Evening Star Newspaper, July 5, 1890, Page 7

THE EVENING STAR: WASHINGTON, D.C... SATURD AMONG THE CORN ROWS AN INTERESTING ROMANCE OF A DAKOTA SETTLER. ———— From Harper's Weekly. OB held up his hands, from which the dough depended in ragged strings. “Biseuits,” he said with an elaborate working of bis jaws, intended to con- vey the idea that t! were going to be Specially delicious, Seagraves laughed, but did not enter the whanty door. “How do you like baching it?” “Ob, don’t mention it!” entreated Rob, Mauling the dough again. “Come in an’ fitdown. What in thunder y’ standin’ out there for?” “Oh, I'd rather be prairie. Great weather!” “Im-mense!” “How goes breaking?” “Tip-top! A lettle dry now; but the bulls pull the plough through two acres a day. How's things in Boomtown?” “Oh, same old grind.” udge still lyin'?” Mati,” {ajor Mullens still swearin’ to it?” fou bit it like a mallet. Railroad schemes fre thicker'n prairie chickens. You've got grit, Rob, I don’t have anything but crackers and sardines over to my shanty, and here you are making soda biscuit.” “I have t' do it. Couldn't break if I didn't. You editors e'n take things easy, lay around on the prairie, and watch the plovers and medder- Jarks; but we settlers have got to work.” Leaving Kob to sputter over his cooking Sea- raves took his slow way off down toward the oxen grazing in a little hollow. The scene was cuaracteris lly, wonderfully beautiful. It was about 5 o'clock in « day in late June and ‘the level plain was green and yellow and in- Bnite in reach as asea; the lowering sun was casting over its distant swells a faint impalpa- le mist. through which the breaking teams on the neighboring claims ploughed noiselessly, as figures in a dream. The whistle of gophers, the faint, wailing. fluttering cry of the falling plover, the whir of the awift-winged prairie pigeon or the quack of a lonely duck came through the shimmering air. The lark’s infre- uent whistle, piercingly sweet, broke from the longer grass in the swales near by. No other climate, si plain could produce the Same unnamable weird charm. No tree to Wave, no grass to rustle; scarcely a sound of domestic life; only the faint melancholy sough- ing of the wind in the short grass and the voices Of the wild things of the prairie. there I can see the Seagraves, an impressionable young man — edi of the Boomtown Spike), threw umself down on the sod, pulled his hat rim down over his eyes and looked away over the Plain. It was the second year of Boomtown’s existence, and Seagraves had not yet grown restless under its monotony. Around him the fophers played saucily. Teams were moving ere and there across the sod, with a peculiar Hoiseless, effortiess motion, that made them Beem ar calm. lazy and unsubstantial as the mist through which they made their way, even the sound of passing wagons was a sort of low, we d, self-satistied chuckle. Seagraves, ‘holdiug down aclaim” near Rob, had come to see his neighboring “bach” be- cause feeling the need of company; but now that he was near enough to hear prancing about getting supper he was content to lie alone on a slope of the green sod. _The silence of the prairie at night was w nigh terrible. Many a night. as Seagraves in his bunk against the side of his cabin, he would strain his ear to hear the slightest sound, and be listening thus sometimes for minutes be. fore the squeak of a mouse or the step of a pass- ing fox came as a relief to the aching sense. In the daytime, however, and especially on a morning, the prairie was another thing. The Pigeons, the larks, the cranes,the multitudinous Yoices of the ground birds and snipes and in- sects, made the air pulsate with sound—a chorus that died away into an infinite murmur of music, “Hello, Seagraves!” yelled Rob from the door. “The biscuit are ‘most dons.” Seagraves did not speak; only nodded his head and slowly rose. The faint clouds in the west were getting a superb flame color above 4nd a misty purple below and the sun bad shot them with lances of yellow Tight, the air = devser with moisture The wteackr neigh- joring life began to reach the ear. Children screamed and laughed and afar off ‘a woman Was singing a lullaby. The rattle of wagons and voices of men speaking to their teams mul- tiplied. Ducks in a neighboring lowland were quacking. The whole scene took hold upon Seagraves with irresistible power. “It is American,” he exclaimed. “No other Jand or time can match this mellow air, this Wealth of color, much less the strange social conditions of life on this sunlit Dakota prairie.” BP Rob, though visibly affected By the scene also, couldn't let his biscuit spoil, or go with- out proper attention. “Say. ain't y’ comin’ t’ grub?” he asked, im- patiently. “In a minute,” replied his friend, aking a last wistful look at the scene. “I want one more look at the landscap “Landscape be biesse breakin’ all day —— en’ draw up.” io; I'll take the candle box.” jot much. I know what manners are, if I fam a bull driver.” Seagraves took the three-legged and rather Precerious-looking stool and drew up to the table, which was « flat broad box nailed up against the side of the wall, with two strips of board nailed at the outer corners for legs. “How's that f'r a lay-out?” Rob inquired, proudly. “Well, you have spread yourself! Biscuit and canned peaches and sardines and cheese, Why, this is—is—prodigal “Tt ain't nothin’ else.” Rob was from one of the finest counties of Wisconsin, over toward Milwaukee. He was of German parentage, a middle-sized, cheery, wWide-awake, good-looking young fellow— a typ- icatclaim holder. He was alwa: confident, oe full of plans for the future. He had jag his own well, built his own s‘iantv, washed and mended his own clothing. H» could do puything and do it weil. He hada fine fleld*of wheat and was finishing the ploughing of his entire quarter section. “This is what 1 call settin’ under a feller's Own vine an’ fig tree”—after Seagrave’s com- pliments —‘an’ I like it, I'm my own boss, No man can say ‘come here’ 'n’ ‘go there’ to me, I et up when a-min’ to an’ got’ bed when "m a-min’ to.” “Some drawbacks, I spose?” es. Mice, f'r instance, give me a devilish lot o’ trouble. They get into my flo eat up my cheese an’ fall into my wel @im’t no use t” swear.” If you'd been Come, take that stool © Taf rats and the mice they made such a strife ‘He had to go to London to buy him a wife.” quoted Seagraves. “Don’t blush. I've probed Jour secret thought.” “Well, to tell the honest truth,” said Rob, a little sheepishly. leaning across the table, “I Qin't satisfied with my style o’ cookin’. oo". Lata little too plain, y'know. I'd lil «+ change. It ain't much fan to break all day, and then go to work an’ cook yr own supper.” “No, I should say not.” “This fall I'm goin’ back to Wisconsin. Girls are thick as huckleberries back there, sud I'm goin’ t’ bring one back, now you hear me ‘ood! That's the plan,” laughed Seagra amused at @ certain timid and appreliensive look in bis companion’s eye. “Just think what & woman 'd do to put this shanty in shape, and think how nice it would be totake her arm and