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THE 1 UESCKII'TION
They were pa; • mg at the gate—
Man and n ud—
Still he tarried, ilthough late,
Longing much . ■ hear his fate,
Yet to ask it all afraid.
‘•lf 1 only knew," said he—
“ Only knew."
“Let me give advice,” said she,
“Make a confidant of me:
1 can be of help to you."
“Ah! I know that," answered he,
With a sigh.
“Now I guess it all,” cried she;
“You’re in love, I plainly see,
And afraid to tell her—fie!"
“You’re a witch to guess so well,"
Answered he.
“I would like to have you tell
How to make a sick heart well;
Kindly now prescribe for me."
“Every heart will cure a heart,"
Low laughed she;
“You must find another heart,
Then your own will lose its smart—
Try this olden remedy.”
“Let me have your heart,” he plead.
“Nay!" sai'd she;
“I have none.” “No heart!” he said;
“Then 1 go uncomforted—
Mine a broken heart must be.”
“It is yours!" and she laughed low;
“Don’t you see?
I prescribed it long ago,
Seeing that you suffered so.
What so blind as men can be!"
“Had 1 only known before,”
Whispered he,
“What a cure you had in store!”
“You'd have suffered all the more;
Men are foolish things,” said she.
— Eo*ton Globe.
Ittorittttg llctuo SeritUo.
CH A 11 I. I E.*
A N O V EL.
BY MRS. OPHELIA NISBET P.EID.
CHAPTER VII.
Mr. Escotte Fearne believed that he
read his book constantly alter his short
talk with Charlie. His eyes saw each
word and line, but his intelligence was
busy with another study. He was vexed,
perplexed, annoyed. This beautiful
young girl, this child of seventeen years,
had been cruelly wronged. Everybody
had conspired in the evil. Her curious
household, from her elegant invalid.father
to Mann Marg’et, had wrought the evil.
But chief among the unfair and unkind
had been l-is excellent father and mother.
The reason was potent enoifgh, Charlie
was to them what she was to everybody
<lse, charming, lovable, winsome, irre
sistible, and they had weakly succumbed
to the spell. That she had a fine, gener
ous nature, that she had a strong, soulful
character, and that she had a quick and
comprehensive intelligence, he easily saw;
and, added to this, the allurements of a
beauty fresh and sweet as the earliest
powers of spring. But, with it all, she
was neglected, spoiled, undisciplined.
What a gross error! What a neglected
ami abused responsibility! He felt im
patient of the wrong, resentful of the in
jury. What a noble, unselfish, lovely
woman she might have been made! His
yes wandered to her face and figure. She
was not only pretty, but her beauty had
that rare setting and embellishment
known as grace, and, leaning on one
white hand, she had all unconsciously as
umed a pose worthy of permanence at an
artist’s hand.
For the very first time in all his student’s
life Escotte regretted that he had not a
wise and cultivated wife into whose kind
care he might beg to place this girl; that
he might by judicious care undo the evil.
It was only a passing thought. His best
effort now would be to control his father’s
partial tondness. But something surely
must be done, and, occupied with this
delicate problem, he did not notice the
lapse of time until both he and Charlie
were startled by his father's voice in the
open ball.
The tableau in the study met the ap
proval of the good doctor—his sweet
pupil quietly domesticated with Escotte
as janitor aiul mentor. He smiled with
pleasure and satisfaction.
“So! so! You two are chumming al
ready. Charlie, my darling, he is an old
ish man, a little set in his bookish ways,
but not bad, not bad, my pet. How do
you like him on short notice?”
Charlie’s saucy, ready tongue makes
answer:
“Not over well, uncle Henry. YVho is
he ?”
“Who is he? AVhy, Escotte, how is
this?”
The young man came forward, and with
graceful dignity asked a formal introduc
tion to Miss Barrett. This his father,
counting the odd affair one of his son’s
many eccentricities, gave with sufficient
empressement, and then laughing heartily
said:
“It is possible that during this long
morning Escotte has sat there stern and
silent, but I’ll wager something Charlie
has had her say. Now, hasn’t she, sir?”
“She certainly has; but, to do her jus
tice, she allowed me to reply.”
The old man looked at his favorite with
especial fondness. He knew well what
waited for her. He had just left her
father’s bedside where he had found her
future guardian, and his soul was troubled
for his child.
“Escotte,” lie said, “she is not especial
ly struck with you; but what say you to
her?” and putting his hand under her chin
he drew her pretty face into more con
spicuous notice. “Dost like this picture,
boy ?”
“Her face is passing fair. That is a
lortunate chance heritage for a woman,
but gentleness should be the immediate
jewel of her soul. Have you looked to
that, father?”
There was not a suspicion of flattery in
his tone, nor a touch of unkindness in his
manner. He spoke gently, gravely, even
>:ully, ami, whilst his father listened with
thoughtful interest, Charlie's irrepressi
ble tongue made ready answer:
“He has taught me everything good,
Mr. Escotte. That l am willful and
spoiled is not his fault. Pray! hold me
answerable for my sins and no other.”
It was not easy to lay any hard charge
at Charlie's door just now.* She was so
frank, so truthful, so generous! Escotte
felt more like compounding with many
shortcomings in combination with so
much sweetness, but it would be entirely
unlike him to yield to so indulged an im
pulse. He only said:
“Try to match the comeliness with the
gentleness, little cousin. Father, your
time is gone; 1 shall take Charlie back
home.”
• No, sir; I will keep my scholar to din
ner. Her aunt has so decreed and lam to
enforce her will and wishes.”
His sou turned a grave face toward the
girl.
“Your staying here will give us all
pleasure, Charlie; will it bring you into
trouble with the home administration?”
“Certainly,” she replied, with laughing
emphasis.
“Then you must not stay; I will take
you home, and another time we will ar
range before hand to keep you.”
“Why, 1 never thought one moment of
staying.” she exclaimed, “not one mo
ment; 1 am equal to much, to very much
in the way of reproof, but not to the lively
encounter which just this disobedience
w ill bring about. But don't go back with
me, Mr. Escotte; please don’t! It is a
l>ng walk, and 1 always spend it in a
' iomn retrospection of my mistakes; it
is very wholesome for me.”
It was evident enough she was sincere;
she did not want the gentleman's com
pany. He let the subject drop wisely
enough.
“Why don't you call me cousin?” he
asked.
"Oh! please don't be a kinsman. Pos
sibly, if l call you mister we may get
along after a manner, but to say cousin is
to open hostilities at the very outset.”
“Let it be mister, then,” he said. “We
must lie friends at any cost.”
“I can't tell about that. 1 think you
are going to take an interest in finding
fault with me like all the rest. But I’ll
try to tolerate you lor my uncle Henry’s
sake. There! I am going to kiss my
aunt, down stairs, and then I am gone.”
She touched her uncle's forehead with
her lips, and in another instant is out of
sight.
With her went the happy smile on her
uncle’s face. He looked tired and
troubled. Escotte took quick note of the
change.
“Father your visit has disturbed you. If
you are not too tired, I am anxious to
hear the results.”
The doctor sat a long minute looking
down at the carpet perplexed and anxious.
At last he said:
“If I had been as wise for Charlie’s
good as 1 have been fond of her. I should
have written and hurried you home six
mouths ago. Between us we might have
averted her troubles; now it is too late!
too late! I have neglected her interests,
my poor, little, motherless Charlie!”
'Entered according to act of Congress in the
year 1884 by J. H. EstiU, in the office of th
Librarian of Congress at Washingtcn.
“Let me know more, if you please,
sir.”
