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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Brussels Post, 1892-7-29, Page 7tTULY 29, 1892. THE BRUSSELS POST. FAR TRW,/ TaR WORLD. — BY auxin s. T. POW& Mrs. Bassett was tligging dandelione W- eide a green eountry road, and the eoft even. ing light shone gently about her lank Opus. Mr. Bamett octane elowly along with au old faded army that thrown crookedly over hia bent shout:lees, The limp, empty sleeves flopped at random. .1 "Gatti& greens ?" he mked. A ragged Jmit hat Wan net On the bath of his bend and j his gray hair fell straggling about his tanned Noe. Ile was smoking and the bowl of hie common °lay pipe was bottotn upward, " Yes," was the reply, "1 thought I'd dig 'em to.night, so% to have 'ent. ready for to-inorrow, I don't have much time in the mornh.e." . "That's so, 'Seneth, but I hope you won't alles be hurried to death." " Where are you going father ?" " Pin going. down to Davie'. I ems+ him coming along home a few minutes ago, and I thought 'lavas a good time to °etch bim right after 'supper. l'll do the milking when I gib back. " You hain't done the milking then?" "No, but I shall be back pretty quiek." He had been holding his pipe in his right hand. He now began to fumble throughhis pockets in search of some loose tobacco with whith to refill it. Ha gathered a little from his trouaers pocket into the palm of his left hand, and carefully sifted it into the bowl of his pipe. Then came another search for a match. This at last was found and ignited, and between the vigorous drawings of his pipe he managed to say: "Seeny, I've thought it all out at 1810 that's what I'm going to see Davis about. .Ain't you glad, Seeny?" "Yes father, of course I'm glad and—" "Don't say another word, Seeny. Just stop digging dandelions for one minti te and let me show you. The dandelions '11 keep, and sve'll have something better than dan- delions if ell works well, and sere 'twill." Mrs, Bassett lifted bar head from the ground with a jerk. and her pasteboard sunbonnet fell on the book of her neck. She gathered herself up slowly, pan and knife in hand and stepped beside her husband. He removed his, old hat carefully from his head, took from within a folded half sheet 'of common white note paper and then de- liberately laying his hat on the grass, sm. folded and smoothed out the paper. /" There 'tie, Seeny, jist the best look in ' sareation. I've got it all drawed out to per. I fecition. I don't s'pose, Seeny, you've ever • I thought how ninny looks there's need. Wim - men don't never think of sich things. 'Why, there's millions on 'em. Here's the figgers," and he turned over the paper. "11 1 didn't make only a cent a pie,* I would be as rich as mud. Looks is allus breakin' ov doing :stabile or other. 1 tell you what, Seeny, you'll beproud you married Cy Bassett yet!" "1 hain't never said I wus ashamed on you, Cy." "No more you hain't Seeny, but your fa. ,s/ ther was aline riled oos you married me. He ts• couldn't understand thee some men must I! work with their brains, and that I was one . .,„ 4:1' them. And Mary, you know she's allus F jawing around about my shiftlessness. No 0 .doubt she's all in a pucker now cos the cow '.. ain't milked, while I got suthin' here that's li. , s worth 40 cows. But I won't say anything agen her, for she's your sister." Mr. Bassett, in his agitation, had taken his -pipe from his mouth. Its hot contents now spilled on the paper on which was the draw- ing and figures, and in a jiffy they vanished in smoke. Mr. Bassett's under jaw foll,show- ing one yellow snag of a tooth. "That's too bad," said Mrs. Bassett. But Mr. Bassett looked up, as a belated bumble bee went bobbing around his head. "Here that,Seeny ? That means good leek I shall go right over to Davis'. 1 eau ex- plain it all to hiin ; I've got it all in my 'head. Think, Seeny, what you'll have first, when I get my money." He started off, <casting a. backward smiling glance. " Cyrus, Cyrus," called Mrs. Bassett, "you've forgotten your hat?" "Never mind, 'Would be unfortunit' to come back; you ean carry it to the house -whet: you go in." • Mrs. Bassett set the hat on her head, and sturdily went on digging dandelions. She searched her way down the road in the direction which her husband had gone until a sudden bend hid him from view. She then straightened herself upandlookedsadly at the silent road. The sky was a scarlet blaze in the west ; the stars were brightly shining, but Mrs. Bassett saw neither ; in- stead she shook her head and set her face homeward. She went slowly, stopping every few mo- ments to dig some extra fine dandelion. She dreaded getting home, for Meey's sharp tongue was sure to wag. At last her pan would hold no more and the tall dewy grass was wetting her feet. She looked back in i the hope that Cyrus might be coming, though nothing would have startled her • More than to have seen him. The road waa empty. Mrs. Bassett looked at the house. Mary had just lighted the lamp in the kitchen. The warm, yellow