Norwalk gazette, Friday, September 18, 1896 · page 11

 

 

ON HIS BLINDNESS.

When I consider how my light is spent

Ere hag my days, in this dark world and
wx e. ._ .

And that one talent which is death to hide

Lodged with me useless, though my soul
more bent. . ,

To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account. lest be returning chide,

“ Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?”

I fondly ask. ’ But patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replied: “God doth‘mot

need
Either man’s work. or His gifts; who best ~
Bear His mild yoke. they serve him best; His

state
Iskingly: thousands at His bidding speed
And post o’er land and ocean without rest.
They also serve who only stand and wait."

‘ —John Milton.

A CASE OF LUCK.

Charley Wiburn‘ fa'ndlI are cousins,
but somehow“ I scarcely seemed to be-
long to the family at all. We had no
end of relatives,- and he was a general
favorite with all, even some he had
never seen, for they would die and leave
him legacies. He was censtantly get-
tingsiomfle little “windfall”.of .this kind,
until- at length “Charley?- Wiburn’s
luck” beCame a ‘general’ catchword
among us—a‘. synonyms fer all that was
lucky and fortunate. '

One morning at breakfast—we were
artists and shared the same rooms and
studio—he received a black edged let-
ter, which, upon opening and reading,
he cast down with a discontented
look. ,

“Another funeral to go to,” he grum-
bled, “and here are my pictures unfin-
ished, and next week is sending in
day.”

“Who is it now?” I asked.
legacy, I suppose, eh?” ,

“Very likely,” he returned indiffer-
ently. “It’s Uncle Alexander Stephen.
Did you know him?”

I shook my head. “Have heard of
him; never saw him,” I said.

“I hardly knew‘him myself,” Charley
explained, “at least not since I was a
boy. It’s a rare bother, this, coming
just now. Such a tiresome ride into the
country. I say . Jack, you have done

.your pictures, and have nothing to do
for a spell—couldn’t. you go there for
me?” _ ‘

“What, in your name?” I exclaimed.

 

‘ ‘An other

“Yes; why not? It’s years since I was -

among any of the set. This letter is
from Mr. Parchly. the solicitor of the
will, I suppose. He doesn’t know me.
You are Jack Wiburn—it’s only a differ:
ence of Christian name, and it’s allin
the family, you know.” -

To cut the matter short, I had to con-
sent, as I generally did where Charley
was concerned. ‘

I took the lawyer’s letter as a sort-of
credential, and set out, grumbling a
good deal at what I considered Char.
ley’s “chee ” in thus making 'ussof’ me.
If I had finished up my work before he
had it was only because I had worked

at it more constantly,- and now,_,instead,
of reaping the advantage in the shape of
. a few days’. rest ‘ he made it an excuse '

for sending me off on a lugubrious mis-
sion like this, and Charley would; no
doubt, have'a good legacy, too. out of
it. ' ' ” ‘

“I don’t suppose it’s much,” he said
to me. “Perhaps one or two hundred—
hardly worth going down for, ' you
know.” ’ ’ ' ‘ '

So I had logo—with no legacy in
view at all, small or large!

However, as:I have said, I set out for
the place—it was in Devonshire—and in
due course I arrived at the little town
and put up at a hotel for the night. The
funeral was fixed for the following day,
and on inquiry I learned that the house
I had to go to was only a short distance
away.

The next day, therefore, -. saw me
among the assembled guests. I found
out Mr. Parchly and silently showed
him his own letter. _

“Ah.” said he. “you are Mr. Wiburn.
Very good. Glad to see you.”

I did not reply, so he concluded that I
was Charley Wiburn, without my hav-

. ing said one word one way or the
other.

But when, after the funeral, the will
came to be read, I found Charley was
down for £5,000. *

At the end of the reading of the will
. I was making my way out to get back
to the hotel, when some one Said:

“Mr. Wiburn, I believe?”

Llooked around and saw a stiff, mili-
tary looking old boy,regarding-me with
a smile through his spectacles. '

“Charley,” said he, “don’t you re-
member me?”

