Democratic Sentinel, Volume 17, Number 11, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 31 March 1893 — Page 4

BALLADS OF CHANCES LOST. L They came too lote or else arrived too soon — These opportunities the god’s provide, We were too slow to grasp them, spurned the boon. In Borne queer fashion we have let them slide. Sow lsg we in the race while men deride, Still dimly trusting that our look will mend; But we must creep where we had hoped to stride, And struggle somehow onward to the end. 11. Here’s Jones laments an outing missed in June; Smith, stocks whose values since have multiplied ; Brown moans the college year s ho played buffoon, And White, the girl he might have made his brid -; And some with sorrows n uch more dignified Mu>t all the while ’gainst crael odds contend; Brave souls with cares and gi iefs they try to hide, Who struggle Bomehow onward to the end. m. So many thoughts that ring a doleful tune, 80 many reasons one’s poor self to chide. No wonder hopeless mortals sit a d croou The sad old dirge: “If we had only tried, We might have gained on time and sailed with tide, And reached the port with strength and days to spend; Now, old and feeble, must we choke our pride And struggle somehow onward to the end.” “ ESVOI.” Toilers, to whom, successful joys denied, Experience comes a tardy, testy frieud, Take heart, tak ■ heed, with patience for your guide, And struggle somehow onward to the end.

SISTER GABRIELLE.

A Reminiseense of SI ax O’Rell During the Frauco-Prusslan War.

BY HIS WIFE.

When the Franco-Prussian war broke out I was a young girl, and the awful news of the commencement of hostilities made a profound impression upon me. When, four years later, I met and married my husband, it was one of my great delights to get him to tell me “all about the war." Of the many reminiscences of his soldier days, none, perhaps, interested me more thau the story of a sweet nun who nursed him in St. Malo Hospital. This is the story just as I beard it for the first time many years ago. I hope it will not lose too much by not being told in Fren’ch, aa it was then given to me. We were sitting by the bridgo of Neuilly, near the Bois de Boulogne, in Paris: “There,” said my husbuud, “is just about the spot where I was knocked over. We were fast getting the better of the Communards, and my men were warming to the work in grand style, when the piece of spent shell nit me, and some of the fellows carried me off to the hospital. I remember being puzzled that there should be relatively no pain in a wound of that sort; but the pain came soon enough when the fever set in. The doctor of the Versailles Hospital was a rough specimen, as army doctors often are—in France, atony rate—and you may fancy that the groans and moans of the other wounded were not soothing either. One day the doctor told me I should soon Le able to be removed to a oountry hospital. That was after I had l>een under his treatment for six weeks. * ‘The sights, sounds and smell of the

rlace bad grown so sickening to me that think I could have kissed him when he talked of sending me to St. Malo. He came in one morning, and, in his brusque way, said, as he probed the wound for bits of shattered bone: “ ‘We shall be able to pack you off in a few days. You would like to get transferred to St. Malo, would you not? You come from that part of the country, don't you? The air will suit you.’ “He was a brute, but he had awfully good cigars, and he used to make me smoke one when he was going to have an extra go at my wound. I suppose he hoped the goodness might prove infectious. I used to call him strings of bad names while he was digging away at his work on my arm. Somehow it relieved me, and, truth to tell, he took it all in good part. “In a few days, then, I saw the last of him, and he of me; and glad enough was 1 to find myself In the clean, quiet, nunattended hospital in the dear old Breton town. There I had a room to myself, as each officer had ; aud to lie there in that sweet, sunny room and hear no groans hut my own was almost like being in heaven. The daily cleanings of the wound, still pretty painful, were recommended under the hunds of another surgeon, who proved to be a very good fellow. He and I struck up quite a friendship after a while. “Well, life was, if not exactly rosy, at any rate OBce more worth living. The brightness and calm were very sweet after the horrors of the Versailles hospital, and a serenity filled the air, like an echo of organ tones brought in by the

nuns from chapeL “The nun who attended to me was an angel. Don’t be jealous. 1 was there in St. Malo three months. Before one month had passed I hud grown to love her as I should have loved my 6ister. if she had lived. 1 loved the sound of her voice, and the touch of her deft, gentle bands. I would have gone through the surgeon’s probings without a groan, if she might have rebaodaged the arm afterwards. But Dr. Nadaud always did that himself. Sister Gabrielle—that was what they called her—would come directly he had done with me, and would try the bandages to make sure they were not hurting, arrange the pillows afresh, and smooth out the wrinkles in the counterpane, and my brow at the some time, sympathizing with me all the while in the sweetest fashion possible. Her voice was a great part of her charm: very low, and yet Hie clearest voice in the world. She had a way of looking at one all the time, too, with a gaze that was almost like mother's caress, and that wrapped one around with a delicious feeling of security and well-being. Sometimes she would sit and talk with me about the battles, and lead me into chats about my mother, who was ill herself at this time, and not able to come and see me. “ ‘How old was Sister Gabrielle?* Oh I suppose she must have been about twenty-four or five then. She had the Norman blue eyes, and a fair complexion, which the white wrappings about her face seemed to heighten and irradiate. Is it the white lawn, or is it a beauty that the self-denying life lends to them, which makes the faces of so many of those women look so lovelyf I called Sister Gabrielle an angel just now, but you must not fancy there was any celd

