Evening Star Newspaper, September 7, 1889, Page 10

‘Written for Ta Evexrse Stan. ‘ SPORT IN WEST VIRGINIA. A Vast Wilderness Where the Locomo- tive is Never Heard. BEAR, DEER AND CATAMOUNTS IX ABUNDAXCE, ‘BUT THE WILD TURKEYS FURNISH THE MOST FYUN—HOW THEY ARE HUNTED—FISHING IN TEE MOUNTAIN STREAMS. (Copyright. 1889.) No eastern state (save possibiy northern Maine) can afford as good sport with rifle, shot- gun or fly hook as West Virginia. In ite ccater lies an area as big as all Mussachusetts, where the noise of the locomotive is mever heard. A large part of this area, to be sure, is well settled (in spots) and is traversed by a network of roads, but half of it lies up of the Alleghanies, or amid the rough foot hills that border them, where extensive farming is out of the question. Such « condition of things makes the region @ natural game preserve, the wilderness har boring the wilder beasts and birds, while the Sombie eens The eatlleet oattlers, were game. The earliest settle: ieasters and trap rs, quite as much as farmers. In those days bison and elk wandered all over these mountains, and the last buffalo in this state was not killed until 1815 and the last elk five later. These and the beaver are irre’ ly .e, but bears and wolves, pan- thers and wildcats, foxes, deer, small game and re and no man can fail of sport if he eares to seek it, by canoe or horseback, at a ‘ Rog tom co Itisa par indeed, es to him. - mon ecient on ‘West Virginia railways for © train to chase a deer along distance, the panic- stricken animal striving to the last instant to outdistance its terrible pursuer, and frequently ——— its life for its reluctance to jump Eom tack, In winter they often come out into the roads and are shot or caught in somebody's door- yard. Iheardan old miller relate, with most ludicrous pantomime, how he had seized a buck by the horns and held his head down b; main strength, while it kicked about 2 backward the neighbor who incautiously ap- proached from the rear; but the old man (he was young and sinewy then) hung on and twisted the deer’s bead in spite of its struggles, until his wife could come with a butcher's knife and cut the poor creature’s throat. It was formerly the practice to run deer with dogs and every countryman kept hounds, but it was seen not only that this was ruining sport, but caused disturbance of the cattle grazing upon the hill pastures and prevented the keep- ing of sheep. It is now against the law to hunt deer with hounds and they have not only mul- tiplied but have fled into these protected moun- tains from other states. Killing them by any means is unlawful, except from September 15 to December 15, except upon “premises set apart for the protection and propagation of game within the boundaries thereof.” This ¢lause means, principally, the tract on Cheat Fiver, owned by an association of sportsmen in and out of the state, which has probably the best hunting and fishing preserve on the Atlan- tie slope. Prominent in this association are members of the South Fork club, the breaking of whose dam caused the disaster in the Cone- maugh valley. BEAR HUNTING. Bears have always been plenty in these mountains. There is a story extant of a pioneer who killed thirteen one morning near the White Sulphur. This shows that thirteen is an unlucky number for bears. That would be a day’s work at present, but the man who goes hunting for bears anywhere in the eastern Ss the state cau find them if he knows his usiness. Both bear hunter and deer stalker are very likely to encounter wild cats or lynxes now and then, and more rarely a panther, a “painter,” as the southern backwoodsmen call them. The former, known by the descriptive name of “bob cat” and “‘catamount” (really cat-of-the- mountain), visit the fowl y: now and then, and when hard pressed may seize a aaah, bas most part they subsist upon “sq rabbits, chipmunks and sich-like insecks,” as an old citizen informed me. WOLVES AND PANTHERS, ‘The panther, however, isa constant menace to the sheep fold and to the calves of the hill- pastured cattle, while a great number of deer are destroyed by it every year, and most wan- tonly so, for the brute o! does no more than to suck a draft of blood and then go in search of another victim. Wolves were able to breed so plentifully dur- p> cg following the war in f and y-settled mountain counties that they presently became a terror to travelers in winter