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The Exeter Advocate, 1896-12-17, Page 6A Dark Nights Wort By Paul Ingelow. (Otatetlt;UED.) In all this struggle, his noble helpmate bad been au aid, a com'orter, an adc•iaer, a kindred spirit, Perhaps the happiness she had brought to hint warmed his heart with noble, generous sympathy for, those leas fortunate, whom he endeavored to place upon a like basis of ,right•doing and earnest adherence to the principles of success In life. She, like himself, was an artist, and with her critia.l taste to aid him, and the molding of the mind of Its assistant, Maud Gordon, the atmos- phere ,of his neat, beautiful studio was one of high art, rather than professional labor. "With the morrow the old life of work, esoomponse, happiness"' mur muted Le Britta; and his eyes closing in a muse of peaceful contemplation, he slumbered before he was aware of the insidious approaoh of the drowsy god. It was nearly dusk when he awoke with a start. Something had aroused him with a shook. Re sprang to hie feet excitedly. "What was it!" he ejaculated,alarmed. "Some one cried for help. There it is againl" He ran to the door leading out upon the porch. As he gained it, in accents of the wildest terror, through the gloomy, silent horse rang out the wild frantic tones of Gladys Vernon:— "Help ernon:"Help I help I help!" Yes, something had happened. In a flash, Jera Le Britta, with a vivid memory of Durand, the tramp, of the exciting incidents of the eurly afternoon, felt certain, But what? Ho was soon to know! Something had, indeed, happened! something strangely exciting, distressing, tragic; and that terrified shriek, repeated, announced the fact. "Help! help! help!" CHAPTER VIL—A TRAGIC HOUR. When Tera Le Britta and Gladys left Mr. Vernon to the solitude of the sick room, the latter sank back in his chair with a weary sigh. It was true that a great care had been removed from his mind by the settle- ment of the lustier of the will, bat his eyes were still haunted with worrying dread, and the shuddered every time ne thought of the man so feared—Ralph Durand. "I have blocked his game 'in one way —he can never become Gladys' guardian, nor secure the control of my estate now," reflected the invalid; "but he will doubtless attempt to persecute me in the matter of the old family secret. He is a desperate pian and will try to black- mail me, to sell me the secret. Well, money can silence his lips. Then I shall know some peace again. Ah! if I were not so weak. For Gladys' sake I would like to live. This new friend, Le Britta— his coming has been a rare blessing to us," Vernon's mind became gradually quieted down, as he realized that he had a stanch, strong defender so near to him, and he dozed lightly. It was just getting dusk, andhe was about to tap the little silver bell at his hand, the customary signal for hie faith- ful. nurse, Gladys, when he started, and with quickening breath, fixed his eyes upon the window. The curtains had moved aside and a villainous face peered in. It was instantly withdrawn, however, as Vernon barely suppressed a startled, agitated cry. "Durand!" gasped the affrighted invalid. "He still haunt; the place. The will? No. That is safe with Gladys, but the money box? Can that be his an otive?" With infinite difficulty the invalid lifted himself to an upright position. He managed to drag the little medicine chest nearer to him. Then, with trembling fingers, he selected a bottle from the many that the ,;ase contained, and, by the dim light reading the inscription that it bore, he lifted it to his lips and drained its contents. "The deotor gave me that as a final exigency." he murmured. "I demanded a draught that would revive and give me strength ae a last vital emergency. The reaction may be fatal, but I have work. to do. Ralph Durand shall not prosper in his villainy. I will balk his every design." Already the power: ui potion had began its inspiriting work. The invalid seemed to become a new man all of at sudden. The magical draught brought the color to his face, made hie eyes sparkle, en- dowed him with remarkable strength. He arose from his chair, tottered to the cabinet in one corner of the apartment, unlocked it, drew forth a somber -looking metal box, and, clasping this tightly under his arm, he parted the , draperies at one end of the room, and disappeared, with a last apprehensive glance at the 'window, where the sinister face of the plotter he so dreaded had appeared a moment, or two previous. One minute