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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Brussels Post, 1896-4-24, Page 2VICAR'STHE GOVERNESS, CHAPTER XXVIII. e, There's not a Mane OP earth so fu11 of 1ightneee eat withering care Sleeps not beneath the flowers and teens .their brightneee To dark despair.- ..alien. espar.`.-Hon. Mrs,. Norton. It is a day of blue anti planer's 80 intenee as to melte one believe these two are the only colors on earth worthy Of admiration. Tice sky is olpudleee;, the great men is wide awake; the flowers are, drooping, sleeping, --too languid to lift their heavy heads, "The gentle wind, that like a ghost dot 'A waving shdow on the cornfield keeps.' Ana 'Georgie descending the stone steps of the balcony, feels ber whole naturethrill and glow beneath the warmth and ,richness of the beauty spread all around with lavish hand. Scarcely a breath stirs the air; no sound comes to mar the deep stillness of the day, save the echo of the "swal- lows' silken wings skimming the water of the sleeping lake." As she passes the rose trees, she puts out her hand, and, from the very fullness of her heart, touches some of the drowsy flowers with caress- ing fingers. She is feeling peculiarly happy to -day ; everything is going s smoothly with ber ; her life is devoid of Dare; only sunshine streams upon her path; storm and rain and nipping frosts seem all forgotten. Going into the garden, she pulls a flowerr or two and places them in the bosom of her white gown, and bend- ing over'the basin of a fountain, looks at her own image, and smiles at it, as well she may. Then she blushes at ber own vanity, and, drawing back from nature's mir- ror, tells herself she will go e. little fur - .thee, and see what Andrews, the under - gardener (who has come to Sartoris from Ilythe), is doing in the shrub- bery. The path by whish she goes is so thickly lined with shrubs on the right- hand side that she cannot be seen through them, nor can she see those beyond. 'Voices come to her from the distance, that, as she advances up the path, grow even louder. She is not thinking oC them, or, indeed, of any- thing but the extreme loveliness of the hour, when words fall upon her ear that make themselves intelligible and send the blood with a,quick .rush to ber heart, "It is a disgraceful story altogether; and to have the master's name mixed up with it is shameful!" The voice, beyond doubt, belongs to Graham, the upper -housemaid, and is full of honest indignation. Herdly believing she has heard aright, and without any thought of eaves -dropping, Georgie stands still up- on the walk, and waits in breathless silence for what may come next. Well, I think it is shameful," says another voice, easily recognized as be- longing to Andrews. But I believe it is the truth for all that. Father saw him with his own eyes. It was late, but just as light as it is now, and he saw him plain." Do you mean to tell me," says Gra- ham, with increasing wrath (she is an elderly woman, and has lived. at Sartoris for many years), "that you really think Your master had either hand, not, or pant in inducing Ruth Annersley to leave her home?" "Well, I only say, what father told me," says Andrews, ea a half -apologetic fashion, being somewhat abashed by her anger. "And he ain't one to lie much. He saw him with her in the wood the night she went to Lunnun, or wherever 'twos, and they walked together in the way to Langham Station. They do say, too, that—" A quick light footstep, a pulling aside of branches, and Georgia, pale, but com- posed, appears before them. Andrews, losing his head, drops the knife he is holding, and Graham grows te fine pur- ple. I don't think you are doing much good here, Andrews," says Mrs. Brans- combe, pleasantly. "These trees look well enough; go to the eastern walk, and see what can be done there." Andrews, only too thankful for the chance of escape, picks up his knife and beats a hasty retreat. Then Georgie, turning to Graham, says, slowly,— Now, tell me every word of it, from beginning to end." Her assumed unconsciousness has vanished. Every poetical of color has flown from her face, her brow is con- tracted, her eyes are shining with anew and most unenviable brilliancy. Per- haps she knows this herself, as, after the first swift glance at the woman on Andrews's departure, she never lifts her eyes again, but keeps them deliber- ately fixed upon the ground during the entire interview. She speaks in a low doncentrated tone, but with firm com- pressed lips. Graham's feelings at this moment would be impossible to describe. After- ward—many months afterward—sbe herself gave some idea of them when she declared