Democratic watchman., July 26, 1889, Image 2

Ltt,
Bellefonte, Pa., July 26, 1889.
LOST LIGHT.
I cannot make her smile come back—
That sunshine of her face
That uscd to male this woi a earch seem,
At times, so ¢ a nlace.
The same d 00k out at me;
The features are the «ume;
But, oh! the smile is out of them,
And I must be to blame.
Sometimes I see it still; I went
With her the other dav,
To meet a long-mi-sed riend, and while
We still were on tue way,
Here confidence in waiting love
Brought back, for me to ses
That old-time love-light to her
That will not shine to: me.
They tell me money waits for me;
They say I might have fame,
I like those gewgaws quite as well
As others like (hose same
But I eare not for what I have,
Nor lust for what 1 lack
One tithe as muc': as my heart longs
To call that lost light back.
7
Come back! dear banished smile, come back!
Ard into exile drive
All thoughts, and aims, and jealous hopes
That in thy stead would thrive.
Who wants the earth without the sun?
And what has life for me
That's worth a thought, if, as it’s price
It leaves me robbed of th !
— Edward S. Martin
THE LITTLE DRESSMAKER.
BY HELEN T. CLARK.
Mrs. Gillespie's overskirt would not
come right, and Doris Hilburn was, as
she expressed it, “so worked up” that
she could not eat her dinner. She
prided herself on her draping, but that
day her right hand (likewise her left)
had forgotten its cunning.
“Don’t worry, Doris,” said Mrs. Gil-
lespie, putting another slice of boiled
mutton on the dressmaker’s plate, “lay
it by till to-morrow, and begin Sarah
Janes’ school gingham.”
“Well, if you don’t care,” said Doris,
with a look of relief, “it would be a
great lift off my mind,” and she ate
three pieces of the mutton in her in-
tense satisfaction.
“Did yon know that Eben Doolittle
was sick ?"" asked Mrs. Gillespie, after
dinner, as she plied her basting needle.
Doris looked up from the sewing ma-
chine so quickly that a keen observer
might have said she was startled, but
Mrs. Gillespie's glasses covered unsus-
pecting eyes.
“They say he’s threatened with a
fever. No wonder. Living alone, and
doing his own cooking and farming,
when any man in his senses would
have hired a housekeeper long ago, or
got married, which would have been
better still. He's worrying about some
payments that he can’t meet, and, take
it altogether, I shouldn't wonder if he
was pretty bad off. Would you have
this gingham waist shirred at the top,
or laid in pleats all the way down,
Doris 2”
The little dressmaker’s heart was
thumping so thatshe thought her com-
panion must hear it. But the placid
face opposite was absorbed in the
“pleatings” and “shirrings.”
“It's all shirrings,” thought poor
Doris. “All puckered close and tight,
and somebody's got to cut the gather
ing threads before things will come ont
at all straight.”
(The dressmaker and Eben Doolittle
had once heen much more than friends
but fate had undertaken to do some
shirring, and, as usual, there was no-
body at hand to “cut the gathering
threads.”)
Doris answered Mrs. Gillespie to the
best of her ability, and started the ma-
chine again.
When night came she rolled up her
scissors, thimble and tape-measure, and
donned her wraps, despite the invita-
tion of Mrs. Gillespie to remuin unt |
next day.
She wanted to be alone where she
could think, and the society of Sarah
Jane, who would have been her bed-
fellow, was not conducive to ‘contem-
plation.
On her way home she passed a low
brown house standing back from the
road—a house dark and silent, but
which quickened her pulses by its mere
outlines.
“T wonder if the poor soul is there
all alone,” thought Doris. ‘Any other
neighbor could run in andsee after him
in a friendly way, but that’s out of the
question with ME.”
When she reached home she roused
her fire out of its all-day sluggishness,
and sat down before it without lighting
a lamp. She could think better in the
dark.
“T wonder when those payments
must be made,” she said to herself.
“It’s the first of March now.” ’
Suddenly a two-fold idea buzzed in
through Doris Hilburn’s brain like a
Fourth-of-Tuly “pin-wheel, and her
laintive little face grew hot and rosy
in the dim, fire-lighted room.
“If T only dared,” she said, half-
breathlessly, then, with gathering bold-
ness, “why not? No one will ever
find it out, and Eben will not dream of
my doing such a thing. It will tide
him over, and then he will pick up and
get well in no time. It may be only
the drop in the bucket, or it may be
the full gallon, but I'll risk it, which-
ever it is.”
