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About The Red Cloud chief. (Red Cloud, Webster Co., Neb.) 1873-1923 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 25, 1889)
. "- acgjC-Mn' M.il. w 1 1
(With a Mora.)
-Ah. w:; do I recall how, ia tie happj olana
-1 sat beside the carscr fire aad sa the hici
"VTii Je I fccar.1 tee wlsJ without, and the splash
ing cf the ra jl.
Acil tis broad -ra-:olias tapplas at ths drij
Vies 3ia::7. rocr:ng sloxly, with the baby
Tcld nary a -xGairctis story -ju' ez true ez
true co i be r
"TTell cnee dar -wtiz txo leetle toys, name
Jetz:c3 aad Johany 'Wood;
Aa Jceea truz bid ez bad could be aa
Johnny, he waz pood.
13eir Ma, she tad a bag o' gol hid ia de cabby-
An Jeemes he ioua" It out, as all da heap o'
AaM.es he ma a'xay so la' he lo a rubber
ler his ila aa
ir'er so poo', dey daaao
chat to do !
ell Jchaay lor his poo' llaaaata he -xneied
de bes' he could.
Tel oace she sat h ra to de swam-) to chop
Aa dar a let o ,gzion come r ft, er fo", er
Aa' de blrsest cobbled Johnny up, aa'
Aa' dar, ias de de critter' n.x, wh7, what did
: de oier I:
r Ia;v-ruboer shoe, aa' h:s atudder's
'VeII d;a he tec his leetle axe aa right
aay he iaci
Tel he chop a uioas'ous hole risht froa?h de
to -c ;y uc.
Dea oat he pop. aa' aebberstoptei he reechhis
atuJder s doo
Aa pocred tie shi
riiht oa de
Now, icaey mia' aa 'me:
iberd.-s iron d3 tale
yoa jes beca tol
Ji lei, dty alluz ccnet to lc.1 2n' d; tjoo-i, dry
ri't de gorr""
Scsiu Archer 'VVe'ss. ia St. JT.choIaa.
TUB Konmce oi MeaiiierieiEfi MaiL
r -r w
a:;da L. Crocker.
CHAPTiUJ XIII. CONTiyn.3.
'Father "' cried she, depreeatingly. The
.reu fce. despite its angry expression, had
touched a icng-s-ciit, tender chord of atfec-t-ort
:a the heiri cf the woman so sadly es
traaod frost pc'.ernal love, aad with con
tiag cnct.ons s-tc uttered the entleanag
Foanc:e"ttSir Rapert's face lost the
h-.rd liacst it tvas evidoat a Ion g-s ileal
caord of i-5 heart tvas also touched, aud he
JV- - - V l !: ,--r ' f-
begone! begone" he norTEt.
head bchiad a
see the coatlict
".variag bctweea love aad pride.
Hinim made a step forward hoping she
could hard.r have told for vrhat. Her foot
f ill arous "d Sir Rupert, and with a desper-atoae-s
bora of Sataa he fell bock o a the
evil is h:s souL ever stcier.r. to the
esterceacy, aad faced taa proup oaco store.
3Iiriant piused: tvis there recoadliatioa
bearalagea that pateraal face! No.
-Doa"t cc e sear me; doa't call sie Ouzi,"
12 cried, vehesiestly; 'dsa's call ce
-father' after after "
His voice failed hra, and he clung to the
co.ssis nearest hita for supjxrt, looking the
aiSnn.-nfpMnWmi tittar f rom sheer ex
haustion. .. I
The little group on the nags were sueat
rd alstot terror-strickea at tho fury of
the old r
-I have gone far enough, it seetas," said
Miriam, after a long silence, ia a choking
voice.- Th-'n ia an undertone she continued
t-ilkiair: partly to herseif and partly to the
white-faced group around her:
-Fa-her wHl sot forgive ras unless I tzQ
for the boon, aad that, of course, I shall
r."ver da I had thoucht to come back to
Kcatherlelzh :f Sir Rupert cared to have
tu; co so. and had fondly dreamt of making
l.ts rema-sng clays pleasant, if I could.
But to beg admittance to the aczuiped doors
that never had but fro.vas for me is more
than a ch..d of the Percifuis will ever do.
