HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Brussels Post, 1896-4-10, Page 2' 1 ii3' SEL .S
QST.
CHAPTER XXVI,—Continued,
Fle Is sitting at the head of l e song
table looking str'angelY folltary, and richt.'" Ile laughs faintly again, and,
very Mtich aged, considering the chart taking u, his bat, loolse straight at lite
time that had elapsed ainee tuft he let uncle, ]He bas drawn bimeelf ti u xo
his full height, and •is looking q
Pullingham, hie handsomest. leo is slightly, flushed
h e again Arthur," (e, dark color that becomes him, and
Mat with a aront a 0»0x1 lips rotted the corners a�. lits
aye ,Dorian, coldly, hu pp ," o a olo-
face einem
las a ti i gine,'" be says, lightly, '"for having
Rico dlnoe that last meeting, when bit- tore°d myself upon ycu in this intrusive
ive very unseasonable advice,"" saYs
artoris, coldly,
"Which, interpreted, mean° that I
did wrong to come, I ,feel you are
,4",0 yin aro Um , i
e
Ti had t been face to lips. 1 hardly know bow t p
ter words, and still more bitter looks, fashion. The only appends Loan pos-
hadp assed between themro
• j eibly make is to omelets you it shah
Now, tatting the quickly spoken sunt- n ve louc my ,gourd tab"
for kho Tutu 0,
encu take the place of a more active shall not even annoy you by my pros•
greeting, they nod coolly to each other, else°. t away. nnd, inclin-
and carefully refuse to let their bands So saying he urns
ing his head, goes oat through the door,
and closingout,ly after hlut,.assa
tl)o fang hall, as top
s
says Sartoris evenly ; "I re- rap, down
,les, a y °ugh
turned two days ago. Business re in. !taste to depart,, and, gaining the To bud out faire and throwe her sweete
called me otherwise f was. sufficiently • h L t too gehiud him
d breathes' ori fico) es be finds 1' t
Bransooiube, easily. ""X ran 0livays da
Pat what X incase, and there is nobody,
o qw to weld or ALUM me in any way."
And you have Dorian to love,' nye
Ciariasa, a ittle gravely, she hardy
knows why. at is porhnps, tba old our -
ions want in Qeorgieei tone that baa
again irprassod her,
"Love, love love," awes that Young
w•oman,a little impatiently, ""Why axe
people always talking about love? Dees
It really make the WOrid go round, I
wonder? Yes, of course I have Dorian
to be fond of now," She rises ani
puisively, and, wanting to ono of . the
winotevep�i�eZee out,upon on the gardens be«
»cath. "'isomo,"' slie says, stepping on
to the veranda; "come out with me, I
want to breathe your flowers again,
Clarissa follows her, and together they
wander qp and down among the heavy
roses and drooping lilies that are lans
he
children old with f 0at theasun lad dew seeHere m to
grow and flourish,
No dainties flow're or herhe that growes
on grownd,
No arboreta with painted blossoms dre,st
And smelling sweets, but there it might
be fownd
ff iently
rad
s u s s, 810)0 alt aro(wnd
comfortable where 1 was to make me the ai' of haven beatingy1on his, brow, eet
hiS Wife and drigvo)herruome,yl'inds hor
wish to remain there." I Not until ha has almosreached Sar- and Clarissa laughing gayly over one
"And Constance, is she quite wall?" ,toric once more does that ealin fall up- of Georgie's foreign remenieeenees. Ile
"Quits well, thank you• Your conn-" on him that, as a rule, follows hard walks so slowly over the soft green
upon all our gusts of passion. The late grays that they do not hear him until
ins desired to be remembered to you• intei'vioW has hurt him more than he he )s quite close to there.
So did she of course." I cares to confess even to himself, His "Ahl you have come, Dorian," says
A pause, prolonged and undesirable. i isregard—nay,
sr seep un �s'ixicere)p and ), though- too soon.)S Clarissa awith and'etty I haven't (half
"You will take some claret?" says wounded now, and estranged from him, said all we have to say yet."
Sartoris, at last, pushing the bottle because of his determination to be- At least I havo said how glad I am
toward him. I lieve the worst of him, still it remains to have you both back," says Clarissa.
"No, thank you; I have only just din- hiddenougin
his
andrt, and is e him strong "The whole thing has been quite too
ed. I came up tonight to tell you what. such scenes galls he has rust gone through, awfully dismal without you. But for
1 !Jim end papa I should have gone mad,
the I t 1 such
I dare say by this you have heard from Hitherto his life has been unclouded,
somebody else; I sin going to be mar-
ried on the 11)h oC next month.
