Evening Star Newspaper, August 10, 1889, Page 10

10 Written for Tux EvExrre Stam. LOADED FOR ANTELOPE. Some Interesting Stories About This Fleet-Footed Game. before years it be very hard to pro- cure one. antelope used to roam in large numbers on the Laramie plains, Wyoming, and in the North and Middle parks in Colorado, They are to Be found there yot. but the busclice sre small. I was on a hunt a few years ago in the “Medicine Bow” range, and one day we ran across a large band of over a thousand down Big creek and yeh ae on their way out to the plains for the winter. There were some meat hunters at hand, and they just aimed at the mass, which were going through a nar- row canon, shot down quantities of them. It is such buteberies as this that have thinned out the game in the west. Should it be allowed to contin ntelope will in a few years be as THE BEST RIFLE FOR ANTELOPE HUNTING—GOOD LEAD CARRIERS ARE ANTELOPE — SHOOTING THEM FROM AMBUSH—DECOYIXG THE GAME— SOME INTERESTING ANTELOPE YARNS, (Copyrighted 1889.) As an old plainsman once said to me, “If you are going to hunt antelope much go and buy a Jead mine first,” and my own experience would almost warrant following his advice. They will carry off more lead and not seem to feel it than any other animal that I know of. Here is an instance of what a tremendous amount of lead they can carry. One day a neighboring ranchman and myself were riding home from the stage station, where we had been for our mail. As we got to the top of a little hill we saw a bunch of six antelope just ahead of us. Iwanted some fresh meat at the ranch, so pulled my six-shooter and fired at the leader, a bigbuck. The ball (a 44 caliber Colt’s) struck him in the right shoulder, breaking the bone and rendering that leg useless. He gave a A PRETTY SHOT. A person or a party going to hunt the ante- lope wants to go in Ovtober or November to northern Colorado or anywhere in Wyoming territory, taking with them a small wagon and camp equipments, Strike away from the railroad. When you find the game don’t slaughter them unmercifully, but pick out the best. kill and dress it, preserving the good heads, and when you get back to the railroad town you can sell your meat and what hides you don’t want to take home, and the proceeds will pay a good part of the expenses. To an eastern man I would say, go on an antelope hunt by all means, camp out, sleep in the open air, it won't hurt you, have a good time, kill some game, bring home some heads for your library or office wall. Then every time you look at them you will think of the good time you had and wish yourself back on the open SNEAKING UP To THE GAME. spring, and ‘urning round started off. Just mere Prairie chasing the fleet-footed game. But then a ball from my companion's rife struck | fon't get “rattled” and pepper your best him in the left hind leg, breaking it just above | friends. TEL. Fansane ad oo the hock, and another from my pistol lodged in his side.’ Notwithstanding all this, he ran for nearly a quarter of a mile before dropping. When we came up to him it took another shot to end his sufferings. Then I dressed it and tied it behind my saddle, and we had antelope steak for a week after. The meat of the ante- lope when properly cooked is one of the best TRAVELING DRESS. Once Neglected, but Now Looked After with Great Care. From the London Daily Ne' THE EVENING STAR: WA There was atime when it was thought that “anything would do” for traveling in. Now, however, the traveling costume is devised for its special purpose. In an old fashion book an illustration of a “circular cloak” is shown trimmed with five rows of gimp, the weight of which must have been considerable, consider- ing that at least thirty yards must have been used, There is no trimming whatever upon the skirt of the neat traveling mantle of the present season. The bodice part is frequently embellished with a little passementerie or braiding, or bands of silk moire, and handsome cords and tassels are frequently used to fasten it at the throat. Tailor-made gowns are the favorites, The most fashionable form is a perfectly plain skirt, with loose jacket to , lined with colored silk, and worn over ken blouse of the same color. The gloves, shoes and stock- ings are tan-colored. A French woman would certainly add a brown gauze veil to these items, but they do not find much favor with English women, who enjoy fresh air unfiltered through auze, othe ‘surprise” dresses introduced early in this season by a Paris milliner will be found useful in traveling when it is necessary to dress in haste for table d’hote dinner. One of these on the surface has all the appearance of.a very simply made skirt and short jacket, well but- toned over upon the chest and thoroughly protective in every way. To turn it into a din- ner, or smart little theater dress, all that is necessary is to unbutton the little coat and throw back the fronts and to unhook the to) of the skirt at either side and open them bac! in the fashion called by muilliners en revers. The whole of the hitherto hidden front of skirt and bodice is then shown to be in beautiful brocaded silk. ‘ Tall bats and bonnets are the favorite wear for traveling just now. The newest shape pro- jects over the eyes, the brim being turned up in a rapidly ascending curve toward the back. The space between it and the crown is then filled in with feathers matching the tint of the felt or the color of the dress, The edges are bound with velvet. Small toques made of a piece of the dress material are thought by many to make the most traveling cap, but they lei eyes quite at the mercy of the sun, In the railway carriage they are comfortable enough, protecting the hair from dust, as the rose stems certainly fail to do. The en-tout-cas, matched to the gown or its trimmings, is the only