Democratic Press, Volume 1, Number 44, Decatur, Adams County, 15 August 1895 — Page 7

,> 4 ' ■ v iwMiJpt I IS&warM* iife >3 fcS-J i

RC

CHAPTER XXX. Lord Baj n< hai 1: his wife chose to walk out at any hour or in any place she was perfectly free to do so, hut lie could imagine no reason why she should endeavor to keep so trivial a circumstance secret from him. Think as he would. Lord Raynehan. ! was BO nea: r - hing the myry; so h< went out into the park, wondering if the fresh air would give him any inspirati As he strolled listlessly along. Simpson, the head gamekeeper, saw him. and dr w near, as though desirous of speaking to him. “What is it, Simpson?" asked Lord Bayneham, listlessly, annoyed ar the interruption. “I am afraid we shall have some trouble, my lord.” replied the man: "I have •ecu one or two notorious poach ~s about lately, and I feel - re at their old tricks. I was in the park all last night, and I wanted to tell your lordship, but I saw yon here walking with my lady, and 1 would not interrupt you.” “Saw me here?” said the young earl“where, am! at wilt tim “It would be after ten," replied the man. “You were iu the Lady’s Walk with my lady. I saw her face, but not yours, my lord; I did not like to intrv • Not by one word or look di ! L : I Bayneham betray his wife. “Quite right,” he said, hastily: “but what about those poachers? 1 do not believe in the game laws, as some of my neighbors do, but I will have no poaching." Simpson then entered in*-j details, of which Lord Bayneham never heard one word. “1 will attend to it. Simpson; we will have no poaching,” said Lord Bayneham. suddenly interrupting the astonish.-d gamekeeper in the midst of a brilliant description of the poaching affray at Hulsmeer. But not one word he had uttered was heard by his .■ mg i.. is r. who was all imp-. ■■■ t■ • once more with his young wi:--. All the way home Lor-1 B ivneham was pondering on the one question -wi o was walking with his wife after t.-a t; ■ night, when she was supposed to be in her < wn room? Could it have been Mr. Fulton?— no. the idea was simply ridieui is. Mr. Fulton might have admired her. might

perhaps have addressed s->me complimentary verses to her; but. uu l :• the Earl of Bayneham’s own r >1 he w> il 1 dvre to solicit an interview with his wife. Even had he the audacity to prop <•' such a thing, it was not likely that the : r. innocent lady of Bayneham would con> n: • such a proceeding. Whoever was his wife must have been a stranger, not one of those within his own gates. The mystery must be solved: she had refused to tell him the contents of the notes; but let that -most iikdv they contained little but nonsense. She would not explain the finding of the bracelet; that, too. might pass, but she in >t tell him with whom she walked and talked at night and alone. When Lord Bayneham entered his wife’s rooms she was sitting just as he had left her, still and calm as a statue. “I must learn to bear it,” she had said "to herself, when his voice at the door startled her. When he entered the room Lady Hilda’s heart sunk at the expression of his face. “Hilda,” he said, hoarsely, "I know all. You have no more to conceal,” Ah, never again did he see on mortal face such a look of agony as hers wore then; never did human voice sound so despairingly. “You know all?” she sail, rising and standing with clasped hands before him. Now came the error which for years wrecked those two lives. “I know all.” said Lord Bayneham. lie meant to say that he kn w she had been in the Lady's Walk, and not alone; but she thought by those few words he meant to say that he knew all her secrets, and that she had nothing mon to conceal from him. Often and o:« n have the events of a lifetime hin- d upon a mistake less grave than this. His words, spoken jestingly s • ng ago, flashed across her, ' en she had asked him if he were deceived in his wife what would he do, and his answer had been “Such a one must return to her friends. I should know how to find a remedy so; the mistake.” “Claude, you know all,” she said, ok ing at him steadily: “did you mean what you said?