' I hal! never grovel ta the dust for love
rather the hatred."
A wave of proud, cold defiance swept her
pale face f.ra moment and the fine eyes
dueled with as ascry, insulted expression.
The child, frightened at the loud tones
and an cry imprecation and gestures of his
irate jrrand father, soushihis mother's eyes
with a troubled look on its dimpled face,
c-.t to see a sternness there that chilled
his" trusting heart with childish terror.
Hiding his perturbed, frightened eyes in
the fo.ds cf his mother gown he was
"You swute little darlint,1 moaned Peg
gy, kneeling down beside him. "An' re's
don't know at all how inane the wurruld
kin be wh.a it tries, me pet; an' its yer
havihunish gras'faytherthatmoightbe so
proud of ye if the civil hadn't such atheri
ble held cf his bird old heart."
The child turned quickly, seemme to un
derstand by intuition that a great wave of
svmpathetH: icve was setting ia toward him,
and in a trice he had thrown his dimpled
urms around the reck of the demonstrative
Fezv. Putting his fair, baby cheek up
loviai-.-vasaisst that of the housekeeper, he
hogas cress- and caressing her old face in
the appreciative love of his tender little
" Pegrv's warm soul could stand no more.
bu-ii- cilsjung the fatherless innocent to her
-real heart, she burst into tears.
-Never mind, Pezgy." Miri .m. said in a
socthiar tone, putting her fcaau
lvinclv on the gray hairs of the bowed
ije-jd." "We all knew just how it is, except
babv." she continued ia a low. confidential
tone, in order that Sir R.upert, who still
strod lonkiag at them, might not hear.
Yes. yes. we all know, aad I trust there is
t oce'hurt verv much by this show of bo
Ti!i:v on" Sir Rupert's part. Peggy , you are
'. grieved, but I should cot shed a tear if I
were is vcur since. It is not worth the
?,-"! :, ,-ST7Z.
v --' .. .r -'; j ----. "pf
-. " - "-
zj m mn r-
'U iJ M
Sf s - T
while, as by so doiaj? you can cot remedy
the matter. See ! I am calm enough, Peg
gy ; take pattern from my tearless face."
Clarkson raised her tearful face and
searched the eyes of her long-lost mistress
bent kindly on her.
What did she see in those clear, dark
depths! Beyond the haunting sorrow of
her great bereavement there smoldered the
old, proud, willful, unrelenting spirit. Yes,
it always had been, always would be, in
spite of death, sorrow and the grave, shaft
for shaft with father and daughter. Sword
to sword when a Percival aroused the evil
in one of their own blood had been a say
ing, and Peggy remembered it plainly now.
The vengeful fire in the eyes of Miriam
confirmed the truth of the adage, and prom
ised balefully that the breach existing
could never be healed. Truly the woman
was cot much changed trom the proud, re
bellious child in its nurse's arms.
Miriam read the innermost thoughts of
poor, simple-hearted Peggy ia that momen
tary upward gaze.
You are startled, taken aback, Clarkson,
by my heartless coolness after my long ab
sence; but think a moment, Peggy; what
have I lost hert, beside my sainted mother i
I have not misused any paternal confidence
nor crushed any fatherly affection, having
never been the recipient of that much-to-be-desired
blessing. Surely I have lost
nothing and am cone the less miserable for
my independence to-day.
"I have forfeited my right to Heataerleish,
it is tr-e, but with me that is a minor mat
ter. "If father will not receive us, baby and I,
because of the name we bear. why, all recon
ciliation Is at aa end at oace, as I shall not
beg forgiveness for imaginary sins and to
please Sir P.uDort's love of authority.
The shapely hand covered with its black
glove clenched itself in defiance, and the
hot blood of vexation aad inherent dislike
surged up to the smooth white brow and
burned in roses on either cheek. A silence
as of the grave fell over them as she ceased
speaking, for the housekeeper could rind
no words for reply in the faco of such an
impassioned outburst, because of its truth.
The irate father still stood silently re
garding his children while leaning on the
column for aid. Not a muscle of his face
moved, but he was thinking, nevertheless.
