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Bi nder the ' hkstxut boughs.
Bh< re's a iail to-n>-:ht far out at sea—
File may never be 'ome again,
Rut whether or not ie comes back to me,
f My heart is his ov >, as when
■tVe were side by side on a day long fled,
I When I heard his eager vows,
■And blushed at the tender words he said
I Under the chestnut boughs.
[They tell me a sailor's heart is bound
[ Bv bonds that break at a breath;
[Others, perhaps, such love have found,
[ But his will be mine till death.
And whether he sleeps beneath the wave
Or over the crest he ploughs,
I must always be true to the pledge I gave
Under the chestnut boughs.
It would grieve me less if the news were
brought
That he died in a far-off sea
'Than if, sitting alone to-night, I thought
He could ever be false to me.
The lowland in winter garb is clad.
Snow covers the mountain brows;
No longer 1 stand beside my lad
Under the chestnut boughs.
But 1 feel that my love will come back some
day
from over the stormy sea,
As loval and true as when, going away,
Ho "whispered farewell to me.
My heart goes out by the foam-flecked shore,
And never a doubt allows;
Ve shall surely stand, as we stood before,
Under tbe chestnut boughs.
litcumnn llrmo Serialo.
CHARL I E .’
A XO V EL.
BV AIKS. OPHELIA NISBET KEID.
CIIA PTK U VConti need.
The only glimpse the reader has had of
Mr. Escotte Fearne has been taken as he
walked by Charlie’s side in the dim ob
scurity of early starlight. Seen under a
bright' gas burner and uncovered, bo is
certainly a noticeable man. He shows
somewhat of his mother's coloring, has
her silkly black hair, and certainly has
brilliant dark eyes. But that is all. lie
is marvelously like the line old father who
sits by him to-night. A broad forehead
smooth and white is common to both; also
a straight and marked profile; but the
mouth, especially when smiling or speak
ing, is identical with these two. The
young man is heavily bearded—the old
man clean-shaved; hut the most casual
observer would write them father and
son, and look to the lower part of the face
for confirmation. Escotte is Dr. Fearne
at thirty, and Dr. Fearne at thirty was a
very handsome man. The son has only
one advantage, and it seems a little unfair
Do have it. When he is away his father’s
voice is called clear, rich and sweet;
when the two converse together the son’s
voice is clearer, richer, sweeter. This
voice, so well modulated, so suggestive,
I and so grateful in its indications, seems, as
it is, a part of the man’s elegauee. It
could not he possible to other than a gen
tleman. A villain may speak softly and
smoothly, hut no u ntrue voice ever knew
just such clear and trustworthy ca-
I deuces. Hearing it not only excited ad
miration; it suggested confidence. If a
soft, low voice is “au excellent thing in
a woman,” a true voice, which challenges
comment and criticism, is a gift not to be
despised in a man. As the two men con
| trust to-night the father’s faee gives, per
haps, the happiest tokens. The heat and
| burden of the day has softened the stern
lines about the mouth, and has, as it were,
melted into gentleness certain very
I patent indications of a combative nature.
With the son the discipline of time has
not yet accomplished its work; a little
more attrition is needed, and the amelior
ating process will prove less easy. The
older life has become very gentle; the
“mixed elements” in his nature have
toned down into unusual serenity. The
stern father has given the world a sterner
son. Still this daugerous quality has not
been and will not be positively hurtful. It
is under the absolute direction of an in
telligence broad in its reacn and generous
m its fullness. Men of all sorts invaria
bly respect Escotte Fearne. His equals
love him, and his imitators would flatter
him if they dared. Still he is not exactly
what is called lovable. That is, one must
live close by him, and find access to the
humanity and gentleness which underlie
his handsome stern exterior, to know his
strong and great heart well. Under the
pleasant influences of the hour, the fra
grant aroma of the best cigars, and the
resttul ease of a home fireside, albeit it is
still summer, the father and son converse
within a broad range.
The last long year of absence is re
called, of course, in a sketchy sort of
way. The details wait coming* hours of
leisure, but the great events, marriages,
births, deaths.are given a transient touch,
and the whole importance of a twelve
month’s transactions reduced to an hour’s
comment. The mother says nothing, ab
solutely nothing. She only takes the
heart comfort, the certainty, the fruition
of the hour. She is entirely happy. Es
cotte, not as known through memory, or
mails, or telegrams, but in actual health
ful, handsome, bodily presence, is with
her. Uls talk has lost none of its old
plesantness; Me voice none of its old
music. It is enough to look and listen.
Mrs. Fearne is far too happy to speak.
From broader topics they narrow down to
family matters, and Escotte asks at last a
leading question:
“You have written me, father, of Judge
Barrett’s hopeless condition; is he still
living?”
“Yes; but only just living. He is fail
ing fast, very fast. Ah! 1 must go there
early to-morrow morning. He will not
he there to see me many more mornings.”
“He will leave quite a young wife and
his children. llow many has he? A wild
boy who was gone off somewhere when I
was last here, and your little willful
spoiled pet, Charlie. * Has he other chil
dren ?”
“No; none but poor Hugh, Avhois a wan
derer still, and my dear, beautiful, precious
Charlie. Ah! you will love her. She is—
well! well! mother, tell Escotte what
Charlie is.” he said, whimsically, appeal
ing to his wife, as if it were au act of
pure generosity to permit her to do the
honors on this all-embracing subject.
Mrs. Fearne, thus appealed to, gave her
son a most unfeminine answer; that is.
she was concise, succinct and pointed,
where the subject might admit of many
adjectives and exclamations.
“She is the apple of your father’s eye,
Escotte.”
Just this she said; and no more. The
young man smiled iu an amused sort of
way to himself—a vision of an angry
and self-willed maiden, tierce of speech
and threatening of gesture, passed before
his eyes. Even the Charlie he had recog
nized in the darkness, and he said:
“Some people have been known to have
an actual preference tor the variety called
crab apples. Does father really enjoy such
decided acid?”
“Why, Escotte, how you talk! You
surely don’t mean to call our darling
sour? Was she so unfortunate as to im
press you so as a very little motherless
child years ago?”
“I only recall her then, mother, as a
little beauty, who, between a negligent j
father, a weak stepmother, and an ex- !
ecutive grandmother, was in a fair way j
to be ruined. You see I don’t even men
tion a doting old uncle and aunt into
whose kind eyes she was even then throw
ing no little dust.”
“My hoy, you know a great many
things. You are a wise man for your
years; but you don't know Charlie Bar
rett.”
“What is she, lather, other than I have j
described ?” he asked, no little amused at 1
his father’s sudden warmth.
The doctor arose from his chair to em- j
phasize his answer.
“idie has a man's brains, sir. I’ve
yet to see Inr equal in that particular.”
“Well!” be answered, encouragingly.
“A brave, strong woman's character.”
“Well!”
“And the beauty! Ah! mother, tell Es
cotte how she looks.”
“No, doctor; you have begun; go on.”
“She is the prettiest girl I have seen !
since my wife was eighteen. Now, what
would you call that combination?”
“I should call it a combination and a
form, indeed, where every God hath
seemed to set his seal to give the world
assurance of a charming girl.”
“Just exactly so, my boy; just exactly I
so. Dost like the picture?”
Escotte recalled again his star-light
walk, and the girl he had seen in dim out- j
line only. The beauty which might have 1
atoned somewhat for the temper he could
not see, and, more and more diverted by
his father’s partialitv, he answered,
laughingly;
“I am going to like it well when I get
all the points, no doubt. Y'ou know lam
a little fastidious about a woman’s tem
per, and you haven’t touched that yet.