to the cook that she thought she should have 'swooned sight off." Oh, madam! tell m what?" sbe stye, now, in a terrified tone, shrink- ing away from her mtress, and turn - is infer deadly pale. You know what you were speaking about just now when I came up." It was nothing, madam, only idle gossip, not worth--" Do not equivocate to me. You Were speaking of Mr. Branscombe. Repeat your 'idle gossip." I will have it word for word. Do yeu bear?" She beets her foot with quick impatience d. against the grpel, moun Do not come to repeat so vile 0, lie," entreats Graham, earnestly, "It IS altogether false. Indeed, madam, ' confusedly,— "I cannot rememberwhat it was we were saying when yeu came up to us so unexpeeted.ly.' 'Then I shall refresh your memory. You were talking of your master and— and of that girl in the village wbo—" The words abnost suffocate her• invol- untarily she raises her liana to her throat. "Go on," she says, in a low, dangerous tone. • Graham bursts into tears, "It was the gardener at Hythe—old ;A.ndrews—who told it to out man here'' she sobs, painfully. You know he is his father, and he said he had seen the i ester in the copscWood the evening Lauth Annersley ran away." "H° was in London that evening!' "Yes, madam, we all twee' tat, ' says the woman, eagerly. That alone proves how false the whole start' is, But wicked people will talk, and it is wise people only who will not give beedto themn " „What led Andrews to believe it was your master 1" She speaks in a bard constrained voice, and as one who bas not beard a word of the preceding speech. Jo truth, sh4 bas not listened to it, her whole mind being engrossed with this new and hateful thing that lias fallen into her life, Fee says tie saw bine—that he knew hien by his height, his figure, bis side - face, and the coat he wore -a light overcoat, such aa the master genes- lley uses," And how does lie explain away the fact of—of Mr. Branseoinbe's being in town that evening?" At this question Graham unmistak- ably hesitates before replying. When she does answer, it is with evident re - "You see, madam," she says, very gently 'it would he quite possible to come down by the mid -night train to Langham, to drive across to I ulling ham, and get bank again to Loudon by the evening train," 1t sounds quite simple," says Mrs. Branscombe, in a strange tone. Then follows au unbroken silence that lasts for several minutes and nearly sends poor Graham out other mind. She can- not quite see her mistress's face as it is turned carefully aside, but the hand that is resting , on a stout branch of laurel near her is steady as the branch itself. Steady but the pretty filbert nails show dead white against the gray -green of the bark, as though ex- treme pressure, born of mental agita- tion and a passionate desire to sup- press and hide it, has compelled the poor little fingers to grasp with un- l due force wbatsver may be nearest to them. When silence has become positively unbearable, Georgie says, slowly,— And does all the world knave this?" "I bone not, ma'am. I think not. Though, indeed,"—says thefaithful Gra- i ham, with a burst of ndignation,— I "even 11 they did, I don't see bow it could matter. It would not make it a bit mare or less than a deliberate lin." "You are a good soul, Graham," says Mrs. Branscombe, wearily. Something in her manner frightens Graham more than all that has gone before. Oh, madam, do not pay any atten- tion to such a wicked tale," she says, anxiously, "and forgive inti for ever having presumed to lend my ears to it. No one knowing the me.eter could pos- sibly believe in it." "Of course not." The answer comes with unnatural calmness from between her white lips. Graham bursts into fresh tears, and flings her apron over her bead, Airs. Branscombe, at this, throws up her head hastily, almost haughtily, and, drawing her hand with a swift move- ment across her averted eyes, breathes a deep lingering sigh. Then her whole expression changes ; and, com- ing quite near to Graham, she lays her hand lightly on her shoulder, and laughs softly. Graham can hardly believe ber ears; has that rippling, apparently unaffect- ed laugh come from the woman who a moment since appeared all gloom and suppressed anger "I am not silly enough to fret over a ridioulous story such as you have told me," says Georgie, lightly, "Just at first it rather surprised me, I con- fess, but now—now 1 can see the ab- surdity of it. There; do not cry any more; it is a pity to waste tears that later on you may long for in vain." But when she has gamed the house, and has gone up to ber own room, and carefully locked her door, her assumed calmness deserts her. She paces up