfskin glove, or mitten, upon
the left hand and this implement in the
right, one is well equipped to rapidly
remove till undesirable canes from the
hlaeltherry and raspberry rows.—Orange
Judd Farmer, „„sal
GREEN PEAS.
The Season for This Delicious Vegetable
Can be Extended.
Most persons who have a family gar-
den have already sowed' one or more
varieties of peas for home use. Everyone
who has tried the experiment knows
Shat the green peas generally sold in the
market and by grocers are tasteless and
tough as compared with the peas raised
in the family garden, which are picked
as needed and do not have time to wilt
and become tough. The market verde=
sows the small, earliest sorts, which are
soon out of the way, enabling him to
plant encumbers for pickles, or other
late crop,while in the home garden the
larger and wrinkled sorts are planted,
which do not ripen all at once, but give
a succession where several varieties are
planted. These wrinkled peas are very
sweet aud tender, but do not yield as
large orops as the common smooth mar-
rowfats and Philadelphia peas of the
market gardens. Quantity, earliness and
rapidity of maturing, rather than qual-
ity, govern the market gardeners in their
selection of varieties of green peas. When
once one has eaten a mess of Champion
of England or Stratagem peas, he will
never buy the ordinary green peas sold in
the markets.
The season for this delicious vegetable
can be extended much later than usual
if one is willing to take a little trouble.
Plant a row or two of Champion of Eng-
land peas about the middle of May, and
as many more the last week in May.
Those need to be planted deeper than is
necessary in early -spring planting, as
the roots of peas must be kept cool
or they will not do se well. In August
and early .September plant a few rows of
the Little Geri. These must also be
planted deeply for the same reason. If
the autumn is not too hot, these dwarf
peas will bear a fair crop, with little
loss from mildew of the leaves, which is
thu groat trouble with peas in hot
weather. The tittle Gem is a wrinkled
pea of excellent flavor, and grows very
quickly, maturing a crop before frost,
even when planted as late as September
1st. It is well worth the little trouble
necessary to have delicious green peas
on the table all through the season.
Horticultural Rotes,
Since a plant cannot move about in
search of nourishment it follosvs that.
the best food and drink should bo placed
within its reach, ready at all times for
its use.
Put good strong stakes to the holly-
hocks, give them plenty of water when
necessary, and continue as long as there
is a vestige of disease, Fresh lime and
sulphur, mixed together in about equal,
proportions, is efficacious in arresting its
progress. Hydrangeas inay be fed with
liquid manure until the flowers appear.
The varied diet the garden affords is
just such as promotes the best of health
and furnishes the really, essential ele-
ments necessary for growing children.
The tables of the wealthy in cities and
towns are always well supplied with the
luxuries of the season, which are the ear-
liest and best vegetables. The farmer
feeds all, it is said. Then why not have
the home table supplied with the real
health-prornoting luxuries? The wise
farmer 'now studies how to keep the gar-
den occupied with some kind of a crop
the entire growing season. The early
cabbage row will have lettuce in between
the heads ID the same row. The lettuce
is gone time enough to give the proper
late cultivation, and does not in the
least interfere with the first working of
the cabbages. Early radishes may be
raised instead of lettuce in the same
place. Celery can follow on tho ground
Of the early peas. Many kinds of beans
can also be planted on the ground that
has been used fpr early peas. Cucumber
for piokles can follow several early crops
of different things, as they need not be
planted until the first of July. A little
study will show how much may bo raised
on a rnedinm-sized garden by this method
of double cropping.
A great deal of the weediness of gar-
dens comes from the ground being re-
seeded each fall. The hest Way to prevent
this is to plow the garden so soon as the
crops of, vegetables are off, and sow some
ryo. tri cover the land during winter. It
is well to add some crimson clover after
the rye is sown. It will make some
growth this fall. and even if killed by.
the winter,it will make the soil richer,
and increase the rye growth in the
spring. , The weeds will also start in, the
spring before the time for plowing
conies. It is a good plan to change the
garden. spot every few years, as this
makes it possible to clear out the weeds
and renovatethe soil by a growth of
clover. •
Dropped 'With a Dull Thud.
"And are you really the gentleman
who writes those funny things for the
snorning papers?" asked the ingenuous
girl.
"I am," admitted the humorist, with
asmuch modesty as he could command.
"There is one thing I would like to
know. What makes you put the name of
some other paper after the very funniest
ones?"—Cincinnati Enquirer.
; eveti—iee —.ea; ena.""r'''''.ireete:!1
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