Democratic Press, Volume 1, Number 36, Decatur, Adams County, 20 June 1895 — Page 7

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iMx W Bl CHAPTER XVH. K No one enjoyed the ball at Bayneham ini>re than the stately countess, who rejoiced in seeing all those of brilliancy and note in the county assembled under her •nn s roof. She listened with exquisite Belijrlit to.the praises the Duke of Laleham lavished upon his young hostess. As Bar- i bara could never be mistn-s.-; of that grind old castle, it was well to have some i one whose beauty and grace were so I ’ universally admired. V : When Lord Bayneham joined his mother. asking her to take a walk through th»- rooms with him, he was surprised and delighted to find that for the first time she spoke with warm affection and admiration of his wife; still more when J they came to a quiet little boudoir, where Hilda had sought refuge for a few min utes’ repose. I ‘'Tired.” she said, in answer to her husband’s question—"just a little. Claude. I am tired with pleasure and happiness; it Is all so bright and beautiful.” Lord Bayneham smiled. To Hilda’s great surprise, the countess, who had never embraced her since her wedding f day. went up to her, and kissed the fair fa -e that flushed with joy as she did so. "You have charmed me this evening. Hilda.” said Lady Bayneham, kindly. "I shall begin to believe that you win all hearts.” fi Sin* passed on, leaving the husband and wife together. "Claude,” said Hilda, "I am too happy. I had but one shadow of trouble —that was. I feared your mother would never love me. But she does; she will care for me almost as much as she does for Barbara Earle.” "A great deal more,” replied Lord Bayneham, looking at the fair, loving face. "'then I have nothing left to wish for,” Baid Hilda, with a sigh of unutterable content. "I cannot stay with you, Hilda.” said the young earl. "Rest for a few minutes, then I will fetch you.” She smiled as he looked at her: and many long years passed before Claude Ba ynohaiu saw the same expression of happiness on her beautiful face. t In the Jar distance Hilda heard the Bound of music, broken every now and then by the wailing of the wind, that bent the trees, and mourned with the cry of a lost soul round the Castle walls. She was a very fair picture, seated in the dim. mellow light of the little boudoir, the fin light gleaming in her costly jewels, and throwing a half halo round her golden head. The remembrance of Lady Bayuchani’s words was sweet to her. Young, beautiful, and loved, she had not <>’ Borrow or care. She might have laughed at the dismal wail of the winter wind. It was chanting Borne sorrowful dirge of grief and want, woe and death. What had such to do with the beautiful, brilliant lady, who listened, with a smile on her lips, thinking how perfectly happy she was. Then, remembering she had promised Bertie Carlyon the last dance before supper. '• Lady Hilda rose to r turn to the ball jj loom. | “I was just coming for you," said Lord Bayneham, drawing his wife’s arm in his; R “Greyson has been here in search of you. He wants to speak to you; it is something about the arrangements, I suppose. 1 will send him to you.” i Greyson was the butler, who hnd served Lord Bayneham’s father, and was consequently looked upon ns a valuable sis! confidential servant. He approached Lady Hilda, looking carefully around to see if anyone could hear what he had to say. His young mistress stood near a large recess; it was half divided from the ball St room by a thick crimson curtain. I "My lady,” he said, producing a folded 3 paper. "I have been asked to give you this, without letting any one see or hear of it.” Lady Hilda hastily opened the note. It was almost ineligible, as though the baud that wrote it had trembled and shook. "Lady Hilda Bayneham." it began, "the doctor tells me lam dying. I have been dying for two days past, but I cannot leave this world until I have seen you. 1 shall have no answers to the questions I must be asked unless I set 1 and speak to you. It is from the threshold of eter nity I summon you. Do not delay; and as you value the love and happiness around you, do not say one word of this. I am dying at the little cottage near the Firs." "How strange!" said Lady Hilda, as Bhe read the little note over again. “Who brought this, Greyson?" “Old Mrs. Paine, from the Firs, my lady. “Was any message left with it?" she inquired. "None,” replied the man, “except that she asked me to give it to you soon, and when yon were quite alone." The butler imagined, as old Mrs. Paine t had done, that it was a request for alms. Every one in sorrow or want sought Lady Hilda, and no one ever sought her in vain. As there was no more to be said, Greyson hastened to resume his duties, leaving the lady bewildered and surprised with the note in her hand. "It must be an appeal for m..ney," she Baid. “I will not be anxious over it. I wish, whoever wrote the letter, had asked plainly for what is wanted." She tried to believe it was hut a somewhat uncommon way of soliciting money. Yet they were solemn words; she heard them above the soft, sweet, dream like music that filled the bail room anove the courtesies ami homage offered to her; above the voice of Cattery and love they rang out clear, cold and solemn. "I- rom the threshold of eternity I summon you." Bertie Carlyon wondered what spell lav on those msy lips they were mute and etill; the bright. beautiful face had a troubled, wondering look.

