Democratic Press, Volume 1, Number 42, Decatur, Adams County, 1 August 1895 — Page 7

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fOft W CHAPTER XXVl.—{Continued.) •*X\ ill you tell me how and when you 1 •aw your mother, Hilda?” asked Paul Fulton, humbly. She told him the story of her mother’s d**ath. Through the hard, worldly nature some sharp sting of remorse pierced ! him. “Great heavens!” he cried, “to think that I came here, seeking my new life, and find my wife’s grave and my living child r ■‘She gave me one message for you,” •aid Lady Hilda, gravely. “It was to tell you that, dying, she blessed and forgave you.” “Did she say that?” asked Paul Fulton. hoarsely, while his eyes grew dim with tears. “Poor Maggie, she loved me dearly and well.” That moment’s softening touched his daughter more than any words could have done. “For your mother’s sake, say to me that we are friends.” She turned to him and laid her hand in his. “It shall be so,” she said. M For her sake 1 repeat her pardon and her love.” “Hilda,” he said, gently, “you are an angel to me; if you nad sent me from you in disgust I should have gone straight to the bad. for I am a reckless man. You have saved me. I will try—it is never too late—l will try and be more worthy of you; I will not shame you again. I told you that it was my life you held in your hand. Now time presses. Listen to me. IkS e must both preserve our secret. I have entered upon a fresh life. lam rich, and men respect me. I am going to mar ry; nay, do not start from me, child; that cannot hurt your mother now. I am going to marry one who will do great things for me. I see honor and rank and the good word and praise of men before me. I see a better and higher life, but all this depends upon you. I suffered, Hilda; no one know it. Shame and disgrace cankered my very soul. I believe I hated your mother because her loyal heart ever found excuses for me. I could not suffer shame again. If our secret should become known, were I to say you are my child, or if you were to call me father, my story must I be known, men must know *hat 1 am ! Stephen Hurst, the ex-convict; and if this should come to pass (mind, I hate heroics, I say it calmly), if this ever gets kn-wn. I will kill myself. I shall not wait for •com and contempt, to destroy me. You see I leave my life in your hands.” “I have no wish to make it known,” she replied sorrowfully; “my happiness is destroyed. I cannot endure to look in my husband’s face and know that 1 have deceived him. I have no business here; my place is amongst the poor and shaiue•trirkon. If Lord Bayneham knew my I story, I believe he would send me from him. If I conceal it, it will kill me. Where j am I to look for help? Who can aid me?” “Those are false, sentimental notions,” said Paul Fulton, more touched than he cared to own by her sorrowful face and despairing words. “You have done no wrong; you are a gentleman’s daughter. Ladj* Hutton made you a lady in every sense of the word. Keep your secret, and I you will be happy enough.” “I did not expect you to understand me.” she said; “it is the concealment I hate. But we must not linger. What more have you to say?” “Nothing/’ he replied. “You know I leave here early in the morning. I shall never return. Hilda. We must remain as strangers, and do not forget that you hold my life in your hands. I shall avoid you —it will be less painful than seeing you, and not daring to claim you as my child. Are you willing?” “Yes,” she replied in the same hopeless tone, “it will be best so; only promise me one thing—if I die first, you will tell the whole truth to my husband; he will never betray you.” He premised without the least intention of ever lumping his word, and they turned toward the house. “Hilda,” said Paul Fulton, “you are my own child. Let me hear my name once. Say ‘God bless you, father,* before we part.” She turned her fair, sad face to him. and he never forgot it as he saw it then. The breath of the summer wind was not • more sweet and faint than the voice that ! •aid: “God bless you, father! Good-bye!” | “If I had kept her with me,” said Pau] I Fulton, as through tin* mist of warm tears j he watched Lady Hilda enter the house, i ■**l should have been a different min,” i That night, while darkness and silence ■ fell upon the old castle, there