Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 2, Number 38, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 16 March 1872 — Page 6

mmm

("Extract fiorn Win M. CarltoV* Poem. THE MODEL SUBSCRIBER.

"Good morning, Mir Mr. Editor, bow are the folk* to-dayt owe you for next year's Spectator, thought I'd come anil pay. Aiid Jone» 1* a*oin'to take it, and this 1» nui mon«-y here ,, ahni down leudln' it to him, and then coaxed him to try it a year. Ahd here Ha few little item* that happened last weefc 1«» our town: I thought they'd lonit Kxd for the paper, and no I Just jotu-d 'era down. Ahd here is a basket or cherries my wife piekci expressly for you And a small bun*h of flowers from Jennie she thought she most send something,

Vou'redoing the politics bally, as all our family agree Just k«*ep your old goose-quill a flappln and give 'era a good one for me. And now you are chuck full of business, and 1 won't be taking your time. I've things of my own 1 must 'lend to— good-day, sir. believe I will climb." The E«litor sat in bis sanctum and brought down his list with a thump, "Qod bless thai old farmer," he muttered, "he's a gnlar Jolly old trump," And 'tlx thus wltu our noble profession, and thus it will ever be Mill There are som* who appreciate it* labor, and some who perhaps never will, But In tlie great time that i.s coming, when

Onbriel*"- trumpet shall sound, And they who have labored and rested Khali come from the quivering ground, vyben tliey who have striven and suffered, to teacli and ennoble the race, Hhall march at the front of the column, each one In hi* Gol-glven place,

they march through the gates of The City, with proud and victorious tread. The editor and hi* assistants will not travel far from the head.

[From the London Magazine.]

The

Mystery

Sgore,

of The

Grange.

its

hou.se. Sis-

Wo call it about hero "The Dar ter Indeed I lovo the histories of ruin0(1 house*," said I "have you iiuy ob' motion to tell me this one?" "Certainly, not, sir," he rejoined ajud emptying his glass, which 1 refilled, lie began in a strong north country dialect, which I shall take the liborty of translating into English— "Oviir fifty years ago, Grostone Grange was occupied by two orphans —sisters. Their parents had died there leaving them iu the old place alone and, evidently without a friend.

It had boon a strange family and there were strango rumors, too,respecting the father—rumors of debt and difficulty which to the surprise of all, id suddenly given place to allluence and comfort. lJut it was not long after tho changed times had set in, that the mother, then the father—died, leaving tho two girls, one twenty, and the other nineteen—'mistresses of tho Grange.

Well, over a year had gono by since this ul occur rod, when a yonng tourist. (an artist) visited this part of the country. He was a handsome, gay young follow, with a fail pleasant face, dark, curling, chestnut hair, a joyous laugh, merry, dancing ha/.lo eyes. Ho put up at an inn, and, every morning, went starting oil' with camp-stool and sketch-book, to take this view or that —till, catching a sight of Gres'one Grange, he took it into his head to aketcli the old place. Rut to do this well he had first to get inside the gates This—a difficult task at most—was none to him possessing as he did, a face and manner which equalled all Cujsar's courage and generalship nut together Uo had but to come, unu be seen, to conquer. Tue lodge-keeper could not withstand him that was certain: but lifter a little coaxing, gave him tho necessary permission, without herself Miking it for she knew well ihe sistor's repugnance to strangers. H)tho next morning, Graham Koyston had struck his camp-stool upon the green alone al the western side of the Grange, mxl was hard at work with pencil and Klccteh-book.

It so happened that, on this very uioruing—-a bright and golden one—the Livo sisters chanced to turn their steps in direction ol the slope. Rut let me stay here a moment to describo them. tew words will suffice. "Sisters they wvre, traly but as unlike in face and temperament as dark to light Only one similar feeling held them together, as with chains ot iron this was the immeasurable affection tliey bore to each other. The elder,tall, alight, and with a figure fully developed, had hair of tho silky jettinens of the raven'a wing, a pale complexion, a ru fty mouth, and full, dark eyes, over which ho louu heavy lashes fell, adding much to the general pensive, almost K&d expression of the entire face. The

ounger was shorter, of a slight girlish and with golden hair, a fair punch like complexion, soft, violet eyes Cttd a gentle reliant expression in tone abd manner which made her seem as if fbrmed like the tender tendrils of a idant, to cling for support to those of hardier growth.