and down the floor like some chained creature, putting together bit by bit the story just related to her. Not for a moment does she doubt its truth; some terrible fear is knocking at her heart, some dread that is despair and that convinces her of the reality of An- drews's relation. Little actions of Dorian's, light words, certain odd remarks, passed over at the in time of utterance as being of no im- portance, come back to her now, and assert themselves with ovcrwbelming persistency, until they, declare him guilty beyond all dispute. When sbe had gone to the altar and sworn fidelity to him, she had cer- tainly not been in love with her hus- band, according to the common aacepta- Lion of that term. But at least she had given bite a heart devoid of all thought tor another, and she had fully, utterly, believed in his affection for her. For the past few months she had even be- gun to cherish this belief, to cling to 11, and even to feel within berselfseme returning tenderness for him. It is to her now, therefore, as the bitterness of death, this knowledge that bas come to her ears. To have been be - fooled where she had. regarded herself as being most beloved, to have been only second, where she had fondly im- agined herself to be first and dearest, —is a thought bordering upon mad- ness. Passionate sobs rise in her throat, and almost overcome her. An angry feel- ing of rebellion, a vehement protest against this deed that bas been done, shakes ber slight frame. It cannot be true; it shall not; and yet—and yet— why has this evil fallen upon ber of all others? Has her lite been suob a happy one that Fate mast needs be- grudge her one glimpse of light and gladness? Two large tears gather in her eyes, and almost unconsciously roll. down her cheeks that are deadly white. Sinking into a chair, as though ex- hausted, sbe leans back among its cush- ions, letting her hands fall together and lie idly is her lap. Motionless she sits, with eyes fixed as if riveted to earth, while tears insen- sibly steal down her pensive checks, which look like weeping dew fallen on the statue of despair. For fully half an hour she so rests, scarce moving, hardly seeming to breatbe. Then she rouses herself, and, going over to a table, bathes her face with eau -de -Cologne. .This calms her in a degree, and stills the outward ex- pression of her suffering, but in her heart there rages a fire that no waters. can quench. Putting ber hot on once again, She ghee downstairs, feeling eager fur a touch of the cool eveningair. The bot sun is fading, dying; areeze from the distant sea es creeping stealthily up to the land, At the foot of the staircase she encounters Dorian coming toward her from the library. Z have been hunting _the places for you," be says, gayly. "Where on earth have you been hiding 1 Visions of Ihastly death rose up before me, and was ,just about to have the lake drag- tied and the shrubberies swept. Martin is nearly in tears. Youreally ought to consider our feelings a little, Why, where were you off to notal" --for the first time noticing her hat. "Out," returns she coldly, looking straight over his hears; she is standing TEI BRUSSELS POST. on the third step of the stairs, while he ea in the ha11 below, "1 feel stifled in this bailee.' Hee tone is distinctly streu e, her manner most »poem!, Hearing she i.e really ill, he goes up to her end. lays lila hand upon bee arm,• 9 Anytlllog the inattev, darliu g Flow white you look," be begins, tea - aerie, ; en -aerie,; but she .Inter Cts bine '1 em quite well, she says, hardly;. shrinking ,away groin leis touch as though it 1s hittefel to hey, "1 am going out because 1 wish to he alone." She sweetie past hila through the old hall and out into the darkening sun light, w'ltbout a backward glance or another word. Amazed, puzsled, Branscombe stands gazing atter her un- til the last fold of hex dress bas disap- peared, the last sound of ber feet has eoboed on the stone stops beyond ; then he turns aside, and, feeling, 1f possi- ble, more astonished than bort, goes. hook to the library. From this Hour begins the settled coldness between Dorian and his wile that is afterward to bear such bitter fruit. Sim assigns no actual reason for lion °banged demeanor; and Dorian, at first,` is Coo proud to demand an ex- planation --though perhaps never yet as he loved ber so well as at Ibis time, when all his attempts at tenderness are Boldly and obstinately rejected. Not until a full month has gone by, and it is close upon the middle of Au- gest, does it dawn upon him why Geor- giehas been so different oI late. Sir James Serope is dining with them, and, shortly after the servants have withdrawn, he