Democratic Press, Volume 1, Number 47, Decatur, Adams County, 5 September 1895 — Page 3

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CHAPTER XXXV. It was not until Stephen Hurst had been dead for some hours that the mystery of that fatal mistake flashed across Lord Bayneham’g mind. He remembered low he had gone into his wife's room and told her he knew all. meaning that be knew she had been in the Lady’s Walk. She doubtless thought by that expression he knew all the secret of her parentage and her father's sin. If be had but remained with, her ten minutes longer all would have been ex- ’ plained, now he began to fear he should never see her again. Lord Bayneham behaved nobly to his wife’s father. He kept his secret. No 1 will was found, and he made no claim •upon that large fortune. For the sake of money he would not betray in death a secret the unhappy man had saenticed so much to keep. Asa friend he attended to his funeral and went as chief mourner: but never, by one word, did he hint that , Paul Fulton was other than he had appeared. For two days the papers made the most •of that fatal accident, ami all fashionable 1 London was concerned for one day, and forgot it the next. Lady Grahame was very sorry and much distressed. “It seemed such a sad thing,” she said to everybody; “he was a handsome man, and so very agreeable.” In a few days Lady Grahame recovered from the effects of the shock, and, strange to say, that very year she met the Duke of Laleham, who was charmed by het manners and love of comfort, in which he rivaled her. She is now Duchess of Laleham. and once, in a confidential mood, was heard to say to Miss Lowe that, “after all, she believed there was a special providence in poor Mr. Fulton’s death.” Lord Bayneham redoubled his efforts to discover his wife, but they were all in vain; he could find no trace of her; it seemed as though she had disappeared from the face of the earth. Lord Bayneham returned home —he was anxious to clear the memory of his beloved wife from even the least cloud of suspicion. Barbara Earle shed warm tears of love and pity when she heard the story. The countess was more touched than she cared to own; both saw clearly (how the mistake had arisen. Believing that her husband “knew all” her secret, cand could not pardon her, Lady Hilda had left the home where she thought herself no longer loved <w esteemed. From Bayneham. as from London, every effort was made to discover Lady Hilda’s place of refuge, but all in vain. Weeks became months, but no trace —not even the slightest - was found. She never claimed one farthing of the large sum daily accumulating for her. Lord Bayneham had directed that no notice should be taken of her letters—that Brynmar should be kept in readiness for her, and the money carefully saved; but she never wrote for any. and that added more than anything to his troubles. If living, what was her fate, without money or friends? Lord Bayneham tried to bear up bravely, but he soon became exceedingly ill. and in less than six months after his wife’s flight the young eAri lay between life and death, fighting a hard battle with the grim king, and his mother kept watch by him, in sorrow’ too deep for words. The detective had promised that he would not give the case up. but it was evident from his want of zeal that he had no longer any hope.