I thought to myself, “Oh, now I’m in
for it. Here’s a nice mess—all through
trying to serve Charley. {ust my bad
luck.” This feeling did not grow less

when he said: ‘

“Milly wants to speak "to you. She

. has been looking at you and .says she
can hardly recognize-you for her old
playfellow.” _(No‘ wonder,” I thought.
"It would'be'strange if she did”).

She came up and shook hands, and
the moment I looked ather I simply
fell helplessly head over ears in love
with her then and there. She seemed
to be the loveliest, most adorable crea-
ture I had ever seen. Rather than run
the risk'of losing a chance I now had of
speaking to her, I would say nothing of
not being Charley, let the consequences
be what they might.

“Don’t you remember your little play-
mate, Milly?” said,she,with a blush and
an entrancing look in her beautiful
eyes. "Well, it’s net surprising, for I
szlould never have known you either, if
Mr. Parchly had not pointed you out to
us." ' '

Before I exactly realized what I was
doing I was whisked off to Major Rain-
field's house—as I found his name to be
-—to dine. calling at the hotel‘for my
' evening‘v‘uogs” on the way.- . -

I found «the Major’s house a neat,
quiet looking little“ place on the out-
skirts of the town. ' He-lived alone. with
his daughter—his wife being dead—a
- housekeeper and one servant. Though

y everything was comfortable, there was
that indescribable air that gave one, the

!mDTeSSlQ!l . that they 'were 'not'too well
'1’ as :':;;:;--.‘.‘3 tars-*lerld’s goods.
. ' \ .

\ .

 

 

_ enough?” I answered.

 

Since I was not too well ofi, either,
this would not have troubled me, but
for that legacy of £5,000 I was supposed
to have come in for. "Was that the
secret cause of their friendliness?” I ask-
ed myself. But then I looked at Milly
and saw the frank look of her truthful,
honest looking eyes, I felt ashamed of\
myself. ’

Such good friends did we become that
I lingered on in the place for a week,
during which time I daily grew more
uncomfortable at the part I was play-
ing. At last Isought out Milly one day

'alone'and confessed the whole truth to

her. .
' “I am not surprised,” she said. “I
thought you were not much like the
Charley I used to' know. But I am sor-
ry for you—sorry to think that your
cousin should have got that £5,000
while you Were not even as much as
mentioned.” '
“Ah !” I said with a sigh, “that is
Charley’s luck.” ‘
Lwas thinking what I dared not say—-
that if that £5,000 had but been mine I
would have asked her to be mine, too;
whereas new, 'with my poor prospects——
well,,of course, it was folly ‘ to even
dream of such a thing. '
I watched her n'ari‘Owly'after that but '
oculd see no difference inher treatment
of me. '
‘ Another week slipped by and I still
stayed on; At the end of that time I
was :in sucha'state of mind that one day,
finding myself alone with Milly, ‘I blurt-
ed outim‘y' hopeless love for her, and
said I should go away at once, fer I felt
I could net possibly stay there any long-
er. Milly, always quiet and self-pos-
sessed, remained silent a while and then
said, looking down: '
“I think you had better ’speak to'
“a. )a. " ,~ -
y "What!" IrapturOusly exclaimed, “do
a on really bid me hope? Do you really
think there is a possibility of your fath-

r—-_-” I stopped and shook my head.
"Alas, no!” I said, “such a thing could
not happen to me. It would be Char
ley’s luck, that—not mine.”

“Well,” said Milly, composcdly.
“they 'say you never know your luck .till .
yen try,” 'but. 'if you are too faint heart-
ed to try, why, of courseT—J’

“I’ll go off and find the Major and
have'it out at once,”I burst out.

, And I saw him' accordingly, and told

him the whole story, humbly apologiz-

ing for daring to ask for his daughter’s
hand, when, as'I was bound to tell him.

I was not Charley, but Jack \Viburn.

and 1 had no £5,000 legacy,“ and no

prospects in particular, and “no luck!"