"I fear you are very tired. Hilda,” said Lord Bayneham to his young wife. "I am not tired,” she replied, hastily, "but I am ” Then she stopped abruptly, remembering those other words, "As you value the love ami happiness around you, do not say one won! of this.” “Nou are what?” said Lord Bayneham. smiling, yet wondering why his wife’s face flushed and the words died upon her lips. She made some evasive reply and turned away. It would have been a great relief to have shown him the note and asked him what he thought. He would have understood it. but a strange fear and dread had seized the brilliant lady; she dared not disobey that command. At the head of that sumptuous banquet I she was obliged to talk and listen, oblig--1 ed to give her whole attention to her duties. Yet there were many who thought their young hostess looked strangely tired and distraite. She was grateful when the Duke of Laleham took his departure. The other guests were not long in following his example. “We have had a delightful night,” said Barbara Earle, as the little family group assembled in the boudoir; "but even pleasure fatigues one. I propose—and you must se<*ond my resolution, aunt—that no one speaks another word Let us retire; Hilda looks tired and worn out.” "Though it would be delightful to talk over the ball.” said Bertie, "I for one obey Miss Earle; "and off he went to the smoking room. Yet even when they were all gone, when she stood in her own room alone. Hilda still heard these mysterious words. "Who is it,” she thought, "that from the threshold of eternity would summon me?” Almost for the first time in her life Lady Hilda Bayneham found herself unable to sleep. The golden head tossed wearily to and fro. For the first time she listened to the wailing of the wind, as to a strange wild music that told of sorrow and despair. "I will end this suspense,” she thought. "No one will be down much before twelve. I will rise at eight, and go to the Firs. If Claude discovers that I am out, he will think I am taking a morning walk.” Yet even that, the first concealment she had ever practiced in her simple, guileless life, troubled her. It was a gray, cold morning—there was not even the glimpse of a sunbeam—when Lady Hilda dressed herself for her walk. “You will bo cold, my lady,” said her maid, who wrapped a thick cloak around her. “Yes,” replied Lady Hilda; “but a long walk this morning will do me good. If Lord Bayneham asks for me, tell him I am gone out, but shall be back soon after eleven.” If Pauline thought there was anything extraordinary in her lady’s proceeding, she made no comment. The air was cold and bleak, the sky dull and leaden; there was a gray mist that hid the trees as Lady Hilda went •»n her way through the park. Once a new idea came to her and made her pause. "Suppose it should be a plan to rob me?” she thought, "But robbers and thieves could fear no question that should be asked in another world?" She reached the little cottage at last. Mrs. Paine was up, and busily engaged, in preparing breakfast. She looked dazzled and confused when Lady Hilda, her face glowing with exercise, stood suddenly before her. "You have some one here very ill,” said Lady Hilda, "who wishes to see me.” The old lady made a profound rever ence to the golden-haired lady. “It will be my lodger, I suppose, my lady,” she replied. "She begged me to take a note to you last evening; she is very ill—like to die, the doctor says, any minute.” Lady Hilda was relieved to find it was a woman who wished to see her. “She lies upstairs, my lady,” continued Mrs. Paine. "Shall Igo up with you, my lady?" “No.” she replied. “I need not trouble you. The poor creature wants some little assistance, I have no doubt; I will go alone.” Even as Lady Hilda went up the narrow staircase she heard those solemn words: "From the threshold of eternity I summon you.” The mystery was soon to be solved. She knocked gently at the door of the room, and a faint, sweet voice bade her enter. When, in after years, did Lady Hilda forget the scene? The room was small, but clean, and even pretty. There was a little white bed with white hangings, a neat toilet table with a few ornaments. A little table stood near the bed; a small fire burned cheerily in the grate. Lady Hilda entered the room quietly, moving gently, lest any sound should annoy the one who lay there. She w ent up to the bedside, ami then uttered a low cry of surprise. White and worn, with a deep shade upon it, lay the same beautiful face she had seen in the summer. The woman before her was the one who had asked her so long ago for a flower nt the lodge gates. The sad, large eyes seemed to burn as they looked at her; the lips trembled and quivered, but could not utter a word. "You wished to see me,” said Lady Hilda, bending over her. "I came as soon as I could. I have disturbed you. Wait a few minutes, ami then you will be better able to speak to me.’’ The burning eyes closed is she spoke, and Lady Hilda stood silently gazing at the beautiful, sad face, wondering what was the story it told. Deep lines of sorrow were on the broad, white brow and round the lips. As she gazed upon the face it seemed in some strange way to become familiar to her, as though years ago she had seen and loved it in her dreams: then the faint, sweet voice was heard again. "Are you Lady Hilda Bayneham?” “Yes,” she replied, "I am Lord Bayneham’s wife.” “You were Lady Hutton’s ward?” continued the sick woman. “Yes.” said Hilda quietly, “she was my adopted mother; I knew no other.” She stopped abruptly, for the dying lips uttered a wild cry, and the white face