rays fe/1 through the open door and lighted a path- way to Mrs. Bassett's feet. The light look- ed oheerful. She hesitated no longer, bun stepped quickly forward. She had no soon- er got over the threshold than the cow sent a long, low moo from the paature ba.ra near by, She wished the :tow would keep etill. She didn't like to be reminded of Cyrus' shortcomings by a cow. Mary looked up at her coming in, "0, it's you, is it ?" she spoke sharply. It was plain she was out of sorts. She sat in a hard wooden chair beside a white table'on which stood a small kerosene lamp. She was putting a black patch of old woolen cloth on the heel of a gray woolen stocking. ,Sho jerked her needle and thread so hard as she spoke that the seam grew puckered. "Don't bother to mend those old stook. inv. Cyrus only wears them with hia rub- ber boots." Seeny spoke in the hope of soothing Mary's ruffled feelings, It was an unfortunate remerk. "I do' !thew who wanta to mend 'ens," was Mary's reply: "'tie nothing hut rags, rags all the time. If I was Cyrus Bassett, I'd stir around, if 1 died right after it. Such a Anew piece as he is And now he's gone, the Lord knowa where, and the cow ain't milked. There ain't nothing ever done Isere. I've seen to everything I could and I'm siek to death of the whole thing. When I put a mortgage oe the teed father left me, to help (lyres, I thought I couldn't do any more. I did hope he'd- spunk up a little. Instead, he's done lose and less till ',.. leave him, 'Seno, and go out to work, 'fore we hain't got nothing. Why don't thyou you're Bo old that all you eon do is to go on the town ?" " 'Seneth Ma set hereelf down in the open door, the pan of greens in her lap. She cest her eyes upon her blank stained hanta. She said nothing. What woe the use of talking 1 She had hoard Mary go on like this for years, and it woe all true. There fell a long silonoo between the two women, It was finally broken; Mary 4oE up and in the moat oominon place tone said, "Are you going to sib there all bight, 'Soma? Tin going to bed." "1 guess Tlflook oven the greens first," anawerad 'Seneth oairnly, "Sha'n't I help von 1" "No, 'twon't take me leng., I woepartici- ular about digging '0111 :team" Mary lit a candle and went ep the narrow stairway leading from the kitchou. Mrs, Balsott never moved, A whole hour went by and still he sat quiet. All that Mary had said rankled In her mind. ller life witlt Cyrus Ins:sett let I been hard and poor, She had onoo been au ambitious woman, but her ambition Wan long gone. She no longer expected anything. She at last began to wonder why Cyrus didn't come home ; but elle never moved. The full moon rose up. over the eastern hill and shone square in her facie, She didn't appear to observe it. The lamp grew siokty and at last went out. She no longer even heeded the isow's longing bellow. Later, Mr. Bassett (tame amen the lots, stole slyly around to a bench at the back part of the house on which a tin strainer pail atood bottom upward. He took the pail on hia arm and went to milk the cow. He felt it was a deed of reparation. Ile had got to disappoint Seeny. Davis had told him that there were a thousand looks, already in use, far better than lin. As he milked he talked to himself. "ib all comes o' iuy being so poor that I couldn't go about to see anybhing. If I could have gone about, I'd invented a look better than any on 'em. I know what I'll do; I'll sell the cow and start I don't be- lieve I'll tell Seeny about the lock after all. I'll get up something else in a week. I'll just gab her to plan about a new dress. She hain't had one—" here he stopped. He didn't like to say in cold words what was the truth, that she had never had a dress since she married him. The (tow gave a small mess, in spite of the lateness ol. the hour, and Mr. lassett was too impatient to long strip bor. He :trawled through the bars and went on in the tall grass around the corner of the house. He gave a, great start b the sight of Mrs. Bassett ill the doorway. lie had supposed her long since in bed. He thought again how disappointed she would be If he told her the truth. He had never diecovered that she lind lost all faith in him. He stop. pod back around the oorner of the 110140. He felt suddenly weak. He seb the pail of milk down by his side. Then in a moment he fell heavily upon the ground. The moon shone upon his silent form, Mrs. Bassett woke up some time in the night, She went in, shut the door and placed a chair against it, so that she might hear any one coming in. Cyrus had for- gotten to wind the elook and it had run old is lamber, of the empty cupboard, of all down some time in the afternoon. She the witut and desolation at home, and the hot tears rushed to his eyes. " Double wages !" he repeated, slowly. But --but— Mr. Herrick—to-morrow is the Sabbath." Boss Herrick broke into a coarse laugh, and rattled out a volley of coarse oaths. "Well, and what if it is ?" he said. " If I'm not too righteous to catch fish on Sun. day, the likes o' you needn't be too