Matching her other marvelous charms, 1
suppose she is ‘as divine a thing as wo- j
man can be made’ in this unconsidered
trifle.”
“Temper. Did you say temper, Es
cotte?” ’
“That’s what I mean. I’m a little old- j
’Entered according to act of Congress m the I
year 1884 by J. H. Estill, in the office of th I
librarian of Congress at Washington.
fashioned, you remember, and have an
old-fashioned fondness for gentle women.
Learned to love them by knowing my
mother, perhaps.”
“Ah! Y’ou have got a smooth tongue
with your other gettings. But Charlie!”
and the old man rubbed his thick eye
brows as if the question puzzled him no
little. Brightening up at last he said;
“Do you know she is more vapeed, more
harassed, more crossed, and more tried
than ever a sweet girl was before?”
“No. sir, I really did not. How does she
hear these crosses?”
“Bravely, sir; bravely, like a hero,
fights her little fights daily and hourly,
and always whips, let me tell you; al
ways whips even that doughty old Gen
eral, Mrs. Beltham.”
His son laughed, as he did not often,
loud and long.
“Hurrah for Charlie! she must he a
plucky little woman. Her portrait is al
luring. ‘But were my state far worse
than it is, I would not wed her for a mine
of gold.’”
“Wed her! who talks of wedding her?
I’d like to see the fellow that lifts his eyes
so high.”
“Yes; so should I,” answered Escotte.
“He would he a brave and daring gentle
man, no doubt. But, father, seriously,
who is to care for your darling when she
loses her father? Will she fall into Mrs.
Beltham hands? If I remember right,
she is neither the wisest nor best of wo
men.”
“Ah! 1 fear me, that’s already decreed.
If you were only married, my son, I
might look to your wife for a friend for
my child. But you have neglected your
opportunities, and at thirty are still that
unnatural sight, a bachelor.”
This was said with the utmost good
humor.
“No, father, I’ve not neglected my op
portunities; I have really had none. But
before we get on that exhaustive theme I
will say good night; I fear I have already
kept you too far beyond your bedtime.
Good night, my sweet mother. It is an
exceeding comfort to be with you and my
father once again.”
His exit is so graceful, so kindly, so al
together lik him, that his father,following
his receding figure, with happy, tearful
eyes, says softly:
“Let us kneel here, dear wife, and
thank the good God for his return.”
In the midnight stillness is wafted up
to the Great White Throne a pure thanks
giving, not drawn by skilled lingers from
an organ’s solemn tones, nor chorused
by a worshiping multitude. It is only the
heart-offering ol two devout believers.
Verily, “there are no tricks in plain and
simple faith,” and pure and holy lives
touch easily the divine tenderness of the
incarnate lover of human souls.
CHAPTER VI.
Charlie’s battle proved a doughty en
gagement. Lively skirmishing had been
known for fai smaller offenses. This was
a regular field matter, and Mrs. Beltham
covered herself with glory, and retired
from the engagement with colors flying
and martial music, so to speak.
Charlie had declared herself ready for
grandma, had talked bravely of “Greek
meeting Greek,” etc., etc., etc., but she
had shown hardly any fight at all, and sat
as coolly undeL a broadside of shot and
shell as’if she had worn a coat of mail or
possessed a charmed life. She looked
worn and tired—that was all; and at the
close of the attack only said: “Good
night, grandmother,” and walked up
stairs with such a look of patient sub
mission that Mrs. Beltham, recalling it
all later as she undressed for bed, con
cluded that Charlie was really going to he
ill.
The girl did not. fall asleep this night as
readily as she should after her long walk.
Somehow she felt stirred and vexed, and
hardly kne.v what about. Her resent
ment did not touch her grandmother in
the least. She seemed uot to care lor her
severity to-night, nor even recalled it.
Nor dul it touch “Uncle Albert,” whom
she had seen as she passed the study win
dow, serenely smoking in the front yard,
though she knew he was in hearing of his
mother’s reproof, and no doubt enjoved it
right well.
No; Charlie was angry with herself,
outraged at herself, ashamed of herself.
This young girl, unblessed by a mother’s
judicious care, hampered perpetuallv by
petty and weak discipline, tried, as Very
few so early in life are, with a sense of
unkind and constant surveillance, had in
her nature not the slightest trace ol
malice or unkindness. If an inch of jus
tice were given her, she was always ready
to repay it with an ell of generous kind
ness.
That she had a quick temper did not
lessen the fact that her heart was brave,
and generous and good. Old and feeble
people, little and helpless people, sick and
suffering people, found her gentle, sym
pathetic, considerate, kind; hut she lived
in constant rebellion, in constant self-as
sertion, and, consequently, iu constant
war with herself. Nobody suffered more
from remorse. Nobody ever had less mer
cy on themselves. By her own large
standard of justice and right she daily
measured her actions, and daily found
herself miserably wanting. To-night she
judges herself unheard. She passes sen
tence without pity, and with deep hu
miliation she repents with an abject re
pentance:
“There’s no use shirking matters,” she
repeats to herself again, “no sort of use.
The man was a gentleman; his voice,
manner, everything showed him such.
He met me alone, almost in the night. He
could not pass me by. lam too helpless
—only a girl and alone in the darkness.
So he pities me, just as he would have
pitied another girl so situated. With
courteous kindness he cares for me; he
will care for me no matter what I sav or
do, and he only leaves me safe at* my
lather’s house. " That’s his part of the
matter. What is mine? I am a lady,
well born, well bred, knowing intuitively
the true from the false, the gentle from
the coarse. I accept his kindness grace
fully, gratefully, I deprecate his discom
fort in my behalf, I beguile the tedious
way with cheerful talk, I thank him at
my own door with cordial words of po
lite obligation, and ask him inside to re
ceive the thanks of my family, and later
retire at peace with the whole world and
myself Do I? Yes, truly, though it
sounds a little differently in the telling.
I storm at him—this rare and elegant gen
tleman—as if I were an inluriated Biddy.
I scorn his valuable help. I spurn his
attendance, and I slam my father’s hos
pitable door, as it were, in his lace. Ah
me! ah me! Was there ever a girl so
perverse, so pitiful? I can only hope and
pray that, as this is a large and wide planet,
his pathway and mine may lie so far
apart that like two parallel lines they
may never touch;” and Charlie, humbled
and tearful, knelt by her pretty bedside
and meekly asked forgiveness" for this
day’s sins of a tender Heavenly Father
who has offered to bear our heavy bur
dens.
A little later the slanting rays of the
harvest moonlight fall on her sleeping
face. Calm and beautiful she lies, with
her two white hands folded on her breast.
On her fair face, etherealized by the soft
light, is the impress of her last child
like petition to heaven, and, rested and
forgiven, hers is the face of a sleeping
angel. “For out of the heart cometh all
unrighteousness.” Charlie’s heart is pure
and good; her deeds but the outcome of
her motherless condition. Softl v the radi
ance creeps lower and lower, until her fair
form is left in darkness, anil only a silver
thread or two lies faintly on the floor.
Good night, young sleeper! soft be thy pil
low to-night, for thorns may be growing
e\en now to disturb thy ’coming rest.