—must 1 go?" He did not understand to what she a.hided. He had completely forgotten rhe conversation that was ever in her mind “Did you mean it?” she repeated, in a low voice. “I always mean every w 1 I salplied Lord Bayneham; “and, Hilda, it. has come to this ” His sentence was never completed, for just at that moment Pauline knocked at the door. “The Duke of Laleham is waiting to see you. my lord,” said the maid. His Grace was far too important a personage to be kept wa : ng. and L;" l Bayneham went into the library, wishing his visitor in any other pin e. r«>r one hour and a half he patiently endured tn“ martyrdom. His Grace was vitally interested in some county business, a.i • wanted his young neighbor’s support. Lord Bayneham tried honestly to give his attention to every w rd, but he fai in the attempt. “Landed interest." “county “personal influence,” occasionally soum familiarly in his ear. But it was Hi a s he heard, not his Grace -»f Ealeham's— Hilda’s voice, asking if she must So? What did the child mean? Go where. --and for what? There must be some •tnpid misunderstanding. It would har( been cleared up if that good man had but deferred his visit

von!!! po ? rduk>> tried hard to make his I t ing neighbor understand all he meant. He thought Lord Bayneham singularly absent, and wondered that he did not 1 show more interest in what seemed to mil a momentous question. At length ms Grace rose. “tt l ./'!- 11 ’’ he s ' lid t 0 Lord B -'yneham. if you are not engaged, you would ride over with me to Oulston. I think the matter in question should be attended to without delay.” Lord Bayneham consented, simplv because he could invent no excuse. In after years he railed bitterly at his folly; for if, msteadof going with the Duke of Laleham to Oulston. he had sought his wife, and the unhappy mistake had been explained, i years of sorrow and unavailing misery , would have been spared to them. From I the win,i„w of her own room the unhappy I young wife watched her Tiusband ride i away—watched him with a heart that | yearned for one more look at his face. | one more word from his lips—watched him with a passion of grief so wild and bitter, that she would gladly have died; she did not think iu this world ever to see him again. During that one hour and a half, which had seemed years to Lady Hilda, she res-ilved upon a step which she afterward I bitterly repented. Believing her husband meant that ho knew all her secrets, and i that ho meant those words, so carelessly uttered, she resolved not to wait until he I should send her from him. but go at once. | She was half mad, and that was the only excuse that could be made for her rash act. From the chaos of thought one idea stood out boldly—she would go : t once, before they had time to reproach - her with her father’s fault and send her i away. No passionate weeping, no wild i burst of sorrow came to the relief of that • burning brain. She moved about the sumptuous room like one in a dream, just | conscious of what she was going to do, but nothing more. Like an electric shock came the sound of Lady Bayneham’s voice, asking for | admittance. She supposed that by this I time ihe whole matter was made clear, i and she came see how Hilda was. ‘•Can 1 come in?” she said. ‘‘l wish to speak to you, Hilda.” “She has come to taunt me,” thought I the poor child; “come to exult over my ■ fall, and tell mo she always thought me proud, or something of the kiwi.” i "No, not now,” answered a strange, ' broken voice, ‘‘l am engaged; you cannot i come in.” | Deeply offended, the countess walked j haughtily away, and so Lady Hilda dei strove*! her last chance. | If Lady Bayneham bad seen the changed young fa e for only one minute she | would have known that the brain was i overtasked. But it was not so, and the ' young Lady of Bayneham went on to her j fate. She wrote a few’ lines to her hus- ■ band, and covered them with passionate ‘ kisses; she took from her writing desk all I the money it contained, never stopping to count it, but tilling her pocket book with ! notes and gold. Then she rang the bell. "Will you say I want the carriage, Pauline?” she said to the maid, who gazed in ■ surprise at her mistress.