As different, then, as night and day each beautiful, the two sisters tho elm avenue the

—yet passed

down

younger's arms cuspea «wui mo Other waist, on whom she seemed to rest while the elder's was cast protectiugly, as if accepting tacitly the trust implied, round Alice Greetono's ueok.

As thoy emerged upon the slope, Oiey certainly formed the most beautiful, the most striking, portion of the scene at least Graham Royston thought tf, as, dropping pencil and sketch(took, ne started up, cap in hand,before them.

The sisters' surprise at the intrusion ot a strang«r on tbeir privacy, at last yielding to feminine curiosity, the ddor asked the reason of the artist's presence thfere. Hearing it, and, perJhaps not altogether proof against the fkscinitloo of the youug artist's lace, they b*de him visit the grounds when tie pleased till his sketch was finished. Gladly be accepted the permission and they withdrew. "But the sketch took a very.very long time completing.. On his airival at the 4&n, Graham Royston had stated It to fee bis intention of remaining only fortnight, but a month passed, and yet fco allowed no sign of departure: while Che Grange appeared the only place in Che country he cared to add to his drawings and that he most have taken from all points of the compos*. [i was Hog one of his visits there Miat. a terribN thunderstorm cumins OH, the sisters lelt ifae home lill

ceased. While he did so, Alice Gresume's drawings had attracted bis attention, and he bad spoken highly of the skill displayed in them yet pointed out some slight crudities, which he offered, as a small return for their kindness to him, to instruct her how to remove.

The elder hesitated, and drew back, a denial upon her lips but the younger, with a sudden eagerness, accepted the offer and taking op her pencils, prepared at once for a lesson. It need scarcely be said how it ended. All might have guessed the conclusion that before Graham Royston, through business, was compelled to quit Westmoreland, he had declared his love to tne fair-haired girl, and in a inad, unguarded moment, Alice res tone had accepted him. "That evening he returned to the inn, flushed with happiness and the next morning be started off gaily to the railway station, waving his hand towards the Grange, though it was not in sight, and promising a speedy return. All were sorry to lose him but each felt that Miss Alice would grieve most at his departure. "In regard to the latter, the night following her confession of love, which had been uttered while bidding the young artist farewell in the avenue, she irept into her sister's room, her golden hair streaming loose over her soft, white dressing-gown, and timidly, almost with fear, nestling down by Edith Grestone'-s side, bad, in a faint, trembling voice, and with many tears, told what had happened.

With a sharp cry, as if

4,4

A STOR Y.

%r-

BT KM MA W. PHILLIPS.

It was whilo iking a tour through Westmoreland that I became acquaint od with the story I am about to relate, had put up at a small inn on the Ambleside Road, close to the Luke of Windermere, and, whilo discussing bottle of wine accord!IIK to

tourist

custom, with the host, had casually expressed the surprise 1 had felt on perceiving, along the road I had come, a handsome house, surrounded by line .Woodland grounds, untenanted, and ovldently falling into dilapidation and decay. "Ah, sir," answered my host, strange story is attached to that 1

terrible

spasm had wrung her heart, the elder sister heard the first words —then as if petrified, sat rigid, her bands clasped, gazing into the tire, and listening iu silence to the murmuring voice of ber sister. Not a word passed her lips till the other had ended,then, as i! the sentences were torn from her, she cried, despairingly: "Oh!

feared it—I tearedit from the

first: Oh, Alice!—Oh my sister! what have you done?" The tears were falling quickly down the younger's cheeks, as, throwing herself on the elder's neck, she sobbed forth: ,, "'Oh, Edith, forgive me

help it. He is so very dear to me, that my love grew stronger than^my duty and this night

ll"Lite

did it.'