“Yes; 1 went with your mother to see
Judge Barrett to-day.* As I told you, he
is dying fast, but his brain is still un
touched. He never spoke more intelligent
ly in his life. He was particularly kind
to your mother, whom he has always liked.
I made one poor attempt to touch on re
ligious matters. He said in a polite but
peremptory manner:
“ ‘Doctor, you and I have agreed to dis
agree on such subjects; let us drop them
forever. My time is too short for argu
ment. lam glad to have you here to-day,
to meet Mr. Beltham, who. you will be
glad to know, nas kindly consented to
undertake the care of my family and es
tate. Most fortunately my 'daughter
Charlotte has the good taste to love her
stepmother. This ensures complete har
mony in my arrangements. Let me ask
that you and her aunt will still hold to
your interest in Charlie.’
“I told him that I had met Mr. Beltham j
before, and that he could certainly claim
for Charlie all that our great love could |
perform. Ail during our visit Mr. Beltham
most jealously kept his jiosition at the i
Judge’s right hand, and I could say but ;
little. By the way, the Judge who, even
in this supreme hour, will be a gentle
man, arousing himself, after a little pause,
said:
“*1 am told your son has returned. I
congratulate you; Escotte is a son worthy
even of his father.’ ”
“I’m obliged; but tell me about
this man Beltham. How does he impress
you ?”
TII9 answer came with more bitter em
phasis than Escotte had ever heard from
his father’s lips before.
“Charlie despises him.”
“Charlie is only a young girl, and may
be indulging an unreasonable prejudice.
May I ask again how he impresses you?”
“1 have met him several times at Judge 1
Barrett’s. He has been for years a con- !
stunt visitor there. He treats me with the
most marked politeness—defers to my
opinion always, and appears to really
wish my approval. He is very courteous
to his mother and adopted "sister, very
considerate and respectful to the Judge,
but he can’t quite reach my regard. 1
cannot like liim! I cannot believe in
him! lie is too smooth, too suave, too
polite, too subservient to everybody. He
looks like a man quietly plotting, quietly
scheming all the time; but nobody knows
nor will they know his affairs. I have j
asked, for instance, about his pecuniary
condition; but whether he is rich or poor no !
man can tell. There is a curious reserve j
about him which repels me, though, in |
general, l like reserved people. 1 don’t
think I am prejudiced or was when I j
first met him, but, to speak candidly, 1 '
don’t like him!”
“Does Charlie give any special reason
for her dislike?”
“No; she never will. She won’t talk
unreservedly about him; generally 'dis
misses him with some short sarcastic ex
pression of contempt; but she hates him!
One day I said: ‘Child, what makes you
so hard on uncle Albert?’ Very quickly
she replied: ‘1 have abundant reason;’
and this was said with an unmistakable
sneer on her pretty lips. I lancy they
have their tilts, and I fancy she makes no
secret of her sentiments, but how they
will agree in their new relation I do not
know, but think it will prove the greatest
mistake of the Judge’s life.”
Escotte had sat very quietly listening to
his father, but now some new anxiety
seemed to seize him. He got up aud
walked back aud forth for a long time.
Each gentleman seemed lost in his own
uncomfortable musings, but, whatever
caused the son’s disquiet, he was evident
ly resolved to say nothing about it. He
had never been a communicative person;
never sought counsel of any one. For
many years he had lived much alone—a
stranger in a strange land, with only the
sound of a foreign tongue in his ears. It
was not likely that, at this late hour, he
would share ills anxieties with his father,
or add anything to his misgivings.
So he walked on in characteristic si
lence until he had arrived at some definite
conclusion; then, quietly seating himself,
he said:
“I shall call at Judge Barrett’s this
evening to see this Mr. Beltham.”
“You mean to see for yourself, Escotte,
as usual, and trust your own judgment
and not another’s.”
“I don’t believe much in physiognomy,
father.
“ ‘There is no art
To find the mind’s construction in the face,’
but I do put some stress on what is called
manner. The bearing of one man toward
another, and the agreement or disagree
ment between one’s action and words. I
will look at this person critically and as
impartially as possible. I will do more; as
I am to continue at home, 1 will watch
his administration of affairs, and, though
I’ve no rights in the matter, I think your
pretty pet will not be friendless.”
His father looked pleased and gratified.
Suddenly turning to his son, with an
earnest and almost excited expression, he
said:
“Escotte, 1 am an old man, not only
three score but ten also. The ‘allotted
time’ with me is nearly passed, and it is
well with me, as you know, but of late
months 1 have been loath to die, half
afraid to leave my child with no human
help. She is fair and sweet, and I hoped
you’d find her so, and you didn’t; but I
have some claim on you. Escotte, for
my sake, and for the sake of justice, stand
by Charlie in her day of trouble. You
have a kinsman’s right. Don’t let her
enemies oppress her wheu I am gone!”
With perfect reposeful self-possession,
and yet, with telling emphasis, he was
answered:
“Charlie is a woman, aud Charlie is
my cousin. It will go hard with me if evil
touches her.”
There seemed always a reserve ol great
strength about Escotte, as if having given
what was needed at the moment, certain
resources lay in keeping for a more
stringent emergency. Ilfs “yea” and
“nay” given so quietly seemed far more
effective and effectual than the more pro
nounced utterances of other men. His
word was his bond. An hour of lengthy
assertions would not have added one
whit to the force or fullness of his intent.
His father knew him well; had seen the
growth of his strong and sufficient char
acter with his increasing years, and he
rested fully aud enjoyingly in its well-pro- i
portioned capabilities.
If the son’s distinct personality some- j
times imposed itself as a sort of barrier j
to the close intimacy of other men, the j
father only prized the more the rare
knowledge lie enjoyed of living the
other side, as it were, of his isolation.”
It would be hardly fair to confound a
reserve, even as stern in its manifestations
as Mr. Escotte Fearne’s, with the selfish
egoism which takes neither care nor note
of the condition of his fellow-men. It
was far from self-centered, and as far from
selfish. There was no gentler charity, no
more far-reaching philanthropy in the ten
der-hearted pastor of a great and loving
congregation than in the soul of his wan
dering son, whose friendships he could
count on his fingers, and whose loves
were limited almost to his own fireside.
But his life had been passed in reflection.
His companions had l>een books—a com
bination not altogether wholesome, un
less tempered by a deep and sympathetic
humanity; but the problems wrought out
there hail neither chilled his heart nor
limited the bounty of his hands. His life
had been thoughtful and busy, but it
had rather lacked embellishments. In
i truth, at this time, though he was careful
to confess it to no one, he was just a lit
tle weary—of what? he had not decided,
and, obeying the urgent request of his
aged mother, he had come home to rest.
Verily, his idea of rest represented far
more work than another man’s; but,
such as it was, he had come to find it.
And, contrary to his expectations, he was
glad he had come. He fancied he had
grown old enough to pause a while and
look back as old men are w ont to do, and
ask of the receding years w hat they had
done for him. In truth, he was far too
! young for retrospection of this sort. lie
had worked hard and thought much, and
life had already filled up with experi
! ences which he supposed had come with
j years. Now he was resting a little while,
he said, and he had naturally found time
to ask himself some questions. Had the
i pursuit of science been as satistiying as
j it seemed alluring at theoutset? Had all
the ends he had aimed at been reached
with the reward of satisfaction ? He had
wearied of foreign countries, of a foreign
language. He thought the supreme wish
! of his heart was to rest at his mother’s
fireside, and not feel moved to search the
j great world in pursuit even of truth.