Saunter out after supper and look at the farm nd plan and lay out gardens and paths and tend the chickens: ob’s manly and self-reliant nature had the Settler's typical buoyancy and hopefuiness, as well asa certain power of apaiyms, which en- abled him now to say: “The fact is, we fellere holdin’ down claims out here ain't fools clear to the rine. We know a couple o' things. Now Ié.dn't leave Waupac county f'r fun. Did y ever see Waupac? Well. it’s one o' the heed somest cour. shown on, full o° Jakes and rivers aud groves of timber. ' I miss *em all out here, and I miss the bors an’ girls; y © chance there f'r a feller, Land that was good was so blamed high you couldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole from a balloon. Rent was high, if you wanted t' rent, an’ so a feller like me had t’ get out, an’ now T'm out here, I'm gom’ t’ make the most of it, Auother thing,” he went on, after a pause— ‘we fellers workin’ out back there got more 'n' more like hands, an’ less like human beings. Y' knor, Waupac is a kind of a summer t, and the people that use’ t’ come in sunimers looked down on us cusses in the fields an’ shi Icoulda’t stand it. By God!” he said, with a sudden impulse of rage quite unlike him, “I'd rather live on an iceberg and claw crabs fra livin’ than have some feller ’ me on the * callin’ fellab!’ ves knew what he meant and listened fn astonishment st this outburst. “I consider miyself a sight better 'n’ any man who lives on somebody else's hard work. I've never had a cent I didn't earn with them hands.” He held them up and broke into a grin. “Beauties, ain't they? But they never Py wore gloves that sone other poor cuss earned.” Seagraves thought them graud hands, worthy to the hand of uny man or woman living. “Well, so I come west, jest like a thousand other fellers, to getastart where the cussed Euro) aristocracy hadn't got a holt on the I like it here—'course I'd like the lakes dows of Waupac better —but I'm my }, a8 Tsay, an’ I'm goin’ tostay my own boss if I haf to live on crackers an’ wheat coffee to do it; that’s the kind of a hairpin I am.” In the pause which followed raves, plunged, deep into thought by [ob's words, leaned his head on his hand. This working farmer had voiced the modern idea. It was an jolute overturn of all the ideas of nobility and special privileges born of the feudal past. a had spoken upon impulse, —— im- pulse appeared to Seagraves to be right, “I'd like to use your idea for an editorial, he said. “My ideas!” exclaimed the astounded host, pausing in the act of filling his pipe. “My ideas! Why, I didn’t know I had any.” «Well, you've given me some, anyhow.” Sougraves felt that. it was @ wild, grand uj stirring of the modern democrat against aristocratic, agaiust the idea of caste and t privilege of living on the labor of others. Thi atom of humanity (how infinitesimal this drop in the ocean of humanity!) was feeling the nameless longing of expanding personality, aud had already pierced the conventions of society and declared ne nil the laws of the land—laws that were survivals of hate and prejudice. He had exposed also the native spring of the emi- grant by uttering the feeling that it is better to be an equal among peasants than a servant before nobles. Thave good reasons f'r liking the coun- try,” Rob resumed, in a quict way. “The soil is ich, the climate good wo far, au’ if I have a couple o” decent crops you'll see a neat upright goin’ up here, with « porch and a bay winder.” “And you'll still be livin’ here alone, fry- ing leathery slapjacks an’ chopping ‘tuters and con.” “I think I see myself,” drawled Rob, “goin’ around all sammer wearin’ the same shirt with- out wasiin’ an’ wipin’ on the towel four straight weeks, an’ wearm’ holes in my socks, an’ eatin’ musty ginger snaps, mouldy bacon an’ canned Boston beans f'r the rest 0’ my en- durin’ days? Oh, yes; I guess not! Well, see y' later. Mast go water my bulls.” As he went off down the slope Seagraves smiled to hear him sing: “Lwish that some kind-hearted girl Would pity on me taki And extricate me frv The augel—how I'd 1 If this her home she'd make, In mg little old sod shanty on the plain The boys nearly fell off their chairs in the Western House dining room afew days later atseeing Rob come into supper witha collar and necktie as the finishing touch of a re- markable outfit. “Hit him, somebody!” “It's a clean collar’ “-He’e started f'r Congross!” “He's going to get married,” put in Sea- graves, in a tone that brought conviction. “What!” screamed Jack Adams, O'Neill and Wilson in one,breath. “That m 2 “That man,” replied Seagraves, amazed at Rob, who coolly took his seat, squared his elbows, pressed his collar down at the back and called for the bacon and eggs. The crowd stared at him in a dead silence. “Where's he going to do it?” asked Jack Adams. ‘Where's he going to find a girl?” “Ask him,” said Seagraves. “T ain't tellin’,” put in Rob, with his mouth full of potato. “You're afraid of our competition.” “That's right; our competition, Jack; not your competition. Come now, Rob, tell us where you found her.” “ain't found her. And yet you're goin’ away ¢’ get ‘he mess I'm in; ty “What! married! “I'm goin’ t’ bring a wife back with me ten days fr'm date.” “I see bis scheme,” put in Jim Rivers. “He’s goin’ back east somewhere, an’ he’s goin’ to propose to every girl he meets.” “Hold on!” interrupted Rob, holding up his fork. “Ain't quite right. Every good-lookin’ girl I meet.” “Well, I'l be blanked!” exclaimed Jack, im- patiently; “that simplv lets me out, Any man with such cheek ou :ht to-— “Sueceed.” inter: d “That's what I say,” ik Whiting, the proprictor of the house. “You fellers ain't got no enterprise to yeh, Why don't you go to work an’ help settle the country like men? 'Cause y’ ‘ain't got no sand. Girls are thicker'n huckleberries back east. I say it’s a dum shame!” “Easy, Henry,” said the elegant bank clerk, Wilson, ‘looking gravely about through his spectacles. Icommend the courage and the resolution of Mr. Rodemaker. I pray the Judy pot # “Mistake him for hts complexion, ‘The shadowed livery of the barning sun."" “Shakespeare,” said Adams, at a venture.” “Brother in adversity, when do you embark? Another Jason 6n an untried sea.” “Hay!” said Rob, winking at Seagraves. “Oh. I go tonight—night train.” “And return’ “Ten days from date.” “Til wager a weddin; blonde,” said Wilson, in speech. “Oh, come now, Wilson; that's too thin! We all know that rule about dark marryin’ hght.” “Till wager she'll be tall,” continued Wilson, Til wager you. friend Rodemaker, she'll be blonde and tall.” The rest roared at Rob's astonishment and confusion. The absurdity of it grow, and they went into spasms of laughter. But Wilson re. mained impassive, not the twitching of a muscle betraying that he saw anything to laugh at in the proposition. Mrs. Whiting and the kitchen girls came in, wondering at the merriment. Kob began to get uneasy. “What is it? What is it?” said Mra, Whiting, a jolly little matron. Rivers put the case: “Rob's on his way back to Wisconsin t’ get married and Wilson has offered to bet him