"Are you going out, my lady?” asked the girl; "you look cold." ”1 am going.” sold Lady Hilda, with a strange smile, ‘‘for a very long drive." She dressed herself in sileuee. placing the letter she had written on her desk. She never once looked round the room where so many happy hours had been spent. Long afterward her maid spoke of the strange, fixed, unearthly look on her lady's face as she quitted the house. "Where shall I drive, my lady?” asked the coachman. "To Oulston,” she replied; "go as usual to the Bayneham Arms, and wait. And wait he did, until the long day ended, but no Lady Bayneham came again. Night came on. still and dark, but there was no sign of her. The man was uncertain how to act. She was punctuality itself, and the dinner hour at the Castle was past. He did not like to return without her, but the hours sped on, and she did not apie'ar. The landlord suggested that perhaps her ladyship liad returned in a friend's carriage, but all conjectures were cut short by the appearance of Lord Bayneham, riding as one riding for his life. CHAPTER XXXI. The Duke of Laleham found his young neighbor a very dull aud wearisome companion. He could neither excite his interest m.r elicit his attention. Every now and then he seemed to awake from a reverie and utter a few irrelevant words The ride to Oulston. rhe interview with the persons coneenied-the whole business, in fact, was a complete failure. -I fear" said Dud Bayneham to ms alderlv friend, "that 1 have been a poor companion; and the fact is. 1 should have explained it to your grace before. lam not myself to-,lay, I have some little unpleasant affair <"> hand > and rt has teased aud troubled me. , • I beg in to think so, said the dukt. warmly "WHt- did you not tell me? This business can easily be deferred. I wish you had not stood upou ceremony " He would take no further excuse, but ’|'X. During all that lung, dreary nde, his wife’s sweet pale face had been before hj u-the sad eyes tilled with tears U '"‘,fThaJ rtdden so nnully. But Lord Bayneham calmed himself before seeing Baym family, almost smiling at TT to his Wife’s room and ? : 7Tt th• - x ’ knocked • , within—a profound, Jin silence reigned over t.he sumpunbroken. opened the door ""’T'ihh.k prolmble his wife gentl y. th nkUL. tt 1 but the fa . r yoimg faee'tbatV-er greeted him with a smile to himself, “she is better then. an d has gone <lown to the drawing room. 1 am J’’ : Y looking upon the elegant di^yof^a^,strange fear

erppt into his heart, and numbed it; he coubl not explain why or what—a presentiment of coming evil. A little w atch, richly jeweled, lay ticking upon the table; the vases fragrant heliotropes—his wife s favorite flower—gave out a rich perfume; a volume she had been reading lay with the leaves still open, and everything bore the trace of her presence. But where was she? Ix>rd Bayneham hastily descended to the drawing room. where the ladies of the family generally sat. Barbara was there reading, but no golden head was raised at his entrance. "Where is Hilda?" he asked abruptly, "I do not know,” replied Miss Earle, looking at him in some surprise. “I have not seen her since morning.” Just then Lady Bayneham entered, with a cold, proud expression oil her face, that her son knew well. "Where is Hilda, mother?" he asked, impatiently. "I thought she was with you.” "Your wife does not honor me with her society,” was the reply, most haughtily given. "I went this morning to her room, but was decidedly refused admission. I certainly shall not trouble her again.” "But where is she?” again demanded the earl, secretly admiring his wife’s spirit. "You had better summon her maid and inquire," replied the countess indifferently; "I know nothing of her.” Lord Bayneham quitted the room, equally angry at Barbara Earle’s easy nonchalance and his mother’s pride. "Where is your lady?” he inquired of Pauline, who began to flatter herself that th • •oung earl liked talking to her. "My lady is out,” she replied. “The carriage was ordered some hours since, and has not yet returned.” Lord Bayneham gave a sigh of mingled relief and impatience. "Did sb.e—did your lady say where she was going?” he inquired. "No,” was the reply; “my lady only raid she was going for a long drive. She looked very ill. my lord, and quite unfit to be out long.” Lord Bayneham stamped his foot impatiently. Why had he gone to Oulston? Why had he allowed anything or any one to come between him and his fair, gentle wife? He was ashamed to ask any more questions, or people would surely think him childish. But ho could not remain in Ihe house; he went cut and walked again where he could see the high road and catch the first glimpse of the carriage. One hour passed, and there was no sign of the carriage. The evening began to set in, the sun sank in the golden west, the dew fell upon the flowers, and the birds "called all wanderers home to their nests;” but still Lord Bayneham paced rhe walk alone, until he heard the dressing bell ring. "She must be here soon,” said the young husband to himself. Amongst his wife’s qualities he had always admired the one of punctuality. He never remembered to have been kept waiting or to have seen her late. This comforted him. She knew the dinner hour, and would not remain beyond it. Lord Bayneham never dressed so quick- ' iy. but when he descended the carriage had not arrived. The first and second bell rang and dinner was announced, but the I young mistress of Bayneham was not in ■ her accustomed place. "What can have delayed Hilda?” in- ! ir* d Miss Earle anxiously. “She went I out early this afternoon, intending to take a long drive. Surely no accident can Irnve ' happened?” Lord Bayneham’s face blanched at the thought. "Accidents are not so common, Barbara,” said Lady