Pleasant dreams turned her humble
pillows into cushions of down that
night, and draped her bare walls with
the cloth of gold which too often, algs!
must turn to hodden gray with the first
touch of day.
But Doris’s cloth of gold kept the
glimmer of its threads through all the
next day. At noon she spent a shorter
time than usual over her dinner, and
said she must do an errand. She hur
ried along the quiet village streets to
the business quarter, and when she
met a group of gleeful children on
their way to school, she pressed her
hand over a little bank hook in her
muff, and wanted to skip and run as
they did,
The official who waited on her was
evidently a little surprised at the nature
of her errand.
“He needn't stare so,
[ havea right
to do what I please with my own,”
she thought, a trifle indignantly, yet
with a certain shame-faced feeling that
she was doing something wofully un-
business like and “unpractical.”
“I don’t care. If I starve I will
starve. I will have my comfort of
this, anyway,’ she said.
Her eves were so bright and her
cheeks so rosy that Mrs. Gillespie
viewed her through her spectacles in
utmost surprise.
“1 declare, Doris, if you weren't so
sensible and so settled in your ways, I
should think you had been having an
otter—and accepting it, too. You look
as young and handsome as the best of
them.”
Doris laughed, slipped off her hat
and sack, and collapsed into the little
sewing chair, and in three minutes was
apparently absorbed in Sarah Jane's
“bias bands” and skirt rutles.
“Don’t make it too scant, Doris,”
said her companion. * Skimpiness
don’t pay when you're making up
gingham,”
“Nor when you're giving a pres-
ent,” said Doris to horself, with a sud-
den thrill of joy.
The short March day came to an
end. Sarah Jane's gingham was fin-
ished and hung over the back of a
chair, ready for its owner to carry up
stairs at bed time. The troublesome
overskirt had come right at last, and
was a triumph of balloon-like, billowy
folds.
“You'll save a day for me in April,
Doris, to fix over my black Henrietta
cloth ?” said Mrs. Gillespie, interroga-
tively.
Doris nodded gaily. She
a mood to promise anything.
“Here, Doris, you might just as well
take a couple of these mince turnovers
with you. They'll keep nice till Sun-
day.”
Doris thanted her, and stepped out
into the cold, cloudy night. She
passed slowly by the old brown house
which had attracted her attention the
evening before.
“I wonder if it is dark enough yet,”
she said, as she lingered in the shadow
of an old elm that stood close by the
sidewalk. The house seemed gloomy
and silent, as on the preceding night.
“It won't get any darker if I wait
till midnight, because the moon will be
up soon. I must do it now, or never.”
These mysterious words implied no
scheme of burglary or arson, though
the dressmaker’'s actions verged on
“breaking and entering.” She glided
to the door and noiselessly tried it.
With the usual ‘depravity of inani-
mate objects,” it gave a treacherous
squeak as Doris turned the knob, and
she fled precipitately, but not until
she had dropped far inside the hall
way a small, fat, white envelope, su-
perscribed to “Eben Doolittle, from a
Friend and Brother.”
Luckily no one was stirring on that
quiet street, and when Doris was far
enough from the brown house she re-
sumed her ordinary gait. Though
walking with outward calmness there
was a turmoil under her brown cloth
jacket. She felt like one who has
burned his ships behind him—and for
what ?
To gratify a sentimental fancy, and
to prepare for herself still longer years
of toil and self-denial. Yet how she
exulted in the thought!
“He will get upon his feet again and
prosper—and he will owe it all to me
and never know.”
was in a
Two weeks later Reedville was set
agog by the news that Eben Doolittle,
after a rapid recovery, had settled up
his debts and gone west to make in-
vestments which promised to be very
profitable.
“Must ha’ hed a legacy or some-
thin’,” said one crone to another.
“Borried from Peter to pay Paul,
mos’ likely,” was the answer.
The day after Eben left Reedville,
Doris Hilburn’s right arm became
helpless from rhenmatism. She did
up her bit of housework, but cutting
and sewing were out of the question.
Then Doris, with a rather grim
smile, sat down before her kitchen fire
with a bit of a memorandum book on
her knee, and a pencil in her left hand.
Slowly and clumsily she jotted down
some items, and gazed at them stonily.
“One-fourth of a sack of flour—
enough for three bakings,if I can man-
age to work dough with one hand.