makes some casual men- tion of Ruth Annersley's name. No notice is taken of it at the time, the conversation changes almost directly in- to a fresh channel, but Dorian, bap- pening to glance across the table at his wife, sees that she bas grown ab- solutely livid, and really, for the in- stant, fears she is going to faint. Only for an instant! Then she recovers ber- self, and makes some careless remark, and is quite her usual self again. But be cannot forget that sudden pal- lor, and like a flash the truth comes to him, and he knows that he is foul and despicable in the eyes of the only woman he loves. When Sir James has gone, he comes over to her, and leaning his elbow on the chimney -piece, stands in sub a position as enables him to command a full view of her face. " Scrope takes a great iiterest in that girl Ruth," he says, purposely intro- ducing the subject again. It certain- ly is remarkable that no tidings of her have ever since reached Pullrngham." Georgie makes no reply. The nights have aheady grown chilly and there is a fire in the grate, before which she is standing warming her bands. One foot,—a very lovely little foot,—elad in a black shoe relieved by large silver buckles, is resting onthe fender, and on this ber eyes are rivitcd, as though lost in admiration of its beauty, thougb in truth she sees it not at all. "I can hardly understand her silence," persists Dorian. I fear, wherever she is, she must be miserable." Georgie rises her great violet eyes to his, that are now dark and deep with passionate anger and contempt. "She is not the only miserable woman in the world," she says, in a low, quick tone. "No, I suppose not. But what an un- sympathetic tone you use! Surely you can feel for her ?" "Feel for ber I Yes, No woman can have as much compassion for her as I have." That is putting it rather strongly, is it note You scarcely know her ; hardly ever spoke to her. Clarissa Peyton, for iestanoe, must think more pitifully of her than you can." I hope it will never be Clarissa's lot to compassionate any one in the way I do her." "You speak very bitterly." "Do I? I think very bitterly." "What do you mean?" demands he, suddenly, straightening himself and drawing up his tall figure to its fullest height. His tone is almost stern. Nothing. There is nothing to be gained by continuing this conversa- tion." "But I think there is. Of late, your manner toward me has been more than strange. If you complain of anything, let me know what et is, and it shal be rectified. At the present moment, 1 confess, I fail to understand you. You speak he the most absurdly romantic way about Ruth Annersley (whom you h handl know as though there existed some special reason why you, above all women, should pity her." I do pity her from my heart; and there is a special reason; she has been deceived, and so have L" By whom?" '`I wish you would discontinue the subject, Dorian; it is a very painful one to me, if—if not to you." Then she moves back a little, and, laying her hand upon hex chest, as though a heavy weight, not to be lifted, is lying there, she says slowly, "You compel me to say what 'I would willingly leave un- said When I married you, I did not understand your character; bad I done sa—" "You would not have married me ? You regret your marriage?" He is very pale now, and something that is surely anguish gleams in his dark eyes.Perhaps had she seen his ex- pression her answer would have been different, or, at least, more merci- ful. "I do," she says, faintly. "Wily ?" All heart seems gone from his voice, He is gazing mournfully upon the girlish figure of his wile as she stands at some little distance from !rim. "Have T been such a bad hus- band to you, Georgie ?" he says broken- ly. "No, no. But it is possible to be cruel in more ways than one. "It is, indeed ! " Then he sighed wearily ; and, giving up all further ex- amination of her lovely unforgiving face, he turns his gaze upon the fire. Look here, be says, presently ; I beard unavoidably what you said to Kennedy that afternoon at the castle, that we could manage to get on with- out each other excellently well on oc- casions; you alluded to yourself, I sup- pose. Perhaps you think we might get on even better !rad we never met. "I didn't say that," says Georgie, turning pale. I understand "—bitterly r" "you only meant it. Well, if you are so unhappy with me, and 11-11 you wish for a sep- aration, 1 think I can manage it for you. I have no desire whatever"—cold- ly-"to keep you with me against your will," Anil, have all the world talking 1" exclaims she, hastily. No. In such a ease the woman goes to the wall; the man is never in ault. Things must now remain as they are. But this one last thing you can do fax me. As far Fie is possible, let us live as at ter stran- gers, to each other." St shall be just as you please," re- turns he, haughtily. Day by, day the dark cloud tbar. sore orates them widens and deepens, drift ing them further and further apart, un- til it seems elmnst impossible tbat they shall ever room together ag,- To Be Continut:_' I have seeni'orruplion l;. and bubble till it, o'errun'the stew.