Was tufiied to her with a look of deadly anguish that was almost despair. "Hush.” said Lady Hilda gently; “what is it? Y’ou will make yuurself worse. What can I do for you?” The woman held out a thin white hand and clasped the soft fingers of the young girl; she held them up to the light, looking at the <osrly rings that glittered there. ’’Let mo see your other hand,” she said. Lady Hilda gave it to her. and she glanced eagerly at it. On rhe third finger* shone a plain gobi ring. When the siok woman saw it she pressed it eagerly to her lips. "Who gave you that ring?" she asked. "Lady Hutton,” was the reply. "She placed it on my finger on my sixteenth birthday. Why do you ask me these questions? What do you know of me?” For all answer the sad. sweet eyes look-, ed into her face, as though try ing to read every thought of her heart.. "I could not die until I had seen you,” she said. "I have hungered and thirsted for one l<x»k at your face, for one word from your lips. My heart craved for you, so that I could not die. I am breaking my oath, but it was a cruel one: besides, I must know what answer to give when I stand before the great white throne. God gave me a precious jewel, and I left it with another. He will ask what I did with it. What shall I say?” Lady Hilda thought the poor woman was raving, and she laid her cool hand upon the hot brow. Still those sad eyes seemed to drink in every change on her face. "When I gave my jewel away,” she continued,"! swore that I would never reclaim it; but I cannot die until it is mine again. She will know, perhaps, in the other world that I have broken my oath —it must be so. Hilda, look at be. Have you no memory of me? Have you never seen me before?” "Your face is familiar to me,” replied Hilda, wondering at the strange address. "I have seen something like it in my dreams.” "Nothing more?” cried the woman, a wild sob bursting from the pale lips. "Is there no memory of the long sweet nights, when that golden head was pillowed on my breast; of the long days when I nurse J you in my arms; of the hot tears I have shed over you—is there nothing that tells you of my love, my sorrow and despair? Ah, how many’ years is it since I clasped my little child in my’ arms, and took what 1 believed to be my last look at her! Hilda, I should rise, I should kneel there at your feet and ask you to pardon me, but I did all for the best.” Lady Hilda’s face had grown very pale, her lips quivered, and her eyes grew dim. “I do not quite understand you yet,” she whispered; "tell me more plainly who you are.” The white face turned to her. the lips trembled, the large sad eyes filled with tears. "I have hungered and thirsted for you," she continued; "my heart burned within me, parched and withered for one glance at that face. Oh, darling, bend over me. lower still; look at me, pardon me. I am your unhappy mother —you are my only child.” "My mother!" said Lady Hilda, gently •‘is it possible? Can it be true?” "It is true, said the dying woman; "eighteen years ago my heart broke when I gave you, my child, my love, my comfort, to another. I could not die until I heard you call me mother once again. < >h. darling—my own, my only child—do not turn from me. Say you forgive me, then I can die in peace.” Lady Hilda bent over the drooping face, so full of wild sorrow. "Tell me all about it,” she said, gently; “1 do not understand.” Then, by the gray light of the winter morning. Magdalen Hurst told her story —told of her simple beautiful girlhood spent in the bonny woods of Brynmar; of the fate that came to her there when she met handsome, reckless, unprincipled Stephen Hurst. She told the sad story of her married life, with its wretched ending, when the gay, handsome lover of her youth stood in the dock, and the fatal sentence was pronounced against him—how he wanted her to join him in that faroff land; and in order to do so she had parted with her only child. "It was not that I did not love you. darling.” pleaded the sweet, faint voice. "I died in that hour; life has only been a burden to me since. I had nothing to give you but shame, misery and reproach, the burden of a tainted name, poverty, and toil. She gave you wealth, honor and all that the world esteems. I knew you would be happy with her, for she loved you. Still, I could not face my Maker until I knew from my child’s own lips that she was happy and well cared for. I am dying fast; call me mother once again.” (To be continued.) How Some Fires Arose. The origin of fire is often very mys terious, and not infrequently incendiarism is suspected, or even taken for granted, simply because no other explanation seems easy; but once in a while the truth comes out in such a case, and the tire is proved to have been