'No, no, Alice seek not to excuse yourself thus,' exclaimed the sister quickly, almost angrily. 'Our parents' troubles had made even your gentle nature strong in reason and thought. You were no child when you gave your oath, and signed your name to it, to become Arthur Ileiiton's wife at a suitable age, on condition that he granted peace and freedom to our father. Our father, Alice, whom it was otherwise, in his power to cast into prison for his dobls were many. With your own free will you did it, even as

should

have done, had he selected me in payment of my father's liabilities. Ah! why did he not choose me—why did he not? I could have been firm—I could hitvo rosisted my owu heart—though the struggle broke it.' "'Oh! Editn—sister! your words Imrt—thoy wound me they carry in them sucxi it tone of reproach,' sobbed Alice Grostone, clinging to her companion. 'Oh! pitv mo I could not help but love Graham—who could? Mv affection was too strong to be resisted I was powerless ag linst it but believe mo, Arthur Heriton will never

come. "'The elder sighed, sighed deeply then gazing down at her gentle, delicate sister, and marking her heartrending distress, an expression of the mtensest affoction ovorsprtad her features. "'There, there, Alice do not weep, she exclaimed, softly, as, stooping, she kissed the bowed-down, golden head: 'I do not blame you, dear—no, I cannot. From my soul I will pray your surmise niav be correct. Who can tell? We must leave it, as all other affairs, in the hands of Heaven—and rely on its rner-

(y4

Now go, darling—th© hour is lut© you need rest and I would think quietly ovor what you have told me. It h.is cino so suddenly yet I feared I leared.' "Like a child, the younger obeyed and an hour after, was soon sleeping peacefully, dreaming of Graham Royston, the young artist while Edith Grestone, pale, mute and worn, more conscious of the trouble in store for her sister (through her unfortunate attachment) than she was herself, sat with hands clasped, before the fire in her dressing-room till long after the first streaks ol breaking day appeared a "The next morning the sisters met at tho break fast-table. A letter lay upon it, addressed to Alice Grestone. She took it up with a flushed check lor she expected it brought a lew iln°s from Graham Royston: but no--the writing WHS strange to With trembling fingers she broke tho seal, and glanced t»t the contents then with a wild shriek, tell back Insensible in her chair. The letter was from Arthur Heriton. announcing his speedy arrival at the Grange, to claim tho fulfillment of the young girl's vow to become

into that day the two sisters

sat side by side, clasped in each other arms—Aliceclinging despairingly .hopelessly, to the elder, who, her white face calm, and a certain contraction about the long slender fingers, Ind catlye of the intense working ot tbe tnlnd, looked, as she was, the only protector upon whom the gentler nature could rely. "'Alice! 'tis useless these tears, or complainings against fate. It la "ul weak spirit that stoops to that, said the dark sister, st last. 'We must look tu action—action, which alone can make man or woman independent. Arthur lleriton dates his letter from London, lie will, no doubt, be here to-morrow.' "Alice Greatonestarted, and shrinking in every nerve, murmured imploringly: 'Oh, no! Impossible, not so Moo. It cannot bel'

But the other continued, without heeding 'I will see him when be comes, Alice. I will tell him all for even abould you talfill your vow. it would be a sin you must not commit to beeotne his wifte without letting him know that your heart is another's that it never can be his. Sarelybe will for bis own happlneas' sake, (Men to reason. Ha will not be aocru«l aa to arm his suit, knowing that. L*t him take all, so that he permits yoa to be fir«e and lumpy. "SMKpio4U Ae pressed the other to her heart, paaalonately, while, for the first time tears stood In her dark eyes tfcett she strove, with the fhndeat love, to soothe an.l quiet the sobbing, almost brtfkeo hoarted girt »,

Arthur Herttoo, a man over fifty, with a tall, suare frame, a keen usurious grasping took on his sharp feature*

but the expression of a fsee liver about the mouth and eyes, had been and

k'vijjcittb'Grestone had seen him alone abe bad told him all she baa reasoned, she had pleaded, and bad begged, even on her knees, for her sister's freedom. But a very Shylock was Arthur Heriton. and would hear or take nothing but his bond. That must be fulfilled, out into the roads they should go, penniless, friendless for the Grange was his they were living on his charity. Had he not the papers, which he always carried about with him, to prove it Let Alice refuse to keep her oath, and their parents' name as their own, should b© covered with shame, and exposed to the world. Ay .further: he would have them in prison, too, if only for a few days, that its heavy

—'Yes, yes there is one way—aud it is certain escape.' As the dark sister looked upon the resolute face—the unusually flashing

could not

have promised to be

be his! Rut,' she added eagerly, as ir her life reliod upon the other's confirming her words, 'that one he will not surely claim the fulfillment of my oath after so many many years. Fancy sister, four long, long years have gone away and yet not a word—besides, 1 was but a child when

yes—fear seixed her. 'An escape, Alice.' she murmured. "'And that—is death was tbe firm reply.