passed by—two—three. Then; gasping, tottering, white-faced Gideon Vernon re-entered the room, stag- gered to his cheer, sank into it exhausted, but the precious box of treasure was no longer in his possession. "Safe!" he alenost ehut:kled. "A barren welcome will the sordid Durand secure from his sneaking visit to the villa. What is that?" The shadows of eventide were deepen- ing, but a broad flare of lisrht in the west outlined the window frame. A darker shadow crossed it. Assuming form and substance, the haggard, venomous featuree of Durand wore revealed. This time he crept over the sill and gained the floor of the sick -room. The invalid, motionless, watched him. The plotter directed a keen glance at the chair and its occupant, evidently adjudged Vernon to be asleep, and cautiously approached the self -same cabinet that Vernon had denuded of its precious treasure less than five minutes before. He opened it, glared into it, felt in it. Then, a hoarse, grating cry of disappoint- ment and rage escaped his lips. "Not there!" he hissed, fiercely, "and yet I saw him put it there this very afternoon. Has all my patient watching been in. vain No! no! I must, I will. have at least that much of his miserly wealth, if I wrench the secret from his craven heart." Durand recoiled as if dealt a bli3i , aa, In mocking respells() to his vivitreolilo- quy, .a low, rasping laugh rang derisively upon his,ears. a", He stared in • 'wonderment, suet then, in baffled rage and hate at the chair, for its occupant bad moved, and 'he, caw the keen, glittering eyes of the man whose peace of mind he sought' to destroy, fixed contemptuously upon him. "You—awake?" he gasped» "Yes, Ralph Durand,' I have been watching you" spoke Vernon, in a marvelously calm tone of voice. "You are baffled, beaten!" With a cry of unutterable anger, the villain sprang to the invalld's side. "You know what I came for, Gideon Vernon!" he hissed, malignantly. "Speak! where is your treasure.bus?" "Find out!" "Be careful! I am a desperate man." "Youcannot harm me." "Can I not? I can choke the life from your body!" "And I can cry for help. What! you dare." "The box! where is it? give it up, I say, or"— "1 -lel -p!" • The word gargled in the in alid's throat. It died to a moan. Enraged beyond measure, Durand had dragged Vernon from his chair. Maadened aide shite and discomfiture, he dealt him a heavy blow, cud then, as he fan :led that ,he saw a form at the door teat led out upon the veranda, he spraag to the win- dow, leaped through it, and disappeared in the .deepening darkness of the night. A form had appeared at the door in question, the figure of a young man, it was Sydney Vance, pretty Gladys Vernon's lover. He and dome, as he told her he would in the interview in tie garden, determined on surprising Mr. Vernon alone, resolved to atone for his past coldness, ani heal the breach of enmity that existed between himself and. the uncle of the woman he loved. Fatal moment! He had not seen the fugitive Durand, but, as be advanced, he made out the gasping, writhing form on the floor of the apartment. "Mr. Vernon!" he ejaculated, alarmed and leaning over the invalid. '•You have fallen"— "No!" gasped Vernon, "Struck down —murdered—dying! I have received my death -b -ow"— ' Your death-blo•iv," repeated the petrified Sydney. "Yes! yes!" "You mean"— "Ralph Durand! Quick! after him! apprehend the assassin! There is not a moment to lose"— "Which way did ho go?" The prostrate man could not speak. A sudden rigidity seized his limbs, and he only pointed . spaemodicaily toward the open winnow, and tell back, tae hue of death in his aged face. It; wtts at that moment that the door of tho room connecting with the hall opened, and Gladys Vernon, bearing a lighted lamp, crossed its threshold. Behind her, bearing a tea-tray, came the honseseeper. Sydney saw Gladys, but, intent on following out Vernon's orders, he disappeared. A frightful scream escaped Gladys' lips as she rook in all the bewildering and terrifying scene — the prostrate uncle gasping in the agony of death on the door, her flying lover. The housekeeper, alarmed, pressed close after her. "Uncle! uncle! oh! what does this mean?" she shrieleed, as she noticed a lurid mark on his brow. "Murder—that villain," gasped Ver- non. "And he, Sydney, here!" "Yes, yes. I was struck — down. Sydney Vance—he"— The dying man meant to say that Sydney was pursuing the real assassin. Oh, fatal weakness! To the ears of the appalled housekeeper, his last incoherent utterance ascribed the