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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Times, 1888-7-5, Page 7111JTTIE'S FATHER OffAALoTTE M. Y0172G. ^^^ CHAPTER XX XVIL — (Con entre-D. ) When she returned in the morning it was he was Alwyn and not Fan. Indeed, in to find that since daylight he had been more these leght"ileaded moments, a better notion quietly aslee • but there was a worn, was gained of what he must have endured than in the daytime, when all seemed put aside or forgotten. After a time he became capable of being soothed by hymns, though still asking why his sister could not sing like that vission of his mother which had corn - forted him in his previous miseries, end craving for her return. Then at last he fell quietly asleep; and Nuttie was left with a few euetaining words and a preseure from Mr. Dutton's hand. Alas! the new consultation could only ratify the first opinion. The injury need not have been necesserily fatal, though dan- gerous to any young child, arid here it had been aggravated by previous ill•treatment, and by the doses of spirits that had been forced down, besides which, Alwyn was naturally delicate, and—though the doctors would not say so to father or sister --there were hereditary predispositions that gave him the less chance of battling through. Yet Mr, Egremont concluded his purchase of the pony, and insisted that Alwyn ehould be =Heti to the window to see it ; and Alwyn's smile was almost enough to break Nuttie's heart, but his head drooped on nuree's shoulder, he hardlylitecl tlls heavy , eyelids, and begged for by -by" 'again. Even Annaple burst into tears at he sight, ran out of the room with her sobs, and never augured recovery again, though still she strove to oheer and while away the poor ether's piteous hours by making the most of every sign that the child was happy and not Buffeting much, • That he would be viewed as a "pale placid martyr" was his sister's chief comfort. His replies as to the manner of the hurt, as well as his light-headed wanderings, had made it more and more evident that the znan Brag's brutality had been excited by his persisting in kneeling down to s.y his prayers alord— the only way he knew how to say them. In- deed there was a recurring anxiety night and morning to kneel, which had to be rea- soned away, even when he was too weak to make the attempt, and was only appeased by "Sister " kneeling by his side, holding his hands and repeating the little prayers with him. 'It was of his 'own accord that he added : "And forgive those people, and make them good." Annaple burst into tears again and almost scolded when she heard of it. "Oh dear ! oh dear! now I know he won't get well I I'm glad Billy isn't so bor. ribly good ! Wattle, Nubble, don't You know I don't mean it. Only I just can't bear it. He is the sweetest little fellow in the world 1 And oh 1 the oruelty of it." "Yes," said Wattle in her dreary calm- ness ; ," he is too sweet and lovely and beatiful and good to be anywhere but safe with mother." For it was more apparent that they could not keep him. It did not last long; there were a couple of piteous days of realties pain and distress, and then mune the more fatal hill and absence of suffering, a drowsi- ness in which the little fellow sank gradual- ly away, lying with a strange calm beauty on his face, and smiling feebly when he now and then lifted his eyes to rest: 'them on sister or nurse. Hie father could not bear the tight. It fined him more with angry compassion than with the tender reverence and hushed awe with which Ursula watched her darling slipping as it were from her hold. So Mr. Egremont wandered wretch- edly about the lower rooms, while Mark and Annaple tried their best for him through the long summer evening, darkening into night By and by Alwyn lifted his hand, turned his head, opened his lips, and whispered, "Hark, sister, she is singing." The look of exceedinging joy beamed more and more over the pinched little facie. " She's come again," he said Land once more, "Come to take Wyn•to the dear Lord." After that there were very few more longbreaths be- fore little Alwyn Egremont's spirit was gone to thatunseen world, and only the fair little frame left with that wondrous look of delight. ed recogoition on the face. hopes so as to buoy her through the feverish early hours of the night when the pain was aggravated, the terrorreturned, the boy was tormented by his duality with Fan, and the past miseries were acted over 5gain. Even nurse and sister did not suffice, and Mithter Button had to be -fetched by Mark before he could feel quite secure that ?sunken look about his face, and she could not be satisfied to leave him alone while the nurses Stirred about and breakfasted. He awoke mulling and happy; he looked about and said gladly, " Wyn at home! Wyn's own nursery," but he did not want o get up; " Wyn s so tired," he said, kee,king of himself in the baby form that .e had for several months discarded, but he aid his pretty "thank you," and took de. ight in breakfasting in his oott though still n a subdued way, and showing great re. luctancicto move or be