was one be- ; neath its roof who seemed to die a living j death. That night a fair young face lost . its radiance and youth; a pure, loving heart rebelled wildly against dark, stern | fate; a golden head tossed wearily to and j fro: and in the darkness there came to her i again those solemn, terrible words, “I visit the sins of the fathers upon the children.” The young, beautiful, and beloved lady 1 of Bayneham prayed for death; life bad grown too painful to bear. CHAPTER XXVII. Lady Bayneham had been thinking—a mental exercise-she did not often indulg<in. This world for her was but a path of roses, in which she had found few thorns, and she had nothing much that required thought; but this night, when a young heart near her was breaking with sorrow, Lady Bayneham could not sleep, for she was thinking. She knew the world well; its strange wavs were oid legends to her. She had heard many stories where a handsome, accomplished man of the world prided himself upon winning the liking of a beautiful young wife. The whole artillery of flirtation was a well-known business to Lady Bayneham. If a note had been clandestinely slipped into Lady Bayneham’s.hafid, she would calmly and quietly have torn it in piece* before the

i wnJrtf* withoot the trouble of I and tr'pm Sh Zi ha u BeeD h ° W Hi!dfl blush “d and th» n'm- “ Bhe receiv, ' d the Xw nV ' ant ’ es P erie nced woman of the world felt something like pity for the young novice. ',7 ha 7/.° ? onbt ” Mid Iad f Bayneham a tha£ Bhe “ dreadfu,| y puzzled what to do over the matter. Poor child! sue is so simple, and so sweet. I think whatT J 0" C ! aude ~ h « W >ll know just i what to do; and if I speak to her, she may consider it interference ” 7 | The countess believed she was performi |,l a kl “ dIy ! “utherly action in seeking | her son, and telling him what she had | seen; accordingly she was the first in the | breakfast.room. Mr. Fulton, in accordance with his arrangements on the preI ™>"’ ‘■'■ening. left while the morning was | still dawning. Barbara Earle had taken wpakfast and gone out into the grounds, i.ady Hilda was in her room. Hence the countess had a clear field; and when her son entered, she went into action at once. " ith her second cup of tea she commenced a preamble. "1 think you know me too well, Claude ever to suspect that I could be capable of any irnpertinence or interference: is it not The earl assured his mother that she possessed all the cardinal virtues and no faults. "I am speaking seriously, my son.” continued the lady. "I have a sincere liking and affection for your beautiful wife; but she is very young, and knows nothing of the world. She is so innocent and simple that I mention to you a circumstance I have observed, which in another would not have excited my attention.” “What has Hilda been doing?” asked Lord Bayneham, with a smile; “has she broken some terribly severe law of etiquette?” "No," replied the countess; “Lady Hilda’s manner is perfect. It is not that, but our late visitor, Mr. Fulton, was a very handsome man, and one who could fascinate where he chose.” “Well, and what can that possibly have to do with Hilda’s shortcomings?“ demanded Lord Bayneham quickly. "If you will allow me time, Claude, I can explain,” said the countess, with dignity. "On the first evening of his arrival, we all remarked how much he seemed struck i with Hilda. Mind, I insinuate nothing against him; he is only a man of the world; but I believe he has been trying to get up a sentimental kind of friendship for her.” "What makes you think so?" asked the , young earl, indifferently, for he saw nothing remarkable in any one admiring his I wife. "I noticed a little circumstance that struck me rather unpleasantly,” replied Lady Bayneham. “I saw him on two occasions slip a note into her hand.” “You must have been mistaken, mother," said her son, quick’-, his face flushing hotly. "My wife would never receive a letter from auy one.” “It is true,” continued the countess; “I do not say there was anything in them; for, knowing Hilda to be one of the purest as she is one of the loveliest of women, I j am sure there could be nothing wrong I about it. I would speak to her myself, ] but it is a delicate matter to interfere with; but with a few well-chosen words you can put her on her guard; she is so very