Lord Sartoris turns suddenly to con -
—has been all sunshine and happy horrid time g'Horonce camel down 0cca-
summer and glad with laughter. Now sionaily, very occasionally,—out of
a dark veil hangs over it, threatening sheer pity, I believe; and Lord Sartorls
to deaden all things and dim the bright- was a real comfort, he visited so often;
front him, nese of his "golden hours " but he has gone away agaib."
"I had not heard it," he says, with "He o[ houhath 010 1) fDO art kt o bs Hae be? I suppose our return fright-
vary
ened him, says Branscombe in a
sudden." Then, changing his tone, a cart of madness that affects las heart, cu rtone.
y 'i have been telling Clarissa how•we
"1 am glad," he says, slowly, and with 11 not his brain, tired of each other long before the right
an unmlataL-abla sneer, "t.hat at last !le frowns as he strides discontented- time,'" says Georgie, airily, "and how we
it has ocourreil to you to set that girl nighv t; and tard hen all at oncefa thought death byyaurownadullnes ." bored to
right in the eyes of the world. As a comes to him—a. fair vision seems to Dorian laughs.
man of honor, there was no other course rise almost in his path—that calms him "She says what she likes," he tells
open to you)' and dulls all resentful memories. It Clarissa, "Has she yet put on the dig -
left
pe is Georgie; his love, his darling I She, 'allied stop for you? It would quite sub -
"To whom are you alluding 1" asks t at least, will be true to him. Ile will due any ne tsee her at thhead of
winds of scandal shall have power• to her table. Last night it was terrible.
an ominous flush betraying itself in his shake her scandal
Surely a heart filled She seemed to grow several inches tall-
be -
gray eyes. with dreams of her should harbor no er, and looked foro severe to that long "I hope I understain) you to mean to miserable thoughts. He smiles again: tore it was time him retire,otears. ug tin was on the verge of nervous tears.
offer full, though tardy reparation to his steps grow lighter 1 he is once more I could have wept for him, he looked
Ruth Annersleyl the Dorian of old; he will—he must— so disheartened."
With an effort Branscombe restrains be, of necesity, utterly happy with her "1'm perfectly certain Martin adores
beside him during all the life that is 1)l
amazement. "To be married I )his is wroth with those he loves is, _indeed, 'collar
pe-
Branscombe,
Branscombe growing pale with anger. teeth her so to love him that no light
me," says blas. Branscombe, indi.ggnon Y.
"and I couldn't be severe or di nifiad
the fierce outburst of wrath that is to come. g
trembling on his lips.
"You still persist, then, in accusing
me of being accessory to that girl's dis-
appea.rance'0"
"You. have never yet denied it," ex-
claims Sartoris, pushing back his glass,
and rising to bis feet. "Give me the lie
direct, if you can, -1C you. dare,—and 1
will believe you."
"I never will," returns Dorian, now
thoroughly roused,—"never I If my
own character all these past years is not
denial enough, I shall ggive mune no other.
Believe what you will. 1)o you imsigine i
I shall e to you, like a whipped pallid, but thg now some worrying very pallor adds to the Y ng thought Is oppress -
school boy, alter every ,supposed of- extreme purity and childishness of her ing her, and spoiling' tee flavor of her
fense, to say, 1 did do this,' or, '1 did beauty, and makes the gazer confident tea; her kidney loess its grace, her toast
not do that?' I shall contradict no- there's nothing ill can dwell in such its crispness. She peeps at Dorian from
thing, assert nothing: therefore judge a temple." Dorian, tall and handsome, behind
ehi d the huge silver urn that seep
me as it may so please you. 1 shall not and unmistakably content, seems a very j usly.to conceal her from view, and
try to vindicate my actions to any liv-I fit guardian fur so fragile a flower. says, plaintively,—
in ma." Ot course the marriage gives rise to Is the duchess a very grand person,
Itis sonno, his whole bearing, should much comment in the country, Brans- Dorian 1"
have carried conviction to the hearts of combo being direct heir to the Sextons "She is 011 awfully fat person, at all
moat men • but to the old lord, who has title, and presumably the future pos- events," says Dorian. cheerfully. "I
seen so much, of the world in its worst sessor of all his uncle's private wealth. never saw any one who could beat her
phases, its cruelties and falsehoods; That he should marry a mere govern- inthat line. She'd take a prize, I
and who has roughed it so long among css. a positive nobody, horrifies the think. She is not a bad old thing when
his fellow -men, faith, in its finer sense, county, and snakes it shrug its in a good temper, but that is so painful -
is wanting. I comfortable shoulders and give way to ly seldom. Will you go?"