touched. Nuttie Was sent for to report of him to his father, who would not hear for a moment of anxiety, deolaring that the boy would be quite well if they let him alone, he only wanted rest, and insisting on following out his intention of seeing a police superintend- ent to demand whether the kidnapping nacelle could not be prosecuted. Neither beaNuttie nor nurse could much " be extreoted from the poor little fellow him- self about his adventures. He could not bear to think of them, and there was a mist of confusion over his mind, partlyfrom weakness, partly, they also thought, from the, drugged spirits with which he had been Mere than Onde dosed. He dimly remem- bered Mining Gregorio in the park, and that he had tried to .find his way home alone, but some one, a big boy, he thought, had said he would show him the way, took hold of his hand, dragged him, he knew not where, into dreadful dirt and stench, and apparently had Bile/reed him with a blow before stripping him. But it was all very indistinct, he could not tell how Mother Bet got hold of him, and the being dressed in the rags of a girl had somehow loosed his hold of his own identity. He did not seen at all certain that the poor little . dirty pettiooated thing who had wakened in a horrible cellar, or in a dark jolting van, who had been dubbed Fan, who had been , forced by the stick to dance and twist and compelled to drink burning, choking stuff, was the same with Alwyn in his sailor suit or in his white cot. It was Dr. Brownlow who at once detect- ed teat there had been muoh of this dosing, and drew forth the mot It had probably been done whenever it was expedient that .he should be hidden, or linable to make any appeal to outsiders. Alwyn was quite him- self by day, and showed no unreasonable fear or ahynese, but he begged not to be touched, and though he tried to be good and manly, could not keep from cries and screams when the doctor examined him. Then it came out. "It's where he kicked me." Wh)-i" " 1.13.e.Fman—master, she said I must call. him. He kicked poor little Fan with his great heavy big boots—'cause Fanwould say Wyn'e prayers." " Who was Fan ?" asked the puzzled doctor. "Himself," whispered Nuttie. "Alas ! einieeinti "Wwas Fan," said Alwyn. "Pan's gone now.l "And did the man kick poor little Fan, ' repeated the doctor—" here 2'tld(dontIthtrbs so. Master said he would have none of that, and he 'kicked with his big boot. Oh! Fan couldn't --dome one bit after that." He could not tell how long ago this had • been. He seemed to have lost all reckoning of days, and probably felt as if ages had past in Funny Frank's van, bat Dr. Brownlow thought the injury could not be above two or three days old, and probebly it accounted for there having been no more obstructions put in the way of removing the child, since he had ceased to be of use, and the discovery of the injury might have brought the per- petrator into trouble. Indeed, as it was, Mt Egremont caused the police to be writ- ten to, demanding the arrest of the man and woman Brag, but they had already de- camped, and were never traced, which was decidedly a relief to those who cheaded all , that a prosecution would have involved. And Dr. Brownlow became very grave over the injury. He said it was a surgical case, and he should like to have another opinion, enjoining that the ohild should be kept in bed, and as quiet ae possible, till he could bring his friend in the afternoon, which was no difficult matter, for Alwyn seemed to have no desire for anything but rest and the sight of his friends and his treasures, which were laid beside him to be gently handled and stroked but not play- ed with. Mothu and Mithter Button were among the friends he oraved for, but he showed no desire to see Billy - boy, and it was thought best to keep that young gentleman's rampant strength, at a t distance. , The chief difficulty was with his father, who deolared they were all croaking, and that the boy would be as well as ever to- morrow. He went and sat by the cot, and talked merrily of the pony that Alwyn was to ride, and the yaohting they would have in the summer; and the little fellow smiled and was pleased, but wont to sleep in the midst, Then Mr. Egremont went out, tak- ing Annaple with him, because Wattle would not go till the doctors' visit was over, though he declared that they were certain not to come till long after her return from the drive. He actually went to the dealer's, aud had pony after pony paraded before the carriage, choosing a charmingtoy Shetland at last, subject to its behaviour with the coachman's little boy, while Annaple hope. hopefully agreed with him that Alwyn would be on ins back in another week. He still maintained his opinion, outward- ly at least, when he was met on his return by Nuttie with a pale, almost thunderstruck face, Dr. Brownlow had called her from trying to aim away the fright and suffer- ing1 of the', Xamination, to break to her that both he a4 a his colleagu thought very ser- iously of the injury and its consequences, - and deemed it very douhtful whether the poor little fellow could be pulled through. Mr. Egremont was again