And so he had returned. He did not
consider that the years which had fallen
so soberingly on his own head had
touched his quiet parents at all. Their
lives were too quiet, too even, to feel the
jar and fret of the revolving months. He
had expected to find them serenely rest
ing just where he had left them. And so
they seemed, to his eyes, the night of his
arrival. But they wore then the sudden
flush of gratification and happiness. As
this wore off he was concerned to find
them much changed, much broken. They
were going down the rapid slope of life
which represents the other side of work,
the decline of endeavor. They had grown,
during his last absence, to speak quite as
THE SAVANNAH MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 10, 1884.
familiarly of the hereafter as of the here,
and he saw that their minds quietly ac
quiesced in the natural and the inevitable.
They were going fast toward life and
light, aud they were ready, even some
times eager, he fancied.
Well! when they were gone, the tender
est human tie, almost the only one he
knew, would be broken, and he should be
left desolate, lie felt this desolation
creep over him as he thought of these
things, but he had been always a grave
manj and nobody took note of his mood3.
Charlie had come this morning just
across one of his lonely hours. He was
glad to find her, glad to find that anew
duty would grow out of her condition for
his empty hands. But: he was not
charmed bv her youthful sweetness as a
very young man might have been. He
felt it.*and enjoyed it to a certain extent,
but she irritated him, she vexed him.
There were great possibilities for her and
she would never reach them. She was
constitutionally careless and systemati
cally spoiled.* Life’s great purposes
seemed trifling matters to her, and she
laughed at all serious questions.
Jlr. Fearne was a wise man, but he had
not, at a glance, fathomed Charlie Bar
rett. On the surface of her undisciplined
girlhood, he saw some thoughtless tokens,
and by these he took her moral and intel
lectual measure. He had no prophetic
ken to reach her mature years and tell
what they might represent. Let no man
dare to map out from present signs the
possibilities of a girl’s life when he takes
her horoscope at seventeen. Let him
rather acknowledge his inefficiency, and
wait silently until nature develops her
pretty handicraft and the bent of circum
stance decides the manner of growth.
Possibly men can never know women
thoroughly. They are either too indifferent
to study her complex nature; or too par
tial and too well satisfied to fathom any
greater depths than her gentleness and
sweetness suggest.
YVhile Escotte had been very busy with
scientific matters women had been over
looked. They represented “specimens”
which had failed to come under his
especial investigation, and he had coolly
set them aside to await “a more con
venient season.”
That Charlie Barrett, with all her con
tradictions and vagaries, should be his
first study seemed a whimsical chance.
But she had crossed his path, childish,
spoiled, womanly, dependent, self-assert
ing, capricious, bewildering, self-willed
and beautiful! She was to become a per
plexity and a trial to him, he believed;
hut he was interested to find her out, and
determined to set himself to the work;
not so especially just yet from choice,
but, as he had said, because “she is a wo
man and a kinswoman,” etc., etc., etc.
Now a vague kind of trouble seemed to
threaten her. He could not tell where
the danger lay, nor even feel certain that
it would come. Still his father feared it,
and he had promised to look about him '
and see if it would show itself in response j
to his fears as it had done to his father’s, j
It seems desirable first to know those !
multitudious friends of whom Charlie had |
spoken so pertly and so pathetically.
Judge Barrett had always extended to !
him, on his rare visits home, the mosteor- I
dial and constant hospitality. It seemed*
nothing more than a proper courtesy to
call on his guest, and early on the morn
ing following Charlie’s visit to his father’s
“study,” Escotte made his way to Judge
Barrett’s residence.
The morning was singularly beautiful,
even here where a gorgeous sunset is
succeeded by a sunrise of equal splendor
and promise each twenty-four hours,
sometimes for weeks without the variety
of one day of mists and shadows.
Mr. Fearne had had many experiences
of climate, and by contrast had come to
consider his native State as affording the
best, as represented not alone by effects
for the eye, but lor a combination of cer
tain beauty with the best health-giving
influences. This day he saw on all sides
the comfirmation of his favorite theory—a
perfectly clear atmosphere, into which
was effused a breeze just cool enough to
temper the effect of the direct, near
touching rays of the sun. A little later a
solid heat would weary those who were
compelled to be outside of shelter; but
within doors and under broad trees this
would even at noon prove a “perfect
day.” He walked slowlv and enjoyingly.
The brief glance he had taken of Judge
Barrett’s home when he gave Charlie into
Harm Marg’et’s hands had told him noth
ing of its improvement and beauty. Now
he took in each fair detail, and wondered
at the skill and taste which, of a few city
acres, could so aptly have utilized every
natural advantage, and with the aid ot
art had wrought a thing of so much har
mony and beauty. But, slow as was his
progress, the house was reached all too
soon, and there was nothing left but to
make his visit.
There was a curious air of exceeding
stillness about the place. The hall door
was wide open, and the long windows of
the sitting-room were partly unclosed. He
could see that the room was empty, and
could easily detect the fragrance of a dish
of summer flowers on the table. Know
ing this to be a bouse of sickness and
threatening death, he felt reluctant to
startle the echoes by a sudden peal of the
bell. As he deliberated a moment on
this point, a door in the hall opened very
gently, and a young man, walking on tip
toe, stepped carefully out. He knew at
once that this must be the person he most
desired to see, and Mr. Beltham was as
easily certain of his guest. Advancing
with his pleasantest, because it was his
least conscious smile, he said, extending
his baud most cordially:
“I am sure you are Mr. Fearne, sir;
vour resemblance to your excellent
lather makes an introduction entirely un
necessary. Do walk in, and, as I cannot
boast of any resemblance which will
guarantee jny easy acceptance, 1 must
stand by a more formal means of intro
duction*. lam Albert Beltham.”
“I readily concluded as much, Mr.
Beltham. I am my father’s son, and I
have called here this morning especially
to see you.”
“You might have met me on my way to
your house to forestall this pleasure as I
had purposed doing, but Judge Barrett’s
condition seemed to render my stay here
imperative. Permit me to give you this
chair by the window. It is the most com
fortable, aud insures something interest
ing outside, in any event.”
Mr. Fearne took the proffered seat. This
young man seemed cordial, kindly and
graceful. His manner was more than po
lite. It was conciliating and deferential.
His voice was low as suiting the present
need for quiet in the house, and yet dis
tinct and pleasant. For once Mr. Beltham
did not pose for effect. He was shrewd
enough to see that such arts were useless
toward this grave and observant geutle
man, who, he easily divined, had come to
interview him. Dropping all self-con
sciousness and vanity, ho set himself to
please this stranger whom his mother had
marked as a person to be conciliated, and
not knowing just what he feared or ex
pected, he made no effort to conceal the
fact that he coveted the good will of his
visitor. One thing Mr. Fearne remarked
about Charlie’s guardian: He never
once met the clear penetrating gaze of
his watchful eyes; but this did not mean
to him quite what it usually does to less
accurate observers. In his constant com
merce with life be had met more than one
villain who looked into his eyes with the
trustful frankness of a little guileless
child, still the interest and intelligence of
a full and free meeting of the eyes is, to
put it at it# least value, a comfortable
and graceful adjunct to conversation.
Mr. Beltham seemed to deprecate any de
sire not to meet his visitor’s glance, and
even sometimes ventured on a quick and
telling look, but it was soon over, and,
whilst his words evinced all possible gra
ciousness and kindness, his truant look
wandered sometimes to the pictures on
the walls, anil sometimes to the brilliance
outside, but oftenest to his immaculate
hands, which he looked at critically, and
in a sort approvingly even in this pres
ence.
CHAPTER VIII.
“You spoke of Judge Barrett’s condi
tion; I am aware that he is desperately
ill. Is he in particular danger this morn
ing?” Mr. Fearne asked, as they made
themselves comfortable in the cool*sitting
room.