occasioned by some accident so peculiar in its nature that no ordinary measure of carefulness could have guarded against it. A curious fact occurred in a factory. In the middle of the room a milling-machine was turn ing knife-handles, the dust being blown up through a metal tube into the room above and thence forced out of doors, through a wooden pipe. A spark from an emery wheel, fifteen feet from the milling-machine, struck a window, and. . rebounding, entered the mouth of the metal tube, set the wood dust on fire, so that the flames poured out of the wood en pipe in a stream twenty feet long. An engineer, cleaning up a mill, put some cotton waste in front of the boiler. where it would be handy for the fireman in the morning. During the night this took fire spontaneously, the flames spread to the kindlings under the boiler and soon raised steam enough to cause the boiler to blow off. scaring the watchman, who knew, o thought he knew, that there was m fire under it. Samuel Adams w as dubbed the American Cato, because of his vigor of speech in debate. He was alst- calk'd the Crom well of Now England, the Father of America, the Last of the Puritans and the Man of the Revolution. A woman can do a wrong tiling twice as quick as a man can, but it takes her a hundred times as long to forget it

FARM AND GARDEN. BRIEF HINTS AS TO THEIR SUCCESSFUL MANAGEMENT. The Stump-Rooted Carrot Excellent for Family Use—Howto Make a Farm Roller —A Movable Hen's Neat — Farmers Should Raise Everything. Half-Lo;.g Stump-Rooted Carrot. There is much less attention paid to the choice of varieties of carrots for a given soil than the importance demands, says Farm and Home. For field culture the long orange was the variety in general use until within the past few years, since when several new - issr FINE CABROT FOR FAMILY USE. types have been introduced, the tendency being for shorter roots, both on account of a saving of labor in digging and in greater productiveness. For most varieties, particularly where the soil is light and thin, the stump-rooted varieties are preferable. To grow to perfection carrots require a rich, deep, sandy loam, well pulverized and deeply cultivated. Tor an early crop sow in May and June in drills about one foot apart, thinning out to four inches in the row. Sow for the main crop in June and July. After sowing tread the rows firmly. On poor, light soil, where the weeding and cultivation have been neglected, the half-long, stump-rooted carrots have yielded at the rate of 520 bushels per acre. This is more than double the quantity that could have been raised had long-rooted varieties been planted and not nearly as much as would have been produced had the soil been in good condition and well cultivated. Heavier crops can be produced in deep, rich soils with the long-rooted varieties, but in thin soils the shorter kinds give by far the greater yield. An Excellent Hen's Nest, The accompanying illustration, taken from the American Agrculturist, shows an easily constructed and very excellent movable hen’s nest which is fitted with a device which permits the eggs to be gathered from the outside of the hen house. The nest boxes have no - 3 MOVABLE HEN’S NESTS. backs and are hung by hooks against the wall, as seen in Fig. 1. They ean be taken down and emptied in a moment, in this way avoiding all chance of harboring vermin. The opening in front should be just large enough for a hen to enter. An alighting pole may be placed in front of the nests. If there is a passageway nt one side of the fowl house, or *a room adjoining it, the nests ■U' ■ REAR SLIDES. can be hung against the partition, and the eggs gathered from the outside without going into the pen. Let round holes be cut behind each nest in the partition, and these openings covered by a slide as suggested in Fig. 2. The same arrangement could be used upon the outer wall of a hen house standing by itself. Progress of Agriculture. The average of wages has risen 60 per cent, since 1870, and at the same time the accumulation of urban wealth per head has been 76 per cent, more than in rhe period from ISSO to IS7O. which shows that the rise in wealth and the increase of wages go almost hand in hand. But the farmer has nevertheless a corresponding advantage, for his life is a healthier one. the statistics of mortality showing that the death rate in American cities, especally among children, is greatly in excess of that of rural districts. The farmer may make money more slowly, but he has a safer and less agitated life, and his children grow up around him in affluence and comfort. The census of 1890 showed that the United States had 4.565,000 farmers, the aggregate value of whose farms, cattle and implements summed up 15,982 millions of dollars, giving to each an average fortune of $3,505. most of these men having begun on a capital of a couple of hundred dollars. The number of new farms created since 1860 has been 2.520,000, bringing into cultivation 195.000,000 acres, and the greater part of this work has been done by European settlers. In fact, if the United States had no urban population or industries whatever, the advance of agricultural interests would be enough to claim the admiration of mankind, for