saintliness about her; in fact, if was her very ready sympathy with all my accounts of my young life in the outer world that drew my heart towards her. It was her very womanliness that set me wondering who she could have been, and what had led her m shut herself away from the world. There was little to do, lying there in bed week after week, and hundreds of times as I looked at that sweet woman moving about the room, I pictured her without the-coif, and said to myself that if she were not then a beloved wife, with a husband’s protecting arm around her, and children climbing about her knees, it was not because the love that should have led to this had been wanting, but certainly because some marring cnaDce bad prevented the realization of such happiness. It amused me to ‘make a pretty history to myself,’ with Sister Gabrielle for the heroine. A woman with a voice like hers, and such a smile, was bound to have loved deeply. Sometimes, when she was not speaking, her eyes had a sad, far-away look. I can only compare it to the look of an emigrant who was toiling a hot, dusty high road to embark for a new country, might turn and give to the dear spot that he had said a long good-bye to. But that look never lasted more than a minute on Sister Gabrielle’s face. It was as if the traveler settled his burden afresh on his shoulders, and with fresh, vigorous resolution. stepped on into the long expanse of road that went stretching atfay to the horizon. “One day—l coukl not help it—l broke into one of those little reveries of hers. ‘My sister,’ I said, ‘sweet and beautiful as you are, how is it that you never married?’ “With lifted finger, as one speaks to a too daring child, she said only: ‘Ssssh!’ “Then with the movement of the emigrant readjusting his knapsack, she added: l AUons ! half past ten! Dr. Nadaud will be here before wc are ready for him!’ “From that day Sister Gabrielle avoided sitting by my bedside. She watched over me just as tenderly as before; but our tulks were shorter, and I never ventured to repeat my question as you may imagine. Nevertheless, lying thete through the lofig days, it was impossible not to go on wondering what had sent this beautiful woman into the quiet life where I found her.

“One day I discovered that Dr. Nadaud came from the same town as herself, and I fell at once to questioning him about her. All that I could elicit from him was that her name in the world had been Jeanne D’Alcours, and that she came of a good old Normau titled family. I did not learn much by that; it was not Deccssary to hear that she was noble, for she had the stamp of nobility in every line and in every pose of her body. For a talkative fellow, I thought Nadaud had remarkably little to say about his former townswomau; and, after gently souudiug him once or twice on the subject, I came to the conclusion that it was useless to look to him for enlightenment, but I also came to the conclusion that Sister Gabrielle hail a history. “August came. I had been three months in St. Malo Hospital, and now the time for leaving had arrived. It was early morning. A fiocre stood at the gate, with my luggage upon it, and Sister Gabrielle had come to the doorway which led into the courtyard to see me off. Early as it was, the sun was already well on his day's journey, and perhaps it was the strong glare from the white wall that made her shade her eyes so persistently with her left hand while we were saying ‘Good-bye.’ As for my own eyes, there was something the matter with them, too, for the landscape, or so much of it as 1 could see from the St. Malo hospital door way, had taken on a strange, blurred look since I saw it from the window ten minutes before.

‘“Adieu, mon lieutenant! Adieu!’ cried Sister Gabrielle, in a voic- meant to be very cheery. “ ‘Adieu ma seeur! May I come to see you and the old place, if ever I find myself in these latitudes again f “ ‘Yes, yes, that is it; come back and see who is in your little bed under the window. Take care of the arm!’ touching the sling that held it, ‘Dr, Nadaud will expect a letter from you in copperplate style before another month is over. Allons! We will say, Au revoir, then, not Adieu. Bon voyage, mon lieutenant, bon voyage!’ “Another handgrasp, and I made my way to the cab, feeling a strange intoxicated sensation at being once more on my legs in the open air after sucb a long stretch between the blankets. Away we attled down the steeD stono-paved street, past the queer old high houses that, as the window-shutters were swung back, seemed to open their eyes and wake up with a spirited relish for another day's bustle and work. Very different, my dear, to the lazy drawing up of rollerbiiud in England is the swinging open of a pair of French persiennes, whiffs of new bread and freshly ground coffee floated out from the open doorways of the baker, and the earliest risers of St. Malo, Bnd presently the pungent, invigorating odor of the sea made itself smelt in spite of the mixed odors of the street. It was new life to be out in the open air again; and I was going to see my mother. But I could not forgot Sister Gabrielle.” Several years passed before my husband saw again the old steep streets of St. Malo. These years brought great changes to him. His right arm being no longer capable of using a sword, he retired from the army, took to journalism, and eventually accepted an engagement iu London, in the English capital he made his home, marrying and settling down to a quasi-English life, which possessed great interest for him from the first.