Poor Charlie! Poor, pretty Charlie! The
next morning after encountering her
usual contradictions and crosses at the
breaktast table, Charlie started out of the
house, book in hand, for her walk to her
teacher’s. She wanted to confess to un
cle Henry; to tell him just how rudely she
had treated the kindly stranger of the
night before; she wanted to hear him say
in his paternal and most partial way:
“I can’t see that you’ve been so sinful, my
Charlie. I can’t see that you are alto
gether to blame,” etc., etc. ’This was al
ways his comforting way, and, though the
girl knew he would strain his sense of
justice as far as his conscience would let
him for her acquittal, still she needed just
such indulgence and must have it. She
was hungering and thirsting for kind
words, for tenderness, and even for pity;
and the place for just these things was the
manse. She felt very humble this bright
morning, as if in the beautiful world she
was perhaps tbe least grateful, the least
good.
lhen across her thoughts came now, as
always, a dreary anxiety about her
lather. He had had a bad night. He was
suffering still. He could never be better,
and would soon he gone! “Where?” she
thought, with a keen new pain. Where
do those go who are all-sufficient for
themselves, who scorn the extended hand
of an all-suflicient Saviour? She could
not tell. Perhaps he might be right after
all; he was always esteemed wise and
scholarly. How was it possible that his
daughter should be wiser and more
learned than he? But there was uncle
Henry! How bright his faith had kept
all his long life! What a strong tower it
had been iu times of clouds ami darkness!
THE SAVANNAH MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 3, 1881.
M tint a radiance it gave his life now fast
tending towards its latest days! If we
have not Christ, what do we get in His
place? Nothing; nothing. In all nature,
in all life, in death, nothing—no substi
tute—no staff on which to lean.
The girl looked around her on the
beautiful morning glory of life, fresh and
lovely, perfect in its plan and purpose,
and her heart took new courage, anew
trust.
“I cannot doubt,” she said, half aloud;
“for me to doubt were very falsehood and
sin.”
She had reached the gate, and almost
unconsciously had been leaning on it for a
minute absorbed in her thoughts.
Suddenly she became aware that uncle
Albert was standing near her, motionless
as a statue, gazing at her face, and had
been, perhaps, for some time. Her ex
pressive questioning looks seemed to com
pel a remark.
“Yes, Charlie, I have been watching
you some time; watching your face
brighten and then sadden. It was a charm
ing study, I assure you.”
She only thought, “Nothing on earth
shall try my temper this morning.” She
said:
“I was thinking sad thoughts, perhaps.
Good morning, sir!”
“Wait, I beg you, dear Charlie. I’ve
just a little to say, and I have waited here
to say it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I have that to tell which you will not
care to hear, but, my dear girl, whatever
I may not he, I am patient; I will wait for
tardy justice at your hands.”
“I am listening, sir.”
“Last night your poor father signed his
will in the presence of several witnesses,
and I am to he your guardian and care
for you and my sweet young sister, your
mamma.”
This was not unexpected, but Charlie’s
poor heart sank and her color rose; still,
very quietly, she answered:
“I am not surprised to hear it, sir.’’
“And not glad?”
“And not glad.”
His face flushed scarlet, hut he con
trolled himself by a great effort, and said:
“If in all the wide world I had known a
person who would have been more faith
ful to this sacred trust than myself, I
should have declined in his favor. If I
believed that you would love any other
guardian better, I should like to have seen
you gratified. But it is some consolation to
me to know that,though you dodislike me,
you like no other, t certainly know, for
I have studied to know, that* there does
not live a man lor whom you care a
farthing.”
“There you are all wrong, sir. There
lives a man in this city whom I love be
yond every other, even better than I do
my poor young mother.”
Whilst she was speaking there grew
into his eyes an expression new and
strange. It was a look of keen hurt and
of eager curiosity. A little breathlessly he
asked:
“Who? Who is it, Charlie? Tell me
his name.”
“Dr. Henry Fearne,” she replied, coolly.
He turned off, determined that his face
should not be seen, and affected to cut off
a sprig of geranium, as he answered with
calmness and sufficient ease.
“Y’es, we all know you love him. He is
a noble old man. I suggested him to
your father, and his only objection was
that lie is entirely too old for such a trust.
But I am detaining you, and when I have
said one thing more I will leave you. In
a short time, Charlie, I will be vested with
my responsible rights as the guardian ot
your person and property, and I do here
register a vow before heaven that your
comfort and happiness shall be the ’first
object of my life; that I will promote
what seems to me your best interest at
any cost, at every hazard. I can only
trust the day may’ come when you will
know me as your truest friend.”
He had taken off his hat and stood un
covered in the sunshine. His face was
flushed, and into his eyes there flashed a
curious look of stern resolve, strangely
overwrought for the occasion. He seemed,
or Charlie thought he seemed, anxious to
impress her with his most generous disre
gard of her dislikes, and willing to say at
last a civil word in parting. She said:
“And mammal 1 trust you will think
of her best good and happiness.”
“Yes,” he said, “that is easy; that is
sure. Anr.ie trusts me implicitly; Annie
has no lear; Annie loves her brother.”
His words were fair enough, but, as
he walked off with a quiet “good morn
ing,” the half smile on his lips was too
confident, too careless. Poor Charlie
thought she had never hated him more.
He had come across her best morning
mood; had interposed his unwelcome
presence between her eyes and the radi
ance the day had worn; had seemed to
her fancy much like a black strip of cloud
threatening a perfect day. She hated him
even this morning; she had hated him as
far hack as her memory could recall him.
She had never been able to define the
feeling. It always sprang into life at the
sight ot him; it seemed always fostered
by his presence. In truth, she’mistrusted
him. lie seemed to her selfish, cruel,
false, and on her own impression she
judged him.
“He will be my guardian, a complacent,
intrusive, authoritative one, I know,”
she thought, “with power to control my
movements, and with the will to enforce
his power. What I prefer will be quiet
ly, politely, steadily set aside, and I will
live, move, and have my being exactly as
he decrees. Ah! me, how little of liberty
waits me! And mamma! poor, sweet
mamma! who, after living with him all
her life, knows him no more than it she
had met him hut once: what will he do
with her?” *
The thought sent the hot blood to the
girl’s cheeks.
“To-day my lather is still living, and
to-day mamma is guiltless of a thought
untrue to him; and yet, before he has been
in his grave one year, Mr. Beltham will
be Annie’s husband and master in my
home.”
She turned and looked hack on the hand
some house and the elegant grounds, all
the result ot her father’s taste and work,
and, oppressed with the miserable fore
knowledge which so wounded her sense of
justice and propriety, she almost ran away
from the sight of so’painful and pitiful a
contemplation.
Once at uncle Heary’s, once in the pure
and sweet atmosphere of his happy home,
she was sure she should feel comforted
and better. Walking very quickly to
atone for her delay, she reached the manse
tired and flushed with her rapid walk.
Such a formality as a knock at Dr.
Fearne’s door was a superfluity not to be
tolerated by the old people. Charlie had
always walked straight in, commonly an
nouncing herself by singing m the hall, if,
indeed, the teacher was not at the gate
looking eagerly for her. To-day every
thing looks unnaturally still. The hall
door is wide open, and the morning sun
shine covers the floor, but there is not the
least sign of life anywhere.
“Well!” thinks Charlie, “this is queer;
I wonder if aunt Mary thinks everybody
outside is as good as she is, that she leave's
her house wide open to be entered aud oc
cupied by whoever likes to do so?”
Her aunt’s room was closed, and she
walked quickly back to the study, won
dering that even Janet was not on hand
to explain this sudden exodus. This door
was wide open, and the room as empty as
the hall, or Charlie thought so, and con
cluding she would begin work and wmit
her teacher’s return, she took off her hat
and gloves, and was about to seat herselt
at the table when her careless glance fell
on a person quietly seated at the window:
the last person she could have expected
to encounter here, and the person of all
the earth she least desired to meet. The
gentleman rose instantly, and Charlie
stood face to face with the stranger she
had met the night before. In the utter
consternation of the moment it never oc
curred to her that be had any more right
here than a chance visitor. He seemed
only by especially ill luck to be in her
pathway. It was just like her chance
meeting with uncle Albert, only a thou
sand times worse, a thousand times more
ill-timed. Still, even on the instant, her
quick, woman’s eyes took in, as it were,
his prepossessing looks, his very easy, self
possessed smile. He looked—he did not
intend to—but she saw it well—a little
amused at her perplexity, feeling as he
did so entirely master of the situation.
