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H
THE GRANDMOTHER'S DREAM.
"Be qcw t Heart. my lover cose.
Ja- feet I hear upoa tie stair.
Asi iaow tie lightly sprmgmg step
Taat DirSs a 3.nt free from core.
To meet h coasting at tae door
Is wil at: ell. for life t sweet.
Vet wio -xould paiai tie leader jrace
That uUs tie hoar -when lovers meet.
"We waader dcwa tie orchard lane.
Past fru tace t'ccius an;" leafy wood,
TVa-re szzicx biris aad bloomias ucers
Bat hTs our joy to Ovl tie Good.
Tie pansy spread beside tie way
Her inacceat ujtaraia? eyes,
Tiiio ?ccx3. tie laras at play.
But raaie a dreara or paraiise.
Bejraiet. Heart, ray hasaaaa comes:
To near i-s step u;oa tie street
Oar ciidrea leave taeir careless play.
And aa:eu cat tier sire to sreet;
Sat baiy c-a.ts area ray lap.
Ana lauzas a:.l coo witi taiy srace.
To te'l lor rae tie sueat Joy
Taat fIs my Heart to see His face.
Tee year, rlide ca Is siiae and sacci,
Aad toil street, for lore is stroag
To soothe tie try ax sceaes of Lf e.
And U oar iearts wtti Happy soaz.
I- f e tiat tioaci trardeaed yet is lore.
SVltt ray from Hearea iltenaj thraugh
Tie caaopy tiat ha.f coaeeals
Tie rood to be frcm raortal view.
Ke csrae3 ara, my iasbaad ccraes;
H s Head .s rray. i? step :s slow.
Tie auie -est rrace i.s rreseace Hrtarj
Tiat fLled ray Heart o laar ao.
X7t s:t taaeticr by tie hearth.
Oar chdrea f-ad le"s Susy -xay;
"We clo-er clap oar tremi-iar Haads
Aadcara-y toward life's closm; day.
He eoai5 no, eoraes not. no-r araiu
It beside tie aearti aad cra.t;
yo rasre, ao rao-e h-j step I Hear,
Nor I-?t H s -x-ajtle at tie rate.
A r ver dar-i te: -eea a r&I-s.
3at God -s rood aad lave is stroar;
H- wa av ca lie ctier side.
3e i;u.e-. he-ra, ie a,a no: loan,
Haaaai Taylcr. la later Ocean.
MIRIAM.
is Bus of MfelailMi?
By Ma-nda L. Crocker.
Copmzcirr. 153.
CHAFTa
to her excited erief for
a moment
slowly ant
-with me
longer, she went down stairs
as she afterward expressed it.
- . l rut', . 1 aa?
mth "
"An' shure an the maid must be shlap-
mg: an iLsS Miriam isn't in her 'part-!
ment at all. sir."
-Sot there! Tnen where the deuce is she!
Speak '
he thundered, bringing his
cencnec
farce taat tie sii
service an inkling
tT-r r.--r-vl -n rra nti.
of his wrat
"An mdade it's not Oi that km tell ye,
masthur. ' answered Clarsscn, tae wild
lock deepening in her large blue eyes.
OT mZHE! TEET WEUSX Is SHEp
-Faith, sir. an Oi haven't set eyes on her
b-.sed se.1 sjee she went a--.valkin m the
park onyestherdry "cade Oi haven't, sir."
" -And you " cned Sir Rupert, jumping zip
and facing the tern-led butler.
Poor James shrank back from the tower
ing form of his wrathful master, wishing
he might shrink into space for the time,
and stammered out that he 'thought he
had heard Minim in the hall tae previous
evening
For a muteS: Rupert stood irresolute,
looking about him. Suddenly it dawned en
him that she mirht have ilown cone with
that impudent, poverty-stricken Fairiax.
This exasperated him beyond endurance,
and he fair-y shrieked out his next words
in sz:zzj accusaticn.
'Yoaare .ving. sir: playing the role of
hysocnticai innocence.
verCv beevc with tha;
She has gone, I
rascaJy lever of
3 wing to it all in
hers:
d vcu are ai
- v
theplctto deprive me of my authority my
daughter "
He waved his trembling hand toward the
group cf fnrht enec. white-faced servants,
who had assembled in the hallway, aad
stood watching, with bated breath, their
pas-ionate master. Having delivered this
acathmgaecwsaticn, he strode past them,
bound for Miriam's rooms, aad bent en an
inve-tlgaticn f r himse..