One summer (six yeara after the war) we began to make a yearly journey to a town on the borders of Brittany* and always landed at St. Malo to take train for our destination. Trains ran there only twice a day, and so there was generally time enough to climb the dirty, picturesque street to the hospital and see sweet Sister Gabrielle, whose face would light up at sight of her old patient, and whose voice had Still the same sympathetic charm. When the now Englishlooking traveler presented himself, it was alv.avs the Mother Superior who came to him in the bare, cool room reserved for visitors. And then Sister Gabrielle would arrive with a sweet grave smile playing about her beautiful mouth, and there would be long talks about all that he had been doing; of the pleasant free life in England, of the Euglish wife he had married, and of Bobe, a regular little Norman, whom he had promised to bring and show her some day. But that day never came. One hot August morning, just seven years after he had left the hospital with his arm in a sling, my husband pulled at the clanging liell, and asked to see Sister Gabrielle. He was ushered into the shady waiting-room, and stood drinking in the perfume of the roses that clam - bered about the Often window. Presently the Mother’s step approached, but when

she saw him die hud do longer in her voice the cheery notes with which she used to greet him, nor did she offer to send Sister Gabrielle to him. In a few sad words she told him his sweet nurse was dead, that she hod diqd as she had lived, beloved by ail who were privileged to be near her. There was no positive disease, the doctor had said, but some shock or grief of years before must have undermined her hrelth, and the life of self-sacrifice she led had not been calculated to lengthen the frail strand of her life. Gently and without struggle it had snapped, and she had drooped and died with the early violets. Touched and saddened, our traveller turned down the steep street to the lower town. More than ever he wondered what had been the history of the brave beautiful woman who had nursed him sevon years before. Turning the corner of the Place Chateaubriand, he ran against a man. “Pardon, monsieur!” “Pardon, monsieur!” The exclamations were simultaneous. Looking up the two mep recognizod each other. “Ah, my dear Doctor 1" exclaimed my husband. “Sapristi, my dear Lieutenant! What are you doing in St. Malo?” The young man having properly accounted for his presence in the old Breton town, and made known to Dr. Nadaud how glad he was to see him again, the two went off together to lunch at the Hotel de Bretagne, where M. Blout [“Max O’Rell”} had left his luggage. Having refreshed themselves with a light French dejeuner, the doctor and his former patient strolled out of the long dining-room into the central courtyard of the hotel, which the sun hod not yet made too warm; and there, installing themselves nt a little round table, under a huge laurel, they smoked and sipepd their coffee. "I will telll you all I know,” said the doctor, in reply to a question from his companion. “It seemed almost a breach of confidence to tell you Sister Gabrielle’s story while she lived, for I knew that she had come away out of the world on purpose to work unknown, and to bury all that remained of Jeanne D’Alcourt. When she first come she seemed not at all pleased to sec me; no doubt because my presence reminded her of’Caen, and of the scenes that 6he had turned her back upon forever.” “Well,” continued Dr. Nadaud, “the D’Alcourts had lived for gencratfons in a fine old house on the Boulevard de l'Est, and it was there that Jeanne was born. Next door lived my sister and her husband, M. Leconte, the chief notary of the town, and a man well considered by all classes of his townsmen. It is the old story of affection knotted together in the skipping rope, and proving to be as unending os the circle of the hoop. My sister had a girl and a boy. The threo children played together, walked out with their nurses together, and were hardly ever separated, until the time enme for Raoul to go to Paris to school. The boy was fourteen when they parted; Jeanne was only eleven; but the two childrens’* love had so grown with their growth that before the day of parting came, they had made a solemn little compact never to forget each other. “Eight years had passed, during which Jeanne and Raoul saw little of each other.

“The first time the boy came home he seemed to Jeanne no longer a boy, and the shyness which sprang up between them then deepened with each succeeding year. “ The boy was allowed to choose his profession, and he chose that of surgery. News reached Jeanne from time te time, through his sister, of the promising young student who, it was said, bid fair to win for himself a great name some day. “At the age of twenty-two Raoul left Paris. His parents, who were growing old, wished their son near them; anu steps were token to establish him in a practice in Caen. “Time passed on, and Raoul hod been six months in partnership with old Dr. Grevin, whom he was eventually to succeed, when Mme. D’Alcourt fell ill of inflammation of the lungs, and so it happened that the two young people often met beside the sickbed, for the eider partner was not always able to attend the patient, and his youug aide was called upon to take his place. “By the time that Mme. D’Alcourt was well again, both the young people knew that the old love of tholr childhood had smouldered in their hearts through all the years of separation, and was ready to burst into flame at a touch. But no word was spoken. “it was RaouW fond hope to be one day in a position to ask for Jeanne as his wife, but bo knew that by speaking before lie was in that position he would only destroy all chance of being listened to by her parents. "The touch that should stir the flame soon came.

