THE LOST GERANIUM.
Mrs. Wigley lived at Jasmine Cot-
tage, which had no jasmine growing
over it and did not rightly deserve the
name of cottage, seeing that it was :
one of a long row of houses at the east
end of the village. Mrs. “ligley had
no back garden whatever, only a tiny
piece of ground in front with a wooden
paling; and there was not much grow-
ing there. But a remarkably fine ge.
ranillm bearing magnificent trusses of
a pale pink tint. stood in a pot on the
window sill. This geranium was the
pride of Mr. *fi'igley’s simple soul; she
took daily delight in it in spite of fall-
ing sight. and words of praise from
admiring neighbors warmed the
cookies of her heart.
Her friend. Mrs. Hubbard. Christian
name Eliza. 'was more. eulogistic than
all the rest put together. for Mrs. Hub.
bard was a great gardiner and knew
a fine specimen as well as any one
and better than. most.
She called on a certain Saturday af-
ternoon and paused before entering
Jasmine Cottage to inspect her friend’s
possession. It was in full bloom.
Sarah Wigley was staring out of the
window, but failed to recognize her
friend; her eyes were contracted to a
narrow slit, and she strove her hardest
to trace the familiar features, but in
vain.
“That there geranium is deliberately
wasting itself!” said she.
At this moment Sarah W'igley opened
the window and stood revealed—a
small, shrunken widow woman, with
a pale face and a pair of gentle eyes,
sweet in their expression, albeit some-
what dimmed by defective sight.
“Ift it ain’t Sara. it‘s my double.”
“You‘ve been looking at my geran-
ium, Eliza," said her friend. “Isn’t it
a picture?”
Mrs. Hubbard responded heartily;
there was much talk about the flower,
how fears had been entertained that
the blight had got to it, et cetera.
“Go in, my dear,” she said to Sarah
Wigley; “you will catch your death of
cold.”
Mrs. Wigley retired. Eliza Hubbard
drew the door close. Her face was
crimson, her heart beat fast.
“It isn’t as though she could see,”
said she; “she won’t even know it is
gone, and if she does, what does it
signify? What the eye don’t see the
heart can’t grieve for!”
She seemed rather proud of the quo.
tation; of a certainty it had never been
used in such a connection before. But
pride was replaced by a dull sense of
shame as she lifted up the geranium
and; hiding it under her shawl, sped
home with it.
A few days later Eliza Hubbard
called on Sarah Wigley. She peeped
in through the window and saw her
old friend sitting over the handful of
fire, though the evening was sultry,
shivering and holding 'her thin hands
to the blaze.
“My gracious!” said she, stepping
briskly in, “you ain’t cold to-night, are .
I
you?”
Sarah Wigley rose stifliy.
‘* “I’m a bit poorly. my dear; I ain‘t
felt myself since my loss. You’ve
heard tell how some tramp or the other
made ed with my pink geranium,
haven’t you '2”
“I did hear some such tale,” said
she. “But I don‘t suppose you grieve
much. eh. Sarah? It ain’t as if your
eyesight was as good as mine. You
can’t keep looking at the blossoms.”
For answer Sarah Wigley burst into
a flood of tears.
“I know I am worse than a fool to
make a fuss about a geranium plant,”
said she. “but I suppose I am kind of
low in health. Any way, I can’t help
myself. I rught to be ashamed of
myself,” said she, “at my time of life
not to have faith greater than a grain
of mustard seed. Haven’t I prayed the
good Lord to put it into the heart of
that tramp to bring me back my ger-
anium, and who knows that He won‘t
see fit to do it. I’d had that geranium
three years, ’Liza, and I'd get to set
store on it as though it was a child.
I hope you don’t think me a weak
sort.”
Eliza Hubbard cleared her throat.
“No,” she said softly. “I don’t. I
wish I was half as good as you. But
I ain’t. I yield to temptation right
away. I ain’t more strength of mind
than a baby. I say, Sarah, I wouldn't
take on so if I- was you. Perhaps—
perhaps”—she hesitated and cleared
her throat again.
your flower back again, after all.”