angry, de. elated that the had misunderstood, and made the word ofit ; that Dr. 13rownloW was a conceited young ase; that his friend played into his handa ; With other ameni- ties of the some kind, to which she listened with mingled irritation and pity for hie unreasonableness, and even at CHAPTER XXXVIII. • THE UMSRELLA MAN. • Little Alwyn was laid to _rest beside his mother in a beautiful summer noontide. His father was not in a state to attend the fun- eral, and was left under the care of Annaple,his own choice among those who offered to stay and minister to him. It was his own wish that his daughter should be to the last with her little brother. He had even said to her that she had been a good sister, and his boy had been very fond of her, and he would not keep her away on any account. And, with a man's preference for a young' and kindly woman he chose Annaple to be with him rather than Mr. Dutton, remem- bering likewise that but for him the boy would have died in some workhouse, un- known and unclaimed, or among the wretches who had caused his death. So Nuttie had the comfort of Mr. Dutton's go- ing down with her, as well as Mark, and poor broken-down nurse, but not a word re- terring to the confession of that happy even- ing had passed between them during the mournful fortnight which had since elapsed. May Condamine and her hueband had made all ass fair and consoling as they could. There were white -robed ohildren to bear the boy from the churchyard gate, choriaters bang hymns, the grave was lined with moss and daisies, and white rcitaes deck- ed the little coffin and the mound, There was as much of welcome and even of triumph as befitted the innocent child,. whose death had in it the element of testimony to the truth. And Nettie felt it, or would feel it by and by, when her spirit felt leas as if some precious thing had been torn up by the roots—to be safe and waiting for her elsewhere, indeed, but that did not solace the yearning longing for the merry loving child; nor the aching pity for the crushed blighted creature whom she had watehed :suffering and dying. It was far beyond her power a� yet to acquiesce in her aunt's con- solation that it was happier for the child himself, than if he was to grow up to tem- tation from without, and with an uusound oonstitetion, with dangerous hereditary pro. clivitiee. She could believe it in faith, nay, she had already experienced the difficulties her father had thrown in her way of dealing with him, she tried to be resigned, but the good sense of the Canonees Was too muchfor her. It was a da of more haate than suited the the sympathy which he found in Annaple's idea1 of eucS a tune, for 1V114. Egremont hopeful nature. could not be left for a night; so there was The young mother never dreaded nor ex. only time for a luncheon, with little jerks pected what elle could not bear to think of talk, and then for an hour spent in short possible, such as the death -warrant of that private interviews. Mrs. Egremont obtain. beautiful child, while Nuttie'ai nature alwaya ed itnni poor Nurse Poole all the details, expected the worst, and indeed had read and, moreover, her opinion of Mr, lgarlea the doom in the clectoe'e eyes and voice baby, in whoni, it having been born Mader rather than in hie word. So Anhaple back- her atiapiOaS, she took a special interest. ed Mr. Egremont up when he made hls Nuttie meantime was peeing the ahady daughter mete to desire Dr. Brownlow to walk wsth her dear old friend lime Nugent, call in the first asiviee in London and atnong feeling it drug° that her heart did:not leap thni'-thoy made SO sure that tine would be up at the bare peer:came of one she loved effective that they actually raised Nuttieli so mud* yet cerisciouS of the soothing • ot her eympathy. And Mary, watching her all through, had been etruck with the increased- gweetness and nobleness her coun- tenance had acquired during these years of diasipline. More of her mother's expression had come than could have been thought pos. eible in features of such different mould, formed for so much more strength and energy. They had not met sinoe Nuttie hod been summoned home to her mother'e deathbed, and their time was chiefly spent on reminiscences alike of the old sorrow and the new • but, when the time for part- ing was nearly come, Mary told affection- ately, "And you, my dear 2" " Oh, I'm all right," said Nuttie, and her eyes shone with a light Mary did not for a: moment understand ; " you need not be anxious for me now." " I suppose that unhappy valet's death will make your task easier," said Mary. " I think it will," said Nettie, " Poor man ! He was -1 can't help saying it—the evil genius of thegiouse. Dear mother knew it, struggled against him, and broke down hetthe struggle. It seems so strange that what she could not do has been done in such a manner, and at such a price. I won- der whether she knew it when she'weloorned her boy 1" "Her influence will aid you still," said 1VItiry, "and you have Mr. Dutton to 1.elp you too. I was so glad to find he was so near you.",t "Oh, Mr, Dutton 1" exolaimed 'Urania, in a strange tone theit sent a