A sweet, pleading face of one long since
dead seemed to come before him and pe
tition ia its old, tender way for reconcilia
tion and atonias love. And a strange mist
obscured his vision; somehow the womaaly
daachter out there, by herpresesce, drew
his soul toward her in spite of all he could
do. Ohl God, that this chasm of bitterness
existed between them. If she, h.s daugh
ter Miriam, would only call across the years
to him again, aad reach out her arms in
that yearning way why, he could not re
puise her again; the soirit would be
crushed, and peace would breed, white-J
winged ever Heatherleigh.
But Minam did not calL
"I must be going now." she said. ''I had
promised myself a somewhat diSerest greet
ing from Eeatherleigh's shadowy doors,
why. I hard.y know, but never mind, that is
all over now. I fear, however, this day's
doings wiil sit much harder on father
than it wiJ on me. Good-bye, Peggy: good
bye, AnciL James, and ail; as affectionate
She finished in a softened, subdued tone
as she gave her hand to each in parting.
'She is a Percival to the very center of
her proud souL" murmured John to his
fellows, almost gladly. Somehow he felt
happy to find that Sir Rupert could be
withstood and ignored iahis commands of
submission, andthat, too, by one CI his own
Miriam took her little son in her arms,
and called across the intervening space in
a clear, unhesitating tone: "Good-bye,
father a long good-bye !"
Little Arthur, following his mother's ex
ample, stretched out his little arms toward
Th. frail. Tntrprinir fnrm in th rinnrnar I
and piped in clear, bird-like tones: " Dood
bye to 'oo. dood-bye; len' dood-bye!"
"When his children's voices floated melo
diously to him in these sweet yet sad, sad
words Sir Rupert made no reply. But what
his thoughts were who could say!
Silent and worldless he stood, gazing
i after the retreating forms of his hapless
children: his beautiful, bereaved daughter
3nd the innocent little grandchild, with its
long, bright curls flying in the sweet spring
wind. Would he ever see them again ! He
did not know. Oh! yes. he felt that he did
know; he was certain that he never would.
Peggy broke in on his sorrowful reverie
by throwing herself at his feet ami wailing:
'Oh! masthur, masthur, cull her back.
Oh! masthur, do, Oi beg!"
She had rushed forward aad knelt at his
side on the steps, forgetful of the angry
demonstrations she had just witnessed.
She was only thinking that she must lose,
forever, perhaps, her beloved Miriam,
And, is her despair, she feared nothing of
word or deed from Sir Rupert.
But instead of replying with a torrent of
invectives showered on her devoted head,
as all the dumbfounded servants expected,
"GOOD-BTE, FATHEK X LONG GOOD-BTX."
Sir Rupert turned away from the kneeling
housekeeper with a gesture of weariness.
vouchsafing not a word in response to her
appeaL A moment of hesitancy, and he
went in, shutting the door softly after him:
then, slowly aad painfully, he went sadly
up to his rooms and their solitude. There
was a strange mistiness about the stair
ways and a deeper shadow ia the cor
ridors as he passed to his apartments.
The very shades of death seemed to gather
around him as he turned the door-handle
and went in.
The heart-sick and mystified servants
stood speechlessly looking after the car
riage until the trees of the wiadiajj ave
nue shut it from their tearful vision.
A bird, high up ia the budding branches,
broke forth into rapturous song as the car
riage passed slowly in the nickering light
and woven shadows beneath.
Miriam put a very white face out of the
carnage side and" took a farewell invea
torruf the scene.
An air sf neglect had begun to tell on the
ones handsome drive; dead twigs were
scattered about, heaps of brown leave en
sconced themselves at the foot of the raw
of stately elms, while the fugitives drifted
about over the greening sward. Here and
there, however, an early spring flower lift
ed its smiling face along the unused way,
and the bird still sang on.
"Ah! well, sing on, little harbinger of
bright hours and fair weather," murmured
Miriam, with white lips audbrimmingeye.
The brave, daring spirit of a few minutes
previous had been suprlanted now by the
womanly impulses of her heart.
Good-bye, good-bye!" came in sad ac
cents as she passed under the arch of the
oufrgate, spanned by two bronze lions,
stretching their magnificent lengths across
"Drive to Oak Lawn." she said to the
solemn-looking lad in front, who had felt a
great lump ia his throat through it all, and
was ready to mingle his tears with those of
the sorrowful lady inside" at the word.