“Yes; he is in particular danger. He
is, at this moment, in the most burning
fever I have ever seen ; when it goes oil'he
will die. I suppose, it is safe to say he
will not live to see another sun rise.”
“He has been a valuable man to the
community and to the country. I regret
ted extremely to hear, whilst I was
abroad, of his failing health. Is he still
conscious?”
“He was until about two hours ago;
now, he knows no one and will not again,
his physicians say.”
“l will not detain you, Mr. Beltham;
you may be wanted in the sick room.”
“No,” interrupted Mr. Beltham; “I
shall not be wanted there. He is sur
rounded with efficient help—two gentle
men, friends and neighbors, and your good
father are with him, besides my mother
and my sister, both of whom are the very
best of nurses. There is nothing to be
done but to wait the painful and inevita
ble end. It is a sad sight, but the Judge
has been of late such a sufferer, that I
think he would gladly be released even by
death.”
“In the event of his death, my father
tells me, he has appointed you guardian
of his daughter aud executor of his will,
etc., etc.”
“Yes. Knowing my devotion to my sis
ter, his wife, and, I think, believing his
young daughter very dependent on my
mother's care, he concluded that at least
he would, by so doing, secure devotion to
their interest. I am complimented that
Judge Barrett should have considered me
worthy ol such a trust.”
“No doubt he has done wisely. I am
very much a stranger, I find, even in my
own family. Of course, I have known al
ways that niy father was a kinsman of
Judge Barrett’s first wife, Charlotte’s
mother, but the fact might have ceased to
impress me, as Mrs. Barrett has been so
long dead, if I Bad not found, on my re
turn home, my parents perfectly wrapped
up in her little daughter. It is the very
partial tenderness of two aged people for
a bright young girl. I think they covet the
exclusive care of her themselves, but the
Judge wisely reminded my father that he
was too old lor just such responsibility. I
came to-day to say to you, sir, at’ my
father’s earnest request, strengthened by
my own sincere wish, that I am ready to
aid you in their interest in any way; and
to say also that you can always count on
our earnest co-operatiou in any plans you
may make for the comfort and happiness
of Judge Barrett’s larnily. We feel no
ordinary interest in Charlie, and I am
sure there is nothing more dear to my
mother’s heart than her happiness.”
“I am truly glad to know that 1 shall
have the valuable co-operation ot your
family. I was only waiting until I was
really vested with authority to call and
solicit as much at your bauds.” After a
short fiesitation, he continued: “I trust
you are not making one of your usual
living visits to this country?”
’The answer came a little startling: in
deed it was so entirely unlooked for that
Mr. Beltham, thrown off his guard, showed
his equal astonishment and regret, which
was not lost on his watchful visitor.
“I have given up wandering: I shall live
here always now.”
“That is* certainly a pleasant conclu
sion. 1 trust you will find scientific
studies of some sort on this side of civili
zation,” was answered lightly.
“I’ve no possible doubt of that. What
lovely weather we have here 1 It has been
so long since I’ve spent the fall months at
home, I find I had half forgotten their
matchless beautv.”
The talk drifted easily away from im
portant matters, and in twenty minutes
more Mr. Fearne took his leave, ceremo
niously attended to the door and gate by
his polite host. The mental entry set
down in his note book by Mr. Fearne, as
he walked back home in the noonday
heat, was somewhat to this effect: “This
Beltham is not a fool, and perhaps not a
knave; but he will require watching, and
he will have it!”
This judgment sounds succinct, even
sententious, and yet it was by no means
a final one. Mr. Fearne had started out
on this visit with no little confidence in
his own acuteness of observation and ex
perienced knowledge of men. He did not
doubt that one interview would test con
clusively this man’s calibre. He had,
more than once, formulated a theory as to
men and things'in a very few minutes,
which long acquaintanceship and close
study had verified with curious accuracy;
but this morning he had seemed to reach
his conclusions more slowly and with less
certain conviction. Looking at Albert
Beltham —closely, critically—he had failed
to fathom him. He was courteous, good
looking, easy aud seemingly frank. This
he knew any man might bo, and still lack
every essential of probity and character.
But, with all his pleasant bearing, there
was a something about him that did not
prove the genuine ring of the true metal.
What it was, or how it made itself felt,
Escotte could not determine. He found
himself disposed to fall back on Charlie’s
ultimatum as his father had done.
“Charlie hates him!” had been the de
cree of the fireside court at home. But he
threw off this suggestion with scorn.
“Shall I, who have not allowed wise men
to form my opinions, be moved by the
perhaps groundless and unreasonable
caprice of a spoiled child ? It is enough
that a man, so just and so good as my
father, has let his tenderness warp his bet
ter judgment. 1 must know for myself,
and I will know.”
Suddenly he remembered that he might
have brought the young girl more promi
nently into the conversation, and in this
way have found just how her guardian re
garded her. It was too late now, aud,
quietly concluding to see Mr. Beltham
further before committing himself to any
opinion, he lound he had reached his
father’s door.
Mr. Beltham, having seen lus guest to
the gate and bade him “good morning,”
turned back with the ostenaiblo purpose
of returning to the house. And he riirl
walk back for twenty paces until he
reached the shelter of* a huge magnolia
tree. Here he deliberately ensconced
himself and looked out after the receding
form of Mr. Fearne, just exactly as most
women similarly circumstanced would
have done. He had been wanting all the
morning a good, full look at the gentle
man, but had systematically denied him
self until now. His conclusions were ar
rived at more readily, aud treated more
lightly than his visitor's.
“Ha! ha! and so this is the scientist
just arrived, covered with the dust of old
books, and wise in all manner of useless
things; enthusiastic over the antenna; of
some new-found bug or insect, and ig
norant of the politics of his own country.
I’ll wager our uncle Henry, too old to throw
down the gauntlet to me, has set on this
visionary son to thwart my purposes. It
is a diverting conclusion; an amusing
role! It lam not more than a match for
the learned prig, I will throw up the
cards. For the rest, he is remarkably
handsome—enviably handsome! aud such
a voice! If I had it—well! I should man
age men and subjugate women ad libitum.
Aud then he is such a figure! a sort ol
athlete; don’t look like a student at all
dresses well too—and has—yes, he has quite
a manner with it all. That grows out of
his independent pecuniary condition. I
should have just such, too, under equal
circumstances. But, Mr. Fearne, hand
some, rich, well-dressed as you are, you
have not studied in the same school as
has Albert Beltham, and you will do well
to leave him alone!”
Laughing a little to himself, he walks
quieklv back to the house with his hands
in his* pockets almost whistling, when,
suddenly recollecting himself, he assumed
his gravest, most responsible air, and
walked very gently toward the sick
chamber. In here, after an absence of
less than an hour, he finds a great change.
The violence of the fever has abated. The
pulse, from its rapid, surging bound, has
quieted to a thready throb, slow, distinct
and feeble. The patient lies prostrate, in
sensible, effortless in the clutch of death.
On his cooling forehead arc already form
ing drops of moisture. He will speak
never more, and the end is very close! The
supreme hour and the inevitable is even
now being pointed with the certain finger
of the clock. The curtain, dim, dark,
heavy, is lowering—lowering—lowering!
A few more feeble struggles and Judge
Barrett will be—testing the truth or
fallacy of his cherished theories; but be
will be also in the bands ot his Maker,
“YYTio knoweth our frame, YVho remem
bereth that we are dust.”
On his left side sits his wife holding his
hand with her head bowed on it. She has
been faithful and she is good, but she is
not strong enough to watch to the end.