“One day in the summer following, a hasty summons from Mme. D’Alcourt took Dr. Grerin to Jeanne's bedside, and a few momenta’ examination showed him that the poor girl had taken diphtheria. After giving directions as to too treatment to be followed, he said he would return late in the evening, or would send M. Leconte. “It was Raoul who came. “With horror he saw that the case was already grave, and a great pang went through nim as he spoke to June. D’Alcourt of the possibility of its being necessary to perform tracheotomy m the morning. When morning came, in all next day, Joanne hoped with a deep, longing, passionate hope. ‘The day after, howevar, it was evident that nothing could save the girl but the operation, and was quickly decided to try the last chance. “The rest is soou told. In that supreme moment, as Raoul made ready for the work, the two young people told all their hearts’ secret to each other in one long greeting of the eyes, that was at once a ‘iiaii!’ and a ‘Farewell!’ “The operation was successful. “All went well with Jeanne, and in two days she was declared out of danger. “But Raoul, unmindful of everything except Jeanne’s daager, had not been careful for himself, and had receieved some of the subtle poison from her throat. ” In the cemetery of Caen, high up where the sun first strikes, can be seen a gravestone with the inscription:— Gi-git Raoul Leconte, Decede le 18 Juillet, 1819. And this is why Sister Gabrielle’s path to heaven led through the wards of a hospital.

The Best Swimmers.

“While at the seaside last summer,” said Henry L. Parnham, of Springfield, Mas?., who ha 9 been stopping at the Lindell, “I noticed one thing that surprised me very much. That was that

the beet swimmers were not to be found among those who were brought up near salt waters, but among those whose early lives bad been spent in the interior of the country. I also noticed that nearly all the young men from the Southern and Southwestern States could swim, while not half of the New Englanders were master of this art. The explanation I discovered to be as follows; "A n>»»t who has been training to swim In fresh water, when once he gets in the ocean feels as if motion in the water presented no difficulties at all. The sea wafcfer is so much denser than the fresh that efforts that would send a man along but slowly in the latter give him a racing speed in the former. The fresh-water swimmers always beat those trained by the ocean. The reason that there were more of them was climatic. The cold currents from the north render swimming on our NewJEnglund coast very uncomfortable except during three or four months. In the South and Southwest, however, bathing can be indulged in much longer, and as a result nearly every boy, especially those bred outside of o city, can swim. It was rather hard for us to be beaten by fresh-water swimmers, but we had to take it.”—[St. Louis Post-Dispatch.

AROUND THE HOUSE.

To Get Rid of Rats and Mich. —The best way to get rid of rats and mice is not to poison them, but to make them thoroughly tired of the locality and so induce them to leave. They are generally too smart to eat poison, even wnen it is prepared for their benefit in the most seductive fashion, but they are not so particular about tartar emetic. When a little of this is mixed with any favorite food they will eat as greedily as though the physic were not there, but in two or three hours there will be the most discouraged lot of rats about the place that anybody ever saw. The tartar will not kill them, it qnly makes them deadly sick. If you pnt your car to their holes you can hear them trying to vomit; sometimes they will crawl out and walk about like a seasick man, so ill that they do not seem to care what becomes oi them. But it disgusts them with the whole vicinity, nnd as soon as they are able to travel they march off and you sec them no more. How to Cake Fon Pictures. —ln cleaning house one of the principal cares should De the pictures. It is too often overlooked or left to the care of the servants, when the mistress should give it her personal attention. Each picture as it is taken down should be carefully dusted and the cord or wire wiped. Then lay it on a table, wash the glass and polish it until It is perfectly cleaT. Wipe the fromo with a soft cloth wet in warm water and rub off all flyspocks and other dirt. If the picture is framed with a glass, paste paper smoothly all over tho back to keep dust from sifting through Hie cracks. Frames of polished wodd, oak,: walnut, or in fact anything but gilt, will be greatly improved by rubbing them with a solution three parts linseed oil and one part turpentine. Apply with a woolen cloth and rub with a dry woolen cloth until perfectly dry. Bofoce hanging the pictures fasten a large clean cloth over the brush end of the broom, and wipe the walls all over. If the walls ore papered, and the paper is torn, or defaced, cover such places with scraps of the paper, matching If possible, to the figures. If you have no pieces of the paper, a Japanese scroll or a cheap placque, or even a bunch of dry grasses tied with a nioe bow of ribbon, will cover the place and add beauty to the room. Ono lady covered pieces of paste board with colored satin and fastened the bunches of grass to them and they were very ornamontal. Pictures should never be hung too high. You often see a choice little painting hung so high that you would have to mount a choir to see what the subject is. Always hang thorn so that they can be easily seen by a person of medium height. It is considered to be in better taste to use two nails instead of ono, it gives a more symmetrical effect, and indeed, it is worth considering as a matter of safety. Be very careful to haDg pictures in the proper light. If they are to be seen in a strong light do not put them in an obscure corner, and if painted in bright colors, do not plaoe wnere the sunshine will fall on them.