right- eous to tend in my shop, I'm thinking. JOHNNIE'S TEIVIPTAI.TON BY litIMA CAnBISON JONES. " Double snags, my lad, and a anng berth in the bargain. What to you aay ?" Johnn le tu rn oil and looked w is tf ul I y book, turning over a few Boiled smell notes in hie toil.browned hand. The scene sots on the shores of a Southeen river. The wet sande were strewn, with aeinee and all sorts of fishing implements, and dotted here and there with little shauties, where grooeries, and rum and cakes, and cheese were sold. It wag' Saturday afternoon, late in April. A chill south -oast gale whistled maven the dismal waters, and a dull, drizzling mist drenched everything, man and beast includ. ed, with diaagreeable moisture. The nets were piled up in wet, blitok heaps, and here and there a few hundreds of white, shining herrings lay scattered about on the sands, while the drenched, aulleu fishermen lounged in all directions, some puffing away at their pipes, others sloueli. ing off toward the shops to have their whiskey -flasks replenished. Johnnie had just received his week's wages— soo.nty enough for all Diehard, will- ing labor the brave lad had performed— and with the little soiled roll of money shut up in his hand, he was hurrying clown the beach when the boss of the shore, as the head manager was termed, called him back and made him a fresh offer. Johnnie was a bright, capable lad, and an honest one, and there was a vacancy in the main shop, in which the boss himself had a large interest. Some one must stand behind the counter and measure out the bad whisky and the rum, and receive pay for the moldy cheese and black ginger- bread ; and who better thee Johnnie? "See here,my fine dap," called Boss Her- rick, " we oast out our nets at midnight, and to -morrow bids fair to be a busy day. want some one in the shop to the left there, and you're a spry lad when yoachoose to be. Come, now suppose yen lend us hand ? Double wages from now till Mon- day night, and a snug berth where the weather can't harm you, What do you say?,' Johnnie turned slowly and looked wist- fully back across the rainy strand. Double wages from now till Monday night. I That meant a greet deal for poor Johnrio. Up at the desolate old house on the heights above the river his mother lay ill unto death, and his poor, deformed little sister sat sewing and starving, for bread. Johnnie thou la of these two, of the dim, cheerless thought it was late. She reasoned that Cyrus had a good deal to say to Mr. Davis. She slept soundly until the next morning. Mary came bustling down and began to build a fire in the kitolien stove. Then Mrs. Bassett got up. She was frightened. Cyrus had never stayed away all night in las life. "Where can Cyrus be ? " she said to Mary. " Hain't he got homo?" "No, I'm afraid something has happened Come, now, beggars can'f be choosers. I ve to him." no time to standhere palavering. What &ye The two wonien started for the outside door. They both struggled to get it open. The pan of dandelions was spilled on the grass. "They're all spoiled, I really believe," said Mrs. Bassett, "andCyres likes 'em best of anything." Mary started for the road. She turned her head at 'Seneth's remark. She saw a blue bundle of rags on the grass. It was Cyrus. The milk pail stood upright beside him and a thick cream had Haien upon the milk. The two slender women lifted him from tho ground. They carried him in and laid him upon the bed. Mary hurried away tor help. She met Mr. Davis just starting for a house which he was building. Ile bunted his horse about and hastened for a doctor. It was no use. Cyrus Bassett was dead. The doctor came and wont. Mr. Davis brought over hie wife and Delia Simmons, a sort of nurse who was visiting at his house. Mr.Davis and his wife with the help of Delia Simmons laid out Mr. Bassett. They carried him into the front room and stretched him upon a board, which Mr.Davis had brought over. This they laid upon a table. They then placed over him a sheet, and went out into the kitchen where Id rs. Bassett and Mary sat, Mrs. Bassett had her apron to her face and was crying; Mary sat opposite to her looking sober. " We've laid him out," said Delia Sim- mons. "I'm goiug to stay and slick up the house for the faneral. Mb' Davis has got to go home, but she'll do some 000king for you and fetch over the victuals this after- noon." "Try not to feel eo bad, Mis' Bassett," said Mrs. Davis. Mrs. Bassett looked up through her tears. " Cyrus wits just asgoieg to do something worth while. Now he's dead, just as he could have had money and everything. He told. you about, it I suppose, Mr. Davis ?" "Yes, he told me," was Mr. Davis' reply. "I'm sorry Cyrus is dead," Mr. and Mrs. Davis said they would come over and watch that night, and then they stepped into the waggon and rode away. Delia Simmons got a washtub frotn the cellar. She went to the well and brought water and began to pick up generally. Mrs, Bassett put her hand on Mary's shoulder and said, "I'm going to look at Cyrus, won't you come ?" The