crime of the mo- ment to Gladys Vernnu's lover! "Uncle, dear uncle—help! help! help! Twice -repeated, the frantic utterance rang out, for, with a heart-rending moan, just then, Gideon Vernon sank back—dead! It was this blood -curdling cry that had aroused Tera Le Britta, and he dashed into the room a minute later, to witness the most exciting tableau of all his var- ied existence. CHAPTER VIII,—DOOMED! Le Britta was too staggered to speak, as he looked down at the lifeless form of old Gideon Vernon, and surveyed the distracted Gladys 'as she folded his motionless form in her frantic clasp. The housekeeper, white as a sheet, seemed stricken dumb with terror The torn curtain at the window, the rifled cabinet, the over -turned invalid chair, the mark on the dead man's brow, the general disorder of the apartment, all spoke of crime, deadly assault, robbery, murder! Tho incoherent ravine of the frantic Gladys thrilled the startled and appalled photographer to sudden horror. She wailed out her grief at her uncle's death, vainly calling upon hint to return to life, praying for the punishment of his cruel assassin. She moaned that she had seen Sydney Vance at the window — she recalled Vernon's last dying allusion to him, and in sheer bewilderment Le Britta turned to the housekeeper. "What does she say—she saw her lover, Sydney Vance, here?"' "Yes," gasped the affrighted woman, "she saw him fly." "And Mr. Vernon"— "Accused him of murdering him." "Oh, impossible!" gasped the incredul ous Le Britte. "But murder has been done. The assassin cannot have gone far. Quick,. Mrs. Darrell! remove that distracted creature'from this room, quiet her, restrain her, or I fear for her mind. I will scour the shrubbery and summon help. Yes, he is dead," murmured La Britta in a broken tone of voice, as be gazed at the white, colorless face of Ver- non. He sprang through the window, and for half an hour threaded every maze in the garden and its vicinity. All in vain! If Sydney Vance had been there, he had mysteriously disappeared. As to Durand, whose handiwork in the crime of the hour Le Britta was quick to suspect, he had vanished as effectually as though the earth had opened and swallowed him up. He hurried to the nearest house and announced the tragedy of the hour to its startled inmates, Soon a messenger was speeding on horseback for the village, with orders to secure a physician. He arrived an hour later, as fast as breathless haste could bring hint: Neigh- bors bad crowded the house in the mean- time. Like wildfire the news spread that old Gideon Vernon had been murdered and robbed. The house was a scene of ' pipifnl commotion, but 'amid it all, feeling' the grave responsibility that rested upon him, Jere Le Britta kept his head, and tried to act calmly. Gladys, immersed in grief' and emotion, had been removed to her own room, The housekeeper had been warned by Le. Britta not to mention -what she had ;heard concerning Sydney Vance. In his own mind Le Britta had formed a rea- sonable theory ea-sonabletheory as to the crime. Its per- petrator, beyond doubt, to 'his way of thinking, was the villain Dmend. Syd- ney had come to make his peace with Vernon, had appeared in time to be snip. taken for the murderer, had certainly gone to. pursue the real assassin; but why did he not come back to the house of grief to explain it all.? The doctor pronounced Gideon Vernon beyond the reach of all earthly minis- trations, and Gladys in, ne dengerpusly hysterical condition, elle administered a soothing draught to the distracted girl, and left directiots with Le Britta to send for him if she got worse, Then ism Britra sent the housekeeper to attend to her young, mistress, and it was net until nearly midnight that he sat down in the apartment adjoining the sick room to keep his solitary watch over the dean the undertaker having arrived from the village, and prepared the body for burial the following day. It had been a hard day • for him, ani that day aid scored a moss aistressing tumivation for the. fair.. young girl he hid hoped to aid in her troubles. Tap! tap! Le Britta arose as he heard some one knock gently at the outside porch door. He opened it. A roan, roughly dressed, bat honest -faced, stepped across the t.iresh old. "Who are you?" demanded Le Britta, su'spiciouslr. " A n officer from the village. I heard about the ease when the doctor was sent for, and came anon alter." "I did not see you," remarked Le Britta, at trifle uneasily, hoping to evade official at of the case until he had