How Flowers Produce Perfume.

The rose would no doubt “ smell n 9 sweet by any other name,” but how does it contrive to “ smell sweet ”at all ? In other words, by what mode do flowers produce their perfume ? This is one of things which, although they may seem to belong especially to the realm of poetry, cannot escape the pursuit of science. M. Mesnard, a French chemist, has been subjecting flowers to analysis in order to find out how they become fragraut. Being cut into sections and having pure hydrochloric acid poured over them, it is no wonder that the tender flowers gave up a portion of their secret. Yet they did not give it up entirely. M. Mesnard was only able to ascertain that the fine oil which gives the perfume is apparently dorived in every case from chlorophyll, and is usually located at the upper surfaces of the petals or sepals in delicato cellules. There seems to be some inverse relation between the amount of pigment, or coloring matter, in the flower and the perfume. Some of the more soberlycolored flowers have the most delightful fragrance, while brilliant hues do not imply a corresponding sweetness of smell. The fact that the perfume oils are derived from chlorophyll is interesting because, as will be remembered, cloropbyll is that substance in plants which, when acted upon by sunlignt, turns a leaf into a sort of chemical laboratory. But it connot act without the sunbeams. We know how much we owe to the sun as a source of all life and energy upon the earth, and yet It is not a little surprising to reflect that the great orb of day is directly instrumental in the production of the exquisite perfume with which a bouquet salutes our nostrils?— [Youth's Companion.

Rearing Rabbits.

No doubt rabbits may be reared with profit equal to that of fowls if equal care is given to them. The flesh is quite as good as that of any poultry, and the tame kinds are better flavored and larger in size than the ones, which are most difficult to rear. An inclosed piece oi ground is best for a rabbitry, and it snould be kept planted with such plants as the animals like the best, as peas, oats, clover, and turnips, with some parsley, of which they are exceedingly fond. The rest of their food is mode up of bran, oats, fine hay, and turnips or carrots with the tops kept green if possible in the •winter. Cleanliness is indispensable. The largest tame rabbit is the Belgian, which is white and black, and will weigh five pounds when dressed. The lop-eared rabbit is also a large one and quite handsome. The skins arc worth almost a much as the flesh.—[Nibv York Times.

A RABBIT DRIVE.

WAS ON THE PESTS EVERY YEAR IN CALIFORNIA. Fanners Forced to Kill Them to Protect Their Crops—How a Drive is Conducted. The valleys of Central and Southern California swarm with jack rabbits. For years they proved themselves a pest of the worst kind to farmers. They rooted over the grain fields, and destroyed young grape vines and fruit trees by girdling them near the ground with their sharp teeth. All sorts of schemes were resorted to for the annihilation of these creatures, but in spite of the poisoned baits and the traps prepared for them, they increased jn numbers until they threatened to destroy every crop of grain that was planted, and every vine and tree that was set out. Five years ago the farmers of Fresno County resolved to rid the county of some of the animals, and they planned a rabbit drive. On a certain duy the grain and fruit growers for miles around assembled in the fields at the southeast of France. The country was virtually deserted, and the ranks of the farmers were strengthened by men, women and children from the town who made sport of what the farmers considered business. First, a corral was built of wire fencing about four feet wide. This inclosare surrounding about an acre 'of land, and in form representing a Bartlett pear split lengthwise. The entrance was at the' small end. Running out from each side of this gateway were wings of wire fencing extending nearly a quarter of a mile each way. From the extremities of these wings the people were arranged in line, spreading out as far into the field as their number would permit without breaking the rank, until they formed a living circle around a tract of land twenty acres in extent. The women and children were placed nearest the fences, for in the field active work was to be done. When the line was completed and all things were in readiness, the leader of the drive gave the signal, and, yelling at the top of their lungs and beating the ground with clubs, the line closed slowly in. When the advance toward the corral began, now and then the drivers, at some point in the line, would be aroused to a degree of enthusiasm that seemed almost! manical by a light brown hump that roso from the ground and stretched itself into a dim streak that momentarily lengthened toward the opposite line of drivers. That was a jack rabbit, started from his lair. As the lines of men drew near each other the brown streaks doubled rapidly on themseves, and finally began to zig-zag wildly across the inclosure, as the frightened, long-eared creatures ran hither and thither in search of an opening through which they might escape. Gradually the animals were driven toward the corral until finally the last one was in the inclosure, which was an undulating mass of hopping and skipping bunnies completely at the mercy of their enemies. As many of the men and boys as cared to do so entered the inclosure, and with clubs slew the rabbits, a sharp crack on the skull being all that wa3 necessary to put a permanent quietus on the animals. In about four hours’ time upward of 10,030 rabbits were killed. The undertaking was voted a complete success by the farmers, and from that day the rabbit drive has been an established thing in Southern and Central California. The most exciting and successful rabbit driye ever held came off on the 10th of March, 1893, near Fresno. It was the last day of encampment of the Grand Army of the Republic, which was being held in that city. A crowd of people numbering 8,000, including war veterans and visitors to the encampment, encircled a vast territory. It was a disastrous day for rabbits, and also for a good many of the drivers who, after the fun was over, had a picturesque assortment of bumps and bruises to exhibit, a 3 a result of wreckless use of the clubs. An immense corral was built and after a few hours of enthusiastic labor it was literally alive with rabbits. Twenty thousand is the estimate of the number of animals killed on that occasion. The ground within the wire fence was heaped with the carcasses of the dead creatures. The months of March and April are the ones in which the farmers are the most anxious to exterminate the rabbits, for in May and June, and, in fact, through all the summer months, they propagate and multiply at an alarming rate. The farmer reckons that every rabbit that he kills in March and April prevents the birth of fifty of its kind. In the vineyards and orchards the rabbits are especially destructive. In the former, the animal watches for the bursting forth of the green shoot that, if allowed to grow, would, in July and August, bend under the weight of luscious fruit. Of these tender and juicy sprouts the jaok rabbit is very fond, and he nibbles them off with great relish. In instances where vineyards have just been planted, the young vines are eaten off close to the ground. The fact that these rabbits will go through a vineyard of twenty acres in a single night and strip it of every vestige of foliage, shows how great a pest these animals are.— t New York Times.