orthodox form of sun- shade for the foreign trip. The handles are long this season, though not so inconveniently so as those which last year were nicknamed “husband beaters.” The small covert coat re- tains its popularity, despite the novelty of the smoking jacket and the easy attractions of the “blazer.” Itisso easily donned and doffed, so light in itself, and its pale fawn tint jars with so few other colors that the covert coat justifies its own success. The shirt, the blazer and the smoking Jacket will reign by the sea in com- pany with the blouse, the tennis gown and the comfortable and convenient patent shapely skirt which has been adopted as part of a shoot- ing costume by many great ladies. coe dishes ever put ona table. Tender, juicy. and with just enough of “wild taste” to give ita flavor, it is far ahead of beef or any domestic meat. Visit almost any ranch in the western country, and hanging to the meat pole you will see the whole or quarter of an antelope. At meal time you will get a piece of it, cooked in a style peculiar to the country, and after you have got back to civilizatiou again you will wish many times for a piece of properly cooked antelope steak. The fall of the year is the best time to hunt antelope, as they have been feeding on the nutritious grasses during the summer, and are fat and in good condition. AS TO WEAPONS it is hard to choose any particular kind. Fancy has a great deal to do with the matter. I pre- fer for all around use the 40-70 Winchester re- peating rifle, while some use a Martini of the same caliber; still others use telescope rifles of different m: nd some old hunters use an old battered single shot Pacific Ballard, and it is due to the latter to say that they generally “git thar” when itcomes to bringing down = at long range. I came across an old fel- low in a greasy buckskin suit one day who was bunting for the market. He would kill and dress enough to load two wagons, then take them to Cheyenne or Denver and dispose of the whole lot to the commission men or butch- ers. He was just going out for some game a short distance away, so I went with him. He had a single shot “Sharps” rifle, 40 bore, and a telescope attachment on the barrel. The ad- vantage of the telescope is that it brings the game near to your eye, and by sighting your game through it and bringing the hair sights on the end to bear in the proper placeyyou are sure of your game almost every time. Arriv- ing at the foot of a small slope above which was a flat plain, we dismounted, and crawled to the top. Peering over the edge we saw a bunch of SEVENTEEN ANTELOPE FEEDING. The old fellow lay flat, poked his rifle over the edge of the hill, squinted through the tele- scope aud fired. A big buck sprang into the air and fell dead. The others seemed fright- ened and disturbed, but, not seeing us or eny- thing to run from, presently stood still. n- other shot, and a doe, after a run ofa few rods, dropped down. The herd was as badly rattled on ketene. A det, a dest a hysterical run- ning about for a little time. but seeing nothing they soon quieted down. The old huater kept squinting and shooting till seven antelope iay on the ground. Then the remainder seemed to locate us, and in an instant they were off across the prairie, far beyond the reach of bullets. NOT SO SATISFACTORY. Another way of hunting antelope (which I now look upon with disfavor) was practiced by a friend of mine once—and only once. He came from Boston to visit me in my western home and was very anxious toshoot an agtelope, as he wanted the head to take back to Massa- chusetts. One day he rushed in saying there was a big buck feeding alone about half a mile from the house. Igave him my Winchester, and filling “‘the magazine,” he hurried away on foot. He had never shot anything in the w: of game, and as he was too excited to even hit a barn, I paid no attention to him. Soon after he left I = on horsobeck down the river gia bank to get a bunch of cattle. As I was ridi along a bullet whistled by my head, and look. | !t 18 the Terror and Despair of Archi- round I saw the antelope running straight to- tects and Carpenters, From Chambers’ Journal. ward me, followed by my friend, yelling like a madman, and shooting as he ran. “Zip!” and - ‘ snother ball was uncomfortably near. [| So destructive are the depredations of dry jumped from my horse, who ran off a little | rot that it may well be called the terror and way, and swung my arms and waved my hat to despair of architects and carpenters, No care -— i epeligg la a Pose | or precaution can be too great to prevent its a sine for me, an 1e i il i bullets from the gun of the lunatic behind him | ¢@*Fan¢e into # building, for if once it finds a were falling all around. I dropped to the | !odgment its eradication isa herculean if not ground, pulling out by the roots in a vain | an impossible task. Prof. Burnett, a com- endeavor to pull myself out of sight. To say petent authority, graphically relates how a Iwas scared is putting it mildly. My hair, |}, use he occupied was twice renovated in four which was long and fell over my shoulders, | 2° = now stood straight up, making me look like a | Y°#r8 and had ultimately to be pulled down. native Circassian. ‘The antelope passed by me, | In the old era of oak-built ships they were a few feetjaway, and a few more bullets buried | sometimes found to be unseaworthy before 9 stoo i " ide me. ammunition gone, breathless, and | 18 it do its ly work. As for rem |, “Did you see him? I most got him.” | measures, prevention is the only cer- got up, took his gun, spoke a few lines of | tain cure. The selection of sound, well-seasoned ae ing ina — voice, res told | timber is as essential as the avoidance of damp go e house. He went. It was a of i month before he mentioned “antelope hunt. pncdiped very Sat