and did immense damage to live stock. Some- tumes bands would make long forays from their native haunts and they almost put dn end to sheep raising in the very districts best adapted to it. Now a bount: paid for their scalps and are diminishing. Foxes are still numerous, principally the in- troduced red one; but many soon ap foxes still remain. They are hunted in winter with Coons and ‘possums furnish local sport bares and the like are always Next to the deer and fox, however, the wild turkey is the most important game, and once awhile they come down into the farming discov their mistake too late, asa rule, to save their feathers. Thad «chat recently with an old mountain- unter, who was asked abcut wild tar- the hills up Elk river and whether he : i i H Fishing, of course, is excellent here and poor there. Large rivers, like the Kanawha and Big Sandy, contain the varied fishes that ascend them from the Ohio—catfish, mullets. gars, &c., &c. But the angler ascends the mountain streams and will find in almost or quite ail the larger ones black bass in plenty, while the clear brooks, cascading down their rocky chan- nels, abound in trout. The trout season ex- tends from April 1 to June 15, but other fish can be caught by hook and line or spear from April to December. The law is fairly observed over most of the state, and asa large number of salmon have been placed in the mountain streams and carp in the inore sluggish waters, West Virginia is likely to prove good angling ground for a long time to come, Ernest IncEensoit. ——- +00 —___ AT THE PARIS EXPOSITION. Two Objects of the Greatest General Interest. THE WONDERFUL EIFFEL TOWER AND THE MYSTI- FYING PHONOGRAPH—-HOW CROWDS ARE CAR- RIED TO THE TOP OF THE TOWER—THOUSANDS TRYING THE MACHINE—EDISON’S EXHIBIT. Correspondence of Tux Evznrxe Stan. Pants, August 20. In the immense multitude of striking ob- jects in the Paris exposition there are two which excite the most universal and unflagging interest—the Eiffel tower and the phonograph. It nray seem absurd to compare. two such dis- similar things, but in one respect they are alike—in the attention they attract and the wonder they excite. One is the work of a French engineer and the other the product of American genius. Both produce their wonder- ful results by the manner in which metal is moulded to human uses by human skill. One appeals to the eye and the other tothe ear. ~ THE TOWER, formed almost entirely of thin strips of iron woven into # graceful fabric nearly 1,000 feet high, dominates the whole scene and forms the prominent landmark of Paris as you approach it from all sides. It attracts every eye and calls forth expressions of wonder from all tongues. Every day the four elevators are thronged by visitors eager to ascend. At the pes stage, where the last elevator is taken, ou must usually wait an hour inaspiral — in order to form one of the squad of sixty to be carried to the top. And this is going on all da: and day after day without intermission. It the great success of the exposition, both in # scientific and pecuniary point of view. THE PHONOGRAPH. But down in the great machinery hall, which looks so small from the top of the tower, is the other object alluded to which attracts scarcely leas attention—the phonograph. It is made of metal also, but stands upon asmall table,occupy- ing for each instrument scarcely a foot of space. ‘There is nothing in its appearance to cause it to be singled out from the myriads of objects about it. There are eight of these little in- struments on separate tables in a portion of the 7 f 9,000 square feet occupied by Mr. dison’s exhibits, And around these tables it has been found necessary to construct lo: guards, as at the elevator of the Eiffe! tower, in order to regulate the access of the eager crowds, HOW THE PEOPLE ARE ACCOMMODATED, - To each of the instruments isattached a hear- ing tube divided into six branches, and an operator sits there ready to adjust them to the ears of the in the line as their turn comes. there from morning till 11 o’clock atnight the line is kept up almost without a It is very interesting to sit within the rail and watch line as it passes. It consists of all classes and all nations as chance has thrown them together. They wait patiently, gazing at the machine with expressions of curiosity. When a squad of six takes hold of the Lgerommen} may ieee Od aage/ — man, 8 American, a @ tur dark skinned ‘inhi anda little Frenc! 