"Encu h," he says, coldly, with a more malicious talk than is at all nec- '1 don't know,"—doubtfully. Plain -
alp ht wave of his hand. Let us cud essary. With some, the pretty bride is ly, she is in the lowest depths of despair.
this subject now and forever. You an adventuress, and, indeed,—in the ' 1—I—think 1 would rattier not."
have come to tell me of your approach-. very softest of soft whispers, and with "1 think you bad better, darling."
ing marriage; may 1 ask the name of a gentle rustling of indignant skirts,— "But you said just now she wan ul-
the lad you intend making your wife ?" not, altogether as correct as she might ways in a bad temper."
'Broughton ; Georgie Broughton,"be, There are a few who choose to 1)0- Always'' Oh, no• I am sure I
says Branscombe, brierly. I lieve her of good family, but "awfully couldn't have said that. And, besides,
'Broughton,—I hardly fancy I know, out -at -elbows, don't you know;" a still she won't go ,for you, you know, even
the name; and yet am 1 wrong 10 fewer who declare she is charming all if she is. Ile duke generally comes in
round and fit for anything; and hardly for it. And by this time he rather en -
thinking there is a governess at the
vicarage of that name?" I one who does not consider her, at joys it, I suppose,—as custom makes us
There was. She is now staying withheart, fortunate and designing. love most things.'
Clarissa Peyton. I am to be married to 1 One or two rash and unsophisticated "But, Dorian, really now, what is she
her, as I have already told you, early girls venture on the supposition that like?
nest month." perhaps, after all, it is a real bona fide "'I can't say that: it is a tremendous
A governess I"' says Surtoris. There' 10ve-match, and make the still bolder question. I don't know what she is; I
is a world 01 unpleasant meaning in suggestion that a governess may have only know what she is not."
his tone. "Really,"—with slow con- a heart as well as other people. But "What, then 1"
tempt,—"1 can hardly congratulate you these silly children are pushed out of "Fashioned so slenderly, young and
on your tavtes 1 You hwo might have sight, and very sensibly pooh-poohed, so fair,'" quotes he, promptly. At
chosen your wife almost anywhere, cau and are told, with a little clever laugh, which they both laugh.
find nothing to suit you but an obscure ' that they "are quite too sweet, and If she is an old dowdy," says Mrs.
governess." quite clear babies, and they must try Branscombe, somewhat irreverently, "I
'I don't think there is anything par -i anti keep on thinking all that sort of shu'n't be one scrap afraid of her, and
ocularly obscure about Georgie re- pretty rubbish as long us ever they can. 1 do so want to go right over the castle.
Alas that human hopes should prove to save my life. Clarissa, you must for-
give often that.
! give me if remove Dori at once,
--
before he says anything worse. He is
CHAPTER XXVII. quite untrustworthy. Good -by, dear -
"'Tis now the summer of your youth; est, and be sure you Dome up to see me
time bus not oropt the roses from to -morrow. I want to ask you ever so
your cheek, though sorrow long has many more questions."
washed them."—'the Gamester. Cards from the duchess for a gard-
The wedding—a. very private one— en -party," says Georgie, throwing the
goes off charmingly. The day breaks invitations in question across the break -
calm, smilingly, rich with beauty, fast -table to her husband. It is quite
Lovely are tiie opening eyelids of the a week later, and she has almost set -
mora." fled down into the conventional mar -
Georgie, in her wedding garments, ried woman, though not altogether. To
looking like some pale white lily, is in- be entirely married—that is, sedate and
deed "passin Lair." She is almost too sage—is quite beyond Geordie. rust
plies Dorian, with admirable sore/muse. ; t is so successful, and so very taking Somebody—Lord A Fred—would take
though be flushes hotly. "Have you nowadays." me, I dare say. Yes,"—with sudden an-
ever seen her 4 No 4 Then, at course, Dorian is regarded as an infatuated, imation—"let us go."