conversed with Gladys, and learned of the whereabouts of Sydney Vance. "No, that's true. I always work in the nark on a dubious ease of this kind." "Dubiouse" "Exactly. Wasn't it murder?" de- manded o-manded the officer, sharply. "I think it was." "Think? You know it! Come, sir! I understand your motive in trying to shield a person presumably innocsut, but it's no use." "Then"— "The murderer is, of course, Sydney Vance." Le Britta's heart sank. He was cer- tain that this could not be—that young Vance was only the victim •of circum stances, but how to prove that fact, once the hue and cry was raised over the per- son last seen in the room with the mur- dered man. "Why do you think that?" ho faltered. "I don't think it, I know it," pro- claimed the ofliter, stanchly. "Why'.„ "The housekeeper's story''— "What! she has been talking?" ejacu- lated Le Britta, in dismay. "1 made her, sed her story proves beyond any doubt cleat there was a quar- rel between Vernon and young Vance, that Miss Vernon saw Vance fly from the room, that the last words of the mur- dered man charged Vance with the crime." "But, the evidence"— "Is plain. The testimony of Miss Vernon alone," announced the officer, in tones of pitiless, professional precision, "unsupported by any other evidence. wilt send Sydney Vance to the gallows!" There was a heart-rending moan in the hallway without, and then a fall. And, springing to the door, with consternation and alarm, La Britta saw Gliidys Vernon lying senseless on the rich anminster carpet. She had stolen from her room to speak to him; she had lingered at that half - open door. She had learned all. She knew that her lover, her innocent lover,was charged with hideous, baleful crime, and her words bad doomed him! CHAPTER IX.—BLANH! — The funeral was over, the last sad rites had been perforated, dust unto dust had been returned, and after a stormy existence of power, pride and pain, old Gideon Vernon had gone the way of all flesh. There were very few at the ceremony— the attendant physician, Hooter Winston; the village lawyer, several of the neigh- bors only. Vernon had lived almost the life of a recluse, and had never been the man to make many friends. Gladys had not gone with the earri- aces to the cemetery. When Le Britta had found her outside the door of the room in which he had hold that startling interview with the village police officer, it was to convey her to her own apart- ment again, where sire revived only to go through the most poignant hysterical grief anal despair. The doctor, again summoned, ordered positively that she be kept under the influence of sedatives until after the funeral, and that the housekeeper should keep close watch and ward over her afflicted young mistress. Le Britta was nearly worn out with sleeplessness and care. He felt that the gloom of the hour would abide with him for a long time to come, and he was glad when the body of the murdered man was consigned to its tomb. The inquest, the commotion, the prying, watchful officer; all this jeered on his finer sensibilities, and he breathed a sigh of in unite relief as he returned to the house from the cemetery, to observe Doctor Winston,Mr, Munson, the lawyer, seated in the library, looking grave and thoughtf el: At the door outside, too, Le Britta, met the officer. "Have you found any trace of the sup- posed assassin?" inquired the photo- grapher. "None," responded the other. "Is not that singular?" "Not at all, seeing that a box filled with money is missing. Sydney Vance had good reason to, fly and hide with that treasure." "You will persist that he is the crim- inal?" "The coroner's, jury decided.so on my plain statenheut. Whatwould a court of justice say with the added testimony of Miss Vernon?" What indeed! Le Britta's heart sank at the thought. Should young Vance ever return, it would be to fill a felon's cell. Perhaps, realizing all this, and knowing that Gladys' welfare was menaced by the real murderer, he was determined to conceal himself, to preserve his liberty, rather than face on overwhelming, crushing accusation he could non refute. In the library, Doctor Winston and Mr. Munson bowed gravely, as Lo Britta entered the room, and the latter remarked:— "I emarked:—"I do not know what this afflicted family would have done. without you, Mr. Lo Britta." The photographer bowed deprecatingly. "Circum minces forced . my slight services;' he said, unaffectedly. "True, but they have been valuable ones. Doctor Winston has just hada conversatio i with poor Gladys. He