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HENRY A. PARSONS,
Y0L,XI1' IlIDGWAY, ELK COUKTY, PA., THU11SDAY, MAY 4. 1882 NO. 11 .
The Round of Life.
Two children down by tho shining strand,
With eyes its Uuo as the summer sea,
While the linking tun fids all the land
WithJie glow of a golden mystery;
Laughing aloud at tho pea-mow's cry,
Guzins with joy on its enowy breaBt,
Till tho first star looks from the evening elcy,
And tho amber barB stretch ovor tho west.
A soft preen dell by the breezy shore.
A sailor lad and a maiden fair;
Hand clasped in hand, while the tale of yore
Is borne again on tho listening air.
For lovo is young, though love be old,
And lovo alone tho heart can fill;
Vnd tho rtoar old talo that has been told
Tn the days gone by, is spoken still,
A trim-built homo on a sheltered bay;
A wifu looking out on the glistening sea;
A prayer for tho Ion d one far away,
And prattling imps 'noath the old roof-tree;
A lilted lateh and a radiant face
By tho opeu door in the falling night;
A w elcome homo and a warm embrace
from tho luve of his youth and his chil
dren bi ight.
Ai aped man in nn old arm-chair;
A golden linht from the western sky;
U s wifo i.y hta s'de, with her silvered hair,
And the opened Book of God close by.
8reit on the bay the gloaming full,
And bright is the glow of the evening star;
Bat dean r to them aro tho japcr wa'la
And tho golden streets of the Land aar.
An oid chinch-yard on the green hillside,
Two lying still in thoir peaceful rest;
Tho lisht i inch's bouts going out with tho tide
In the fiery glow of the amber wost.
Children's langlitor and old men's sighs,
The night that follows the morning clear,
A rainbow bridging our daikoned skioa,
Are tiio round ot our lives from year to
year.
Chamhfrs' Journal,
WIDOW APPLEDORE'S ROMANCE.
" A mtin tllftt. tbl'nlra rt nntliint V,t
ppp'mint oil ati the price of wheat! No I
Emma Jane: my life has been humdrnm
euouffn wimout my ending it witu Dea
con Bliss. I shan't have him I"
" Well, well, Rosetta, if you won't I
aon t Know s any uoriy s goin' ter try an
make Ton." clm-nprl ninmn nat ro
- I '-m J, XUO,T illlO
.Phlox, looking up from the stout blue
1 . . 1 ....
wuoien ruck i-ne was Rnming. " I
s'pose the deacon thought he'd a rigb1
to ask you, seem it's a free country
Caleb Appledore was awful nice man.
but so's the deacon. Lone wimmen
are put on. Job Whittamore neglect
yonrpa'ding, an' just see what wort
you have with your fires winters an
keepin' roads broke out."
" I'm not going to marry just to have
some one to tend the garden and do tht
chores," t-aid Mrs. Appledore. " IV
never found fault with them tbat'i
dead and gone, but I know what it is t
live witu a perxrn who def s not car.
two rios ft r the things I do, and if 1
ever do marry again it will be SDmi
one who can sympathize with mo. 1
can't fay I swallow all 'L:as Bradshnv.
says about the marryin' of souls and af
finities, but there's some truth in it yor
may depend. Besides, I'd like a little
romnr.ee in my life before I die "
" Ro nisnce is all well 'nuff," sa'fl
Mrs. Tub x "bnt you're thirty-nine
next Mrc Rosetta, an' sech a man a
D?acon Bliss don't grown on ever'
bush. Bein' a good "provider, an i.
splendid farmer, an a deacon, an' a
piller in the church may not be roman
tio, but they're good reoom mends in a
man you' e thinfcin' of marryin'. I
hope you'll think twice."
" J have thought, and I shan't mam
the deacon," said Mrc Appledore, de
oisiveJy; "an if that's being romantic
I'm not ashamed of it."
The little widow did not look roman
tio. Hei complexion was a dull white
and her hair was a dull brown. Dull,
too, were her large gray eyes that
blinked behind shrt-sighted glasses,
but her form, though me iger autt de
void of curve, was not without grace,
and the had a clear, sweet soprano
voice which, though it was untrained,
she could use with taste and feeling.
The Harmonioum, the Dtivil!e musi
cal association, made her the
head of all their committees, and
relied upon her to sing all the
solos. Indeed without ber it could not,
have existed. The wheezy melodeon
which was a dozen yea-s old before it
became the property of the society had
at last collapsed under the energetio
lingers of Profe sor Jackson Jones, who
did tho accompanying, and thoy were
trying to buy a piano. They had given
concerts and had oyhter suppers till Dix
ville was tired, when Dr. Oilapod sug
gested a lecture. It was whimpered that
tho doctor had expected the committee
to invite him to read one of his papers
on tho Semitic tongues; but if he did
he was disappointed. They corresponded
with many popular lecturers, who all de
clined to visit Dixville on tho plea of
engagements, and the committee at last
invited a certain Professor St. Cluir
Smith, about whom they knew nothing
eavo that he had lectured in the neigh
boring villages with acceptance, to ad
dress them The professor had sud
denly appeared in D x villa mounted on
a fine gray horse. The next day be was
Been to enter the postoffice with a
green bag on his arm, and the gossip
immfdiutt-ly reported that he was
wealthy and had come from Boston. He
at once accepted the invitation of tho
Harmonioum committee, and announced
that his lecture would be on the "Phi
osophy of Art." The meeting house
was hired, and Mrs. Appledore with a
select few began practicing some music
for the oooasion.