Then she leaned back against the cushions
and covered her tear-stained face with the
crape of the heavy vail she wore.
A sadder company never gathered in the
servants quarters beneath the frowning
gables of Heatherleigh than assembled
there that evening after Miriam's coming
and sorrowful going.
The old housekeeper was angry with her
self, aad called oa venerable "St. Peter to
witness if she would "iver knale to the
loikesof him again;" no! nottosave her
sowl from purgatory wud she ask a thing."
Ancil smoked his pipe in the chimney cor
ner, grave and thoughtful, while the rest
divided up their opinions in blessings and
curses, according to their individual views.
That evening when James stole softly up
to the master's apartments with a tray of
tempting delicacies which Maria, the cook,
had prepircd for Sir Rupert's late dinner,
the while she wished she might put "a wee
bit of suthin' in it," he found his master so
changed; silent and taciturn as of late, to
be sure, but with such a gentleness of tone
and manner as he had never witnessed in a
Percival during all his faithful years at the
HalL The bewildered butler rubbed his
astonished eyes to see if he were really
awake. Ha had read in old legends of
cmsty, miserable individuals being spirited
away after some crowning act of deviltry
by goblins, and milder persons sent to
breathe peace ia their stead, and may be
well, may be
But no; it was really Sir Rupert, but
transformed during the last fev hours in
the solitude of his lonely rooms into a
passive, mild-mannered gentleman, whom
to serve would be ms soul's delight hence
forth. 'James, you may replenish the coals and
wheel my chair a little nearer the grate, if
you please: it seems rather cool ia here
notwithstanding it is spring-time."
What a long, friendly speech, and to a
servant at that ! And he had sail please
y" v- piie."' Such a surprise from such
a source almost turned the brain cf the
dumbfounded butler. He never obrd
cniers more readily in his life, and he 1 1
rscit held his breath for fear the spell might
be broies and the austere old master might
be dropped again before the fire, thus bit
terly ending this delightful illusion.
The coals glowed anew ia the grate, the
easy chair g.ided noiselessly to the most
cheerful career, where the light shot little
ruddy gleams through the shadows, and
harpy-hearted James felt as if some good
fairy had condesceaded to wave her magic
wand over his lucky crown for all time.
"Now bring the lights, James,"' and the
much-changed master of Heatherleigh shut
his eyes and leaned back with a sigh.
When Sir Rupert dismissed the mystified
butler kindly for the evening, awed and be
wildered beyond expression, he rushed in
among his fellows and reported the miracu
lous change in the master as soon as pos
sible. Amid the confused ejaculations of aston
ishment which followed the butler's as
tounding tidings Peggy burst out: Blissid
Vergin ! an' Oi was shure the masthur had
a heart if he only cud foind it; he's af chur
repintia of his thratement of the puir
childers." And ia her excited grief she
rocked back and forth in her favorite
wicker chair, moaning in her grief that it
might be " too late to repint."
One bj one they were wen over to the be
lief that may be the ancestral curse had
been thwarted, and that scon they might
have their young mistress and the little
one with then again, until it came to old
Ancil, who was keeping company with his
inevitable old pipe ia the corner of the wide
chimney. He stoutly refuted all ideas of
repentance and reconciliation on the part of
Sir Rupert, remembering, as he did, how
that Lady Percival had knelt at the mas
ter's feet once in the long ago, something
as Peggy had done that day in behalf of
Miriam, and plead in vain for a restoration
"No, he never wad be silly enuff to belave
ony such stuff. The divil a bit wiil he repint,
an' ye are a foolish lot, be jabers, to waste
your pity on 'im." he said, refilling his pipe
with aa impatient gesture. --Oi wudaa
wonder, though, an' 'twould kill 'im," he
added, meditatively, as he held the pipe be
tween thumb and finger, and gazed into the
sickly flame on the hearth. Then, as if he
had settled the master's fate and passed
judgment on the future, he lifted bis gray
head commandinzly, and swept his wrinkled
hand across an imaginary arc above it, say
ing, vengefully: Let it kill'im! let it be
the death or 'im, an Oi've cot awurrudto
say. That's just it ; let 'im be af thur gittin
his desarts. Pay him. Oi say, in his own
chink: in his very own, an' it'll be gude
enuff fur 'im."