two moth and went on tiptoe into the darkened room. Mrs. Bassett drew the sheet back from the dead man's fooe, She gazed at him, now and then wiping away a tear with her hand, and said, "He looks perfectly natural, don't you think so, Mary ?" "Yes, and he looks a good deal younger than he did when he WAS alive." Mrs. Bassett still looked at him. "He never spoke a arose word in his life to me. lite last time I saw him alive, laat night, he was smiling." She then stood silent for a moment and added, "Cyrus was clever." She turned to go, looking at Mary as if she hoped she would confirm her remark. Mary drew the sheet carefully, over the dead face. "Yes, he was clever, ' she re- plied. A peottliar tightness of expression appeared on her thin lips. True as Preaehing. The line of conduot chosen by a young man during the five years front 15 to 20, will, in almost every instance, determine his charm:tot for life, As he is then care. ful or oarelesa, prudent or intprudents in. dnatriotts or indolent, truthful or dissimulat- ing, intelligent oe ignorant, temperate or dissolute, so will he be in after years, and it needs no prophet to oast his horoscope or calculate his ohanoe in life, The Oldeat Thr. In the churchyard at Daley Dale ;donde what ia supposed to be the olden yeve tree in the vsorld, Ib is thirty-three feet lit girth, and the fabulous age of 1,000 years is attriboted to it, Modern vandale have 00 hooked and pelted Rs trunk that a fence hag been built around the tree to preserve it from further iniftilatien, say? T'other boys have turned in over Sunday, why not you? And you won't have to work, only to stand behind the bar and measure out grog %ghee the lads mime up. Well, you're a spry chap and I don't mind an extra quarter. make it a week's wages from now till Monday night if you'll say the word—a week's wages, d'ye hear that? It's a bargain, ain't it?' Johnnie still looked across the rainy beach. with wistful eyes—still turned the soiled change in his hand. He thought of his sick mother, of his poor, pale hungry little sister, mai the temptation was a ter- rible one. He almost yielded. "1-1-1 don't know what to say, Mr. Herrick," he stammered. " Le'rrie say it for you, then," pub in the fisherman eying the lad with a sort of brutal extiltation. " You're in for the week's wages. Come on; we'll set to work at once," Johnnie turned to follow him, but, as he turned, the deep boom of a signal gun then. tiered far out upon the water. Somehow the sound thrilled the boy's heart to its very core. The red blood leaped to his cheeks, las black eyes Hashed, Ile threw tip his head with a gesture of proud re- solve. " No, Mr. Herrick, I can't do it," he said, decidedly—"I can't break the Sab- bath. Good -evening, sir. " So you refuse, do you ?" cried the fish- erman, angrily, "All right. If you can't stay to -morrow we don't want you here at 11, 2.ou understand th at, don't ye ?" "Do you mean that I've lost my work Mr. Herrick ?" "Yes. Go now, and don't come here any more. I'll have no canting Christians at work for me." Johnnie's cheeks pitted, and his Up quiv- ered slightly, but he walked away with a resolute step. " I'm glad I didn't do it," he murmured, as the solemn gun agaiii shook the stormy waters. " What would father say? When he went he said : Do you always stand by God, Johnnie., and God will stand by you' Those were lus last words. I'm glad I did not consent to break the Sabbath, not even for poor mother's sake. HIs made his way along the sodden sands, and out into the oountry a piece, to a small grocery. There he laid out a part of his eoant, wages. A bag of flour, a few slices of bacon, some sugar and tea—barely enough for a day's food, But the lad's eyes brightened as be ran up the steep hill with the little parcels in his hands, He reauhed the dreary, tumble-down old house, and made his way into his mother's Teem. She lay upon a low bed, her facet white and emaciated from suffering and eickness ; and by her pillow sat a queer little thing, half.ohild, half.woman, with the sweetest, saddest Ewe that human eyes ever beheld. She was busy over some bright needle- work, but she looked up eagerly as Johnnie entered. Ho stooped down and kissed her sweet, fair young face "Hero we are, Flora, dear," he said, &serially ; "and bow is mother?" Mother raised her thin hand to mines his head, and try to smile. "Better a little, I hope, Johnnie; and you are web, atid cold, and hungry, my poor boy." "1 Not a bit, mother ; I'm Ind as gay as a lark, and so shall you be presently, Flora, pet, the hore—I've got such a ;nipper 1 I shall make the firdi and boil the kettle, awl broil the bacon, ond you meat make hie. °MO Flora throw by her needle -work and broke into childish laughter, as Johnnie displayed his troasurea, while the mother covered her fee() and wept silently. In a ieW minutes, while the April storm raged upon the strond haw, a wood fire blazed in the wide tire -place of the Old house, and with much glee and childish °hatter johnnic and Vlore propored their