The doctors, summoned by the unhappy countess to her son's bedside, said there was one chance for him, and only one; he must have entire change of scene and change of air, and they recommended a stay of some length on the Continent. He was most unwilling to go. To leave England seemed like abandoning his wife; yet to remain was, if wise men spoke truly, certain death. The last time he left home, a beautiful young face, glowing with happiness and love, smiled by his aide; now hemust go on his journey alone, "his heart cold and dead to hope, love and •happiness. One fine morning there stood on the pier at Dover a group that attracted some attention —a tall, stately lady, with the hxdt of one who had onee been beautiful, and by her side a noble girl, whose face made one better for seeing it; both were devoted to what seemed at first sight the wreck of a young and handsome man. Passers-by stopped to gaze again at that white, worn faee, with its sad, despairdug eyes. Lady Bayneham and Barbara would fain have gone with Claude, but he would net hear of it. ■“Stay behind, mother,” he said, with trembling lips, “and do what you ean. My lost darling may come home; do not let her find it desolate.” They went with him to Dover and watched the boat disappear with eyes that were wet with tears. In the mother’s heart there was but little hope of ever seeing her son again. "AJi. Barbara," said Lady Bayneham, as in the far distance the steamer sailed out of sight. "I wish my son hail married you. This trouble will kill him. Bryninar woods have been very fata! to us." But Barbara would not agree with her ladyship; she saw much to admin? and pity in Lady Hilda; and she would hear no word that was not uttered either in Jove or praise. Bertie Carlyon had been unremitting in his endeavors to assist Lord Bayneham. He had been with him up to the eve of his departure, when a telegram from London obliged him to return there. Lady Bayneham asked him to visit her at Bayneham when his business was ended, and he did so longing to be once more with Barbara and to know if he had any more reason to hope. He was warmly welcomed by the two desolate, sorrowing ladies. It seemed difficult to believe that this silent house, over which care and trouble hung

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in such dark clouds, was the brilliant castle of Bayneham. where lately gayety and beauty had reigned supreme. ♦ * ♦ • * « • Bertie Carlyon and Barbara Earle were standing at the* same w indow from which they had once watched Lord Bayneham and his fair young wife set forth on their bridal tour, when Barbara said musingly, “Who could have foreseen this ending to so fair a love story?” “Does it frighten you?” asked Bertie. “Ah, Barbara, if you could only try to love me—no such fate would ever overtake us.” “Why?” asked Barbara. “Because I should have all faith in you,” replied Bertie. “Mind, I am not i blaming Claude —the circumstances were strange ones. If —but, ah! Barbara, the words are presumptuous —if you were my wife, and I saw that you were keeping any secret from me, I should respect your silence, because I believe in you.” “It seems easy for you to say so now**,” replied Barbara, with a smile; “it is im- , possible to tell what course one would take under similar circumstances.” “Barbara,” said Bertie Carlyon, his handsome face all eagerness and love, “it is long since I first dared to whisper to you of my love. Yon did not reject me; you said brave and noble words to me that have incited me to take a true man’s part in the world. Under your banner, Barbara, I have fought well; I ask for , my reward?” There was no affectation of coquetry in the expression of Barbara Earle’s beauI tiful. soul-lit face. “I am not given to flattery,” she said, quietly; “but you 1 must praise, Bertie; 1 you have done well, and I am proud of i you. Ask what reward you will, and if it is in my power to grant it, it shall soon • 6e yours.” Bertie Carlyon’s face paled as be listened to these words, so full of hope and promise. Something like a mist of tears swam before his eye«, and his voice trembled as he spoke. Laying one hand on the white jeweled fingers of Barbara Earle, he said: ‘•Be my wife, Barbara. Earth holds no higher reward than your love.” He read her consent in the drooping, blushing face I and the eloquent eyps. “I’m not worthy of such happiness,” he said, quietly. “You are the noblest woman in the world. Barbara; teach me to be worthy of you.” “Do not set me on so high a pedestal, Bertie,” said Barbara, “or 1 may fall from it. I have something more to say; you know 1 speak plainly. I do love you; but 1 could not bear to think much of our ' happiness while so dark a cloud hangs over Bayneham. Help us to drive that away, and then we will speak of this ; again.” “It shall be as you will. Barbara,” he whispered, kissing the white, firm band that rested so lovingly in his