Water as a Disinfectant.

The impurities that are found in water are gathered from coming in contact with live and dead organisms at the bottom of ponds, rivers and springs. They are held in the water for long periods, and it is hard work to separate them from it. But in addition to this, water absorbs impurities from the air, which are also held in solution. For this reason water may be called the great disinfectant of nature. It gathers ana holds in it the impurities of the earth and air. It can be used as a disinfectant in the sick room, or in the living chambers. Pure, fresh, cold water is a powerful absorbent, drawing to and absorbing all sorts of impurities that float in the air. If a pan or bowl of fresh cold water is placed near the bed of a sick person it will absorb ninety per cent, of the foul germs that may be breathed from the sick one. But the water needs to be changed often. It absorbs injurious vapors in the room, and moistens the air so that sleep is made easier and better. Drinking water consequently should never stand uncovered for any length of time in the living room.—[Yankee Blade.

A Tree Within a Tree.

“One of the most deceiving objects that I ever witnessed,” said Roman Jordan, “is just outside the little town of Hester, CoL It is a tree some forty feet tall, the first twenty feet of its height being some seven feet in circumference. Twenty feet from the ground the tree suddenly diminishes to a circumference of some four feet. Upon examining it you would come to the conclusion that it was a freak of nature. It gives the impression that some one had sawed the

tipper halt of the old tree off, and that instead of dying a smaller tree had grown up from the centre. It is the object of much speculation and visits on the parts of strangers. The facte arc that what appears to be one tree is really two. The ?;reat old tree, of which the first twenty eet is the remaining relic, was hollow, rotten at the heart. A great wind came some years ago and broke off the upper half, leaving a jagged pillar some twentytwo feet tall remaining. This hollow heart was burnt out more than once by squirrel hunters, who imagined that the game had entered into the tree through the aperture at the base. The wind must have blown an acorn down into this hollow centre, for a tree sprang up in it and grew straight upward and out into the sunshine. For appearance sake the owner of the ground sawed off the jagged portion at the top, making it level and smooth. The young oak has flourished well, until now it fills the heart of the tree very compactly. The opening at the base has been bidden by earth piled about, and also by wild ivy that is fast covering the stump.”—[St. Louis GlobeDemocrat.

AN ODORIFFEROUS SWIMMER.