thrill through Mary, though she knew not why but at that monaent they. were interrupted, very inopportunely, by Mr. Bulfinoh, who could not go away without asking Miss Egremont whether she thought her father could see him on business if he came up to town the next day. She thought that such an inter- view would rouse her father and de him good, advising him to call on the chance. TO BE OONTINIIED.] Thad and Longitude. It is known that in sailing around the world, or even in sailing more than half way around, the calendar is changed upon cross- ing the one hundred and eightieth degree of longitude. To understand die reason for this change and how it is done" one will find it helpful to imagine a particular voyage such as will call for the making of the change. Suppose, for inetance, we are at London about the 20th of March. At six o'clock in the evening ib is sunset. The hall of the globe west of the meridian line, is lighted by the sun, the half to the east of the line of in shadow. On the opposite half of the me- ridian circle, that is, on the meridian of one hundred and eighty degrees, it is sunrise of what is to be the next day at London. Now suppose that at this hour of sunset one ship Bets sail from London to go around the world eastward, and another gets out for the same voyage sailing westward. Let them make equal speed and they will meet on 'the one hundred. and ,eightieth degree of longitude. They carry each a chronometer whioh keeps London time. But the ships sail by local time, and this is corrected every day when the sun is to be seen, crossing the meridian at noon. The difference between local time and London timo is easily pad in longitude east or west of London acakding as the local time is fast or slow ef the chronometer, allowing four minutes' difference of time for one de- gree of longitude. We will now suppose the speed of the ves- sels is such that they will reach the one hundred and eightieth meridian, and meet each other in just sixty days, and at the hour when it is aunset at London. Then again it is sunrise at the point whore the vessels meet. The ship sailing east, that is, in the same direction in which the earth turns'has gain- ed just twelve hours by going half way round the world, and this is the sunrise cf its sixty-first reoorded day. The ship sailing west has lost just half a day, and this is the sunrise of its sixtieth recorded day, though the time has necessarily been the same. Now if they were each to complete the circuit of the globe, the ship sailing east- ward will keep on gaining, and will make another twelve hours in going meerthereld of the way, Bo that it watild come to Lon - den at summed the'efiehundred and twenty- first day if no change were made in its calendar. By the cldronometer it would be sunset of the one hundred and 'twentieth day. On the other hand the ship sailing west- ward will go on losing as before. On the first half of the voyage its local time had fal- len back from,suneet of the sixtieth day to sunrise of the same. In completing its voy- age it will fall behind just the same, and coming to London at the same time the other ship arrives, its reckoning will show that it is sunset of the one hundred and nineteenth day. The difference between the calendars of the two ships will be two dams, if no change is made; and neither cal- endar will be correct. To make the calendars tally with London dates it is necessary that the ship sailing east have its calendar see back one day, while that of the other ship must be set forward just as much. The place for making this change is at the one hundred and eightieth meridian. The ship Ffililllg east is half a day ahead of .1.,ndca., tilne. By calling ita sixty-first sunrise the sixtieth, just what the sunrise the morning before had been called, we pub its time twelve hours slow, and this it will gain, and come to port at the one hundred and twentieth sunset, • On the other hand the vessel sailing west reaches the one hundred and eightieth mer- idian at its sixtieth sunrise. It is half a day behind London time, Call this sunrise the sixty-first, and that will make its time twelve hours ahead_ of London time. This twelve hours, however, will be lost on the rest of the voyage, and the'ship will come to port with the other one at the one hundred and twentieth sunset. By this change Of the extender as practis- ed, the local time can never differ from Lon- don by more than half a day, and as no less change than that of one ehtire day can be made in the calendar, the method described secures the closest correspondence between local;tirne and that of London, according .to which we reokon longitude, A Nice Time All 'Round. Bobby (to caller)—" Ma and pa had, a nice time at your party boat week," ' . Caller —" 1 am very glad,. Bobby" Bobby—" And I hada thee time, too." Caller—" But you weren't there, Bobby." Bobby—" No, but pa brought me a lot of the cake and fruit," Why He Didn't Strike. " Dennis, why don't you strike 14 "A& phat should I do that for 1" " The work% too hatd fot the pay you get. The kite of going up that laddet all clay long I" "But I only go up half the