He came a step toward her, and said—
How very well she recognized his pecu
liar, pleasant voice!
“I am sure you are Miss Charlie Bar
rett; I know you are expected here at
this hour. See! there is your work made
ready for you by your teacher. He has
been obliged to leave home. His wite has
gone with him to visit your father; he will
be back very soon, and I was requested to
take care of you until their return.”
All of this being said with the most pro
voking pleasantness, yet not a word of
self-introduction.
“So I am left in his care, am I?” thought
Charlie, “and still he does not take the
rouble to tell me who he is.”
She was perplexed to know just how to
meet him. That he recognized her, she
did not doubt; but it seemed his pleasure
to ignore any previous acquaintance, and
he permitted her to begin anew, as it
were, thus giving her time to recover her
sell-possession and try another role. He
was all the while coolly, quietly self-pos
sessed. As she stood irresolute and made
no reply, he adjusted her chair, brought
her books around to the side of the table
where she could reach them easiest, and
then arranged the window curtain so as
to give her the best light, carefully re
moving: his own chair quite on the other
side of the room. Everything was done
with a careful eye to her comfort, but it
was done as gracefully, as unobtrusively.
There was something even kind and con
siderate in his attentions to her comfort.
It was perfectly evident that, with all his
quiet and easy savoi faire, he neither
intended to introduce himself nor leave
the room. Decidedly he was as cool as
he was comelv. Something gentle, and
thoughtful too, in his manner seemed to
say:
“Try to forget last night—l am too gen
erous to remember it.”
Charlie w as touched and irritated at the
same time. A certain generous justness
of character had always made her espe
cially severe in her judgments on her own
actions, and a certain cordial frankness
had always made her quick to make the
amends, and this sense of being decidedly
wrong afflicted her sorely. She wanted to
do what she considered just and right, but
she was puzzled to know how.
In the meantime the stranger had be
taken himself to his window and his book
as quietly as if they were only two
chance occupants of some comfortable
public reading-room; and,for all token he
gave of her presence, they might have been
separated by a continent.
Charlie took up her books; there cer
tainly seemed nothing else to do, but not a
line or word could she master.
Her eyes would wander to the silent
figure sitting so motionless opposite her,
and her conscience kept suggesting that
she was in his debt at least to the amount
of a courteous apology. She was a child
of impulse—a just but very youthful ad
juster of her own difficulties. Acting
now on an irresistible impulse she said:
“You are pleased, sir, to ignore the fact
that we’ve met before. I don’t wonder
that you prefer to forget it—l shall try to
do so too—but not until I have thanked you
for your kindness and asked your pardon
for my persistent rudeness. There is no
possible excuse for my conduct; I only
ask you to try to forgive, or rather to for
get it, and myself too as speedilv as possi
ble.”
It is quite probable Charlie did not
know just how earnestly pretty she
looked; just how soft her dark eyes were,
almost tearful and very penitent; just
how brightly the rich red color flashed
into her cheeks; just how easy it was to
read in her expressive face and manner
the brave resolve which held her equal
to the tremendous effort she w as making.
jNo child of six years ever showed more
touching penitence; no mature woman
ever showed a more resolute spirit.
Standing, as she did, beside the table, a
sell-accusing culprit, she looked, quite a9
truly, a bewilderingly lovely girl.
Charlie was at her best, her very best, at
this moment; but she did not know it. It
seemed the hardest, the worst undertak
ing of all her life. Startled, at first, at
her speaking so unexpectedly, the gentle
man rose trom bis seat and, with two
hands leaning on the back of a chair, lis
tened most kindly, most deprecatingly to
her quick, short w'ords. He took her in at
a single glance. Far easier was this expo
sition of his father’s pet and darling to
comprehend and appreciate than hours of
labored description.
This was Charlie, a living, breathing,
soulful portrait, such as words rarely pic
ture. A w insome revelation—a study in
epitome—a sketch, brief and rapid, yet
with all essential filling out, complete,
charming, winning.
As soon as she had finished speaking,
in his calm, controlled voice he said:
“We have met before, and I am in no
danger of forgetting it. It is only a
pleasant memory now; a memory of a lair
and helpless girl in a lonely street at
night, fearing, as well she might, and re
senting, as she certainly should, the pro
tection of an utter stranger. Try to be
lieve that I am only sincere when 1 say
that neither your actions nor words leave
a regret with me.”
“But I was surely cross; there was no
need for that.”
“Yes; there was no need for that.”
“And it is that I beg you to excuse and
forget.”
“That is easily done; but I would like to
make a condition.”
“What condition?”
“That the next time you are provoked
you will control your temper.”
“Then you will withhold your forgive
ness forever, for I cannot control my tem
per.”
“Do you ever try ?”
“I don’t know, sir; I know I get up
every morning with a fixed resolve to be
amiable, and I go to bed every night hu
miliated by constant failures.”
There was no mistaking the earnestness
nor the hopelessness of this little expose
of her struggles. The man listening so
gravely had more insight into hqr troubles
than she could deem possible. Very
gravely—his naturally stern manner tem
pering very much tho gentleness he meant
to show—he said:
“Is not my forgiveness, not mine as an
individual, but as an injured party,
worth trying to obtain by a little effort?”
“Effort?” she exclaimed. “I shall
certainly make theetlort, and as certainly
fail.”
“I am sure you will not; lam confident
you will not.”
“Yes I shall. Don’t you ever fail, sir?”
she asked, with a little, a very little mis
chievous naivete.
“To control my temper?”
“Yes.”
“Never; but I fail in many other
things.”
“Well, you have no temptations; there’s
the difference.”
For the first time he laughed, and he
looked well when he laughed.
“My child, what do you know about
temptations?”
“What do you know about grand
mothers and uncles, and guardians and
friends?”
“Are these so trying to you?”
“Exasperating!”
“Is your teacher included in the list?”
“My uncle Henry?”
This was asked with a daring show of
protest and astonishment.
“Yes.”
“Certainly not. He and his wife are the
two persons in all the world who love me,
who believe in me, who are patient with
me; and I give them all the love other
girls give to fathers, mothers, sisters,
brothers, kinsmen and friends.”
“They must be excellent and lovable
people,” he remarked, with much quiet
amusement.
“Y’ou should know them, sir. It would
prove a liberal education lor you.”
“I do know them slightly; but you’ve
wandered from the subject. Will you
make an effort to control your temper for
my sake?”
“No, sir, not for your sake, but be
cause I am ashamed of losing it last
night.”
The easy and graceful gentleman color
ed perceptibly, but still, perfectly self
possessed, answered in a low but distinct
tone:
“It is well worth your while to do it,
whatever your reason may be.”
His smile had all gone; he was onlv
grave and stern now. Charlie regretted
his pleasanter phase, but bravely deter
mined to do right. She said:
“I shall try, sir, try very hard, and
be made misecable as usual by failing.”
“There’s merit iu persistent effort,” he
said, as he easily resumed his seat.
Charlie felt brow-beaten somehow. She
was beginning to be afraid of this cool
stranger, who seemed so at home and so
masterful; but she took up her Horace
and went to work. In her impatience
twice she dropped her big dictionary.
Twice it was kindly replaced. The light,
as the sun mounted higher, tell broad
across her open page. The bliuds were
quietly drawn, and a softer light let in
from another point. A low, very low
murmured “Thank you” was all the
sound that disturbed the stillness; but she
lelt and knew that a pair of watchful eyes
saw and met her every want. And’ so
half a long morning slipped away.