It was the afternoon before the lec
ture, and Mrs. Appledore had invited
her sister to spend the day with her.
Domestic duties seemed to be just what
Mrs. Phlox was made for. Her husband
and sister usually did all her thinking.
In return sho served them with her
hands, but the few notions that did
creep into her round head she clung to
pertinaciously.
" The worst kind of a fool is a beetle
head -d old one," she said, alter a long
cause, "an' nnriin' lio ' !, i.
Itoeett t, I think you're preparin' with
Jr., Editor and Publisher.
i : 1 . -
your romancin' to be hint Mint. tin1 nf a
one."
" I don't see how Bisteic can be bo
unlike," and Mrs. Appledore drummed
a harsh accompaniment to her words on
thomiddlo O of her piano. "To be
sure, you aro the oldest, but age need
not mnke ono's soul a clod.''
" It would be well for you to remem
ber that all the advantages are not on
your side,'' cried Mrs. Phlox, rising with
dignity. "There aro bodies, yes, and
dispositions, that are clods," and
Mrs. Phlox jerked on her calash and
wen"; home.
The meetinghonse was full, and the
next day tho Eixville Timrg declared
the lecture to havo been a most soulful
and eloquent dissertation, but Mrs. Ap
pledore's attention wandered, and she
only knew that tho entertainment was
about to bo concluded by Dr. Ollapod's
t-oijotonscall for "inoosic."
"I am delighted, said Professor St.
Clair Smith, bowing low beforo her s
soon us possible after the "moosio"
"1 never heard such a delicious voice."
Mrp. Appledore coughed buhind her
hand to conceal her fluttered embarrass
tuent and ti.rntd a questioning look on
Professor Jackson Jones who stood
near.
" You always Bi'ng splendid," said
thai gentleman, drawing himself up.
" 1 dare say I put you out. Tbat flute
obligato is a deuced hard thing ta do.
1 didn t no myself justice to-night."
" You've al ways dragged," said Karl
Leopold, who took every opportunity
to criticise the Harmonicum doings.
Professor Jackson Jones pulled at his
cravat, and Mis. Appledore's face was
full of resentment.
" I never heard anything finer in
Boston," said Professor St.Clair Smith,
coming to the rescue, "and I suppose
you know what that implies."
The night after the lecture was a
very stormy one.and Mrs. Appledore was
slowly twisting her hair in crimping
oins when the door-bell rang. ' I
could not endure the loneliness of the
hotel, dear Mrs. Appledore, ' said Pro
fessor St. Clair Smith, making a
"ourtly bow, "and have come to beg
for just one song."
The professor was, so far as outline
atd coloring go, a handsome man. His
head was what is commonly called
dome-shaped. His wavy hair andf-ilky
beard were a bright yellow red, and his
rather large eyes were blue. He sat
down in a big rocking chair, and taking
a twin on each knee, "I renew my
vouth in children," he cried, giving
them a squeeze. " Do you know the
song, 'The old times were the best
times "Lv.ii you and I were young ?' "
"Oh, yes," said the widow, nervously
turning over her music, "but I can't
ay that I feel so very old."
"Dear mo, what a blunderer I am,"
ciicd the professor, "I was thinking of
tny boyhood. I've always hated being
rown np. A man has so much to fet
er his imagination. "You must have
ost your husband in the first flush of
your youth."
" I did," murmured the widow, for
letting that she was thirty-five when
he event occurred. " The twins were
oales."
Srng succeeded song till the pro
ffisxor pi oposed duets, and Mrs. Apple
lore enjoyed the musio so much that it
was midnight before she new it.
Two months passed away. The pro
lessor came ulmost every evening. He
had hired a small house a little out of
own that he might be undisturbed, he
xplained, and a relative had come to
i-eep house for him. He did not know
how long he should remain in Dixville.
tie was preparing a book for publica
tion and writing several new lectures.
When his literary labors were over he
was going to take a trip somewhere and
rest, though friends of his. influential
at Washington, were anxious for him to
accept a consulship ut an important
point.
The widow's neat white cottage stood
by itself on the confines of the village.