The Muskrat and the Wiles of Boys to Entrap Him for His Skin. That interesting rodent, the muskrat, is plentiful all along the Atlantic coast in spite of tho fact that his skin has a commercial value everywhere and his flesh is marketed in some regions south of Mason and Dixon’s line. His enemies in Delaware and Maryland call him the mus’rat, without sounding the “k,” and he is variously called elsewhere musquash, muskbearer, and ondatra. Muskrats are shot, trapped, and speared by thousands all over the peninsula of Delaware and Maryland, and sold in the street market of Wilmington as “marsh rabbits.” The colored people are the chief consumers of the muskrat in cities, but in the country the flesh is eaten by all sorts of people. It is sweet, tender, and, according to local belief, entirely clean and wholesome. Students of the muskrat affirm that he carefully washes all his food in a running stream, if possible, and that his habits generally are cleanly. Nearly all country stores in Delaware and Maryland deal in muskrat skins, and in some cases the larger storekeepers send many thousands of them to Europe every year. The approved method of drying the skin is to turn it fur side in, over a pointed shingle, and the dried skins look like counterless slippers. Many a country boy depends upon muskrat skins for pocket money, though the storekeepers prefer bartering for them to paying in cash. The muskrat trade was so valuable in times past that the marshes upon which they have their burrows rented for the privilege of muskrat shooting. The sport is best at night, when the rats are out in search of food. When there is an extraordinary flood tide in Delaware Bay and its tributaries, however, thousands of rats are driven from their burrows, whether it be by day or by night, and the slaughter is immense. Now and then one sees a black object with a snake-like appendage moving rapidly beneath the ice of a frozen pond, and the knowing boy recognizes the creature as a muskrat. A sudden, sharp, and well-directed blow upon the ice over the muskrat’s head may stun him, and if followed closely, he may be traced to his burrow, or to the open water by which he reaches the land. The muskrat cannot long remain under water, and it is generally believed that he does not permit the whole surface of any pond to freeze over when he has his home on its bank. The muskrat is an excellent swimmer, and only a very expert or a very lucky sportsman is able to kill him in the water. liis hind feet are so placed that he is able to feather the oars in swimming, and this materially quickens his pace. When ashore and suddenly alarmed he recklessly flops into the water, making a great noise and disappearing beneath the surface to come up fifteen or twenty yards away, or perhaps to enter his cell by wav of a door opening under water. This device he employs not because he E refers that method of egrftss and ingress, ut merely by way of precaution. The hallway of his dwelling crooks upward, and the nest is a cosey place quite beyond the reach of any ordinary flood. Doubtless muskrats that have been driven out by unusually high water extend their burrows farther above the level of the stream if they live to set up housekeeping again.—[New York Bun.

RELIABLE RECIPES.

Baked Apple Dumpling. —Make a nice pastry, break off small pieces and roll thin, out the .size of a breakfast saucer. Into each piece put a teaspoonful of sugar and an apple chopped fine. Draw the edges of crust together, so as to form into balls. Then put them in a pan, cover with hot water and bake. Add more water if the first dries out, to form for a sauoe. Roast Duck with Apple Sauce. — Take two large ducks; singe, draw, pare off the neck, wings and legs: put a pinch of salt inside, close the lower aperture with the rump; truss nicely, put on the spit or in the roasting-pan, and cook about forty minutes, sprinkle occasionally with lie drippings; salt, untruss, and dish up the ducks; add a little rich broth to the drippings, strain over the ducks, and serve with an apple sauce in a sauce-bowl. Applb Sauce. —Peel, cut in quarters, remove the cores, and slice a dozen large cooking apples; put in a buttered saucepan with a glass of water, cover and cook slowly for about twenty minutes; add four ounces of sugar and press through a hair-Bieve. Sauce prepared in this way ought to be white, stiff and sweet enough to lie served with meat. Clam Chowdeb. —To make clam chowder cut the blaok heads from a quart of clams. Boil gently for twenty minutes in three pints of water. Cut a quarter of a pound of salt pork into slices and fry until brown and crisp; add a large onion cut into slices and cook slowly for ten minutes. Put a quart of pared and sliced raw potatoes into a soup kettle, and after placing a strainer over them pour the onion and pork into the strainer; then pour in the water in which the black ports of the clams were cooked. Remove the Btrainer with the pork and onion, which are of no further use. Heat the mixture in the kettle to the boiling point and add three tablespoonfuls of flour, mixed with a cupful of cold water. After boiling gently for twenty minutes add a quart of milk that has boiled up once, a tablespoon of butter, eight soft crackers, the soft part of the clams, and salt and pepper to suit the taste. Boil up the chowder once and serve. Mb. Samuel Harmon, of Fox Hill Penn., claims that he has eaten in the last twenty years 3,650 pies. His regular consumption has been half a pie each day. Mr. Harmon declares that he has never known what dyspepsia is like, and his neighbors and townspeople say he is a man of truth and veracity.

HOW THEY SKATE.