supper; tmo whon the biscuits wore brown, anti the bacon broiled, and the teamade a little table was drawn up before the low bed, and the invalid wag propped up amid her pillows to partake of the frugal meal. And noWl Maher dear," said Johnnie, when it was well over, and the tthilos Weav- ed away, " Flora shall nit here and sing you to sleep, and run down to Dootor Dev. lin'a end get your (*Mimi bottle refilled. Not a word, mother ; I've (PRO a Ma of money loft, and you ahall have it." Away he Went down the shaking Mope, and out into the driving atorm, " Where our next clity's board will come from I can't tell," he gasped an he made his way down the hill in the tooth of the gale ; " but I'm glad I didn't agree to break the Sabha th," He ran on, his thouthts full of 1114 dead lathe:. as lie wont, oars before lie had gone away 00 10 voyage to Clhina, from which he had never returned. Misfortunes had Followed close Linen the news of his father's death and the loss of his vessel, and little by little poor, brave Johnnie had seen his mother and sister reduced to absolute Want. Every article of value had been sold, and the brave boy had worked for them like a man; but in spite of all his efforts, absolute hunger,stared them in thermic,. He thought of it as he hurried on, with tears blinding his young eyes, and a dull, dreary pain at his brave young heart. But a oommotion on the strand below at. treated his attention, and he paused. The beach was thick with people ; there were torches and lanterns, and a great vessel lying near the shore. Johnnie started down at a run, his heart throbbing with excitement. He must see what was going on. When he reached the strand, he eaW a life -boat drawn up and a group of men in seaman's garb sitting on the beaolt ; and while the boy stood staring and wondering, an old shoremay coming up, peered into his face, and then co ught him by the arm. " Hulloa, my boy I" he shouted, "you're the very chap we want. Here lie is, corn. radea here's Johnnie Reeves now, and a likelier, honester—lad than Johnnie Reeves can't be found hereabouts." Johnnie stood bewildered, while one of the men, in seamen's attire, rose to his feet and came forward—a tell, fine-looking man, with a bronzed, travel.worn face. But Johnnie caught sight of the face, by the light of the torch that the old shoreman held up, and he lcnew it in an instant. He leaped forward with a great cry: " 01, father ! father !" The seaman caught him iu his arms and held him close. An hour lacer they were all together in the dreary chamber of the desolate old house above the river. The invalid mother lay sobbing in her hnsband's arms, and Johnnie and Flora stood hand in hand, listening, while he told his story—a story of peril, and danger, and shipwreck. "Bub God has brought me safely through it, all," he said, "nod I have come home to you at last, my dear svife and children, a rich mem. You shall never suffer again. You remember what I told you whoa we parted, Johnnie, my boy? Always stand by God, and Clod will stand by you." Johnnie hid his head on Flora's shoulder. " Yes, father," he sobbed ; " I never for- got your parting words, and they saved me last night when I had almost yielded. See, father 1"—lifting his head, and pointing to the window —" the Sabbath morn is dawn. ing, and I'm so glad that you didn't oome home to find me breaking the Sabbath. reedit:I:rand ()are of Horses. In anewer to questions asked him at a re. emit farmers' institute, a prominent veteri- narian says : "Feed should not go through an animal whole, as it slowly impairs digeetion. Boil- ed linseed oil is not so good for animals as raw, as it sometimes has other ingredients. As to the amount of hay in feeding horses the rule of express companies is ten pounda of hay and four quarts oats per meal. In feeding a colt vary to suit. Feed lightly in winter, and if you want to force him feed more heavily when you turn to paature, and through the summer. Feed a colt no solid food until three or four months old. As feed for a cold use say three quarts of oats and as meth bran a day. Oil cake meal is too fattening for colts. Mixed hay is the best feeding. Corn stalks are an ex. cellent fodder, but the large amount of sugar contained produces worms in colts and horses if fed too largely. Feed cake meal about once a week in small quantity, and then stop a week. Rye should be fed only in smolt quantities, and for slow, heavy work, and never to mares in foal, as it produces abortion. Use a laxative with it. The best stable floor is plank, laid level, with room under for air, but not for draughts. Corn is not injurious to mares with foal; oil cake is. New oorn should not be fed until after six or seven weeks of freezing weather, on athoutit of its carbona- ceous and gaseous nature. Water if cool, and not to be unmediately driven. Watering your horse when warm does no harm if his system 15 all right, nor feeding either. Water often to avoid danger, as they will not then drink to excess. Water every half hour when journeying