you are not in a position to judge of misguided young man, who shouldnever I shall poison Lord Alfred present -
either her merits or demerits. I shall have been allowed out without a keep- 13'," says Dorian, calmly. "Nothing
thank you, therefore,"—surveying his er. Such a disgraceful flinging away shall prevent. me. Your evident de -
uncle rather insolently, from bead to of opportunities, and birth, and posy- termination to spend your day with
heel,—"to be silent on the subject. tion, to marry a woman so utterly out hien has sealed his doom. Very well:
After a slight pause, be turns agar of his own sett No wonder his poor send an answer, and let us spend 1011108
to Sartoris, and, forcing him to meet uncle refused to he present at the cere- long happy day in the country.'"
his gaze, nays haughtily,— mony,-actually ran away from home "IVO are always spendin that, aren't
"May we hope you w ill be present at to 5votd it. And—so—by the bye, talk -
our wedding, my lord
I thank you, no. I fear not," re-
turns the older man, quite as haught-
ily. 'I hope to be many miles from
here before the end of next week."
Dorian smiles unpleasantly.
"Yon will at least call upon Miss
Bron bion before leavin the neighbor-
ing of running away what was that
affair about that little girl at the
milli Wasn't Branscombe's name
mixed up with it; unpleasantly? Horrid
low, you know, that sort of thing,
when one is found out.
The county is quite pleased with its
own gossip, and drinks innumerable
hood' he says, raising is brows. cups of choicest tea over ft, out of the
At this Sartoris turns upon him very daintiest Derby and Sevres and
fiercely, stung by the apparent uncon- "Wooster," and is actually merry at the
cern of his manner. expense of the newly wedded.
"Why should I call ?" he says. his Only et few brave men among
voice fall of indignant anger. Is it whom is Mr, Ileneedy, who is
to congratulate her on her coming un -staying with the Luttrels, give it as
ion with you'? 1 tell you, were I to do I their opinion that Branscombe is a down -
so, the face of another woman would: right lucky fellow and has got the band -
rise before me and freeze the false I sourest wife in the neighborhood.
words upon my lips. To you, Dorian, I Toward the close of ,laly, contrary to
in my old age, all my heart went out. t expectation, Mr. and Mrs, Branscombe
My hopes, my affections, my ambitions,i return to Pullingham, and, in spite of
began and ended with you. And. what . censure, and open protest, are literally
a reward has been mine! Yours has inundated with cards from all sides.
been the stand to drag cur 135121e down The morning after hor return, Georgie
to a level with the dust. Disgrace drives down to Gowra.n, to see Clarissa,
follows hard upon your footsteps. land tell her "all the news," as she de -
Were I to go, as you desire, to this in- glares in hor first breath.
1 "It was all too enchanting,' she says,
in her quick, vivacious way. 1 enjoyed
it so. All the lovely old churches, and
the hikes, and the )pones of the dear
nocent gir , do you imagine
speak fair words to her I tell you, no l
I should rather feel it my duty to warn
her against entering a house so dis-
honored as yours. I should' ' saints, and everything. But I missed
"Pshaw 1" says Branscombe, chock eti, do you know,— es, real) without
ing him with an impatient gesture. flattery, 1 mean. • Every time I saw
"Don't let us introduce tragedy into anything specially desirable, I felt I
wanted you to see it to. And on one
day I told Dorian I was filled with a
marl longing to talk to you once again,
and I think he rather jtnnped at the
suggestion of coming home forthwith;
and -why, here we are."
"I can't say how glad I am that you
are here," says Clarissa. It wase too
dreadful without you both. I am so de-
lighted you had such a really good time
and were so happy."
"Iiappyt—I am quite that," says Mrs.
this . very commonplace affair. Pray
don't trouble yourself to go and see her
at all. In your present mood, I rather
think you would frighten her to death.
I am sorry I intruded my private mat-
ters upon you ; but Clarissa quite made
a point of my coming to Hythe to -night
for that purpose, and, as you know, she
is a difficult person to refuse. I'm
sure I beg your pardon for having so
unwarrantably bored you."
Cln.rlssa, like a great many ether
charming people, is at times 1)1000 to
PRACTICAL FARMING.
PRIL,10,xQG
THE, COW,
3V' en .tines are hard, as times are yet,
�ttd *ai lard to et;
or is foares ra 1.. g
Wtsa s but little ,nmiey 00100 ire 000)10
And debt and taxes must be paid,
Tohere us out,we must thew" Dad old
is nothinglike g
Dow;
The gentle cow, the honest cow --
All honer to the good old cow.