Deacon Bliss's fields of dark green pep
permint and nodding wheat stretching
along the country road for nearly a
mile joined the garden. Before her
hbrupt refusal of him the deacon had
been accustomed to drop in for a little
visit or to bring a neighborly offering
of apples or fresh vegetables. But
these calls had ceased, and cut off from
all her sources of news and pleasuro
Mrs. Appledore stayed closely at heme,
practiced he mueio and entertained the
professor.
But one sunshiny afternoon Mrs.
Phlox came bustling up the prim grav
eled walk.
"Rosetta Appledore," she chirped,
like an angry blue jay, as sho opened
the door, "though a clod, which there
are folks tbat think different, I've come
to asK you if you know you re the town
talk ?"
"The town talk 1" echoed her aston
ished sister.
"Yes, the town talk." repeated Mrs.
Phlox, with wonderful emphasis. "Anv-
body would be who had spent two
blessed months philanderin' with a
married man."
"Who is married ?"
"Your Professor Smith."
"I don't believe it."
"I B'posed you wouldn't, bnt I've
Been his wife," said Mrs. Phlox, with
evident satisfaction. " Miss Merrills.
she twas Pearly Ann Truesdale,
wouldn t miss a findin' out anything if
she had to walk ten miles, and she
called on her and told me. Tbat night
I sez to John, 'John,' sez I, 'a sister's a
sister, 'specially if she's younger and a
widder, and if I be a clod I'm goin' to
the bottom of this;' and says he, 'Em
ma Jane, I think you'd better,' and the
first thing he did the next 'mornin' was
to hitch up and take me over on the
mile strip where that fellow lives, in
Tony Allerton's cottage. He na'nt in,
but she was, and she was wushin'.
' I'm Miss Phlox," sez I, "an I come
to call." " Thank you," sez she, " I'm
Miss Smith," an' she set out the only
chair thre vas in the room for me an
set down herself on the wash bench."
" Air you Miss St. Clair Smith, the
wife of the professor,'" sez I.
" A sort ot smile twinkled over her
mouth an' she sez, ' Yes, Miss St. Clair
Smith, though I didn't know Mr. Smith
had adopted the St. Clair name. That's
my family name.' An' then she went
on an' spoke of her husband, an' of how
ambitious he is, an how he feels his
spear in publio life, an' how she is
willin to do anything to help him. An'
then Bhe inquired if I thought she
could git eewin in Dixville when sho
feels a little better an' is able to do it."
Tears of shame and anger gathered
in Mm. Appledore's eyes as her sister
spoke. " Is Mrs. Smith good-looking ?
Is she an interesting woman?" she
asked.
"I can't say how interesting she is.
She seemed kind of trod on, so to
speak. As for looks, she ain't Bny pret
tier'n you'd bo if you worked hard an'
didn't have half enough to eat," said
Mr.-". Phlox, calmly.
Mrs. Appledore nobbed aloud. "What
do peoplo say about mo ? What shall I
do?" sho cried.
"They don't say nothin' yet o'ny that
you're dreadful "foolish," chirped her
sister, rising and putting on her calash,
for it was almost supper time. "I can't
say as I know of anything for you to do
except to tell Mr. Smith to stay t' home
'Taint likely Deacon Bliss will give you
a chance to say yes a second time."
There had been a good deal of pleas
urable excitement in receiving the visits
of tbo professor. To dress herself in
her best mourning and to sing her fa
vorite songs to an appreciative listener
had been something to look forward to
during the humdrum work of the day.
The thought, however, of what her ac
quaintances were saying about her em
bittered her life, and when the profes
sor again called one glance at her faoe
told him that she knew all.
"Dear Mrs. Appledore," he began,
but she checked him.
" You had better go home to your
wife, Mr. Smith," she said coldly.
Tears, real tears, came into tha pro
fessor's big blue eyes. " But I lovo
you," he cried, " and she has always
been an incubus upon my soul."
" But she's your wife,'7 persisted Mrs.
Appledore.
"I know it," moaned the professor,
rubbing his brow distractedly. "It
eats out my vitals when I think of it.
Sho don't feel as I feel. There's no
wings for me as lo. g as I am tied to
her. We've no aflinity."
Mrs. Appledore gazed at him in dull
wonder. These were almost the words
sho had used to her sister, but they did.
no1, sound pleaantly now.
" I love you, Rosetta," went on the
little man, approaching her, "and I
want to ask you just one question:
Were I a single man would you marry
me?"
"1 might," admitted the widow,
smoothing down a fold in her over
skirt with a trembling hand.
"Enough I" and the professor flung
his arms about her and pressed a rap
turous kiss upon her forehead. "Blefs
you, my darling 1" and before she could
answer him he was gone.
The next evening when Mrs. Apple
dore was taking down her washing
from the line she was suddenly claspid
from behind by a pair of strong arms.
"You will soon bo mine," said the
voice of the professor. " I've offered
my wife fifty dollars to leave me, and
she has ajcepted."