that his wife will be a blonde and tall, and Rob dassent bet!” and they roared again. “Why, the idea! the man’s crazy!” said Mrs, Whiting. The crowd looked at each other. This was hint enough; they sobered, nodding at each other. “Ah! Tsee; I understand.” t’s the heat.” “And the Boston beans.” “Let@> on him, Wilson. Don’t badger a poor irresponsible fellow. Ithought something was wrong when I sew the collar.” “Oh, keep it up!” said Kob, a little nettled y their evident intention to “have fun” with sim. “Soothe him-gsoo-0-0-0-the him!” said Wil- son. ‘Don't be harsh.” Bob rose from the table. “Go to thunder! you make me tired.”” “The fit is on him again!” He rose disgustedly and went out. ‘They fol- lowed him ingle file. The rest of the town “caught on.” Frank Graham heaved an apple at him and joined the procession, Rob went into the store tobuy some tobacco. ‘They fol- lowed, and perched like crows on the counters till he went out; then they followed him as be- fore. They watched him check his trunk; they witnessed the purchase of the ticket. The town had turned out by this time. “Waupac!” announced the one nearest the victim. “Waupac!” said the next man, and the word was passed along the street up town, “Make a note of it,” said Wilson: “‘Waupac— s county where a man’s proposal for marriage is honored upon presentation. Sight drafts.’ Rivers struck up a song, while Rob stood around, patiently bearing the jokes of the crowd: “We're lookin’ rather seed, While hol And our vittles peunnae Iieur little oid tarred shanties on the «=! “Yet we rather like the novelty Of livin’ ic this supper he brings a is clenn-cut languid " now, in’ down our claims, not always of the best; slyly round us In our littie old tarred shanty om. The train drew up at length, tothe .wense relief of Rob, whose stoical resignation was be- ginning to weaken. Bar phy wish y’ had sand?” he yelled to the crowd as he plunged into the car, thinking he was rid of them, But no; their last stroke wasto follow him into the car, nodding, pointing to their heads and whispering, inthe half minute the train stood at the ‘tform to set ever: person in the car staring at the “crazy man.” Rob groaned and pulled his hat down over his eyes—an action which confirmed his tor- mentor's words and made several ladies click their tongues in sy.apathy—“tlck! tlek! poor fellow!” “All abo-o-o-a-rd!” said the conductor, grin- hing bis “spereciation at the crowd, and the train was off, back!” anid Barney the sense an yen he ote f ney, the shouting tenes’ é = — ee the timbrel and the we, wager? I" to one om © abort brane Ff saa Wieck bg heat upon the field over which the cool shad- ey to make the heat scem the more intense. Julis Peterson, faint with fatigue. was toil- ing back and forth between the corn rows, holding the handles of the double#hovel corn plough, while her little brother Otto tode the Steaming horse. Her heart was full of bitter- ness, and her face flushed with heat. and her muscles aching with fatigue. The heat grew terrible. her shoulders, and igus ‘The corn came to . i nota breath seemed to reach her, while the | sun, nearing the noon mark, lay pitilessly upon her shoulders, protected only by a calico dress. The dust rose under her feet, and as she was wet with perspiration it soiled her till, with a woman's instinctive cleanliness, she shuddered. Her head throbbed dangerously. What matter to her that tho king bird pitched | emcees | from the maples to catcn a wandering iue-bottle fly, that the robin was feeding its young, that the bobolink was singing? All these things, if she saw them, ouly threw her bondage to labor into greater relief. Across the field, in another patch of corn, she could see her father—a big, gruff-voiced, wide-bearded Norwegian—at work also with « plough. The corn must be ploughed, and so she toiled on, the tears dropping from th shadow of the ugly sun bonnet she wore. Hi shoes, coarse and square-toed, chafed her feet; her hands, large and strong. wore browned, or more properly burnt, on the backs by the sun. The horse's harness ‘‘creak-cracked” as he swung steadily and patiently forward, the moisture pouriug from his sides, his nostrils distended. ‘The field ran down to a road, and on the other side of the road ran a river—a broad, clear, shallow expanse at that point, and the eyes of the boy gazed longingly-at the pond and the cool shadow each time that he turned at the fence, “Say, Jule, I'm goin’ in! Come, can’t I? Come—say!” he pleaded, as they stopped at the fence to let the horse breri “T’ve let you go wade twici “But that don't do any good. My legs is all smarty, ‘cause ol’ Jack sweats so. The boy turned around on the horse's back and slid back to his rump. “I can’t stand it!” he burst out. sliding off and darting under the fence. “Father can’t see.” The girl put her elbows on the fence and watched her little brother as he sped away to the pool, throwing off his clothes as he ran, whooping with uncontrollable delight. Soon she could Hear him splashing about in the water a short distance up the stream and caught glimpses of his little shiny body and happy face. How cool that water looked! And the shadows there by the big bass wood! How that water would cool her blistered feet! An impulse seized her and she squeezed be- tween the rails of the fence and stood in the road looking up and down to sce that the way was clear, It was not a main traveled road; no one was likely to come; why not? She hurriedly took off her shoes and stock- ings—how delicious the cool soft velvet of the grass!—and sitting down on the bank under the great basswood, whose roots formed an abrupt bank, she slid her poor blistered, chafed feet into the water, her bare head leaned against the huge tree trunk. And now as she rested the beauty of the scene came to her. Over her the wind moved the leaves. A jay screamed far off, as if answer- ing the cries of the boy. A kingfisher crossed and recrossed the stream with dipping sweep of his wings. The river sang with its lips to the pebbiek. The vast clouds went by majesti- cally far above tho tree tops, and the snap and buzzing and ringing whir of July insects made a ceaseless, slumberous undertone of song sol- vent of ail else. The tired girl forgot her work. She began to dream. This would not last al- ways. Some one would come to release her from such drudgery. This was her constant, tenderest and most secret dream, He would be a Yankee, not a Norwegian; the Yankees didn’t ask their wives to work in the field. He would have a home. Perhaps he'd live in town—perhaps a merchant! And then she thought of the drug cierk in Rock River who had looked at her. A voice broke in her dream, a fresh, manly voice, “Well, by jinks! if it ain't Julia! one I wanted to sce!” The girl turned, saw a pleasant-faced young fellow in a derby bat and a fifteen-dollar suit of diagonal “Rob Rodemaker! How come—" She remembered her situation and flushed, looked down at the water and remained per- fectly still. “Ain't y’ goin’ to shake hands? Y’ don’t seem very glad t’ see me.” She began to grow angry. eyes you'd see,” Rob looked