She leaned forward and kissed her
friend’s wrinkled check. It was an
unusual action, but accounted for by
the unusual circumstances. '
“Good-night, Sarah,” said she. “I’d
pray again to-night, if I were you, just
as you did before.”
“Yes,” replied Sarah, meekly, “I
mean to.”
She was cheered by her friend’s sym-
pathy; there was a glow at her heart,
a ring of confidence in her quaver-l
ing tones.
The moment she rose the next morn
ing she glanced out of the window.
Did her weak eyes deceive her? Was
it really the geranium she saw below? ,
She dressed herself hastily and hurried
down stairs. Yes, there was no mis-
take about it; it was 'her pet flower,
in the same pot, with the splotch oi
red paint on its rim.
“The Lord be praised i” said she Lug
ging it close; “the Lord be praised!”
And Eliza Hubbard, meanwhile. he.
face red with flame, clasped her hands
together and offered her prayer.
“There ain’t a meaner sinner on
earth than me,” she said, “but I never
found _it out till now.” She stooped low
and dug up her finest white geranium
“I’m going round to Sarah’s now at
once,” said she; “and while I’m about
it I’ll take this other White geranium
to her as well. - The pink one 'will look
' uncommon 'nlce between them two."—
Mndsor Magazine. . '
J _ 3
. ..... “Afar;
“Perhaps you’ll get -
:IN A GARDEN FAIR.
i It was a balmy afternoon in April;
the scene was the garden of a small
old-fashioned Kentish farm house~
A girl, gray eyed, russet haired, in
a dainty blue frock, sat with some
needle work on a rustic bench in the
sun-niest spot. To and fro, between its
mistress and the gate that opened on
the green hedged road, scampered a
kitten, madly frolicking with a. stolen
reel of cotton.
Suddenly, with arched back and
swollen tail, “Flufly” stopped short,
changed .in an instant from the very
incarnation of grace and innocence to
an embodiment of feline hatred and
malice, and all uncharitableness.
i The cause of the transformation—a
big St. Bernard dog—stood at the gate
still blinking in lordly good humor at
the little white fury.
Pussy, however, continued to spit
and swear in impotent wrath until
she provoked a short warning bark
from the intruder, accompanied by a
smart pat from a big paw.
And then, ere Annie Bristowe could
ireach them, Flufiy, wild with passion,
literally flew at her foe. There was
an angry growl—a snap—a shrill
squeak—a vision of white fur tpssing
to and fro, and then the St. Bernard
was growling sullen defianCe to all
and sundry over the lifeless body of
the kitten.
“You great savage monster!” cried
Annie, tearfully, as she bent over poor
Fluffy; “if only I weren’t afraid, I’d
beat you within an inch of your life!”
But punishment—swift, sudden, con-
dign—had already overtaken the cul-
prit at the hands of a stalwart, fair-
‘mustached young man, in a tourist
suit, who had arrived breathless on
the scene of action.
1 Then, while the St. Bernard whim-
pered in undignified fashion, the
stranger, advancing, raised his cap
and said penitently:
I “YOur kitten. I’m afraid, is quite
dead. I’m more than sorry that Rollo
Ishould have so misbehaved. He has
a the reputation of being a well conflue-
ted dog, as a rule, I assure you.”
! “Indeed," retorted‘Annie, with 'p'olite
lncredulity, andwaxing furious as she
detected an. amused smile, which he
had been unable wholly to suppress,
hovering abOut the young man’s
lmouth, at sight of her tragic distress.
!"lndeed? I should hardly have thought
a. well behaved or properly trained dog
would have rushed in that murderous
way at: an inoffensive little kitten.”
She paused, half defiant, half asham-
ed of the petulantispeech, while the
smile vanished from the other’s face.
“Pardon me,” he said distantly; “I
regret the affair as much as you do:
but I think you will admit that Rollo
was not, at all events, the aggressor.