"Accepted 1" tho widow cried, wrench
ing herself freo.
" Yes, and as soon as I can sell, my
book she shall go. I've lived in soul
isolation long enough. My heart has
found its mate."
All the men that Mrs. Appledore
knew were quaint of speech and boiuo
what rustio ' in manner, but what
they considered duty controlled tlieii
lives. "You wretch 1" she ciied.
dashing the clothespin basket
at him. "Fifty dollars! You ain't
woUh fifty cents. Go home and never
dare to speak to me again I" .
''Hear md," he pleaded, catching
hold of her gown.
"I can't stay out here and listen to
philanderin' talk," she answered reso
lutely, and twifchin her dress from
his grasp she entered the house. But
the professor' hand was upon the
latch. Like most little women the
widow was a curious mixture of timid
ity and courage. She flung the door
open. "Don't you dare to come in P
she cried. "I'll throw hot water on
you I I'll I'll kill yon !" Then slam
ming the door in his faoe she bolted it
securely.
All the evening the professor paced
up and down Mrs. Appledore's back
veranda. The next evening he again
appeared, and the next, and the widow
thoroughly alarmed sent the bravest
twin out the front way with a noto to
her brother-in-law.
Mr. Phlox delighted in anything that
could be called proceedings, and in a
few minutes he had the deputy sheriff
and two constables and went matching
down the principal street with them to
the great delight of all the small boys
of the village. It was impossible for
the professor to escape. The officers
crept roun-1 the house noiselessly. The
sheriff colored him, the constables
pinioned his arms, Mr. Phlox grabbed
him by the coat tails and away he was
walked to the village lock-up.
Mrs. Appledore passed a sleepless
night. She imagined the whole town
was wide awake and discussing her,
and long before daybreak she had re
solved to sell her home and Dixville
bank stock and move West. "I've got
my comeupance," she groaned. " I've
always been romantic and wanted a ro
mance such as I've read about. an I'v
had one. Oh, dear I Oh, dear I"
About 8 o'clock in the morning
there came a lively rap at the kitchen
door, and unstrung by excitement and
lack of sleep, she shrieked aloud.
"O'ny me. O'ny Deacon Bliss,"
cried a pleasant voice through the key
hole. Mrs. Appledore slid back the bolt
with trembling fingers. ' How thank
ful I am," she said, holding out her
hand, " I feel so in need of some
body." " ' Twas fortinet I come alono- iaa'
I did then." said the deacon, taking off
u oiruw iiat ana Biowiy rubbing his
face with his ample bandana. It was a
shrewd though benevolent faoe, framed
in waves of iron-gray hair. I see ye
look kinder peaked. The weather has
been tryin. I've felt it myself an'
ached in my jints the wnst wav."
It's my soul, deaoon," wailed the
NIL DESPERANDUM.
i .
widow dropping into a chair and cover
ing her facs with an apron. "I've
always hankered altera romance an' I've
had one, and I wish I was dead and
laid beside Caleb.''
' Oh, no ye don't, Miss Appledore,"
said the deacon, in the caressing tone in
which he would, address a sobbing child.
"This world's a oooty pood place, 'an
with a few exceptions folks are pooty
good. I come over to fetch a few of
tuy sweetin's and to tell ye thet that
there offer I made ye a spell ago holds
good yot. I rally wish you'd consider
it again."
Mrs. Appledore remained tilent be
hind her aoron.
"Ef ye'd hev me," repeated the
deacon, in a low voice, "I
know I ain't half good 'nuff
and thet I'm kind uv an old fellow,
but I've got a comf'able place an'
co ml 'able thing in it, an' I've been sot
on ye this long spell, as ye know. I
daresay was ..'tached to Lucy more'n
I shall ever be to anybody agin. We
s irt uv crowed together like, but so did
yor t' Caleb, atf I'm sure I'll try ter
niaKtj . e happy, an' yer two little "gals,
as sweet as two pinks, '11 be to me jes'
like the little gals 1 1 st."
Mrs. Appledore did not "remove ber
apron, and after a pause the deacon
falteringly continued : ' I s'pose
'taint no use ter argy. Folks hez their
own idees of sech things ; but anyways
I'll stand yer friend."
Tho widow rubbed her eyes and
slowly let fall her apron. "I've always
had the greatest esteem for you," she
said, with a little shake of her voice,
" but I never knew how good how
much I think of you. I will I"
Tho deacon Btarted up. " Will ye I"
Mrs. Appledore had taken refugq in
her apron.
" Will ye really, Rosetta?" he re-
peated.
The bowed head covered in the blue
gingham nodded.
" Ye shan't regret it," said the dea
con, solemnly, and awkwardly laying
bis big hand, coarsened by labor, on
he? shoulder. " Lord bless the little
woman an' our home. Our home," he
spoko softly as if to himself.