4 CURIOUS STUDY OF FACIAL EXPRESSION, You can see how similarly the smile of won- der is formed upon all the countenances, Few of the crowds that hear it have any clear no- tion of how the sounds are produced, but they from 4 little machine of and are lost in amazement. Many of them show signs of skepticism and r narrowly under the table for man who ing the trick. of the whole Edison exhibit, said that often from 15,000 to 20,000 people have listened to it in one day and that before the exhibition closes the number of those who have heard it will run up into millions. IM VARIOUS LANGUAGES, ‘This thing is going on all the time, not only in machinery hall but in @ small room in Mr. Edison's part of the United States exhibit, and in the room devoted to the graphoph hich attracts the same interest. “In this part there Russian, cromenh hte cates unfailing —— dog wy it should oe atten el of visi eee TALKING A LETTER, tion when he finds that at any hotel he can do ast through the kindness of Mr. P. We trae Aapcthene ity DAN CUPID. Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines, Today proves it, Terrible is the strength of the Fays that Old Sol is flinging broadcast upon the simmering earth. The tennis players have given in to it, and confessing themselves van- quished have flung their racquets to the winds and themselves into garden chairs, or else Prone upon the shaven lawn under the acacias, according to their sex. Two of them, however, have wandered rather far from the acacias and the tea tables and the tent, where better things than tea can be had for the asking. They have wandered down to the house boat on the river, shut out from a noisy world by rows of beech trees, It is a lit- tle dream of a place, entered by one opening only, and that through the beeches. “A sort of Arcadia. isn’t it?” says Mr. Brooke, glancing up at his companion from his loung- ing —— upon the bench at her feet. “No,” says she, with a little frown. She makes a charming picture standing here under the awning next the old sun dial, with her hat lying on the ground beside her and the glint- ing rays from the glowing heavens throwing golden lights into her fine brown hair. Her eyes are blue and just at this moment a little angry. The mouth, too, so prone to laughter, as a rule, has grown mutiuous. Half child, half woman, she has not yet learned the moro delicate shades of society's colors and lets her thoughts lie openly upon her lovely face. “You are hard to plense.” says he. his eyes on hers, Asurule his eyes are seldom any- where else, “Well, you are not.”-returns she. prompily. From afar the thrum, thram, throm o: banjo comes to them, breaking a stillness that is almost oppressive, s 's the unkindest ent of all!” says Mr. Brooke, placidly. ‘It's rather a cut at Miss Morland, too, isn't it? I presume you allude to my engagement to her. “You presume very wrongly then. thinking of Miss Morland, 3! Sh rich, young, handsome. “Rich; yes. I was isshe? Ob Juno! Too pe: ‘a Juno, perhaps! n shouldn't sneer at her,” says the girl, gravely. ba | w that. and that's why I do it,” says he. “It is dificult to resist tem do the wrong thing is al is talking idly, searcoly knowing what he say his mind full of her; fall of the kuowiedge that he loves her—her only, and with all the passion of his nature, and that he is engaged to ares ried to another woman! A handsome woman, the daughter ond heiress of a cotton merchant—what her own class would call a “tine girl;” tali with light eyes and lighter hair, and distinctly under bred. She had met George Brooke some months agoat the house of a mutual friend, and, being filled with a strong desire to rise out of her cotton surround- ings, had given him very cieuriy to understand that she was willing to ‘accept him should he choose to accept her fortune, which was cnor- mous, in exchange for the old title that must come to him on the death of his uncle, Lord Farnham. A beggarly title—no penny of money coming with it, as the uncle Yet the nephew know as often as opportunity occurred. There had been bad biood bet a Lord Farnham and his second brother, George Brooke's father, and Farnham was nota man to torget. He swore he would visit the sin of the father upon the son, and sooner than let his money go to the young George he would leave it to a (ospital As for the old name and the keeping up of it, let it go to the