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‘THESE IDLE DAYS.”
I have read from the great book of na-
ture.
How the seasons unceasingly roll;
’And where the myriads of stars are im-
folded scroll.
Bv night, on the heavens’ wide
I have learned that their law is to labor,
Inaction would wreck the worlds great plan their .
That hold#! worlds upon in
*
orbits life of
And governs the frail man.
_ .
the '
There is never a night dripping in summer, air
So still but the dew
Is keen with the singing of insects
At work in some cool grassy lair;
And the day,-rising bright-eyed and rosy,
From the depths of the green Eastern
sea, trails . i down the Western • horizon,
When it distant lea.
Will be morning on some
DEATH AS THE PRICE
OF PERSONAL DISHONOR
-r—'v EATH as the penalty of dis-
| honor was the subject which
^ / cropped up in the course of
conversation among half a
dozen members of a certain club on
Fifth avenue the other evening. De¬
faulting bank cashiers was the topic
that led to it. Whether it behooves a
man cleanly bred who has succumbed
to temptation and broken the seventh
commandment, or by any other breach
of the moral code has placed himself
without the pale of society, to execute
justice upon himself or to “face the
music,” set to the tune of his trans¬
gression by the law of the laud, was
a question upon which opinion was
divided.
Three of the company took the view
that to such a man—unless he had
fallen so low as to have lost physical
courage with his other virtues—there
could be no thought of alternative
between the bullet and a prison cell,
or flight. They contended that the
delinquent was bound to immolate
liiriiself upon the altar of family pride.
Two of the others, however, were
not satisfied that suicide was calcu¬
lated to eradicate in any degree A he
stain on the family escutcheon, pun
submitted that self-destruction was
the resource of a coward, that it was
in no sense an attenuation of his
fault and only made bad worse in¬
asmuch a& the act would intensify
a hundredfold the anguish of those
who held him dear.
“The way to look at it, I. take it,
is this,” said he. “Assume' fqr :thp
sake of argument, that the culprit
is your own son. He is in. doubt as
to which course .to take .and comes te
you to decide for him. Would you
hand a revolver to him and teil him
to go and blow his brains out?”
No one undertook to answer this
query. All of those \tabing part in
tire conversation tvere elderly, All
were the fathers of sons.
“No, of course you wouldn’t,” went
cm the questioner with conviction.
“As far as I am concerned, I am quite
sure paternal love would transcend
every other sentiment, and I should
stand by my boy in his trouble. For,
in the "tast analysis, what does a man
in such an extremity care for society?
Under the obligation to choose, he is
for his own flesh and blood first and
lets the world go hang. And in this
lie but conforms to oue of nature’s
elementary laws,”
“I cannot conceive of a man with
any glimmer of decency left placing
his father in such a position,” ob¬
served one of the sticklers for honor,
coldly.
“Which does, not alter the fact,” re¬
torted the previous speaker, “that
were the dilemma to present itself,
you would, uncompromisingly, or. the principle you de¬
fend so be as much
in duty bojnnd to condemn him to
death as t<£ take your own life, had
you yourself perpetrated the crime.”
“That is very true,” assented the
member of the group who had taken
no side in the argument. “And there
are men who place the pride of family
above eyery other consideration, and
stop at ho sacrifice, however terrible,
for what they believe to be its .honor.
I was Witness of a tragedy, illustrative
of this/ that I never recall without a
shudder, and the details of which I
will yelate as being peculiarly perti¬
nent ‘to the point, under discussion.
“I was a boy then, a student at
Stewart ITesbyterian College, now the Southwest-
ern University, at
Clarksville, Tennessee. In a fine old
mahiskm on the outskirts of the town
lived a friebid of out family, a splen¬
did type ofl the Southern gentleman,
bearing ond of the best-known and
most distinguished names in the State.
Of course iMeanuot divulge his name.
We will call him Cokonel Hamilton,
for the sake Qf convenience. He had
once been very wealthy, but the Civil
W ar had left him barely enough of
bis fortune to enable him to keep up
appearances.