"P'raps now," he continued, after a
minute, "I'd better drop in an' see him,
an' in tellin' the news I might mention
casual like we're goin' ter be married
soon. An' thet nobody 11 trouble any
bndy that stays t' hum, an' thet I'm
able to help an eddicated man to a good
place, real neighborly, 'cause my
brother Eben out in Kansas wants a
clerk."
Mr3. Appledore said nothing, but the
deacon seemed satisfied with her si
lence, for he did just as he had pro
posed. Professor St. Clair Smith was
discharged from jail, and in three days
ho and his pale little wife had left Tony
Allerton's cottage on the mile btrip to
return no mors.
In about a fortnight Dr. Ollapcd at
tended a quiet wedding. "You've had
a ro-mance at last, Rosetta. I might
bet ter say two of 'em," whispered Mrs.
Phlox as she gave the bride a sisterly
kiss. "The adoration of the professor
was like things in a novel book, but
oiarryin' a man whoso goodness an'
farm can't be paralleled in the county
is r ro mance tnat has sense in it, an' I
wish you joy." Our Continent.
Habits of Siberians.
Many of the habits and customs of
these people aro very singular. Along
with much rudeness and simplicity,
they have a high degree of ingenuity.
t tiight, for instance, an Ostiak can
tell the time very accurately by judging
the position of the Great Bear j and as
this constellation is constantly varying
with the season, tba operation involves
on the part, of theOstiak a calculation
of tome magnitude. In common with
ill barbarous ami semi-barbarous
races, they mani est great dexter
ity in the use of weapons. In shoot
ing small animals such as squir
rels, hares, etc., for the sake of their
fins, care is taken that the animal
shall be struck on the head only; and
in this the natives seldom fail, even
though their rifles aro very clumsy in
construction. With the bow and arrow,
which is the weapon most in use, they
are equally dexterous. Their method
of capturing salmon, as described by a
Cossack ofliner who witnessed it, is pe
euiiar. L marching through the
country at the head of a detachment,
he encamped one evening on the banks
of a river; and on the following morn
ing he observed one of the natives
walk to a pool near at hand, into which
he waded, and then stood motionless as
a staluo, his spear poised aloft, and his
keen eyes fixed on the water before
him. Not a movement indicated that
life inhabited tho figure, until, with
lightning rapidity the spear was
launched forward and as quickly with
drawn, a line salmon quivering on its
barbed point. Three times in twenty
minutes was this operation performed,
and each time a fish rewarded the na
tive's skill. And yet their cleverness
is but slightly applied to the arts of
life. The Tuugooses, for instance, use
bear and reindeer skins to form their
beds; bnt as thoy have never discovered
the art of tannic g, these articles when
not in nse are buried beneath the
snow, by which means the hair is pre
vented from fulling off. This same
tribe, too, are remarkably improvident;
they will consume nearly a week's pro
visions in one night, and go hungrv the
remaming six clays. Over against this,
however, must be placed their detesta
tion of robbery, whioh is regarded by
mem as an unparaonaDie Bin. Liam
bers' Journal,
Occupations of Emigrants.
The official report upon the statistics
of emigration states that last year there
were but 49,179 farmers, 5.439 farm la-
borers and 132, 402 classed simply as la
borers. Professional occupations were
represented by 5 812 persons, skilled
occupations by bfa,457, and miscella
neous occupations, embracing farmers,
laborers, merchants, salesmen, cooks,
coachmen, etc, 211,492. The number
returned as without occupation, women,
cnuaren and otners, is hd.ojO. it ap
pears that special occupations other
than farming embrace five-sixths of the
total number of emigrants who come to
the ynited States.
THE FIRM AND IIOUSKUOLD.
Fnrm nmd Gnrilen Notes.
Never brood your chickens in and in.
It makes them weak and more diilicult
to raise.
Oats grown on clay land make the
best meal, keep longest and bring tho
highest price.
It is said that if food is kept from tho
eheep twenty-four hours beforo killing,
the mutton will have a better flavor.
Pear trees will endure a goodly quan
tity of ashes and cinders at their roots.
The sweepings of the blacksmith ehop
are excellent.
Charred corn is one of the best things
which can be fed to hens to make them
lay, not as a regular diet, but in limited
quantities each clay.
One oow well fed and comfortably
cared for will produce quite as much
milk and butter as two tl-at aro allowed
to run at large, lia on the wet ground
and be subject to the exposure of the
weather.
If the urine from a stable falls into
a basement or cellar upon the heaps of
solid manure, then a shullow cistern,
covered with s'rong planks, under the
pile, will catch what otherwise would
disappear into the earth.
A New Jersey farmer reports that a
dressing of eigbt bushels per acre of
salt to land badly infested with white
grubs enabled him to raise good crops
of corn for three years past, which
was impossible previous to this applica
tion.
H. H. Malison' writes to the Poultry
Monthly: "I believe it is not generally
known among poultry fanciers that a
few sprigs of a cedar bush mixed with
ha7 or any kind of litter for henB' nests
will keep them entirely free from hen
lice."