I'be Dutch, English and Modern Racing Style. The three most distinctive styles of skating, says Joseph P. Donoghue, in Harper’s Weekly, are the Dutch, English and modern racing style. In Holland the skaters are divided into two classes—those of Friesland and those of South Holland. The method of the latter is known under the name of the ‘'Dutch roll.” On slightly curved blades the South Hollander avoids the necessity of keeping an upright position or maintaining a straight course, and in easy and graceful curves he swings from side to side, riding on the outside edge, and leaning far over to one side or the other. He seems to put off striking the ice as long as it is possible to enjoy the roll, and then finally gives a short quick stroke backward, throwing himself on the outside edge of the other skate. The Friesland style is more adapted to short-distaßoe races. Elass Hanfe, the champion short-distance skater of Holland, dashes off, swinging his arms from side to side with great vigor, and bringing his skates down upon the ice with sudden jerks. In the quarter-mile race at Heerenveen, in 1891, Hanfe took 158 strides of only three yards one foot each. He uses the famous Friesland skate invariably. The blade is about fifteen inches in length, projecting well forward of the foot and curving high up in front. The blade does not run as far back as the end of the boot, but stops at the centre Of the heel, It is set in a very light wood top, the whole being fastened to the foot by leather thongs. The inside edge of the blade is ground to an acute angle, which cuts the ice like a knife. The Frieslander can skate in his stocking feet, and I have seen boys skating along the canals in Holland holding a large wooden shoe under each arm. The English or Fen style is confined to that district of England known as the Fens, a name given to a low and marshy territory filled with many small streams and canals. The Fen skater starts off very slowly, swinging his arms fore and aft, and keeping time with his strokes. He brings his foot forward and puts it down on the outside edge with the toe of the skate pointed in, and then thrusts it slowly forward. The general course of the stroke is a curve inward at the beginning, then a straight line for a short distance, ending with a sharp curve outward. The English maintain that they follow a straight line better than any other skaters; but, although I have watched them pretty closely, I have failed to find this to be the fact An English skate is similar in appearance to the Dutch just described. It is about the same length, with the high curve in front, but the blade is half an inch higher at the heel than at the toe. Their idea in this is to enable them to continue longer on their stroke. The modern racing style of skating is being generally adopted all over the world. The skater starts off, swinging his arm until he has gained headway; then he places his hands behind his back and clasps them loosely. He then leans well forward, and bending low from the hips, brings bis foot welbup under him and thrusts it sharply forward, trying to follow a straight line as nearly as possible. At the end of the stroke he brings the other foot well up under him and repeats the movement. In distances under a mile the arms are called into play and are swung rapidly forward and backward. or sometimes from side to side. The skates now used by all of the fastest skaters are similar to those used by Hagen.

Lingering Veterans.

Less than a year has elapsed since the death of the last French survivor of the battle of Trafalgar, a triumph of British naval skill and valor which stultified the projects of Napoleon the Great for the subjugation of this country, and temporarily obliterated the French Navy from the list of important factors in the problem of European politics. Of the many tremendous reverses suffered on land and sea by the forces of France under the regime of the First Empire, four in particular may be said to have permanently affected the destinies of civilized mankind. These were Nelson’s supreme victory off Cape Trafalgar, the ‘ ‘Battle of the Nations” hard by Leipzig, the tragical “Retreat from Moscow," and that fateful encounter which Byron indignantly stigmatized as “the crowning carnage," Waterloo. Our own times have been so nfe with military achievements of the first moment that those mighty war-feats, although performed during the current century, seem as far removed from men of the present day as Blenheim and Ramilies* or even Poitiers and Agincourt. Yet there are veterans still living in half-a-dozen European realms whotook partin the campaigns of 1818-14-15, and only a few days ago, in a quiet Norfolk township, an old soldier of the Grand Army passed peacefully away, who had witnessed the horrors of that terrible march from Borodino to the western frontier of Poland, which ensued upon the burning of Moscow and the disastrous evacuation of Central Russia by the Napoleonic hosts.—[London Telegraph.

Singing to the Herd.

Some cowboys and cattlemen laughingly assured me that they only sing on watch to keep themselves awake ; others say they sing, talk loud or make a noise just to let the cattle know they are approaching so as not to frighten and stampede them, but the greater number hold—as I myself had read and been led to believe—that the sound of the human voice, singing, talking or calling out cheerfully, quiets and reassures the animals. However it may be, they all sing and talk or whistle to them, and among my most vivid and picture-like recollections is one of a certain night when an aching head and heavy heart held me awake, and slipping from the house in the little hours, I went aimlessly across the level plain towards where a big herd was camped. When within three or four hundred yards of the bunch I could see, under the white Texas moonlight, the dark mass of cattle and occasionally a silhouette, between me and the sky, of one of the guards on his pony, and in the intense lonliness of the plain’s night the singing of the one boyish voice holding his untaught, unconscious way through “A Fountain Filled With Blood," and the whistling of his companion on a little harmonicum “Sweet Home," as they came round past me in turn, were as lovely and touching sounds as I ever heard.---[Kansas City Times. Amethyst and several other so-called precious stones have become so cheap that they are no loDger sold by the karat, but by the ounce. Even the great amethyst that ordinarily graces an episcopal ring is no longer an expensive stone, and amethysts of poorer quality are ordinarily of trifline value.