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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