over the edge of the bang, whistled, turned away. “Oh, Ieee! Excuse me! 4 pale oe yeh a bit, thor = Good weather f'r corn,” he wapt on, {1 \t the trees. “Corn seems 40 bs pretty well Tore ward,” he continued in alouder voice as he walked away, still gazing into the airy-- “Crops is looking ‘first-class in Boomtown, Hello! This Otto? Hyare, y’ little scamp! Get on to that horse ag’in. Quick, ’r 4 take y'r skin Just the “If you had any off an’ hang it on the fence. ¢ What y’ been doing?” ‘ Jimminy, ain't it fun! " said the boy, grinning. replied Rob. leaping the fence by laying his left hand on the top rail. “Get on that horse.” He tossed the boy up on the horse, coat on the fence. “I s’pose the ol’ man makes her plough same as usual?” “Yup,” said Otto, “Dod ding a man that'll do that! I don’t mind if it's necessary, but it ain't necessary in his case.” He continued to mutter in this wa: as he went across to the other side of the field, As they turned to come back Rob went up and looked at the horse's mouth, “Gettin’ purty near of age, Say, who's sparkin’ Julia now— anybody?” Nobody ‘cept some ol’ Norwegians, She him groan when he gets | shoes wou't have them. Por wants her to, but she won't.” “Good f'r her. Nobody comes t’ see her Sunday nights, eh?” “Nope, only 'Fias Anderson an’ Ole Hoover; but she goes off an’ leaves ‘em.” “Chk!” said Rob, starting old Jack across the field. It was almost noon, and Jack moved roluct- antly. He knew the time of day as well as the boy. He made this round after distinct pro- test. {n the meantime Julia, putting on her shoes and stockings, went to the fence and watched the man’s shining white shirt as be moved across the corn field. There had never been any special tenderness between them, but she had always liked him, They had been at school together, She wondered why he had come back at this time of the yoar, and won- dered how long he would stay. “How long had he stood looking at her? She flushed aguin at the thought of 1 But he wasn’t to blame; it was a publicroad. She might have known bet- te re She stood under alittle popple tree, whose leaves shook musically at every zephyr, und her eyes through half-shut lids roved over the sea of deep green ices leaves, dappled here and there by cloud shadows, stirred here and there like water by the wind, and out of it all adonging to be free from such toil rose like a breath, filling her throat and quickening the motion of her heart. Must this go on forever, this life of heat and dust and labor? What did it all mean? irl laid her chin on her strong red id looked up into the blue spaces be- vast clouds—aerial mountains dis- in a shoreless azure sea. How cool and sweet and restful they looked! If she might only lie out on the billowy, snow-white, sun-lit edge! The voices of the driver and the plowman recalled her, and she fixed her eyes again upon the slowly nodding head of the patient horse, the boy turned half about on the horse talking to the white-sleeved man, whose derby hat bobbed up and down uite curiously, like, the horse’s head. Would the sak him to dinner? What would her people say “Phew! it’s hot!” was the greeting the young fellow gave as he came up. He smiled ina frank, boyish way as he hung his hat on the top of astake and looked up ather. “D'y’ know, I kind o’ enjoy getting at it again. ‘act. It ‘t no work for agirl, though,” he added. ‘When’d you get back?” she asked, the flush not yet out of her face. Rob was looking at her thick fine hair and full Scandinavian frce, rich as a rose in color,and did not reply fors few seconds. She stood with her hideous sun von- net pushed back on her shoulders, A kingbird was chattering overhead, “Oh, a few days ago.” “How long y’ goin’ t’ stay?” “Oh, 1d’ know. A week, mebbe.” A far-off halloo came pulsing across the po parang Ig The boy screamed “Dinner!” and waved his hat with an answering whoop, then flopped off the horse like a turtle off a stone into water. He bad the horse unhooked in an instant and hed ps, Spear up over the horse’s back in act to climb on, when Rob said: “H'yare, young feller! wait a minute. ” he asked the girl, with a tone that was more than kindly; it was almost tender. “Yes,”, replied, in @ low voice. “My Rov had a ab- stracted, business-like air. He really left her itera, See glae ss werWe don’t raise much oors out there an’ so I kind 0° like to see it once more.” corn as long as I live!” replied the girl, bit- “Don’t kn bit, aa jow as I blame yeh a Pry ou was worl ot himself, as he walked be- toward the the inguired Is was evident that didn't mean to ‘ou know how we live,” she replied, eerar, “If you o'n stand it, why—” She broke off abruptty. Yes, he remem! d how they lived in that big, square, dirty, white frame house. It had been three or four years since he had been in it, but the smell of the cabbage ani onions, the penetrating, peculiar mixture of odor, ory led his memory as something unforget- “I guess I'll stop,” he said, as she hesitated. She said no more, but tried to act as if she were not in any way responsible for what came afterward, “I guess Io'n at the well and went to the house he saw her limp painfully and the mem- ory of her face so close to his lips as he helped her down from the horse gave him pleasure, atthe same time that he was touched by its tired and gloomy look. Mrs, Peterson came to the door of the kitchen looking just the same asever. Broad faced, unwieldy, flabby, appar- ently wearing the same dress he remembered to have seen her in years before, a dirty drab- colored thing; she looked as shapeless as asack of wool. Her English was limited to “How de do, Rob?” He washed at the pamp, while the girl, in the attempt to be hospitable, held the clean towel for him. i < “You're purty well used up, eh?” he said to er, “Yes; it's awful hot out there.” : “Can't you lay off this afternoon? It ain't right.” “No. He won't listen to that.” “Well, let me take your place.” “No; there ain't any use o’ that.” “Peterson, & brawny, wide-bearded Norwo- gian, came up at this moment and spoke to Rob in a snilen, gruff way. “He ain't very glad to see me,” said Rob, winking at Julia, ‘He ain’t b'ilin’ over with enthusiasm: but Ic’n stand it, for your sake,” he added, with amazing assurance, but the girl had turned away, and it was wasted, At the table he ate heartily of the “bean Swaagon,” which filled a large wooden bowl in the center of the table, and which was ladled into smaller wooden bowls at each plate. Julia had tried hard to convert her mother to Yankee ways, and had at last given it up in despair, Rob kept on safe subjects, mainly asking ques- tions about the crops of Peterson, and when addressing the girl inquired of the school- makes. By skillful questioning he kept the subject of marriage uppermost, and seemingly was getting an inventory of the girls not yot married or engaged. It was embarrassing for the girl. She was all to well aware of the difference between her home and the home of her schoolmates and friends. She knew that it was not pleasant for her Yankee” friends to come to visit her when they could not feel sure of a welcome