“Two quarts of beans, half a paper
of oatmeal, and ten pint milk tickets.
dried beef, a sucar bowl nearly full,
four or five ‘drawings’ of tea.
“One barrel of coai, enough to last
ten days, and old shingles enough in
the back yard to keep me from freezing
when the coal’s gone.
“No rent to pay, and sixty-two cents
coming to me from Ann Finney.
“Not such a desperate showing atter
all. Maybe my arm will be well be
fore every scrap is eaten.”
Then she laughed until the tears
came,
“Everybody will say, ‘How lucky
that Doris Las money in the savings
bank. She can live on the interest
while she is disabled.’
In point of fact, that is substantially
what everybody did say; and Doris
smiled her little grim smile, and meas-
ured her potatoes and flour for each
day, and doled out her coal—so much
for the morning, so much for the night
—and was ready, for very joy, to clap
her hans, if one had not been help-
less. Eben Doolittle, prosperons, had
almost passed out of her life except as
a vague, somewhat pensive memory—
Eben Doolittle, sick, forlorn and in
debt, called back all the old affection,
added to a maternal pity and yearning.
And, day by day, the potatoes dwin-
dled and the flour grew less, while the
crippled hand became no better. At
last the final morsel of food had disap-
peared, and Doris scraped the coal
barrel with the left hand.
“I have the shingles to fall back
on,” she said. “It’s lucky I dried a
sood pile of them while the coal fire
lasted.”
The day after she had eaten her last
“Six quarts of potatoes, a ‘stump’ of
saucer of oatmeal she did not feel so
brisk and so independent of physical
limitations. If “out of the abundance
of the heart the mouth speaketh,” it
is no less true that “out of the empti-
ness of the stomach the thought ut-
tereth itself.”
“I know I've been what people call
‘a born fool,” but-1 said I would take
the risk. If I die, Eben will néver
know why. He will come and drop a
few tears on my grave, likely, and re-
miad himself of the pleasant walks
and talks we used to have before the
trouble came between ns. And how
the neighbors will exclaim and conjec-
tre when they find I have withdrawn
my bank deposit. They will search
every hole and corner in my house for
mg ‘hidden cash,” and finally bury me
at town expense. Well, I shall never
know it.”
But Doris did not die. She lived a
day and a half without food, because
she was too proud to run in to anv of
her neighbors’ houses in a sociable
way for a cup of tea.
Toward the end of the second day
Mrs. Gillespie opened the kitchen door,
and found Doris weak and shivering in
her little bedroom, debating within
herself whether she should make a
friendly visit to Ann Finney, her next
neighbor, where shejwould be sure of
a hearty welcome, warmth and supper.
“Why, Doris Hilburn, your fire is
as dead as Julius Cesar, and you look
as if you were going to have a fever.
Whatever in this world possesses you
to keep soat home? I meant to send
Sarah Jane down to ask you to spend
‘o-morrow with us, then, on second
thoughts, concluded to come myself.”
Doris smiled a “faint smile of wel-
come and rose feebly to start a fire with
the next day's share of shingles.
“TI am not quite so chipper to-day,”
she said, drawing forth her little rock-
ing chair for her caller. “Guess I
shall be all right to-mor—"'
She didn’t finish the word, but stag-
gered and fell forward into Mrs. Gilles-
pie’s arms.
The zood lady put her back to bed,
pursued the usual course in cases of
fainting, and said : “Now lie still,
Doris, and I'll light the fire for you.”
The dressmaker murmured some-
thing almost unintelligible about “or-
dering coal soon ;”’ she meant to be
strictly truthful. But Mrs. Gillespie
was already out in the kitchen, lifting
the stove-lids, and with her suspicions
at last aroused.
“There is some mystery here,” she
confided to the poker, as she cleaned
out a few wood ashes. “Doris looks
pinched with hunger, and that fainting
was a bad piece of business.”
She took an old friend's privilege of
softly opening the buttery door and
glincing along the shelves.
“Not a crumb of anything to eat
that a baby fly could make a meal on.
Doris is either out of her mind and
growing miserly, or else she has put
her savinzs into some humbug concern
that doesn’t pay any dividends except
to the men that run it.”
She lighted the fire, then stepped to
the bedroom door again.
“Doris, why can’t you put your
night-gown nto your little satchel bag
and come right back with me to-night.
Sarah Jane thinks some of pulling
molasses candy after supper, and may-
be the Simpson girls will be over. You
used to be more sociable.” She smil-
ed kindly, and patted her on the
shoulder.