day, elli, "How can you make that appear." " Becase, sur, I spends the other half of it in tadmin' down," HOUSEHOLD. A New Education for Girls. While colleges and professors and learned men and women generally are arguing and wrangling concerning what is called the higher education of wotnan, it is not to be forgetton that their are certabe portions of education which, after all in the great scale of equivalents, may be quite as high as, if not nigher than, any accorlplishment in conic sections, analytical chemistry or Greek roots; and while these things may be done, the others should not be left undone. For, in the firs3t place, the art of life is the chief thing we have to learn at all, the art of living at life's best, of taking care of our - actives and of others; and with that as well what play be called the art of death, the art of smoothing the way of others to the grave when that way has been so directed to an inevitable close. How few of our girls are there. who have any common 'muse or any proper instruction as to the art of taking care of themselves! The propositions of Eaolid inty be play to many of them, but they do not know enough of the first propos- Mons of hygiene to keep their feet dry, their bodies m loose bonds or warm flannels, properly nourished and protected, or any. of the rest, to speak of, of the mere physncal minutiae of health and comfort. And quite as important as the care of their own health is it thee they should know how to take care of that of others. If they are to become mothers, then there is the re- sponsibility for the health of children to be plaoed on their oonsciencee and their capa- cities, and not only of children, but of hus- band and servants also, and of all who are members of their household. And whether they become mothers or do not, they are probably already under obligations as daughters, sisters, nieces, and it is to be hoped friends; and in �Jl of these relations they will have duties to perform when those ghastlyvisitants, sickness and death, i arrive n their house or neighborhood. How many of our young girls now are in- structed in the branches of learning that will avail them here! How many of them know how to turn or to shift in bed a sick 9,nd helpless person of any corporeal weight, without straining their own muscles injuri- ously and half murdering the patient— know how, indeed," to turn the patient at all? How many know how to bathe a sick person in bed—a very neces- sary thing to know, and one frequently to be done—without spilling a drop of water upon. the mattress or upon the patient's clothes? How many know ho w to change the clothes of a sick person so as not to ex pose or ohill or weary her—a thing not of knack, but of suience—or so ranch even as to change the sheet beneath the patient without giving that atom of exertion which in certain cases may be fatal? How many of our girls know how to bake the tempera- ture or the pulse with precision, or to judge of the condition of the patient in relation to failure or gain of vitality? They know the table of weights in the arithmetic, but how many teaspoonfuls to the dram or the ounce is'atill Arabic to them. They learned the figures of the apothecary's measure when i at school, but it s of no sort of use to them nowadays in reading the physician's presoription, or the possibly careless copy made by the druggist's clerk. They have, in short a world of fancy knowledge,. of French and Shakespeare and the Minimal Glasses, but the things that are going to come into their- life without a shadow qf doubt, for which they need very positive knowledge, are things concerning which they are /eft in ignorance, and in who:se healing and treatment they are as useless themselves tut babies are—as those first babies who, despite the tenderest adoring love, are apt to be sacrificed to their young mother's ignorance. . lVfost young women think that to smooth the pillow poetically, to carry cooling drinks to the lips, to arrange flowers on the table with the vials at the head of the bed, to sit beside the bed and read verses in a gentle voice, to move about the room in flowing robes witV - ' 'eetIte' .ey undertake all 'efigleciibitt, ie. the sum total t of nueV fingt eeeti' • y are to begin a le tneiteteeely - -'"-Usk; epir e$ t womanly a u , e te, key cannot make a cup pf gruel so that' it'Vhall not be lumpy. The care of the sick is in the real experience something immensely different; life and death hang in the balance, and all the ventures of life, all the interests and loves of life, the sufferings of the dying, the hopes and fears and terrible sorrows of the living. Any serious illness is a fight all the vvae through between doctors and nurses on the one side, and death and dissolution on the other. It is, then, one of the shameful things of our civilization that our daughters are brought up to chatter French, to take the last new danoing`step, to talk critical jargon concerning the merits of this and that style of painting, to discuss theories and philoso- phies, mathematics and metaphysics, and to remain utterly ignorant of those things which are the most vital to every woman, to every one also with whom they are connect- ed, the thins of which both they and others are the surest to have need. And we ven- ture to predict that in days to come no girl :will be thought to have ffilished her educa- tion in its chiefest point who has not spent the nights and days of some months at lease in hospital duty, learning how to make a patient as comfortable as fate permits, not to leave one in discomfort a moment, as, un- learned in hospital arts, she must, and to keep the sick alive in some other than that which might be adopted by a • savage, by sheer force of vitality and letting alone. -- 8eftsonahle Iteeipee- • DRESSING NOE SLIOED TOMATOES.