own. “I know no will save yours.” So they agreed that the love which was I to last through life should not be meni tinned while care and sorrow' lay heavily upon their dearest friends. How could they speak of love and marriage when both had ended so fatally at Bayneham? CHAPTER XXXVI. Three years passed away, and brought but little change to Bayneham. The countess watched and waited in silence; she had renounced all active efforts for the discovery of her son’s wife. At stated intervals advertisements were inserted in the jxapers, but Lady Bayneham had ceased to hope. She never breathed her suspicions even to Barbara Earle; but in her own mind she believed that Hilda was dead; no other fact could account for her long-continued silence. Her son said nothing of returning to England. He 1 seemed to have forgotten the claims upon him at home. She spent long hours in 1 pacing up and down the picture gallery at Bayneham Castle. Her sen, the brave, I handsome boy. whose future she had mapped out w ith such pride and hope, was the last earl; his portrait hung there. Whose w’ould take the vacant place next to his? There was no one to inherit the title—it would die out—the grand old race must i come to an end. Claude would never remarry while there was the least doubt as to his wife’s fate. Even if intelligence ■ came of her death Lady Bayneham did not believe he would ever care for another woman, he had loved his lost wife so well. The grand old race must end. and that conviction brought deep aud lasting row to the proud lady: she had hoped bei fore she died to clasp the young heir of Bayneham in her arms, to see, and love, ! and bless the young boy who uas to succeed her son. Her pride was sorely humbled. Her son was an unhappy exile, wandering in foreign lands, childless and solitary. She wished—and wished in vain—that she had , been kinder to her son’s wife; that she had taught the poor motherless child to love and trust her. How different everything would then have been! Hilda would have flown to her in her trouble; it was too late! Her cool, haughty pride, her unkindness, had done its work. When sorrow came to the fair young child whom her son had wedded, the last person she would have appealed to was her husband’s mother, who ought to have been a mother to her. The dark hair, of which the countess had been so proud, grew white with sorrow. not age; thr fair, proud far.- had deep lines, each tolling of grief and long I night watches; and Lady Bayneham saw no help. She had written several times, imploring her son to return; but he replied that the very sight of Bayneham would kill him, that he would never n ; turn there until something was known of his wife’s fate. Her entreaties were all in vain; and the countess said to herself that the grand old race was doomed. It preyed deeply upon her; No rest came to her. Her days aud nights were one long dream of anxiety. Sorrow and suspense aged her. One evening. Barbara Earle, going suddenly into her aunt’s room, found her weeping bitterly. Barbara started at the sight; she never remembered to have seen tears in those proud eyes before. “Barbara,” said Lady Bayneham, in a low voice, “my heart is breaking; what shall we do to persuade Claude to return?’* “I see no way,” replied Miss Earle; “but the last thing, the trouble I can bear

least, is to see you give way. aunt; that must not be.” “I cannot help it.” said Lady Bayneham, despairingly; “it will kill me, Barbara. I have fought against sorrow, but it has mastered me at last. Unless my son returns soon he will not see me again.'* “Let me write and tell him so, sunt,** urged Miss Earle. “No,” said the countess; “he cannot endure tlie name or the thought of home. If he returned for my sake, and evil came of it, I could never forgive myself. There is nothing for it but patience, and patience comes but slowly to one like me.” Barbara Earle had many anxieties; it was three years since her cousin left his home, and Bertie had asked her to be his wife—three years; and then she told her lover she was willing to be his wife, but they must wait until the cloud passed from Bayneham. But it deepened instead of passing; still Bertie never complained. He respected her wish, and never urged his own; and Barbara knew, by instinct, all that he felt. The last time he came to Bayneham he looked tired and worn. His labors accumulated, and there was no one to cheer or sympathize with him. He longed for the time when that noble, soullit face should shine in his own home; and Barbara read the longing in his eyes. She had learned to love him dearly and well, though not, as in early youth, she had loved her cousin, for she was a woman now; and it was a woman’s love she gave to Bertie Carlyon. He was nearer to her than her cousin had ever been. She did not like that resigned, sorrowful expression on his face. Her first duty, she felt, was to him, yet it was utterly impossible