' “H’m,” said the Major; how is it that
Charley comes in for an the ‘luck’in
this way?”

“I don’t know, sir,” I answered, dole-
fully. “He goes about-more, and makes

himself more liked, I think, while I”—I'

hesitated.
' “While you stick at home and work.
Is that it?” he said. .

“Well;” I returned, “I try my best.
You see, I have nothing else to relyon
——or hOpe' for—like Charley. It's his
luck—and mine !"

“However,” said the Major, “I have
been told you get your pictures hung
and sell them, which is more than» he-
does. Is that luck too?” ’

To this I made no reply; I couldn’t see;
its relevancy.

“N ow, look here, Mr. Jack Wiburn,”
the Major went on. "I knew you were

not Charley Wiburn (I looked up in '

surprise. Milly told me, and I have
made certain inquiries of my own and I
have something to tell you. The late
Alexander Stephen W iburn was a very
old and intimate friend of mine, and had
long ago set his heart upon Milly marl
rying Charley. (Here I jumped up ex-
citedly but he waved his hand to me as
a sign to be quiet.) But he was deter-
mined that if it came about at all it
should be spontaneous, and not through
any compulsion or any unworthy mo-
tive.

“But in that will you heard read the
other day there was something you did
not hear—it was mixed up in another
matter; but it comes to this—that if
Milly marries his nephew he and she
was to have a certain sum between them
to commence housekeeping with. I have
consulted Mr. Parchly upon this matter

and he agrees with me that,» as Char- .

ley’s name 'is not expressly mentiqned,
and as he would not take the trouble‘to
come down himself, even to the funeral
of his poor old uncle, who had been so
kindly disposed to him, if Milly likes
you well enough to have you she will be
just as much entitled to the sum set

aside‘as if Charley had married her, and ,.

I am sure that I shall not Object to the
substitution. ‘
, “In the will the only condition is that
Milly should marry his nephew, and of
course you are as much his nephew as
Charley is. Therefore I leave it to Mil- -
ly; if she says ‘Yes.’ I say the same, and
you will both have something to set up
housekeeping with.” .

“I’ll go off and tell Milly at once,” 1
said, but I had. not gone far when-he
called me back. -

“You don’t-ask how much you will '-

have to start housekeeping upon,”'he‘
said,
“What matter, sir, since you‘ think it

“H’m, but you may think as well.
You may not think it enough."

“How much is it then?” I asked.

“Fifty, thousand pounds,” said ' the
Major. - '

And this is what Charley lost a'ndl'
gained by that journey—Milly (worth

more than all) and £50,000.
And now Charley won’t speak to me:-
or my wife—for Milly and; I are mar

ried—é’andhe eaysI-meanl-y took advan- ‘

tage-‘o‘f him, but I say,‘ as I used to- say
before. itis all (his - luck—and mine.--
The Gentlewoman. .. ' .

He-4Did Miss Flyrt receive manypro-
posals last season at Rye. Beach?

She—Manly?-.'.'~ Why, ‘ receiving propol‘
posals getto be a habit-With her. _- In a
very short tinie she couldn’t hear a soda
‘Water "bottle: pop without ‘exclaiming;
“This . is so .- sudden~!”—Chicago To
Date. . .. . - -

 

 

he had rejected it.

ply.

.torted', with scorn.
-'labored :under no (Elusion respecting

 

.-

LUfi-i'eais ' TRUST.
“That little we beneath its wing

. Will hide its head andsleep. ._
Above ltheevens of stars will swing.

And blue abysses sweep. ‘ .
'et will it fear not. God who made
The starewillwatch the nest.”
This Luther once 'in trouble said.

And found 'inGed his rest.

noW THEY CHANG-ED

Her father and his j father had been
brothers in-a'rms for ~twenty years - and
chums since their-school days.

