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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Herald, 1912-07-12, Page 11CHAPTER XXXI.-(Cont'd) TQ this Irene gladly.00betened. She did not realize until she attempted to walk across the floor, just how weak she was, •Would ,you like me to get you a Iittle aed•glass to show You jest how loVelY ou look, Irene?" asked Mrs. Clyde. "It does not matter," returned Irene. eerily, But she was • a little surprised at the ace diet looked out at her from the little reeked mirror, whenthe goodfarmer's lie broughtthe glass. A face white as know -drop, with great, staring, mourn- ul dark eyes, looking out from it -a face 11 framed in clusters of dark brown curls hat [Cavo to it an infantile beauty. Irene raised her hand quickly to her sad.t headlfa brof Biuulg, dark be shorn Mrs. lyde; "but really, you look a thousand met prettier now -just like a school - At that, moment the sound of a child's ugh fell upon Irene"s ear; she started P with a low cry. "I hope my little girl didn't annoy you," id • Mrs. Clyde, "I will tell her she must and play on the other side of the use." a)nitxtesI-houdikeo means!" exclaimed child'svoice would be great comfort to me to watch r at play; I -I -should like to hold your t1e girl in my arms a moment; may I?" fidis. Clyde called the little one; and a Deny little lass of some four or five sum. ere responded, coming timidly into the onld bewRuby'ssmage ,ew thdItuby ah faxene ris, great red cheeks and large, dark es. he child with a cry of "Mamma!" ran MrsMR.Idrenesat silent, unable sped eto r ispean k rte and trembling with agitation. She d not realize when she made the re - est to see the little child. how the sight nld effect her. 'Go to the lady, Dora," said Mrs. Clyde, d the child timidly approached Irene. ith trembling hands Irene lifted her her knee, with trembling lips she kissed pretty baby face; her whole soul shone her eyes as she talked to her. e oClyd like little children?" asked I love them," faltered Irene, and as looked at the child, Irene thought of by -her own darling -whom she was see never again in this world; and the light was so bitter it almost killed her nth. fell back in her seat, white as he farmer's wife took the child from ne's clinging arms -quite frightened at change in her. ' 2I °MAY. Dora," she said, "you tire lad,3`k.•'ybu are toe heavy to have. died on her knee." yet her stay," said Irene, piteously, t at that moment, through_ the open y, Mrs. Clyde had beheld :the doe. ing tin :naive. airs: +,ha do'>tim!a "=ecexies, -ehRresaid; "she„if Wort l He saw her Shudder as. though an IV wind hlad swept over her. "And' if you were free, 'Irene, I would dare tell you how much you are to me,” he said, hoarsely, carriedaway at that moment in spite of himself by his deep love for her. I will hold out my arms to you cry. ing out, be my wife, darling, I have al- ways loved you; I-" Stop!" That one word that fell from her lips, sounded like nothing human. As he spoke he had attempted to' take the little hand lying on the back of the chair to which she had been clinging for sup- port. He never forgot in all the long years of has after- life, turned toward him. Tbeauty e pictu etas he saw it then never faded from his mom- ory. felhabout cher fiinugra efulefolda hessimple t white rosebud at her throat, and the back. ground the open 1 window y that which eshe stood. her white hand -aspsilentbcomn andl that he should not utter another word, "Are you -are you daring to hint at the Possibility of my ever _marrying you?" she asked. angered at hedloathingvon her declared,. face. Then take my answer.," she cried. "In the sight of God and man, I am Frederick Esmond's wife, and shall bo while I live! The law may set it aside; but that will never change it as it is written in thee' recordbook in Heaven, by the recording angel who saw and who knows all!" "In the face of all that pretty senti- ment, what of Leon Forrester?" asked Dr. Victor Ross, maliciously. CHAPTER XXXII. Dr. Ross saw the question strike Irene as lightning strikes a .fair flower; she shrunk from him, her eyes dilating with horror, her lips moved but no sound came from them. You are cruel," she gasped, at length. "It is unmanly to torture a weak woman as you are doing now, If you would not have me despise you utterly -leave me, -and-and-I will try to forget that you have so far insulted me as to dare speak to me of love," She had stung his pride. Ile took a step nearer her with blazing, wrathful eyes, and for a few moments they looked at each other steadily. "My love an insult!" he repeated, hoarsely, "take care, Irene. you are speak- ing words which I shall never