Bayneham; "if anything of that kind had occurred we should have heard of it. before this. Lady Hilda has been absent many hours; I presume she has met with some of our fr>nds and ueL'.bors, who have persuaded her to return with them.” "She is too thoughtful and considerate io have done such a thing,” said Barbara warmly, “knowing we should be anxious.” The countess saw that her son sent plate after plate away untouched, and drank wine eagerly, as though wishing either to drown thought or acquire strength. The dinner passed in a most uncomfortable state of silence, but no Lady Hilda returned. “I cannot bear this,” said Lord Bajneham, rising hastily from his chair. "Mother—Barbara, I am seriously alarmed. Pauline says my poor wife looked very ill when she left the house. Mother, be pitiful; she is young and has no mother. Barbara, what can we do?” Both ladies rose and tried to calm him, for his wild words startled them. "You had better inquire if any one overheard what orders were given about the carriage,” said the countess to her son. “Do not be alarmed, Claude. Hilda is safe, I am sure. Barbara, go to her room. She may have left a note there for us.” (To be continued.) CURED HIS DESIRE FOR DEATH Lord Southey’s Guillotine Wouldn’t Work, So He Lived. Lord Southey once, in a fit of disgust with life, had a magnificent guillotine erected in the drawing-room of his magnificently-appointed house in the Rm de Luxembourg, at Paris. The machine was an elaborate affair, with ebony uprights inlaid with gold and j silver. The framework was carved with great artistic skill, and the knife of immense weight, and falling at the touch of a spring, was of ornamental >te<‘l. polished and as sharp as a razor. The spring which liberated the knife was placed within easy reach of anyone kneeling upon tlw scaffold; in fact, i every detail was arranged with a view I to the convenience to the would-be suicide. The day that the engine of death was entirely finished. Lord Southey completed his testamentary dispositions. shaved, had his hair cut, and. clothed in a robe of white silk, knelt upon the platform under the knife. The guillotine was placed before a large mirror, wherein the person committing suicide could see his own image until the last Murmuring a short prayer. Lord Southey placed his hbad in the semi-circle and pressed the spring. The next morning he was found calmly sleeping in his bed. The spring had failed to work, and, after several fruitless efforts. Lord Southey was compolled to relinquish his attempt upon his life. Thoroughly cured of his spleen he presented the guillotine to the Glasgow Museum, whence he made an annual pilgrimage to see it until the end of his life.

FARM AND GARDEN. BRIEF HINTS AS TO THEIR SUCCESSFUL MANAGEMENT. How to Raise Sorghum aud Make It Into Syrup— Convenient Crate for Handling Young Stock — Fighting the Army Worm—Red Cotton. Sorghum from Seed to Syrup. To raise good sorghum requires good seed. Early amber is the best variety for the North aud requires about four pounds of seed per acre. Select good coni land, plow and pulverize thoroughly, and mark the soil as for corn, three feet each way. Plant by hand or with a cornplanter, from six to eight seeds in a hill. Plant May 10 to 20 in the North. Sorghum is a very slow-growing crop, and one need not feel discouraged if it does not start well at first. When three or four inches high, thin to three stalks in the hill, and cultivate and hoe as for corn, keeping the piece very clean. It ought to be cultivated four or five times. It is ripe when the seed becomes black and should not be cut before then. First, strip the blades from the stalks by using a piece of wood shaped like a sword. With a strong, sharp knife, and the stalks gathered under the arm, cut the tops off, then the eanes. The SORGnt’M FURNACE AN» EVAPORATOR, seed is excellent food for poultry. Lay the canes as cut in large piles, handy to load into a wagon, and then haul to the mill. If to be ground at home', purchase an Iron mill, as a wooden mill, while the syr.’p is as good, wastes much by leaving the juice in the bagasse. An evaporator for reducing the juice to syrup is perhaps best if there is a large amount. For small quantities, pans can be made at home with less outlay. Each pan should be at least three by six feet, and at least three will be needed as well as three each of long-handled skimmers and dippers. Never start a fire in the furnace until the first pan is tiiled with juiee and there are several inches of water in the others. Great care should also be taken when the syrup goes into the finishing pans that it is not scorched. The fire must not be too fierce, and it is well to have a wooden scraper to move back ami forth. In the last compartment should be a faucet to run off the clear syrup into a clean, tight keg or barrel. While the juice is boiling, skim constantly. When the scum is white, raise the gate, run into next compartment, and fill up the large pan with raw juiee, and so continue. The fireplace or arch and the chimney can be made of brick or stone. The cane should never be allowed to freeze, as it spoils and makes the juice bitter. Hauling Hay from Soft Ground. On many farms there are marshes and other soft pieces of land into which the wheels of the ordinary hayrack cut deeply. A wood sled fitted with such shoes as are figured herewith can be used for hauling off hay. An inch-thick board is sawed repeatedly across one end, as shown in the upper sketch, and SERVICEABLE HAY SLED. Is then forced into the shape desired. Strips of joist are fastened to the uppar side, leaving just room enough between them for the side of the wood sled to set in. A bolt slipped through the joist and through the side of the sled at the front and rear holds the