re ing” again. cious prophylactic is saturating the timber with creosote under high pressure, so as to. thoroughly permeate every tion of wood. ‘This has been practically proved in coal and other mines, where this destroyer runs riot and its ravages entail much expense and inse- curity, and where its waving white have a most weird and ghostly effect in the ‘darkness visible” of the pit. mines in the north of England, where only creosoted timber has been used for the last thirty years, the extra cost has been amply re- paid by the comparative indescructibility of the timber thus treated. In house-buil a wise proceution is the well of all under- ground floor-bearing walls with tar or pitch, which prevents the mycelium finding a ment among the mortar, in which it revels and i ite i f i i i i I : i 2 i wae A MUSICAL TRIUMPH. PART L You went up three or four steps, making your way as best you could between casks of sour- looking plums and apples, which, if you would but consent to “take them as they rose,” or, in other words, as they naturally presented them- selves, and not pick and choose, you could buy cheap. You pushed aside some festoons of dangling brushes, were gently bumped by a string of Portugal onions, caught glimpses of photographs of various beautiful places in the district as you displaced these things, and at last effected an entrance into Archibald Brown’s shop. This was the post office, telegraph office, and general store shop of the village of Sels- wyke Bay, in Yorkshire. Nowhere else within a radius of seven miles could you buy a dress, a bit of “elegant trousering,” a cheese, or a good piece of hamorbacon. Apples and plums might be had for the begging or stealing by the tender youth of Selswyke, and were so had; but no- Where else could’ clothes and provisions and everything wanted in a house be bought. The inhabitants of Selswyke were unusually well endowed, being, when farmers either on a large or small scale, in the habit of saying that they had beef, mutton, ham, eggs, chickens and ducks ‘within themselves,” and yet this shop was needed. If it had been in Scotland its owner would probably have been known as Archie alps here he was ceremoniously styled Mr. Archibald Brown, and, being » man of genial but thoroughly respectful manners and much information, his shop was abun- dantly resorted to by persons who sometimes did not want much more than a few words with him. The squire of the neighborhood—a proud man with more pedigree than rent roll, but more rent roll than sufficed to keep up the dig- nified state in which his life was spent—was there now. He had gone in to buy some post cards, and being fully six feet high had not got in without becoming aware that Mr. Brown had Portugal onions for sale. He had bought his post cards and had remained for five minutes’ talk with Mr. Brown about some local matter. A telgraphic message was being transmitted. Mr. Brown was unaffected by this. Squire Rokewood found its incisive litile clicks agreat hindrance to conversation. “You seem to let those people at the other end of the wires work away as they like with- out taking any notice of them,” said he. “The message is not for us, sir. It is a mes- sage from Scorton to Wragborough.” Wragborough was a town that was ten miles 4 away, Really! And you hear the clicking of the Scorton message as it goes! I did not know that you could do that. Then can any of the other offices between Scorton and a orough: hear it, too?” Bly ‘It's heard just the same in every one of sir.” “I had no idea of that; but, after all, I sup- pose none of the offices know what is being flashed along the wires but the one that the message is intended for, and that even the one it is intended for doesn’t know what the mes- sage is until it has been worked off onto the tape?” “Oh, yes, they do—that is, they might—ior in those offices people are mostly too busy to think of a message that is not intended for them. But it is astonishing how soon even the shop boys learn to distinguish the sound of the stroke made by each letter.” “Thad no po Soe that our messages were such public property,” said Mr. Rokewood. “I shall word mine much more carefully in future. But, Mr. Brown, do you really mean to tell me that you, standing here talking to me, could, if you chose to listen, hear what that message is?” “Of course I could, sir, I have heard some of “What was it?” “You must please to excuse me, sir. Such information as that must be kept to myself—it is my duty! However. it is a common message enough and not in the least worth knowing.” “And you say that the shop boys can read the messages by ear, too. Can that boy of yours do it Mr. Rokewood was referring to a remarkably stupid-looking little fellow, who, to the distraction of a woman ina hurry, was struggling with the management of the weights and scales. “Yes, sir; he is a long way quicker in under- standing by hearing than I'am.” Mr. Brown at this moment was called away to the inner shop to fill in some money orders and receive some savings bank deposits, and the squire, who had not got over his astonish- ment at that stupid boy being able to inter- pret a telegram by using his ears—what enormous ears they were, by the bye—said to him, ‘‘Can you really do as much as your mas- ter says you can?” “Oo, aye, sir,” replied the boy carelessly, and, no customers being there, began to amuse himself by piling up the weights in the form of @ pyramid with an amount of noise that was simply astoundi: Suddenly he darted off to the window—a signal had informed him that a message was now going to be sent to that office. Dexterously adjusting the tape so as to be ready to receive the communication, he signalled that he was prepared, and weited to see the meesage print itself off. 0,” eried Squire Rokewood, imperatively, “come to the