“What a godsend ¥’ thought Doris,
not dreaming that her old friend sus-
pected the truth.
It was a heavenly change when,
after letting the wood-fire die down and
fastening the doors securely, Doris,
with her “satchel bag” on her left arm,
accompanied her friend to the home
overflowing with plenty.
The merriment after supper was at
its height when some one knocked at
the side door.
“Eben Doolittle! Come in, and
welcome home again,” said Mrs. Gil-
lespie.
Eben’s handsome face brightened as
he put out his hand to Doris, after
greeting the others.
“I called at your house, Miss Hil—
Dotis, to speak about a little business
matter,” he said, giving her a penetra-
ting look which made her heart whirl
like an infant cyclone. “I guessed
that you were here, and I earnestly beg
that you will grant me an interview of
five minutes in the course of the even-
ing.”
He dropped her hand, and, to relieve
her confusion, began to joke with Sa-
rah Jane and the Simpson girls, who
all insisted on his “pulling” a skein of
the yellow candy, on penalty of not
getting any.
Doris was in danger of fainting for
the second time that day, but fate was
merciful.
The opportunity came at last, and
after tafty, popcorn, games and riddles,
she and Eben were alone for a moment
in Mrs. Gillespie's sitting room, while
that lady and Sarah Jane were ex-
changing good nights with the Simp-
son girls at the door.
“I suppose I am very ungallant not
to escort those young women to their
paternal mansion, but [ can’t help i
Doris, do you think I didn’t know who
put that blessed money in my hall
that night 2? I saw you, Doris, from
the shadow of the window, where I
was standing lonely, and weak and
dispirited—I saw vou dear,” he stood
close to her and saw her trembling
with the sudden surprise, “and I bless
ed youn as the drowning sailor blesses
the rope that is thrown to him over
the ship's side. When I picked up
that envelope and examined its con-
tents, I understood the whole story,
and I knew that vou could not be
wholly indifferent to me" —and she
trembled more and more—*“and I took
that money, vowing that I would
make itincrease and multiply for us
both. I have it with me to-night, (ex-
pecting to repay it to yon at your own
home in a proper, businesslike man-
ner), but it can wait till to-morrow, for
I have something else to say. Shall
we cast the old burden of misunder-
standing and estrangement behind us,
and will you be my wife 2% So
* % > *,H
One day when, in an outburst of
confidence, Eben told Mrs. Gillespie
what Miss Doris had done, that lady
smiled and clapped her plump hands
in approval.
“Now I know,” she thought, “why
Doris Hilburn’s buttery shelves were
bare, and her kitchen fire out that
day.”
But Eben Dolittle never knew.
How Vanilla Grows.
Two Methods of Preparing the Pod for |
Markaot==The Plant.
Vanilla belongs to the orchid family
and is a sarmentose plant furnished
with thick, oblong, glaucons green
leaves. The vine sometimes attains a
height of fourty-five feet. It begins to
bear the third year after planting and
continues bearing thirty years. Each
vine annually produces from forty to
fifty-five capsules or seed pods, which are |
gathered before reaching complete ma-
turity between April and June.
For one method of preparation they
are gathered after they lost their green
tint, and are then exposed to the sun in
woolen sheets which have previously
been thoroughly heated. They are]
then put into boxes covered with a |
cloth, and are again heated in the sun,
twelve or fifteen hours, after which
they should assume a coifee color. If
this is not obtained they must be cover-
ed and again exposed, the whole pro-
cess lasting about two months, after
which they are packed securely, fifty
each, in tin boxes.
3y the second method about a thou-
sand pods are tied together and plung-
ed into boiling water to bleach them,
after which they are exposed to the
sun, and then coatad with oil or wrap-
ped in oiled cotton to prevent them
from bursting. During the drying pro-
cess the pods exude a sticky liquid, |
which is expedited by gentle pressure
two or three times aday. By this pro-
cess the pod loses about a quarter of its
original size. The best quality of pods
are seven to nine inches in length, and
large in proportion, and possess in
greater abundance the characteristic
and agreeable perfume which gives va-
nilla its value.