—Beat two eggs well together, add one teaspoonful sugar, one-fourth of a teaspoonful ofealt, the same of prepared mustard, one teaspoonful of cream and three tablespoonfuls of vine- gar. Place the bowl containing it in a basin of boiling water and stir till about the thick- ness of cream. It will take above fie t min- utekif the bowl is thick and the wan t• boils at the time. Cool and use as needen Tometo Seame.---Peel ripe tomatoes with a sharp knife, slice crosswide lay in a salad bowl and -season on the table with salt, a little i eugars pepper, oil and vinegar. Keep the tomatoets Ort ce until actually served. They cannot be too cold. EGG SNOW.—Put into a saucepan a pint of milk, adding two dessertspoonfuls of,orange water and two ounces of sugar, and let it boil. Take six eget separate the yolks from the whites, beat the latter to a froth or snow (hence the name) and put into the boiling milk by spoonfuls • gbh- the whole about with a skimmer. *hen done take the eggs mit and dress,them on tho dish for serving. Thicken the milk over the fire with the beater vole and pour this over the frothed eggs; lot the whole cool before serving it. RoLY-POLY,—Roll out about two pounds of paste, cover it with any jam or martail. ado you like, roll it over and tie it loosely in a cloth, well tying each end : boil one hour and eerve, or cut it in shoes:and gorse With eauce over BUTTERMILE CAKE.—One cup of butter- milk,one are oup of eugaz, two- thirda cup of shortening, two eggs and one teaspoonful of oda. Flavor to taste, By putting in mix- ed apices it makes a good spice cake. CON8OMME soup.—Six pounds of lean beef an old fowl and any pieces of bone that you may have, elves large carrot -ss, two large onions, two leeks, ono turnip, three cloves, make a bouquet of parsley, celery, hyssop, thyuui and 4 very little bay leaf, tied with a thread ; put on the beef, fowl, etc,' in water, with a little salt. It must not boil hard at any time and must be vvell skimmed. Boil elovviy, and keep it covered from eix to eight hours. All the water that is required is put on at first; a quart and a pint of it will boil away, leaving three quarts ot soup when done. The vegetables are put in as soon as it has been thoroughly skimmed. Remove the grease and serve. APPLE PUDDING.—Stir a cup of corn meal into a quart of boiling milk; then stir in a quart of sliced meet applee, a cup of me - lamina at d a teaspoon of salt; mix all to- gether well. When ready to put into the oven add two quarts of milk, pour into a large buttered pudding dish, and bake slowly until done; when cold, a clear, amber -colored jelly will be formed. FISII PIE,—Take any firm -fleshed ash, out in slices, and sewn with salt and pepper; let stand in a oolcl place for two or three hours, then put the eland fish in a 13alting dish, with a little cream or water, and but- ter I and flour rubbed to a cream, with minced parsley and hard-boiled eggs slioed ; line the aides of the dish half way down, and, cover with a nice paste. Bake in an oven, quiok at &et, but gradually growing moderate. , Wash your tomatoes (ripe ones) and chop fine; put in a kettle and let simmer slowly till ib is a soft, mushy mase: remove from the fire and strain through a sifter, press every particle of substance through the sift- er except the seeds and skins, which thiow away; measure your juice and to every gal- lon put one quart of good cider vinegar, one pound of sugar, five or six large onions peel- ed and chopped very fine, one tablespoon of black pepper, one tablespoon each of salt, white mustard, mace, spice, cloves. Boil slowly till thick, pour into bottles while hot and cork tight GREEN TOMATO SAUCE,—Take green toma toes; peel by scalding with boiling water, and stew till a soft, smooth mass ; to one gal- lon of stewed tomatoes add five cups of vine- gar; three cups of sugar; one oup of onions chopped fine; one tablespoonful each of salt, pepper, allspice (ground), mustard (ground) ; boil all slowly till thoroughly mixed. - GREEN TOMATo SWEET PTOKLE.—Get nice - sized, smooth, green tomotoes just before frost. Slice up and cover with strong brine for twenty-four hours, Drain all the brine from them and let lie over night in fresh water. Next morning green by boiling in alum water and then drain and soak again and free them from the •alum. When they are fresh again, measure and weigh and set aside. One gallon of vinegar ut sufficient for one and one-half gallons of tomatoes. For every pound of tomatoes allow one-half pound of smear. Put vinegar and sugar on to boil, with the seasoning, spice, cinnamon, cloves, mace and celery seed. When they all come to a boil add the tomatoes and cook all slowly for an hour and a -half or two hours. 