young and inexperienced.” "You are very kind, mother,” said Lord I Bayneham, rising hastily; “but I cannot understand how a note could have nothing in it. I must see Hilda and ask her about it.” “Do not be rash or foolish, Claude,” said his mother; “there is no necessity for any scenes or any emotion. Speak to your wife quietly, for perhaps there is nothing in it. Hilda never sees any one but you. Do not force me to regret that I have treated you like a sensible man.” “I must have it explained,” said Lord Bayneham. quietly but firmly; “I must see those notes, or know what they were about. None shall either insult or act impertinently to my wife.” “I do not think any one will ever try,” >id Lady Bayneham; “be prudent and cnsible, Claude. Suppose, after all, there was nothing on the paper but the name of a book or a song?” “Tell me how they were given,” he said, “and I can judge for myself.” Lady Bayneham, who began to repent of her undertaking, then told him of the two little scenes she had witnessed, and his face grew’ dark. “If that man dared to write nonsense to my wife, I would follow him to London and thrash him!” he cried. “I can see ■ how it is Hilda did not tell me; she was afraid I should quarrel with him." “Nothing of the kind,” said Lady BayneI ham, trying to allay the tempest she had aroused. "She very likely never thought ! of naming it at all; she cannot run to you ■ every time any one either speaks or writes j to her." ■ ”Th(n why have you named it?" asked I Lord Bayneham, impatiently. “If there i is nothing wrong, extraordinary, impropI er. wonderful, or anything else in it, why i did you come to me?” I “Claude, I quite despair of you,” said ■ the countess, haughtily. “I have explain!ed my motives. Your wife is young, : beautiful and untrained in the world's | ways; it is your place to warn her, and | see that her very innocence and simplicity I do. not cause her to act imprudently.” Lord Bayneham sighed; he was not quite clear as to what his mother really meant. He saw one thing plainly; she was not actuated by any unkind feeling toward Hilda; but, before he had time to reply, Barbara entered, her face glowing with exercise, and her hand filled with choice fern leaves. "See, aunt,” she said, touching Lady Bayneham’s face with her fresh red lips, "I have found all these treasures; they will make your collection complete. Good morning, Claude; you look well, not onehalf as bright as the morning.” p or the first time she noticed the uneasy expression of both faces. “I am sorry to hear Hilda is not well this morning.'” she continued. “Panline tells me she has not left her room; so I will go and see her.” "If you are not otherwise engaged, Claude,” said Lady Bayneham. as Miss Earle quitted the room, "perhaps you will

go with me round the shrubbery. I should like a short walk before the heat of the day comes on.” "I am quite at your service, mother,” he replied, listlessly, longing to be with Hilda, and read, for his own satisfaction, the truth in her beautiful eyes. “Let us go down the Lady’s Walk,” she said, taking her son's arm. “I like the quiet shade.” They turned down the broad shady path called the Lady’s Walk; tall branching trees met there overhead, forming a depth of cool shade. Lady Bayneham wished some time to elapse before her son saw his wife, resolving to give a change to his thoughts and ideas. Os all fatal deeds that morning she committed the most fatal. The morning air was soft and clear, the birds sang sweetly, the flowers bloomed, and all nature was smiling and gay. As they drew near the end of the walk Lord Bayneham saw something shining and glittering in the long thick grass. hat have we here?” he said, stooping for the shining prize. He nearly dropped it again, in uncontrollable astonishment. It was his wife’s bracelet, the one he had seen upon her arm the night before, and had spoken to his mother about; it was the very same; there were the costly pearls and the pale pure gold, with his initials and those of his wife entwined. "Hilda's bracelet!” cried Lady Baynehim, in sheer wonder; “why, bow did that come here? How careless to drop a valuable piece of jewelry like that! Is it injured?” she continued, for her son did not speak. “How strange that it should be here!” she said, taking it from his hand. “Why, Claude, Hilda