After a fruitless search for the willful
dauzater whom he had loved and hated al
temate.y a- ter Lfe. he came down again,
breathjag vengeance -on the whole crew"
f ur :her traey. and vowmg that it would
not be good for" them if found treacherous
to the .uterests of Heatherleiga.
--I want the cba.se at once!" he yelled.
ejeingtae coachman wrathfully. -I will;
sift this matter He who denes a Percival
mirat as we care the Alm-ghty. heccn-1
tinned m tumder toaes. "I am going to
see if "he if they break over my authority i
- ??! i?ip" ar-er."
The parug words or yos
:g Fairfax, to
which he gave but little heed at ne ume,
s.Lie from treang them contemptuously,
rsina-in a j ear now Lke calls of ana. eng-J
:ag angel. It looked now very much as if
.Fairfax ,"- not spoken icie worus.
In a short time the Heatherleigh trap was
viasT along the cuiet lanes at a break-
neck st-ed. aad tae whole couatry swie was
wondering st its haste. Bent on revenge
far this insolent disobedience, he spared no
pains tc overtake the runaways.
-Hi. there" he shouted to a man whom
he knew, and to whom, at any other time,
he would aot have deigned to stvak, -Hi,
there! Do you know of the whereabouts of
A.rthur F.iir:"ix at present r
The laborer defied his cap and answered,
-Truly. I can not
"heard that he was m:
tell you. sir, yet I
imed iafct evening at
JLiI Saints."
With a mattered imprecation he sped on,
aad seen the pretty little cha-jel of Fairhght
was passed. Earle Fairfax, waose feaad--some
villa smiled down on the fair, quiet
churchyard of AJ Saints, would know, per
"hapa. all about the disgraceful aCair.
ii ; I I T i
& b j jp
' - iSKJCr. "
To that residence he asust be driren, aad
subsequently the Hesiberieiff trap dashed
up the drive of the Fairfax hosse. The
horse was covered with foaxaasa dust, aad,
oa the -whole, Earle Fairfax thought he had
never seen quite such a pitiable sight. A
jaded horse, choking with dust, the liveried
coachman -white aad trembhag with excite
ment and the master of Heathsrieigh in
such as excited passion of raze and pique
that he scarcely managed to be understood.
Ther, SCnam and Arthur, tvere married
is. the chapel last evening; yes. And by
this time are pretty well ca their way to
Bradford, I should judge.'
After Earle Fairfax had imparted this bit
of news laconically. Sir Rupert cursed
his lack and turned his horse's head home
ward. You knew nothing of this!"' he ques
tioned, glaring at his coachman, while
they were returning slow-paced and weary,
seeming to forget that individual was in
ended in the morning's condemnation.
'No. master: 'pon honor.' answered
meek-eyed John, turning faint with fear
lest his master should order him down and
off and go on without him. But Sir Ru-
oert sam nothmr
moreana
was suent aU
tae rest or tee way oaci to Heatherieign.
ir-l
air ruipert aaznted at the inner eate )
snutungor; the ions avenue of elms, and
rushed in alone over the flagged pavement,
across the terrace and into tae hali. more
like a lunatic than the feeble old man that
he was. John drove off toward the sta
bles, glad to his heart's center of the oppor
tunity of putting space between tae irate
master and himself once more.
-They are gone: married and roneT' Sir
Rupert shouted in desperation, tanging the
massive doors after him as he entered.
Henceforth she is no daughter of mine I"'
Poor frightened Clarkson was tne only one
present, and, courteseying meekly, she an
swered: -Yes, masthur." Then under her
breath she could not help murmurmg:
"Oi'me so sorry ! Poor chilcer !
Tne father heard and partly understood
the sympathetic words in reference to his
daughter, and. in his present state of ex
citement and anger, he could Lly brook a
word to the contrary. Turning wrath
fuily upon the sympathetic Eibemian he
snouted: -Iwtli not have a word of vour
mpathy, Clarkson. iHriam is
n now, God knows! without mak-
.ention of it.''
Peggy cowered under the frown of the
eagle eye bent on her offending head, and
the master of Heatherleigh strode en by
her. and went upstairs to his apartments.
-Send James to me immediately,' he called
in authoritative tones from the first land
mz.where he sat down far a moment's rest.