The vine is sometimes covered with
a silvery efflorescence producing an
essential salt similar to that found in
the pod, and this is diffused on the out-
side of the capsule. It is calied vanilla
rime, and is in great demand in the
Bordeaux market. Vanilla is used in
perfumery and in flavoring confection-
ery and cordials. It is supposed to
possess powers similar to valerian,
while it 1s much more grateful. Its
production in Reunion has increased
in the past forty years from a few
pounds to nearly half a million, and
that colony is now the principal rival
and competitor of Mexico. The total
import into France rose from about
200,000 pounds in [880 to about 260),-
000 in 1886, but the annual import
fluctuates considerably.— London Times.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Rooms the Queen Locks Up.
As is well known, the Queen is in
the habit of keeping rooms which have
been occupied by deceased relatives
locked up. The apartments at Clare-
mont in which Princess Charlotte died
more than seventy years ago are rigor-
ously closed and nobody is allowed to
use them. Prince Albert's apartments
at Windsor, Osborne, and Balmoral are
kept precisely as they were when he
was alive, and on the wall of the room
in which he expired there is a tablet
with an inscription recording the tact
that “this apartment was the scene of |
his demise.” The Dutchess of Kent's |
rooms at Frogmore are also shut up— |
an arrangment which renders that
abode absolutely useless, inasmuch as
they are the best in the house. Frog-
mo.e, by the way, is officially a part
of Windsor Castle, and any repairs that
are done there go into the castle ac-
count. The Queen has also kept John
Brown's rooms at Windsor entirel;
closed since the death of that domestic.
and a large brass has been erected in
the apartment in which he expired
with the inscription commemorating
his virtues and deploring his loss.—
London Truth.
————————————————
Fashions and Its Consequences.
The wholesale slaughter of birds in
the name of fashion is having a most
remarkable effect in France. Hitherto
thet country has been a favorite sum-
mer home of the swallows, which each
years come over from Africa, where |
they had spent the winter in countless
hosts. Their plumage being in great
demand for milliners’ uses, a few years
ago a plan was devised for killing them
by thousands without injuring their
skins or feathers. Huge systems of
electric wires, heavily charged, were
stretched along thejisouthern coasts,
particularly about the mouths of the
Rhone, where the birds arrived in
greatest nuwinbers, Wearied by their
flight across the Mediterranean, the
swallows eagerly alighted on the wires |
to rest, and were instantly struck dead. |
At last, however, they have learned
wisdom, and are this year, not only
avoiding the deadly ‘wires, but are
shunning the shores of France and di-
recting their flight to more hospit-
able lands, Meantime, there is a great |
increase in the number of gnats and |
other insects on which they were ac- |
customed to feed, and the Zoological |
Society has warned the government
that a serious calamity is impending.
———
ArrLe Croures,—Pare, halve and
core good smooth apples, cut slices of
bread, without crust, to fit the flat side
of each apple, dust that apple with su.
gar, a little nutmeg or cinnamon, place
on pie plate and bake in a moderate
oven.
In the severe earthquake shock that
occurred recently in Vogtland there
were remarkably loud subterranean
noises, but no serious damag.
[er to live upon the plantation.
| cars baby carriages, when accompanied
| by their owners.
| children which their parents will hearti-
TET
The First Woman Posiimaster.
She was the widow of Col. Andrew
Balfour of those revolutionary times in
the days of good and great president,
Washington. She was a Miss Eliza
beth Dayton. of Newport, R. I. Bal
four came to America from Edinburgh,
Scotland, in 1772, landing at Boston.
[le was a few years in the North—
merried Miss Davion in New York
city. In 1777,lie sailed for Charleston,
brt the distracted state of the coun'ry
induced him to leave his wife and her
children with relations in New Englana
until he conld prepare a Southern home
for them. but soon after this the tide
of war turned South and rolled its
wave over the Carolinas, and her hus-
| band cast in his lot with the defenders
of the home of his adoption (North
(Carolina): but he soon fell a victim to
the barbarity of a party of royalist led
by Col. Fannin, a British officer. who
murdered Balfour in his home in the
presence of a sister aud his eldest child.
Soon as Mrs. Balfour heard of her
husband's tragic death, she hastened
South, coming in care of Gen. Grecne,
who landed at Wilmngton. From
thence it was a tedious trip through
the country to the home in Randolph
county, where her noble husband was
murdered. As the country was still
unsafe, Mrs. Balfour deemed 1t improp-
With
sorrow she turned away from the sad
resting place, and went to Salisbury
until she could return to the spot so
dear to her.
While resting in Salisbury, President
Washington appointed her postmistress,
which position was filled with entire
satisfaction, and when her accounts
were audited, she was only one-half a
cent behind. —Swnny South.