other end of the shop this moment! Iwantto see if you really can tell what this message is just by hearing.” The squire was the squire, aad second’s wood, too, had no hesitation—his strong desire to know if what had been said to him could be true made him forget that he had no right to ry ossess himself of knowledge not in- tended for him. os “Go on!” he exclaimed impatiently, for the clicking had stopped and the boy was not say- ing a word, On by ing this command he made some of the uncouth sounds which in his rank of life betoken suppressed laughter. The squire felt inclined to shake him and showed i “I can’t help it, sir, It’s such ce message for anybody to sen Oy. “Oh, never mind that! Tell me what it is and then I will have that tape examined to see if you have told me right. I don’t believe you can tell me!” “You perfect pest! What train? That's what it is! It’s from Agnes—her name is Ape squire laughed loudly—he was sucha stiff young squire, too, in a general and never could unbend, The boy gr: from ear to ear and wished all messages were as funny as this. “You are inventing it!” exclaimed the squire, with a sudden suspicion that his dignity was being tampered with by an oaf of a boy ina general store shop. “Nay, Fe can see for yourself what’s there,” answered the boy, going to the window and holding up the delicate tape. The }, how- ever, coul arrangement of lines and en, could evidently read this with perfect ease and was once eee eee light. As for the squire, he could do nothin; but wonder that prime ministers were no’ habitually chosen from the ranks of telegraph bo; Fuck! Jack! Mr. Rokewood! Sir, what are you doing?” cried Mr. Brown, who had re- ‘turned tothe shop to find these two A pong over the message and forgetful of else, though a woman was standing there by the counter with @ penny laid on it ready for her intended purchase and two boys were clamor- ous for rockets. “Go and get the rockets, Jack,” cried Mr. Brown, and then he went to see what the woman wanted. She looked so used to be kept waiting that he felt obliged to attend to her at once, She, however, with her north coun! without a a did not speak, but pushed her nearer to him. He held up a square of soap “Soap!” she exclaimed contemptuously, “‘and mother weshed 0’ Monday!” He interroga- eral touched a jar of treacle, “ | and me nothing to put it in!” her. she grinned, and saing "T thought Td have to tell yer,” took it and Then alt 3 ge i & i i esitation the boy obeyed. Mr. Roke-| j squire, id see nothing but a very orderl; Te came partaker in this telegram, too, and the consequence was that, being in the neighbor- hood of the station that evening with nothing aha org to do, he found himself sufficiently terested in Agnes to hang about in the lane through which she must pass when she left the station. Of necessity she must be a foot pass- enger, for there were no flys or omnibuses at Selswyke. He did not go quite so far as the station, but waited on the rough cinder path outside, leani ainst some untrimmed rail- ing and gazing far down below on the bay, where a spring tide seemed to be trying to overtake some fishing boats drawn up on the sand bank to be out of its way. He counted seven of them. Half a crown a year was the sum which he, as lord of the or, received for each boat to which the privilege of escap- ing to this bank was accorded. Selswyke and the village of the same name, lying in a ravine between two great cliffs, were hemmed in by a semi-circle of high hills, which, with every variety of gently undulating line and lovely curve, sloped down to the seashore. Before the railway had been made any one living at Selswyke might easily have persuaded himself that it was a little world intended to be sufficient to itself and that no one ought ever to wish to leave it. Nothing could be seen of the greater world lying beyond the hills which closed it in on every side but one. It had its own seven or eight miles of sand, ending abruptly in almost insurmountable barriers of rocks fallen from the high cliffs which jutted out at each extremity of the semi-circle, It had its own church and its manor house, own meadow and cornfields, its woods, its pastures, and sweet secluded ravines through which fresh brown streams from the hills forced their way down- ward tothe sea, It had, too, its own sky, and almost its own sea, for what sea could be perceived by the inhabitants of Selewyke was all but framed ip by the high cliffs at each end of the little bay. Beiore the railway came the only visible sign of a great world beyond its own barriers was an occasional steamboat or sailing vessel. Sometimes the knowledge that this other and wider world had links that bound it closely to Selswyke was borne in on the in- habitants of that place by the harsh sounds of the speaking trumpet from a vessel as it crossed in front of the bay, and then some mother or wife, whose thoughts had for a long time been traveling by water, hearing this, would dro) her work andcry, ‘Oh, there’s my poor Peter.” orlfohn, and hurry away to a point where she Would be clearly visible to waive a large white sheet or tablecloth to show that Peter or John was not forgotten. Even the railway for some time did little to dispel the sense of isolation. A train suddenly made its way out of a high hill on the southward side, it rolled to the lowe: level of the station by its own impetus—it ways stopped at Selswyke but rarely deposite a passenger there. Sometimes, but not very often, it took one or two to the market at Scor- ton, but most of the Selswyke Bay folk were wholly unreconciled to the iron, monster's ap- proach, viewed it with alarm, and refused to intrust themselves to its power. It only stopped a minute or two, therefore, and then steamed away into a deep cutting in the cliff on the north side, was