I saw the beginning of the fray,
though, unfortunately, too late to—”
“I see!” Annie broke in scornfully;
you were near enough to witness it
all, but too, far 03, or unwilling, to
prevent mischief!”
And picking up the dead body of her
favorite she turned abruptly toward
the house. With truly feminine logic
she grew momentarily more furious
as she realized how completely she
had managed to put herself in the
wrong by her childish outbreak.
Rollo’s master took a step forward.
then paused irresolutely. ‘
“Confound it all,“ he muttered.
“This is evidently the place, too. A
promising introductiong ‘ upon; my
wo rd.” " "
He raised his voice:
please, one moment!”
She turned in grim silence.
“This is Sweetbriar farm. I think?"
“Yes.”
“And I have the pl—honor of ad-
dressing Miss Bristowe, perhaps?”
A stiff inclination of her head was
the only reply vouchsafed by Annie.
“Then I’m afraid—I mean, I believe
-—that is—” he stanlmcred awkward-
ly—“I am John Morton: Mrs. Bristowc
did not expect me 90 early, but—"
Annie uttered a little cry of dismay.
It was the “paying guest,” as her
mother delighted to phrase it; for
whose reception poor Mrs. Bristowe,
worn out with the unending struggle
“But—cr—stop,
V'to make “both ends meet,” had been
preparing so hopefully—and this was
his welcome!
“ole," she answered blankly, “she
didn’t. You wrote us to expect you
by the 6.40 train, three hours from
now! We were going to send the trap
to meet you at the station. However,"
forcing a hoggitable smile to her lips,
though her eyes were, if possible, more
resentful than ever, “since you have
found your way here by yourself, pray
«come in. You are just in time for
:tea, and mother," With ironic empha-
gsls, “will be only too pleased to see
‘youl” ‘
, Still bearing Fluffy’s limp little body
3 she led the way. ceremoniousiy, to the
‘quaint ivy-hung porch, J'chn Morton
,followlng in half amused, half em.
barrassed silence, while Rollo patte'red
‘dejectedly behind. '
A week later found their visitor on
the best of terms with all the mem~
bers of the Bristowe rainy, Rom the
akindly faced, shiftless farmer down-
Eward—save Annie, who, though she
jhad forgiven Rollo, the original cause
lof the unpleasantuess, had extended
lbut a superficial forgivenness toward
‘his master. She couldn't bring herself
g to pardon John Morton for the misbe-
"havior of which, in her irmost heart,
she knew herself guilty. Unreasona-
,ble, certainly, but huma’n nature for
‘all that.
“I can't imagine,” Mrs. Bristowe
lsaid, fretfully, in private. “why you
can’t behave with ordinary civility to
Mr. Morton; you can be so agreeable
when you choose. You know, too, how
important it is that he should be made
to feel at home. and yet you persist
in wounding and annoying him by a
. thousabdsmall dis'courte'sies.” .
l “Don’t be afraid, mother,"'Annie on-
t
13 ‘ colored tit'ppantly. "since it’s a but-
‘to him henceforth—in business hours!
Only, as I can’t honestly pro-fess to
feel the intense delight in his company
which apparently inspires you and
father and the boys, I shall endeavor
to dispense with his presence occas-
ionally. For instance, I think I’ll give
him a hint that, heavy as the big wa-
tering pot is, I’d rather carry it round
the garden every evening myself than
have him marching solemnly about the
beds with me!”
“Dear, dear,” sighed Mrs. Bristowe.
as Annie left the room with a saucy
laugh, “how contrary things do go in
this world. Such a nice, unaffected
fellow, and the place has been so
cheerful again since he came. If only
we could have made it comfortable for
him, we might have counted on his
coming regularly for his holidays, and
I do believe that he admires Annie,
and—but, there, it’s no use uninking
about it!"
One morning, a few days later, An-
nie was busied up stairs with the small
maid-of-aleork in bed-making, dust-
ing and tidying generally—there were
no idlers in this modest household.
Presently Sarah summoned her in a
stage whisper from John Morton’s
room.