4 Bow to Bay a Horse. From some wild Western journal comes the following amusing sketch: " If you want to buy a horse don't believe your own brother. Take no mania word for it Your eye is your market Don't buy a horse in harness. Unhitch him and take everything off him but his halter, and lead him around. If he has -a corn or is stiff, or any other failing • you can see it Let him go ..—ny himself a way, and if he staves right into anything you know he is blind. No matter how clear and bright his eyes are, he can't see any more than a bat. -Back him, too. Some horses show their weakness at tricks in that way when they don't know any other. But be as smart as you can, you'll get co' tiormsa. jatd att,._iir14.1n an expert gets gostee.Cco-f1410 eThe-aefirae isn't a man could tell it till something happens. Or, he may have a weak back. Give him a whip and off he goes for a mile or two, then allof asucldenhe stops inthe road. After a rest he starts off again but he soon stops for good, and nothing' but a derrick could move him. The weak part of a horse can be better discovered while standing than moving. If he is sound he will stand firmly and squarely on his limbs, without moving any of them ; the feet flatly upon the ground, with legs plump and naturally poised ; or if the foot is ' lifted from the ground and the weight taken from it, disease may be suspected, or:at least tender - nese whioh is a precursor of disease. If the horse stands with his feet spread apart or straddles with his hind legs, there is a weakness in the loins and the kidneys are disordered. Heavy pulling bends the knees. Bluish, milky cast eyes in horses indicate moon - blindness or something else. A bad- tempered horse keeps his ears thrown back. A kicking horse is apt to have scarred legs. A stumbling horse has blemished knees. When tlie skin is rough and harsh and does not Move easily to the toueli, the horse is a heavy eater and digestion is bad. Never buy a horse whose breathing organs are at all impaired. Place your ear at the side of the heart, and if a wheezing sound is hoard it is an indication of troulle.' A Gruff Old fellow. Arke.nsaw Traveler : On a railway train a woman, pale and careworn, eat holding a child. "Husk now ; don't cry," she said, "That awful man "—meaning a gruff old fellow who set near—" will come here and snap our heads off. Just look what an aw- ful face he is making at us. Please don't and we'll eee papa after a while. 0 mercy, he's coming," she said, as the gruff -looking old fellow approached her. "1 can't Make her hush, sir," she said pleadingly. "1 know theta very annoying, but I really can't helpit." "Let me take her." The woman fearing to disobey, suffered him to take the ohild, who, too mull astonished to cry, Meekly submitted. The gruff man walked up and down the car, and once the tremul. ma woman fancied that ehe saw him press the child to his bosom. When he returned the little girl to her Mother the woman ek- ed: "Are you fond of children, sir?" "1 —I —hardly knew," he replied, booking away "1 suppose I am. 1.1oved—I say, Ifreceived a dispatch this morning, telling inc that my little girl is dead." He sat down, and a moment later, a woman who had jag got on the train turned to a companion and said : "Gracious me I Just look at that gruff old fellow. I Would not have him speak to Inc tor the world." The Empire scarf is Worth's letteettssity in the direction os the revival of Dieeetory and First Empire styles. 'We .„ Life in the Country, OY 'r. DE WITT TALMAGE, D. D 11 10 never real morning except in the country. In the city in the early part of the day there is a mixed color that climbe down pver the roofs opposite and through the smoke of the chimney that makes people think it is tints to get up and comb their hair. But there is real morning in the country.orllnng descending "from God out of heaven like a bride adorned for her hue - band." A few moments before I looked out, and the arnay of night shadows were striking their tents. A red light on the horizon that does not make me think. - as it did Alexander Smith, of "The Barren Beach of Hell," but more like fire kindled on the shore by Hini whoin. the disciples saw at daybreak stirring the blaze on the beach of Genesareth. Just now the dew woke up in the hammook of the tree branches, and the light kissed it. Yonder, leaning against the sky, two great uprights of flame, crossed many rundles of fire Same Jaeop must have been dreaming. Through those burnished gates a flaming chariot rolls. Some Elijah, must be as, cending. • Morning! I wish I had a rousing bell tcs wake the whole world up to see it. Every leaf a psalm. Every flower a censer. Every bird a chorister, Every sight beauty. Every siund music. Trees tranefigurecl. The skies in conflagration. The air as if sweeping down from hang- ing gardens of heaven. The foam of cel. (Adel seas splashed on the