“When Mary has dene- with her ‘g‘ov-
erness, and your boy has seen a couple
of
said ,Colonel Clive to Generalfi Vet-4
tithe: ' ' '

Their wishes were communicated in
due course to the young people? con-

And, humanity being by. nature3con- ~

tradioto'r'y, the inevitable result of 1 all

this too palpable paternal planning and ;
that when they met‘

maneuveringiwas _
for the firstvtimeisince early childhood
the youn‘gvman and the girl at oncei'conE
cei'vod a mutual aversion to _ each
other. 4 , ' . .

They called Frank Verrinder “Dandy”
inihi‘s' regiment, and-she. hated a. fop.

- She "was a high-spirited,- independent

damsel, who rode ’ and tramped the
rugged Cornish county about her heme
in, all weathers;

. She‘mentally accused him of efiemi—
may; he regarded-her with languid dis~
favor, and suspected that-she had a tern:
per. The old, men watched with dis-
may the threatened collapse of their
cherished scheme. . ’ -

'One morning Colonel Clive took the
girl to task for her conduct—the worst
course he could have chosen, probably,
for she was not a young lady to be
coerced. She was waiting for her horse
to come round from the stables.

“Maryfi’ he said, “you pretend to care
for me a little'bit, don’t'you?”

“You dear old dad, what a question l”
the patted him on the arm with her

1 silver mounted riding whip.

“Then why don’t you show it, dear,
bybelng a little more civil to Frank?”

“I I'm civil~to him i” . _

“Are you?” said the Colonel, with a
flickering smile. “I don’t like to con:
tradicta young lady, but I am under the
impressiOn- that you were positively
rude to him last night. "

"He was irritating—very. I am‘sure
Iwasright; and, anyhow, he shouldn’t
have contradicted me flatly.” She
paused. “Was I rude?” she queried.

The Colonel nodded.

She threw a careless arm about him,
and leaned her head back against his
breast. ,

“Dad, I’m afraid I’m a little beast,”
she remarked pensively, with her eyes
on the glow between the tears. .

“Scarcely—er—a little beast, I think.

Only a wee bit thoughtless and willful '7

child. You ehfid try and remember
he is our guest,
make ‘ him welCome.”

“I’ll be nice to him. to make up for
last night. I’ll ask him to forget
what I said and ride'with' me.”'

Mary crossed the hall with the swift ,
'gait of a womanof- perfect health and

proportions, and opened 'the library

.door. In a big saddlebag armchair on

the hearthrug reclined Dandy, with a
cigarette between‘his lips and unutter-
able boredom' in his face.

“Going out, MissClive?” be queried,
throwing away the cigarette and rising
to his feet. '

“I’ve come to tell you,” she said with
a gulp, “that I’m afraid I was rather
rude last night, and to say that I’m
sorry.” ‘

“Oh, pray don’t mention it, Miss
Clive. It’s so wholly unnecessary.”

They looked at each other.

“I am going fora ride,” she said,‘

jerkily. _

“So I concluded from your dress. Is
it wise? It’ll rain in half an hour; you
will be caught.” '

"I thOught‘a—er—you would care to
accompany me?” .-

She spoke'almost nervously.

“I think not; th—a—nks,” he respond-
ed. “I hate getting wet for nothing,
you know; it seems foolish.”

She had» made an advance to him, and
The light of battle
shone-in her eyes. .

“One w0uld think that you were a
piece of sugar that would melt,” she
cried. “I wonder what you would do if
there were a war and your regiment
were ordered to the front. I believe

. you would exchange.”

"Do you?” he said, placidly.

“Yes,” she panted. “And if I were a
man and any one as good as called me a
coward, I_would never speak to them
again.” ,

“ ‘Any one' and ‘she’ or ‘he,’ not them,
—it isn’t grammar,” he corfected, gent
“I shouldn’t go too far if I were
you; I’m sure we’re going to have a
storm.”

She so far permitted herself to forget

her manners as to slam the door.

“Mary, "will you marry me?”

“No, thanks.”

He had asked ner to share his life in
the same tone as he would‘ have asked

, her for 'a waltz. .