“He was a widower His daughter,
,
a mere girl, was the mistress of his
household. His only son was teller
ef a bank in a certain populous town
in Georgia. The Colonel was very
proud of Jack—that was the son’s
name—and fairly idolized him. He
had made every possible pecuniary
sacrifice, even to mortgaging the old
home, in order that his boy should
start in life equipped with the educA-
• tion and somewhat of the means of
A gOhtleman, and he based his high
pis on the young fellow's intelli-
and ability. Jack resembled
1^0 ^Chat form he and feature, tall, which
Bimonly was athletic,
handsome. With
HP high-spirited and extreme-
the college -terms I prafl-
fefcrilie Hbgarded Colonel’s house my
as oue of the
When winter lies chilling around us,
Earth snowbound, and skies sullen gray,
In the heart of the trees, gaunt and
There of • sunshine . . of - May;
a a song tne
And the flowers that drooned in the au-
Are waiting to grow irn anew
When the springtime shah .rmle a bright
welcome f
To brooklets and grasses and dew.
VVith listless and sad folded hands.
While all of life a brightest endeavor
Has fled with time s vanishing sands,
May be only some wise preparation
For a part in the infinite plan
That has governed the worlds i since crea-
tion
And considers the brief life of man.
So these days that seem clouded by waiting
—Agnes L. Pratt, in Boston Globe.
family and came and went as I
pleasedj Afternoon— without ceremony.
“One it was a Saturday
and I intended to stay over Sunday—
I made my way through the grounds,
climbed over the veranda rail to save
myself the troube of going around to
the entrance, walked through the
drawiDg-room window, and opened the
door the Colonel’s study without
going through the usually quite un¬
necessary formality of knocking. I
had brought a book for him and had
gone straight to tbe study to shy it
on his table if he were not there, for
I wanted to get rid of it before going
to the stable, where an interesting
addition to the family of tbe old darky
coachman's fox terriers claimed my
sympathetic attention, one of its most
curiously marked members being des¬
tined for me.
“My abrupt irruption into the study
made me the witness of a scene that
caused me to stop short, startled and
terribly embarrassed. The Colonel,
bending forward, with his elbows
propped on bis knees and bis face
buried in his hands, was crying as if
his heart would break. His daughter
was also weeping, and, with an arm
around his neck, was trying to con¬
sole him.
“Both lifted their tear-bathed faces
as, overwhelmed with confusion and
most painfully impressed, I stammered
an apology and stepped back to with¬
draw. The look of hopeless misery
of that dear old man will haunt me as
long ah' I live.
“I tiptoed out and closed the door
noiselessly, I would have left tbe
house and made my way back to the
college. Alas! I could not do so. Before
I reached the veranda the study door
opened and the Colonel, in a broken
voice, called after me:
“ ‘Don’t go away, Eddie.’
“I had no further interest in the
fox terrier and sat on the veranda
wondering what terrible calamity
could have fallen upon the bouse *nd
feeling unutterably miserable myself.
I could imagine only one thing—that
an accident had happened to Jack ahd
that he was dead. The more I pon¬
dered the more convinced I became
that I iiad divined the cause of the
Colonel’s affliction.
“In a little while he joined me. He
had regained his composure, but the
change w\as pitiful. Since the last
time I had seen him—two or three
days before—his gray hair and mus¬
tache had turned almost white and
his face was* deeply furrowed with
lines of suffering.
“He made no allusion to the scene
in the library, but talked absently of
various things and asked me ques¬
tions about the college. He lit a
cigar, but forgot to smoke it. Anxious
to know the worst, I ventured:
“ ‘Have you heard from Jack lately?’
“ ‘I have heard of him.’
“ ‘Not bad news, sir, I trust?’ v
“ ‘Very bad news.’
‘“He isn’t-dead?’
“ ‘Worse; be is a thief. He has
robbed the bank and disappeared.’