--whaks- Peare, About the Iiause PURE -MINDED CHILDREN. Two objects Cannot nceapy the same space at the same time. Either one or, the other ruust yield, A cultured Mind can find no room to 11ar1>or the evils of petty gossip, or its twin sister, act- ual vice, Ships of greater burthon are authored there. As it is with the ole tore mind, so it is, hi ie less dogeee, with that of the chid, It has not the power of.conoentration:that the roan has, His mind flits with lightning -like rapidity fro= one objeot to another,. And it is only by unceasing laborthat one cat thoroughly fix those ideas that oilght to be permanent, Mean- wbUe the floor's of his soul stand open day and night, to good and bad, alike. Alenefestly it is the duty oe the parent to pusb the doors of good so wide open that the antis of evil die effectually closed. This oan be done best by entiicipat' leg nature's demands. Line upon line and prceept upon precept," ran the old code. It is by constantly iterating and reiterating that pure thoughts are es- tablished. The drastic compulsory style will not do. The child must be studi- ed to find out through what avenue he °an best be approached. All child- ren respond to rytbm. The rythmic motion of the cradle, accompanied by the soft cadences of the mother's voice, soon woos slumber to therostless babe. As be grows older, the lullabies give place to Mother Goose's rhymes and couplets. Before you are aware of it, his childish treble is piping some of his favorites, The little imagination is alive, Els little world is peopled with fairies. Be careful that some dark specter does not overshadow these fan- ciest It is at this period of a child's life that the most lasting good or bad can be done, If you can so fill his mind with good, pure stories, or satisfy his love of timed motion by sweet verses, do so. Do not compel him to memorize too much, or he will get adistaste for rhymes. Your favorites will soon be- come ecome his. Let them be suited to his years. Don't, I beg of you, harp the dogerel of newspaper verse into his ears. If he survives the ordeal, he will have an immense amount of work in after years to throw this rubbish out. Fill the mind with nobler thoughts. Don't let the tiniest corner open for the bad to find a thorough lodgment;, for the seed once planted germinates. with frightful rapidity. Above all, keep his confidence. Treat him ;o that be feels perfectly sure of your sympathy. When evil suggestions come, if they are thingsthat are sac- red, but so told to the child as to seem to be impure, do not shirk your respon- sibility. If he is old enough to under- stand, explain to him, the mechanism of his body. If too young, tell him that you will explain this as be grows old- er. A friend of mine, knowing that her little boy of four years had been told that whlele should have been left till he was older, called him to her and ask- ed him to tell alt he had heard. He did so. She then explained what seem- ed to perplex the child. She taught hire constantly that every organ of his body was as sacred in God's sight as his beautiful golden curls or his blue eyes. She had gained instead of repell- ed his confidence. He is growing up a manly, pure -minded little fellow. The constant aim should be to fill the eliild's mind with pure thought so that evil cannot creepin. Teach him self -dependence, and give him a good business training, not so much of a col- lege, but of practical business life, and. he will grow up a well-balanced man— one that any father or mother might well be proud of. A CHILD'S HOME -TRAINING. Mothers, remember that upon the home training of your children depends their success in after life. Their des- tiny, in a measure, lies in your hands. Begin this training early, while the mind is susceptible and plastic. Tbat which is learned early in lite is never forgotten. The first thin taught should lie obedience, and if this lesson be well learned you may teach tbem whatever else you may desire. A good example isthe nest teacher. i Precepts are useless f contradicted by our daily living. If we are slaves to our evit passions how can we expect to teach our children self-control? If we sometimes speak or act an untruth, we cannot