that she should leave her aunt. Barbara Earle sat in her room, thinking deeply. Thought became action; she went to her writing table and w rote a letter to Lord Bayneham. It was a sweet, womanly letter; and in it she told him of Bertie Carlyon’s love—of her engagement to him and of her inability to fulfill it until he returned home and once more .took his place in the world. “There was a time,” wrote Barbara —“I pray you to pardon me if 1 remind you of it—when, for your happiness. I sacrificed all the hope of happiness I had in life; I ask but little in return, and that little is the sacrifice of some morbid feeling. I ask you to return home; your mother wants her son, your tenants and servants want their master, your country wants one of her ablest and truest sons; and, Claude, Bertie wants me.” ‘•That will be irresistible,” said Barbara Earle to herself, with a smile. “He will never tolerate the thought that he is keeping us apart, and my aunt will have her eon.” Barbara judged rightly—Lord Bayneham could not. withstand that appeal. He remembered the time when Barbara had generously given him his freedom, trampling under foot her own love and regret. Now one who loved her. and was worthy of her, had won her. and he. in Lis turn, must sacrifice himself as she had done. The appeal was successful —Lady Bayneham was beside herself with delight when ; she received a letter from her son, saying that he intended soon to return, and re- ; sume the duties he had so long neglected. Barbara said nothin# of her letter and the i countess congratulated herself that her wishes had guided her son. » f I here was but little said when he arI rived, for both mother and cousin were startled by his appearance. He no longer looked ill. but there was an air of settled i melancholy on his face that told of his . sorrow more expressively than any words could have done. He wore deep monrn- [ ing—a fact which startled Lady Bayneham. Before separating on the evening • of his arrival, she went up to him, and. laying her hand gently upon him. asked him Why it was. - “Hush, mother.” he replied, in a broken » voice—“do not talk about it. I wear . black for my wife; if she had been living, » I should have found her ere this. I be- . lieve her to be dead; but do not speak , of her—l cannot bear it yet.” Lady Bayneham quitted the Toom, leav- . ing her son alone with his cousin, • “Barbara,” said Lord Bayneham. “why 4 did you not tell me this before? I have - returned in obedience to your wish. Why 1 have you kept this secret from me?” “We could not think of love or happit ness while you were in sorrow,” she rei plied. “I saw my aunt wasting away, t Bertie said nothing, but his look touched my heart. Everything was going wrong , —so I wrote for you.” “I am glad of it,” replied her cousin; , “and now’ that the first shock of seeing the ; old place is over, I am glad to be at t home.” t “As we are alone,” said Barbara. “I _ have something that I wish to say to you. , laude, you must rouse yourself—you \ have sunk in a «ea of sorrow: this must I not be. Trouble makes heroes of some . num, and cowards of others. You know best where a Bayneham should stand. t Remember, even should Hilda be dead, your life does not end in her grave.” "My happiness and love lie there,” said f Lord Bayneham. "That may be,” continued Miss Earle, . “but we must not live for ourselves. There are many men w*ho have never k known happiness at all. Your fate is hard enough, but it is not the hardest in 4 the world. Learn to bear it and you will I learn to live.” "I will try.” said Lord Bayneham. and ) he kept his word. They saw plainly enough how great the , effort was. He gave himself up to the . strict performance of his duty—he omitted . nothing. His mother sighed, when, on ( passing the room door, she saw the lamp ( burning long after midnight; she sighed again, wh<m. in the early hours of the morning, she heard him pacing wearily up and down his chamber.

Before he had been at Bayneham long the countess, believing the effort too great for him, proposed that they should leave home for a time and go to London. He consented, for ail places were alike to the unhappy young husband, whose love aud thoughts were with his lost wife. lu London he once more redoubled his efforts, but all were in vain; he went to Brynmar, but nothing had been seen or heard there of Lady Hilda. He had also several interviews with the detective and with Dr. Greyson. but it was all in vain. His wife seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth. (To be continued.) Josephine’s greatest attraction was her voice. Napoleon fell in love with it even before he really knew her. She could not sing, but her conversational tones were exceedingly- well modulated and pleasing. She spoke with a strong provincial accent, and it was once said that the Emperor spoke an ItalianFrench patois, and the Empress a ne-gro-French.