tells me there. is a new will, and much more. about a dreaded enemy of Mr. Vernon, that induces me to take immediate steps, as his local legal adviser, to secure to her the rights the will gives leer." "Einineutly proper," nodded the doctor. "Yes, I think so," asserted La Britta, "Gladys says she will be here in a few moments, weak as she is, realizing the necessity of following out the wishes of her dead uncle, anxious not to detain you. from your business, and desieous of leaving this gloomy house to make her home with your fellow -guardian, Doctor Winston here," • (TO BE CONTrIWED.) meMING OF THE KING. Under the Corer or Night He Delee AU Who Pace Him. Our camp is made in a grove between the water hole on the north and the thicket on the south, and right, through the center of the grove, leading from thicket to water, is a hard beaten path. The elephant, chi noceros, giraffe, zebra, springbok, buffalo, lion, hyena, wolf and jackal have trod this path on occasions. The hunters have driven the big game out of this section of Griqua Land, but the path is still in use. Even before the sun goes down a big hyena, panting with thirst, dodges us to the right to get to the water, and three wolves emerge front the thicket, to make a hasty retreat at sight of the camp. As soon es supper is disposed of the oxen are secured to the wheels of the wag ons, a large quantity of fuel brought In, and then the 40 natives close up the open ings with a breastwork of thorn bushes. They make this breastwork thickest and highest on the south side, and they further strengthen it with sharp stakes as in aha tis. I ask them why they do this, and old Mingo grins and replies: "This is the path by which the king conies and goes, and he will be angry when he finds us here." The sun went down, darkness came like the fall of a curtain, and presently we heard from the king. A mile or more tawny to the north, in some dark, cool spot in the great thicket, he bad been sleeping away the summer's day. Rest and sleep had brought thirst. He would drink his fill and then stalk through his realms anis ex h!blt himself to his subjects, asking no fa vors, but commanding servility from all I heard the distant rumble of thunder and stood up to see front which direction the storm was app roach inet. "it is not thunder, but the voice of the king," said Mingo as he leaned against one of the trees, Five minutes later the sound ennui again It was bearer now, and this time I could not the deceived. Lions in captivity will roar when excited, but it. is a weak !mita tion of the voice of a lion ou his native heath. The roan' of a full grown lion ia, he moves out of his lit!r for the night is a mg nal to every living thing for utiles around that be is astir anal a challenge to every thing with life to cross his ;hath at their peril. No hunter hears it without feeling awed at its immense volume and power— without makiu•r, obeisance to the throne from which it coshes as a ln'tchuhuuion. There is it longer interval this tine:. Ills highness has got our smut and is perhaps a bit puzzled and put cut, though all Slit. time lie is advancing toward us and intends to make a thorough examination, during this interval the oxen crowd closer together and begin a low, sad moaning, and after heaping fuel on the fires the natives hide away in the wagons or find safe places in the tree tops. Phe captain and I are left alone, and its we get out our doubleb:u'releal sbotguns and slip in buckshot cartridges the king reaches the edge of the thicket and stands for a moment without the slightest movement to stare itt its. It is a starlit night, and iMitmo, who is perched. above my head, cant plainly see his royal highuess and will keep us posted. Now comes a roar which drops half the cattle to their knees and fills the ear like thunder rumbling alitag a mountain side. It begins as if the lion was in a sleep pit aa most at our feet, mid when it reaches its climax the bellowing of a dozen oxen would be drowned out. The dying away is like the beginning, but through it all i; a savageness thus, tries the nerves far more than the brief tear of a tiger ars he leaps up for a charge. We are camped on the king's highway, and that roar expresses his surprise and indignation at ourivadacitp. The glare of the campfires is a uew sight to hint. The big white topped wagons have never greeted hisLtyes before. As he stands and switches his tail about he must realize that the camp is a strong one and that he has no friends within, but fear is not