“Do’ee just come here a moment,
Miss Annie; look at this, now! It has
just dropped out of his coat as I was
hanging it up.”
“This” was the photograph of {1' pi-
quant, dark~eyed girl in Pierrette cos-
tume, and on the back of the card
were the words, “With Dolly’s fond-
est. love to dear old J ack."
“It’s his young lady, Miss, I reckon;
don’t you?" said Sarah, with a dc-
lig‘hted giggle. “My, .aint she hand-
some, too?”
“Put it back at once!” said Annie,
severely, disregarding the handmaid-
en’s inquiry. “Mr. Morton would be
very vexed, no doubt, to find it lying
about."
“It wouldn’t be a sister of his, Miss
Annie, now?” asked Sarah, as she
slowly restored the photograph to is
hiding place.
“No,” came the reply in an indiffer-
ent tone. “Their names are Mary and
Helen—I have heard him speak of
them once or twice.”
Of course, John Morton’s love af-
fairs Could have no possible interest
for Annie. Yet, with a. curious feeling
of annoyance, she found herself more
than once that day speculating about
the original of the photograph.
Another fortnight passed, and the
family learned with regret that their
visitor’s stay was nearing its close,
as business claimed his presence in
London.
Annie listened with an illogical sink-
ing oft‘he heart, but did not join in
the chorus of dismayed expostulations
which greeted the announcement.
On the morning of John Morton's
departure she was sitting in the kitch-
en garden with a heap of green goose-
berries in her lap, which she was dili-
gently “topping and tailing.” The
thrush was piping as cheerily as ever
from the bottom of the garden, but
somehow the jubilance of his song
was lost on Annie.
As the gooseberries dropped, each
with an emphatic little bounce into
the big brown dish. Rollo came up,
gravely wagging his tall, with a big
covered basket between his teeth.
Attached was a card which read:
“A peace offering from Rollo and his
master.”
Annie unfastened the wicker lid,
and discovered a. sleeping white kit-
ten, the very double of the hapless
Flutfy.
O t I t t
“I’m very glad you've forgiven me,”
said John Morton wistfully. as she
thanked him in grave, sweet tones for
the gift.
“Don’t speak of tnat," she rejoined
quickly. “It is I who need pardon, for
I’m afraid I‘ve been rather—unpleas-
ant during your stay.”
“Suppose, then,” came the prompt
reply. “that you give me something
in token of penitence—a blfbch of lilac.
say.” _
She hesitated, then, with a hard lit-
tle laugh, in which there was yet a
perceptible tremble, she reached up to
the fragrant blooms.
John Morton watched her in silence,
then said awkwardly: “My younger
sister Dolly—Helen, I should say, but
the old childish name drops out una-
wares, sometimes—is very fond of ii-
lacs, and I promised to bring her a
bunch!” '
His sister Dolly!
She turned a swift, startled glance
upon him, and John Morton stooped
and took her in his arms.
in t t t Q
“But you were going away; we
should never have met again,” said
Annie, 3. little later, as they stood by
the lilac bush.
“On the contrary," answered he,
cheerfully, “I had fully intended to re-
quest Mrs. Bristowe’s hospitality for
another holiday time-oand yet another,
if need were.”—Our Home.
An Engaged dill in Denmark.
“In Denmark a girl never knows the
pure, unadulterated joy of receiving a
diamond engagement ring," remarked
a returned traveller. “She gets a plain
gold band known as a wedding ring in
that country, and it is worn on her left
aura finger. On the day of her mar-
riage the bridegroom changes it to her
right third finger, which is the mar-
riage finger'in that country of queer
customs. When the husband dies his
widow changes her ring again to her
left third finger, and everybody knows
that she is a widow. Being engaged
can’t mean a great deal of happiness
In Denmark any way you take it, for
.l girl is never under any circumstan.
‘ces permitted to see her betrothed ono’
'jminute alone.”
" Teacher—What is taxidermy;
' JOthY-t'L-It'hlnk I, know, teacher,
Teacher—Well. Johnny.
l humerus putting down cum
teal matter, I'll be as sweet as sugar
”a...‘
v
a
... -._... __
A Dressy Walking Gown.