be able to forget." I do not wish you to forget them, Dr. Ross," she answered, proudly. "I wish you to remember always, every word I have said, that such a scene may never, be repeated," He gaged at her steadily -the lovely, frowning, . avei+ted face, the scornful,. . cur - H. 14 a, and er dilated, dark eyes.Y inga% the most in cc,-singlemoment to hoarse voice; 'take ;make ail enemy of t" .poe- me," returned- Irene; fait M•of a Tian so lost no w, e " . ehov youreelf to •t . e n ld ' b co �, eh tinge " g words that hatred."lave in a breath, to undying "Beary trine r think of you or look in Your face this Scene will recur to.mo," he said, hoarsely. I will make you rue this hour, my haughty Irene, I will trample your heart beneath my feet to the very dust as you have trampled mine. I know a way. My love an insult, indeed! No doubt yon look forward to a reconcilia- tion with Esmond, but let me warn you - that shall never be -never!" Weak as she was, Irene rose to her feet. "Go!" she said, pantingly, pointing to the door, "never let me see your face again. ' d tiata;reaei;.td, the her-thergh.te enirrossed tri cumin. over ;the past-alzi upeon!♦tafons that e one had' crossed the room and was riding:elose by her chair. Suddenly a d fell' lightly on her shoulder and a ee whiepeeed hoarsely the ziame- e,,, c turned with a Cry of amazemoot, ring faintly: -"Dr. Ross!" ene," he said, hoarsely, "thank Hea- l' have found you -at last." ie looked at him with bewildered, di- d eyes. od,lei coherently, and for wild hope ung up in her heart, that, perhaps crick e m message fromthiim. She was not at he oto leapt in suspense long. have searched all London over for Irene," be said; 'I was just about ng up in despair. You -you should e told me your destination.' Vhy should that interest yen?" she d, wonderingly. t interested me as nothing else in this Id could, Irene." e rose to her feet, drew her slender up, haughtily. I would beg that do not make use of the name Irene, addressing me in future," she said, ace to remember I am Mrs. Esmond, Ross." ardon me, it I refuse to admit that," said with a slow, insolent, cruel smile, ping round his mustached lips, e shrunk from him as though he had ek her a blow. Poor soul, she had ottcn! t was cruel to taunt,me with that," sobbed: neve me; you forced the words from lips." p , he said. ou will tell me why you have been robing for me," asked Irene. Imply because I did not wish to lose t of you," he returned, hushing under clear, wondering gaze of the dark e turned upon him, t was by the merest chance I hap• ed to run across you, and learned you 1 been lying 111 here three weeks. You not know," he went on, "what has p transpiring in London since you Si," she murmured. drew a London paper from his pock- luting to a marked paragraph. ead that," he said. tally , Irene's eyes devoured it; and he road, the cold dew of agony gath- t over her face; her white lips twitched ' her little hands clenched themselves ether, tightly. She did not cry out, or er any moan, but it seemed to her in t moment, she was dying, was but a short paragraph and read follows: - Our readers will doubtless remember t es e her sudden flight of the beautiful and am - /dished young wife of Mr. Frederick ond, the well-known safe manufaetur- of Oxford Street, which was duly ehron- d in these columns at the time, and ich created a profound sensation. 11 &Ince been ascertained the young hue- id has commenced suit for an absolute orce, and prays for the custody of the id." o word broke from Irene's lips,; she stone at the paper like one turned Yet expected that, did yon note" asked s. Wo," she whispered in a heart -broken ca. ou and I know tbat that step was atessary," pursued Roes, "even though. ond does hot.'. e looked :at him, with .the gaze of a nded fawn, who•raises its humid oyes the hand that has slain it. o you know what I thought -the tight that has lived in my heart ever e read that?" he asked. ern was no answer from her lips, and wont on:- "1 theugiit if you were to tua the same course in -regard to -to caster, yon would be free ". 