1 he housekeeper went in search cf the
but.er with hastening step. -Shure an' the
masthur's mad as an owl; it bates the very
havrhcTi h
havthun how an rrv he is. Ee's all tore u o
I an ne's afthur wantm ye's this minute;
an" it's the Icikes of ye to be hurryin roigut
off."
James ran ucstairs to the bidding, and
almost new along the shadowy corridors.
I shrtrrfT" ctr-' fwfn- m- 1W nni&T- 2:rr
peaceiumess cf tsir Kupert's apartments
contrasted strangely with the stormy soul
of its occupant.
The breeze that came in over the open
casement frcm the sea, fresh and sweet,
only fanned an aged face flushed with
anger, played with whitened locks timidly,
and died aimd the silken curtains unheeded.
"Sature and nature's sootaing influence
had no part in the thoughts cf the proud
soul seething in its own wrath. 2b: the
legendary curse had fallen, and Sir Rupert
as onecf the victims was busy trying to
cope wh its influence.
'You sent for me. sir!" questioned
James, softly, the strange light in his
master's face startling him.
"Yes. I did, returned Sir Rupert, sav
agely. ''Have my dinner here in an hour.
Smce taat undutif al daughter cf mine has
gone with that beggar Til have no cue dine
with me hereafter; Til take my meals ia
mv apartments vp here. Do vou under
standmer -Yes. sir." answered the butler, meekly.
-And hereafter 1 do not want her name
mentioned in
home; she has forfeited
all right to Heatherleigh. and henceforth
she is no child of the Percivals. "JTow I
wish you to remember what I have said."
And with an impatient wave of his hand ne
bade the butler retire, and leave him alone
for the nonce.
With another meek '-yes,
;" James
glided out oi
the aresence cf his master.
ana cowu-stairs as if tne evil genius of tne
Hall was at as unfortunate heels.
"Lord ! what a pas;on the master is in."
communicated he when among his feliaw
servants in tae wing once more. And ex
citedly, aad perhaps with some exaggera
tion, he repeated Sir Rupert Percival's
worus.
Howly St. Pathnck.' groaned old Ancil
Clarkson from h.s corner, where he sat
with his accustomed mugof ale on his knee.
toc sxyr tub, sce, srs!"
forgetful, for the time, of its delidcusaess
in the olood-curding topic of the "master's
wrath."
-You may go down now, aad if I need
you I will nag for you: otherwise I want
no one near me tonigat. S-r Rupert said
-.j. iner, as the punctual hutler se
?.-.-?"travT "h- Tr.atpr IViw.
jiiei W35 EC-t summoned again
evening, and feeling relieved he ;oun
that J
dined the
servants circle oace more, and around the
wide chimney, whose nickering fames and
glowing embers lighted up taeir earnest
faces, they sat aad speculated as to where
t last estrangement would lead.
The next day brought a great change ia
the manner cf the master of Heatherieigh.
It was as if he had gone through some great
sea of sorrow. Absent and softened ia tone
and gesture, he wandered aimlessly about
the HalL thinking.
He opened Lady Percival's apartments
and walked through the loag-sileat rooms,
touching little mementoes of her care nera
and there gently, as if in communion with
the dead.
After this, he took down Miriam's portrait
from where it hung by her mother's, oTer
the marble ma-itei ia Lady Perdral's prf
rate paricr. and carried it away to the
lonely gallery. Pausing at the end of tae
row of fated portraits, he looked long aad
tly ca the clear, tarn featareaoilalalwalaparcd: "Briajtafcrteat,
baautiful daughter, aad tbea Mid half audi
bly: -Miriam! my daughter, Miriarr, I am
alone! I am unable to undo what I save
done; and, too, a Percival never cats ha
words.
-I would have saved you, ay child, could I
have done so; but the fatality of the family
has overtaken you. and what could your
pocr, desolate father do! You have forsaken
Heatherleigh for a poverty-stricken com
panion, and cave gone with the choice of
your heart, as aid Allan here. Alas ! Allan,
that I have now no brother! Alas! Miriam,
that I now have no child. Henceforth you
are dead to me; good-bye aye, worse,
farewell!"
Having kissed the portrait of the proud,
wdf ul child, he hung it up for a moment for
another view of the sweet face. -Truly
she was regal then,' he said, with a deep
sigh. Tnen he turned the face of his
daughter to the wall with a shiver, and
sealed the docm of his motherless child.
After th he tottered upstairs to his
apartments with much feebler step than he
had ever known. Surely this was, by far,
the greatest sorrow of his long, loveless
existence. Ah! yes, it was the hardest
blow he had ever experienced.