devil. Young George would in- herit that in spite of him, but it should prove a barren honor to him. Gir took no steps to assuage his uncle’s wrath, but he thought a good deal of the time when he should be Lord Farnham, with only £500 a year to back his title. He had shirked the idea of marrying for money, but when Miss Morland, with her undeniable goiden charms, flung herself at his head he permitted himself to argue the question with himself. Many a fellow, he told himself, had done it before. It was a fair exchange. ‘His title for her money! He was heartwhole. He would not do her or any other woman any wrong in marrying her, He would think about it—he hesitated—and finally was lost. Miss Morland accepted him calmly. Was a little vulgar over her money—let it be known that she thought it a pity that the present Lord Farnham was in such remarkably robust health for so old a man and said she would not hike to be married until the coming autumn. It was then November. George, glad of a respite, did not press for an earlier day. a circumstance the heiress remembered. He bore up under his new chains with a marvelous courage. He was not in love with any one, so they did not him. Then came a day when both he and Morland were asked down to stay for a month at the Shirleys,and there he met Dorothy Dene. A little slender maiden, with big gray eyes and hair that rippled all over her white fore- head. A rather out-at-elbows little maiden, whose best frock was a muslin and whose only ornaments were roses. The Shirleys—a young br raed her and would have her stay with them as often as ever the old squire, her father, would let her come to them. She had been taken forcible possession of by them for the month that saw George Brooke and his fiancee there—with the most disastrous results. George Brooke fell madly in love with her and she loved him. It has gone so far with them, indeed, that though no word has yet been spoken each knows the other's heart, and sitting here today in this little dangerously lonely retreat a sense of jionate protest against the fate that is dividing them is thrilling through every tone. “We ought to go back,” says Miss Dene presently, ina rather changed tone. She had en a little offended, perhaps, by the frivolity of his answer. “Oh! not yet,surely, We have been here so shor’ ime; and to get away from Shirley's em only for @ minute or two, is so intense a relief.” “It is more than a minute or two,” rising. “We have been here an immense time. Agnes — Shirley) will be wondering what has be- me of us—so,” regarding him steadily, “will Miss Morland.” “Let her wonder! Besides, she has forgotten us by this time in the delight of Lord Totten- ham's wong I wonder what she sees in that old fossil! For ™) T'm always thinking — with him of what I don’t Patsat Eg teeth, e “She is ves kind to him—poor old man.” “and ility is her strong point. How ver & charms have you discovered in her of “I don’t think you ought to speak of her like that,” sa) Lee turning upon him with a lit- tle — a her lovely eyes. ‘You shouldn't crit- icise her.” “Why not? I certainly shan’t be able to criticise her next month, so I may as well make the most of my time now. Next month”— slowly and almost defiantly—‘I shail be the blest proprietor of Mrs. Brooke, and it is not permissible to criticise one’s own wife, what- ever you may do with regard to your friend's,” He has spoken deliberately an ith seeming unconcern, though in ee heart = torn ~ two by a vs passion o! pair and regre' They are both standing, but she has turned a laced herself that he With « little swift as she mine = imperative gesture Vocatt wenn her eae oon as cruel, Even pr yang bmgd them. flow her ids and'ran quickly down her pale one says he, making a movement to- “No, no, Don'tmind me!” says she, bravely, him bands, with eager “You are do- foe What is best for you, indeed; and—and after- ward you will be a “and besides—" yh, that will do,” says he, bitterly. “Why should you trouble yourself to try and reconcile me to my fate? I ‘dees say there are worse things that might befall a “man than having to accept a fortune.” “I wish,” says she, ina heart-broken voice, one you would try to be a little happy about t. “Ts there anything else wish?” says he, Cc off his arm the Iitile friendl hand she placed upon it. “Happy, after all,” throw- ing up his head with a short laugh; --why not?” “Why not, indeed?” sadly. *“This is