in hot weather, no matter how hot your horse may be. Weakness of hoof is transmitted. Avoid it in animals you breed from. Wash the teat now and then, Don't apply any oily or greasy ointineet to the hoof, as they clog the pores and do injury, Never let the farrier burn your horse's hoofs when shoe- ing. Knee.sprung horses should be shod with the shoe heels thicker than the toes." A Nioe Legal Point. A negro whose bruised and swollen face and tattered clothing bore eviden oe of rough handling, recently. limped into the presence of a southern magistrate. "1 wants you ter arrest Sam Johnsing fob batt'ry, sahl" he exclaimed. "For assault and battery, you mean," suggested the dispenser of justice. "No, soh. Jess foh battery, sah." " How can that be ?" " Well, cosh, it vette joss dia way. Mah mew bruk inteh Johnaing's cohn patch, and w'enJohnsing druv 'im hum he call me a no good fool niggah." 08. " wa'nt gwine teh stan dab no how, so I ups and guff him a whack wif a fence stake, Rah, " " Why, then you assaulted him I" " Yes, soh, I did, aoh. Bob he done de batt'ry. He mos' battered de life outen me, If Mother Would Listen. ff mother would listen to me, dee" She would freshen that faded gown, She would aoinetlinee teke an houe's rest And sosnethnes a. trip to town, And It shouldn't be ell for thti children. The 10,1. 004 the cheer, and the play •, With the pal lent droop on the tired mouth, And the " Mother has !twiner day 1" True, mother has had her day, clears, When you wore toylike: three, And elle stepped about the farm and the house As luny aiis bee, When rho rocked you all to steep, clears, AnAllulo And00111 ic11Littie1l4f1.01 1 1, :784rdhiti without, And lived by the ()olden Rule, And so your turn has come, deans Hor hair is grovring white ; And her oyes are gaining the far.away look That pears beyond lite night, One of these days in the morning Mother will not be here. She will fade away into silence— The mother 00 true and dear. Then, what will you do in the daylight, And what in the gloaming dim t And father, tired and lonesome then, Pray, what will you do for him If you want to keep your mother, You meet make her rest to -day; Must give her a share in the frollO, And draw her into the play. And it mother would Eden to me, dears, She'd buy her a gown of silk, With bol tons of royal velvet, A nAdn odhrosdrnleost aysowu Iddot °the: nl 1tvolticetn g. While she sat still in her chair, That mother should have it hard all through, 11 etrikes me isn't fair. RCARBT 0, 0/10001011. For Summer Wear. Grenadine is the leading thin fabric and is brought out in many new varieties. Black grenadines are so enlivened by fan. oy weaving as to be even more interesting than the colored. The latter, although some of them are very pretty, clo not rank In importance with the black. Crimping ia one ot the newest devices'stripes of plain grenadine weaving alternate with stripes crimped crosswise. The crimping looks like the fluting made by a washerwoman's flut- ing iron. The stripes are aomething over an inch in width. Another grenadine has the whole width crimped crosswise. As this, like most of the grenadines, comes in double width, the fluting will run up and clown the skirt as does accordeon plaiting. Stripes of moire alternate with grenadine stripes, and when made up will run around the that. An imported gown of alternating stripes of the fine French lace and moire has the bias ar- rangement in stripes that is always so start- ling. A double width watered grenadine has a border of faille weaving in a wide band. The grenadine with satin figuring was brought out very early in the Spring and described with the other novelties. A few iridescent grenadines, the satin figures showing dragon.fly changes from blue to green upon the black ground, have been ex- hibited, but the plain black is liked better, the sheen of the satin weaving aud the col- or from the underdress of bright silk being all the illumination needed. The satin weaving takes the form of ara- besques usually, or of queer, indescribable dashes and attempts at orthodox shapes that somehow break up and fall into the most heterodox and irresponsible ways. Then there are straight white satin stripes on plain grenadine, and narrow moire ribbon stripes with precede garlands between. .Prices range f mom 51,25 to 54, reductions on special lines sending the price lower, while unusual fineness of quality or beauty of de- sign makes it higher; 02 or 52.5010 an aver- age price for very good and handsome bleak g reu ,rhitedri engeu. lar mesh which distinguishes the grenadine weave be not seen on all the sea- son's goods. Instead, a plain gauze ground appears. A line of gauzegrenadines that is very new shows a powdering of miuute dots and other all.over designs, such as narrow zizzag stripes of satin and faille weaving, and groups of stripes so narrow that a mi- oroscope is necessary to determine their weave. A curious grenadine is woven like a straw basket, or rather like some of the straw hats for man, the wisp straw braided