mingled with his indignation. "The king is conning, master!" shouts Mingo from his perch, and we get ready to greet hint. There is no more roaring. He has chat lenge(' us and defied us, and now he ie coming to punish us for daring to obstruct the path which .perhaps he first marked out as a royal highway. Everything is so quiet for a moment that we can bear his footfalls. He does not advance a few feet and then bait, but conies straight on, his head well up, his eyes shining and his long tail switching the bushes each side of the path. Mingo can read his intentions by his walk, and he shouts down to us: "Look out ,masterl He will come into the campl" The captain took a tree about 20 feet from the one sheltering rue, and we dropped to our knees and brought our gnus to a ready. The. path wits midway between us. The king did not change his pace until he came within 100 feet of the breastwork. Then he uttered a catlike snarl, broke into a run to get his spring, and five feet from the thorn bushes be lifted himself and came sailing over like a great bird. The height was 14 feet. The distance on - a straight line was 32 feet. Both of us tired at him before he landed, and again as he touched the earth, but all four shots missed. Ho bounded up the path between us, cleared one of the tents at a leap and lauded among the oxen. 'l'be natives raised a direful yell, and to this. Wag added the bellowing of the frantic cattle, and be. fore we could seize fresh guns and cover 50 feet of ground the king had taken his de pai'ture. One ox was dying of a•broken, back, and. two others were badly clawed, brit that was. gettingofi' cheap, • 'she beast kept on to the water hole, quenched Iris thirst and then roared us another defy. went down to the breastwork yu that side and emptied my winchester at him as fast as I could pull the trigger. He :mapped cud spat at the bullets whistling by, but was too proud to retreat wider tire, When 1 got through shooting, he hay down with his, bead on his • paws and watched our campfire, but after awhile, sati:afied that he had sttfl'ered no loss of reputaltion, he rose up and stalked away into the deekmieus, and.wesaw"him no more;; M. Quail,. In Bard Look. Mrs, Rockgold-I thought you ..told me only last week that your father was 'a neerchaitt. Now you are beggi':ag. How is,thisf Little Miss Speghetti-Ho was, 'kind. lady. He kept it peanut stand, but last week lie took in at bad $2 bill and failed.— Washington Times, TH I MOM! THE WINDOW GARDEN• It Is just at this season that the owners of conservatories, and that much larger class of persons for whom the beautiful, old-fashioned window garden serves as an excellent substitute, are making a choice of their winter flowers and casting about those which are best suited to indoor cultivation. There is one fatally of plants which is especially fitted for this purpose—the begonia. It dam not seem to have received the attention which it deserves, and yet there are probably more begonia enthusiasts than are suspected among amateur florists. This brings up a rather interesting point in regard to flower culture. The two (drams, amateurs and professionals, ex- ist here as in most other occupations and arts. There is a vast difference be- tween tl'em, not so much in their meth - oda of work—for both, to be successful, must understand the partioular'treatment which each species requires—but chiefly in the point of view from which they re- gard .flowers. The professional florist will not spend much time over a plant which does not give rapid and showy results. If its blos- soms are not well suited for cutting pur- poses, that is a strong argument in favor of its neglect. for it is, of course, from his cut flowers that the merchant reaps the chief profit in his bustlers The pro- fassional florist is also governed strongly by the prevailing fashion, which affects flowers with more weight tnan most pea - pie suppose. In the case of the amateur all these conditions ore practically re• versed. It mnkee not a particle of differ- ence to the true lover of flowers whether the species in which he happens to be interested is popular at tnat time or ant. Re is raising it for the pure enjoyment of the task; consequently it does not BEGONIA nAUCIANNI. trouble him if the blossoms which 11 bears will not lend themselves readily to forming bouquets. And so far is he from feeling impatience or dissatisfaction when the plant.turns out less bold and striking than the mnjnirty of those raised by the professional, that he Is