'I go," she said, mockingly, turning back to add tauntingly, as he paused on the threshold, "you will hear from me quite unexpectedly in the near future." How little Irene dreamed how soon, and under what thrilling circumstances it would be, She heard the sound of his quick, ring- ing tread as he passed down the stairw'y, and a little later the sound of his horses hoofs as he galloped away, and she knew be had left the farm -house, She made no mention of ever having met and known the young doctor to Mrs, Clyde, when the farmer's wife bustled in- to the room a little later, announcing with much regret that the doctor had dealer - ed he Could linger no longer, much as he was interested in his fair patient, and bad taken his departure. Dr. Ross had taken the first -train back to London, and when he reached there, the first erson whom he me' P t 55 he stepped d From the railway carriage was -Frederick Esmond. Ere we relate the thrilling scene which followed, we must go bark a little in our narrative, to the fatal day and hour when Esmond had discovered Irene's flight. • Searely twenty minutes had elapsed from the time Irene had left the house, ere Esmond entered, Is your mistress in the library, or drawing -room?" he asked of the footman, to whom he handed has hat and cane. "I have not seen her, sir," responded the man. "1 do not think she has come down from her apartment since her guests ]eft." Esmond passed up the stairway, and down the long corridor leading to his wife's boudoir, and tapped lightly on the door. There was no answer, and as the door was ajar he pushed it open and en- tered. "Irene is not here," he said to himself, glancing around the dainty bine and gold apartment. p t. n Ile threw himself down on one of the blueit e k lounging h • e airs bythe o 0 g. m sane centro table, and drew from his pocket a square loather ease. "How surprised Irene will be to know that I have brought her that diamond necklace she was admiring so much at Courtney's," he thought, rising from his chair and crossing to the window. He drew aside the lace ourtains and looked carelessly out into the still beauty of the tranquil night. - How brightly the moon shone down upon the earth, bathing the trees, the flowers, Iand white, wh te,vsilveryy light. How the gold stars glowed in the blue akyThe birds had sought their nests long since among the lefy branches of the acacia trees. The flowers had folded the dewdrops (dose to their hearts with their tender petals, and were rocked to "sleep by the tender night 'wind. Esmond gazed on the fair scene with a Smile on his lips. • "How contented a man feels with a hap- py to 0 cupywhisthoughtsaatid atten tion,' he ruminated; "as Irene said to -day. there Ins been no wish of her life that I have not fulfilled if it lay within my -pow• er--thy beautiful, bonny Irene!" He left the window, and walked back to hisseat, touching the little silver hand. bell., Impatiently, to which Nannette the maid responded -from the nursery adjein- Tell your mistress that I am here, Nan. nette," be said; but before giving the girl time to execute this mission he went on Has little Ruby retired yet?'" ".Missy oh, yes, sir; she was put to bed most an hour ago,bless her dear, little heart answered Nannette, "Don't you see her, sir?" she added pointing through the portieres that were drawn back,.'re• Pealing a large portion of the inner room, and the low, Frenchbed, with the little eurly head half buried in the eiderdown . piioiva., l . Bless my soul, I did not notice," re- sponded Esmond. " "My mistress has gone out, sir," said Nannette . pone out!.'' repeated Esmond, in aston- ishment; "why that is strange, when did she go out, Nannette," "But a little while ago, sir," answered the maid, "I knew she was going out when I met her in the corridor, because she wore her long silk cloak, with the dark crimson hood. I spoke to her, but she neither• saw nor heard me." "You may go, Nannette," said Esmoud; "not there," as she'turued to the nursery again "but to your own room; I will ring for you when you are wanted. I do not anticipate that you will, be wanted, how- ever, ] f Rubyisasleep." sl ep., The girl eourtesied, and quitted the bou- doir. "How strange that Irene has gone out at this hour of the night," he thought, wonderingly. It is an uncommon thing for her to do. And she has left me no word -no message -stranger still. No doubt she has been sent for by some one hereabouts, who is ill -every one loves her so well;" and his mind reverted to a poor, young girl who, on her death -bed, had pleaded tliat Mrs. Esmond might sit be. side her. holding her hand while her poor life drifted out. Irene had always been. so kind to this girl. Twenty minutes passed -half an hour - still, Irene did not return. Esmond grew impatient. He saw a book on the table, and me. chanically picked it up and opened it, to se what Irene had been reading, turn- ing it to the book -mark, placed between the pages. A few lines of poetry met his eyes; he GEN. PASCUAL OROZCO, Of Mexico, the maker and unmaker of Presidents. glanced over them, recognizing the words of an old hymn: "There is a time, we know riot when, A point we know not where, That marks the destiny .of men Tofor g y or despair. "There is a line by lie unseen, That