Once wheat would :bring us at the door
It
A Duo do11arwould sure,pay frandom 00yeametimesrtoyea(11010;r,
To feed and fat and sell the
Ifs.
heel and wool one had to se
They 913e0 would fill the pocket well;
Flirt tunes have changed, wool and sheep
And wheat and steers are now quite
Their price are' so very low ,
That of profit there's but little show.
Tis dairying 1)1)51 lsiys best now,
Our main reliance is the cow.
Tis better business, year by year,
Tban raising wheat or Shoop or steer, her well as you kpow bow;
Deni gently with the good old eoW
And treat
Don't chase her round with clubs and
00(50,
Don't worry her with dogs and boys,
Don't pound hor with your stool and
ewoar.
But treat her gently and with care,
Speak kindly to her as you. would
Your lady love in gentlest mood;
Caress and pet her day by day,
Peed her with meal and roots and
Give h r" good feed, and feed her well,
For good feed in the pail will tell.
Do this and she will seldom fail
With foaming milk to fill the pail.
She'll pay you well for all you do.
And greet you With her pleasant.
"moo.""
The factories her milk will
Or you at home can butter
In either case there is profit there
Enough to pay for all your care.
Now, when at breakfast -time you see
The creamy milk poured'in your tea,
And when at dinner -time you spread
Delicious butter on your bread.
And when you taste the creamy cheese
At any time, remember, please,
From whom they came, and then al-
low
Due credit to the generous cow.
Recount her merits o'er and o'er,
She'll serve you well ten years or
more
With luxuries for table cheer
And wholesome food from year to
year.
Of cash she will gain you quite a store.
Sbo'il pay expenses and much more.
You are a mean man, I tell you now,
If you abuse that faithful cow.
GRASSES Port PASTURES.
A. prominent agricultural writer, a
practical farmer, answers an Inquiry
about permanent pastures, and as he
gives his practical experience the in-
quirer will be able to gain further ideas.
The authority writes as follows:
A writer asks for' the best mixture
of grasses for permanent pasture and
time of sowing. In seeding a permanent
pasture I use as many kinds of grasses as
I think are suited to the soil, the more
the better, and then those which aro
best adapted to the soil will gradually
crowd out the others. Some eighteen
years ago I seeded a permanent pasture
of thirty acres. which has given the best
of satisfaction. I used Timothy, red
and Alsike clover, bluegrass. orchard
grass and redtop. I did not sow all of
these over the entire field, only the Tim-
othy, clover and bluegrass, but the red -
top I sowed all along the runs and
washes, anti the orchard grass on the
bits of creek bottom and the new
ground. The result was very satisfac-
tory, as I had a good pasture from the
start and as the clover and Timothy dis-
appeared the permanent grasses took
their places. The clover also furnishes
in its decaying roots plant food for the
grasses which are to remain.
"One experiment that I tried on one
acre gave exceilent satisfaction. and
that was transplanting bluegrass in-
stead of sowing seed. All of our road-
sides are set with bluegrass, and I cut
sod about two inches thick, and with a
spade cut it into pieces about two inches
square, and we dropped these from bask-
ets on a well-prepared seed' bed in
March, and stepped on thein so as to
press them into the soil. We dropped
thein about two and one-half feet apart
each way, and a square foot of sod cut
about enough pieces to cover a square..
rod, and as a square rod contains '272
square feet, it will be seen that it will
furnish enough sod for over an acre and
a half, or if cut to just two inch square
for more than two acres. The result
was very satisfactory, as these pieces
grew to the size of a dinner plate tale
first summer, and in three years cover-
ed the ground, and the acre I planted
with sod in this way has produced more
grass than any other two acres in the
field. I think this could be done best
in September, to let it get rooted before
the winter sets in, and I consider Sep-
tember the best month in the year for
seeding all the grasses, but would sow
the clover in February or March fol-
lowing when the conditions were favor-
able. On clay upland clover should al -
we?" says Mrs. Branseomfc, adorably. ways be sown early, so as to be eovereet
Then, with a. sigh, "Dorian, what shall by the frost. Sow on a clear, bright
I wear?" morning,when the land is sharply froz-
He doesn't answer. For the moment ,en, but likely to thaw in the middle of
he is engrossed, being deep in his the day. This thawing sticks the seed
"Times," busy studying the murders, di- fast, so as to prevent its washing into
vorces, Irish atrocities, and other pleas- bunches, or, if the land slopes, entirely
entries it contains.
"Dorian, do put down that abomin-
able paper," exclaims she again, impa-
tiently, leaning her arms on the table,
and regardinghim anxiously from the
right side of he froward urn that still
will come in her way. "What shall I
wear ?"