expect them to be truth- ful. Do not scold • do not use harsh words; for they will surely be reflected in your children. A child may be influenced at a very early age by good literature: A good story wellchosen sometimes has more influence in overcoming a fault than any other means that could be used. Train them to helpfulness about the house, to sweep and dust, and to take care of their own clothing, This teaches them habits of industry, neatness, and self-reliance. Give them a corner in the garden,and let them raise flowers and vegetables' teach them to watch the unfolding of the blossoms, and the gradual growth of the plants, thus giving them their. first lessons rn botany and instilling within them a love for the beauties of nature. instruct them as to the names and habits of the different birds and insects. How many, beautiful lessons may be Wight the little ones from nature, if the heart of the mother be attuned to her noble mission! A PLEA FOR CARROTS. The value of carrots in cuisine has been underestimated. In casting about to find what can be used he a dearth of apples to give variety to the table, the housewife can do no better than to utilize the carrot, Carrots are easily grown, retain their flavor, and axe especially nice in stews, sauces and soups. Sliced carrots canned are a good spring salad, a pretty garnish, and mixed with pickled beets are attractive to the eye as well as the palate. The following recipes are recommended as seasonable and new: Carrot Soup a la Cressy.—Put into a saucepan a piece of butter the size of e hen's egg, when melted add a large chopped onion, a slice of ham out into dice, and several (seven or eight) grated carrots. Fry until the Vegetables be- gin to brown, then add two quarts of boiling water, and shnmer two hours. Rub through a coarse colander, season with salt and pepper, re -beat, add a pint u ter cream sc rveohhot, with small squares of toss; eel bread. Creamed Carrots.—Boil them tender, peel, cut in baives lengthwise, fry slow- ly in butter, season with salt endwhite pepper, and just before removing the pan from the tire pour in two-thirds or hall a teacup of sweet cream. Glazed Carrots.—Peel those of equal ,rb size and shape, cook ten minutes n ci ]ng water, drain, and put them into a saucepan with butter, epripkie freely with powdered sugar, add a Buell° water, or stole if yen; bevo it, coo elow1y, watch carefully until reduced to ii glace. Car'rots le la Co1box't.,--I?eel carrots end cut them into goarter-iuoh slices. Boil them in slightly salted water, dr'aiu, lay In a saucepan in which has been melted u large lump 01 butter, Cover with any meat broils, and cook until tender', season with aalt cplpper anis a taUlespoonful of granulated sugar: Servo with drawn butter to which has been added a little Imam juice. Carrots Frittered,—Peel two boiled carxots, beat to a pulp, add two beaten eggs, a tablespoonful of sugar, three tablespoonfuls of flour, moisten with milk or °ream and heat well. Drop by done ar'ainnonmbrown ptus sprinkle liberally with powdered paper, sggar, and squeeze on Bath a few chops of orange Atlee. Carrot Sauce.—Grata a large carrot, beat a small piece of butter in a sauce- pan when just melted add the parrot with enough liquor in which meat was boiled to make it the eonsisteney of gravy thickened with flour, Add salt, pepper, a little lemon juice and cbopped parsley. Carrot Compote, Scrape the parrots and cut 'in quarter -inch slices. Stew in a little water till soft, strain, weigh, and to each pound allow a pound of sugar, and is teacupful of vinegar. Sea- son with cinnamon and orange peel, cook fifteen minutes, mashing and stir- ring often with a spoon, Scalloped Carrots.—Peel and slice very thin. then put a layer in a baking din b, sprinkle with salt, pepper and a very little flour and bits of butter, then another layer of carrots, then sea- soning, until the basin is nearly full. Now fill the basin with milk till it covers the carrots, put bits of butter over the top and bake till tender. Carrot Pie.—For two pies, boil and rub carrots through a colander to a pound, add two eggs, and cream to make it; quite thin; add a heaped teacupful of sugar, season with cinnamon and nut- meg. Bake in a quick oven. Carrot Pudding.