lost to view, and the connection with the outside world broken. The squire now began to watch the hill to the southward for the puff of smoke which would show that the train had burrowed its way through the tunnel. Presently he heard steps crunching along the cinder path and saw the Young artist Fairfax striding along to the sta- tion. What a good-looking, gentlemanlike lad he was! Why did he allow himself to send such telegrams to his sister and how did he happen to have a sister who could permit herself to uch telegrams to him? While Squire Rokewood was asking himself this Mr. Fairfax came up, raised his cap, and i ve Tam speaking to Mr. Roke- I wish to ask you a favor. Will you allow me to sketch in that little wood by ‘the mill-beck, and may my sister sit beside me when Iam at work? We shail have to go through the field, but we will keep to the foot- path and be careful not to trample the grass down. I see there is a board up with a notice that no one is to go there, but 1 shalt be much obliged if you wivahewe: “Oh, certainly,” eaidthe squire,” with pleas- ure.” He very much liked this young man’s manner; he knew that squires always had gen- tlemanlike manners, but was unaware that artists sometimes partook in that advantage. “Are you staying at Selswyke?” he asked, “Yes, Tam at the Rodewood Arms; butI should be very glad to get to some quieter place—my sister is coming to be with me.” “I am afraid there are no lodgings—at least none that would be comfortable. The new inn is the best, but it is full.” “We must be satisfied with the one we are in, then,” he remarked cheerily, “and I dare say we shall do very well. I had no conce; that anything so beautiful and so absolutely unspoiled as Selswyke was still to be found in this ironclad country of ours. Oh, here’s the train coming. Thank you for giving me leave. Thope I have not takep a liberty in asking.” “Oh, dear, no; I ai going to the station too,” said the squire, Who began to think that it would look odd if he staid where he was any lon, ty sister and I are vegies y Sot to We have the misfortune—or perhapsI o say bp rae ample no relations. ee. “My mother an: are in 6: ly the 16 plight, and we have agusetimes tes ‘same diff. culty in knowing whether it is an advantage or @ disadvan’ ,” observed the squire, and never in his life had he spoken so freely to a stranger, and then he abruptly recalled himself to some- thing more like his usual reserve of manner. “See if there is a small parcel for me in this train,” he cried to the porter, to supply a motive for his appearanee on the platform. He staid by young Fairfax, though le was quite sure he sister. Seeing a girl in rather a fast-looking hat he felt certain that she was “Agnes,” but turning to see if Fhirfax was gazing at her with eyes of affection he found that he had darted off toa third-class carriage, whence issued a pretty—a very pretty—young lady of three-and- twenty or so, looking very businesslike and eminently able to take care of herself. She was prettily dressed, but not by any means in the style of the three or four young ladies who represented county society at Selewyke. Her heir was light brown and curly, like her yo brother’s, and her brown eyes looked out of rather a pale face, fall of spirit and character, She seemed lively enough to have sent that telegram anda t deal more les, and the squire was c! ed. And he would have to watch her walk away with young Fairfax and se¢'ne more of her. But would he? There a'difficulty about her luggage. The soli- ‘ter was so busy trying to find what was not there for Squire Rokewood that he would think of nothing else. “TI must have the rest of my sister’s hi ‘ge out,” said Fairfax to the station master. Two trunks were already on the platform. “How many more has she brought?” wondered the squire, ‘and wi there here to see her pretty dresses?” “Robin, it’s all out but the book box—I ught a box of books,” said “Jackson, attend to ogure, “Ne id not hi the squire’ , SATURDAY, AUGUST 10 should not like that one sitting ne do in a new place.” “Oh, then I Think it might do weil.” said he, dropping down on the earth, which he never for a moment forgot was his own prop- erty, with the air of a man who needed no in- vitation to take a seat, -Miss Agnes, though he was not ¥: instinctively moved “It is at my t's house,” said the squire. “T never allow to let rooms, but I will gladly make an exception in your case.” She thanked him—the sensation of being thanked by any one so pretty was very pleas- ant—and asked where the agent lived. “You know the Manor house?” asked Mr. Rokewood. “The agent lives in the white house not far from the lodge ga “But I don't know the Manor house!” said Agnes. “I always come here with Robin—I have done no prowling about yet.” “Lucky Robin!” thought the squire, but he was rather angry with her for not knowing where the Manor house was, and why did she talk about prowling?—the Manor house was large enough to be seen and found without any prowling. ne knows the Manor house,” said, with an air of conviction. “It stands on the hill behind the church; perhaps the trees hide it a little.” I wish I had seen it—I will before I see you next,” she said, with a little smile which did not escape the squire. Was Miss Fairfax pre- suming to laugh at him? “The thing to know is whether you think you would like me to tell the agent that he may let athe arr ch “The arrangement gounds delightful—per- aan} delightful—but don’t say anything — led to the agent until we have seen em.” It had never occurred to Mr. Rokewood bape! there was any chance of their not liking em. “We will, with your permission, go and look at thom this afternoon,” said Miss Fairfax. “It is most kind of you to think of it.” There was a certain air of concluding the in- terview about this, but the squire could not