from the tireless, silent and grim-visaged old Norse, if, indeed, they could escape insult, Julia ate her food mechanically, and it could hardly be said that she enjoyed the brisk talk of the young man, his eyes were upon her so constantly and his smile 60 obviously addressed to her. She Tose as soon xs possible, and going outside took aseatonachair under the trees in the yard. She was not acoarse or dull girl In fact, she had developed so rapidly by contact with the young people of the neighborhood that she no longer found pleasure in her own home. She didn’t believe in keeping up the old-fushioned Norwegian custome, and her life with her mother was not one to breed love or confidence, She was more like a hired hand, The love of the mother for her “Yu sincere though rough and inarticulate, and it was her jealousy of the young “Yankees” that widened the chasm between the girl aud her- self—an inevitable result, Rob followed the girl out into the yrrd and threw himself onthe grass at her feet, per- fectly unconscious of the fact that this attitude was exceedingly romantic and becoming to them both. He did it because he wanted to talk to her, and the grass was cool and easy; there wasn’t any other chair, anyway. “Do they keep up the lyceum and the socia- bles same as ever?” “Yes. others goa good "eal, but I don’t. We're gettin’ such a stock round us, and father thinks he needs me s’ much, I don't git out much. I'm gettin’ sick of it.” “I sh'd think y’ would,” he replied, his eyes von her face, . 0 “To'd stand the Churnin’ ana house work, but when it comes t’ workin’ outdoors in the dirt an’ bot sun, gettin’ all sunburned and chapped up, it’s another thing. An’ then it seems as if he gets stingier ‘n’ stingier every ear. Tain’t hada dress in—I d’—know— ow—long. He says it’s all nonsense, an’ mother’s just about as bad. She don’t want a new dress, an’ so she thinks I don’t.” The girl was feeling the influence of a sympathetic lis- tener and was making up for her ivag silence. ve tried t’ go out t' work, but they won't let me. They'd have t’ paya hand $20a month f'r the work I do, an’ they like cheap help, but I'm rs goin’ t’ stand it much longer, I can tell you that.” Rob thought she was very handsome as she sat there with her eyes fixed on the horizon, while these rebellious thoughts found utterance in her quivering, passionate voice, “Yulie! Kom heat!” roared the old man from the well. A frown of anger and pain came into her fi “ She looked at Rob, “That means more rk,” jay! let me go out what's the tse— it wouldn't do no good. Itain’t t’day s° it’s every day, and—" “Yule!” called Peterson again, with a string of impatient Norwegian, “Well, all right, only I’ like to—” “Well, good-bye,” she said, with a little touch in your place, Come, of feeling. ‘‘When d’ye go buck?” “I don’t know. I'll see y’ again before I go. Good-bye.” He stood watching her slow, painful pace till she reached the well, where Otto was standing with the horse. He stood watching them as they moved out into the road and turned down toward the field. He felt that she had sent him away; but still there was alook in her eyes which was not altogether— He gave itup in despair at last. He was not good at analyses of this nature; he was used to plain, blunt expressions. There was a woman's subtlety hore quite beyond his reach, He sauntered slowly off up the road after his talk with Julia, His head was low on his breast; he was thinking as one who is about to take a decided and important step. He stopped at length, and turning watched the girl moving along in the deeps of ¢ Hardly a leaf was stirring; the untempere: light fell in a burning flood upon the field; grasshoppers rose, snapped, buzzed and f the locust uttered its dry, heat-intensifying ery. The man lifted his head. “It's a d—n shame!” he said, beginning rap- idly to retrace his steps. He stood leaning on the fence, ieee, Fae girl's coming very much as she had waited his on the round he had made before dinner. He grew impatient at the slow it of the horse, and drummed on the rail while f whistied. Then he took off his hat and dusted it nervously. Asthe horse gota little nearer he wiped his face carefully, pushed hia hat back on his head and climbed over the fence, where he stood with elbows on the middle rail as the girl and boy and horse came to the end of the furrow. “Hot, ain’t it?” he said, as she looked up, “<Jimminy Poters, it’s awful!” puffed the boy. The girl did not reply till she swung the plough about after the horse and set it upright into the next row. Her powerful body had a superb swaying motion at the waist as she did thi motion which affected Rob vaguely but mas- sively. “I thought you'd gone,” she said. gravely, eoktag ok her bonnet till he could see her face, dewed with sweat and Fer as arose, She had the high cheek bones of her race, but she had also their pe ge fairness of color, “Say, Otto,” asked Rob, alluringly, “wan’ to go swimming?” “You bet!” replied Otto, “Well, I'll go a round it——” The boy dropped off the horses, not poiting to hear any more. Rob grinned, but the girl dropped her eyes, then looked a‘ray. rid o’ him’ mighty quick. Tulyie, I hate like thunder t' see yeu out Be, Hea ht, I wish you'd—I wish——” he could not look at him now, and her ‘bosom rose and fell with a motion that was not due to fatigue. Her moist hair :natted around her forehead gave her a boyish iook. Rob nervor tried i from the fence.‘ np grea tg do it ty now, wi y’ s : “What "ve I got to" do *bont’ st?" she flooding asked, the color her face and a smile coming to her lips, “Go ahead, I ain't gery and faced her. “Ob, you know what I mean. out near Boomtown—a rattlin’ ee it, and er to bi it, —— keep butter thgad e hone lore he straightened away the linter and took was a ‘ very mm them, and it sent a little thrili of fear ugh Rob, as if it were an omen of failure. Asthe girl remained silent, looking away, he began, man-fashion, to desire her more and more as he feared to lose her. He put his hat on the post again and took out his jack knife. Her calico dress her supple and power- ful figure simply but naturally. ‘The stoop in _ comers given agg disa) oy ‘tly leaned u} fence. curves 4a sleeve. 