shoe on firmly. An ash board makes a serviceable shoe of this sort and one easily bent into shape. Churning by Machinery. When the churning of the cream is done by hand it entails a most arduous task upon some member of the farm household, and in many cases it falls to the lot of the housewife. During the summer, where from three to five cows are kept, there is half an hour of this heavy work every day. There is often a large dog watching the operation of churning that he may obtain his usual fill of buttermilk. A tread Sill van be obtained for a few hours, am! the dog made to do the work, and you may watch the operation or devote your time to other household duties. With the improved, or even the common powers, a dog weighing fifty pounds can do the churning of the cream from five cows, and not injure himself. Such work in hot weather should be done early in the morning, while it is cool. The butter churned then will be firmer. If the dog is treated kindly, and petted, he will gladly do the work, and be ready at the call, or appear as soon as preparations are observed for the operation. Calves, sheep aud goats are often used in treadmills, but the dog is the most cleanly, aud is best adapted to the work. Human life is too short to spend much of it manipulating the churn dasher, especially when other power Is so plentiful. An attachment can be placed on the windmill, but calms In terfere. Weight of Fodder Per Acre. A yield of two tons per acre of hay is considered fair, and probably in good years more land goes below the yield

than above it. Yet as an acre of land is 43.560 feet this yield is about one pound to every eleven square feet Looked at in this way the yield seems very small. It is probably true that in most meadows there are vacant spots not seeded which reduce the yield. Fodder corn ought to yield fifteen to twenty tons per acre. Weight and Yield of Eggs. Geese, 4 to the pound; 30 per annum. Polish, 9 to the pound; 150 per annum. Bantams, 1G to the pound; 100 per annum. Houdans, 8 to the pound; 180 per annium. La Fleche, 7 to the pound; 200 per annum. Hamburgs, 9 to the pound; 200 per annum. Turkeys, 5 to the pound; 30 to 60 per annum. Game fowls, 9 to the pound; 160 per annum. Leghorns, 9 to the pound; 200 per annum. Black Spanish, 7 to the pound; 175 per annum. Plymouth Rocks, 8 to the pound; 150 per annum. Langshans, 8 to the pout'd; 150 per annum. Brahmas, 7 to the pound; 130 per annum. Guinea fowl, 11 to the pound; 160 per annum. Ducks, 5 to the pound; 30 to 60 per annum—Farmers’ Review. Pigs in Orchards. All young pigs in the orchard should be left unringed and free to root the soil as much as they like. Ringing older hogs is sometimes necessary, as in a dry time old sows will get iu the habit, if uurluged, of gnawing the bark of the trees and thus destroying them. An old hog also in rooting will make deep hog wallows in the soil, destroying some apple roots and making the surface very uneven. It is probable from eating apple roots in the soil that the older hogs get their liking for apple tree bark and learn to attack the tree trunk above ground. When they get this habit it is impossible to entirely break them of it. However well fed they may be they like a feed of apple tree bark for a change. Top-Boarding a Stone Wall. Many of the pastures in the older parts of the country, says the Orange Judd Farmer, are bounded by stone walls which are rarely built so as to turn sheep, and not always cattle. Driving stakes beside the wall and nailing a top board to these does not bring the board in the right position over the top of the wall. The cut shows STONE WALL TOP-BOARDED. how this may be done by using strips of board for stakes. When these strips have been fitted at the top, after being driven into the ground, a bit hole is bored close to the ground through the strip and a round pin driven through. This being done on both sides, the board cannot be pressed either way where the ground is soft. Iu firm ground such a pin is not needed. The Plum Rot. Os all fruits the plum is most likely to overbear. It would do so every year if the curculio did not thin it. As it is, it bears so heavily that it makes a great drain on the vitality of the tree and also on its capacity to furnish the mineral elements required to make the seeds. AU stone fruits have very large seeds in proportion to their pulp. It is probably lack of potash and phosphates that makes plums rot badly in the seasons when the trees have set a crop that they are unable to mature. Good Feed in Plenty. Plenty of good feed for a cow is all right, but it will not make a good cow out of an inferior milker. The constitutional characteristics of the cow have more to do with the amount and quality of her milk than does h6r feed. Both, however, are very important matters. A Convenient Crate. The illustration, taken from the American Agriculturist, shows a very convenient crate for handling sheep, calves and pigs. Each end is hinged, so that the animal can be driven in at one end, the handles slipped into the iron sockets at the sides, the crate carried to the point desired, and the CRATE FOR YOUNG STOCK. animal driven out at the other end. Such a contrivance is specially valuable in handling calves, which in many cases can neither be led, driven or coaxed along. The crate should be made light but strong, spruce being the very best wood for such constructions, as it is light but exceedingly tough. Red Cotton. Red cotton lias been raised at Alpharetta. Ga., where a well-known planter has quite a quantity of that curious stuff, every stalk of which is a deep red, even the leaf, boll and bloom. This novel crop comes from planting seeds obtained six or seven years ago from a freak stalk of red cotton found growing iu Florida.