only moment's foliy on your t; every other day you are as merry as the best of us; tomorrow you will be * pacing d again,” “How well you have studied me! You are ight; I am the most frivolous, the most light- he, rig! hearted of my sex. Sometimes,” says he, ‘I'm so happy that i wish— “That I was dead!” says he—with such a sudden vehement change from affected care- lessness to honest misery that lier heart dies within her, Fear takes possession of her. “Oh, no! Oh, no!” cries she. her voice dying away in asob. Instinctively she moves toward hiin—his arms open—in a moment she is lying on his breast. ‘Oh don’t wish yourself dead,” sobs she, crying bitter! i ‘I don’t now,” whispers he, tightening his arms round the slender, beloved little form, “lL ought not to be here. I onghtn’t indeed, says she. making, however, no effort to redeem her position, -*There is Mise Morland to think of.” ‘There is indeed!” says he, ruefully, It isa cheerful rnefulness, however. With his world in his arms he can afford to fight with out- i And he was not wrong after all. She 8 love him,” = ‘Couldn't you—” begins Miss Dene and then breaks off. , darling?” i it off with her?” whispers » right side of his coat. is what he wanted! “T could,” evys he, laughing softly, and press- ing the pretty head against his heart with his hand, “and I will “I wouldn’t say a word—not a syllable,” says Dorothy, with awful determination, ‘if she loved you—but she doesn’t This decidedly. with all the impenetrable perspicacity of th, that never reasons, yet always knows. " meekly, “I copfess that idea has oceyrred to myself, but if my personal charms area matter of indifference iv her, why, then, has she done me the honor to accept me?” “They say,” says Miss Dorothy, lifting her limpid eyes to his with all the importance this time-honored authority ought to produce, “that you want to marry her for her money, and that she wants to marry you for your title.” “Do they,” says Mr. Brooke. ‘As a rule they might, they are always right, but for once they atfault. Ifshe wants to marry me for my title I'm sorry for her; firstly, because I'm going to marry some one else, and secondly, Lecause if I did marry her the coveted title would not be hers until her hair was gray, the old boy being about as strong at present as my annuitant. And, as for me, I most solemnly swear I don’t want to marry her either for her monoy or anything else. “Ah! but you did,” says she. “Eveui if so, you should not be the one to re- proach me,” says he. “Yes, that’s true, I’m bound to you,” says she, nestling closer to him. ‘And,” in an awed tone, “when will you tell her about it, George?” She hesitates so admirably over the pro- nouncing of his name that George laughs and eatehing up her pretty hand kisses the pink palm of it with rapture. “First thing tomorrow,” says he. ‘To tell you the truth, I think she has an ape 3 of it. She said something about you the other day that looked as if she was jealous.” “She couldn’t be jealous—she doesn’t love,” says Dorothy, with conviction. *‘Oh!” with a — long-drawn sigh, ‘it is dreadful to feel jealous.” ‘You needn’t have felt it,” says he, tenderly. ‘But I did. Icouldn't bear to think she was to belong to you, while I—Well,” with » happy little sigh this time that brings tears into her eyes, am not jealous now, I wonder what she'll say to you?” “Give me good day, no doubt, and rejoice over a riddance of bad rubbish. After all, sh was throwing herself away. A girl with a couple of milfions might easily have made her own choice of a better match than I am likely to prove.” “She could have made no better match,” in- ignantly. “Oh!” starting, “is that Agnes ei oy de Oh! come, let us run! We have been here a dreadfully long time.” “Till tomorrow, then,” says he, catching her in his arms and kissing her. ‘Tomorrow, I pray heaven, will leave me free to tell all the world that I love you.” Tomorrow, however, brings its own plans. With the hot water at 8, which aman gs him, a veritable bombshell, in the shape of a letter, that blows all his intentions to pieces. His uncle, Lord Farnham, is writes Lord Farnham’s lars: and has left ee not only the title, which he couldn’t keep from him, but his entire fortune, £14,000 a year. At the last the name had been too much for the old man. He had given his all for the keeping up of it. He had even given up his rev. 5 though, if he had known it, he could hardly have