[to be continued.]
Sam Randall for President.
Philadelphia Press.
“Do you consider Randall a candidate ?”
“Yes,” replied this gentleman, “and a
most formidable one. If Tilden wants
the nomination himself, however, Randall
will support him. Randall is a great
man. He comes of a great family. His
father, Josiah Randall, was a most emi
nent man in Philadelphia, a tine lawyer
and a lull blooded aristocrat. Sam in
herited his father’s abilities, but not
his aristocratic tendencies. Sam Ran
dall is a natural Democrat, while his
father was a natural Whig. Josiah took
to the parlors: Sam took to the slums.
During his early life he was a regular
bruiser, and he could strike out from the
shoulder as well as any man in the prize
ring to-day. He was a student, however,
at the same time, and though he went off
on periodical sprees, he kept up with the
times and got a good education. Even
after he came to Congress he drank con
siderably until a few years ago, when
he reformed. Since then he has been a
teetotaller.”
THE FIELD, FARM AND GARDEN.
We solicit articles for this department.
The name of the writer should accompany
the letter or article, not necessarily
for publication, but as evidence of good
faith.
The Lima or “Butter” Bean.
I am not aware that this bean is culti
vated to any extent by our Southern mar
ket gardeners or truckers, though it is
grown in a small way in most of our family
gai dens. I rarely notice any reference to its
cultivation in our agricultural papers.
Seed butter beans are quoted by Landreth
and Henderson respectively at $lO 50 and
sl2 per bushel this spring, and if the South
ern grower could secure anything like
half these prices for his crop ae would
certainly be justified in planting a cofl
siderable area to it. I don’t know but
what it might be made quite profitable at
prices one-fourth of those quoted by Lan
dreth. While it is a tedious and expen
sive crop to grow compared with most
farm crops, yet if tr is is made up for in
the price obtained it need not be ?n objec
tion to its adoption as a money crop by
Southern farmers or gardener’s. Those
who are so situated as to get the poles
for the cutting and hauling can, of course,
grow this crop to more profit than those
who have to buy the poles. Some growers
at the North have essayed to grow the
Lima bean without poles, relying on thor
ough pruning to make the vines stocky,
and have claimed that it is a very satis
factory plan, but it is hardly possible that
a large yield can be made in this mannei.
One serious objection to this plan would
be that the vines would be beaten down to
the ground by heavy rains and many of
the beans would become discolored, if not
rotted, by contact with the soil. If they
are to be grown at all it is far better to
adopt the pole plan. At a distance of 6x4,
which is the best distance, it would re
quire about 1,800 poles to the acre, and
such quantity could not be bought gene
rally for less .than $8 or $9. In some parts
of tbe State thej could not be had for this
price. Where young timber is plentiful
and the poles to he had for the cutting and
hauling, they can be cut and hauled up in
the winter at times when no ordinary farm
work could be carried on, and the cost
need not be greater than $4 or $5 per acre.
It is not desirable that the poles be cut
longer than 6 feet—one foot to go in the
earth. Four feet above the surface would
be sufficient. There is good reason for
having them longer to start with, however.
If cut 7 to 8 feet long the poles may be
used a second time, and some of them a
third time, by simply cutting oft the part
that has become decayed from contact
with the soil. Where the poles are over 6
feet it is inconvenient picking the beans.
Oak and hickory saplings, 2 to 4 inches in
diameter, are about as good as can be had
generally. Pine poles will do very well
for one year.
When an acre or more is planted it is
much better to check the land and very
little hoeing will be needed. Lay off row’s
6 feet (previously breaking the soil if ne
cessary ) and put in the manure and throw
2 furrows on it. Then check across at 4
feet, and then distribute the poles. With
a crossbar make holes about 12 inches
deep, working the bar around so as to get
the holes largeenough to receive the poles.
Ram the poles in and, with the feet, fill
up around the pole and press firmly, leav
ing a slight depression for the seed. Drop
8 to 10 seeds around the poles and cover
with a hoe. As soon as the young plants
show the third or fourth leaf thin cut all
but three. Plow out and hoe, and as soon
as the vine gets to the top of the pole
prune it off so as to make it throw out
laterals abundantly. This trimming will
have to be repeated two or three times to
produce a large crop of beans. If not
thus trimmed they will not produce near
so well. Beans do not require a very
large application ol ammonia, hut the
supply of phospates and potash should be
liberally applied—at least 200 lbs. each of
acid phosphate and kainit. If the manure
is all applied in the drill the cross plow
ing will place the manure all about the
hill. The cultivation must be shallow
after one good breaking of the middles. 1
have never been able to test the possibili
bilities of yield of dry beans, but think,
under high culture, 40 bushels might be
secured; the product will range from 10
to 40 bushels. Generally the green beans
are readily salable in market at good
prices, but whether they have proved a
profitable crop to ship North I have no
knowledge. 8. A. Cook.
Drilling ami Cultivating Wheat.
In view of the damage done to small
grain by the January freezes it would not
he a bad thing for farmers to sow a few
acres of wheat in drills early in February
and give it two or three cultivatiugs. It
is a profitable thing to do generally. A
small farmer can take one acre and, by
proper preparation, manuring and culti
vation, canleasily make enough wheat to
supply his family abundantly with flour.
This one acre, of course, must be a very
rich one, and if it is of such a character
as to produce 500 lbs. of lint cotton with
out manure it can be made to produce
from 40 to 60 bushels of wheat by using a
good variety of wheat and using $2 50 to
$4 worth of phosphate per acre. From
my own experience in drilling wheat 1
recommend the following plan, and where
it is faithfully carried out will generally
give satisfaction if the land is adapted to
the purpose. I make no mention of wheat
drills or other two-horse implements, for
our small farmers have no such imple
ments, and it is only the tools common
(or ought to be common) on every small
farm that is needed:
Break the soil thoroughly with diamond
scooters and then harrow until the soil is
well fined. Just before harrowing apply
any manure that it is designed to use and
let it get well harrowed in then with a
small plow, lay off drills 20 inches apart.
This is a better distance than 24 inches,
though the latter will do. Then sow 50 to
60 pounds of good wheat that has been
washed w ith bluestone w T ater and then
dried off with lime. Cover the seed by
running the harrow up and down the
row’s, so as not to drag the seed out of
line. Cross-harrowing will not drag the
seed out to any great extent, however,
unless the sowing is very shallow. In
February it will be but a few days before
the w heat is up. Soon after it is up har
row it. If the soil is stiff about a month
after harrowing break the middle with a
narrow, long bull-tongue; two furrows
will answer generally. After this harrow
or sweep once or twice, as the weather
may justify. If the land is rich and well
manured the result must be pleasing, if
rust or other cause does not step in to
mar. The manure, if not too strong, may
be applied in the drill with the seed, but
it is far better and safer to broadcast and
hariow it in as advised. Where one can
do it a proper application of manure would
be 200 lbs. cotton-seed meal and 200 to 300
lbs. of acid phosphate and kainit, or a
compost of stable manure and acid phos
phate; the iarmer, of course, must, use the
kind that he can most conveniently get.
It does not matter what form the ammo
nia phosphate and potash Is in so the crop
gets these elements in reasonable quan
tity. November is the time to sow wheat
in our latitude and February sowings are
not to be recommended except where it
has been impracticable to SOW at an ear
lier date. November or early December
wheat sown as above will rarely disap
point. S. A. Cook.
Midway , near Milledaeville l Ga., Jan. 2B.