“It w T as the old story. Jack’s am¬
bition had overreached itself. In his
desire to acquire quickly w r ealth and
the power that goes with it he had
speculated in cotton and lost all he
possessed, then he had taken money
from the bank in an effort to retrieve
his loss; then, in desperation, had
taken more, hoping by one fortunate
coup to save himself, and thus had
precipitated the ruin he sought to
avert. Jack’s sureties, friends of the
Colonel, had made good the bank’s
loss, but the highest influence that
canid be brought to bear had failed to
induce the bank officials tQ let the
matter drop. They declared that the
very safety of the institution de
rnanded that the trusted official who
had been unfaithful to his trust should
be made an example of, and they pur¬
posed running him down and punish¬
ing him if it took all the funds in the
bank to do it.
“ 'And, God help me, they are right,’
said the old man as a hard look came
into his kindly eyes. ‘Jack has ceased
to be a son of mine, and I beg you
will never mention his name to me
again.’
That Saturday night was a 3 tormy
one. The rain came down in torrents
and the wind howled around the house
and swept in heavy gusts against it,
as tho.ugh it would blow the roof off.
The Colonel’s daughter, pleading head¬
ache, had retired early. The Colonel
and myself were pretending to be en-
grossed in a game of chess. Suddenly
the entrance door clattered open and
was slammed to again violently, and
we heard the bolts being shot into
their sockets, and Jaek's voice order¬
ing the servants on 5io account to
open to any one. The next moment
he burst into the room, The rain
w’as dripping from, his soakedffwud-
spattered clothing His face was hag¬
gard, his eyes were bloodshot, and
there was a desperate look in them,
‘‘The Colonel had sprung to his feet.
Jack faced him.
“ ‘Too know? I needn’t ask,’ he said.
“ ‘Yes. I know.’
“ ‘They have hunted like dog.,
me a
They were watching uie house, and I
was forced to run to escape them.
Dad, I had to come—to see you once
more.’
“Even as he spoke there was a ring
at the bell.
“ ‘There they are now. What shall
I do? Oh, dad, dad, dad. it isn’t for
me I care—I was mad—it’s for you.’
** ‘When a Hamilton has so far for¬
gotten what he was as to turn thief
there is only one thing possible for
him to do.’
“The Colonel stood erect, cold, stern.
“The old, proud look came into Jack’*
face.
“Again the bell rang.
“The proud look died away. Jack
bowed his head in shame and remorse,
and turned toward the door. As he
went out he faced about and said:
“ ‘Dad—forgive!’
“The Colonel never moved, never
uttered a sound.
“1 had sat a silent, petrified specta*
tor of the scene. The Colonel had
forgotten me. His sou had not no
ticed my presence.
“As soon as Jack had gone the
Colonel’s demeanor underwent an ap-
palling change. As the boy’s foot
steps sounded on tbe stairs he beenmO
limp, a ghastly pallor spread over his
face, his lips quivered, he shook as
though stricken with palsy. We could
hear Jack moving about In the room
above. It was his ‘den,’ as he called
it in his boyhood days. The look of
agony and despair in the old man’s
eyes Was awful. For the first tijne I
began to realize the tragedy that was
being enacted, understood the import
of the father’s words to his sou. Be¬
fore 1 could move the report of a pis¬
tol broke the stillness of the house,
followed by the sound of a body fall¬
ing overhead.
“A great sigh came from the old
man, and, tottering a few steps, he
sank forward and fell face downward
on the floor.
“In ait instant the house was in an
uproar. The startled servants rushed
upstairs, and there was a succession
of piercing shrieks as the sister found
her brother's bleeding hotly. I ran
to the Colonel and raising him, propped
him against my knee, but—
“Well, to cut the story short—and
there Is really nothing more to be
told—father and son bad died to¬
gether.”
There was silence for a moment, and
then one of the young club member:;
who had gathered about the group
to listen, blurted out:
“What became of the girl?”
The story teller wiped his eyeglasses
with much deliberation, adjusted
them, and looking at his questioner,
said:
“A very particular friend of the
family married her.”—New York
Times.
It Was the Cow.
An amusing incident is related by the
commander of one of the finest Eng¬
lish liners running to Cape Good Hope.
He was once steaming down the
channel when a thick fog came on.