Bereaved of his beautiful wife, whom he
loved tenderly, how crushed and sorrowful
his days had been in the great, lonely HalL
But he knew where she was resting: this
other bereavement, why, this was so differ
ent, so different! Poor iLriam! he knew
nothing of her wandering away; perhaps
might never know augnt of her more. The
rest cf them went that way Allan did.
The curse of temper and circumstance
was worse than death. Yes, in compariaon.
death was kind!
The threatening breich had new widened
beyond repair between Sir Rupert and his
child, and -too late" was written across the
seal of hcrdcom. He must bow also so the
inevitable.
Aad that day oa which the master of
Heatherleigh our.ed hs daugater in bis
heart was but a precursor of many dreary
ones to follow. Th same silent, crape
shaded routine, admrrting of scarcely any
variation, went on. A loaely breakfast in
his own apartments: long, eompanionless
walks about the grounds with his hands
behind him and ms eyes bnt on the ground
as if in deep study; the sisat dinner hour
next, and lastly, solitary evenings, on
whoe mournful hours none were allowed
to infringe by trving to be companionable.
About this time the servants began to
show signs of a general revolt. Sometimes
now signs o. a pecerax rv. ok. ae .
ay declared that this pr-scu-ufe would
aatenaiiv shorten their cays-
tnev
Ancil and Peggy reminded them tha; they
would be substantially rewarded some day
likely if they would only continue to be
ai.i t..i.
But the mutiny of the western wmg of
Heatherleigh boiled aad effervesced uatiL
at the close of a very trying day when
Sir Rupert had beea uausaaiiy contrary
with them, the gardener and cook said.
meaninsrly. -that if the master was found
dead in his tyd ia the morning, why. it was
nobody's business but And they
wagged their heaas ominously.
CHAPTEK "C
All day the storm had raged and battered
and shoos the windows with angry hand,
but now there had fallen a somewhat calm
er hour.
From the window of a residence, a beauti
ful country seat, near the shore, a pale, sad
face peered out into the saHen eventide. The
house and grounds gave evidence of taste
and wealth, coupled with an inviting air of
welcome hospitality, that seemed a very
eye-rest at the close cf such an uncharitable
day. The sua cow lay low ca the sea, and
tne breakers dashed high up against the
rocky sea-wo!2, falling back with thunder
ous moan, as if disappointed that in ail
these thousands of years they had not beea
able to scale the height and break over their
irksome boundary. Heavy clouds bestrewed
the horizon, and shut out the blue zenith as
with a curtain cf sorrow. Only in the west
lay along, calm rift of sunset sky, through
which shene softly tha sunlight, as if
washed with tears.
But the pale, sad-faced woman locking
frcm the pane saw nctnmgof the evening's
promise; she only noted the darkened east
and the dim sunlight's last smile playmg
litf ully en the black sea-world beneath.
Tears had beea exhausted and the soul
fountain had beccrae dry. but the wild, hot
eyes roved abrcad over the cheerless land
scape, or sea view rather, aimlessly, really
takmg note of nothing; while the weary
brain almost reeled beneath the awful shock
it must endure.
In tae next room a man lay dying. The
physician was bending over him with a po
tion calculated to ease and soothe the last
few moments of his patient, while the at
tendants stood -vistfully, sileatly by.
Taey had done all they could, all that
humaa arency aad affection could devise.
but the fiat of ceath had gone forth and
now, in the prime of young manhood,
Arthur Fairfax must cie.
He had lived to see his dream fulfilled,
however. He had gained wealth and found
his beautiful home by the sea that he had
planned to have oa his weddiag day.
Yes. it had all beea realmed, but what a
fearful price was asked! Overtaxed, his
i system gave out, and he was now reaav.
after months of decline, to leave it all
Months ago he felt a stransre sense of ex
haustion stealing over him. but hethocrht
it a mere lassitude which bv aad bv would
warofL So paying but litt.e attention to
nature's warning he tolled en with almost
superauman effort to complete this domes
tic paracLse so dear to his heart. His plans
were about completed, aad Miriam should
have her beautiful home as taey both had
p'anaed. Miriam, who had given up every
thing for him and his love and who had al
ways beea the same sweet, unchaageable
wife, should now be happy ia her own ele
gant establishment.