—Boil three-quarters of a pound of carrots, mash, add half a pound of breadcrumbs, a quarter of a pound of chopped suet, six tablespoon- fuls of sugar, three well beaten eggs, half a pound of raisins, currants or sweet dried fruit, add milk to make a thick batter, and steam four boors, place in oven twenty minutes and serve with jolly sauce, Jelly Sauce. Melt two tablespoonfuls of jelly and two heaping tablespoon- fuls of sugar in ball a pint of boiling water. Dissolve a teaspoonful of corn starch in half a teacup of cold water, Pour in and when it bulls remove from fire and serve. Canned Carrots: Boil till nearly ten- der, peel and slice, re -heat in steamer, peek in cans and fill with boiling vine- gar and water, or weak vinegar. For salad drain them, cut in bits, cover with, cream and season with salt and white pepper. Boiled carrots chopped, sea- soned with sweetened vinegar, re -heated and canned, are an excellent spring relish. —� S. E. Wilcox. DAINTY HEART DOILY. Materials,one spool linen thread No. 90, a fine sewing needle, a piece of col- ored paper 49-4 inches square, and 24 little hearts cut from fine linen, one- ha1f inch high. Work around each heart as follows: 1st row.—Buttonhole-stitch the edge closely. The second row is a very loose, double -button -hole stitch, taking each mrl.'t v 61'1 mmvtDp�di '40 :,3a9 • SDs..s,:�> E®ca 04� m�®r 434 F ei a ire �®aFp �yv�vice®e }.=i1 r . a 11,4 ;�aa agi,`4A� 6 t➢apQ#�.Q.�'g r/ -rte ver et' . loop on the needle twice and not draw- ing it close to the heart, umcie es rick- rack wheels are. Now arrange four hearts in the center of the square of paper, points meeting, one in each corn- er points outward, one between this and center. Join each to the other with a few tight button -hole stitches where - ever the loops meet, begin at each corner and work to the center, join all in the center, then one between each opening near the four center hearts, points in, one each side of the corner hearts, points In. Refer to illustration. Press carefully with a warm flatiron. It is quite a tedious task to join the hearts and keep them even. A MOTHER'S SCHEME. A clever mother has hit upon a new plan for keeping her obildren well and dispensing with the dootor's services. At the beginning of the•winter she gave them a talk on keeping well, called their attention to the many ways in which colds are caught, serious indiges- tion brought on, etc. Then she offer- ed to each child m the family a prize for keeping well all winter, and thus far bas found her idea to work like a charm. As doctor's bills in a family of five children are frequently no trifle, 1 i will probablybe v the prizes worth win- ning,but the greatest result will be that in ,111 probability the children will grow ro coontroove with bealth and learn self A NOVEL LAME CHIMNEY. A novelty in the shape of a lamp chimney bas appeared. It 'is made of isome sixty or more strips o f glass about bout eight inches in length and fastened at the Lop and bottom with brass bands. The brass bands have holes Into which the glass fits. The stripe are so close together that when held up to the light t 6erre appears pears l=ass isnot space be - The g elastic and bands at the touch. The chimneys are intended for use on lamps with lights . sc, bright that they dazzle the eyes, such lights as are now protected by crested glass chimneys. It Is claimed Diet they give a softer light and at the same time more brilliant than the frost - Chimneys. APRIL 24, /£150 D17F1E1) WAILS AVD CHAINS, lOyslet'lous Power Over Baits and Atm imssesspd by Two Salley Sievert, 112, Iriehon earn° to bo known as e, sere eex'er by officers and prisoners at the baius, lIe was a gailoy slava 1oz• life, ealldpnlmlcd .for pumberless.libor'ties ho bad,takou ivitb other people's lii'opooty and propriety; 1111 he did not allow psis. on life to become too monotonous. He had a trick of bx'eakieg loose In spite of doable•ohaine, canuen balls, guards and steno wa11s whenever bo felt the need of oxoroise in tba open air, whiolx was quite frequently. One day he was eau] upon the port, unironed and quint, ly gazing at bis companions- like a gentleman of leisure. He was taken back to his bench, to which he wen ebained,it was thought imntovebie,strict-. ly watched and trebly ironed, but the next day he was In hes old place on the port, watobing his companions again and merrily whistling "La Postilion de Lougjumean. " The oommissary, a low fellow, without sympathies ordered 117. Fiehop to the caohot—the DARK 'UNDERGROUND CELLS. "He's surd to be sate there,"'sald the commissary, sipping his cafe noir, "for those little boxes are proof against the smartest criminals in ilurope," and he smiled at the thought of their security. Next day he espied lel, Fiohon strolling through the toren of Toulon, bis hands behind his back, whistling as before,and looking rather critically into the shop windows. What do you here, Fiohon?" "Well, my commissary, what you see, Like yourself, I take a little walk when in the mood, and try to enjoy life. What do you wish from me? 1 will obey yeu. Back to the