it has no parallel In history.—North American Review. Unevenly Matched Teams. The worst result of having the team unevenly matched in work is that neither is able to exert its full power in pulling. The slow and fast each hinders the other, and neither can do its best. This is a pracical basis for the ancient injunction in the law of Moses that the ox and the ass should not be yoked together. There is also a need for due proportion between the team and its driver. The great majority of farm work requires that the driver shall walk, and a slow team limits the amount that an active, able-bodied man can accomplish. We well remember while a boy on a farm plowing with an ox team that could not be made to turn over an acre a day. A smart horse team with the same plow would turn an acre and a half or two acres. Such a difference as this explains why much farm help fails to earn Its wages. The team for farm work should be active rather than plodding. This activity is not at all incompatible with superior strength and endurance.—American Cultivator. The Farm Roller. The value of a farm roller as an aid in preparing ground for planting, or sowing is not sufficiently realized. The function of the roller on most farms is to go once over a piece of grain that has been sowed with an accompaniment of grass seed, to put the ground into smooth condition for future mowing. This use of a roller is all right but it is extracting only a small part of the value that can be got out of it. Nothing is better for making fine the soil, and getting an admirable seed bed than a thorough rolling, followed by a thorough harrowing. The roller breaks up lumps and clods and firms the sei! so it can be thoroughly pulverized by the subsequent harrowing. A roller should be made in two sections so that one may roll back and the other forward in making a turn, otherwise a bad gouging of the surface occurs at every turn. The illustration shows the best manner of constructing a roller. Two pieces of plank are halved together at right angles for ends, and pieces V-shaped are fitted In at the four corfjii, A FARM ROLLER. nets. These ends should be twenty four or more inches in diameter, making the roller twenty-eight inches in diameter. The ends are covered with narrow strips of plank, with edges sawed somewhat beveling. This can be done at the mill. These strips are spiked to the ends, and over each end a stout iron hoop is put on hot, and allowed to shrink into place, as a wagon tire is put on. This makes a solid job. Get this reftdy before planting time, and use it before putting in the seed as well as after Tile Family Garden, The family garden idea is the thing to be cherished just now. Farmers are much more apt says the Nebraska Farmer, as a class, to give themselves over to the study of how best to meet the wants of their live stock through a variety of feeds best suited to building up the system and giving vigor to the constitution than they are to spend much thought or labor in meeting the same class of wants for the various members of the family. The garden spot should be the center of economy for every farm household, not simply in a money sense, but in the better sense of providing fresh from the soil all those delicacies of the table in and out of season that are never procured in so good form as when produced directly by the hands for whose use they are intended. Every member of the family can be made to feel an interest in the garden, and now is about the time to make that interest manifest by good deeds. Early Spring Crops. Early crops, such as asparagus, strawberries, etc., that can be sold in the spring and early summer, usually pay much better than stuff that is raised for the fall and winter markets. The great majority of farmers grow crops for the late markets, which makes I competition keen and prices low. says the Farmer. More early truck is grown ; each year, but it will be a long time be- i fore the spring market is as well supplied as the fall. The Guernsey Butter. The Guernsey as a dairy cow has been more talked about since the World’s Fair than she ever was before. It is undisputed that the Guernsey butter has the richest natural color of any breed. The Guernsey the world over has the rich, yellow skin which the old-time dairy people always said indicated a good butter cow. Planting; for tho Hereafter. Trees cannot usurp the place of a broader agriculture, but ean often be worked in conjunction with it That farmer is but “casting an anchor to windward” who plants an orchard, a vineyard, a nut grove or a tract of timber. It bo cannot live to enjoy it to the full, his children may. Black Knots in Cherry Trees. How can we destroy black knots on our cherry trees? is often asked. Sim ply cut off the limbs and burn them, I says American Gardening. The pest that causes these knots is in them, and fire alone will cause their destruction. I But the work must be general to be useful. Farmers, Raise Everything. The farmer who keeps cows, poultry and hogs, who raises his own fruit and vegetables, find buys nothing that he can raise himself, is the most successful.