- It was a‘couple of weeks later, and the

- following-day his leave would expire.

“I hope,” he said slowly, “you don't

think I’ was impertinent or dense enough

to assume for an instant that your an-
swer would be difierent. The governor
wished me to propose to you, and the
dear old chap’s been so good to me all
my life that I should be an ungratelul
cad if I had refused to obey him.”
“You needn’t apologize,” she re
“Believe me. l

your reasOn. It must be a great rel.e
to you to have» it safely over, .as it .2
to me.” , -

Perhaps it was becauseshe was s.-
relieved that she wept so stormin- .1.
her room as she dressed for, one of he:
customary cross-country- tramps. 'Y'. ¢.-'
men are complex creatures.

p .
Dandv’s behavior, too, was somewha:

I mal minor as the general: and

years’ service, we'vvill marry them,” .

d itisyour placate~

\

WMe. He sighed as tho

door closed behind her, and strolled

about the room, whistling "The Cos-
, ” out of tune: _‘ "

The serenade came to an emit: a" dis-
,hisi‘ host
entered, eager to hear’ the result of the
totes-tote. Dandylwas 'as stony 'as flint.
and vouchsafed no information. ‘He
rang the bell. ‘ _ '

“Would you mind "telling Roberts.
when he comes up, that Iwant Faust
saddled, sir?” he said to Colonel Clive.
“I’ll go and dress.”

General Verrinder looked at Colonel
Clive; Colonel Clive looked at General
Verrinder. They sighed simultaneously.

“Rejected!” groaned the General.
“Shewouldn’t have my'boy!" f p

“I .did‘ my best, old chum,” said the
Colonel, with tears in. his eyes,

“Dandy’s a trump; and I told her so.

between her teeth”—
The General took up the parable :—
"‘-'I‘here’s nothing'to 5 done 1”

Dandy, generally tn‘mfitest' R!
peredtofsneh,-was in M'kimor. ‘5'
slashed Faust .in ,a manner which as
tonished that high spirited animal, and
sent him along infine style, which
would have raised '~ him several inches
in the estimation of Miss Mary Clive
had she been thereto see. .

He galloped some miles, and then
turned to the' coast and travelled home
ward at a slower pace along the cliffs.

Presently he came to a cleft in the
elite, which ran inward from the sea,
and barred his further progress in that
direction. ,

he jump was too ugly for a man in
his senses to attempt. ~He forthwith
proceeded to skirt’it. ,

On a sudden he pulled'Fanst up with
an abruptness, which sent him onto his
hind legs, for a woman’s shriek had
pierced the air.

Across the gap, a few hundred yards

from his view, he saw Mary menacing
a rough looking man in sailor’s dress,
with the walking stick which always
accompanied her upon her solitary ram=
bles.

Dandy had time: to fully grasp the situ-
-ation, the stick was flying from-the!

mercy of her persecutor. y
Theblood flew to Dandy’s face. .
“Don’t be frightened, Mary,” he

shouted, “I’m coming to you!”

It was a terrible jump, and in case
of failure a horrible death awaited both
horse and rider on the rocks over a bun:
dred feet below. . - 1

She looked up and saw him for the
first time. _ At the same instant she
recognized the danger‘. of what he was

if possible, than before.

are,” she shrieked.;" “you’ll 'kill your-
self!” ’

And then—she shut her 'eyes and
wonders she had never prayed in her:

. life, for the man she had called efiemin-g-
ate had dug his spurs into the horse’s]

sides, and Faust had sprung like an are
row froma bow at the yawning gulf
between them. . ,

The'agony of a month seemed concenéf
tratcd in the moment of suspense that.
followed. A heavy thud on the turf.
told her he was safe, and for once in,
her life she must have. fainted, for when‘
she opened her eyes again her late as-

the distance, and Dandy was on his:
fragment of a riding whip in his hand,‘

most fancied that it was their touch
which had awakened her. ,

“Thank God!” he said, in a voice
that trembled with emotion, “I—yon
frightened me awfully !”