And their boy. the bright, winsome lit
tle son. inheriting his mother's dark eyes
and the bloade curls of the Fairfax family,
should never know a want, never have "a
wish unsatisned. if money could 11 the re
quirement. He had wealth now. The world
had gone weE with him, turning steadily
'neath fortune's smile.
This he had said to himself cajthatlast
day up ia the mines while closaia out his
sales and getting rid of shares inthe stock.
He was very fatigued that day and more
nervous than usual, and Uncle Benton had
made a note Jf it by saying: -You look bad;
u& hc ctu vi m act c.c umts, .AXulUX cr
I'm mistaken. It's a good thing that you
retire from business to-day, my boy.' j
He was aware of it himself, to some ex- (
tent, but a month's actual rest at The Rest, !
,-....-. ... .. . ;:t-- i
tae name of his country seat, would be suf
ficient to throw off this weariness and he
would be himself again.
These, then, had been his plans, but the
best laid plans '-aft gaa g aglea." And cow
it had come to this, after weeks of hope
less battling with stern decree
The day had cow gone out oa the waters
and the blackness of eight and despair had
settled down over "? She tottered
across the room and into the next, and with
clasped bands vtood helplessly gazmgdown
as the beloved face en the piE-ow.
A light broke over the face aa the fast
glazing eyes am aerwiJayearoicr look,
aad he beckoned aer Bearer. She leased
over him foodly aad "dased his brew where
the death daataa were gataeriag aa he
!
tae child to res: with a sweet cradle sen
; l
He had beea kept quiet all tae long, dreary
day by strategy; coaxed with dainties and
amused with fairy stories unfolded to tus
credulous mind by the nurse who loved to
revel in these pleasing fancies herself.
-Arthur wants the baby," said Miriam
breaking in on the edge of dreamland, ami
clasping her boy with a sudden tenxcious
Biovement born of grief.
The nurse resigned her sleepy charge
with a frightened glance of inquiry into the
white face of her mistress. She needed no
words toteHtnat at last the agony of de-th
and parting had come, for the lock en Miri
am's face was plain of interpretation.
Tae mother bore away the little sen. so
soon to become fatherless, and the tender
hearted nurse-girL turning away, burst
into tears.
-Oh ! it must be an awful thing to die
and leave one's friends,- she mcaned to
herself, going about the room, picking up
-jOve papa.'
mechanically the toys of little Arthur
which in his great glee at playing Aladdin
he had scattered about. "Poor little one,"
murmured she. -his tender heart doesn't
understand it. and it is weE enough it
doesn't."
-Kiss' but the lips failed to utter the
rest.
"Love papa.' said MTriim. and the child,
putting his chubby face down caressingly.
j. the SKerBal r33. uMr fa
hisaid, wondering lfcng
ua.
The attendant took him away then, at a
sign from the mother, aad kneeling by the
ccuci Mir: are drew the death-damp brow
to her breaking heart and pressed passion
ate kisses en the cold lips.
A look of unutterable joy overspread the
features of Arthur Fairfax, and he said
naif audibly: -Good-bye. Miriam, dearest;
watch over our boy. aad meet me ''
-Yes. darling, with God's help." moaned
Miriam; and she held in her arms, not her
devoted husband, but clay cold, inani
mate clay!
They led her away also, thea, away from
her beloved dead. She sat down beside the
sleeping, fatherless child, aad throwing one i
arm over the unconscious boy moaned away
the night in a vigil of grief.
""Thy was this!" she asked of the mid-
T?ynt ilar& hr ein?TTr
ce. -Why should he be taken
from her when they were so prosperous
and happv. when every thing that heart
cculd desire for comfort and domestic bhss
was theirs."
Little Arthur tarew up his baby hands
and murmured -Papa," and fretted ia his
slumber.
"With a mother's touch and caress Viriarn
soothed him to untroubled repose again. He
was all she had now, and her hot hands
wandered over his silken curls straymg
about on the pillow.
ITO VI COTriSCXD.J
m m
ABOUT NATURALNESS
Am AceompUabmeat That Ca
B Ac
quired Only by Tralai&g.
Naturalness of manner is a charm in '
a public speaker, in a writer for the press,
or ia a social entertainer. Tae mac who caa
gracefully be himself as he addresses aa
audience, cr as he writes out his tnoughts
for the public eye. or the woman who can be ,
herself in gracefulness as she greets a caller
in her own parlor or as she enters another's
parlor, has added power ia his or her sphere.