crosses every path; That hidden boundary between God's patience and his wrath. "How far may we go on in sin? How icing will God forbear? Where does hope end? and where begin - The confines of despair?" Esmond closed the book; he was in no mood for reading. The pearl and gold clock on the marble mantel, chimed slowly the hour of ten. Esmond rose from his seat and began to pace nervously up and down the room. "She might have known I should feel worried about her going out, and not knowing where she has gone " he thought, impatiently, Esmond felt exceedingly annoyed over the matter; during all the years of their wedded life he had never known her to do anything like this, "She must be here very soon, now," he thought; and it occurred to him he could pass the time no better than by looking in at little Ruby, Entering the nursery he passed to the li file sou h c onwl is chie ' h little daughter lav and stood crazing long and earnestly upon P sed dimpled ledface of the rattle sleeper.P "Ef•ow much that little darling looks like Irene," he mused, "There are the same dark eyebrows, and long, dark curling- lashes; the same graceful .poise of the dark, curly head, and the same smiling mouth -like crimson Rowers as some graceful writer puts it. He bent down and kissed the fair love locks, that trailed over the lace pillow, very lightly, that he might not waken little Ruby, and as he did so, he caught sight of the letter pinned to Ruby's breast, directed to himself, in Irene's bandwr.it• ing. There was no mistaking that fine delicate chirography: A broad laugh broke over his lips -now What was the meaning of this -Irene was as Mull of tricks as .a .mischievous school. Esmond glanced eharply about him -ex- pectang.to see a pair of dark eyes laugh- ing at him from some remote corner, ' "A reminder, no doubt, that to•morrcw is our little Ruby's birthday," he thought, "and mentioning something see would like me to buy her. Yes, our litre Ruby is tour years old to -morrow, bless her. Ah, how 4uiekly•happy years spent with one we love pass." 1,.^- 47. \www ww �w�wZ ��w wy ���w wwtwwi , 'Ye Olofd Su10g64eLoafer ,. THE CANADA SUGARREFININGCO. CHAPTER, XXXIII. All houghtles's ei the blow that awaited hind' 'smond returned, letter in hand, to the outer room, and once more threw him- ! self down. in Irene's favorite chair, and ! leisurely broke the seal, drawing forth the dainty, perfumed, monogram sheet. As his eye runs over the contents swiftly, his face is a study. He springs from his seat holding the letter out at arm's length from him, bor. ror, amazement, bewilderment, depicted on his countenance. Once, twice, thrice, he had read the let- ter .through, the lines standing out like leters of are on the white page; then it fell from his nerveless hands to the floor. Ile was a strong man and a brave man, but his hands trembled, his fate blanch- ed,great drops of agony stood out on his brow, his lips were white and parched. "This cannot be true. It is false," he cried, hoarsely. "Gone," he repeated, "what nonsense. She is not gone," he articulated in a voice of thunder, that startled even the servants on the floor above out of their sleep. Then he laughed aloud. She was in her ow • root, which was just off the nursery, of arse. Irene gone! No, no. It was an VII 'ek ; he must shake it off. He ek into his chair with another nlfaw of laughter, more terrible hen cries wopld have been. :I ha! how foolish I am; for one- ent I almost .believed it. Of s a jest of Irene's-a little my confidence in her. No watching •me from behind ,'. he: added, sotto voce. I ~say,"' he cried, throw - handsome head, .with a "Come, now, this is rather ou, any darling." no reply.; The silence that Tol- e broker only by the ticking of iek on the,mantel, and by the throb - Ides own heart. d to the silken hangings, draw - aside with a shaking hand. ligure fr8 hed harms, with gal gay,nme ry au h.' ene!" he cried, excitedly. "Come here, I l.y-•'I . am in no mood for light jesting. I do not fancy it. Come, and be reward. ed by seeing what I have bought for you." "int no Irene replied. Only the clock with its slow, measured ticking, and his own loudly pulsing heart, broke the ei- lane, as he listened intently for the sec• ond time. He turned the knob of the door quickly, which led to the inner .apartment; a chill cold as death swept over him, for he saw in a glance the utter confusion of the apartment. Bureaus are open, trunks ran - smoked, and wardrobe empty -all standing wide open. There was no sight under heaven more Pathetic) ;than the sight of that empty room; everywhere he turned, he saw traces f bet presence -a tiny slipper with a rosette on it, lying on a hassock, a brace. et and a fan lying on the dressing case, pretty home dress of mull and lace she 0 t a the quer yet vorn•only that afternoon, lying across �xint+ bed, and on the table a bon- er her favorite roses; they had not ummenoed to wither. Me!" he cried again, but only the wind among the clambering roses • o -,y y' a the casement answered him, seem - like ike the moan of human soul out- siYs41 al the night. "` Mom is as cold as death!" he crit!' 