“Not so much as you frightened me,”
she murmured. .“You risked your life
for my sake. 0, it was terrible, terri-
ble! It made me ill!”

“Did you faint because you feared
for my safety?”

The blue eyes gazed into the brown
ones, the'brown ones drooped.

“Mary, I believe we’ve both been
playing fast and loose with our happi-
ness through- idiotic pride. I know I’ve
taken pains to appear more of an ass
than nature intended; I was a brute
to propose to you like that; I could
have bitten my tongue out all the
while.”

“And I cried afterward,” she said
"because I thought you didn’t care.”

Just six weeks later'they took each
other “for better, for worse. ’b—An-
swers.

Contention About Longfellow-’5 Niece.

That Longfellow’s 14-year-old grand
niece shouldbe prettya‘nd take all the;
prizes at school at Woodside,’ L. 1., was
bad. When Father Gannon prayed she
could sing by placing her in St. Sebas—
tian’s choir, things grew worse.» But
how could people say they disliked ’her
for these tricks? But she gave them
the petard to hoist her by when she did
a dance for the benefit of the church
and kicked her tamborine twice. She
“didn’t go to do it, but the music was
so lovely and she forgot.” And now
there are two factions in St. Sebastian’s
Catholic congregation, and all on ac-‘
count of a girl and a song. But those
two , conditions have worked woe~ be-
fore !—Philadelphia Press.

A Story for Marines.

Gallais, the man who started to wheel
his wife around the world in a wheel-
barrow 1ast summer has returned tc
Paris with a story that they were at
tacked by wolves in a forest of Croatia,
and his ‘wife Was so badly hurt that she
died soon. after at Belgrade. He is
ready to start again, however.

In the New Year’s procession at Kon-
isberg'in 1558, a bologna sausage exhib-
ited by. the butchermen was 622 feet in
length, and was carried on the Shoulders
of 67 men and boys. The one exhibited
in the-same city in the year 1-583 was
over 1,600 feet in length, and weighed

 

 

 

133 pounds.“ -'

WE E KL Y N' o R WALK " GA. Zfl. .‘

but when a mettlesome filly gets thebit ‘

away, in a hollow previously hidden

But she was only a girl, and before:

hand, and she was completely at the ‘

namut todo, and her face went whiter;

“For God’s sake, stay where you»...

sailant was hobbling lamely away in
knees beside her with the splintered; _

and his lips so close to hers that she al’ _

 

WOMEN . AND BUSINESS.
[1 They Have bioney They Should Fully
Understand Its Investment.

Women are beginning ‘to realize the
signal need of knowing something of
business methods, says the New York
Herald The cruel losses meenlly sus-
tained‘by that most charming of wo-
men, Mrs. Elizabeth: B. Custer. bring
the necessity keenly home to those
among ‘the' sisterhood who have no
“natural ‘protectors”—as fathers, hus-
bands and brothers are, not inappro-
priately classified; and whether a no
man has a “natural protector” or no!
it istec'oming more and more evident
that-she should, at least, insist upon
having her investm‘ents'put in— her'own
name' zM-rs. Custer’s experience, un-
fortunately, is by ‘no means rare, but
because of the almoSt‘ snored nature. of
the money invested the'lo-ss of it seems
peculiarly sad." - -

General Custer, novtwithstanding the
privations of his life as a soldier on
the fr'ontier, faithfully kept alive his
insurance policy. The insurance
money that came to Mrs. Custer upon
her husband’s death was put into the
hands of a tried and trusted friend of
both herself and husband—a lawyer,
in their former home in Michigan. For
nineteen yea-rs the interest of the in-
vestment was regularly sent her. It
chiefly consisted in mortgages, two of
which her investor spoke a bit doubt-
fully of, to be sure, and as years
passed he warned her against one of
the mortgages in particular. He re-
cently died. His accounts were found
to be in a most unsatisfactbry condi-
tion. He had invested Mrs. Custer’s
money in his own name. '1 It proved to
be an injudicious investment He
failed to realize what he expected.
Mrs. Custer lost at least $5,000. The
. saddest revelation was that‘the worth-
less mortgage of which he had warned
her was against himself

 

Mrs. Themas A. Edson.