But hark! what was that which came
through the open hallway! In a moment
Ancil had subsided in his harangue, and
all had risen to their feet and stood listen
ing. There it came again ; it was the clear,
quick tones of the master's bell summon
ing them! What had happened! Every
face told plainly that the sound of the mas
ter's belL after hours." had struck terror
to their hearts.
James ran up-stairs with all speed possi
ble, and went alone, as not one of them
dared to follow him. although the little sil
very peals of the bell continued to float
down corridor and hall In quick, ener
"Howly Moses ! an what's np cow! Whin
will the ind be rached and the climax of this
therible day be forninst usi' And Ancii
Clarkson walked back and forth excitedly
in the midst of those who migr.t not make
James opened the door of his master's
apartments with a feeling as if something
awful had happened, or would soon happen
the HalL In a moment more he stood mute
ly before Sir Rupert, who. with one trem
bling hand still resting on the bell-pull, stood
staring wildly into space.
I wish yon would call Miriam," begged
the master, ia a helpless, stricken tone.
'She has just this moment left me to ar
range for a journey, and I I can not have
her go. I am old, James, and she must have
pity must stay with me. You will find
her in her rooms, I think; see her at once,
and tell her she must, for sweet pity's sake,
give up this journey voyage, rather.'
James stood petrified to the spot for some
minutes. Had the master gone daft, or had
Miriam really returned, and was she cow
in the Hall somewhere !
Sir Rupert took lis hand from the bell
; and stretched it out to the butler ia en
treaty, while an ashen paleness crept over
his aged face.
"Don't lose a moment of time, James,
and if she will go, why, ask her to leave
the child with me. It will be such a sun
shine in the Hall, the bright little'
-Boy." put in James, by way of enlight
enment, co longer fearing reprimand from
this strangely-altered man.
'Boy! Ah! a dear little son," wentoa
Sir Rupert. "A son ! Then the evil genius
can at last be thwarted. A son ! Go, bring
the little one Miriam's little son aad beg
of her also not to make the voyage unless
she must. I would have prevailed oa her,"
he continued, in a lower tone, and sinking
into his chair, "but somehow she wouldn't
listen to me. James. She could not be made
He ceased speaking and folded his arms
in a tired way.
'Well, James, will you fail me too!" he
"No, master, I shall cot fail," answered
the butler, promising something, he knew
not what. Then he stepped outside to think.
What should he do!"
He was certain that Miriam Percival
Fairfax was net in the Hall, and he half
' j-' S a r i u&sk
S S S Hi? Af'feS&gC
STOOD STAKING WTU1I.T INTO SPACE.
believed Sir Rupert's mind was turned, or
that he had had a vivid dream, which, to
him, was reality.
Nevertheless he went to Miriam's rooms ;
groping around the shadowy, silent corri
dor, and thinking faster than he had done
for many a day.
The key to her appartnteats was hanging
in it3 ring ia the wall at the right cf the
door, as it had hung fc four long solitary
years, except at the timf s when Sir P.upert,
seized with sudden fit of compunction,
would pay a visit to theJi.
Turning the key ia tha leek. James opened
the door cautiously ami looked in. Not a
sound or even a sight of any living object
met his eager, questienmg eyes. It was
plain Miriam was not there, nor had not
been, and tha. sir unpen; was suzer.ng
from a temporary hallucination the butler
Reluctantly he retraced his steps, and
opening his master's door qaietly.he weat in.
Sir Rupert was sitting muca as he left him,
only his hands had fallen to his side and
that he seemed asleep. He roused up, how
ever, as James entered, aad a wan smile
hovered around his trembling lips as he
asked: "Did she relinquish her resolve
concerning the trip, and will she be kind to
me and remain at the Hall!"
"No." answered James, talking at ran
dom, "she is going."
'And will have no pity on her lonely fa
ther! Ah! ingratitude; ingratitude! She
will leave me the little sen, then, if she
"o," answered the butlr, again at hi
wits end, but blundering tn. "she will
take tha baby with her; nerds him her
self,' she says."