A charming gown of satin faced light
fawn colored cloth is a pretty picture
in dainty simplicity and is expressly
designed for a tall. slender blonde. The
skirt is made entirely plain with the
exception of the garniture of guimpure
lace, which is appliqued on the cloth
in the center of the/front at the foot
and over the hips.
The cox-sage is a full round waist.
made with a. yoke of lace, outlined
with folds of the material which is
caught up with garnet buckles. The
Shirred sleeves have a. small epaulet at.
the top and a. tiny ruffle at the waist.
______________ ,
A Smart Toilette.
For late summer and early fall wear
some extremely stylish wraps and
capes are exhibited in the swell dress-
making establishments. The shawl
pattern in capes bids fair to gain in
popular favor with the advance of
cooler weather and certainly is an ex-
tremely graceful garment when proper-
ly made. .
In fluffy shoulder wraps the styles
are innummerable. A dainty model is
composed of four overlapping accor--
deon pleated ruflies of black chiffon,
reaching to just above the elbow. The
long pointed revers and collar are of
white satin, elaborately trimmed with
narrow black velvet ribbon. A full cas-
cade of fine lace gives the finishing
touch to this pretty confection.
Pickled Eggs.
Pickled eggs are appetizing when
used as an ingredient of salads or
sandwiches for midsummer service.
They are put into cold water, which is
heated'slcwly and allowed to boil for
an hour. When taken out they are
dropped at once into cold water to
keep their color; the shells are after—
ward removed and the eggs put into
good vinegar in which beets have. been
kept. They should remain at leasr a
week in this pickle, when they are
ready for service as a relish. A dozen
or more can be done at a time.
Blackberry Files-err.
Some of the lighter prepared cereals
that are used for breakfast foods, those
that are cooked in their preparation
for the market, when served with
blackberries, make a simple, nutritious
dessert for the children’s table. A
pint of hot water is added to a pint of
blackberries. When this reaches the
boiling point, a. half cup of the cereal is
added, the mixture boiled hard for ten
minutes, and stirred constantly. It is
then poured into a mould and is served
cold with cream.
Settee Hammocks.
The settee hammocks much seen this
season are passed 'over by the real
hammock lovers, who profess to find in
the horizontal outstretched position
the chief charm of these swinging
beds. To these, however, who use a
hammock as an out-of-door reading-
chair, rather than a. lounging one, the
arrangement by which they can keep
upright with a comfortable slope to
the back is a Welcome one.
Summer Rugs.
Not to be confounded with the blue
and white rugs of jute are the durable
Dhurrie‘ rugs, which are for sale in
almost any carpet or general furnish-
ing house. These are of cotton and
are very tightly woven, showing the
same pattern on both sides. The as-
sortment in colors is not great. and is
chiefly blue and white, with some pink
and white effects; .but they possess
excellent wearing qualities, and can be
scrubbed almost as much as an un-
painted floor. '
Guudy Traveling Bags.
The traveling-bags of bright colt-l,
such as green, a dull but pronounced
red, or a shade of blue not much re-
mov'ed from the brilliant bluet, that
are affected by some very smart young
women at present, can be only a. pass-
ing fancy. A dusty midsummer jour-
ney will hardly leave them in good‘
condition, and to enter a. car with one
draws every eye upon its owner, as
they have not yet become sufficiently
common to attract no attention.
A big petition has recently been ctr-v
culatedV in St. Peter-abuts asking for
the abolition of rubber-mod vehicles,
because, rubber tyres splash up more
and than the old kind. . , _
”at"-
The Novel: Sullor unto. "
With the ripening of the summer
new ideas in the decorating of sailor
hats come forth. The usual sailor is
trimmed only with ‘a. hatband. There
are women who would not be found
dead in a. sailor hat trimmed. These
are the extremely tailor-made type.