bring himself to go. Was Selswyke sometimes dull to him? Miss Fairfax's wreath was made and twisted round her hat, and now she was tting by the edge of the bank looking down i e water and watching a row of trout ly- ing with their heads ently turned up stream waiting for such food as might come. “Throw that line in,” she exclaimed; “I should like to see you catch a fish.” “Then come to the dub,” he said, wondering whether she would. “Robin, Lam going to so! Rokewood,” she exclaimed, me see him catch a fish,” “Many fish most likely,” replied Robin care- lessly, and she went. They took a great fancy to the agent's house, and left the inn for it almost directly, and the next time they saw Mr. Rokewood, which, to tell the truth, was very soon, they expressed much gratitude. He, too, might have expressed ‘atitude, but was prudently silent. There was ly walk at the back of his kitchen garden ran almost beneath the walls of the agent's house, and when Mr. Rokewood walked there, which, now that he had become aware of its advantages, he did every night, he could hear such music as had never fore de- lighted his ears. The Fairfax who evi. “meted considered a piano a necessary of life, had hired an excellent one at Scorton, and now no night passed without Agnes playing for a couple of hours, and as the windows were open Mr. Rokewood could hear to perfec- tion. Every day added to his envy of that brother. Agnes was young, pretty, clever, affectionate, and, above all, musical, and that brother of hers profited by all these good gifts deily. The Fairfaxes were both extremely friendly with Mr. Rokewood now, but he ob- served that even if he happened to meet them near their own door, or walk home with them from young Fairfax’s sketching place and go near her, ittle further off. with Mr. pass to let quite up to their door, they never by any chance gave him an invitation to go in, even though he often lay in wait for it. “Perhaps they have taken it into their heads that my mother ought to call!” he thought,and recoiled atthe immensity of the idea. Having once thought of this, he thought of it again, and presently it lost some of its awe, and, at length, about six weeks after Miss arrival, the day came when he said to the spare, angular lady, clad in rich silk, who was his mother: “Don't you think it wowld be kind to call on the Fairfaxes, mother? They are quite gentle- folk—very well educated, and—” “have no intention ‘of making their ac- cortege Geoffrey,” said Mrs. Rokewood iy. “Have you any feeling against them, gh feeling either f “T have no feeling e T for or against them. I simply do not want to do it,” Mrs. Rokewood answered with stony indifference. “If I say I should very much like you to do it, mother, will you call?” “If I could see good reason for your wishing it, of course I would.” “It would be kind. “So many things that one does not do would be kind,” said Mrg. Rokewood, and imagined ee had given him om he “They are very nice “J “AS | not calling will not make them less ce.” ‘Miss Fairfax is ap admirable musician.” “You go to the house!” she egolaimed with a certain vehemence of surprise, it wasso un- like him “to make himself common” in this but I have way. “No, I have not been to the house, hegrd her play. Ip happened when I was smoking one night to stray out of one garden into another, and at last I went into Elm walk, and, mother, P See have no conception how magnificently she plays! The windows were open and I heard.” “There you attack me in a weak ” said Mrs. Rokew: © was passionately fond of music. “Call on her, then, and she will play for You.” “I don’t want to call on her,” answered Mrs. Rokewood decisively. Her son said no more, but that was in the Elm walk he heard and presentl: —— frail lack, ote throug the Don’t be star! Geoffrey,” she whispered; “it’s your mother come to hear thismusic. 1 don't think Ishould have dared to come if I had known what @ long way it would seem in ee Sey le gave arm an feet nearer to the house. There listeni to i but next day the ice had re- unitea and left no weak spot. “Come into the with me,” said the squire the next after dinner. She said she would not, but went, and after her nature had once more been softened by what heard, she said: ‘Geoffrey, Fwill call on that girl, if you like, to-morrow.” “Thank ” said he, much by this asian, “308 won't repent it. They are both charming; it’s just one of those cases which show the folly of yielding to first im- ressions,” i 3 i i | ! ; F i 3 F i i t | i i 3 ; i i - i i s ! 5 E i LM ' ay H 8 H ty it i ie i H f ee ae NG “I? no. At least in I bad. How well your brother’ pr notte oe you have said so much you must tell us “I accidentally heard the telegrams you sent each other.” She laughed gayly: “If you heard those, I ve thought of us. don’t know what you must The truth is I have quite spoiled that boy Robin. I answer all his letters for him and now he can't be got to write one, and that day I was in such difficulty, for he told me the day be- fore, when he came on to Selswyke bay, that be would get lodgings for us here and would write and tell me as soon as he did and say what train I was to come by; and he didn't write and I didn’t know that there was a mid- day post from Selswyke, and thought no letter was coming. I was obliged to tarn out of the rooms I was in at Wragboroagh and didn't know what to do! “Oh, the language was quite excusable,” said the squire. lhe language excusable. There's noth- ing to excuse. That's the family style when it sends telegrams. You can’t say dear or dar- ling in a telegram.” . “Then you were not angry with each other?” “We never were that in our lives. Here, Robin, take your coat—it’s done. Now I have nothing to do.” The squire tore a leaf out of his ‘ket-book and wro' ‘Come to the end of the first field with me; I want