ALL ABOUT THE FARM SUBJECTS INTERESTING TO RURAL READERS. Number off Cows a Farm Will Keep— Womeu Make Successful Bee Raisers —Trough for Poultry—Tethering Horses aud Cattle. Improved Feed Trough for Poultry. Softpoultry food thrown on the ground or on a board is quickly trampled and befouled so that it is unfit to eat. Placing it in a shallow pan or trough helps the matter little, if any. The best way of feeding is to use covered pans or troughs which permit poultry to obtain the food and at the same time keep \ \ \ A ’ Mjty -a---THOUGH FOB SMALL CHICKS. them out of it with their feet. For small chicks, a double trough is made of tin as shown in Fig. 1. It is 28 inches long and 3 inches wide, each half being 2 inches wide and iy 2 inches deep, with square ends soldered on. Tin is best as it is easily washed and kept clean. This trough is set inside of the box, seen in Fig. 2, the same in width and length, inside, and 8 inches high. It has a hinged cover fastened down with a hook and handle to lift by. Each side is open and fitted with wire bars placed 2 inches apart, each end of these wires .being bent at right angles, driven : Alt ■ x - BOX FOB TROUGHS. through the strips of wood and clinched. The food is placed in the trough by raising the cover of the box. A tight cover is necessary to protect the food when they jump on the box and make a roost of it, which they are certain to do. Feed at one time only what will be eaten clean and keep the trough well washed. Nothing is more productive of mouth, throat and bowel diseases in chicks than soured and musty food or a filthy feed trough.—Farm and Home. Cows a Farm Will Keep. The number of cows that may be profitably kept on an eighty-acre farm, for instance, depends upon the extent to which one wishes to make the dairy business a specialty. The number is only limited to a cow to an acre where the business is crowded, but I would not deem it advisable for a beginner to start in with more than fifteen or twenty cows. This number will warrant a person in the necessary expenditure of means in preparing stables and dairy and necessary appliances for buttermaking. A silo is regarded by many as one of the first necessities, and I have no doubt that the silo is an economic method of preparing food, although I have had no experience with one. I put a power and feed cutter on my barn floor and a feed mill in an adjoining building and fed all feed dry. The daily rations consisted of fine cut stalks for bulk food and a mixture of ground feed, corn and oats, with bran and oil meal. The result was very satisfactory. Pure water silghtly warmed in winter was always on tap, and regarded as a strict necessity. With the number of cows mentioned a separator may be profitably employed and reduce the labor of the care of the milk to a minimum. Tethering Horses and Cattle. It is often desired to tether a horse, cow or calf in the field. To keep them from winding the rope about the bar or stake to which they are attached is important. Two methods are shown herewith. A long, b stout, iron hook | ma y be pressed down into the turf, there being just curve enough in the l’ art > n tl |e ground r'A' , to k, ‘cp it from pull*n& ° uti u °*-I°° much to prevent the hook from being revolving tether turned about In the soil, as shown in Fig. 1. The hook must be long enough and stout enough so that hook Tether. It will not pull out through the turf. The device illustrated in Fig. 2 needs little explanation. The wooden affair that slips down over the iron bar, and that turns freely about it, must be of hard wood and short enough to stand the strain upon it. The pieces of plank may be bound with hoop iron around the edges for added strength. Even if the rope gets wound about this it will rewind when the animal pulls upon it. —American Agriculturist. Turnips for Sheep. Turnips are sometimes grown on stubble land, as a catch crop for sheep, by broadcasting the seed. After the turnips are ready the sheep are turned on the land, and consume not only the turnips, but the young weeds. While