Tomatoes—(Reply to “B.”)—There
are so many varieties it is difficult to sav
which one is the best, as there are so
many good ones. Among the hundreds of
named sorts there are many synonyms—
the same tomato under several different
names, and every year some already
known sort gets anew name and we pur
chase it only to find that it is the counter
part of some that we have had before. In
fact, it is difficult to originate anything
superior to what we have in the way of
tomatoes. The Acme, Paragon, Perfec
tion, Trophy, Blount’s Cluster and Con
queror constitute a cluster of six toma
toes that in all probability will npt be
surpassed. We will have them all under
new names from time to time and imagi
nation will see some little improvement
in them under their new names, perhaps,
but it will be the same tomato. What
may be a good tomato for the home gar
den or home market may be unsuited to
the purposed shipment to long distances.
Those just named are of good size, smooth
generally and very productive, and all
are very good shippiug sorts, 1 believe.
Tomatoes can be grown on almost any
kind ot soil that is fertile, but a light soil,
rich in the mineral elements, is the most
suitable. Rank, unfermented manure
should never be used on tomatoes, for
they will not fruit well and will be more
subject to rot. The seed should be sown
early enough in cold frames to get strong
stocky plants by the time it is sale to set
out. In this latitude we sow in frames
about the middle of February and get
good strong plants by the last of March.
The plants should be set at least three
feet apart each way and the culture very
shallow after first blooms appear. After
the vine is well fruited it should be pruned.
In a small garden they should be staked,
but it is not practicable to do so in mar
ket gardens generally. S. a. C.
Farm ami Stock Notes.
The Gardener's Chronicle relates an in
stance where apples and pears were
planted on heavy clay, which had been
trenched down to “an iron-hard pan.”
The trees made no growth, and moss and
lichens grew on them. The orchard wae
then thoroughly drained. In six months
the lichens began to disappear and the
next year a tine growth was made. The
soil had been warmed by the drainage and
| the tertility had been made accessible to
j the growing roots.
In the dooryard of Delos Hotchkiss, at
Cheshire, Conn., stands an apple tree,
which is supposed to be the oldest, largest
and most fruitful in New England. It is
the last survivor of the orchard which
was set out by the first settlers of that
neighborhood and popular belief fixes it
at 180 years. The tree is 60 feet high and
the tips of its outmost branches are 104
feet apart. Mr. Hotchkiss affirms that he
has picked 125 bushels of sound apples
| from it in a single year.
A Baltimore paper says that city alone
put up the past season" 14,400,000 cans of
peaches, 2,000,000 cans of peas, 300,000
cans of string beans and 100,000 cans of
pears, 3,000,000 cans ot tomatoes, 1,000,000
cans of fruits and other vegetables. This
is an immense amount of what mav be
called anew industry. Maryland seems
to take the lead of all her sister States in
this growing industry. In the canning of
corn and tomatoes and oysters she seems
determined to soon become mistress of
the markets of the world.
The Rural New Yorker suggests the
Hansel as an early raspberry and the
Cuthbert as a late variety, both of which
are red in color and suitable for fumily
use and market. The Caroline is hardy
and productive, but yellow and not of
first quality. For canning there is noth
ing like Shaffer’s colossal. For the ear
liest and most productive of black caps
the Souhegan is the raspberry, but for the
largest try the Gregg. Of currants, Fay’s
Prolific is the best of the reds and the
White Grape currant the best of the
whites.
In response to inquiries as to the prac
ticability of allowing sheep to have access
to acorns as food, says the editor of the
Texas Wool Grower , our experience and
observation has led us to the following
conclusions: In Virginia, where we first
handled sheep, the white oak and black
jack acorns, as a general thing, were not
regarded as a safe diet. The tendency
was to produce constipation, causing fe
ver and in numerous instances death.
From this cause we were impressed,
when embarking in sheep husbandry in
Texas, that all species of acorns were
dangerous for sheep to feed upon.
A Massachusetts gardener plows very
deep for asparagus, manures plentifully
and plants in furrows eight inches deep,
gradually filling up level as the plants
grow. Rows should be 4 feet apart and
plants from 12 to 20 inches. Thick setting
bring in a full crop sooner, but thinner
setting gives quite as good results in the
long run. A bed is in perfection from 8
to 12 years old. The fourth year’s growth
will be of full market size, but the third
will give a medium crop of medium-sized
stalks. An old bed is hard to kill, but
constant and late cutting up to August,
with subsequent cultivation, will do it.
A farmer who has grown the Alsike
clover the past season for the first time
reports himself well pleased with it. Cat
tle and horses eat it more readily than red
clover, both as grass and hay. It is des
titute of the slightly bitter flavor that de
tracts from the value of fresh green clover.
In an Alsike field cows eat the new’ seed
ling instead of waiting until starved to it,
after knawing bare the old sod in fence
corners The crop of seed varies from
live to as high as ten bushels per acre; but
if the Alsike is left for seed its hay is much
less valuable. Its superiority is manifest
a-s compared with the chaff from red clover
that has been thrashed from seed.—Ameri
can Cultivator.
The first incubator of the season, hold
ing seventy-five eggs, has just been ope
rated at Ilammonton, N. J. Thirteen
eggs were thrown out as worthless and
there were hatched out thirty-eight chicks
from sixty-two eggs, or a little over 61
per cent. Three hens were set on eggs
from the same basket. The first hen
hatched five chicks lrona ten eggs, killing
four. The other two hens did not hatch a
single chick. All the incubator chicks
are alive aud thrifty. This incubator was
made to operate without the use of a
lamp and consequently no expense of oil
was incurred. A tank of hot water was
kept over the egg drawer, the loss of heat
being replaced by adding a kettle full of
boiling water once a day, except in very
cold weather.
It is but a few years since anything like
systematic bee culture has been attempt
ed in the United States, but the business
has now become an important industry,
more than 35,000,000 pounds of honey being
annually produced and sold. The trade
is principally carried on by large capital
ists, who often have from 2,500 to 5,000
swarms of bees. In California the bees
are farmed out, that is, apiaries of 100
swarms or so are placed in the grounds
o: farmers, generally from three to four
miles apart. The farmers receive a fixed
rent or a share of the honey for their
compensation, as may be agreed upon. On
an average, one acre of ground is esti
mated to support twenty-five swarms of
bees, and the yield of a swarm is generally
about 50 pounds of honey a year.
Manure from the yard or stable, says
Professor Johnson, rarely contains such
an amount of volatile fertilizing matter
as should deter from spreading it broad
cast on the surface when most convenient.
Unless manure is very rich, as from grain
fed animals, and is in an active state of
fermentation, hot and smoking, and ex
hales a distinct smell of hartshorn, there
can be no loss from exposure, and in any
case the lose will be less by spreading
over thinly than by dropping in small
heaps, because spreading means cooling
and loss of fermentation. But manure,
when properly handled, need not suffer
any waste from evaporation. A moderate
and regulated heating ot fresh manure
results in the formation of humic acid,
which secures the ammonia from loss bv
evaporation. This moderate heating it
should have before hauling out, or in cold
weather, before it heats at all.
The American Agriculturist says of the
cowpea: “This pea, which is a great bles
sing to Southern agriculture, presents a
large number of varieties. A few days
ago we, through the aid of some friends
in Georgia, made a collection of all the
different kinds we could procure. We
received peas under nearly forty different
names, but found that only about twenty
of these were really distinct, so far as we
could judge by the appearance of the
seeds. A share of the varieties are culti
vated in the Southern States tor the sake
of the seed, but the majority are regarded
as forage plants. We notice that some
New York seedsmen offer the seeds of
‘Whirlpool* and others which are esteemed
in the Southern States as forage plants.