On a sofa, a little apart, sits Mrs. Bel
| tham, holding Charlie’s hand tight in both
I of her own. The girl sits erect and mo
tionless, with her large, brilliant eyes
fixed on her father’s face. She looks pain
fully spell-bound and fascinated. This is
her first look at death, and her soul feels
frozen within her. Every vestige of
color ha# left her face, and her free hand
which lies on her lap is trembling and
cold. She cannot tell what strange emo
tion so stirs her whole being. Is it a great
regret for her own loss? Is it a profound
sympathy for Annie, whose low sob falls
so painfully on the silence? or is it only a
great and unutterable fear? She does not
know; she does not care to know, but,
striving wildly not to do it, she keeps
counting the even ticks of the clock;
keeps counting, though she feels like shut
ting her ears and turning her eyes away.
She is only vividly conscious of watching
and waiting for that last breath; and the
horror of it all is terrible!
At the foot of the bed sit two gentlemen
gazing on the “passing” of an old friend.
At the right hand of the bed kneels Dr.
Fearne. His white head is buried in his
hands. He has prayed once aloud with
earnest entreaty for his friend, and, still
kneeling, he communes with his God. Al
bert Beltham walks to the bedside, aud,
as tenderly as if be were hand
ling his own father, lifts the dying man a
very little on his pillow. He breathes
somewhat better, but his fixed eyes turn
neither to the right nor the left. Seating
himself on the foot of the bed, as the
nearest and most privileged nurse, the
young man watches gravely and sadly the
! slow breathing of the patient.
At this moment the clock strikes “one,”
l and every heart in the room feels the
j shock of its clear, vibrating voice. Then
all is still again! and the time marches
: on. The clock outruns the feeble human
I pulse and beats twice to its once—then
1 thrice; then they can be no longer count
ed together, for the noise of the one has
i completely drowned the feeble throb of the
! other, and on the dead stillness once
j more is heard—unnaturally loud it
sounds—the two strokes which tell of an
] other long hour gone.
Annie, with her face still hidden, shud
| ders and sobs, and again all is still; aye,
very still, tor Albert Beltham, leaning
j close over the prostrate face, says very
gently but very distinctly:
“Annie, he is gone!”
She raises a face which shows a ch ild
like, helpless fear, and, with one loud cry
of sorrow, lays her head close bv her
dead husband’s. The gentlemen all draw
around the bedside, and Charlie takes
one more look at her father, sees Mr.
Beltham closing his eyes and falls pros
trate on the floor. Dr. Fearne tries to
lift her up, but he is too feeble, and Mrs.
Beltham, with the help of one of the gen
tlemen, carries her to her room. Boor
Charlie! Many fears and many anxieties
had met in that dreadful scene, and,
worn with excitement and horror, she
had fainted. The tension had been severe,
and, when the end came, the strength to
meet it had gone.
Mrs. Beltham was very kind to the
orphaned girl, and when she had recov
ered did all she could to comfort her, and
at last when she was needed down
stairs, left her young charge quietly sleep
ing.
[to be oontinued.l
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.
Checking vs. Drilling Cotton, Etc.
YVhile it is not a part of my business to
grow cotton at this time, yet in past years
I have grown enough of it to know that
the plan of checking is by far the most
economical. The crop can not only be
cultivated with less labor but the product
is also greatly increased generally. I
have advocated the plan time and again
in the Southern Farmers’ Monthly, the
Home and Farm, and Southern Cultivator ,
and in the latter paper for August, 187!),
I suggested an implement for manuring
and plowing out the crop simultaneously.
This implement I hope yet to see manu
factured and adopted on those cotton
farms where intensive principles are ap
preciated. Nearly all the large yields of
cotton, from YVarthen’s 5 bales down,
have been made by thechecking plan,and
the only complaint 1 have heard from
farmers who have acted on my sugges
tions was the difficulty of securing a per
fect stand when the seed were dropped in
checks, but in nearly every case where a
poor stand was complained of it was ad
mitted that the product was as much or
more than the usual di illimr would have
given. There need be no difficulty in se
curing a perfect stand if enough seed are
dropped in the check. Failure to get a
good stand resulted generally lrom one
trying to get it by using only four or five
seed to the check. Unless the land is very
finely prepared and quite free from cut
worms this small number of seed to the
check will not insure a perfect stand. It
is safer to use fifteen or twenty seed,
scattering them as much as possible m the
check. It all of the seed come up a good
plowman can cut out a good many of
them at the first working with the har
row. The first cultivating should be done
with a harrow —a one-horse 10-tooth har
row—and the right kind of tooth may be
made to cut all but three or four of the
young plants. The hoes following a week
or so alter can complete the thinning, and
generally there need be no further resort
to the hoe when the cotton is checked. It
is not well to thin down too closely (to
one or two plants) while the plants are
tender and susceptible to the cut-worm.
Three or four plants ought to be allowed
to remain until they get too tough for the
worm; then they should be thinned to one
or two. At a distance of 3x3 feet, if the
land is rich and manured, one is all that
ought to be allowed to remain—all the
best yields have been made with one. On
medium land sometimes two may be bet
tei than one. If the land has been well
prepared at planting time the harrow is
just the very implement to start the young
cotton off to growing—harrow one way
and then the other. If the soil is inclined
to run together when the cotton is about
18 inches high, the middles may be broken
out advantageously with a double-shovel —
two furrows to the middle, first one way
and then the other; then return to the
harrow or 28-inoh sweep for further culti
vating—one time going to the middle.
There need be no difficulty in getting a stand
of checked cotton if any care is used , and
farmers should not be deterred from adopt
ing the plan on that score. S. A. C.
Planting Irish Potatoes.
The past few days, in having some
home-saved Irish potatoes prepared for
planting, I notice that in average it re
quired 235 of them to fill a peck measure
level full. They ranged in size from a
hickory nut to that of a walnut with the
hull on. Nearly all allowed of being cut
into two pieces, many of them three.
Each peck afforded 550 cuts or 2,200 to the
bushel. At a distance of 3 feet by 18
inches, 5 bushels of such will suffice for
an acre. At 3 feet by 12 inches it would
require nearly 7 bushels. If planted
whole at the first distance it would have
required 10 bushels and at the latter 16
bushels. YVhen planted very early it is
safer to have the cuts a little larger than
one eye, but ordinarily the cuts should
not have but one eye if a crop of large po
tatoes is sought after. S. A, C.
Minor Matters.
One of the greatest impositions prac
ticed upon the farmers of the South un
doubtedly was when they were induced
to give $2 a pound for a variety of sor
ghum to which the name “Millo Maize”
had been arbitrarily applied. YY r hile this
dhurra or branching sorghum is a plant
of some value, it is nothing like what has
been claimed for it by some persons who
have sold the seed of it. Asa forage
plant it is surpassed by several others,
and there are others that are superior to
it as a grain producer. The editor of the
Mobile Register , Dr. YY. B. Jones, and
many others share the opinion above ex
pressed.
J. J. Fountain, Irwinton, Ga., writes
asking for the address of breeders of Leg
horn and LaFleche fowls.
YY. R. Collins, Hawkinsville, Ga., would
like to correspond with breeders of bronze
turkeys and Leghorn fowls.
From other inquiries in relerence to
poultry I should judge that local poultry
breeders would do well to advertise their
stock in these columns. S. A. C.
Midway, near Milledgeville, Ga., Feb. 4.
P. S.—Correspondents requiring an an
swer by mail will please enclose stamp
for the purpose.
Fertilizers.