Mrs. Thomas A Edison has been a
source of great encouragement to the
inventor, having always been in com-
plete'y’lsympathy With his work, and is
s'upre'tncly'Jhappy ever the wonderful
successhe' has attained in the field of
'science. She is at once a loving mo-
ther,”an affectionate and dutiful wife,
and a helpmate.’ She reigns queen of
the Edison home in Llewellyn Park,
while her husband wields the magi-
cal wand of genius in his laboratory
.at Orange, N J. She often visits him
at his laboratory, even assisting him
at his experiments. On some occa-
sions, when he is after some important
secret, 'and‘ his extended? investigations
impel him to remain at his work con-
tinuously for days at a “time, she has
remained with him the entire time,
sleeping on a cot’ near his workbench.
That is the only kind of a woman who
:could' live happy with a genius, «the
only kind of a woman that is a suit-
able and agreeable wife to a man
whose whole being is devoted to the
interests of science. She reflects the

nor.

A Pretty Pillow Cover.
In many households there is very

embroidered pillow cover. But it is pos-
sible 'to make one in a short time that
will be very effective and decorative.

To do rthis, take a square of denim
of a rich red shade and outline in heavy
black filo in one corner three conven-
tional flowers. Inpthe opposite corner
outline one flower and darn the petals
of them all with black filoselle, work-

form a honeycomb effect.

Then, with Japanese gold thread,
couch all around the petals outside or
the black outlining. A very rich Ori-
ental effect will be the result. Edge
the cushion with a hemmed ruffle of
thedenim five inches wide.

How to Keep the Eyes Bright.

Never rub your eyes nor allow your
children to do so from their cradles.
Veils are bad for the sight, especially
those spotted or covered with a pat-
tern; so eschew veils when you can, or
wear the softest, clearest not when
obliged to do so. Never read in bed
or when lying on a sofa. Sit with your
back to the light when engaged in
reading or working.
greens are the most restful wall pa-

ceedingly fatiguing.
write or work longer than two hours
together without resting your eyes and
closing them for fully five minutes.

The Children’s Eyes.

Bring up children to sleep in the
dark, as it is much better for- 'their
eyes, the complete darkness being an
entire rest. Dark green 'or blue cur-
tains are the best for bedrooms, and
they should be drawn across the win
dow to prevent the glare of morning
light falling too strongly upon the eyes.
Never place a child’s bed opposite a
window, as the bright light falling
upon the face in sleep is exceedingly
bad for the sight.

The Best Way to Cook Potatoes.

The most wholesome way of cooking
a potato is to bake it. A small piece
of the skin should be cut from the ends
before putting the potatoes in to bake.
If a baked potato stands after it is
cooked it is likely to become seggy.
I‘oavoid this, when the potato is done
fold it in a, napkin and roll the potato
between the palms of the hand until it
cracks open. Treated in that way the
potato will be always mealy.

 

lustre of his name in a creditable man-

little time to spend on an elaborately .

‘ : . . .'.. a ' '
Cold Storage in Country Districts. ,

Much" of the large receipts of butter
at the big city markets are going di-
rect into cold storage. The metropoli-
tan cold- storage warehouSes aife'l’also
proving very profitable investments,

even more. This emphasizes the‘pos-
sibleprofits of mm storage in rural
districts. If it is profitable for mer-
chants in cities to pay a the heavy
charges for storage required by ware-
houses on costly city property, Why
will it not pay country shippers equal-
ly well to store their surplus in a. cold
warehouse at their arm 'place?‘ In
these. days of Small margins in all pro-
duce, it behooves the farmer, creamery
man and country shippe; to” take, ad-
vantage of this method of profitable
marketing. As we have before re-

country districts is he yet in its in-
fancy, and we believe that there is a
profitable field for its development,
especially in connection with creamer-
ies'and co—operative marketing asso-
ciatidns. Our farmers have simply
got to put into practice this and! all
other feasible means of reducing exs
penSes between, producer , and 'con-
' sume'r. Present low margins 'will'not
permit of former old-fashioned or
western! methOds. ‘