"It can't matter," says Dorian: "you
look lovely in everything, so it is im-
possible for you to make a mistake."
It is a pity you oan't talk sense,"—
reproachfully. Then, with a glance lit-
erally beavy with care, 'There is that
tea -green satin trimmed with .Chant -
off the field in places, should a rain
fall soon. Sowing thus earl the seed
will be well covered before the weather
M warm enough to sprout it, and will
be in less danger of damage from late
spring frosts than if sown later and
left on the surface. I think it always
pays in seeding a field to grass to use
commercial fertilizers and I would use
a mixture of a fine, quick -acting phos-
phate and pure ground bone."
REMINDERS.
By. The following suggestions are found
"I forget it," says Dorian, professing in the English Fanciers' Gazette:
the very deepest interest, but I know
it is all things."
"No, it isn't: I can't bear the sleeves.
Then"—discontentedly-"there is that
velvet."
"The very thing," enthusiastically.
(To Be Continued.)
NO INTEREST IN IT.
Some people seem to be incapable of
looking at any subject except, from the
point of view of property—and of their
awn property.
An English paper says that last sum-
mer a man and his Wife were sailing
on a steamer between Blackpool and the
Isle of Man. A little gale came up and
the wife was frightened.
0 Johnl Johnl she gasped, the ship
is going dotvnl IAlways keep the floors of the houses test against this attaelt on my absent
Well, never mind, said ber btzsband, and coops well covered with sand or friend, for surely it is not right to
it isn't ours( lashes. 'hang a man behind his back,
Always rake the droppings oft 01617
morning, Cleanliness is a great pre',
ventive'of sickness,
Always keep ashsrp leokout for ver..
Min, and eradicate them na qunokly @f
possible.
Always do little odd Jobe that want
tieing, at once. ""Procrastination 10 the
Wet of time," and often a nail here or
a tack there wilt nave an hours work,.
Always buy your food in as Largs
gnantity as possible, as you will then
generally be able to get it at cheap-
er rate,
Always keep a striot account of all
you buy or sell. By treating yon,' bolo.
by in a thoroughly business way, You
will derive greater pleasure by seeing
exactly bow much profit you have earn-
° Alwayys bertioular when writing a
description of what you have to sell to
en intended purchaser; this often eaves
a lot of unpleasantness.
Always remember that promptness in
replying to lettere is the way to secure
customers,
Always bear in mind that by coating -
ally advertising you bring your name
before the public, and thereby build up
a substantial business.
SPRING CARD OF HORSES,
The teams, for the work of seeding'
and heavy plowing should be at Ones
put at moderate work to harden the
shoulders. The horse's work for the
first day should be doubled on the sec-
ond day and followed every other dray
afterwards for a fortnight, by three or
four hour's work. The loads to be
drawn should also bo increased from
time to time. The condition of the roads
is to be taken into account in loading
the wagons, of course.
The young, unbroken colts aro to be
handled with great care. The lumber
wagon with the stout tongue is the
safest thing to use for the fust twenty
day's work, in the case of untrained
horses. Very little, if any load, should
be put on a wagon drawn by green
eolts during the first ten days of work.
This is especially important if the
ground is wet and soft.
The brood mares if already well brok-
en to work may be worked moderately;
and will be improved by the
work, 'even up to the day of
foaling, . if handled carefully.
A half day's work during ,the
week previous to delivery is the safer
rule. Heavy pulling or a fast walking
gait over soft ground er wet roads
should be avoided. A. place by herself
—a box stall at night—should be pro-
vided for thirtydays before the brood
mare's date of delivery. Roc food
should be of the kind to regulate the
entire system and give tone to the
nerves and organs of digestion. No
pains should be spared to furnish every
attention needful.
It is probable that horses will be val-
uable when this season's colts are
grown. --
A STRANGE CUSTOM.
It is obligatory in Seoul, the capital
of Korea, for every man to go home
at sunset, when the ringing of the large
bronze bell of the city is a signal for
every man to retire to his home. Any.
man found in the streets after sunset,
when the city gates are closed, is liable
to be flogged for breach of the law.
The women are, however, allowed to go
out to take the air and gossip with their
friends. Another curious distinction be-
tween men and women is that the lat-
ter have no name before marriage, and
that after marriage the husband be-
comes answerable for his wife's misde-
meanor and, in his own person, suffers
the penalty inflicted.
HOW ROYALTY DINES.