It is commonly 'known that feodina
cows heavily with turnipo impatts the
flavor of the turnip to tho milk, but if
given in moderate quantities just after
milking, so that twelve hours shall
elapse for the effect to pass off, little
difficulty is experienced.
A reader requests a remedy for excess
ive sweating in horses. This is usually
caused by feeding too much corn, and
hence the best remedy is to diminish
the quantity of corn and vary the feed
as much as possible. Same horses,
however, are constitutionally subject to
Bwcats.
There is no better and surer wav of
killing young trees than to expoae"the
roots to the wind, which dries them
out very rapidly. Make a note of this,
and if you have any trees to transport,
be sure to have the roots thoroughly
covered with blankets or somothing as
effectual. This precaution mav save
you me lite ot scores oi trees.
It is immaterial at what time vegeta
bles are transplanted, provided they
are not too large and tho ground
is warm and mellow ; but they
should never be transplanted in a
rainstorm, when the ground is puddly.
If transplanted when it is warm and
mellow root action begins at once.
B. Hurlbut, Portland, Mioh., says he
nows by two years' successful ex'oeri-
enco that a dash of srapsuds is death to
currant worms. "Try it," he toil the
Fruit Recorder, "in just such strenath
as "i ill curl them in a second of time."
He uses it very strong, and after it has
served this good purpose the rains wash
it clown, ana it aots as a stimulant to
the bushes.
The tomato worm, according to the
entomologists, is such a greedy feeder
that it changes its skin three times to
admit further capacity for glnttony.and
wnen transformed into the fullv-dn-
veloped insect every tissue and 'fiber
of which is composed of tomato leaf it
instincti-ely distinguishes its favorite
forage afar off by sense of smell, and
the larger the plantation the farther it
may be scented.
ltrcipra.
Bean Soup. Sjak one and one-half
pints of beans in cold water over night
in me morning drain off the water,
wash the beans in fresh water and put
into Boup-kcttlo with four quarts of
good beef stock from which ail the fat
nas been remove.1. Set it where it will
boil slowly but Bteadilv till dinner, or
three or four hours. Two hours before
dinner slice in an onion and half a car
rot. S rain through a colander and
send to the table hot. The black beau
and tho red bean are be, ter for soup
than the white. The best of all is the
large, round speckled bean, red-and-
wbite, sometimes called "goo38 bean.'
It is said tbat the first seed was fonnd
in the crop of a wild goose, and planted
in this country. It has sinco been on
of the choicest of soup beans.
Mock Cbeam Toast. A delicious
breakfast dish is made thus: Milt in
one quart of milk about half a teaoup-
M 1 1 11.- - l i . . A .
mi vi uuiier, a large leaspooniui of
flour fretd from lumps, and the yolks of
three eggs beaten light; beat those in
gredients together well. Heat it all
together slowly, Btirring briskly; it
must not boil, or it will curdle and lose
the appearance of cream; add at least
two teaspoonfuls of sugar and a small
pinch of salt. Toast bread nicely aud
lay in two dishes, and pour the hot
weam over; or bbtter, perhaps, to dip
each slice separately and pour the re
mainder over the dish.
Indian Pudding. One quart of milk,
two heaping teaspoonfuls of Indian
meal, four of sugar, one of butter, three
eggs, one teaspoonful of salt. Boil the
milk in the double boiler. 8nrinkl
4he meal into its stirring all the while.
uook iweive minutes, stirring often.
Beat together the eggs, salt, sugar and
half a teaspoonful of ginger. Stir the
butter into the meal and milk. Pour
this gradually on the etrg mixture.
Bake slowly ono hour.
Loaf Cake. Take three cups of
sponge dough (like pancake batter),
one cup of sugar, one cup of flour, three
eggs, beaten separately, one-half tea
spoonful of soda, dissolved in a little
warm water; one teacupful of raisins,
nutmeg and cinnamon to taste. Beat
sugar and butter to a cream; make it as
you do a cake before you mix with the
dough. Pat in the raisins the last
tning. jiet it nse the same as bread,
and bake an hoar.
Tito Canadian Mecca.
In a picturesque description of the
famous shrine of Hie Anne de Bcaupre
by W. O. Beers in the Century, occurs
the following account of the shrine and
the cures said to bo effected there:
But there the steamers come, and
Boon two thousand pilgrims laud on the
whsrf. A brass bind leads the way,
and the peoplo file up iu long proces
sion, dusty but devoted, many, lo
doubt, with mingled hopes and fears.
Over forty cripples limp clong on
crutehea or supported by friends, aud a
pitiable wtfht it is. Tho procession
enters the new church, where,
at the hi?h altar and at the
tides, a number of priests preside.