wore this last evening; I saw it on her arm when you bade her good night. How came it here ?” No reply eame from the young earl; but' a strange dark look gathered over nis handsome face, marring its beauty with passion. “She must have been out this morning,” said Lady Bayneham; “yet Pauline said she had not quitted her room. Can there have been a robbery, Claude?” “We must inquire,” said Lord Bayneham sternly. “This bracelet was on my wife's arm when I bade her good night; this morning I find it here; who has dropped it?” For a moment the mother and son looked steadily at each other; then Lord Bayneham turned to re-enter the house. In the hall they met Lady Hilda’s maid—pretty, smiling Pauline—who dropped her most coquettish courtesy before the young earl. “Is Lady Hilda down yet?” asked the countess. “My lady has been indisposed all the morning,” replied the maid; "she has not yet left her room.” “Has she not been in the park?” asked Lady Bayneham, quickly. “My lady is ill,” said Pauline again, with a look of astonishment, “and has not left her room.” “Hush, mother,” said the earl, when the maid had passed on. “Ask no questions from servants. Hilda will explain it, and we shall find no mystery after all. If she is dftssed we will go to her room.” “Perhaps you had better go alone,” said Lady Bayneham; “if there has been no robbery it is all right. Since Lady Itushe’s jewel robbery I have always been nervous.” “I prefer your accompanying me, mother, if you will,” said Lord Bayneham; “in your eyes I read a half doubt of my wife. Come with me, that I may show you how groundless it is.” They went together up the broad stair case and through the corridor to the door of Lady Hilda's room. A sweet, low voice, that expressed both pain and fatigue, bade them enter. Lady Hilda had risen, and was sitting in her little boudoir, the untasted breakfast on a table by her side. Lord Bayneham forgot his errand when he saw her pale face and dim eyes. "Have you been ill, Hilda?” he asked, anxiously. “Why did you not send for me?” “I did not sleep,” she replied, looking with some surprise at her visitors, “and my head aches. Do you want me for anything?” she asked, “or is this a morning call?” She tried to smile, but Lord Bayneham saw her pale lips tremble; then he remembered his errand. “We have been puzzled,” he replied, with a smile. “I have been for a walk with my mother this morning quite a good boy. you see. Last night, when I left you, you wore this bracelet; it was fastened on your arm, and this morning I found it in the Lady’s Walk, and you have not quitted your room. How came it there, II.Ida?" He held it out as he spoke, and a long, low cry eame from her pale lips. “Look!” cried Lady Bayneham. and Claude, springing forward, caught his wife as she was falling, pale and senseless. to the ground. "There is your answer,” said the dignified countess, as she rang the bell. “Take care, Claude. It seems to me that there is a dark shadow hanging over our house. Why should she faint? There was nothing so alarming in your words.” (To be continued.) Don't Twist Your Syllables. The unconscious exchange '■ f syllables Is a form of mls-speech to which most of us are occasionally subject, ! and the remarkable words thus evolv- ! ed cause considerable amusement to the qui k-witted listeners. A certain young lady who, to her intense mortification, often reverses her vowels thus, says she Is entirely’ unconscious of it, even after speaking. One summer evening she was sauntering with a friend toward the village postoffice of the little town where they were staying. On the way they encountered an acquaintance with a handful of letters. “Ah, good evening.’ she said, in her peculiarly gracious, suave manner. “Are you strailing out for your mole?” The mystified young woman made some inarticulate reply and passed on. As soon as the friend recovered her gravity she gasped: “I suppose you intended to ..sk Miss May if she was strolling out for her mail?” The same young lady was relating a sad story of various misfortunes which had overwhelmed a dear friend. “Thitkk,” she concluded pathetically, “of iosing husband, children, property and home at one swell foop!” A roar of laughter rent the'roof, and for that time she spo’’e no more. The Order of Templars was founded in 1119.