At such times he never leaves the
bridge, and keeps on sounding the fog¬
horn himself. On this occasion, after
sounding the signal, he heard a fog¬
horn in reply right ahead. lie turned
the ship’s head a point to avoid a col¬
lision, and then sounded again. Still
the reply came as before, right ahead,
“bo-o-o-o.” It was very strange; I
could not make it out,” said the cap¬
tain, telling the yarn. “I tried again;
still the same ‘bo-o-o-o’ right ahead.
A feeling of superstition began to
creep over me, and I was giving my¬
self a mental shake to pull myself
together, when the look-out man for¬
ward called out, ‘it’s the old coo, sir.’ ”
And so in truth it. was—the milch cow
kept on the forecastle for the use of
the ship. She, no doubt, took the *l>o-
o-o-ing’ of the signal for the cry of a
companion in distress, and gave a sym¬
pathetic response. “I could not help
laughing,” added the captain, “but it
was really no laughing matter.”—Les¬
lie’s Weekly.
The One Alternative.
“Mary,” he cried in desperation, “I
shall wait no longer. Either you must
consent to become my wife or end this
farce. Your repeated delays are kill¬
ing me.”
“Very well, Hubert,” she answered
calmly, “if you take that ground there
is but one alternative for me.”
She drew off the diamond ring which
sparkled on her finger and handed it
to him. He took it sadly, and bitterly
exelaimed:
“Oh, false, cruel girl, to thus care¬
lessly trample upon a heart whose
every throb is for you alone! For this
bauble I have no further use. Let it
perish, as I hope may also the love of
which it was the emblem.” His hand
was raised to throw the ring into the
grate, but she grasped it quickly.
“I merely wished to say, Hubert,
that I W’ould like you to have the wed¬
ding ring made just a trifle smaller
than this.”—Warerley Magazine.
Story of a Coffin.
A poor widow in Ivoethen has been
put in a quandary by a generous donor.
He used to be a coffin manufacturer,
and w'hen he broke up his business he
made her a present of a beautiful
coffin. It was delivered, but tbe neigh¬
bors of the widow in the tenement
house object to its presence. Now she
will have to move, and she is short
of funds. Nobody w'ants to buy the
eoffin, as the coffin manufacturer
spoiled the market when he sold his
goods at auction., e donor refuses
to take bis gift back -Wiener Tage-.
■Matt? 1
TALES OF PLUCK
AND ADVENTURE,
Told by a Doctor.
T partment Lydston, HIS moral. is Professor a of of story the the University medical without G. Frank de¬ of a
Illinois, tells it, impelled by its truth.
Its dates are nebulous, its place is
Minnesota only, and the names of the
chief characters are repressed, But
its tragic elements are all there.
About ten years ago Dr. Lydston
was visiting a friend in the northern
part of Minnesota. The friend was a
practicing physician of more than mid¬
dle age. with iron gray hair and beard,
and distinguished by a snow-white
band of hair that ran from liis right
temple half way around his head. Dr.
Lydston never had remarked this pe-
culiarity, but the friend, in the three
years Dr. Lydston had know him. had
never referred to it.
But on the occasion of Dr. Lydstou’s
visit the Minnesota physician had a pe¬
culiar skull on the mantel in his study.
It had been beautifully polished, allow¬
ing to striking advantage the strong,
white bulldog teeth of the man who
had found his being in the long, nar¬
row, arching cranium.
“What would you say of the former
owner of it?” asked the friend, notic¬
ing that Dr. Lydston was eyeing it
critically.
The doctor remarked several cranial
irregularities and made a general ob¬
servation.
“That is the skull of a murderer who
was hanged,” continued the host. “Do
you see this?” lie continued, brushing
his Ungers through the white streak
at the right side of the head. "The
owner of the skull did that, too.”
Then the physician told the story.
Ten years before when the North¬
west was still troubled with the wan¬
dering Sioux and by still more lawless
white men, the physician had gone
from Bellevue Hospital to a town
near Red Wing. Most of his work
was in the probing for bullets and
sewing up knife cuts, but the atmos¬
phere of the great Northwest was
pleasing to him, and he stayed.
One niglit he had a call by telegraph
to go to a small cabin thirty miles
down the railroad. It was eighteen
degrees below zero, dark, and a blind¬
ing snowstorm was blowing. Wrap¬
ping up, the doctor went down to the
little railroad station to wait for a
train that was almost due.