Then lam undone; in the home of my
ancestors I must die alone, and broken
hearted. But could you not prevail on her!"'
he continued, brightening visibly. "Speak
of her dead mother."
'But, master." said James, much affected
by this unusual softness, and knowing the
utter hopelessness of tha case, "but, mas
ter, Miriam is gone; I saw her go."
fro be conthtced.'
Although Discouraged by tTa Ensirb,Tb
Still Prcrail All Over IadJa.
According to Hindoo custom girls should
be married before they are twelve. The
marriage takes place often when the girls
are hardly able to walk, and they go back
to their own homes and are brought up by
their mothers until they get old enough to
be of some service about the house, when
they are taken to their parents-in-law and
there educated in household duties. I can
not describe the horrors of their condition
should their husbands happen to die, and I
am told that many of them would be glad
to have the old custom re-established, by
which they might burn themselves on the
funeral pyres of their husbands. It is a
wonder to me that there is not more infan
ticide on the part of the mothers than there
is, and I caa easily see how the oldstory of
the notices posted up about the wells of
India might be true. This story was that
throughout certain parts of India over these
wells were written the words: "All people
are warned against drowning any babies
in this welL Those who do so will be pros
ecuted." These infant marriages are now discour
aged by one class of the Hindoos, but they
prevail all over India, and while I write
thousands of them are being celebrated.
The age of the groom seems to make no dif
ference in the age of the bride, and an old
Hindoo may marry a baby. The law against
a second marriage does not extend to the
man. He may marry as many times as he
pleases, and my guide here at Delhi tells
me he is cow living with his third wife.
Men of seventy marry girls of ten, and the
girls have no say in the matter. The
parents invariably make all the arrange
ments for the marriages, and there is co
courtship. Women throughout India have
co rights which a man is bound to respect,
and the widow is the most oppressed of this
land of oppressed women. It is the En
glish policy cot to interfere with the religion
or the customs of the people, except in
the prevention of horrid customs, such as
infanticide or the burning alive of widows,
and their only means of improving the
women of the country is by offering them
education. Very few of the Hindoo women
are educated, though schools are open to
them all over the country, and I found at
Agra a medical college which contained
sixty-eight female students. Pundita
Ramabai, the Hindoo widow who went over
the United States last year forming socie
ties for the support of a college for Hindoo
widows, hopes to start a movement in their
favor. She has just come to India with, if
I am correctly informed, about 169,000.
She proposes to educate as many child
widows as she can ; to show them that their
religion is wrong, and to give them an op
portunity for a better life than they can
have among the Hindoos under the present
custom. Frank O. Carpenter, in 5atlocaI
-" .' - A1 WA
A LURKING DANGER.
How to PrTot Mmnr Dynftl aad
Every disease for which the physi
cians can not satisfactorily account in
certain localities is explained by the
magical word malnria. and the patient
suffers and is weak till the develop
ment of fuller symptoms affords oppor
tunity for further diagnosis and a new
nomenclature. There seem to be. how
ever, few diseases which the state of
the system, under the influence of ma
laria, can not counterfeit, and it is a
relief to many a sufferer to know, after
having been tormented by apprehen
sion of something terrible, that it is
not heart failure, or brain trouble, or
cancerous stomach, or indurated liver,
but only a little malaria that occa
sions the suffering', quite unaware that
a little malaria is capable of being as
baleful as any one of all the others, in
filtrating its slow poison, and prepar
ing the way for its victims to fail easy
prey to a thousand ills, all of which
might have been resisted but for the
vitiation of the natural forces by this
subtle power of evil.
Not only in the positive and visible
agencies of fever and chills are the
effects of malaria apparent, but wher
ever it is present sallow faces, impov
erished muscles, undersized stature,
poor teeth, and thin hair. languor and
absence of ambition and energy, are
noticeable; and if ever any great un
dertakinsrs are compassed in malarious
regions, it is .by means of people com
ing in from the outside and doing the
work before succumbing to the be
numbing influence, or else by individ
uals who are what gardeners call
"sports" upon the prevailing variety.