We know no plant more worthy of a care
ful test by those who practice ensilage
than the ‘Southern cowpea.’ Like other
beans—tor it is much nearer a bean than
a pea—it should not be sown until the
soil is well warmed and all danger o 1 late
frosts is over.”
The Mirror and Farmer gives the follow
ing synopsis of the system of manure
saving, to which a very successful New
England farmer ascribes his success. He
keeps eleven cows and a horse, breeds of
pigs and poultry, on less than nine acres
of land. “Fowls are kept for their eggs
and meat; arc kept in confinement and
made to help pay part of their expenses in
composting and fining the horse manure:
thus they get the exercise they need and
the horse manure is improved.' The drop
pings from the roost-room are husbanded
and saved in barrels, and sold or used on
the land. The stable manure and all
waste goes into the cellar and covered
swine pens, where it is well worked by
the pigs. Absorbents are used wherever
needed, and thus all liquids are saved.
The pigs are made great helpers in the
manufacture and manipulation of manure.
The cows kept are selected s< lely for their
milking qualities. The owner believes in
good feed and grain is purchased and lib
erally fed. Tue cows get generous rations
of hay, grain and roots, are kept in fine
condition and yield large quantities of
milk. If a cow does not come up to the
standard at the pail, she is fatted, sold to
the butcher and replaced by another pur
chase. The cows are not forced to their
utmost limit, but are so fed that they will
do well at the pail for a term of years.
Grass and roots are the principal crops
grown.”
‘‘Served the Dentist Right.”
The boys said that it served old Doctor
Toothstuffer right, when he had the tooth
ache so badly that he couldn’t sleep at
night. He had inflicted so much pain on
other people, in pulling and mending their
teeth, that they thought it would be good
for him to suffer a little himself. The
leading dentist ot Portsmouth, N. H.,
j knows what pain is and has relieved him
self from the twinges of neuralgia by the
use of Perry Davis’ Pain Killer. He re
gards it without a rival.
BITS OF SCIENCE.
The extra cost of steel nails has been
reduced to 1 cent per pound. They are
coming more and more, into use, and can
be driven into the hardest woods as easily
as ordinary nails.
Magnifying glasses are traced back to
the days of Confucius, 478 B. C. He says:
“As we use a glass to examine the forms
of things, so we must study antiquity to
understand the present.”
In putting on anew belt or taking up
an old one great care should be taken to
have the ends perlectly square, and the
lace or hook holes exactly opposite to
each other. Many fail in these respects,
and in consequence have crooked belts.
A single plate of perforated zinc about
a foot square, suspended over a gas jet, is
said to retain the noxious emanations
from burning gas, which, it is well
known, destroys the binding of books,
tarnishes the gilding and vitiates the at
mosphere for breathing.
Some persons walking by the shore of
Loch Etine, in Scotland, found that they
cast a double shado v. Upon examina
tion they ascertained that one was pro
duced by the direct, and the other by the
reflected rays of the sun; the latter com
ing from the surface of the lake.
A common trouble in country black
smith shops is the going out of the fire
while the smith is doiug work away from
it. This annoyance can be prevented by
keeping at hand a box containing saw
dust. When the tire seems to be out
throw a handful of sawdust on the coals,
and a good blaze will quickly follow.
This may seem a small matter, but there
are many who will find the suggestion a
useful one.
The Pharmaceutical Journal says that
in Canada honey is extracted from the
comb by a centrifugal machine and the
comb replaced; the bees, when in good
condition, will fill it again in four days.
After two seasons use the comb is melted
into “foundation comb,” upon which the
bees quickly put the finishing touches.
Canadian wax is practically out of the
market; the supply is principally obtain
ed from Africa.
An officer ot the British army has pat
ented a waterproof match, specimens of
which have ignited readily after having
been wrapped in a damp rag for twenty
four hours. This is accomplished by coat
ing the phosphorized eud of the match
with solid paraffine, which, while it pro
tects from slow oxidation, being imper
fectly impervious to water, does not in the
slightest degree interfere with the ready
inflamability of the match.
In a lecture at the Lowell Institute,
Boston, Professor Wood gave some very
interesting details regarding the pheno
mena of spider life. The female is much
larger and fiercer than the male, w ho.
whilst paying addresses, is constantly in
a state of danger. Three different kinds
of thread are spun by spiders for their
webs. A scientific experimenter drew’
3,480 yards of thread or spider silk from
the body of a single spider. Silk may be
woven of a spider’s thread which is more
glossy and brilliant than that of a silk
worm.
Among the recent communications to
the Anthropological Society of Paris, says
the Athenaeum, is a paper by M. Manou
vrier on the criminal type "as developed
by the study of the skulls of assassins, in
continuation of a discussion to which
French anthropologists have recently
been devoting much attention. He finds
a small forehead and a heavy jaw general
characteristics of this type. "He tests first
not only by direct measurement of the
frontal cerebral curve, which* gives 101
millimetres for assassins as against 111
for Parisians as a rule, but also by sum
ming up the several auricular angles,
which gives a like result. The degree of
heaviness of the jaw in assassins and in
Parisians is represented by 15 to 13.
It is well known that many fish soon
perish when transferred from their native
salt water to fresh, and that fish that had
lived in fresh water die when placed in
contact with the sea, as, for instance,
when the locks of a fresh water canal are
opened to an estuary. The cause of death
in both cases has been sought, and, it is
thought, discovered, by M. Paul Bert.
Salt water fishes perish in fresh water on
account of the absence of chloride of so
dium, and fresh water fishes die in salt
water owing to the presence of chloride
of sodium. Neither the salts of soda nor
of magnesia added to fresh water formed
a substitute for the chloride of sodium.
Glycerine, sugar and similar substances
added to fresh water to give it the con
sistency of the water of the sea did not
have the desired effect; the marine fauna
died in the mixture.
HOUSEHOLD HINTS.
Baking soda is one of the best known
remedies for burns and scalds. It should
be immediately applied either wet or dry.
It almost instantly relieves the burning
sensation and helps to heal.
Deviled ham adds piquancy to the
hearty dinner. The ham must be cut in
very thin slices, and may be fried, or
boiled, or baked. It is sent to the table
with a salad-dressing poured over it.
An economical and really delicious
way to flavor a cake which is to have
icing on the top is to grate part of the
peel of an orange or lemon over the cake
before putting the icing on.
One way to prepare onion flavoring for
a vegetable soup is to take a large onion,
remove the outer skin, then stick cloves
into the onion and bake it until it is nicely
browned. The peculiar flavor thus gained
is relished by the epicure.
Rich Jumbles.—Rub to a cream a
pound of butter and a pound of sugar,
mix with a pound and a half of flour, four
eggs and a very little brandy, roll the
cakes in powdered sugar, lay them on flat
buttered tins, and bake in a quick oven.
When you open a can of tomatoes you
may sometimes be so fortunate as to find
several slices that have kept their shape,
Reserve these when heating the others for
the table, and after letting them drain
well, fry them in butter, and thev make a
good entree, or a garnish for game or fowl.
This is a good dish: Fry one pound of
veal in hot lard, having first cut in strips
about two inches wide, and three or four
long; when nearly done add a little but
ter and half a pint of oysters chopped or
cut in small pieces; season with pepper
aud salt; serve hot with or without toast.
To Keep Lemons.— When lemons are
cheap, it is prudent to lay in a good store
of them, as they will keepwell by running
a fine string through the nib at the end
and hanging them up in a dry place,
taking care that they do not touch each
other.
A pretty dish for dessert is made bv
beating the whites of four eggs to a stiff
froth, and then add gradually a cup of
powdered sugar. Take the juice from a
can of red raspberries, strain it and color
and flavor the eggs and sugar with it.