made his nephew more unhappy than by the bestowal of this most-unlooked-for gift. How is he to go to Miss Morland now and demand his liberty? With the title and the fortune both in his hands, how is he to ask her to break off his engagement? His soul sinks like lead within him. It was such an open arrangement between them—she to £ money, he the title—that now when he finds himself independent of her money it seems impossible to ask her to let him go free from the detested bond. A last fight for life animates him. He seek an interview with Miss Morland after breakfast and put the case fairly before her. If she still elected to adhere to their contract, so be it. Good-bye then to life and The honor that alone thing new in her face as she answers him granting the required interview strikes him at the moment, but not forcibly. Of, late her moods have been very variable, “Now?” asks he. “The sooner the better,” returns she shortly, “The library is always vacant at this hour. Shall we go Seong bd ee “A good , says calm, while against his side, as though it her vay : ere. ‘It was never me, then, it was only the “Well, as far as that goes,” sume ite va either. a “Ye ere ee he, witha pamsing. anil, sound in your express much regret, at all ith @ shrill > with o laugh. am step forward. Dismay, consternation, discom- ficture are all largely knit on her astonished “Lord Farnham died at 10 o'clock last night. Contrary to 2 expectations be has left me ev nn: possessed.” He bowsand moves toward the door’ “‘Stay—one moment,” gasps Miss Morland. If she has even one small grain of hope left that she may still be Lady Farnham his next words destroy it, “You must pardon me,” says he; “I have an appointment with Miss Dene. She has not yet heard my news. Ab! Lord Tottenham,” to that carefully-preserved old beau as he most oppor- tunely enters the room, “permit me to con- gratulate you. Miss Moriand has just intormed me of your engagement to her. I feel she has done wisely indeed. With much humility I confess myself very mich the worst man of the two!” He laughs and hurries away to find Dorothy waiting for him in that little sacred spot he had named Arcadia yesterday. Sho rises as he comes toward her and turns so deadiy white that he is afraid she is going to faint. “Iv is all right!” cries he, joyously, to re- assure her, A little cry escapes her. She would have gone to him, but her limbs refuse to obey her end if he had not caught her in his arms she would have fallen. There is no re- storative power so effectual as a lover's kiss, Dorothy is presently her charming self again. “Oh, how did it happen?” cries she, rap- turously. “I prayed for it all last night, but somehow I never had much hope. She has given you up, then? Really?” “Really and truly.” “Oh! how could she!” leaning back from him to gaze into his dear face, tiré handsomest in the wor'd to her, “Well, itappears sho could quite easil says he, with a happy laugh. “You may think me good to look at, but when compared with such a youthful Adonis as my Lord Tottenham even you must allow that I ought to take a back seat.” “Do you mean to tell m dignation, Tottenham? ‘Even so, my good chil ‘Pout! She's a fool. he’s not worth wast- ing words upon,” says Miss Dene, with scornful conviction. “That's what I think. Let's talk of our- selves,” says he. “Oh, as for that,” says she, turning suddenly very dismal and trying to give her head the preperly dejected droop, “I dare say you will sorry about all this later on. 1 have not been a good friend to you,” with a heavy sigh, “and that’s the truth.” “What am I going to be sorry about?” “You know! You said yesterday that it would be dreadful to live on £500 a year.” “So it would with Miss Morland—not with you.” “Ah! That is all very well now. But I said something about it to father last week—not about you and me, you know, but about things generally—and he said that when people with- out money married other people without money it was madness!” This rather involved sen- tence she gives forth with great solemnity. “What a lot he said,” exclaims Lord Farn- ham with affected admiration. “But, after all, it seems to me he didn’t know what he was talking about. The real question is, Dorothy, whether you could be happy with me, even though we both were poor?” “Oh, darling! what a horrid question! Don't you know that if I had ten thousand a year”— this seems be the utmost height of hei ambition—‘‘and not you, I should be the most wretched girl alive.” Vell, you shall have more than that with cries he, folding his arms around her with a tender excess of passion, and with his soul full of unspoken gratitude for this loving heart thet has been given him to perfect he ife, Then he tells her all.