U'hat there is in a water-soaked weed,
drying under a hot sun. to evolve such
terrible injury to humanity is for
science yet to find out. But that there
is deadly power in all veiretation that
lias been saturated and then exposed
to great heat is certain : and it is also
certain that sometimes the pestiferous
effluence is felt the most by people on
low levels, at other times, under dif
ferent conditions, by those dwelling on
hills at a distance of some miles from
the malarial source, and that some
times a grove of trees or a town acts
as a filter or a screen, and prevents the
poison from penetrating further.
While what has been long known as
malaria, meaning merely fever and
ague, is confined chiefly to the low
latitudes and to fixed localities of al
luvial deposit elsewhere, yet there is a
notable development of malaria in all
places where vegetable growth under
goes exposure and decay, thus produc
ing not only the :ommon illnesses pro
ceeding from malarious miasms, but
fatal fevers of many sorts. It becomes
every one. therefore, even in our own
comparatively safe regions, to take
two or three measures of precaution
that have been discovered to be of use.
Omitting, of course, purely medical
precautions, which are in the hands of
physicians to prescribe, the first of
these is a thorough system of drainage
wherever there are swamps or marsh
lands within three or four miles of
dwellings, that being the limit to
which the malarial poison can be car
ried by the wind, and the planting of
a thick growth of trees to intervene
between houses and the danger, to act
as a shield and screen and absorbent
in places where the drainage is not
possible or the danger not to be re
moved. Another is never to sleep on
the lower floor of rooms where there is
any suspicion of the existence of mala
ria. Another is to use great caution
against the night air when not in mo
tion, the poison being most active aft
er dark, when the sun has withdrawn
from us and from the a orld about us
his disease-repelling forces, a caution
which forbids in mild autumn even
ings much sitting about the lawns or
lingering around the door-steps, and
which advises a little wood fire upon the
hearth. Many dysenteries and slow
fevers might thus be prevented, which,
while they may not ia themselves be
directly fatal, lead the way, through
weakness and a lowering of the tone of
the system, to diseases which know no
recovery. Harper's Bazar.
Wonders in a Ton of Coal.
There is more in a ton of coal than
most people are aware of. Besides
gases a ton of coal will yield 1,50)
pounds of coke. 20 gallons of ammonia
water, and 1 W pounds of coal tar. De
structive distillation of the coal tar
gives 69.9 pounds of pitch. 17 pounds
creosote, 1-t pounds of heavy oils, 9.5
pounds of naptha yellow. 6.3 pounds
naphthaline, 4.75 pounds of naphthole,
2.25 pounds of aiizaran, 2.4 pounds
solvent naphtha, 1.5 pour.ds of
phenol. 1.2 pounds of aurli ie. 1.1
pounds of aniline. 0.77 pound of
toludine. 0.45 pound of anthracine and
0.9 pound of toiuneT" From the last
named substance is obtained the lately
discovered product saccharine, which
is said to be 223 sweeter than sugar.
St. Louis Republic.
He Was Qualified.
"I think." said the young man. as
she refused him for the third time, !
will go into the business or photog
raphy." "But." said she. "you haven't the
I don't know about that. I have
developed several negatives recently."
The way it is done. First citizen
"What have they arrested the China
man for?" Second citizen "O. some
boys smashed his windows and ha
shook his fist at them." F. C "And
they arrested him?" S. C "Cer
tainly. These moon-eyed Mongolians
must be taught that they can not shake
their fists at our American bovg."
FARM AND FIRESIDE.
Hanging baskets should be filled
but not taken indoor until well estab
lished. Yellow corn gives the best color,
quality and weight to poultry prepared:
for the table.
Cows require care to prevent then
from falling off in in the quality or
quantity of their milk. Bran, groand
oats, flaxseed meal and cotton-seed
meal are among the kinds of food that
increase the quality of milk. Ameri
Grape vines may be pruned any
time after the leaves fall and before
the sap runs in the spring. Grape cut
tings should be made late in the faX
and be wintered over, buried in dry
soil out doors, and should be planted
out in the spring after the land ia well
settled. Farm and Fireside.