in and ont In the grenadine square mesh. es are left, as though every other straw running one way was drawn out. The color is an iron gray, almost as odd as the weave. It is pretty for half mourning. Black grenadiaes with raised figures, rosebuds, tiny bouquets, and single leaves, in silk or worsted, are pretty Wales The brocading is done directly on the grenadine ground or on satin stripes. Black grounds are struck over with colored lines. A. gay result is produced by the colored lines as. suming several hues, say red, yellow, and green, in short dashes, while between the lines are brocaded flowers in the same colors, or bouretted tufts of color are thrown up at intervals on the line itself, A paroquet green is one of the favorite :shades for the bouretting. White brocading ort black is a grenadine design that is good when not too pronoun°. ed. Black is 001 1010 bigblocks by cross. bars of bright tints. Plain grenadines are In white and in solid pink, blue, and other well-detined colors. A. novelty in colored grenadines is the tucked fabric, like the tucked wools. A grenadine orepon is what its name indicates. It sells at 53.75. The grenadines are made over silk linings and may be stretched smooth upon the silk or fashioned in a separate skirt to be worn over a silk petticoat. The latter style is so muoh the prettier that it seems strange the other should be employed at all. There is something essentially out of character in An airy fabric oontined so that it cannot flut- er. Ideally made, the thin tissues should all in waving bolds. The boll skirt de. tracts from them all the grace that may be spared without sewing them fast ta the surface of a heavy fabric. The effect of glimmer and glow sought from the colored lining is lost too, as the silk becomes the prominent texture, the grenadine merely a black figuring upon the color. A Plain Inferenoo. Dallas—" I hear that you propelled to Miss Testy last night and got a retusal t" Callous—" Well, as to that, the didn't bluntly refuee me ; she wouldn't wound my feelings by doing that. Yet the inference of her remark woo plain enough." Dallas—" What reply did the make to your propoaall" Callous--" She said If I was the laab man on earth sko might eonaider it." --- bdiOial Nets. Judge Coning—Mr, Clerk, Sheriff—Yes, Your Honor, Call the mimeo of the absent jurymen that are not here, and tell thorn they toed. nit wait, Crtielty to Animals. The Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals in England has hit upon a most effective plan for educating the young in the principles; which it maintains. It offers annual prizes and certificates to pupils and pupil teachers itt the metropolis. ten schools for mays on the ditty of kind. ness to dumb oreatures. This spring 901 of the 6,500 schools ot the metropolis took part in this comp.otition, the principals of the schools and mdges appointed by the society examining and classifying the essays.. The amount of work in this may bo guessed front the statement that 901 prizes and nearly 000 certificates were awarded. The successful competitors received their re. wards at a festleal given by the twenty the other day at the Crystal Palace ab Syden- ham, at whieh many illustriona num and Women were present, Within the last ton yeare the number of oompetitors for those prizes bios trebled, a feet which proves the ;moiety to be doing a moat elective mission Work. An attempt was made ot this year's festival to otoonit the tiordety to the sup. port of the anti.viviseetionists'but this was blocked vets, promptly by the Peosident, Lord Aberdaro, a man broad enongli to • make distinotions. AMU TO Ati EARTHQUAKD Vraa the Gunpowder Eaplookili hi Ca1), fornia on Saturday —101 eldnaturri. 4. despatch from Gan Francisco, says An explosion ocourred at the Grant &Judson powder works near West Berkeley this morning, destroying the works and much property for aeveral miles around. Viva sh sake were bit in this city witido a be min mse, the last four being of terrine force, shaking buildings'cracking walls and break- ing plate glass in buildings eight bloke tip from the water front. The scene of the ex- plosion is 12 miles from this eity. It is believed that WI Chinamen and three white men were killed. 'rhe explosion set adjoining buildings cm fire, and owing to danger of additional explosions no ono is venturing near the works to stop the pro. grew: of the flames, The fire is in close prox- imity to a magazine oontaining SOO tons of powder, and fear is expressed that it ton may be destroyed. Golden Thoughts for Every Day. Monday, There's nota bird with lonely neat, In matinee wood or mountain crest, Nor meaner thing, which does not share, 0 God, in Thy paternal oars. Each barren crag, each desert rude, Holde Thee within Its solitude; And thou dost bless the wanderer there, Who makes hissolitary prayer. In busy mart or crowded street, -No less than in the still retreat, Thou, Lord art near, our souls to bless With abi a parent's tenderness And every moment still doth bring Thy blessings on its loaded wing; Widely they spread through earth and sky-. And last through all eteraity I And we where'er our 101 10 oast, While life and thought and feeling last. Through all 001 70070, in eyery place, Will bless Thee for Thy boundlese gate°. W'. Noel. Tuesday.