'leaning heavily back against the vraill. bus passionate love for itis fair, young•wife stirred in his heart, his breath cam=, n great mighty gasps. How he Ye for her presence! He world have gi %mite years of bis life, at that to .have clasped her in his arms, her td his agonized breast, felt glowing, dimpled cheek lying THE 'newest thing in sugar —and the best—is this 5 -Pound Sealed Package ofExtra Granulated. In this carton 5 pounds full weight of Canada's finest sugar comes to you fresh from the Refinery, and absolutely free from any taint nor impurity. Ask your Grocer for the 5 -Pound Package. CANADA SUGAR REFINING COMPANY, LIMITED, MONTREAL. against his own, and the clasp of her white, soft arms round his neck. Should he never see her again -never look upon the face that was dearer than the whole world to him? "Can it be true that she has indeed left me?" he cried, incoherently, putting his hand to his forehead and brushing the great beads of dew from it. "If I thought it was-" "What did she mean by kissing me so repeatedly when she returned from that hospital trip, and crying out when I left her -'Good-bye, Frederick -good-bye?' "I saw her with her face pressed close against the pane watching me out of sight as the carriage whirled dowe the drive. "Oh, Heaven! it is true; Irene has left me -I feel it in my heart. It is no jest - it is a horrible reality. Oh, Irene! -Irene! -Irene!-my wife!" He falls heavily into the nearest seat - buries his face iu his hands, while sobs, that are no disgrace to his noble man- hood, convulsed his strong frame. —Talk not of grief 'til ye have seen The tears of warlike men—" The extraordinary commotion awakened Ruby; she sat bolt upright in her bed, her great, dark eyes, staring open in in- fantile dismay. The sight of Esmond sitting there -sob- bing, her handsome, genial papa in tears, is a sight Ruby has never beheld in all her young .lifts, before. "Papa -papa," she cries, in hee., shrill voice, are you Il? Oh, papa, •a;re'you" Esmond springs to the conch and snatch -'f es •the Mid In his :arors with .so Quick. a move t as to almost take her breath away. s her on his knee. holdingher at arm's length' from, him. Ill! lie tinks what was all the illn`eas of the body in this world to the torture of mind ho was suffering then. "Papa, do not look et me R0-00 strange, your eyes look wild, papa; just like the old duke's after he has drank brandy with lots of lumps of sugar in it. Oh, papa, what do those awful eyes mean?" He was looking down into the lovely infantile face, so levels, and ah, God! so much like Irene's, with all his soul in that concentrated gaze. "It means -oh, my darling, it means that your mother has left us, -and you are a deserted child!" And as he utters the horrible words, deep sobs shake his frame again. Ruby looks up at him with wide-open Puzzled eyes; her father's manner fright- ened her. "Do you comprehend, my darling?" he asks, with a groan. "Do you realize what Papa is telling you?" And he strained her to his heart cov- ering her little face, her shining hair, and her dimpled hands with burning kisses. I want mamma," she cried, attempt- ing to struggle from his embrace; you squeeze me so awfully, papa, you hurt me. Is mamma coming?" Esmond released her. "Your mamma is never coming to yen again, Ruby." he cried, hoarsely and fiercely. You must forget her. Do yon understand? you must forget her. I say " I'm just as sure as ever I can be, that you've been drinking brandy and lumps of augar," a a deer p p aped Rub decisively. Nannette always says when people talk funny and look wild out of their eyes, they're toxi---toxi-topsipated." "You must learn to forget your mother," commanded Esmond, never heeding the child's remarks -"forget that she Inas ever lived as I will do. I will tear her image from my bosom, though my heart he et the root." (To be continued.) 