Just as the physician reached the
station two young countrymen were
getting out of a buggy and saying
good-bye to the man who had driven
them into the little village. The three
reached the waiting room door to find
it locked on the inside. They pounded
at it for several minutes, until finally
it was flung open and they were look¬
ing into the muzzles of two revolvers.
“Come in here,” was the order, and
the unarmed doctor and the two coun¬
trymen went in. only to find the sta¬
tion agent bound and gagged and lying
on the floor. The two men wore black
masks, and it was evident that they
meant to hold up the train, then al¬
most due.
“Go through ’em, Pete,” was the re¬
mark of the man of the skull; I’ll
csver ’em.”
Pete made a satisfactory haul from
the pockets of the two countrymen,
but the doctor had only a silver watch
and $5 in silver. Pete made a partic¬
ularly ugly remark to the doctor, and
when the doc-toi resented it the robber
gave him a kick.
The contemptuous kick was the
straw that broke the patience of the
physician. Forgetting the revolvers,
the doctor swung 1 his fist, striking the
fellow in the face. At that instant
the fellow’s companion fired and the
doctor dropped in his tracks.
Seeing the fight on the two country¬
men closed in on the desperadoes, but
when the shooting was done both lay
dead on the floor. The robber were
frightened, however, and gave up the
attack ou the train. ,
Within half an hour a posse was on
their track. At daylight, in a running
fight, Pete was shot and killed. His
companion was shot through the shoul¬
der and was forced to surrender.
A legal execution follow'ed after a
few weeks, and the body of the bandit
found its way into a medical school
in Minneapolis. Later the skull of the
criminal was sent to the living victim
®f the hold-up, for in the meantime the
physician had recovered from the blow
of the glancing bullet.
To-day the Minnesota physician
points out the skull covering the mo¬
tor centre which prompted the pull¬
ing of the revolver trigger.—Chicago
Tribune.
Emily <3eig;er’s Bide.
On the firing-line woman may be
worse than an insignificant unit, but
if she cannot shoot straight she can
and frequently does ride as straight as
a man, and show a man’s resource in
emergency. As a natural result each
war has its collection of State and
National heroines. Emily Geiger was
South Carolina’s heroine of the Rev¬
olution, and her claims to respect and
remembrance are set forth below':
In the spring of 1781 General Na¬
thaniel. Greene attempted to capture
the most important post in Upper
Carolina, but being advised of Lord
Rawdon’s rapid approach w'ith a large
British force, he withdrew across the
Saluda River, and was pursued by
Rawdon to the Enoree River.
Rawdon’s forces were reported di¬
vided, and Greene considered it imper¬
ative to communicate with General
Sumter, who was stationed on the
iWateree River, so that, united, the
two might make an attack on the Brit¬
ish general.
General. Sumter was over a hundred
miles away, with many rivers and for¬
ests intervening, More formidable
than these were the British soldiers
guarding every road leading to the
south, and the Tory iuhabitants of the
country between the two patriot
forces. There was some difficulty in
finding a man willing to undertake
the mission, but a girl of eighteen
came to General Greene and offered
her services.
She was Emily, daughter of John
Geiger, an ardent patriot, who was
crippled and unable to bear arms, and
she begged an opportunity to do some¬
thing for her country. She was a
good horsewoman, and knew the roads
for many miles.
General Greene hesitated to send
this defenseless girl on so perilous*a
journey, but finally her insistence pre¬
vailed. He gave her a written mes¬
sage to Sumter, which she memorized
before beginning her journey.
On the evening of the second day,
after she had crossed the Saluda
River and was approaching the broad
Congaree near Columbia, three of
Rawdon’s scouts appeared in the road
in front. As she came from the direc¬
tion of the enemy and gave evasive an¬
swers, Emily was taken into Lord
Rawdon’s presence. lie was suspi¬
cious and sent for two Tory women
living three miles distant to search the
prisoner.
During the few minutes that she was
left alone Emily tore up and swal-
lowed the paper on which General
Greene’s dispatch was written, and
her secret was safe, although every
seam of her garment was ripped open
by the women searchers.