rather pleased at having something different; in fact, he discovers beauties and points of interest which usually escape the ordinary observer. "Begonias are certainly amateurs' flowers," said a man last week, who has considered this family of plants worthy of several years attention, and has made himself acquainted with nearly all of the important species. "Florists know prate tidally nothing about them, and I sup- pose that is the reason why their merits are not more generally appreciated by the public. Most people who think of raising flowers nt their homes depend upon the florist for information as to the best kinds, and if nothing is said to them about begonias they immediately assume that that family is not practic- able for amateur purposes. If they could go into some country homes, where the women of the household devote a large part of their spare time In winter to their window gardens, they would change this opinion. They would see begonias, from the gigantic 'rubra,' often growing to a height of 7 or 8 feet, down to the smallest and most delicate species, all thriving, and forming one of the most beautiful collections of plants." The amateur gardener who turns his attention to hegoulas need not he dis- couraged at the outset when he learos that there are in all over 300 species, and hybrids almost innumerable. Those cul- tivators who have gone before him have paved the way for, his selection, and from this enormous number the varieties which do best under ordinary conditions have been determined by many trials and experiments. It speaks well for the vigor and adaptability of the begonia that, though it is a native of the tropical climate of the Indies and South Amer. lea, it flourishes and develops to perfee. Mon here under the most severe condi• tuns which this climate has to offer it The various kinds have different periods• for flowering, some preferring to bloom in the summer, out of doors, while others are so accommodating as to pat forth their blossoms late is the autumn and continue to do so for several months thereafter. Still another class are the "eetnper florens," which, true to their title, are most industrious and display no especial :liking forone season more than another. Il it is not desired that it should bloom, and plant can usually be kept dormant by cutting it down and allowing it to remain dry and pot bound. The foliage of many begonias is so beau- tiful that even in their time of rest from hinssogning they make strikingly decor- ative plants. Ono of the most useful of these fancy - leaved kinds is the "metallica," so named from the peculiar sheen of the foliaage. Its stalks are not so brittle as those of many of the other varieties, and are censequntly better adapted for ous- ting, If that is desired. The "rubra." mentinned above es being the king of the begonias as regards size and strength, is one of the most familiar among those distloguished for their flowers as well as for their leaves. Its thick, succulent stones, easily, absorbing and retaining nourishment make it a hardy plant, and Its brilliant red blooms are effective against the dense mass of Its foliage. The "begonia sabre" hes been called by authorities an indispensable variety to any collection of the plants. In decided contrast to the "rubra." its dainty, orya. Sailing -white flowers aro notoonsplonous,, end its leaves are delicate rather than heavy. They are deeply Indented, with a rich, bronze luster above and a dull red shade beneath. The stunt s are white, thick and tag,t:ring. Crosses between the "rubra" and the "olhia" have resulted in producing many wonderful and charming varieties, "President Carnot" being the Iodine of one of these attractive hybrids. Another is the "Souvenir de Francois Caaulin," which is one of thai bast winter -flowering kinds. It has long gmeen !rams, the texture of which, above, is like fine satin, and its pink blossoms are lunger -than . these of any other of the flbrnus•rooted begonias. All flower lovers are captivated by the delicate beauty of the species known u 2 3 BEGONIA GLOIRE DE sdEAUX. Satire de Sceatx. It has somehow an air of distinction which sets it apart from the more common members of the family. Its rose-colored flowers Grow in great clusters end are shown to the host advantage as they rise from a mass of glistening bronze leaves. The begonias ocotrnua anti the incarnnta aro two more species which will well repay any atten- tion shown them by the amateur. They both bloom in the winter, and the blos- soms