TERKK-HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAHi. MARCH 16. i872:

cru*

el stain might bite into their souls, and rest upon their delicate, sensitive natuies through life. What! was be to be robbed of his money, and also the girl, who, on her oath, had sworn to be his? No: while there was law in the land, he would have bis rights or take a dire rvenge.

He left—striding down the avenne and out of the lodge gates, muttering thus while

Ali«e,

running into the li-

braiy was crouching at her sister teet, her face buried in the heavy folds or the latter's dress for, in the mute, stony face, and downcast eyes, she read too well the result ol that terrible interview. 'Oh Edith—sister,' Alice Grestone cried at last, breaking the awful silence—'speak say what your face has already uttered—Arthur Heriton will not release me from my oath.' «Xo—he refuses and, should you reject him, threatens shame to our parents' memory, and poverty and prison to ourselves.' 'Oh, heaven pity me!' moaned the girl, pressing her hands to ber throbDing brain then with a sudden cry, she continued, as, springing up, she stood, a strange light shining in her ye

A cry issued from the hearer's lips and, dashing forward she caught the other in her arms, as if she stood upon a precipice, from \£hich she would save her. 'No, no, my Alice,' she ejaculated, at length, with a great gasp—'dream not even of so great a crime it is a sin —it is cowardly.' 'Well, is it not death?—a voluntary suicide to wed Arthur Heriton rejoined the other, calmly. 'Yes. and I prefer the quicker way, rather than be false to Gtaham.' "The dark sister paused, as in painful thought then, with a catching ol the breath, the cold, impassionless look again settling down upon her features, and, drawing slightly back, she spoke: 'Alice, you shall not wed Arthur Heriton! There is yet another way of escape. I will try it and, il possible, save you. Ro but patient. Now leave me and see I atn not disturbed lill I ring.' 'Another way! But, Edith—what way you mean?' 'I cannot tell you now. I must reflect, and mature it so go, sister. I wish to be alone. Only rely on me. I will save vou, if I can.'

Silently and wonderingly, Alice obeved. Then Edith Grestone, sinking into' a large study-chair before the lire, rested her elbows on her knee and, hiding her face in her hand, began to think and force lior mind to alone contemplate one idea, which had flashed to her mind—to contemplate, to grow accustomed to it—to recognize it as an imperative necessity, and not to shudder at its fulfillment. "So three hours passed the coal fire glowed but faintly, and the dim, wintry twilight was closing round the motionless figure, before the dark sister, ringing the bell summoned her old and f.iithlul nurse to her. 'Nurse,' she said, as sho concluded a letter s'he had been hurriedly writing, 'you, who were with us in that -sad, past time, are aware of the cause which brought Mr. Heriton here to-day. Well, angry words passed between us and, I fear, he may take proceedings against our house, which may end in Alice's and my ruin. I Lave, therefore, written him tnis note. Read it. It is bidding him come here to-morrow tnoruing as, before that time, I hope to gt-t my sister to hear reason, and accept his suit. It is better so, is it not, nurse!' 'Ay, surely,' rejoinded tho old woman, who had read the letter mechanically, and now handed it. back with tears in her eyes. 'Ah! Miss Ediih, poor Miss Alice—fancy her being sacri liced in this cruel way. If Mr. Royston now were only here "'Hush, nurse hush!' interrupted the young mistress, almost sharply.

You must never utter that name in our presence again. See. here is the letter take it yourself to Mr. Heriton he is at the neighboring inn. Leave it there, ami return wait tor no answer.'