When Lord Raivdon permitted her
to continue her way, he furnished her
an escort to the house of a friend sev¬
eral miles distant, and there a fresh
horse was given her by the patriot.
Setting out again as soon as it. was
prudent Emily continued her ride
through swamp and forest, where the
darkness was intense, until daylight,
when, with the exception of the time
lost at British headquarters, she had
been twenty-four hours in the saddle.
At 'j o’clock on the afternoon of the
third day* the brave girl rode into Sum¬
ter’s camp. *nd although almost faint¬
ing from fatigue and hunger, delivered
clearly the message from General
Greene. It is said tiiat in oue hour
Sumter was ready to march, and soon
after joined General Greene. In con¬
sequence of this union of the Ameri¬
can forces Rawdou was compelled to
retreat to Orangeburg, and later, de¬
spairing of success, he sailed for Eu-
rope.
Two weeks after her ride Emily Gei¬
ger returned home. General Greene
presented her with a pair of earrings
and a brooch that is still in existence,
as is a beautiful silk shawl presented
to her by General Lafayette on the oc¬
casion of his last visit to this country.
An Excitinrr Chase,
A young man had taken his wheel,
in making a journey of several hun¬
dred miles to inspect some Western
land. In tlie course of his trip he
crossed a large prairie field, broken
near the middle by a high transverse
ridge. Says the Ite v. C. T. Brady, who
tells the story:
“When he had climbed the ridge and
mounted his wheel to proceed, he no¬
ticed what the rise of ground had ob¬
scured; that the field was filled with
Texas cattle, grazing in little bunches
of ten to fifty. Just as he started oue
of the ‘long-horns’ caught sight of him,
and the bunch followed its leader to
investigate. The young man naturally
quickened his pace, and the cattle took
after him.
“Presently other bunches caught the
contagion of pursuit, and all the cattle
started upon a grand man-hunt.
“The trail was straight and level,
leading to a big gate. The boy bent
over liis wheel and pedaled for his life.
He could hear the bellowing of the cat¬
tle and tbe pounding of their feet be¬
hind him, but he looked neither to
right nor left. What should he do
when he reached the gate?
“No matter. All his mind was fixed
upon the necessity of keeping ahead,
He neared the gate, and it was open.
He dashed through like a flash of light¬
ning, lost his pedals, struck a rock,
was pitched off and lay senseless on
the ground.
“It had happened that the man w-lio
owned the range was visiting it at that
moment. He had seen the boy in his
race for life, and had opened the gate
to let him pass through. Then, with
two or three attendants, he rode in and
beaded off the herd.”
Mr. Xeidig’s Quarter-Hour With a Bear.
“Without an exception it was the
most thrilling fifteen minutes I ever
experienced in my life or ever eXpect
to experience.”
So said William D. Neidig. He is
the Henry’s Valley (Penn.) farmer
who was attacked by a huge black
bear near his home.
“When I first entered the woods
which I was compelled to go through,”
Neidig continued, “I heard a fierce
roar and, turning my head, I caught
sight of an object running in the snow'.
At first glance I took it to be a cow
which I have often met on my way
home. I soon learned my mistake
when the beast struck me on the head,
knocking me down. It w'as a bear.
“My first impulse w'as to run, but
the next instant something prompted
me to strike it several fierce blows
with a club which I was carrying.
For fully fifteen minutes I beat the
howling thing, then the bear gave up
the fight and disappeared in the bushes
and has not been seen since. I never
want such an experience again, as I
believe that if I were to remain in such
a state five minutes longer I would
have been killed.” — Philadelphia
Times. ..ff.
HOUSEHOLD
>, -AFFAIRS,
Ventilation of Clothes Closets:
The modern housekeeper has learned!
that elothes-closets need ventilation
quite as much as any part of the
house. In the best of new houses
this point is looked after by the archi¬
tect, ventilation being introduced into
the closets by various simple but ef¬
ficient means. Where this is not the
ease, however, the doors should be
left open for a time in the morning,
quite as carefully as the sleeping
rooms are aired.
The ScwHt Lump Shades.