As yon enter you fee a lavge
monor box, of ancient date and curious
construction, fastened to a pillow by
it on Btnnchionn. The quaint padlock
in opened by an old-fashioned bed key.
Ovor the Bide doors are rude ex voto
paintings, representing wonderful res
cues from peril by water through inter
cession to Ste. Anne. Over the altar is
a picture of tho saint by Le Brun,
the eminent French artist, and tbe
side altars cont-tin pa:ntings bv the
Franciscan monk Lefranc jis, who died
in 1685, Hun upon a decorated ped
estal is a handsome oval frame or reli
quary like a large locket, surrounded
with garnets, and having in its center a
rich cross of pearls. Besidos this, you
seo the collection cf bones said to be
tho relics of the saint, consisting of a
piece of ono finger-bone, obtained in
1G63, by Bishop Laval, from thf chap
ter of Carcassonne, and which was
first exposed to view on the 12th of
March, 1670. In another case there is
a piece of bone of tho saint, ob
tained in 1877, but the Redemptoiiit
Fathers, who hve charge of the mission,
do not know to what part of the body
it belongs. The bones of the saint do
not appear to differ in g?ory from those
of a sinner. The church also claims
to own a piece of the true cross upon
which our Savior died, and a piece of
stone from tho foundation of the house
in which See. Anne lived, brought
from France in 1879. Also there may
be Been a superb chasuble, given by
Anne of Austria, mother of Louis XIV.,
an! some silver crucifixes.
Nothing, howover, will excite more
curiosity than the great pyramid of
crutches and aids to the sick and crip
pled, twenty-two feet high, divided
into six tiers, and crowned by a very old
gilt statue of the saint. The collection
is very curious and principally home
made, comprising plain walking-sticks,
odd knobbed fancies of sexagenarians,
queer handles, and padded arm and
shoulder rests, made of pine, oak, birch,
ash, hickory, rock-elm of all common
and many novel designs. A half-leg sup
port testifies to a reputed removal of
anchylosis of the knee-joint by inter
cession to the saint. I have no desire
to s .eer, but that there is some impo
sition ani much imagination about
theso "miracles" no impartial mind
can doubt. One may carry his charity
to the verge of believing that implicit
faith in intercession to a saint, with
mingled hope and fear and a strong
determination to force a euro, may in
some cases really throw off disease;
but the power of mind and will over
the body without any such
intercession is familiar to every
student, aud is no doubt au undevel
oped branch of medical ecienco. A
coincidence is not a miracle, neither io
this power of the will over tho body a
miracle. Among the long list cf re
puted miracles, the fallowing from a
manual of devotion will bo sufficiently
suggestive: "In the year 1664 a woman
broke her leg. As the bone was frac
tured in fonr places it was impossible
to net it. For eight months Bhe was un
able to walk, and the doctors gave up
all hope of a cure. She made
a novena in honor of tho taint,
and vowed that if che was
cured she would visit tho shrine every
year. She was carried to the church,
and during tho coumunion she put
aside her crutches and was cured at
-noe." Sworn testimony is given as to
ins-tant lecovery in diseases eaid by
physicians to be incurable by ordinary
means, and among the peculiat favors
acuorded to tho parish the temporal as
well os spiritual is not forgotten. Tbe
Bishop of Montreal says that it is Sto.
Anne who obtains for it "rain in the
time of drou. ht."
Mr. Longfellow nnd Children,
Mr. Linglellow had a peculiar gift
ior ingratiating himscii into the good
will of children, aud always thowed a
keen appieciation of their bright
speeches. He was one day walking in
a garden witu a uuia five-years maiden
who was fond of poetry and occasion
ally " made up somo " herself. I too
; -m fond of poetry," he said to her.
" Suppose you give mo a little of yours
this beautiful morning?'' "Think,"
cried he afterward to a friend who tells
tho story, throwing up his hand, his
eyes sparkling with merriment, "think
what her answer was. She said, ' Oh,
Mr. Longfellow, it doesn't always come
wiien yon want it.' Ah, me, how
true, how true!" Several months
later the friend and the lit
tle girl called at the poet's
home. After showing his little friend
many thines of interest in his study,
and especially delighting himself at
her amazement on telling her he "sup
posed the Ancient Mariner came out of
the inkstand upon his table" (it onoe
belonged to Coleridge), he said in a
low tone, as if thinking aloud: "It
doesn't always come when yon want
it!"
Something in the Eye.
TTT 1. L !iL i -
w aau outi wun water lr possible, or
have some friend turn the upper lid
wrong-side out over a pencil, and this
will usually discover the object, which
can be removed by a blunt pointed
penoil or penholder. To turn the lid
over the person must look down while
tne operator takes the eyelashes be
tweeu thumb and finger and reverses
the lid over a penoil placed nnon tha
lid. When a particle of steel or nth
substance is imbedded in the eye itself
a pujeiciau uiusi Be sougni at once
fir. Foote'a HtaUh Mantliy,
Two Dollars per Annum.