Serve in glasses with cake or with char
lotte russe.
A good dish for breakfast is made by
chopping pieces of cold boiled or fried
ham just as fine as it is possible to chop
them; mix them with cold mashed pota
toes, an egg or two, a little butter or
cream, or both, form into balls, flour
them, melt a little butter in a frying pan
and brown the balls. Serve hot.
A GOOD way to remove dust from a car
pet is to fasten a damp cloth over the
broom; with this the dust may be literally
taken up. This w ill be found useful in
the sick room, and also in anv room where
there are many small articles to catch
dust. It brightens a carpet to wipe it off
in this way even after the usual sweeping
has been done.
Current Cookies.— One pound ot flour,
one-hall pound ot butter, three-quarters
of a pound of sugar, four eggs, one-half
pound currants well washed and dredged,
one-half teaspoonful of soda dissolved in
hot water, one-half lemon, grated rind and
juice, one teaspoonful of cinnamon. Drop
from a spoon upon a baking tin lined with
well-buttered paper, and bake quickly.
Delightful Thin Biscuits.— Beat
very light one egg; pour it over a pint of
flour, add a wineglass of milk, and chon
in one tablespoonful of lard and butter
mixed. Work thoroughly together; break
off pieces the size of marbles, which must
be rolled as thin as your nail, sprinkling
with dry flour as they are rolled, to make
them crisp; stick with a fork, and bake
quickly.
Roasted Oysters on Toast.—Eigh
teen large oysters, or thirty small ones,
one teaspoonful of flour, one table-spoon
ful of butter, salt, pepper, three slices of
toast. Have the toast buttered, and on a
hot dish. Put the butter in a small sauce
pan, and when hot add the dry flour. Stir
until smooth, but not brown; then add the
cream, and let it boil up once. Put th°
oysters (in their own liquor) into a hot
oven for three minutes; then add them to
the cream, season, and pour over the
toast. Garnish the dish with thin slices
of lemon, and serve very hot. It is nice
for lunch or tea.
Almond Sponge Cake. —Pound in a
white mortar, until very fine,one ounce of
bitter almonds; takeout and put Into a
bowl; pour over them four tablespoonfuls
of boiling water, and let them simmer
three or four minutes. To the yolks of
twelve eggs, well beaten, add slowly one
pound of sieved sugar, and beat light;
then, after wiping the almonds dry, add
them. Beat until very stiff the whites of
the eggs and add to the yolks and sugar,
alternating with the flour. Stir w T ell but
very lightly together, as beating destroys
the lightness of spongecake. Bake in tins
with upright sides, and in a moderate
oven.
£ottreo.
IW~ CAPITAL I’RIZE, 975.000.
Tickets only #5. Shares in proportion.
L.S.L.
LOUISIANA STATE LOTTERY CO.
“We do hereby certify that we supervise the
arrangements /or all the Monthly ami Semi-
Annual Drawings ef the Louisiana State Lottery
Company , and. in person manage and control
the Drawings themselves, and that the same are
conducted with honesty, fairness, and in good
faith toward all parties, and we authorise the
Company to uqe this certificate. with fac-similtt
of our signatures attached, in its advertise
ments
COMMISSIONERS.
Incorporated in 1868 for 25 years by the Leg
islature for educational and charitable pur
poses—with a capital off 1.000,000 to which a
reserve fund of over $550,000 has since been
added.
By an overwhelming popular vote its fran
chise was made a part of the present State
Constitution, adopted December 2, A. l>. 1879.
The only Lottery ever voted on and in
dorsed by the people of any State.
It never scales or postpones.
Its Grand Single Number Drawings take
place monthly.
A SPLENDID OPPORTUNITY TO WIN A
FORTUNE.—Second Grand Drawing. Class B.
AT NEW ORLEANS. TUESDAY. FEBRU
ARY 12, 1884 —165th Monthly Drawing.
CAPITAL PRIZE 975,000.
100,000 Tickets at Five Dollars Each. Frac
tions in Fifths in proportion.
LIST OF PRIZES.
1 Capital Prize $75,000
1 Capital Prize 25,000
1 Capital Prize 10,000
2 Prizes of $6,000 12.000
5 Prizes of 2,0*10 10,000
10 Prizes of 1,000 10,000
20 Prizes of 500 10,000
100 Prizes of 200 20,000
300 Prizes of 100 30,000
500 Prizes of 53 25,000
1,000 Prizes of 25 25,000
APPROXIMATION PRIZES.
9 Approximation Prizes of $750 $6,750
9 Approximation Prizes of 500 4,500
9 Approximation Prizes of 260 2,250
1,967 Prizes, amounting to $265,500
Application for rates to clubs should tie made
only to the office of the Company in New
Orleans.
For further information write clearly, giv
ing full address. Make P. O. Money Orders
pa-able and address Registered Letters to
NEW ORLEANS NATIONAL BANK,
New Orleans, La.
POSTAL NOTES and ordinary letters by
Mail or Express (all sums of $5 and upwards
by Express at our expense) to
M. A. DAUPHIN.
New Orleans, La.,
Or M. A. DAUPHIN,
607 Seventh street, Washington, D. C.,
Or JNO. B. FERNANDEZ,
Savannah. Ga.
iJaitt fullrr.
ACHING NERVES CAUSE
AGONY!
PERRY DAVIS’S PAIN KILLER
BRINGB
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And the whole noxious family of
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PerryDavis’sPainKiller
SURE!
ALL RESPECTABLE DRUGGISTS
KEEP “PAIN KILLER.”
fttagnolia galm.
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What Nature denies tomany
Art secures to all. Hagan’s
Magnolia Balm dispels every
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Freckles, Sallowness, Rough
ness, Tan, Eruptions and
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ment. The Magnolia Balm
imparts the most delicate and
natural complexional tints—
no detection being possible to
the closest observation.
Under these circumstances
a faulty Complexion is little
short of a crime. Magnolia
Balm sold everywhere. Costs
only 75 cents, with fall di
rections.
gottai x gpito.
30WP.
(BEFORE.) (AFTER.)
T? LI.CTRO-VOLTAIC BELT and other Electric
JCj Api-uances are sent on 80 Days’ Trial TO
MEN ONLY. YOUNG OR OLD. who are suffer
ing from nervous Debility, Lost Vitautt,
Wasting Weaknesses, and all those diseases of a
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restoration to Health, Vigor and Manhood
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gHenntttai.
CAUTION.
Swift’s Specific is entirely a vegetable pre
paration, and should not be confounded with
the various substitutes, imitations, nou-secret
humbugs, “Succus Alterans,” etc., etc., which
are now being manufactured by various per
sons. None of these contain a* single article
which enters into the composition of S. S. S.
There is only one Swift’s Specific and there is
nothing in the world like it. To prevent disas
ter and disappointment, be sure to get the
genuine.
Swift’s Specific is a complete antidote to
Blood Taint, Blood Poison, Malarial Poison
and Skin Humor.
J. Dickson Smith, M.D., Atlanta, Ga.
I have had remarkable success with Swift’s
Specific in the treatment of Blood and Skin
Diseases, and in Female Diseases. I took it
mvself for Carbuncles with happy effect.
D. O. C. Henry, M.D., Atlanta, Ga.
I used Swift’s Specific ou my little daugh
ter, who was alllicted with some Blood Poison
which had resisted all sorts of treatment. The
Specific relieved her permanently, and I shall
use it in my practice.
W. E. Bronte, M.D., Cypress Ridge, Ark.
Onr treatise on Blood and Skin Diseases
mailed free to applicants.
SWIFT SPECIFIC CO., I)rawer3, Atlanta,Ga
>'ew York Office, 159 West 23d street.
7