TIMELY FARM TOPICS. MANAGEMENT OF THE FARM, GARDEN AND STABLE. Value of Crimson Clover as Feed and Manure—Home-Made Sulky Plow Used in the Northwest Territories — Fence for Wet Grounds. Crimson Clover. Crimson clover is a comparatively new crop, yet the area seeded each year is rapidly increasing. Where its characteristics have been studied and are well understood by farmers it is very highly regarded, and now has a fixed and important place among the regular farm crops. The New Jersey experi- ] ment station, according to the Ameri- | can Agriculturist, has made a very care- 1 ful study of the plant, and experiments are still in progress to fully determine its advantages and limitations. In the | truck sections of the State it is largely ; used as a green manure crop, while in the dairy regions and among general farmers it is esteemed for early pasture, for forage, for soiling, or for hay. In southern sections large areas are being turned under as a manure for corn, tomatoes, potatoes and other; crops, while In the more northern sec- ■ tions it is used to some extent for pas- I ture, and in summer as a soiling crop I and in orchards as a green manure. The single stool shown in the aceom- I panying illustration was removed from ' the soil on April 24. It represents the average size of the crop on that date on good soil. It was seeded in a pear orchard in Gloucester County on Aug. 1. i articular pains were taken to retain the whole root system to the depth of JiL, ' i A STOOL OF CRIMSON CLOVEB. the surface soil, and the size of the tap- ' root, as well as the abundance of fine 1 rootlets with the accompanying tuber- [ cles, indicate a strong feeding capacity. I Its stooling character is also an impor- I tant feature, actual count showing sev- 1 enry distinct branches in this stool. In the central sections of the State the average size in good soils, seeded under good conditions, was probably about six inches on the same date. The studies made last year at this station show -ae great value of the crop even when averaging only six inches high when used. It was found that the roots and stubble on an acre of a full stand of this size contained 103.7 pounds of nitrogen, an amount equivalent to that contained in 64S pounds of nitrate of soda, which would cost at present prices sls; or it was equivalent in nitrogen and organic matter to that contained in ten tons of average quality yard manure, the nitro gen in whieh represents two-thirds of , Its total value as actual plant food, and i which costs $2 per ton delivered at! consumer's depot. Regarded as a fool it would furnish in pasture actual nutritious compounds sufficient to maintain twelve cows in full flow of milk for one week. The value of the crop is, of course, proportionately increased as ft approaches maturity, and when fully grown is quite as valuable, other things being equal, as the common red variety. A Tree Hitching Poet. It is often desirable to use a tree for a hitching post, but there is danger that the horse may gnaw the bark, or kjTJ rub his harness against the tree. l ‘ ut s l ,ows a IwJ device to obviate ' l /7& both difficulties. The I ’ ort ‘ e th” B . Sk' T■' W ll hitched cau neithj '' I ‘ ' cr reatdl tho tree uor move in eith1 er d irection by it. ■ ...fc'So-- ■ ’ Another safe contrivance to prevent horses from gnawing trees consists of a staple to which are attached three or four links of a phain, a half-inch rod thirty Inches long, then three or four more links, with a snap at the end. Shade for Milch Cows. Shade is as essential to milch cows and fattening steers in summer as warmth in winter. If the pastures have no trees, erect a tight board shed, where they can go in and be in the dark, away from the flies. This fixture to a pasture often pays even if good shade trees abound. Such a building can be used for milking in, without driving the cows home, and in winter for storing mowers, rakes, etc. It should be built before the hurry of haying —Farm Journal. Make a Sulky Plow. To change an ordinary plow into a riding plow, an old wagon wheel may be cut down to 36 inches in diameter and the tire reset. Then have a blacksmith make necessary irons (see Illus-