As the spring opens farmers will begin
to get ready for corn and, as many of
them make use of artificial fertilizers, as
well as barnyard manure, it would be well
il they made themselves familiar with the
composition of such as they procure,
which, though not an easy matter without
the aid of a chemist, is still possible to a
certain extent. All bags are now labeled
with the ingredients of the fertilizers; and
if the user knows nothing of them the in
formation is valueless, but to one who has
a knowledge of the different substances
used by manufacturers the value of such
knowledge is great, as it enables the
farmer to calculate the cost of the fer
tilizer, not only to himself but to the
manufacturer also. Of the many sub
stances used the most important is nitro
gen; but nitrogen cannot be procured and
used in a free state. It is very costly and
yet one of the most plentiful of all* sub
stances. As it is always used in combi
nation it must be purchased in the shape
of ammonia or as a nitrate. Ammonia,
which is three parts hydtogen and one
part nitrogen, is itself also sold in a 6tate
of combination, as it is a gas when libe
x-ated, although easily absorbed by water.
The sulphate of ammonia, which is sul
phuric acid and ammonia combined, is
richer in ammonia than any other nitro
genous compound; and as it is ol no ad
vantage to use it for agricultural purposes
in a purified condition, that which is
mixed with other fertilizers is known as
the crude sulphate and contains about 25
per. cent, of ammonia. Guano also con
tains ammonia in quantities varying from
Bto 12 per cent., according to quality.
Nitrate of soda docs not contain ammo
nia, but the nitrogen is first united to a
large amount of oxygen, with one part of
hydrogen, forming nitric acid, which,
when combined with soda, produces ni
trate of soda, the estimate of value being
not only for the proportion of nitrogen,
but for the soda as an element of plant
food also. Blood, bones, leather, wool,
decaying flesh and many other substances
also contain nitrogen to a certain extent,
and are sold in the bags according to the
percentage of available fertilizing mate
rial thev "contain.
Potash is also a specialty in the fertil
izers and con’es in the shape of the sul
phate or chloride, the first being potash
united to sulphuric acid, and the other a
combination of potash and chlorine; but
the grades are very different, the best in
use being kainit (German potash salts);
not that it is the richest of any in potash,
but because in its crude condition it con
tains magnesia, lime and other valuable
materials. Phosphates are the most pop
ular of the fertilizers, as they usually
contain a certain proportion of ammonia
as well as phosphoric acid. The phos
pliates are made by treating ground bones
with sulpuiiric acid, about 40 pounds of
acid being used to every 100 pounds of
bones. As t-ones are a combination of
phosphoric acid and lime, and cannot be
dissolved in water, the sulphuric acid is
used to take the place of the phosphoric,
the phosphate of lime being changed to
sulphate of lime (plaster), leaving the
phosphoric acid uncombined, or in a tree
condition, which renders it soluble in
water. Before applying any kind of fer
tilizer it is best to know which seems to
be the most elftctive. To apply potash on
land not deficient in that material is a
useless expenditure, and consequently the
same may be stated of nitrogen and the
phosphates. Select bags containing the
larger proportion of that which is mostly
needed, or procure the materials and mix
them on the farm. —Philadelphia Record.
Farm ami Stock Notes.
A correspondent sends to the Rural Yetc
Yorker a remedy for grape rot which, he
states, has proved effective with him for
several years. He says that whenever the
slightest indication of rot is observable
scrape every vestige of vegetation away
from the vines to the distance of four feet
in every direction and cover the space
with fresh lime, air or water slaked. He
does not put the lime closer than six inches
to the vine, and if a heavy ram follows he
repeats the dressing of the lime.
The blood is three-fourths water, and is
the vehicle for the distribution of nutri
ment and heat to all parts of the system,
as well as for carrying off the waste mat
ters taken in. When water in insufficient
quantities is furnished, all the functions
or the animal economy are interfered with.
Young animals stop grow ing, cows shrink
in milk and fattening animals cease to in
crease in weight. Water in sufficient
quantity and of good quality is quite as
important as food, and deprivation ol it
will destroy life sooner than hunger.
A correspondent of the Prairie Farmer,
in alluding to the loose method of judging
at poultry shows, states that at a county
fair last fall a farmer took the first pre
mium for Plymouth Rocks with a coop of
Dominicks. Another exhibited white
Cochins as light Brahmas, and the judges
did not notice the difference. The owners
of these "first premium” fowls will ad
vertise them as such, no doubt, and sell
eggs from them at good prices to those
who are no wiser than themselves and the
judges. Such examples occur at more
than one fair.
French shepherds find that salt dis
solved in water and sprinkled over the
rations of sheep gives them an increased
relish for their forage and contributes to
their health. A French writer states that
the proportion used is about one pound of
salt to twenty head of sheep, but he does
not say how often they are thus fed. He
also states that in very wet weather one
and a half ounces of green vitriol dissolved
in eight parts of water are given to sheep,
and that it is especially advantageous to
house-fed stock.
Salt has been greatly recommended as a
specific manure for the quince. It is un
doubtedly helpful, but it owes its good ef
fect more to its influence in keeping the
soil moist and preventing its freezing,
than to any inherent manurial properties.
There are undoubtful times when salt is
absolutely hurtful to quince trees, applied
in large quantities after deep cultivation,
which has broken, torn and bruised the
slender roots. Of the mineral manures,
potash, in the form of wood ashes, leached
or unleached, we have found most benefi
cial.
One of the most successful persons in
raising peaches is Mr. Sweeten,
of New Jersey, according to the Farm
Journal. The land is sandy, but he plants
the trees deeper than they were in the
nursery. At time of planting he places
two quarts of lime and a small quantity
of manure on the surface about each tree,
cultivates w r ell and raises truck on the
land until the trees are large. He re
moves the surface earth around the trees
lor two or three feet when manuring,
making the depth about three inches, and
after filling the manure in covers it with
earth.
The sheep is a very pliable animal in the
hands of breeders, says the Pittsburg
Stockman. Studied crossing and mating
will produce marked results in the stock
as quickly as in any other, whether the
change be for better or for worse. The
ease with which the character of the flock
can be entirely changed within a few years
should lead breeders to be extremely care
ful about the purchase of the best breed
ing stock obtainable. A mean ram can
make an impression on a flock in a single
season which it will reqire years to eradi
cate. Buy something good, even at greatly
enhanced cost.
A correspondent of the Husbandman
says that sulphur is a preventive of po
tato rot, and this is confirmed by the ex
perience of a Vermont larmer, who rolled
his cut potatoes in fine sulphur at plant
ing and dusted the plants as they ap
peared above the ground. Neither rot,
w orm nor insect touched them, though
potatoes on neighboring farms were badly
damaged. His potatoes were excellent
and the crop yielded well. There is no
doubt that sulphur will assist materially
in preventing fungus growth in other
plants as well as potatoes, and it would
be well if farmers give it a trial for such
purposes the coming season.
Mr. George Fry, F. L. S., writing to an
English journal on the subject of “fer
mentation in silos,” considers that green
food exposed to a high temperature in the
silo, say 110 degrees Fahrenheit, will fer
ment less than when the temperature is
low T er. If correct in his conclusions the
knowledge must prove valuable to all in
terested. It is only just to add, however,
that this conclusion has not been drawn
from oft-repeated tests. Implicit confi
dence, therefore, in its unfailing correct
ness is premature. It is never wise to
accept conclusions rashly in any depart
ment of farming. Nor, on the other hand,
is it good policy to ignore them until it is
proved.
The beautiful hedge of roses which has
attracted so much atteution in Texas is
grown from the Pyracanthaor McCartney
rose, and the plants are set one foot apart
in a trench eight to twelve inches deep.
If the land is thin it should be enriched
with manure. Leave about one inch of
the cutting or stem above ground. Do not
trim at all the first summer, but in the
February following cut down to one foot
in height, the next winter to two feet, and
so on, gaining one foot in height every
year until the hedge is four > ears old.