1IiICIII 101111411111101111101111 llii0�llllllll : �.., 1ltiember ;t1me oft 'n T0—test ft—see for yourself — that "St. Lawrence Granulated'' Is as choice asugaras money can buy. -, Get a Xoo pound bag -or even a 20 pound bag --and compare 9t, Lawrence with any Other high-grade granulated sugar. Note the pure white color of "St. Lawrance" -its rnifohm grain -its diamond -like sparkle -its match- less aweetuess. These are the signs of quality. And Prof. Hersey's analysis is the proof of purity 09%soo' to z00% of pure cane sugar with no impurities whatever". Insist On having "S1'. LAWRENCTi ORAN177.ATi;D" at your grocer's. ST. LAW>ItiEMcE stIGAR REEIN1PIG COI» IL/METED. MONTREAL, 66 EXTRA 6/MAU MONTIREAL,., wesitmsrrer �BrV� 1A11~111talkselhallailleilallanc, ill On the Fars P' vo. BUTTERMILK CHEESE. Buttermilk cheese is a. new pro- - duct obtained ,by curdling butter- milk with heat, draining the curd and adding salt. Large amounts of buttermilk are wasted every year at creameries. If this were made into buttermilk cheese, it would fur- nish a large supply of palatable food, . equal in food value, pound for pound, to lean beefsteak. It can be sold profitably at half the price meat is. To make buttermilk cheese the buttermilk is curdled by heating to 80 degrees, and left undisturbed for an hour. It is then heated to 130 degrees and after standing quiet for about an hour, the clear whey is drawn off the curd, and the latter is placed on a draining rack, which is covered With cheesecloth. Here it remains half a day or over night, . until as dry as desired, when it is salted with 1/ pounds of salt per 100 pounds of curd, and is ready • for use. Buttermilk cheese can be made from buttermilk, from cream which was pasteurized before ripen ening, or the buttermilk may be pasteurized during the process of cheesemaking, in either case insur- ing the absence of disease germs. Packing and selling the cheese requires special attention since the public is not familiar with the pro- duct, and it must be thoroughly ad- vertised to secure a market. It may be shipped in butter tubs and re- tailed in paper pails or other small packages. It will keep for a week or ten days at 50 to 60 degrees, but can be kept longer if stored at 32 degrees or lower. It may be sold for three to five cents a pound at the factory and retailed at seven to 12;f; cents per pound, and prove a profitable product for both the creamery and the retailer. If high color is desired, it may be secured by adding Cheese color,, the same as used by Cheddar cheesemakers. Where only a few pounds of but- termilk cheese are made at a time, as on a farm or for home use, the buttermilk can be heated in a pail. or in a clean new ..wash boiler .the stove. ` After the second heat- ing, i. •, to 130 elegrees,.if the curd •has settled, ilie;WheY':0ili .,be nxa titll�y, poured .off by' tippi :g ,,tlie pail, an the Burd poured Into a. small Cheese- cloth bag to drain. If the curd is floating, it can be dipped off the ; surface of the whey with a dipper - or large spoon and put in the bag to drain. A small wooden draining rack a foot square and five or six inches deep, with the bottom made of one-fourth of an inch mesh gal- vanized or tinned iron wire netting and covered ,with cheesecloth, is useful for draining small amounts of buttermilk cheese. Buttermilk from rich cream, con- taining 50 per cent. or more fat, as well as buttermilk from cream which was pasteurized when very sour, is not suitable for making buttermilk cheese. The curd from such buttermilk is always so fine grained that it runs through the draining cloth and is Lost. A WHITEWASH THAT STICKS. There are many brick and stone walls, as well as wooden outbuild- ings, fences and the like, about a suburban place which, lacking • paint, detract much from the gen- eral appearance of the home. But paint is somewhat expensive and ' cannot be applied with too lavish a • hand by the average citizen. There is, however, whitewash, which is ' easily made and applied, is inex- pensive and which for most outdoor work will answer quite as well as oil paint. For chicken -houses, brick walls and the like it is excellent. To make the whitewash, slake half a bushel of fresh lime with boiling water, keeping it covered during the process. The lime should not, of course, be confined, but merely covered, as confined itpossesses eases p considerable explosive force. Strain it and add a peck of salt dissolved in warm water, three pounds of ground rico put in boiling water and boiled to a thin paste, half a pound of powdered Spanish whit- ing. and a pound of clear glue dis- solved in warm water: Mix these well together and let the mixture stand for seven days in a .reasonably cool and shaded place. Keep the wash thus prepared in a kettle, and • when it is being used put it on as hot as possible, using a painter's or . an ordinary whitewash brush. Always• use magnesian Lime for whitewash. • The devil put envy into the human • equation just to iv;.l:e' his buainc s a sure thing,.