tration) and any intelligent man can do the rest at home. Either make a new axle about 4ki feet long and clamp over the plow beam, over the upright standard and on the forward end of the plate which lies on top of this axle. Directly over the beam have a binge made to which the pole is bolted. The iron braces whieh are seen hinged from the end of the lever to the front end of the beam serve to lift the plow out of the ground and to keep the pole in its place over the beam A brace of hard wood or Iron must be fastened from the axle, near the wheel, to the front end of the plow beam. When the plow is lifted out of the ground it runs on its heel, but a wheel may be added if preferred. | The seat of a mowc- or hay rake is bolt- i / , .. HOME-MADE SULKY PLOW. ed to the axle and the plow is complete. This plow, says Farm and Home, will do as good work as any sulky plow in the market, and the plow can be detached at any time if wanted for drilling po- , tatoes or any work of that kind. The I cut above is a reproduction taken from i a plow in actual service in one of the extensive grain fields of Alberta. A Believer in Few Crops. An acre of ground may be made to grow a half dozen different kinds of supplies for the farm, thus preventing the necessity of expending money at the store; but if that acre can be made to produce a cash crop that will buy these supplies, and require only half as much of the time and labor of the farmer, it is business to let the patches go. The little side crops take so much valuable time in the busy growing season, and those who grow these supplies as field crops on soil and with tools adapted to their culture, can sell us what we need far more cheaply than we can grow them. I believe that a very few kinds of crops are enough for one farm, says a writer. Modern tillage requires many costly tools, and it is better to push a few paying crops than to fritter away time on numberless patches. By so doing there is less danger of neglecting anything, and there is more net profit at the end of the year. Some side crops may be raised because they pay in cash, bnt the planting of everything with the idea that the farmer must pay out no money for anything is a relic of a bygone era that will never return. Cleanliness in Milking. Men often go directly from the dirtiest operation of farming to the milking, not washing their hands, brushing their garments, or properly cleaning the cow’s udder, and, to cap the climax, many moisten their hands and the teats with milk. Brushing the dry udder with the flat of the hand will remove much dirt Filth should be washed off with clean water. Both teats and hands should be clean and dry during milking. The strainer will not remove all impurities. Many are dissolved, and thus get into the butter and cheese. A Fence Without Stakes. Stakes for fences are sometimes hard to obtain, and on some land stakes can never be kept in place, the frost throwing them out every year. Again, some land is so wet that ordinary stakes soon rot out The illustration, from the FENCE FOB WET GBOttND. Orange Judd Farmer, shows an ingenious way to support a fence without stakes. Picket boards four inches wide are used for uprights, cross-pieces, and for braces, in the manner shown, the result being an exceedingly stiff support. The fence boards are nailed to the edge of one upright before the other is put in place. The crosspieces should be laid on flat rocks, to prevent decay, while a few heavy rocks may be laid upon the ends to “ballast” the fence. Profit in Cabbage. At two cents a head, the cultivation of ten or more acres of good cabbage yvill net the farmer a very handsome return for his labor, more actual cash, with less labor, than a crop of wheat or oats will necessitate. Being a hardy vegetable, less risk is encountered in growing them up to marketable condition; this means a great deal to the grower. Locate near a good market, try cabbage ns a principal vegetable, and with ordinary success they will pay. If Holi landers can grow them profitably and I ship them to New York, certainly the demand for them is beyond the supply. ; Holland is a great cabbage and turnip ! growing country; in fact, they are near- , ly all truck farmers. Suckers on Corn. The practice of pulling off the suckers ' from growing corn is much less comI mon than it used to be. The sucker j cut while young is not worth anything ! as feed, and if left its leaves gather | carbon from the air and make it valua ■ ble. The origin of the sucker is an injury to the original plant. If this j occurs early enough the suckers will ' have more or less ears. They also help the ears on the main stalk to fill when a drought occurs, as the sucker is always later in blossoming aud will furi nish pollen after the blossom on the j main stem has dried up.