Of Interest to Soldiers.
The following act was passed by the
last Legislature :
“That any sailor or soldier who re-en-
listed while in the service of the United
States during the war of the rebellion,
and was accredited to any county, bor-
ough or township in this Common-
wealth, to fill the quota of men then or
afterwards called for from the same, or
when such soldier or sailor by agreement
made with any agent of such county,
borough or township, or other persons
acting for the same, to assist in filling
said quota, was to have been so accred-
ited on condition that the said soldier or
sailor so re-enlisting and being accredit-
ed, or agreeing to be so accredited,
should receive the county, borough or
township bounty then offered to veterans
by such county, borough or township,
and, such county borough or township
has failed to pay the amount of money
then agreed upon to any soldier or sailor;
such soldier or sailor may now bring
suit against such county, borough or
township in an action of assumpeit tore-
cover the amount of money which be-
came due and payable by reason of such
accredit or agreement to be so accredit-
ed as aforesaid :
Provided That no interest shall be re-
covered in any action brought under
this act. Any law or limitation of time
within which actions must be com-
menced, shall be no bar to the com-
|
An Tmpromptu Wed¢ ‘ng.
James Gordon, of Bridgeport, Conn,
was considerably surprised Monday
night when three omnibus loads of his
friends and acquaintances fron Norwalk
and the surrounding country alichted at
his boarding-house. As they poured in
on him and began to mingle congratula-
tions, with reque for an introduction
to “the bride,” he was staggered, and ex-
plained that he had not yet secured that,
very necessary participant in a weddine
and there must be a mistake. 2
There upon his unexpected guests pro-
duced invitation ecards and accused Jim
of trifling about a serious subject. At
any rate, they did not think it fair Le
should disappoint his friends.
It wes evident that some practical
joker had been putting in his fine work,
and the party convinced Jim that it was
his duty to get even.
“A good-looking fellow like you
should beable to find a irl willing to
marry him,” suggested one of the party.
“Well, I'll try,” said James. “Amuse
yourselves for half an hour, while I see
what can be done.”
He called upon Miss Lizzie Emmons,
a neighbor, and explained his pressing
necessity. The sudden proposal almost
took her breath away, but recognizing
her neighborly duty, she amiably co 0
rented and said she would get on her
best dress and be ready within the half
hour. Gordon meantime rushed back
to his friends and told them of his luck.
It was to late too get a minister, but g
justice of the peace in the party volun-
teered to tie the nuptual knot. Other
guests went out into the highways and
byways, and gathered in a German
cornetist, an Irish fiddler and an Ita].
ian harpist, with “lashins” of eatables
and drinkables. The bride came to
time promptly, her health was toasted
mn many a brimming beaker, and after
the feast there was a merry dance until
past midnight, when the newly paired
couple departed on a bridal tour and the
guests rolled hore in deep content.—
N. Y Press.
——
To Save the Soldiers From Themselves,
Germantown Independent.
General Bragg was one of the best-
known volunteer soldiers of the war.
He was the organizer and first comman-
der of the first post organized at Fon du
Lac, Wis., and has since been an active
member, although the various positions
of trust conferred upon him by his State
and the Nation have withdrawn him
from active participation, at times in the
work of tiie focal organization. During
the debates in Congress and by his vote
he opposed, like other real veterans, the
iniquitous legislation in favor of unlimi-
ted pensions, and that his absence in
Mexico, as representative of the govern-
ment, shonld have been taken advantage
of to attempt tc drop him from the order
is the best evidence of the kind of sol-
diers who are making war on him. There
will come a time when the real veterans
of the war will be compelled to unite
inside as well as outside the Grand Ar-
my to protect themselves from the coffee
coolers who are jostling one another in a
mad rush for unearned pensions, and ev-
ery unjust award of pension, money only
hastens the day when men like General
Bragg will be appealed to save the sol-
diers organization from those who are
mencement or prosecution of the action
hereinbefore provided, but any suit for |
the recovery of the money claimed to be |
due’ must be brought within two years
from the date of the approval of this
act.
————————————
Not His Property. |
“Will you be kind enough to take
making their name a by-word and a re-
proach.
Flies and Wolves.