's ail-fired lonesome f'r me out there on that claim and it ain't no picnic f'r you here. Now, if you'll come out there with me, you needn't do anything but cook f'r me, and after harvest we can git a good lay-out o' furniture, an’ Til lath and plaster the house an’ puta little hell (ell) in the rear.” He smiled and so did she. He felt en: d to say: “An’ there Sie ea tte close t’ Boomtown, an’ we can go down there to church sociables an’ things, and they're a jolly lot ere. The girl was still silent, but the man’s simple euthusiasm came to her charged with passion onda sort of romance such as her hard life bad known little of. There was something enticing about this trip to the wost, : “What'll my folks say?” she said at last A virtual surrender, but Rob was not acute enough to see it. He pressed on eagerly: “I don’t care; do you? They'll jest Keop plowin’ corn and milkin’ cows till the day of judgment. Come. Julyie, I ain't got no time to fool away, I've got t’ get back t’ that grai It's a whoopin’ old crop, sure’s y'r born, an that mei sompin purty scrumptious in fur- niture this fall. Come, now.” He approached her and aid his hand on her shoulder very much as he would have touched Albert Sea graves orany other comrade. “Whaddy y’ say She neither started nor shrunk nor looked at him, She simply moved astep away. “They'd never let me go,” she replied bitterly. “i'm too cheapahand. Idoa man’s work an’ get ay at all.” ‘ou'll have half 9’ allIc’n make,” he put no in, “How long e’n you wait?” she asked, lookng down at her dress. “Just two minutes,” he said, pulling out his watch. ‘It ain't no use t’ wait. The old man'll be jest as mad a week from now as he is today. Why not go now?” “I'm of age day after tomorrow,” she mused, wavering, calculating. “You c’n be of age tonight if you'll jest call on old Square Hatfield with me. “All right, Rob,” the girl said, turning and holding out her hand. “That's the talk!” be excl “‘An’ now a kiss, to bind the fellah says.” “I guess we c'n get along without “No, wecan't. It won't seem like an engage- ment without it,” “It ain't goin’ to seem much like one any- er 6 answered, with a sudden realization of how far from her dreams of courtship this was, “Say, now, Julyie, that ain't fair; that’s purty tough.’ I—I— You don't seem to un- derstand that I like you, but I do.” Rob was carried quite out of himself by the time, the place, and the gir He had aaid s very moving thing. The tears sprang involuntarily to the girl's eyes. “Do you mean it? If y’ do, you may.” She was trembling with emotion for the first time. The sincerity of the man's voice had gone deep. He it his arm around her almost timidly and kissed her on the cheek, # great love for her springing up ia his heart, “That settles it,” he said, “Don't cry, Julyie. You'll never be sorry for it. Don'tcry. It kind o’ hurts meto see it.” He didn’t understand her legge He was only aware that she was crying and tried in a bungling way to soothe her. ‘Bat now that she had given way, she sat down on the grass and wept bitterly. “Yulyie!”” yelled the old Norwegian, like a distant fog-horn, The girl sprang up—the habit of obedienee was ong. 'No; you set right there, and I'll go round,” he said. “Otto!” The boy came scrambling out of the wood half dressed. Rob tossed ‘him upon the horse, snatched Julia’s sun bonnet, put his own hat on her head and moved off down the corn rows, leaving the girl smiling through her tears as he whistled and chirped to the horse. Farmer Peterson, seeing the familiar sun bonnet abor the corn rows, went back to his work with sentence of Norwegian trailing after him like the tail of a kite—something about lazy girls who didn’t it of their bread, Jack! Hay, you ol crib! Say, Ofto, can you keep your mouth shet if it puts money in your pocket?” “Jest try me 'n’ see,” said the keen-eyed lit- tle scamp. “Well, you keep quiet about my being here this afternoon, and I'll put a dollar on y'r tongue—hay?—what?—unnerstand?” “Show me y’r dollar,” said the boy, turning about ard showing his tongue, “All right. Begin to practice now by not talkin’ to me.” Rob went over the whole situation on his way back, and when he got in sight of the girl his pian was made, She stood waiting for him with a new look on her face. Her sullenness had given way tos peculiar eagerness and anxiety to believe in him. She was already living that free life ina far-off wonderful coun- try. No more would her stern father and sullen mother force her to tasks which she hated. She'd be a member of a new firm. She'd work, of course, but it would be because she wanted to and not because she was forced to. The in- dependence and the love promised grew more and more attractive. She laughed back with a softer light in her eyes when she saw the smi ing face of Rob looking at her from her sun bonnet. “Now, you musn’t do any more o’ this.” he said. “You go back to the house an’ tell y'r mother you're too lame to plough any more to- day, and it’s too late, anyhow. Tonight!” he whispered, quickly. “Eleven! Here!” The girl’s heart leaped with fear, afraid.” = “Not of me, are yeh?” “No, I'm not afraid of you, Rob.” “I'm glad o’ that. I—I want you to—to like me, Julyie; won't you?” “T'll try,” she answered, with a smile. “Tonight, then,” he said, as she moved away. “Tonight, Good-bye,” “Good-bye. He stood and watched her till her tall fi was lostamong the drooping corn leaves, There was a ular choking feeling in his throat, The girl's voice and face had brought up so aay memories of parties and picnics and ex- cursions on far-off holidays, and at the same time such suggestions of the future. He al- ready felt that it was going to be an uncon- scionably long time before 11 o'clock, He saw her go to the house, and then he turned and walked slowly up the dusty road. Out of the May weed the grasshoppers sprang, buzzing and snapping their dull ‘red wings, Butterflies, yellow and white, flut- teredaround moist places in the ditch, and slender-striped water snakes glided across the nant pools at sound of footsteps. jut the mind of the man was far away on his claim, building a new house, with a woman's advic presence. It was a windless night. The katydids and an occasional cricket were the only sounds Rob could hear as he stood beside his team and strained his ear to listen. At long inter- vals a little breeze ran through the corn like aswift aa gop bringing to the nostrils the sappy smell of the growingcorn. The horses stamped uneasily as the mosquitoes settied on their shining limbs. The sky was full of stars, but there was no moon. “What if she don't come?” he thought. “Or can’t come? Ican'tstand that, I'll go to the old man, and say, ‘Looky here—’ ’gh!” He listened again. There was a rustling in the corn. It was not like the fitful movement of the wind; it wassteady, slower and approach- ing. It ceased. Ho whistled the wailing, sweet “Tm a ery of the prairie chicken. Then a came out into the road—a woman—Julia! He took her in his arms as she came panting up to him, “Rob!” “Julyie!” A few words, the dull tread of swift horses, the rising of a silent train of dust, and then the wind wandered in the growing corn. The dust cater ay ‘saD| cont iteshlie Point Comfort, with the addition, O14, Seems rightly named,—since here abound ._ At certain seasons the year round, Fashion and wealth, the sons of gold, Daughters in lap of luxury rolled. Here looking out on seas around, ‘The dolce far niente is found, ‘JULY 5. 1890-SIXTEEN PAGES, AN URBAN ARCADIA. Summer Saunterings in the Parks of the Capital, THE GEORGICS OF THE CITT—RURAL AXD MURAL BEAUTIES COMBINED—PASTORAL CAMEOS FROM THE CITY PARKS—RARE BUSTIC SCENES IN THE HEART OF THE TOWX. HILST a representative of Tae Stan was indulging in his accustomed strol! through the parks a few evenings since ie fortuitously fell in with the genial Capt. R.