Pumpkin Pie: One cupful of cooked
pumpkin, three-quarters cupful susrar.
one egg. half a teaspoonful of ginger,
one teaspoonful of cinnamon, a pinch
of salt, alittlegrated nutmeg if desired,
one cupful of milk. This quantity will
make two pies of usual size or one large
one which may be baked in a mountain
It is better, says an exchange, to
sow wheat late with the soil in proper
condition L e.. compacted and moist
near the surface than to get a large
and unnatural growth in dry. hot
weather. It should always be remem
bered that wheat needs a" moist, cool
climate, and seeding should be delayed
until this can be obtained.
Canned Squash: Boil the squash,
and strain through a colander. If very
dry add a little water. Fill glass jars
with it, screw covers lightly on and set
into a boiler of cold water with straw
or a perforated board in the bottom of
the boiler. Bring the water to boiling
and cook an hour or more in all. Then
take out the cans, and if the content
have shrunk fill up with hot water and
seal at once. X. Y. World.
A simple method of curing tha
gapes in chicks, and one that is suc
cessful in the hands of some persons.
is to pinch the windpipe. With tha
left hand hold the head of the bird up
and the neck straight, and with tha
thumb and finger of the right hand
pinch the windpipe smartly, slightly
rolling it. Begin as low down as pos
sible and follow it upward to tha
mouth. Be careful to release it fre
quently to give the bird a chance to
cough up the crashed parasites. Rural
Lemon Honey: Beat the yelk? of
six eggs until light, add gradually,
beating all the while, one pound of
powdered sugar. Beat a quarter of a
pound of butter to a cream, add it to
the yelks and sugar, beat well, and
then stir in carefully the well-beatea
whites of four eggs. Pour this into a
double boiler, and stir continually over
the fire until the mixture is about tha
consistency of very thick cream; take
from the fire, and add the grated rind
of one and the juice of two lemons, mix.
and turn into a stoneware or china
bowl to cooL Boston Budget,
WORK THAT PAYS.
Cooking Food for Cows anil Toonf
During Tfco Cold Somoo.
It pays to cook food. I do so for
hogs, calves, and milch cows. I cook
corn, oats, rye. barley, corn fodder,
potatoes, and. in fact, all kinds of grain
and roots. I find I can put on as much,
flesh with one bushel 32 quarts of
cooked corn as I can with 50 quarts of
raw corn. I also tested cooking for a
single cow, and having cocked four
pounds of corn and oats ground to
gether per day. got an increase of 16
per cent, in the milk, and of 19 per
cent, in the cream or butter. The cow
was fed and watered the same as usual
in every way except that the grain was
cooked. I also tested it on my driving"
horse, and found that he could do the
same work on eight pounds of cooked
corn and oats that he did on 12 pounds
of raw, and he looked and felt better
I fed him the same number of pounds
of hay in each ease. For cooking I use
a small feed steamer when I have to
feed five hogs and upwards: and for a
smaller number I cook sometimes on
the stove, and sometimes with tha
steamer. I cook every day ia summer
and well as in winter, if I am feeding
not less than one bushel per day, and
if I am feeding less than that I cook
every other day.
I can not make it pay me to cook for
one single cow or hog. In such a case
1 would cook on the kitchen stove: but
1 would run the steamer at a profit ia
cooking feed for five cows, or five
hogs or four horses.
1 claim that it pays me from 20 to 40
per cent, to cook roots, the profit de
pending on the kinds of atock I am
feeding. One bushel of steamed pota
toes 1 value more highly than I do one
bushel of raw corn for young pigs or
calves. I used not to have time to
cook: but according to my experience
during the last four years, if I have not
the time, it would pay me to hire soma
one to do it for me for a lot of 20 or 25
hogs. I want my stock fed just at the
same times each day. I usually feed
night and morning as regularly as it
can be done. One of my neighbors put
52 pounds of flesh and fat on a 250
pounds hog in 30 days on cooked corn,
and 30 pounds oa one fed on raw corn
la all my experience I have not know a
a single farmer who makes a success
of his business who does not own that
it pays him to cook grain for his hogs
if he has once tried it- In cooking with,
my steamer all that is needed is to put
in four or five pails of water and build
the fire, and put the feed into the bar
rel or tank. I usually do it after feed
ing in the evening, and it is ail ready
to feed in the morning, and it pays ma
from 20 to 33 per cent, to do ib J. B.
Pike, ia Rural New Yorker.
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