Building a Sideboard. It often happens that In small din-ing-rooms floor space can not be well spared for the sideboard. When sueli is the case, it may be built out something like a bay window, as shown by the sketch. This is an easy matter when building a new house, and in remodeling an old one it need not necessarily cause much discomfort in th* dining-room during the construction. The arrangement shown gives ampl* drawer and closet room, and above, ia the rear and at the sides, the arrangement of windows gives light to that part of the room, and is exceedingly attractive-looking. The same wood used for the construction of the diningrm- irenHrrw IL? > rog JO SIDEBOARD FOB SMALL i:O*K. room should be used for the sideboard, unless it is painted. In that case oak will be found a better substitute, as it is durable and will not need the care that must be given to keep a painted surface clean.—The Household. To Pickle String Beans. Choose tender and freshly picked beans, string them and cut them slantingly, quite fine. To twenty-five pound* of beans take two pounds of common salt, and after they are cut mix th* salt through them. Let them standover night. The next day have a little keg ready—that is, properly washed aud thoroughly dried in the sun. There will be quite a good deal of brine on the beans, which must be thrown away. Pack the beans tight in the keg, and pound them with your hands. In that way enough brine will have formed to cover them. Put a clean piece of cloth over them, a small round board on top of it and weight it down with so that the brine is over the board. Tut the keg in the cellar and allow It to stand one week. Then take a pail of water, wash all the foam and slime that will have gathered off the top, and wash the cloth, the board and the stones. Replace all again. If there should not be brine enough mix some salt and. water. To be sure you have used salt enough, put a whole raw egg in it; if the egg floats on top it is a sign that the liquid is sufficiently salted. The washing process must be repeated every week a, large stone jar can be used instead or & keg. It will be six weeks until they are ready to be used. Soak them over night when you desire to cook them. Fricassee of Mushrooms. After picking let the mushrooms stand tn a cool place for two hours. Peel all, cut the larger ones in half and throw into a dish of cold water in which a dash of vinegar has been poured (this keeps them from getting tough). Let them stand a few minutes while you make the sauce. Melt in a saucepan a good-sized lump of butter and a tablespoonful of vinegar, a little salt, some nutmeg, finely minced parsley and a grated onion; boil all together. Dry the mushroms, pour them in and allow them to boil slowly. The mushrooms draw a good deal of water; therefore, when cooked take them out with a skimmer and thicken the save* with the yolks of two eggs. Serve hot on toast or hot wills hollowed out,or in the middle of a dish with plain boiled macaroni all around them. Green Corn Croiiqettcs. One quart tender green corn, grated; one cup of sifted flour, one cup sweet milk, five scant tablespoonfuls butter, two eggs, one tablespoonful salt, sam* of pepper. Grate corn as fine as possible and mix with the flour and pepper and salt. Warm the milk and melt the butter in it. Add the corn, stir bard and let cool. Tlmn stir the eggs, beaten very light, the white iast. Work into small oval balls and fry in plenty of hot butter. Drain and serve hot. Useful Arrangement for Babies. It is sometimes advisable to cover the head of a baby or invalid during very cold weather, or in summer when flies are troublesome. This may be conveniently done by means of th* veiled sheet. The arrangement consists of a square of suitable gauze set in the sheet where the head of th* sleeper comes. It admits plenty of air and also allows the nurse or attendant to see the face of the sleeper. French Methods of Cooking. The French cook or housewife can teach the American woman nothing in the way of dainty desserts, cakes, breads, preserves, etc., writes Marin Parloa in a valuable article on “French Methods of Cooking,” in the Ladies’ Home Journal. But, on the other hand, the American woman cannot compare with the French woman In the preparation of soups, meats, fish, sauces, vegetables, and all the little economies of the kitchen.