It Is not the most profitable way to produce turnips, yet it is claimed for the method that the only expense is to plow and harrow the land aud the cost of the s«ed, no other cultivation being given. Bees on the Farm. What farmers are looking for to-day is something that will yield an income outside of their farm. Bees would make quite an item in the income of the farmer, and would be received from what is going to waste every year. Many an article could be bought with the honey for the bees. Honey can be readily sold in any market at thirteen to eighteen cents per pound. Do not start on a la rge scale, but let your apiary grow. Start with about four or six swarms the first season, says Farm News. You may lose some skips, but you must expect loss. Bees will die as well as horses or cattle, but perhaps not so often, and then there is not such a large sum invested. Take some reliable bee paper if you intend going in it very strong. Many a farmer’s wife is in the bee business to stay. They find it a light employment, and many a little article has been purchased with the bees’ money. L’se the frame hives, as more money can be got from them than any other. Use one-pound sections, as they look neater and are in demand, as those who buy the sweet nectar like to have the combs so they can place them on the table and not cut them. Secure Italian bees, as they are the best workers and are more hardy. Bees must be protected from the cold of the Northern States. They can be wintered in cellars or buried in a dry place in tlje ground and ventilation given. Windbreaks on Sandy Soil. In every long-settled locality where the soil is sandy farmers quickly learn, after the original forest is cleared away, to plant windbreaks to protect their soil from blowing away. Such windbreaks do good, says the American Cultivator, which more than offsets the waste of the land which they occupy. Not only is soil blown away after being plowed, but during the summer there are frequent violent sandstorms whore the winds have full sweep, which uncover seeds and plants or blow sand against the foliage of plants, etlttlug and spoiling it. These windbreaks serve another important purpose in winter in keeping the snow evenlyspread over the fields. They should be of evergreen wherever possible, so as to make a protection for winter as well as for the summer season. The Tobacco Worm. One of the pests which consume a great deal of the tobacco raiser's time and materially affect the value of the crop is the tobacco worm. The moth deposits its eggs on the under side of 5.... THE TOBACCO WORM. the leaf, and, as they are small and light green in color, not many are discovered by the planter as he makes his daily round in search of worms. The growth of the worm is rapid, attaining from two to three inches in length in a few days. They are voracious feeders and soon injure the market value of a leaf. Wheat Drills and Broadcast Seeders. On the Northwestern prairie soils shoe drills are now more used than hoe drills, according to Prof. W. M. Hays, of the Minnesota station. In some a press wheel follows the shoe. In others a chain covers the seed well. The best form has a heel so shaped as to make a V-shaped furrow, because the soft mud will not then clog the tube. For dry lands the press shoe drill does best, while the chain shoe drills ffre most suitable for moist, heavy lands. The hoe drills work best among cornstalks or trashy land. Broadcast seeders are still much used for early spring seeding, especially on moist soil which is friable after puddling and drying. On clay soils and in dry climates the drill is the best seeder for wheat. Precautions Against Drought. Every time a rain falls all tilled land should be cultivated. There are many light rains through the summer which wet only the surface of the soil, and if this is not cultivated under, the moisture speedily evaporates and is lost. This cultivation also has another effect —in developing nitrates in the soil. Whatever vegetable matter is in the soil needs only to be brought into contact with oxygen to be decomposed and its manurial elements set free. There is also on soil that is cultivated frequently a deposit of moisture by the atmosphere which it contains, and this, being really a dew, always contains more ammonia than does ordinary rain water. Fruit Evaporation. At no time of the year is the value of the fruit evaporator better appreciated than during hot weather. The early fruit keeps poorly, and unless marketed somewhat green can not be disposed of before it decays. But with an evaporator on the farm the fruit can be evaporated when it is at its best, and it will then be worth more than can be got for it by- sending to sell on commission in the city. The cost, of an evaporator can easily be saved by the saving of fruit in a single season that would be wasted if it were not used.