old place is it? You have only to say the word," "As you please," said the commissary, ironically, "since it seems a settled thing with you not to obey run any longer." sinuati Fichonon, faneltd hurtreturned aC thto e unkind in - bis cell. Two hours afterward the guards .found the door locked mid exhale reir'oned by his own hands. Never could they find any instrument capable of filing or unriv- eting his chains, and he would not dis- close its secret. A long time afterward a new guard saw• him taking an airing upon the port, and FIRED AT HIM. point blank, but missed. M. Fiebon in- vited him to fire again, but other guards interfered and the convict returned to his cell. M. Dahmiel was quite as clever a con- juror with chains, locks and stone walls as M. Fichon, but fill his attempts at liberty were serious. FiehOn mere- ly wanted a little quiet stroll without irons, and would not be denied. Both seemed to be endowed with the man- drake's power over bolts, and bars, for no walls could hold them, no chain bind nor ball hit him. Only in facility for losing their liberty were they vulner- able. Never could they remain free when they got loose. Once they es- caped together, and the guards in pur- suit met Mellon returning of his own accord, whereas Dahmiel was not over- taken 1111 the third day afterward—his longest absence from a cell. Threats of shooting uo longer affected him, for it was estimated he had been shot at more than 50 Limes and never even grazed. Therefore, be imagined him- self bullet proof. Water was more dangerous, for in his final escape be leaped into a pond to avoid the. guards and was drowned before he could be fished out. Of; Oliver .Tr ow,,t a 1111 UM ncy Mon t.. The news has been flashed across the wires from the old country that Sir Oliver Mowat, who is there seeking medical advice, is a victim of kidney dis- ease. His friends say that the case is not as alarming as the press reports have stated. But tbere seems to be no disguising the foot, that with Ontario's Premier, as thousands of others, kid- ney disease has seized the system. It is laying waste the lives of our best peo- ple in all parts of the Dominion. And et those who have learned warned to use South American Kidney Cure are finding in it a remedy far surpassing a sea voyage, or even the skill of England's greatest physicians. It is a kid - n6 specific, not a cure-all, 1 y p o, o e 11, put as a specialist in this particular it gives relief within six hours after the first dose, and renewed health to ell. who use it. Sold by G. L. Deadman. A BRAVE WOMAN. Mrs. Colligan, the wife of a New Jersey restaurateur, discovered a bur- glar in her room the other night. Half an hour before she had put a box con- taining some e1,200 in money and checks M the room, and, knowing that it was all they had in the world, she did not hesitate a moment, but jumped for him, and at the same moment raised an outcry. He struck ber savagely in the Cace, but she clung to him with desperation. They struggled along the hallway to the top of the stair, and his threat to throw her down only made her catch a fresh hold. Down stairs they went with a crasb, but when the floor of the hall was reachod Mrs. Colligan bad still a fairly good grip of the burglar. At length her husband, who has but one arm, heard the noise and arrived on the scone. The pluoky little woman told him to call the police while she held her cap- Live. In a Caw minutes the follow was in charge. Ile proved to be an old con- vict. He had 050 of the money on him. There are evidently two kinds of wo- men—the one who faints when she sees the burglar, and the other who grabs him and bangs on while there is an ounce of breath in her body. We may well believe that an unromantic burglar would rather meet the Chief I.of Pollee and all his man than the lat.- ter type. QUEBEC IlleA1.11) 1111011. Henary O. Carroll, M. re. for Kamour- rska, Que.. Sounds the Fraises of Dr. Agnew's catarrhal Powder. It will be noticed by those who have studied the testimonials for this won- derful catarrh remedy, that they are thoroughly unscetional in eharact'er. Every province in the Dominion through its members of parliament, and most prominent citizens, bas told of the pe- culiar effectiveness of Dr. Agoow's Cer tatrhee Powder. It is of a chamber that overcomes any local or climatic con- ditions, and as with Mr. Carroll, it is a most effective remedy for catarrhal; troubles it whatever shape, not omit ting hay fever, where it works like o charm, and in every ease is speedy Wei- . Mob. Sample bottle and blower sent by S.G. Detohen, 44 Church St„ 'Toronto, on he l°edit of two 9 -cont stamps. Sold by .., a. Luadtaan.