The Case of supply and Demand.
“Why are corn andoats only half the
price they were a year lago?” Tariff
and currency laws have undergone no
change, our relations _ with foreign

not altered, and gambling in futures
or options are quite as active now as
then. Aside from these factors, con-
cerning which opinions dlfl’er, supply
and demand certainly have influenced
values. The supply has been larger
than ever, the demand has, been cur.
tailed because consumers have not felt
able to use as freely of any goods as
when times were prosperous. ‘ Our
corn crop of 2,250 million bushels was
- nearly double that or, the year before,
and the prospect now is for a pretty
big crop, though it may yet be greatly
reduced by unfavorable conditions, Of
oats. we raised 900 millions, an in-
crease or 200 milliOn bushels over ’94,
and this year’s crop appears to behi-
most as much. With no great export
demand for the surplus," and with fair
supplies of new and Old Wheat all over
the world, it is not surprisingthat
prices of corn and oats Should be lower,
or that hay and 'cottOn should have
been higher on last year’slshort crop
compared to the year before—Ameri-
can Agriculturalist.

PondMud and Mack as a Fertilizer.

F. A. D. has some rather light and
sandy land that is considerably run
out, near a pond from which in the dry
season the water goes out, leaving a
’fisort of bog, where tall grass and lily
pads grow, and the bottom seems to
be very black and rich. No doubt it
would pay well to haul this stuff out,
and it may be that the muck and de-
caying vegetable matter is quite deep.
Probably it will be best to treat it as
ordinary muck beds are handled,
dumping the mud and muck in a long
narrow pile and leaving it to weather
until next spring. The acids that
might possibly have a bad effect on the
soil will by that time have become neu-
tralized. The dry muck may then be
broadcasted and harrowed' in. When
the pile is very dry itawould make an
admirable absorbent of liquid smanure
in stables 'or barnyards. It is a com-
mon practice among thrifty farmers
on sandy farms to utilize pond bottoms
and muck holes in either or both of

 

ing the centres in buttonh'ole stitch to ,

l
a
1

Pale blues or ;

pers for the eyes, whereas red is ex- .
Do not read, :

 

I brand.

these ways—Exchange.

The New York Cheese Brand.

Lots of cheese factories in New York '

State have not taken advantage of the
law providing them with a
A little inquiry shows that the
factories which do not use the State
brand are generally the least success-
ful. This is natural. The State brand
is practically a guarantee of quality,
and gives the cheese bearing it a stand-
ing in the market and in the eye of the
law that is not enjoyed by unbranded
cheese. Every factory that is not
equipped with a State brand should
apply to the Commissioner of Agri-
culture at Albany for the same at once.
Ohio has a similar law, the brands be-
ing supplied by the State dairy com-
missioner at Columbus.

A Movable Hen-House.

 
 
 

 
 
 

75"..{ié’2'r

O"
" o I .d‘.
I” *.‘..“ V

, _. M f“
gym? “
”4%“? «

It is often desirable to confine fowls
in an orchard or garden for the purpose
of destroying insects.
tration. offers a practical suggestion.
I’he Louse is on wheels, and will serve
as a roost at night and for wetweather.
as well as at other times.

i C £73;
clANOS"

so vEARs‘Es‘rABLisH'E”

 
 
 

GRA ND AND UPRIGH'T. '

Over 100,000 Mannfactured.
EASY TERMS. , EXCHANGED.

FISCHER PIANO WARERooMs,"

IIO Fifth Ave., cor. l6th 82., N. Y.
.. _ Write for Catalogue. , ‘ .

paying 6 to 12 per ,cent. dividends,.or '

marked, this cold storage business in'

countries that absorb our surplus are”

State‘

The above illus- "

 
 

9‘s
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