Naturalaess would seem to be a charm ol
easy attaiameat by any person of right
spirit and of ordinary ability: but, as a mat
ter of fact, naturamess is a grace of very
difacuit attainment, aad it is well nigh al
ways a result of careful training. A person
unaccustomed to pubic speaking, whe
stands up before an audience to address it.
finds his attention drawn away from his
subject of speech in a dozen different cirec
tions. It is only as he trains himself to ex
clusive atteatioa to his oae duty of the hour
that he is able to be aatural m domghis one
dutv of the hour. It is the same with '
a writer for the press. His ability to write '
naturally is a result of careful and pro-
loaged train lag
m compaay is an
famiuarity with social
truth recognised that there are professiona!
trainers in all our large cities who adver
tise themselves as instructors in the art ol
catering aad leaving a room gracefully, aad
in using one's hands as if they belonged tc
the owner. Even cultivated ladies who are '
to be presented to a sovereign are accus
tomed to take special lessons in advance
from some one who can show them bow tc
appear gracefully natural in the new sphere
they are to enter. It is a mistake to sup
pose that naturalness "comes naturally"' tc
any person in the presence of ethers. I
Training is essential to its possession in
every case. This is a truth to be arne in
mind when we see that one speaks or writes
or moves naturally, or whea we would our
selves be natural in any one of these directions-
S. S. Times.
Charity.
Clinton Plaice (of "Sew York, Harvard
"-) xieuo, oia man. cm vou send vour gov-1
te"d be in a-tendaaee
fo-
the central Kfbrarira!
X'OZ?l
:me o:
..-tcners
a? -Gelation to b held at Hasting?
hi
"brssk--. Oc-. 19. lr-3.
Mai
st
:v j -ar-sio
-I'-.-t
. J. E. X. n-
,.-esiwe u.e -.
1
nrwr. Prof. L.W. Pike, el-o:
SchaiC
f. Stormes.
- L-'erarv Ete L-es
, n
ai cu5sion. . . O pencd
bv Prof
Arnsx'OOJ sr-sioy.
doer
s' Paper Folding and JJrawmg j
"i i"-- n- , y
your washing lor a month. Yore An.
Fathxs- Puck.
APasaoB-ta (CaL) lady makes a bsaiaesa
of accoBtpaxyiag the bodies of persons who
die ia Souther California ta taeir leases ia
the East, aad anmrdmg to aer owa story
aaa zbuad A Tery taentzre.
As
Via.
Below stairs th Burse-ciri was lnlhas
mm 1 1 4II
Awkwardness of manner J ner giren ov
oovious indication oi ua-. . l. .v..
iif. s fui-f ; ""- -"Cl1 --
- -. --, .
taper. Prof. "". H. '.Viison. Easting?. Cot. je fourth time I ve beea mistakea for two feet of
- Measurement oi -J-tate- r. Forepaugh siace lTe beea ia graio
bsaay -i:f''-3-- ailadelphia. and in everv town I ah! I have
" ...-. .,-..-.... ! T--t Arike I have at least one exrvronrA nf I resolved
Km. t.i. jns.ieii?jic ij.a.. ar t
which
THE BLESSED SLE-P.
Mteery Coi
Mttlu Uerst TricB daaabur
rormk.i th Kodj.
Nothing- could show the universality
and humanity of ; hakes oeare better.
aad the rrreala?3 of his power of ex-
pression. than all his knowledge and
assurance of the blessing of sleep, the
misery of the want of it. the horror
filling it with racking dreams when
mind and body are at war. or the soul
and sorrow have struck hinds. For to
most of Citn and womankind comes a
time at last when sueh dreams alight '
about the edges of sleep like foul crea
tures, and the night becomes one's farnil
" iar. as if it were some nediasvai demon.
. care sitting beside the pillow, anxiety
tossing the clothes, suspense aad sor- '
' row capping ghastly wings about the '
, bed. aad the worn and weary nerves
tormenting the 5eh like so many little
red-hot pinchers of torture, when the
. very disease for which sleep would be
a remedy drives sleep away, and the
, sufferer travels all night ia a vicious
, circle, a more pained and weary jaunt
' than all the witches of mid-air ever
; took upon their broom-sticks.