white tops of the spines. The honeysuckle on one side of the porch challenges the swetst-brier on the other. The odors of heliotrope overflow the urns and flood the garden. Syrenst with bridal blossoms in their hair, and roses bleeding with a very carnage of color. Oh, the glories of day -dawn in the coun- try 1 My eyes moisten. Unlike the flan). ing sword that drove out the first pair from Eden, these fiery splendorsseem, like swords unsheathed by angel hands to drive us in. We all need the refreshing influence oi more out -door life. Almost every nature, however sprightly, sometimes will drop into, a minor key, or a subdued mood, that in, common parlance is reoognized as "the blues.' There may be no adverse causes at work, but somehow the bells of the soul stop ring- ing, and you feel like sitting quiet and yen strike off 50 per cent. from all your worldly and spiritual prospects. The immediate cause may be a northeast wind, or a balky liver, or an enlarged. spleen, or pickled oysters at 12 o'clock the night before. In suen depressed state no one can afford to sit for an hour. First of all let laim get up and go out of doors. Fresh air and -she faces of cheerful men and pleasant women and frolicsome children will, in fifteen min. ates, kill moping. The first -moment your friend strikes the keyboard of your soul it - will ring music. A hen might as well try on populous Broadway .to hatch out a feath. ery ,gourd, as for a man to successfully brood over his ills in lively society. , Ito not go for relief among those who fed as badly as you do. Let not toothache, and rheumatism and hypochondria, go to see toothaches rheumatism, and hypochondria. On one block in Brooklyn lives a doctor, an undertakeranda clergyman. That is not the row for an nervous men to walk on, lest he soon need all three. Throwback all the shutters of your soul and let the sunlight of genial faces shine in. We all need to freshen up in our work, and a doss of the country is a mighty cor- rective. How to get out of the old rur without twisting off the wheel, or snapping the shafts, or breaking the horse's leg, ta a ques- tion not more appropriate to every teamster than tto every Christian worker. Having once got out of the old rat, the next thing is to keep out There is nothing more kill- ing than ecclesiastical humdrum. If we would keep fresh let us make oeca. sional excursions into other circles than our own Fcr a change put the minister on the hey -rack and the farmer in the clergyman'a study. Let us read books not in our own line. After a ma,n has been delving in nothing but pliaeguelraticthaleN;rttfooffir ce reeepomrtonAds'illtite8 rp moregoodfthedothanSaints" k eera Let us go much into the preseifee", - natural world if we can get at it. If we would once in a while romp the fields we would not have so many last year's rose leaves in our sermonS, but those just plucked, dewy and redolent. " Oil on Troubled Waters," Instances of the successful use of oil for the purpose of quieting the waves during great storms at sea are now so frequently reported that there can be little doubt that before long this method of protecting ships will be generally adopted. Among numerous cases mentioned in a recent issue of the Pilot Chart of the North Atlantic) Ocean is that of the schooner yacht Iroquois, which on 1V1e,rob. 10 encountered a, terrific gale off Sandy Hook. The captain,used mineral sperm oil, letting it run through pipes near the bow, a few tablespoonfuls at a time. The result thus described was truly wonderful to tee the effeot it had on the aea. A huge °out- ber would come down upon the vested, threatening to bury her twenty feet deep. .The comb would strike a patch of oil no larger than a common dining table, and in an instant the top of the sea v, as smooth and round, without even a wind ripfle, and the little schooner would pop up on top of it a,s easy' as a gull. The yule rode out the storm in perfect safety and without any damage, although both topmasts were on and the jibboom out, and all the oil Used in thirty-six hotirs was fifteen gallons. With se simple a means of defence at their com- mand mariners should be easily able to defy the *waves. How She Changed Iler Tune, He put up &job on the hired girl whereby he hoped to sell her a patent process for making fire rugs she would never need. Then he rang the door -bell, and when she anowered it he put on his numb insiauatieg smile, lifted hie hat high off his head and remarked in his blandest voice t "The lady of the house, I believe ?" "Oh yes 1" she said, With a mouth full of sarcasm, "if I'm Sixty years old and got a squint in one eye and a figger like a scare- crow, I s'pose I'm her I" He saw his mistake when too late, butt: he slowly backed clown the gravel nalk tc the gate he said regretfully t "How was I to knew that? 1 was told that ahe woes young and beautiful, and when I saw you—" "Well, if you've get any patterns 1 lila I'll buy an outfit," She interrupted, "Just step be and I'll look at there.' Let a woman busy herself with hammer and mile, end it is usually difficult to deter. mine what she is driving ate---(petroit Pro Prase.