Tho Builders.
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
All are architects of Fate,
Working in those walls nf Time;
Some with raaesiv.i deeds and great,
Bomo with nniamcnts of rhyme.
Nothing useless U, or low;
Each thing in i' inco is bott;
And what sot ma but iillo show
Strengthens and supports the rest.
For the strnctnro that wo raise,
Time U with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays
Are the blocks v-ith which we build.
Truly shape aud fashion thrae;
Leave no yawning gaps bctwoen;
Think not, because nn man sees,
BncU things will remain nnueen.
In the elder days of Art,
Builders wrought with greatest cart
Each minute and unseen part;
For the gods see everywhere.
Let, ns do onr work a? wcl',
Both the unseen and the seen;
Hake the house, where pods may dwell,
Bcautitul, oatire and clean
Else our lives are Incomplete,
Standing in these walla of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Btumble as they seek to climb.
Build to-day, then, strong and sure,
With a firm and ample base;
And ascending aud secure
Shall to-morrow find iti place.
Thus alone can we attain
To tuoso tnrreU, whore the ey
Bees the world as ono vast plain,
And one boundless reach of sky.
HUMOR OF THE DAT.
Kiok your corn through a window
glass, and the pane is gono forever.
It is worth remembering that when a
man despairs of getting good weight at
his grocer's he can generally get all the
wait he wants by dropping in at his
barber's.
"My boy," said a conscientious
teacher, "do you know the reason why
I'm going to whip you?" "Yes," re
pliod the hopeful, "because you're
bigger than I am."
It is quite common for a boy to mis
behave when people are looking at him,
for the mere fun of shocking them. But
a man is not a bor. lid knows better,
and acts badly only when people are
not looking.
Wo notice an article extensively
copied, describing cprlain lecturers
who are afraid of their audiences. But
no genuine sympathy appears to be
shown toward tha many weary, tor
tured audiences who are afraid of their
lecturers.
"How much quinine can vou take at
a dose?" inquired one malarious indi
vidual of another as they met on the
street this morning. ' Oh, not more'n
about four grains. If I take any more
it Bets my head to working." "Does it?
I should think you would take six
grains twice a day."
Sfifs Lem'jn was a maiden sour
As any acid know
But tartar she had married Crab
More crabbed the did grow ;
And when bor gistercamo to call,
Much shrieks sho did be(,'in
Her husband said the Lemon's peal
Did fright tho Lemon's kin.
Rome Senti'nti.
Anecdotes cf ai Outlaw.
Je-?e James' ceirest neighbors, on
the earner of Thirteenth and Lafayette
streets, speak in the highest terms of
the departed outlaw. During t'.io last
snowstorm a number of young ladies at
1320 Lafayette street, were in the yard
snowballing each other, when Jesse,
to them known only as the quiet,
neighborly Mr. Howard, chanced to
pass ttie premises on his way home.
In a spirit of mischiof one of the ladies
molded a suoxrbtll and threw it at
Jess who burst into a hearty laugh,
and gathering up a handful of snow
bpgin to throw back at his aggressors.
With loud scream a of laughter the
ladies started to run down thn bill,
with the domesticated guerilla and
train robber in close pursuit, showering
snow on the fleeing bevy of beauties.
All speak in the highest terms of Mrs.
James, and the neighbors were con
gratulating themselves upon the prox
imity of such agreeable neighors, when
Jesse's death disclosed to them the
truth of the adage that all that glitters
is not gold.
In tbe new directoiy just published,
JesHn's name appears as Thomas How
ard, but no vocation is given.
Jo se, among other accomplishments ,
could lay claim to being a good bil
liard player, snd some of his evenings
were spent at a saloon in South St.
Joseph, where he oould indulge his
passion for tbe game with a number of
young men who he oftau met. On j dark .
night a young man Eaid:
Mr. Howard, I don t use the idea of
going home to-night. It is dark, and
a man may be held up."
"Where do you liver" asked the
psendo Mr. Howard.
"Un the mil, was the reply.
"I'll see you home," said Jesse, "and
nobody shall lay a band on yon while
I am with yon."
Ue kept bis word. They went home
together. The bare recollection,
though, always produces a cold sweat
on the young man's person. St. Joseph
(Jatette,
Noble Courage.
A poor boy was attending school one
clay with a large patch on one of the
tnees oi bis trousers. One of hissohool
mates made fun of him for this and
called him " Old Patch."
' Why don't you tight him V cried
one of the boys. "Id give it to him if
he called me so."
" Oh," said the boy, " yon don't sup
pose I'm ashamed of my patch, do yon f
For my part, I'm thankfnl for a good
mother to keep me out ot rags. I'm
proud cf my patch for her sake."
This was noble. Thet boy had tha
courage tbat would make him success
ful in the struggles of life. We must
have courage in our struggle if we hope
to come pnt right,