It is not the easy, well-digested, care
less nature that knows the torture of
wakefulness: fat men. as a rule, are '
"such as sleep o nights:" and one of
Shakespeare's people exclaims:
Taoc Hast ar rare aorfaatasies
Which busy care dras ia tie brains of men. '
Therefore tioc sleep st so soaad. '
But it is the worrying soul that can
not fiudlep. that frightens sleep
away, that wears sleep thin aad wears
it out. till there ia no sleep for that
poorsouL
It has come to be generally admitted
that worry does far more harm to the
, would-be sleeper than work ever does;
that work, even in undue quantity, does
but fatigue the body, and makes sound
I sleep the surer. But worry fatigues the
nerves, and ia fatiguing them excites
them to the point where the thickest
blanket of the dark that can be drawn is
penetrated by their sharp stings. The '
nervous system, when all is said, is un-
derstood less than any thing in the earth
beneath or in the heavens above it: it
is the most difficult of all tasks to regu-
' late it when it is oace out of order: it
' is that part of humanity which should :
be most carefully kept and considered. '
and tried as little as possible.
To tell a person of .aexvous tempera
ment not to worry U a work of superer
ogation: rather should one help to make
to worry about. It is almost impossi
ble for such a person to help worrying (
over every pin's prick. But just as soon
as worry can be remitted and appre
hension forgotten does sleep become
possible, sleep, the only sovereign
P"wr -a"u kui ui ii.s gwiiuuii upuu
ne burning brain, and brmj it from
wild unrest to deep repose aad the
sweets of life. Harper's Bazar.
DEPEW AND FOREPAUGH.
Raaarkable BMcasblaae That Has Ld
to Many Ladicroos Xiataken. I
The resemblance between Chauneey i
M. Depew, the distinguished Xew York
railroad president and statesman, and
Adam Forepaugh. the circus king, is '
wonderfully striking, and Brother
n-.d IWW
Chauneey is frequently taken for
Brother Adam, and vice versa. This '
similarity has led to a number of
ludicrous mistakes. t
Last winter while Forepaugh's big '
show was ia winter quarters ia Phila
delphia, one of the baby elephants was '
"rented out" to the management of an
opera company, it being utilized to '
give realism to an Oriental scene. The '
opera company cosed its season the
latter part of March, and the baby
elephant was shipped back to Phila
delphia, in charge of the agent of the
company. The elephant was left in
the car. and the asrent went down to
the Continental Hotel, where he had
aa appointment by mail to meet Mr.
Forepaugh. whom he knew and had
frequently met.
Brother Chaancey happened to be at
the
hotel at the time. He hail been
invited over to Philadelohia to a din-
he famous Clover Club.
opera company's agent
entered he was standing near the desk.
talking to one of the clerks.
agent instantly spotted him
Brother Adam.
The
for
"Good morning," he said; "I'm glad
to see you."
"Delighted. Tm sure." answered i
Brother Chauneey. with a puzzled look (
oa his face, as taouga trying to remem-
ber where he had seen the ajrent.
"You got my letter, of course?
"No yes! well, no. I can't say that
I did." and the puzzled look deepened
on Brother Chauncey's face.
"O. well," said the azent. "it doesn't
make any difference the baby's here."
"The baby's here ?"
' "Why. yes: it arrived this moraing
what shall I do with it?"
T-f -"jo with what? '
"Why. the baby."
"What baby?"
"The babv elenhant."
A light broke over Brother Chaan-
r. .- rf .... .
tT" C fflrsa MTTtiiT.. filT TT h.i 114
wno ao you tase me zorr
''For Ad3-" Forepaugh."
J Brother Chauneey began to laugh,
CtBsar." he exclaimed, -that's
land, mj name s
Depew rm .
launcey Depew."
J
the
Ur. t
I
Xhea they both laughed aad
ageot weot off to find the real
Forepaugh. Philadelphia Letter.
The Mad aad correct thia to say
to the comer-home is, "I hone voa
feel rested from your Tacatkw." 3o-
Rrt
J?JtLJO?J?MtaXm'
aSa'laSEiS; LL1?' -X-,
Bortoa Commoawaaltk.
FARM AND FIRESIDE. ,
"Red raspberriea should aot be al
lowed to grow mora than three fees
talL yip back the cads of the canes.
Sew tins should be set over th
fire with boiling water ia them for
several hours befor' food is put ia
them.
Free manuring of dwarf pear
trees is absolutely essential, and witlx
some standards it makes the difference
between large. Sne and delicious speci
mens and small aad poor ones.
The; points of a good cow are a ro
bust constitution, a good appetite,
large milking capacity, long milking
tendency, rich milk and aa easy milker
with a good disposition.