Then come the sort who twist brown
veils around their hatbrims, to take
away the perfectly plain look. Brown
veils are a. fad cf the moment. They
are generally becoming, because they
tone with the hair. ‘
Later than the brown veil arrange-
ment is the scarf of chiffon or surah.
It is very pretty, and, therefore, a hap-
py thought. It is a new opportunity
to introduce color into the monotonous
shirtwaist costume. But. it is an add-
ed responsibility to keep the effect har-
monious. ‘
Veiling heavy enough to use as a.
loose scarf, with ends, comes only in
white, black, brown and blue. So the
fashion permits the employment of
chiffon, such as is sold for trimming
gowns. It comes in all shades and is
cut in two lengths, ten inches wide,
each a. yard and an eighth long.
Only one length is used at a time.
The other is kept in reserve for the
day when the first shall have passed
its usefulness. No band at all is liked
on the hat when the gay scarf of chif-
fon or surah‘is worn.
A young woman with a. neat. taste
in gowning wears a brown linen skirt,
a. white shirtwaist, white collar, tie
and belt, a sailor hat in natural straw
color, and scarf of cherry chiffon. A
military pin secures it to the crown in
front and another keeps in place the
folds at the back. It is the simplest
task to whisk off this cherry chiffon
scarf for another of turquoise or vio-
let. -
Another simple fashion in the trim-
ming of sailors is the wreath of flow-
ers around the top of the crown. The
band is removed for this style. too. A
white Panama sailorhas a. circle of
white roses, with foliage. A white-
dotted veil and big necktie of white
muslin add considerable grace to an
otherwise - ordinary costume.
9""
Cooking Brussels Sprouts.
A woman travelling in Belgium de-
scribes a dish or 'Brussels sprouts
which were cooked with chestnuts. She
found that the sprouts are boiled in
salted water until about half cooked,
when they are taken out, drained, and
put into a saucepan with a. little but-
ter and seasoning. Meantime the
chestnuts, those of the large variety
being used, have been blanched, par-
tially cooked, and cut: into smal cubes.
They are. added to the sprouts, and
both are simmered slowly until ten-
der, and are cooked about an hour after
being put together. A dozen large
chestnuts may go with about a quart
of sprouts. It may be added that the
dish is particularly good when served
with a roast veal or mutton.
Cool Headed Women.
The efforts of the various relief or-
ganizations that have been formed
among women's clubs are con.
fined to the mast practical meth-
ods. It. is significant of the
experience of the women at organ-
ized work that they have undertaken
these measures in such a. promptly ef-
ficient fashion. Cool-headed women.
accustomed to committee work, have
brought quick' omer out of apparent
chaos, in the embarrassment of volun-
teer service, and a prompt discriminat-
inv judgment has rapidly produced tan-
gible'results. The impractical woman
who has occasionally presented herself
has been quickly suppressed, and the
work in all its phases has gone ahead
with most commendable despatch and
efficiency.
Black and White Silk Mulls.
Many of the black and white silk'
mulls, silk dotted batistes, and figured
organdie musllns, are made with a. cir-
cular skirt, and trimmed with count-
less narrow ruches, made of black
mousseline do soire or black satin rib-
bon. In many cases these ruches are
put on to outline an apron overskirt,
long or short, round, or deeply point-
ed. The skirt clings to the figure on
the front and sides, flares slightly as it
nears the hem, and is 'very full just at.
the back. The waists are usually
round, with yoke tops, and with ful-
ness below in soft, straight folds. The
collar, little shoulder epaulettes, and
front, are edged with the ruching.
Cremation in Italy.
Cremation is more extensively prac-
tised in Italy than in any other coun-
try. The first crematorium was es-
tablished in Milan in 1876, and there
are now fifty in operation in Italian
territory.
“of shells.
' ,. DEM-pl... »
I “7...!" Eifllsw
EARN EST LAD. .
Ne’er be a. "hapyy-go
lucky,”
Ne’er be a. "hit-or
- miss" fellow;
Be enrnest.honest an:
plucky,
mellow.
The lad who affects much and minces,
Turns out the “dead weight” of the
household;
‘ And the one who grumbles and winces,
Has not: in his make-up the true gold.