—By te Duchess. Written for Tux EvExrxe Star. Sunrise on the Spanish Peaks. Radiant are the Spanish peaks, With the rainbow-beam that speaks; Shimmerings of burnished gold To the rising sun unfold; Sparkling fountains on the sight Break in rills of liquid light, Foam in streams of aerial white. Draperies of mountain mist, Snow-lipped summits zenith-kissed, Crests of mellow light and shade *Gainst the clouds are lightly laid; Dancing gleams that wildly reel, Blithesome on the senses steal ‘With a fervor all must feel. Rosy nests on rocky heights, Whence the songbird wings its fights, ‘Where the zephyrs softly sigh ‘When the blissful morn is nigh; Where the earth its blossoms wreaths, And the sky in beauty breathes, ‘There the spirit soars and seethes. Davip GrawaM ADEE. SS as AMERICANS IN PARIS. Some of Them Appear to Know Very Little of Their Own Country. From the China Decorator. “Well, it does do one good to hear people ‘aged woman of the party, addressing in very loud tones everybody in the vicinity, ‘Yes, it does,” followed the daughter in the most gush- ing tone of voice, which was echoed by all the ” with growing in- hat she has given you up for Lord will | members of the party with enthusiastic repeti- tions of asimilar character. Then all began talking at once in a pitch that may have been acquired in Paris, where the constant noise andconfusion necessitates a most unladylike delivery of speech, but which could not but seem uncouth in this place, After expressing their feelings individually and collectively they pounced upon the exhibit, each selecting the object nearest at hand, ing ite merits, cor ey operrege asking where it came nistiy acid by Gee manager st! tea tics pore manag fini offered to make himself heard by al: . exhibit, ladies, is of American pottery and cut glass, sent by Messrs. Co. of New York city.” Great a was by such e: as “You don’t say so!” “Ts it possible!” ‘Well, bart bers ever!” and so on, but the voice of the evi it leader of the for further information HOME MATTERS. SEABONABLE SUGGESTIONS TO PRACTICAL HOUSE- KEEPERS—RECIPES WORTH REMEMBERING— HINTS FOR THE DIXIXG ROOM, PAYTRY 4xD ‘KITCHEN. Warrixe, Dar on Wer, will give to glassa fine polish. To Agurst Hiccovon close both ears with the fingers with pressure while a few swallows of liquid are taken. Coveus May sx Mucm Auurviatep and dry throats cured by cerine and lemon re ees night. glycerine be A Lirriz Borax Pot ix rae Water in which scarlet napkins and red-bordered towels are to be washed, will prevent them from fading. pTAINt ox Wixpows can, it is said, be removed y melt some soda in very hot water and washing with it, using a soft flannel. A Saaz Box Fiuuep wira Liwe and placed on a shelf in the pantry or closet will absorb dampness and keep the air in the closet dry and sweet. Pracuts to wx Kerr Axx Tie should be ee out on shelves in a cool dry cellar, ed over carefully every and all the speckled ones used first, os Tur Stix Max x Rexovep from peaches quickly and without any waste by putting a few ata time ina wire basket and dipping them in boiling water for a couple of minutes, Never Pot Away Foon ox Tix Prats. Fully one-half the cases of ‘poison from the nse of canued goods is because the article was left or put back into the can after using. China, earthenware or glass are the only safe recep- tacles for “ieft-overs.” :. Ir You Have Trovne to get your last year's catsup Lottles perfectly clean, after washing them thoronghly in suds and rinsing in clean water, chop a potato quite fine, mix it with a little warm water, put in the bottle and shake it well; it will surely remove any foreign substance, Waisky witt Take Ovr Every Krxp or Pavrr Srars for which I have ever seenit used, A child’s dress will look entirely ruined by the ark berry stains on it, but if whisky is poured on the discolored places before sending it into the wash it will come out as good as new. Ix Cases or Sickxess sand bags are preferred to hot water rubber bags, as they can be more easily adjusted to different parts of the body. These granular heaters are also to be chosen rather than