After that prune twice a year—February
and June. A hedge ol this kind should
be four feet in width at the base and be
trimmed in pyramid form.
Mr. William 11. Yeomans, in the Mary
land Farmer , in an article on sorghum
seed, says that though the leaves of sor
ghum are eaten by stock they are harsh
as compared with corn. But, unlike corn,
the grain comes from the tasseled top and
is produced in considerable quantity. It
resembles broomeoru seed and is found to
be valuable as food for all classes of ani
mals or even for man himself. He thinks
sorghum seed a good substitute lor buck
wheat, and claims that while it equals
buckwheat it does not disagree with the
constitutions of certain individuals as
does buckwheat. Mr. Yeomans is enthu
siastic in the claim that his brother farm
ers are now enabled to grow their own
material for use in place of buckwheat for
cakes and the syrup for use with them at
j the same time. Asa plant well adapted
I to a great number of purposes he consid
ers sorghum unequaled.
Vick’s Magazine says that mildew is apt
j to infest roses at all seasons where the
! soil is not well drained, and some varie
ties are more liable to it than others. The
most vigorous growers are most free from
it. There is no absolute preventive, but
the best means are good drainage, high
manuring, selection of strong varieties,
i proper pruning and dusting w ith sulphur
as soon as it appears. To this we may
j add that it usually appears more fre
-1 quently in autumn, when it does compar
i atively little harm, the wood having com
i pleted its growth and become ripe. As it
' is contagious, such varieties as are most
j liable should be discarded. In those lo
| calities where the disease is most preva
! lent, Mr. Ellwanger advises the removal
j or destruction of such sorts as belong to
, the Giant of Battles type, such as Eugene
1 Appert, Louis Chaix, Arthur de Sansal,
i Crimson Bedder, Lord Raglan and others.
Mr. O. S. Williams writes to the Ger
mantown Telegraph: “The success of
many farmers is owing in part at least to
the way they have of doing little things
1 at the proper time and in the right way.
I This being the case, I may be pardoned
for describing so small a matter as a
wagon-jack. The one I will describe is
not new or original with me, though I
never saw one made exactly like my own.
The one described below Is intended for
i buggy and light wagon; for heavy wagons
it would have to be made stronger. Make
lever of hard wood 2 feet long*, lxl}£ inch
es; standard, same length, Ix3 inches.
Connect the two thus: Cut a notch Ix3
inches in end of standard and make three
pin-holes about % of an inch apart (to
vary height ); put a staple in narrow side
of lever, inches from end; drop the
into the notch (staples on under
side) and through the holes in standard
and through the staple in lever pass a
small pin or bolt, and you have the light
est, simplest and most convenient jack I
j ever saw.”
HOUSEHOLD NOTES.
Veal Cakes.— Throe-fourth pounds of
lean veal, one-half pound suet, half the
I rind of a lemon grated, mace, pepper and
salt and a small white onion* chop the
suet and onion fine; mix well together;
make into small cakes and fry.
Rabbit on Toast.—Cut cold rabbit in
pieces and fry brown with slices of bacon
or ham and half its quantity of small
onions or mushrooms,and stew them until
tender in hot water enough to cover; put
in plenty of pepper and salt, and serve
on toast. Should be stewed slowly.
Celery Catsup.—Mix an ounce of
celery seed ground with a teaspoonful of
ground white pepper; bruise half a dozen
oysters with a teaspoonful of salt; mix
and pass the whole through a sieve. Pour
over the mixture one quart of the best
white wine vinegar. Bottle and 6eal tight.
Beef Devil.—Cut slices of cold cooked
beef about half an inch thick; trim them
to an even size, spread them with
salad oil or melted butter, mixed thick
with mustard and pepper; dip them in
cracker or bread crumbs, rolled and
sifted; put them between the bars of a
double wire gridiron, which has been but
tered or oiled, and just color them over
the fire. Serve with a little gravy under
them.
Stewed Steak.—Take a round steak,
fry it in butter just to a brown, but not
cook, then place in a stew pan; take one
onion, one carrot, and two turnips, and
pare, cutting into pieces the size of dice;
fry brown in the frying-pan; then toss
into the stewpan with water enough to
cover. Let it stew two hours, then add
salt and pepper and thickeu with flour.
Dissolve the flour in a little catsup or
sauce. This improves the flavor. Serve
with inasbed potatoes.
Balloon Fritters.— Boil in one pint
of water a dessert spoonful of fresh but
ter; pour scalding hot over a light pint of
flour, and beat until cold; add the well
beaten yelks of six eggs, and, just before
cooking, the perfectly light whites. Fill
a skillet with lard: while boiling hot drop
in the batter a tablespoonful at a time. It
only takes a few minutes to cook them.
Put them in a warm oven on a dry towel
for a short time to remove the superfluous
grease. Serve hot, and eat with w T ine and
sugar.
Tripe ala Bordelaise.—Take two
pounds ot tripe and lay it in salt and
water over night; cut in strips about as
long as the forefinger and about as w ide;
put into a stewpan one tablespoonful of
butter or clarified drippings, or, better,
two tablespoonfuls of sweet-oil, with half
a tablespoonful of chopped parsley and
half a chopped onion. When your butter
or oil is very hot put in the tripe and cook
until brown, and salt and pepper to taste.
Tripe is often found digestible and palata
ble by delicate stomachs when nothing
else can be oaten.
Veal Bewitched.—Chop very fine
three pounds of veal taken from the leg, a
quarter of a pound of pork, one cup of
bread crumbs, three teaspoonfuls of salt,
one of black pepper, a scant half tea
spoonful of cayenne and a pinch of cloves;
work in thoroughly two raw* eggs, and,
putting in a mold or kettle, 6hut tightly
and steam two hours. Remove, and put
in the oven fora short time to dry; the
oven doors must be left open. When cold
turn out, cut in thin slices and serve. A
nice meat jelly improves it, but in either
case it makes a very nice dish for lunch
or tea, and tastes like boned turkey.
Sw t eet Bread Cake.—Dissolve an
ounce of German yeast into half a pint of
tepid water, work gradually into a pound
of flour; let this rise, and then add two
ounces of clarified dissolved butter, a
quarter of a pound of sugar, a little finely
shred orange candied peel, carrawav pow
der and ground cinnamon. Let the cake
rise for half an hour, then put it into a
well-buttered tin and bake slowlv until a
golden brown (the oven should'be very
hot at first, and then be considerably
slackened, or the cake will not be a good
color). The addition of a beaten egg is
an improvement.which should be added
when the butter is mixed in.
BITS OF SCIENCE.
Australia carries off the palm in the
production of useful trees. One lurnishes
a good substitute for butter, another has
seeds from which a meal is ground which
is good for food, and another from its pods
produces a mass of fibres which, like cot
ton, can be used to stuff mattresses and
cushions.
A professor in the University of Upsala
offers to freeze any person w r ho will volun
teer, depriving them of all appearance of
vitality, and to brine them round again at
the expiration of two years without inju
ry. No one has consented to the experi
ment, and it is proposed to try it upon
some condemned criminal.
There is a good deal of testimony to
prove that birds and insects disappear
from localities about to be affected with
epidemic disease. More attention should
be paid by medical men to the collection
of meteorological information and collate
ral data during the prevalence of epi
demics. It is nearly a virgin field for sci
entists.
Professor Fischer, of Munich, has ob
tained from distilled coal a white crystal
line pow r der, which seems to possess many
of the properties of quinine, only it as
similates more readily with the stomach,
it remains to be seen whether it is as'ef
fective against malaria, and is less inju
rious in its influence upon the head and
hearing.