remain about the planets a long time, Few members of the begonia family are noted for their fraxrnnce, lent the fine flowers of the Barmanni are an exception to the general rule The deli- cate odor which they give forth can be compared most truthfully with that of a tea rose. The plants of the semperfiorene class deserve a word or two on account of their usefulness at all seasons. As a rule, they do not grow to an unusual size, but are stocky, and consequently strong. Tho species Vernon is the one which has been used so successfully in the olt7•. Most visitors to Central Park have probably neared the beautiful boll of these flowers which surrounds the old Arsenal building. The leaves are a deep green when they first appear, and are subsequently bronzed and made more effective by the heat of the sun. The flowers are coral -colored and open in great profusion. A few seasons ago an entirely new class of begonias, having large tuberous rants, ware Introduc.sd from Europe, anti maob was expected need predicted from them. But it has since been found that they require to be kept cool and dump and constantly shaded from the direct rays of the cone, so that, while they are admirable for hot house decoration, they are not'satisfactory os hardy plants. The ease and quickness with which begonias sprout anal grow is at once evident in a green house where there are several of them. It is not long before the gardner is obliged to root up many tiny seedlings, which he rinds springing up wherever the fine seeds of the older plants have happened to fall. In an ordinary living room it is a good plan to start the seeds in pots which have been placed inside of other pots, several sizes larger. The intervening space should be filled with moss, which must be kepi constantly wet. This does away with the necessity of watering the surface of the soil, which process, in the ease of seeds requiring to be very lightly sown, would displace and wash them away. The earth should be light and rather loose. After the new plants have become well started they may be transplanted so as to give them more room. Although they muse be kept moist, begonias should have good drainage, and they will not do well If stagnant water is allowed to collect around the roots. Provided with a good suety of pure air, the plants •ara not troul.led with insect pests. It is, per- haps, not generally known that the be- gonia is named in honor of Michel Began, a Fernchman, who did much to promote the study of botany. On the whole, considering the varied beauty of its many species, it is a flower which rewards the amateur's care with onetime - manly satisfactory results. Horticultural !rotes. It is a fine thing to determine upon having a good strawberry bed, but it is a finer thing to do the business' up in good sleeps by setting only first-class plants and keeping the bed clean and free front all weeds, in short, weeds and strawberries never were intended to grow together. Weeds, it allowed to gain headway, are very hard to remove, and besides they are the cause of inutile in- jury. At the outset secure strong plants for setting. Better get them front new beds that have never fruited. It Is not the thing to thins: the weak runners from old vines whose vitality has been wasted by heavy cropping to be suitable for starting now beds. The cultivation of fruits, flower, and vegetables brings a constant reward In the way of education. One cannot be. long In such an occupation without being awakened to the need of increased know- ledge. It is a constant stimulus to read- ing and observation 113 many different lines of investigation, Nature puts her most subtle flavors and odors in fruits, flowers and vegetables. She paints them in the, brightest and most !narked of colors. MUDlamnot been able to invent a pigment which will reproduce the scarlet with which nature paints loaves, flowers and fruits. The down of the peach, the bloom of the grape and plum, the blush of the apple, the crimson' of _. the cherry are synonyms of the superla- tive degree, and poets rave of cherry lips, of peachy cheeks, of lily brows and rose -bud mouths. Our most delicate perfumes come from fruits anti fiowere, and are named for the flowers, 'By beauty, fragrance, aroma, quality -by every means possible, nature emphasizes the value of what man has gathered in the garden, and urged him to its best cultivation and highest development. The euttnre of, and intimate acquaintanoq with, these favored products of nature cannot in otherwise that slo'iatiag.