—Take a bud of the right kind, graft upon the top or join it unto us ; make 11 a dominant part of our existence to bring forth blossoms; and in order that we may do so, lot us receive with meekness the in - grafting Word, which is able to save the soul. The old Adam will still link us both to the earth, but the new Adam that is in - grafted into us will link us to heaven. Ha who does that is consciously and deliberate- ly the subject of the ingrafting process. When a truth is sown into the spirit, the spirit r saps life everlestmg.—[Dr. John Hall. Wednesday—The common problem,youra, mine, every one's, 18 801 to fancy what wore fair in life Provided it could bo—but finding first What may be, then find how to make it fats Up to our means—a very difitrent thing 1 --(Robert Browning. Thursday—It has been from age to age an affectation to love the pleasure of solitude, among those who oan not possibly be supposed qualified for passing life in that manner. This people have taken up from reading the many agreeable things which have been written on that subject, for which we are beholden to exoellent per- sons who delighted in being retired, a,nd abstracted from the pleasures that enchant the generality of the world. This way of life is recommended indeed with great beauty, and in such a manner as disposes the read- er for the time to pleasing forgetfulness or negligence of the particular hurry of life in which he is engaged, together with a long- ing for that state which he is charmed with in description. But when we consider the world itself, and how. few there are capable of a religious, learned, or philosophic soli- tude, we shall be apt to change a regard to that sort of solitude, for being a little sin- gular in enjoying time after the way a man himself likes nest in the world, without poing so far as wholly to withdraw from it. --(Sir. R. Steele. Friday— Ye Ger vents of the Lord, Each in your office, watt Observant of Eris heavenly word, And watchful at His gate. Lot all your lanms be bright, And triin the golden flame ; Gird up your loins as inHie sight, For awful 18 His name, Watch 1 'as your Lord's command. .And while we speak He's near; Mark the first signal e Ria hand, And readall appear. Saturday--S'olitude seems to me to have the best pretense, in such as have already employed their most active and flourishing age in the world's service, by the example of Tholes. We have lived enough for others lot us at least live out the small remnant of life for ourselves; let us now call in our thoughts and intentions to ourselves, and to our own ease and repose ; 'tis no light thing to make a sure retreat ; it will be enough to do withottt mixing other enter- prises and designs ; since God gives ua leisure to prepare for, and to order our re. move, let us inake ready, truss our baggage, take leave betime of the oompany ; let us disentangle ourselves from those violent importunities 1101 0050.50 us elsewhere and separate us from ourselves ; we must break the knot of our obligations:, how strong so - over, and hereafter love this or that ; but espouse nothing but ourselves ; that is to say, let the remainder be our osvii, but not so joined and so close as not to be forced away without slaying us or tearing part of the whole piece. --(Montaigne, .16 When Ladies Carved. Our ancestors fully reeognized the value of good carving, and many were the rules by whioh a carver was expected to be goy.. mod. The ancient "Boke on Nervy:1g," among other things, admonishes him to touch yens ison ally with his knife, and to "set never on fyche &soh, inmate not bowie more than Iwo famgers and a thumbe." Fingers he was naturally obliged to use, since forks were a luxury of later date and wove not in private use until James I.'a reign. Piers Gaveston, the favorite of Edward II., had three silver forks for eating paara with, but this was regarded, no doubt, is a groat and special luxury. In George 1. 's reign it was the bounden duty of a mistress of a country houae 16 carve for her guests. Etiquette demanded it of her and no one might relieve her of her arduous task, not even the :nester. To the latter was only assigned the easy labor of passing, the bottle and looking on while each 101nt Wee placed in torn before hos wife or daughter, as the 00.80 might be, land by her rapidly manipulated. Carving be. came one of the bratiohes of a good immix,. ine education and there were professional carving masters who taught the young ladies. Lady Mary Wortly Montagu took lessons m the at three tittles a week, and ori 1101 father's public clays made a pro.ctioo of having tor own dinner 111 hour or two be.. forelimul. A guest who did not reoeive his portion from his hostess' own fair hands would have oonsidered himself =oh itg. grieved.