Tapioca Custard Pudding: Three
tablespoons of tapioca soaked in a cup
of milk one-half hour, yelks of four
eggs, one pint of milk: boil ten minutes
then add the whites of the eggs: flavor
with vanilla aad serve cold Detroit
Free Press.
Hens roosting in the trees will be
subject to roup when east winds or
dampness reaches them. The fall is
more unfavorable to poultry than the
winter. Shelter of some kind should
always be provided.
This demon of
that is eating out
even in summer
waste is the fend
the profits of our
unprofitable cows.
farmers. Keeping
feeding weather-beatea fodder, and
doing every thing in the most expensive
manner, and then wasting their breath,
calling themselves practical. Hoard
Dairyman.
A very nice breakfast dish is made
by baking ripe tomatoes- Taking a
shallow earthen dish that can be sent
to the table and cover the bottom with
nice tomatoes cut in halves, placing
the cut sides up and'spriakling them
with pepper, salt and bits of butter;
spread fine bread crumbs over them
and bake half an hour.
Bone dust, says an American Agri
culturist writer, should not be mixed
with the chicken feed. It is too stim
ulating and is liable to cause enlarge
ment of the liver in hens that are not
laying. Put it where the hens can get
it, and those that want it. and need it,
and then eat just what they care for
aad no more.
Raise horses, but do not fit them
for the track. The real character of a
horse, like that of a man. will show
itself. Sell the colt and let others df
J the training and take the risk. To go
) into the work of a trainer is folly for
a farmer. It involves too much time
and trouble and always results ua
crofitably to farming.
Apple Pudding: Pare, core and
slice two medium-sized apples into the
pudding dish and add a very little
water. Make a batter of one ez. one
half cupful of sweet milk or water, and
enough flour previously mixed with
baking powder to give the consistency
of cake batter. Pour this over the
apple and bake ia a moderate oven for
one hour. Serve with cream and
sugar. New England Farmer.
The earlier oats are sown ia th
fall the better the plants will be able
to stand the freezes of winter. Septem
ber is the right month ia North aad
:.,," ,!:. .-. . t -
-"-u"-' --- -. ciy crop.
Don t be afraid of winter killing. If
killed the loss involved is practically
but little more than the value of the
seed. If killed the land will be ia fiae
condition for sowing agaia in January
or February. Indeed, if the same seed
ke kept and sown successively ia the
fall for a series of years we believe the
"strain'' so developed will become
more and more hardy and less liable to
winter killing. Southera Cultivator.
BEDDING
FOR STOCK.
CoBamrnta
by a Maa Who
Has Has
FarcnlBc Pay.
When I see a neighbor's stock stand
ing without bedding. I next take a look
at his barnyard, and I always find ma
nure two or three years old. It is
invariably true of the man who is too
improvident to furnish bedding for his
stock, in this country, where straw is
so plenty, that he places very little
value on manure, or. as is usually the
case, he lives oa a large farm, and be
lieving that the manure he makes
would cover but a small portion of his
land, he neglects to draw and spread
it- I have seen a farmer who is a
granger, who attends regularly all
grange meetings and picnics leave his
manure until it filled nis doorways and
rotted out his floors. Just before win-
ter set in he would draw out a f e
Ioads. so that thev could get out aaa.
ia without too much trouble. I
have seea his horses staadiog;
pitched forward with their hind
quarters oa a foot or two of ma
nure, and no straw in sight. I have,
seea seven head of cows and young;
cattle dragged out for burial in oae
sprinsr. I have seen the poor brutes
search for water in a frozen mud-hole,
fall into it and die. I have seen the
blasts of winter tearing through his
rickety barns, covering his hay aad
grain with snow, aad his poor, skinny
cattle humped up ia corners of the
fence, no doubt wishing death to end
their sufferings. I have seen twenty
or tweaty-five bushels of wheat under
his barn, with pigs, chickens and ducks
running to it. and hundreds of bushels
of graia piled oa his bar floor, with
mold, rottenness and sprout-
in the center, and his tools
told enough. Te a y ears ago
to make a specialty of sar-
ingand making manure. I have never
regrenec it jay crops are growiog
heavier every year, aad also staadiag
drouth much better. There is ao bet-
ter way to make Iota of maocre than to
pax as aouacance of straw under tha
stock. The aseurauce that horses aad
cattle are ia dry, warm quarters. stand-
tte thrifty fair to doablye-joy hi.
own warm fireside d coLji,
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