Ned took the first prize, being grounded
In grammar, and that is the reason;
Fred’s gun at his practice oft sounded,
With a. mind that ’ ‘3
shall ripen ant.
' So he bagged the most game of the sea.
son.
And the clerk who specially studied
The wants of the house that employed ‘
him,
Was advanced, while an elder who worried -
His off-hours away went below him.
0h, boys! whether dull or quite clever—1
Whether rich or poor is your station—
Delve on with high purpose, and never
Forget Jou’re the hope of the nation!
George Bancroft Griffith.
"Licking” a. Royal Highness.
During her majesty’s residence at?“
Osborne, about forty-five years ago,"
her children were accustomed to ram-
ble along the seashore. Now, it so
happened that: on one occasion the
young Prince of Wales met a. boy who
had been gathering sea. shells. The
young prince, presuming upon his high -
position, thought himself privileged to
do what be pleased with impunity, so
without any notice upset the basket
The poor. lad was very in.
dignant and said: -
“You do that again and I’ll
you.”
lick
“Put the shells into the basket and.
you will see if I don’t,”
prince.
said the,
The shells were returned to the ban-:4.
ket. ' ,
“Now, touch them again, if you
dare,” said the boy. Whereupon the?
prince again upset the basket and
shells. The boy then pitched into him
and gave him such a licking that few
princes ever had. His lip was cut
open, his nose knocked considerably
out of its perpendicular, and his eyes
were of a color which might have well
become the champion of a prize ring.
His disfigured face could not long"
be concealed from his royal mother.
She inquired the cause. The prince
was silent, but at last confessed th!
truth. The poor boy was ordered be
fore the queen. He was asked to tell
the story. He did so in a very straight-
forward manner. At its - conclusionI
turning to her child, the queen said:
“You have been richly served, sir.
Had you not been punished sufficiently
already, I should have punished you
myself. When you commit a like of-
fense, I trust you will always receive a
similar punishment.”
She commanded the parents of the
poor boy to her presence the following
morning. They came, and the result
of the interview was that her majesty
told them that she had made arrange
meats-for educating and providing for
their son, and she hoped he would
make good use of the advantages
which would be placed within his
reach—Manchester, Eng" Guardian.
c.
Burdock as a Vegetable.
What is even regarded asa vile weed
can, with a little stretch ’of imagina-
tion, be turned into an ornamental
plant or delicious vegetable. This is
especially the case with the common
burdock, Lappa major. Schoolboy!
all know it from gathering the hurts
and compressing them into a ball, they
being held together by the curved
points of the floral involucre. This is
all they know about it. It is difficult
to see anything more to be despised
in the burdock root than in the leaf of
the rhubarb. It appears that it is
largely used in China for food. But it
is stated that if the stalks be cut
down before the flowers expand, and
then be boiled, the taste is relished
equally with asparagus. The leaves,
when young, are boiled and eaten, as
we eat spinach. In Japan it is in unl-
versal use. Thousands of acres are
devoted to its culture. But in this
case the root is the object. It requires
deep soil to get the roots to the best
advantage. The common name in
China is gobbe~a name, however,
which need not replace our eommo
one of burdock. . '
Spider Weather Prophets.
Mexican gypsies can foretell the
weather accurately. Of course they
trade on the knowledge, but how do
you suppose they often get it? Why,
simply by watching spiders, which
generally alter their webs every twen-
ty-four hours. In summer the boys
and girls will find it interesting to
watch the little arachnida. If you see
them at: work bright and early in the
morning, be sure of a clear day; and
if they make the terminating filaments
of their webs unusually long expect
fine weather for at least a week. If
hey are very busy between six and.
seven o'clock in the evening, look for
a lovely night, or if they spin away
wliile i: is raining, have no doubt but
the sun will soon shine.
stray theirwebs and crawl aWa
hide, conclude that c tinned'_"
crecel'g. 9019:1209; rd.
If they no _ '
Norwalk Chronicler