—— of the army, who was also taking his “constitutional” together with his fragrant Havana, He is fresh as ramble in Europe, having just returned on the expiration of his leave. In response to the stereotyped salutation of inquiry as to the thermal suitability of the weather the old sol- dier gave a long, exhilerating respiration and replied: “Why, my dear sir, I have been sur- Prised at the frequent similar interrogatories by my friends in this the loveliest and most Perfectly delightfal city in the world, taking all conditions, climatic and social, into consid- eration. We are enjoying in our evening ram- Die ali that art and science is capable of bor- rowing from nature to add to the achievements of human genius and native conditions in ameliorating the inconveniences of purely natural surroundings, This city has a aystem of lovely and most effectively beautified and ventilated parks and parterres, But for those greedy and iconochstic devil fishes, the rail- roads, that are throwing out their iron arms to clutch these hygeinic organs of this metrop- olis you could have nothing more to be desired for comfort and pleasure. ““God made the country, man made the town. can hardly be applied to this city as an expression to a Contrast between rural and mural beauties, for it combines all the best features of nature and the excellent in art, with geographical, social and climatic con- ditions unexcelled. “The most important improvement made of late years in the parking and landscape system in the cities has been the introduction of park- ways, which, when judiciously laid out, be- come thoroughfares to which the ordinary streets serve as feeders. In this respect Paris leads the world, whilst most of the larger towne in Europe are making similar improve- ments, Washington leads in the states, whilst Chicago, Cleveland, Buffalo, Syracuse, Brook- lyn and other cities are making excellent head- way in the system of parkways. “In America the word park, used asa general designation for gardens, green courts and all sorts of public places, is an exaggeration of the French application of the word to the more private or kept grounds of a chateau connected with a forest. To avoid confusion open spa for public use in a city, with us, are tern ‘places; grounds in sward and trees within places ‘place parks,’ and broad thoroughfares planted with trees and designed with special reference to recrea\ as for driveways and light traffic, ‘pai The grounis extending from the ‘White Lot’ to the Capitol are excellent examples of the latter, but ix mere generally termed ‘mall,’ whilst some of the more socially exclusive n pleased to designate that extensive driveway as the “Executive avenue.’ “The large number of parkways. places and place parks so judiciously distributed through out this city gives the appearance of having introduced the country into ite limits and mar- ried its rural charms to urban magnificence. In strolling through the ‘West End’ and other fashionable sections I am amazed to see so many palatial homes, surrounded by lovely parterres brilliant with beauty and fragrant with the aroma of e and exotic bioom, closed for the season; and I feel a sort of melancholy pity for their owners, who are com- pelled to obey the tyrannical edicts of social custom and languish the sultry summer months away on sand-heated sea shores, or worse, at some mosquito or reptile infested country resort. TRE NATURAL LOCATION. “With a natural air channel from the west, down which flows the Poiomac, whose waters serve to hydrate the air toa perfectly sanitary condition; the broad and scrupulously clean streets and avenues, together with the ubiqui tous parks, umbrageous and flowering: and miles of sylvan streets resembling arcades in charming perspective—Washington may be termed the sanitarium of the conti.ent. The araneten’ nampa pleted gee flower- it ive ite cl and variety in ae pees whilet-the rich verdure of foii- ye has a therapeutic effect and refreshes through itsinfluence upon the mind. You have the country in all its varied beauties within the limits of the city.” The reporter, mindful of the enthusiasm of the old soldier, in his subsequent rambles met. to his infinite delight, many little scenes and incidents of country life which he is pleased to characterize as pastoral cameos. HAY MAKING. “Sings the scythe to the flowers and grass.” It is not an unusual sight from early spring during the entire summer to see tue mower whetting his scythe and hear the familar swish of the blade throngh the rank grass in the minature meadows and see the busy men and boys raking into wind-rows and piling the hay into cocks or hassocks convenient for the carts and wagons ready to load the tempting bait that elicits many an eager whinvy from the expectant horses. Such scenes are often witnessed in all the reservations, but more es- peciatly does it present bucolic realism in that lovely little meadow just in front of the National Museum. when one can almost imagine some sweet Phyllis trilling her pastorals to her listening swain, OUTINGS, Ithas become quite a custom for the juy- eniles, with nurse maids attending the little “tots,” to have their outings in mimic picnics in some of the more retired and umbrageous nooks of the parks, where the little adolescences 80 charmingly entertain each other with arural abandon that characterizes innocent mirth and jovial hilarity. The snowy napkins spread upon the green grass, the little innocents sur- round their daiuty spread and discuss their delicacies with appetites sharpened by exercise in racing after bright-winged butterflies or more sedately hunting daises and other stray wild flowers that have escaped the mower’ scythe. Such outings are red-letter days to them, as it depicts that healthful color upon their soft cheeks and adds sparkle to their eyes. UNDER THE LINDENS. In the early mornings aud in the early even- ingtide the labyrinth of graveled and concrete walke, under the overhanging branches of cen- tury-grown trees, native and exotic, deciduous and perennial. are given up to nurse maids with their little charges, whilst the settees are occupied by gentlemen and ladies of leisure, who seek the inviting shade and seclusion to enjoy the daily papers or discuss the latest novel, with here and there an individual with a certain drowsiness pervading his tout ensemble suggestive of the professional itinerant. Among the former class there is social democracy who often congregate their carriages in groups or perambulate the grounds in pairs, to more confidentially discuss establishments with which they are engaged or enjoy the favorite feminine y chatter about the little on dits of their social spheres. Occasionally a female chari- oteer can be discovered seated upon a secluded park divan, itting her charge to play and wander ad libitam, whilst she is coyl:’ pretend- ing to ignore some young Lothario on a neigh- boring seat practicing all his ’witching wiles to inaugurate a flirtation, or perhaps ‘at an- other seat a Se is being held stealthful lovers, unmin: the mouth when he unconsciously yiclded to the soporific god before he bad finished his repast, The little birds were fitting and chirping ex- citedly around him, hing upon the rich Preserve where lay ie'crambe in profusion, and