Interesting are the schemes for the
decoration of “modern style” interiors.
The parchment lamp shades with
weird, dark figures of women gowned
in dinging preraphaelite robes, their
hair in bandeaux wandering amid
stiff yew trees a fid cypress hedged
gardens, are certainly "new" and or¬
iginal. Some of the stuffs, especially
woven for the artists who designed
them, are far beyond the reach of
any ordinary purse. Many are chefs
d'oeuvres in coloring and design, es¬
pecially a curious mauve material with
dull, greenish blue motifs outlined
with amber. A delicate stand for two
electric lamps is a woman's figure in
dull silver, slender and half-draped,
the folds of her, brouze-hued skirts
spreading round her feet, Site holds
a light ie either hand, luar eyes cast
down.—Washington Star.
Piotures in the Home.
M lien vve enter a home, among the
firsi things to atiraci our attention
are the pictures, and from them we
can read the taste—or lack of it—of
the lady of the house for they give
us tlie key not:* to her character If
we find gaudy clironios. and cheap
oll-paintir.us made by "lightning art
ists.” we know at once that refinement
is lacking in that home, Pictures
should be selecu 'JTi’/iyays with an eye
to the surrounding./in which they will
be placed. If tlie souse is very large
and handsome, and money of no con¬
sideration, then of course oil-paintings
by the best artists are preferable. Peo¬
ple of moderate incomes who wish
tasteful homes should choose water-
colors, engravings or etchings, if they
can be afforded. Artists’ signed proofs
are most desirable, but no better than
good copies, with tin* exception of
the signature, which is supposed In
add value.—Maude C. Murray-Milier
in the Woman's Home Companion
The Care of Cagreil Birds.
Unless a room is well ventilated a
caged bird should not be allowed to
remain in it after the gas is lighted
at night, nor should it ever be kept in
a room which is being swept and
dusted. Dust injures the voice. The
cages of pc; birds should never be
hung near the windows nor where
there is the least possibility of
draughts, nor where there is much
steam or damp air. no/ should the
bird bo placed in the hot. glaring sun¬
shine except just after its bath and
then only long enough to dry his plu¬
mage.
If you want the bird's best song do
not .allow it to fly about the room, and
do not feed it on sugar candy. Good
sweet rape seed and an occasional bit
of liard-boiled egg and lettuce is good
and ail that is necessary for its health
and well-being, provided that it gets
fresh water daily, and during hot
weather the water should be changed
several times a day.—American Queen.
Tone of Frieze.
To produce the best effect a frieze
should always be lighter in tone than
the wall surface below it.
Yd | recipes::. |
Bean Cakes—Mold left-over baked:
beans into cakes, first binding them to¬
gether with a beaten egg. Fry like
potato cakes, place ou a dish and gar¬
nish with tiny slices of pickle amf^
parsley. These, cakes are almost as
strong food as meat.
Orange Tapioca — Soak two table¬
spoonfuls of pearl tapioca in two cups
of water for an hour. Then place on
the back of stove to simmer until clear.
Add four tablespoonfuls sugar, boil up
once and pour over four sliced oranges.
Serve cold with whipped cream.
Tri-Color Salad — Take little white
beans (which must stand in water over
night before cooking), and beets, which
have been pickled. After the beans
have been boiled until tender, put the
white ones in the centre, then the
green string beans, and the beets
around the edge of the dish. Over all
pour a dressing of oil, vinegar, salt
and pepper, well mixed.
Drawn Butter Sauce —Two table¬
spoonfuls of flour, one-half cup of but¬
ter, one pint of boiling water and one-
half teaspoonful of salt. Mix the but¬
ter and flour together until light and
creamy, and gradually add the boiling
water, stirring constantly. Place the
bowl in a saucepan containing boiling
water, and stir well until the sauce
comes to the boiling point. It should
not be allowed to boil, but should be
kept at the boiling point until thick
enough and then remove at once. Add
the salt and serve. The common prac¬
tice of wetting the flour and then stirr¬
ing it into the boiling water is most
deplorable, as the outcome is a lumpy,
mass with the butter oftentimes float-
on the top.