‘When visiting a friend last summer
{ he called my attention to a curious plan
i for preventing the plague of flic sin bis
house. The upper sash of one of the
that grip-sack off that seat,” said | windows in his sitting room being open
countryman, who got on a train at |
Luling. :
“No, sir, I don’t propose to do any-
thing of the sort’, replied the drum-
mer, who was sitting on the other side |
of the seat. 2
“Do you say that you are going to
let that grip-sack right there?”
“Yes, sir; I do.”
“In case you don’t remove that grip- |
sack, [ shall be under the painful ne-
cessity of calling the conductor.”
“You can call in the conductor, the
engineer and brakeman if you want to.
Perhaps you had better stop at the next
station and send a special to old Jay
Gould himself about it.” ]
“The conductor will put you off the |
train.
“I don’t care if he does. Iam not
going to take that grip-sack from that
place where it is,”
The indignant passenger went
through the train and soon returned
with the conductor.
“So you refuse to move that grip-
sack, do you 2" asked the conductor.
“1 do.”
Great sensation,
“Why do you persist in refusing to
remove that grip-sack 2"
“Because it is not mine.”
“Why didn’t you say so at once?"
“Because nobody asked me.”
—————
Baby Carriages Free on the Pennsyl-
vania Railroad.
The Pennsylvania Railroad Company
has issued instructions to all baggage
agents and baggage masters on the 8ys-
tem east of Pittsburgh and Erie to re-
ceive and carry free of cost in baggage
This is a concession in favor of the
ly appreciate; and it is but another mani-
festation of the constant endeavor of
the company to make the road attractive
to everybody.
———
A Goon Eee Foon—Now here vou |
| have what many a poultry keeper wants
whether he or she be in town or coun-
try—a recipe for the preparation of su-
perior egg food, It is firnished by Mr.
James Rankin,one of the most success-
ful raisers in the land. Listen and
note : Ten pounds of the best beef
scraps, five pounds of fine ground bone,
two pounds of granulated or powered
charcoal, one pound of sulphur, two
onces of Cayenne pepper, and four
ounces of salt, Give it in the soft food.
It is said by those who have tried it to
give excellent results, and to he worth
more than many of the much more
costly egg foods which are placed on
the market,
ced for
for ventilation, there was suspended out-
side a piece of common fishing net. My
friend told me that not a fly would ven-
ture to pass through it. He has watch-
an hour at a time, and seen
swarms fly to within a few inches of the
net and then after buzzing about for a
little,depart. He told me the flies would
pass through the net if there was a
| thorough light—that is, another window
in the opposite wall. Though the day
was very warm, I did not see a single
fly in the room during my visit, though
elsewhere in the town they were to be
seen in abundnce. TI suppose they im-
agine the net to be a spider's web, or
some other trap intended for their de-
struction.
My friend mentioned the curious fact
that in Russia no wolves will pass under
telegraph wires, and that the government
are utilizing this valuable discovery, and
already clearing districts of the country
from these brutes.— Notes and Queries.
His First Dinner After Marriage.
“Speaking of valuable furniture,”
said ex-Governor John Underwood, of
Kentucky, one day lately, “I plice a
higher value on the legs of the table
| from which I ate my first dinner after I
was married than the Vanderbilts do
upon all the furniture they own.”
The assertion was taken with a grain
of allowance.
“How is that, Governor ?’' asked one
of the company.
“Why, it is this way,” and a merry
twinkle appeared in his eye. “When I
was married it wasa sort of runaway
match. I was a poor, young civil en-
gineer, and not a catch, I had
a suite of rooms, partially furnished,
and these we reached in the forenoon.
My wife wasn’t hungry, and did not
want to go out for dinner. So I hustled
around and got a loaf cf bread and a
pail of milk.” There wasn’t a table or
desk in the room. Tate my dinner off
my drawing board spread across my
wife's knees,”"—N. V. Star.
Tomarors Savee.—Cut up a dozen
medium sized tomatoes and put them
into a sancepan with four or five sliced
onions, a little parsley and thyme, one
clove and a quarter of a pound of good
butter. Set on the fire where it may
cook gently for three quarters of an
hour, Strain through a hair sieve and
serve,
LE —————
PREPARING FOR A RECEPTION. —
Young Coachman (to keeper of livery
stable) —¢I'd like to get kicked by a
mule if you've got one.” Stable keeper
— “What for? “I'm going to ask the
boss if T can marry his daughter, and I
want to see if I'm in condition to re-
ceive his reply.” —7T%he Whistler.
AO BE ii
f
i
i
H
i
j
i
i
:
k
E
|
k
f
b