Little Peculiarities or Prominent Dignitar-
ies or Europe.
Queen Victoria is very fond of Scotch
dishes.
The Queen Regent of Spain remains
true to the Austrian cooking, being es-
pecially fond of Vienna bread.
The Emperor of Austria sets the rich-
est and best table of all European po-
tentates, but he is himself a very tem-
perate eater and drinker.
King Humbert of Italy might he call-
ed a vegetarian, as he lives almost en-
tirely upon fruit and vegetables. Ho
drinks only Bordeaux wines mixed with
water.
The Emperor of Russia is a hearty
eater. Even at breakfast, tea, eggs,
ham and beef must bo placed on his
table. At luncheon, which is eaten
about 11 o'clock, the Czar takes bouil-
lon, with eggs, mutton chops and cold
game. As a rule at this meal he
drinks three cups of strong coffee. At
2 o'clock ho eats a dish of milk and rice.
Dinner is a hearty meal, atter the
French pattern. Before going to bed
he stills the hunger with tea or coffee.
The most temperate of all the earth's
potentates is Pope Leo XII. His break-
fast, which he is accustomed to eat
after mass, consists of coffee and milk
alone. At night the aged ruler of the
Church eats two eggs, a small piece of
chicken, as a rule, and some fruit. He
drinks at the same time some Bordeaux.
On fast days fish and macaroni are sub-
stituted for the chicken. From dinner
time until bedtime the Pope takes no
nourishment, with the exception of a
bit of bread dippeed in milk.
Emperor William II. is a heavy eat-
er. He prefers nourishing dishes, how-
ever, to the refined examples of the
cook's art. After the morning bath he
is served with an English breakfast,
consisting of tea, bread, eggs in some
form, cotellette, beefsteak, etc. His
lunch, usually eaten alone, is also rich.
He takes at this time soup, meat, vege-
tables, roast and sweets. Dinner is an-
nounced at 6 o'clock. At this meal t:he
Empress and chance guests help the
Emperor in whiling away the time. It
does not consist usuall • of more dishes
than the other meals, but great care is
taken in selecting them, The Em-
press often makes up the bill of fare
Always carefully look over your flock herself, and tries to choose the favorite
once it day, and 11 you see any birds dishes of her husband. If the Emperor
money or dropping their wings, remove has taken much exercise during the
them then and there, as one ill bird da., a Light meal is oaten Tato at night.
TP,a and cold meats, at lenst, are al -
may affect all the rest. ways ready. His Majesty is extreme-
ly fond of "bowie," or punch, seldom
takingboor. His favorite beverages are
Mosele and Rhine wines.
Always keep some Epsom salts and
sweet 011 by you, as you may want them
at any moment.
Always give just enough food et one
Lime that it will all he eaten up; none
should be left lying around.
TWO FROM CORK,
of A Cork Town Councilor is credited
Always give as great a variety
with having thus spoken: There can
food as possible; constant change of be no doubt of the viriflence of this
diet is the way Lo get the chickens on. depuio, for X know 'of people, )ring
dead from it who novo) died 1pefore
Always give your birds a little hemp- The same gentleman thus chivalrously
seed and cooked meat when moulting. defended a colleague: I strongly pro-
BARR WORK ANA A 14)NG MEM
1l4attlent in the lulu o1 i9 IV+ttuutra 'Warr
Correspondent,
After the battle of Deligrad, in 1878,
when the at0uggle of Sorvia against
Turkey came to an end, Mr, Archi-
bald Forbes found bimeelf the only
newspaper correspondent on the spot,
and Reit bound to make the 'Mast of
his opportunity,' The nearest accessible
telegraph office )vas at Semlln, more
than one hundred and twenty miles
away. Xt was five o'olook in the after-
noon, Mr. Forbes lost no time in [dart-
ing. and from his account of the jour-.
ney the reader may derive a pretty
good idea of one phase of a war corres-
pondent's life:
I bad en order for post -horses along
the road, and I galloped hard for Para
chin, the nearest post station, When
T. got there the postmaster had horses.
hilt no vehicle.
Now if I had merely sent a courier,
tide obstacle would have sufficed ef.
fectually to atop him; but it was appar-
ent 01:0 me, being my own messenger,
that although • I Could not drive, I -
might ride. True, the Servian post
nags were not saddle -horses; but sharp
spurs and the handling of an old dra-
goon might be relied upon to make diem
travel somehow,
All .night long I rode that weary
ourney, changing horses every fif-
teen miles, and forcing the vile brutes
along at the top of their speed.