soapstone or bottles for keeping the feet at normai temperature in zero weather. Tovou Meat Cay be Mane WoxDERFULLY Texper when put to boil by adding a table- spoonful of good vinegar. This is also good for a tough fowl of any kind, and tough steak can be very much improved, after pounding, to salt and roll in flour and fry in very hot but- ter or lard. Srroxe Sart axp Water and diluted cam- Phorated alcohol given alternately and in quantities to merely keep the mouth and throat wet, are recommended for diphtheria patients. A gargle of sulphur and water has also proved of value in the treatment of diph- theria, Frovr ts Exce,.ent ror Stoprixe tax Inri- TATION caused by the stings of insects. Dry blueing also will allay the pain from the sharp sting of wasps and hornets. A very homely remedy and a very efficacious one for the ewell- ing and inflammation of a sting is to apply a plantain leaf that has been bruised and mois- tened so as to extract its juice, A Nice Picktz.—Peel nice ripe peaches (clingstone), drop in glass or stone jars, to one quart jar add one teacup sugar, asmall quan- tity of mustard seed, cloves, allspice and pep- per. Boil enough’ strong vinegar to cover them, pour over them while hot, Fold a thick paper, tie over them and set in a dry place. ‘hey will keep all winter. Noruine 1s Much Berrer rHax a Prece oF Cuamors Sxry for cleaning the tips and sides of patent leather on shoes, and it can be done in afew minutes, By the way, a banana skin will clean a shoe or boot very nicely in the absence of blacking and shoe polish. It was tried with great success by a traveler who happened to lose his satchel and find himself where he could not replace any of his conveniences for the toilet, A Disixrectayt Waick Has Overcome even the offensive odors of cancers is made by dis- solving three drachms of potassium nitrate in eight ounces of Platt’s chlorides, In this saturate thin muslin and dry it thoroughly. Small strips of the cloth burned on a shovel, where most needed, will almost instantly re- move the trying odor. It issaid to be equally efficient in all contagious, pestilential or in- fectious diseases. How To Maxe Toast.—The object in making toastisto evaporate all moisture from the bread, and holding a slice over the fire to singe does not accomplish this; it only warms the moisture, i inside of the bread doughy and decidedly indigestible. The true way of preparing it is to cut the bread into slices a quarter of an inch thick, trim off all crust, put the slices into a pan or plate, place them into an oven, which must not be too hot; take them out when a delicate brown and but- ter at once. Oneciors Ovcut Never To Be Scrvseep with a brush, but after being swept may be cleaned by washing with a soft flannel and lukewarm water or cold tea. On no account use soap, or water that is hot, as either would have a bad effect on the paint. When the oilcloth is dry, rub it with a small rtion of s mixture of beeswax, 80! with s minute quantity of turpen- tine, using for this pi a soft furniture a rush, The follor is also used to make oil cloths look well: Wash them rub it well in with piece of old silk. Reep Bmps on Toast.—Allow two birds for each person, Draw the birds and then draw the skin from the head and neck. Out off the He Fee seeeek FFaEE i Fr B 2 £ rr RE ty ° le ‘Trains Po! 0 am, leave New 30, “4: “Os 12:00 noon 12.00 noow, 14:00, 18:00 & 2:30 T CHAS. 0 SOU. General Manager. ¥:40 p.m—Western Ex Charic Cuipeyer, ville, Gincinnatt Pulluan Vesti to. © an Oranwe, 11:00 ye Ty reas 200 Pah on 8:00 nia 253 pam, h trains from the te, arrive in Washington 6.53 ain, bod Staun! ashington and Ohio division leave Wasn- Sauly: arrive Hound Hal 73:9 Jeave Kound Hill 6:05 ai. daily aud 12:26 sehington 8 Sunday, and 4:45 p.m. fhe Bots. wud 7:20 pms gzeept Sunday, arriving W ma. : Via East T 20) car lconanaen a $05 am. and 10:40 pm. vie G eis Dm and 6:9 am ‘Tick furmmaied, sued ey lvania even: Jiailroad, cs transfer dvubie ecross city. Pos eat Ci tad Raat oe Bare, Divton, 1:17 p.m. week days. For Atlantic Ci ad ov ! is 2208 é ity aaa i 7 a ne 1, 6:35, Teservation necked South vie Charlotte, Dan- Lyneh- jottesville at 2:36 p.m. Strasbury local at ¥:1) and information ‘et office, 1300 Peun- ‘Penusy iver JAS. L. TAYLOR, Gen. Pass. Agent. ton “street, svoidiag 00 end 11:40 = m. week “me Ie os daily, ex aOR ANE TBR AS Rt ts IN EFFECT MAY 2 Alexandria, 4.50, 65; Pw