A Sponge in the Kitchen. A good deal of dusting around coal stoves and open fires may be done t« advantage with a damp sponge. An experienced housekeeper uses a large, coarse sponge, once devoted to washing carriages. Throw it into a pail of warm water, and add a teaspoonful of ammonia. Squeeze it out as dry as possible and pass it quickly and lightly ovcltthe plain furniture, the paint, the zinc, the corners of the carpets, the oilcloth, etc., rinsing out occasionally. It will remove every bit of dirt, and net merely disperse it into the room, as a cloth or feather duster too often does, and leave a bright, shining, clear surface that is very gratifying. While you have the pail in hand you will find it easy to wipe off finger marks or traces of that grime which seems to come, no one knows how, in winter. You give a cleansing touch here and there to doors,cupboard shelves.or tables, with very little loss of time, and without any of that deliberate effort required for regular cleaning. Potatoes Viennaise. Boil eight peeled potatoes with one tablespoonful of salt in one quart of water; when done drain and pres# through a potato press; mix with one even teaspoonful of salt, one-half even teaspoonful of pepper, two ounces of butter, the yolks of three eggs, onehalf gill of cream, and four ounces of grated Parmesan cheese. Mix well, and form the mixture into round balls the size of an egg. Sprinkle some flour on a pastry board, roll the potatoes into long shapes, thick in the center and pointed at the ends; brush them over with beaten egg: make two slanting incisions on top of each, lay them in a buttered pan, brush over again with egg, and bake to a fine golden color in a hot oven. To Make Fowl Tender. If you will try the following method of procedure you will be able to make the toughest fowl palatable. Truss It carefully, and put it on. with sufficient water to cover it well, and let it stew (not boil) gently, but steadily, for six or eight hours, according to its age. Then set it aside until next day. when you can cook it as you see fit, as though it were an ordinary raw fowl. All depends upon the gentleness of the first stewing, and, if that is done carefully, you will find you have a delicious dish. Tomato Preserves. Take the sound yellow variety as soon as ripe; scald and peel; to seven pounds of tomatoes add seven pounds of white sugar, and let them stand over night. Take the tomatoes out of the sugar and boil the syrup, removing the scum; put in the tomatoes, and boil slowly fifteen or twenty minutes; remove the fruit again, and boll until the syrup thickens. On cooling, put the fruit in jars; put a few slices of lemon in each jar, and pour the syrup over them. These are very nice. Stewed Cabbage. Cut up a cabbage as for cold slaw. Boil in water twenty minutes. Then drain thoroughly and barely cover with rich milk. Cover close and boil till tender, which will not require many minutes. Add a palatable seasoning of butter, pepper and salt, and when ready to serve add the yolk of a beaten egg mixed with a few spoonfuls of rich cream. Rolls# One pint of boiling milk, one tablespoonful of butter, one tablespoonful of sugar, half a cupful of soft yeast, and flour to make a soft sponge. Let it rise over night, then knead hard; let it rise again and roll out; cut with a biscuit cutter and fold over. Useful Household Hints. Lamp chimneys must never be washed. Dampen a cloth in alcohol and rub them clear in half the time. Salads are at all times valuable as cooling, refreshing food, and are besides excellent food for promoting sleep. Au acceptable way of quenching the baby's thirst is to tie a little well-crack-ed iee iu a piece of soft, clean muslin. Grass stains should be nibbed with molasses thoroughly, and then washed out as usual. Another treatment is to rub with alcohol and then wash in water. A common cause of failure in making fancy bread and rolls is mixing the dough too stiff. It should be soft enough to be easily worked without being in the least sticky. In summer digestion needs to be vigorous, and to insure this end people ought to avoid as much as they can tho use of foods which digest in the intestines, to which class bread and potatoes belong. Washing soda moistened to a paste will brighten tins quickly, and a teaspoonful added to a tablespoonful of Spanish whiting will make a paste that will clean marble if it is allowed to dry there. A good-teceipt for orange water ice is: One quart water, one pound sugar, the outer rind of one and the juice of three or four oranges. Strain into a can and pack in ice and salt around it, and freeze and scrape It down until it Is sufficiently frozen. Pulverized potash, which soon becomes sticky when exposed to the air, should be put in all the rat holes about the house. Some persons find a mix ture of equal parts of cayenne pepper and Scotch snuff sprinkled well into i the holes, t» be still more efficacious.