At nine the next morning, sore from
bead to foot, I was clattering over the
stones of the Belgrade main street. The
field -telegraph wire had conveyed but
a curt, fragmentary intimation of dis-
aster; and the whole capital, feverish
for further news, rushed out into the
street as I powdered along; butI batt
galloped all night, not to gossip in Bel-
grade, but to get to the Semlln stele -
graph wire acres the river, and I nev-
er drew rein till I reached the ferry-
boat.
At Semlln ono long dring of beer,
and then at once to the task of writ-
ing, hour after hour against time, the
tidings of which I was the bearer from
the interior.
After I had written my story and put
it on the wires, I lay down in my,
clothes and slept twenty hours with-
out awakening once.
I had meant to start back for Deli -
grad on the afternoon of the day oa
my arrival in Belgrade, but sheer faa
tiguo had paused me to lose a day in
sleep. It seemed to me, however, when
I recovered from my chagrin at this de-
lay, that perhaps after all I was fair-
ly entitled to a good long sleep; far 11
had seen a battle that lasted six hours.
ridden a hundred and twenty miles. and
written to the Daily News a telegraph-
is message four columns long—all in
the space of thirty hours.
BLINDN'NESS FROM THE MOON.
Some notable cases of so-called mcmn-
bllnk, or moon blindness, were reported
a few days ago, the victims being sail-
ors on board the ship El Capitan, which
had just returned to Now York after
along cruise in Chinese and Japanese
waters. These men, we are told, were
in the habit of lying on the deck at
night, with their faces turned upward.
and as a result were stricken with tem-
porary blindness. During the daytime
they could see well enough, but at
night they could see nothing. This
singular affliction beset them as long
as they remained in the warm coun-
tries.
As to the cause or the exact nature
of this disease no explanation is to be
found in medical works. Sailors them-
selves believe that it is caused directly
by the moon, and many who have look-
ed into the subject of lunar inflnenco
agree with them. One thing is certain.
moon blindness was recognized as a
curious malady many years ago, and
by one, who evidently wrote atter care-
ful consideration,was attributed direct-
ly to lunar influence. Martin, is )tort
"History of the British Colonies," e.
book published many years ago: says-
' I have seen in Africa newly -littered
young perish in a few hours at the
mother's side it exposed to the rays of
the full moon; fish become rapidly put-
rid, and meat, if left exposed, miurs
able or unpreservable by salt; the mar-
iner, heedlessly sleeping on the deck,
becomes afflicted with myotologia, og
night blindness; at times the face is
hideously swollen if exposed during
sleep to the moon's rays; the maniac's
paroxysms are renewed with fearful,
vigor at the full and change, and the
cold, damp chill of the ague supervenes
on the ascendancy of this apparently
mild yet powerful luminary. Let bac
influence over the earth be studied; it
is more powerful than is generally..
known."
BROKEN WIRE.
/law' tie Telegraph Operator Tells Where
the Break 85 Located.
Perhaps the greatest oC all mysteries,
to the uninitiated, about telegraphy is
the fact that when a wire is broken
or damaged the operator, sitting In his
office, can tell exactly where the ac-
cident has ocourrod.
The explanation, however, is very
simple. It requires force to send elec-
trioity through a wire, just as it does
to pump water through a hose. The
longer the wire is the greater is the
force required. This force is measured ;
hut, instead of calling it pounds, as in
the measuring the pressure in a boiler,
electricians call the units of eleetridai
force "ohms."
Suppose a wire between two offices'
is 150 miles long, and that on a stormy
night, it gets broken somewhere, The
telegraphist knows that when the wire
was sound it took just 2,000 ohms to
send a current through, or 14 ohms per
mile. He note finds that he can send
a. current with only 700 ohms. He di-
vides 700 by 14, and finds that the break
in the wird is 50 miles from his end.
When the wire is under the sea a'
curious thing happens. The electricity
decomposes the sea salt, and a new salt
is formed on the broken ends of the
wire ; and until that is cleared await'
by what is called a zinc current, act-
ing for ton or twelve hours, no meas-
urement can he made.
SIZE NEARLY FAINTI",D.
A lady teacher in one ofs the pub-
lic, eabools, in trying to explain the
meaning of the word "slowly," i11us-
trated it by walking tierces the floor.
When she asked the class to tell hew
she walked she nearly fainted when a
boy et the foot of the class shouited:
Bow-legged, ma'amt
a
7