not even their bowterous chatter disturb- ing one ripple of the fow of the aged one's dreams, It was an intaglio of ante and post bellum suggestions in a single etching. Wherever one turns he meets some new view from the rural kaleidosc to add interest and novelty to the surrounding magnificence of architectural designs, OROTTOS AND CAVERYS, Who that has ever explored the unique grotto in the Capitol grounds that cannot imagine the envy of Calypso, could she be per- mitted to revisit this mundane sphere to see ite rugged beauty that in some Tespects out rivals nature itself, or visited the caverns at the fish commission building, where one seems to be walking on the bed of some river or lake, surrounded by every genusand «pecies of the finny tribe. And as to the study of the higher geopo: the beautiful one will find all that pertains to the ¢ 1c and bucolic scences illustrated in ite fields and moadows, gardens and barns, together with practical industrial factories and experimental shops and Ixboratories the succulent cane ix made to produce ite sorghum and glucose and the mythical cocoon is induced to unravel its silky threads ‘mid all the surroundings of maize and wheat, pippine and pumpkins and gardens of grapes and citrie fruits, native and exotic. T ia soe = HOME MATTEKS. EVERY-DAY SUGGORSTIONS AND HINTS IN ORNERAR FOR PRACTICAL ROUSEKERPERS, Crancoar dentifrice. Guerast May ar Rewoven from silk by apply- ing magnesia on the wrong side. A Tronoven Wastixe or rae M windows of stoves in vinogar will remove the smoke. For a Gnass Stary on children’s clothes, while it is fresh, wash it out in alcohol. Damr Savt will remove the discoloration of cups and saucers caused by tea and careless washing. Wnen Bromo Srrax throw a little salt oe the coals and the blaze from the dripping fat will not annoy, A Stnoxe Souvtiox of Avr™, to which has been added a little glycerine and vinegar, is @ cure for mosquito bites. Krer Nicken, Sruvern Ouwaments ap Mounts bright by rubbing with woolen cloth saturated in spirits of ammonia, Ir i Sam Tuar © * Grourps make a good filling for a pin cushion. The grounds must be Perfectly dry before using and the needles and pins will never rust, Ax Oty Kecommexpation often given young house keepers is to use toa leaves in sweeping carpets, but their use on delicate colors sbould be avoided, as they will surely stain light carpets, To Maxr Fry Parer mix together, by stir- ring, equal parts of castor oil aud melted rosin and while yet slightly warm spread evenly om sized paper, such as foolscap, &c, Tae Strains or Lyx on books and engravings may be removed by applying a solution of om- alic acid, citric acid or tartaric acid upon the paper without fear of damage. These acids take out writing ink, but do not interfere with the printing. To Rexovarr Scratcnep Fraerrene dissolve beeswax in turpentine, making it of the con- sistency of molasses; apply with a woolen cloth, then rub briskly with a dry piece of flannel. ‘The improvement is wonderful. Parier Macnse ror Fin » Okacks I Froons can be prepared by heating to a paste cuttings of white or brown paper boiled in water and then mixing the paste with a soll tion of gum arabic. Make the solution hot in which you mix the paper paste aud apply directly. thus making it adhere more firmly. Never Por a Disa Contarsine Ayyrarxe Hor in the refrigerator, for not only does it cause the ice to melt rapidly but all other arti- cles of food are affected by the heat and the lining of the refrigerator is liable to become warped. Sot the dish in water until it becomes cool and then place on the ace, Ove or tue Best Mernops of cleaning hair brushes is to puta full teaspoonful of house- hold_ammonia into « basin of warm water, Dip the bristles in and rab briskly with the hand or, better stili, with another brush, When thoroughly cleansed putin the sun to ary. bristle side up. Two brushes may be thus CENTLY Buaxep is @ superior readily cleansed at once. Dissowve Avo tx Hor Water, making « very strong solution: apply to furniture or crevises in the wall with paint brush, This is sure destruction to those noxious vermin and invaluable because easily obtained: is per- ‘ectly safe to use and leaves no unpleasant traces behind. Wh a cUspec > moths have lodged in the borders of carpets wet the edge of the carpets with a strong solution. When- ever it reaches them it is certain death, Orres, Terovan Cane Lessness, the pages of valuable books become stained. An old grease spot may be removed by applying « solution of caustic potash to the back of the leaf. This may cause the printing to fade, but that can be restored by a weak applica- tion of muriatic acid—about twenty-five parts of water to one of acid. A fresh «pot is re- moved easily by chloroform or benzine, and ink spots disappear by an application of oxalic acid and hot water, which will also take off rust spots, Buackperny Conprat.—Secure ripe berries and crush them: to each gallon of juice add one quart of boiling water; let it stand twenty- four hours, stirring ita few times; strain and addtwo pounds of sugar to each gallon of liquid; put in jugs and cork tight, It may br used in two months; is excellent for summer compliant, and can be taken by delicate in- valids, Rasrpeney Sunvs.—To three quarts of ripe raspberries putone quart of good cider vinegar; let it stand twenty-four hours, then strain and put toeach pint a pound of loaf sugar, Boil it about half an hour, being particular to skim it clear, When cool, put a wine-,isssful of brandy to en pint of shrub, This’ makes an excellent drink by using two spoonfuls to a tumblerful of water, A Great Deat oF Arrextiow should be given tothe proper airing of the mattress every morning, and atlesst once a week a stiff brush should remove the dust which will so- cumulate, even in the best ordered house, and unde~ the tufts of cotton. or the bits of leather, or \ t.atever is used to tack the mattress with, Attention should also be directed to the edge of the mattress, where the braid is sewed on. for dust sifts underthat Where the bed room is also the dressing room, dust cannot be avoided, but it may be at least changed, and it need not be allowed to accumulate. Axy Woman May Spor a dishonest milkman with very little trouble. Let her teke «long siender bottle, cleanse it thoroughly and let it dry out. If, then, it is filled with milk and al- lowed to stand ina cool—not cold—place for forty-eight hours, all the foreign fluid will be precipitated—that is. it will settle to the bot- tom of the bottie. The soured milk will then fill the middle of the bottle and the fatty sub- stance will be floating on the top. Sometimes the top will be @ layer of cream, then will come a layer of albumen—another artifical device to make the milk look rich—then will come the sonre4 milk and at the bottom will come the foreign water, Curxawane.—All ordinary chine or earthen ware is porous, and the fine pores will fll up with grease or fatty substance, which in time Frvurr Daxoens axp Remepres.—An excessive amount of fruit, or. if eaten elther in the un- i | i Hil i ul | | i g i 4