The first discovery of prehistoric mines
has recently been made in France. The
mines are flint ones, and are situated in
miocene strata near Mur-de-Barrez.
Several picks of stag’s antlers with other
human relics have been discovered on the
ancient floor of the excavation. Here and
there the marks of the picks of neolithic
man are still visible on the walls of the
workings.
Prof. A. Nan tier has been trying the
effect of various manures upon potatoes,
beets and maize. Superphosphate and
precipitated phosphate were most effica
cious in increasing the yield of potatoes.
Precipitated phosphate proved in every
respect more beneficial than the super
phosphate with beets. The best crops of
maize were raised from land treated with
the manure of the farmyard.
A committee was appointed by the
British Association tor the Advancement
of Science several years ago for the pur
pose of ascertaining whether meteoric
dust could he found on the earth. Such
dust, in the form of spherical particles of
iron, has since been obtained from the
snow of the Himalayas, at a height of
13,400 feet, and a distance of fourteen
miles from any human habitation.
An immense land-saurin was found last
summer in the Laramie formation of Da
kota. It w r as thirty-eight feet long, and
belongs to an extinct order of reptiles. It
has decided affinities to biids, being in
bead something like a goose. In the max
illary and splenial bones it had more than
two thousand teeth. We quote from a
reputable authority, but the account re
minds us of the Western tendency to ex
aggeration, and it is a case where scien
tific accuracy is necessary.
Fame and fortune await the discoverer
of au efficient method of so consuming
coal that none of its constituent and com
bustible particles can escape into the at
mosphere of large cities, with the two
fold result of preventing pecuniary loss
and sanitary degradation ot the air. It is
estimated by competenf experts that Lon
don alone loses every winter $25,000,000
through imperfectly burned coal, rot to
speak of the damage done to buildings
and the injury done to the public health
through the breathing of a polluted at
mosphere.
A varnish has been invented in Germa
ny for foundry patterns and machinery.
It dries, leaving a smooth surface almost
as soon asitis applied. It is thus prepared:
Thirty pounds of 6hellac, ten pounds of
Manilla copal,and ten pounds of Zanzibar
copal are placed in a vessel, which is
heated externally by steam, and stirred
during from four to six hours, after which
150 parts of the finest potato spirit are
added, and the whole heated for four hours
to 67 degrees. This liquid is dyed by the
addition ot orange color, and can then be
applied as a paint on wood. When used
for painting and glazing machinery it
consists of thirty-five pounds of shellac,
five pounds of Manilla copal and 150
pounds of spirit.
yotttricg.
CAI’ITAI. I lIIZE,
Tickets only S5. Shares in proportion.
L.S.L
LOUISIANA STATE LOTTERY CO.
“ do hereby certify that we supervise th 4
arrangements for all the Monthly and Semi
annual Drawing* ef the Louisiana State Lottery
Company, and in person manage and control
the Drawings themselces, and that the same are
corutucted with honesty, fairness, and in good
faith toward all parties, and we authorise the
Company to use this certificate, with facsimiles
of our signatures attached, in its advertise
merits.”
COMMISSIONERS.
Incorporated in 1968 for 25 years by the Leg
islature for educational ana charitable pur
poses—with a capital of sl,ooo,ooo—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. adoDtcd December 2, A. I). 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. Claes B,
AT NEW ORLEANS, TUESDAY. FEBRU
ARY 12, 1884—165th Monthly Drawing.
CAPITAL PRIZE 875,000.
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 SO,OOO 12,000
5 Prizes of 2,000 10,000
10 Prizes of 1,000 10,000
20 Prizes of 500 10,000
100 Prizes of 500 20,000
300 Prizes of 100 30,000
500 Prizes of 50 25,000
1,000 Prizes of 25 25,000
APPROXIMATION PRIZES.
9 Approximation Prizes of $750 $6,750
9 Approximation Prizesof 500 4,500
9 Approximation Prizes of 250 2,250
1,967 Prizes, amounting to $265,500
Application for rates to clubs should be 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.
Henry C°LLt(i t
i, lottery
$30,000 for $2.
/.jlI-, Regular Monthly Drawing lyill
Oil! take place in Covington Ky.,
THURSDAY, FER. 28TH, 1884.
A Lawful Lottery and Fair Drawings,
chartered by the Legislature of Kentucky and
twice declared legal by the highest Court in
the State. Bond given to Henry county in the
sum of $ 100,000 for the prompt payment of all
prizes sold.
February Scheme.
1 Prize $ 30,000
1 Prize 10,000
1 Prize ". 6,000
2 Prizes, $2,500 each 5,000
5 Prizes, 1,000 each 5,000
20 Prizes, 500 each 10,000
100 Prizes, 100 each 10,000
200 Prizes, 60 each 10,000
500 Prizes, 20 each 10,000
1,000 Prizes, 10 each 10,000
APPROXIMATION PRIZEB.
9 Prizes, S3OO each $2,700
9 Prizes, 200 each 1,800
9 Prizes, 100 each 900
1,857 Prizes $110,400
Whole Tickets, $2; Half Tickets, si; 27
Tickets, SSO; 55 Tickets. SIOO.
Remit money or Postal Note, Bank Draft in
Letter, or send by Express. ORDERS of $5
and upward by Express can be sent at our
expense. Address all orders to J. J. DOU
GLAS, Covington, Ky.
Haiti Hiller.
■ — ~ .I
ACHING NERVES CAUSE
AGONY!
PERRY DAVIS’S PAIN KILLER
BRINGS
RELIEF!
NEURALGIA
SCIATICA
TOOTHACHE
EARACHE
And the whole noxious family of
nerve diseases are cured by
PerryDamsPainKiHer!
SURE!
ALL RESPECTABLE DRUGGISTS |
KEEP “PAIN KILLER.” j
gilugmslia salm.
LOVELY
GOMPLEKiOm
POSSIBLE TO ALL.
Wliat Natnre denies to many
Art secures to all. Hagan’s
Magnolia Balm dispels every
blemish, overcomes Redness,
Freckles, Sallowness, Rough
ness, Tan, Eruptions and
Blotches, and removes all evi
dences of heat and excite
ment. The Magnolia Balm
imparts the most delicate and
natural complexional tints—
oeing possible to
the closest observation.
Under these circumstances
a faulty Complexion is little
short of a crime. Magnolia
Ralm sold everywhere. Costs
only 75 cents, with Ml di
rections.
jttfftieinal.
POTASH.
lodide of Potasium is one of the strongest
of the minerals used in medicine, and has pro
duced much suffering in the world. Taken for
a long time and in large doses, it dries up the
gastric juices, impairs digestion, the stomach
refuses food, and the patient declines in health
and weight. Persons with B!ood or Skin Dis
eases should be careful how they take, these
mineral poisons, as in most inslances the effect
of them is to almost permanently impair the
constitution. To take theplaceof these poisons
we offer you a safe, sure, prompt and perma
nent relief from your troubles. Swift’s Specific
is entirely a vegetable preparation, and it is
easy to convince you of its merit.
I have cured permanently Blood Taint in
the third generation by the use of Swift 8
| Specific, after 1 had most signally failed with
Mercury and Potash.
F. A. Toomeb, M. D., Perry, Ga.
A young man requests me to thank you for
his cure of Blood Poison oy the use of your
Specific after all other treatment had failed.
Jos. Jacobs, Druggist, Athens, Ga.
Our Treatise on Blood and Skin Diseases
.mailed free to applicants.
THE SWIFT SPECIFIC CO.,
Drawer 3, Atlanta, Ga.
N. Y. Office, 159 W. 23d St., bet. 6th A 7th Avs.
7