to ask you to be my wife and 1 can’t speak before your brothe “Which of my requests are you denying?” he asked with an attempt at gayety, while in his heart he felt alarm, and yet he could not quite believe that she would refuse him. “Both,” she answered, without looking up. “Not really?” he pleaded; he was not a man who was used to plead. . “If you are going, I will walk part of the way across the field with you,” she said after a silence, He rose—her manner did not lessen his un- easiness. He did not speak—his eyes were trying so hard to read hers, “I have come so far,” she said, “because, if you really mean this, I want to thank you afd to assure you that it is quite impossible!” “Impossible for you to love me, do you mean?” She blushed and turned away. “Don’t say that is impossible,” he pleaded. “I could never give up my happy life with Robin; he would be so miserable without me!” “I might have known that you would never care for me,” said the squire bitterly. “I never said I didn't care for you,” said Miss Fairfax, now for the first time seeming to give utterance to her real mind, “but I know that I never could bear to gnter any family which looked down upon me, “No family could do that—if you did but know what I think of you.” “Mrs. Rokewood looks down on me! Do you think I don’t know? It’s not the first time that I have been sketching near a county , You mean that other county families have treated you better. Dear Miss Fairfax, why think of my mother? Haven't I given you the greatest thing I have to offer? I love you with all my heart.” She wavered a moment, and he saw it. ‘ou know I love you.” he said, tenderly, “Think of me, not of my mother, If you ac- cept me she will soon love you quite as much as she loves me; and you do love me a little— thing tells you that you ought to accept h, but I should do so wrong to listen to it,” she said, offering him her hand im token of farewell. “Don't go. Give me a little longer.” “Accept this answer as final. I will stay with Robin.” “L assure you my mother is much too fond of me to cross me long in anything on which my heart is set.” “Lam as proud as your mother. Not unless she herself came and asked me to listen to you would I do it. I may be wrong, but that’s how I feel.” He tried to move her by every argument in his power, but she only became more rooted in her determination. “Good-bye!” she said. ‘We shall leave Sels- wyke in a day or two. We had better say good- bye now.” “You surely don’t want to tear your brother away before his work is done?” “I must,” she answered sadly; and then with a half sob she said, “I don't think I could stay here, I must go.” “You must do nothing of the kind. I will go. I have long been -vanting to go to America, and I will start to-morrow. Perhaps when I come back—"* “Never!” she exclaimed before be could finish his speech. “At any rate I shall love you just the same,” said he, and wrung her hand and went. “She is not playing to-night, then,” said Mrs, Rokewood, seeing her son in the drawing room at the time when he usually was in the No, she is not playing, and she refused me this morning because she knew that you would oppose our marriage, and to-morrow I am go- ing to America. “You must please yourself, Geoffrey,” said Mrs. Rokewood. “I can’t stop your marrying Miss Fairfax, but I should never like it.” He kept his word and went, Mrs, Rokewood sadly patrolled the spacious rooms and galleries of the manor house. Each looked duller than the other, and she was dull, too. Her son, her only son, was gone to the other side of the world and had said nothing about when he was likely to come back. “One wants some young creature with one,” she said, “The sight of young life is a good sight; buteven an old person Would be better than no one.” Later an e day she saw from her carriage window the Fair- faxesreturning home. He was carrying a sketch- ing bag and easel; she had his sketching stool. He was holdii his sister's hand in his; and the old lady could not but think that she looked very sad, and that he was trying to comfort her. ‘They seem very fond of each other,” she thought. “There may be good stuff in that girl—her refusing Geoffrey almost looks as if there was.” She dined alone. “So much state.” she thought,+‘and such woeful solitude, and there is no one I want to ask here. If Geoffrey stays away six months or a year it isa or out of my life! But it can't be helped. He did right to go.” Dinner over, she left the desolate dining room for the equally ‘desolate drawing room; but very soon—she never quite knew how it happened—she found herself hurrying along im-tree walk, with a shawl over her head, to hear if that girl who had brought so much trouble upon her had recovered her spirits and was at the piano again. No music was to be heard that night. After this it became a nightly habit with Mrs. Roke- wood to go into the garden to hear if the piano was opened, and at last she was enraptured by the moonlight sonata. She felt each note an added bliss, and si, seers her contentment, Such playing was like the ost exquisite 4 Inthe coer, pover would she hiner miss the enjoying so ne pleasure. ite, other things were keen besides the pleasure! September nights by the North- eastern sea are cold, October nigh: Two gardens had to be crossed before she reached the Elm-tree walk, where her furtive joys were obtained. The thin shawl had to be e for a far cli é E i ie it Hi t i LE iFEe i fF zs E i : i rf see i t i 3 sg Ey F hi i F Hl é Two Tracurs or Sorr Burren (well packed) weigh one pound. One axp Oxe-ramp Prxts of weigh one pound. Kerosexe Witt. Sorrex Boots or shoes that have been hardened by as pliable as new, oes Waew Wasnixve Wrevows dissolve a «mall juantity of wash’ soda in the water if the is dimmed with smoke or dirt. Ir You Have Trovee to get your last year's catsup bottles perfectly clean, after washing them thoroughly in suds and rinsing in clean water, chop a potato quite fine, mix it with a little warm water, put 1 the bottle and shake it well; it will sure; move any foreign substance, " a Eoas axp Greex Corx.