Things Housekeepers Should Try. Steaming an old fowl before roasting. not adding the stuffing until it goe« to the oven, but putting a few sticks of celery inside to flavor it Keeping steel knives from rusting by dipping in strong soda water, wiping, rolling in flannel and laying in a place to dry. Sweetening wooden or iron ware by scalding in hot w ater and hay. Three teaspoonfuls of kerosene in the boiler in washing clothes. Adding a little vinegar to the water in which salt fish is soaked. Soaking black calico in wr-ter before washing. Washing an ink stain i’i strong salt water; then sponge with lemon juice. Simmering rice flour and water together for a cement. A canton flannel knife case stitched into compartments. For disagreeable odors, a pinch of sulphur on a hot stove. A little copperas water and salt in whitewash. Soaking salt, fish in sour milk tc freshen them. A palette knife for scraping kettles. A clam shell for scraping kettles. Covering a dish table with zinc. For sewer gas, chloride of lime Cayenne pepper for ants. Some Apple Desserts. With the tall pippins, tart and juicy, just before us, apple desserts are particularly seasonable. A simple and delicious dish made from this fruit is apple charlotte. Peel and core six or eight good cooking apples, stew them with a little sugar, and the rind of two lemons cut thin and chopped to a pulp, or the rinds may be grated in perhaps preferably. Line a buttered mold thickly with lady fingers, or slices of rather stale sponge cake; pour the apples on hot, and press them down well; put a meringue of white of egg and sugar on top, or whipped cream, if preferred, and set away- to chill. It should be served cold. Another dessert suggestion is to bake cottage pudding in gem or popover pans, thus giving to each person an individual pudding. This way not only adds to the attractiveness of this simple but popular dish, but conserves its lightness, if, as often happens, a careless hotess attempts to cut the pudding with a steel knife when hot from the oven. The usual sauce accompanies the individual serving. Hints for the Laundry. Challies can be beautifully washed In rice water. Boil half a pound of rice in rather more than two quarts of water, let the water become tepid and then wash the fabric in It, rubbing it with the rice as if it were soap, rinse two or three times in rice water, from which, however, the rice has been strained, and use the last rinsing water well diluted, so that the material may not become too stiff. Iron while slightly damp. Silk stockings should be washed and rinsed in lukewarm water and wrung between towels. Woolen and silk underwear should be washed in warm soapsuds, to which a little ammonia has been added. The silk garments may soak for a quarter of an hour in this preparation before being rubbed between the fingers. Rinse twice through tepid clear water and hang to dry with great care, pulling out all wrinkles. Iron under a cloth before quite dry. Reform in Beds and Bedding. The big. double bed ought not to be. We shall be a healthier people when it is banished forever. The little single Iron or brass bedstead with a mattress that can be kept easily aired and cleaned is the bed that ought to be universal. And the heavy comforter ought to be banished with the double bed, for it belongs to the log cabin and the backwoods. The proper covering is a lightweight blanket that can be frequently washr-d and be kept soft and white. Tucking the bedclothes tightly is another custom handed down by dwellers in Arctic wilds. The practice of making up a bed and making it almost air tight only obtains among stupid people, aud is as unhealthful as it is unclean. Fresh Peach Meringue Pudding. One quart milk, two tablespoonfuls of corn starch, one tablespoonful of butter, three eggs, one-half cup granulater sugar. Cut some ripe peaches and put three layers in a pudding dish. Sprinkle each layer with sugar, using at least two tablespoonfuls. Make a custard of the milk, corn starch, butter, yolks, and sugar, and one teaspoonful of vanilia. 801 l until it thickens. Four carefully over the peaches. Bake twenty- minutes in a quick oven. When done spread the whites, beaten to a stiff froth, with two tablespoonfuls of sugar on the top, and brown. Serve with cream. Compote of Peaches, Cut eight rather green peaches into quarters, put them in a saucepan with half cup sugar, then juice of a lemon, a few drops of sherry. Set over a slow fire for a moment Shake the pan occasionally until the peaches are tender, but not broken. Turn out to cool. When cold serve with whipped cream. Beef Croquettes. One cup of chopped cold beef, one cup of bread crumbs, one egg well beaten, a pinch of salt pepper, and a tiny bit of sage. Moisten the bread crumbs with a little gravy or stock, then mix thoroughly, form in cakes and dip In egg and cracker crumbs and fry in boiling lard.—Womankind.