I A Pudding. Many good and simple puddings are , made from corn starch. One that is quickly made has for its ingredients a quart of milk, four tablespoons of corn starch, a scant tablespoonful of butter, and a saltspoonful of salt. Heat the milk in a double boiler if you have one, stir into it the salt and the corn starch wet with cold water, cook until it thickens, add the butter, and mix it well. Dip cups in cold water, fill them with the pudding, and serve with cream and sugar, flavored with vanilla, or pass with it one small pitcher of strawberry preserves and one of whipped cream. If the pudding is served warm, make the following sauce: Heat half a cupful of milk, then beat one egg until light, and add to it a cupful of sugar. Add a pinch of baking soda to the hot milk, and pour a little at a time over the egg and sugar mixture, stirring all the time. Stand the saucepan holding the sauce in boiling water, and just before serving flavor delicately with vanilla. If chocolate is liked, the addition of half a cupful of grated chocolate changes a corn starch pudding into a chocolate custard. Heat four cupfuls of milk in a double boiler, and add a cupful of sugar and four teaspoonfuls of corn starch moistened with a little cold water. Next add the grated chocolate, and when all are dissolved in the milk stir in the beaten yolks of four eggs. Cook until the mixture thickens, stirring continually. When thick and smooth as a cream, cool. When nearly cold flavor V> taste with vanilla, turn into a pudding dish, and cover with a meringue made from the whites of the eggs and powdered sugar. Serve very cold. The Roller Pillow. Patients who are entirely confined to bed, and who are paralyzed or other wise reduced to a condition of great weakness, often complain that they are perpetually slipping down in bed. An attempt is often made to obviate this tendency by placing a foot-stool at the bottom of the bed for the patient to press his feet against. But when there is great weakness, this support soon ceases to be useful, for the muscles become exhausted, the knees give way, and the slipping goes on as before. The difficulty is best overcome by the use of a roller-pillow, which is a round pillow, about four inches in thickness, so fixed that the patient, though lying down, as it were sits upon it. To answer its purpose. the roller-pillow must be fastened very securely to the sides or head of the bedstead by means of strong tapes or pieces of webbing to each of its ends. Orange Charlotte. Take half a box of gelatine, one cupful of sugar, one of orange juice, the juice of one lemou, one cupful aud a half of boiling water, half a cupful of cold water and four oranges of medium size. Soak the gelatine in cold water for two hours. Pour the boiling water on it and then place the bowl in a pan of boiling water. Add the sugar and stir until dissolved. Now add the orange and lemon juice and strain into a bowl. Place the bowl in a pan of icewater and stir frequently until the contents begin to harden. While cooling, peel and slice the oranges. I.ine a quart charlotte mold with them. As soon as the jelly begins to congeal beat it vigorously. Continue beating until it is light and thick. Fill the charlotte mold and set away to harden. Stewed Lamb or Mutton. Remove all the fat from a nice leg of lamb or mutton. Cut off the shank and make incisions in various parts of the Inside quite deep; fill them with a dressing made of fine bread crumbs, salt pork aud sweet marjoram and pepper, stuff it very full. Fry three slices of pork crisp in the skillet, take them out and lay the lamb or mutton in and brown on every side, then put it into a pot with water enough to cover it. Throw in a dozen or two of cloves, half an onion sliced, and a little salt. Halt an hour before serving add a teacup of tomato catsup or a few tomatoes scalded and peeled. Let it simmer gently for three hours. When you take up the meat thicken the gravy, if it requires it, with a little flour. To Wash Linen and Denim. Linen and denim. Xvhether embroidered in white or colors, do not need any starch. They should be ironed when damp, aud then will be sufficiently stiff. Wash them in lukewarm suds, rinse carefully and hang them where they will dry quickly, but not where the sun will pour down on them. Do not use hot water, especially when colored silks or linens have been used, and hasten the laundering as much as possible. Iron embroidered cloths on the wrong side till perfectly dry. Balloon Muffins. Half a pint of milk, half a pint of water and one pint of flour. Beat with an eggbeater for several minutes. Have your gem irons hot and greased, and fill two-thirds full. Bake in a quick oven twenty minutes or until light brown. Although no baking powder is used in these, if properly made they will be light and very nice. Brown Joe Bread. Two cupfuls of corn meal, two cupfuls of white flour, one cupful of molasses, one cupful of sour milk, one teaspoonful of salt, one of soda. Steam three or four hours, and then bake half an hour. Duty is carrying on promptly aud faithfully the affairs now before you. It is to fulfi'’ the claims of to-day.