—Boil a dozen ears of Sweet corn, cut it from the cob, season it with salt and pepper and stir into it five well-beaten eggs.. Take it in tablespoonfuls, roll in bread crumbs and fry brown. ‘Tue Quaciry or TaBue Sact and its tendency to pack together in cruets and containers may be entirely overcome by thoroughly drying the salt and intimately mingling with it » small Percentage of dry corn starch and arrowroot, rom 8 to 10 per cent is amply sufficient for the most humid atmosphere, while a much less per» centage of the starch is sufficient for ordinary use, Scorch Banter Brota.—Four pints of soft water, two ounces pearl barley, one pound salt beef, one marrowbone, six shank bones broken into small pieces, two large onions, one stick of celery, two turnips, and two carrote, thinly sliced, Set the saucepan containing these in- grediéhts over a clear fire; when it boils skin it and let it simmer slowly for five boura, Twenty minutes before serving adda teacupful of chopped parsely and some salt. Hor Waren Sponce Cakr.—Beat together until very light two cups of powdered sugar and four eggs; sift two scant cups of flour and two level teaspoons of baking powder together three times; favor With one teaspoon of lem and add, the last thing, four tablespoons of this is powdered sugar boiling water. Bake in a quick ove white, delicate and very ing two more spoons of boiling little more flour you have a cream, cocoanut, or jelly layer cake, secret of tender, delieate sponge cake is te have a thin batter. One Can Keer Fresu Meat two days with the thermometer at 88 to 108 above zero simply by shaking finely ground black pepper on each side to the extent of making a solid coat or co ering, using no salt till time for cooking; then shaking off the pepper, sprinkle on the salt and Proceed to fry, broil or bake as usual, ArrLe Cream.—Peel and core six large ap- ples, boil them in a little water, with two ounces of raisins and the grated rind of a lemons till quite soft; when cold add a glass of sherry, Lay the mixture in # pie dish, beat up the whites of three eggs with a little sugar to stiff froth, spread it over the apples and bake ina slow oven. Lirrce Rep AyTs cannot travel over wool or rag carpet. Cover a shelf in the closet or pan- try with flannel, set whatever you wish to keep from the ants on it, and they will at once dis- appear. They may be caught also in sponges into which sugar has been sprinkled; then the sponge coudbes dropped into hot water. Goop Use rox House Stors.—If you save all the slops from the house, the wash-water and suds of sundry occasions during the weck, you will find that you have a supply of uutriment at hand to draw upon which is far richer than you had any idea, It will not make # poor soil per manently rich, but it will afford eulicient nutri- ment to nourish such plants as you grow in it during the summer in a very satisfactory mans ner. Plant some annuals in clay and water them regularly with suds and slops, and they will surpass in growth and floriferousness those grown in the garden. To Wasu Biankers.—Put three cents’ worth of borax intoa tub of warm water, put the blankets in and see that they are thoroughly wet. Let them soak several hours, or half a day even, then squeeze them through the hands a couple of times, wring, rinse in plenty of hot suds, and they will come out fresh, sweet and soft, They should be pulled both length — and crosswise, finishing with a lengthwise pu Tapioca Cream.—Soak two tablespoonfuls of tapioca (pearl) in water over night, In the morning heat a quart of milk to the boiling point, turn in the tapioca and let it cook a very little. Remove from the fire, Have ready the yelks of four fresh eggs and half a cup of sugar, well beaten. Add a very little cold milk and stir in slowly. Put the whole on the range, let it boil up and remove at once. Flavor with vanilla. Beat the remaining whites. of eggs to a stiff froth, add a little sugar and dip by spoonfuls on top of the tapioca cream, Place in a hot oven until brown, which will take only a few minutes. Let ail cool and place ou ive. Grxcer Warens.—Cream a half-pound of butter and a half-pound of lard together, then add gradually one pound of brown sugar, mix well, and add one pint of West India molasses and a half-pint of cold water. Mix and adda tablespoonful ot ground cinnamon, a teas spoonful of cloves and two tablospoontale of ginger and one teaspoonful of dissolved in two tublespoonfuls of boiling water. Mix and add sufficient flour to make a stiff dough, roll out very thin, cut into cakes and bake in @ rather quick oven. Bananas.—Peel rather green banaaas, rub them over with a split lemon, place ins pan with red wine poured over them until it stands juarters of an inch deep. Drop in six cloves andafew sticks of cinnamon, three tabl nfuls of granulated anda spoonful of butter cut in bits, m & quick oven until light brown. This is the most Geli+ cious way of cooking bananas. eee Written for Tae Evewrm: an. A BRACE RONDEAUS. 1.—Wisely to Live. Wisely to live, one, first of all, should know How to renounce, on little live, and #0 Not hanker after superfuities, Nor, child-like, long for every toy he sees, ‘That can, at best, but transient joy bestow. He, who, not fearing adverse fortune’s blow, Finds from small means true satisfactions flow, Limits bis hopes, and from temptation flees, Wisely to live. And happy he, who, scorning outward show, Feeling that wealth Is unto peace a foe, ‘From the Jewelers Weekly. ‘There has been s good deal of talk over the robbery of the young duchess '