The nurse, replying In the affirmative, took the note and departed. AM the door closed upon her, Edith Grestone, with a trembling hand, drew from among the papers littered upon tho table a letter, tbo one the old nurse bad read, and which she believed she then carried, looked upon It an instant, then, casting II upon tho fire, watched till every atom WMB consumed afterwards leaving the room, she sought her sister. Finding her in tears she bade her take heftrt then, in a short time complnining of headacbo. she wished her good-night, and retired to rest.

To her room she went but to rost, no! With a measured, monotonous tread, she paced tho apartment, liar pulses at fever beat, but ber touch Icy col I, even to herself. Onoo Alloe, knocking gently, asked how she was. Counterfeiflng a %leepy voice, she had answered, 'better but did not wish to be again disturbed as she required strength for the interview on the morrow. An interview, she trusted might bring happiness to her sister.

Thus she remained lill a clock strusk ten then going to a t»WJ. she threw open an oblong box which she had brought with her from tbe library and. taking out from It a handsomely mounted pistol, careftally examined it, and saw to Its proper loading. Afterwards easting a shawl about her head and shoulders, sbe passed by another door into what bad onoe been ber mother's apartment*, and from them, by a staircase, with£he rooms, gained a small door leading Into the grounds. When there, her face very white, her bright, her teeth clenched, and ber hand dosing like a vice hpontbeweapon she carried, she spot near a small gate where the tree* and oopsewood grew more dens*. Here, eoaeeaied by tbe shadows they cast, she remained—waiting. "The next morning there was much oommotiou at the road-side Inn, which, extending to the neighl»rhood—innouneed that the stranger. Mr. Helton, who had only arrived^he prevloi

dav, bad gone-out for a stroll about tea o'clock the preceding night, and never returned.

Tbe rumor spread, and day succeeded day, yet he made no appearance. One man, a shepherd, who had been herding sheep op the hills, hearing or tbe

affair,

affirmed that be fancied he

had heard, on the evening of the gentleman's disappearance, the sharp report of a pistol but, as nobody was ever founa, this went for nothing and as the stranger had not brought any luggage, it was finally believed he had decamped in that way to avoid paying his bill at tbe inn.

Nowhere, however, was greater surprise felt than at the Grange. It was a matter of endless talk ana surmise in the servants' hall while, in the oraW" ing-room, Alice's astonishment failed to overcome the joy she felt at the news though Edith's calm, almost cold demeanor, held her in check. Indeed, as she at times expressed her hopes in gleeful tones that Arthur Heriton had gone forever, the dark sister, eemed to start, and shrink backshuddering as with an ague. Six weeks, passed, and Arthur Heriton never had appeared but the young artist did, and in due form proposed for Alice to tbe dark sister, begging that their anion might be speedily accomplished, he having several commissions to execute in Switzerland and what more delightful spot to spend a wedding tour at than there?

To Alice Grestone's surprise, who feared that the obstacle of Arthur Henton's return might be thrown across her path to happiness, her sister quitely, without either expression of pleasure or pain, but in the peculiar listless manner which had settled upon her of late, gave her consent, and even hastened the wedding day. 'But supposing Arthur Heriton returns?' Alice once ventured to say. 'Why, you will be married, and safe, faraway from here, knowing that he may be less hard upon us. Rut—I do not'think he will come,' was therejoinder.

It was a quiet marriage but when the happy pair were about to start for London, the dark sister, drawing the young bride aside, passionately, and with frenzied warmth, embracing her, exclaimed almost entreatingly— 'Alice! when you leave this solitary place behind, and your still more solitary sister, never, darling, forget to pray for me in your prayers. Mind, oh, mind, you never do for, from yottr hands at least I deserve eyery affection. Oh! Alice, one day you may learn how much I love you—Hush farewell—not a word more.' And dragging the other with her, Edith Grestone hastened back to the impatient, happy bridegroom.

Years passed over. Alice Royston's husband, having become a re-nowned-painter, dwelt either in London or Italy while the dark sister, shunning all society, lived alone with two servants, besides the nurse, at the Grange—rarely, and, towards the end, never, Quitting the grounds. Seldom was she seen uut when the passers by caught sight of her, through the lodge gates, they were painfully struck at the change which had taken place. So thin, so white, so haggard she looked— »ith such large, lustrous eyes—that a dread seized them a dread that was soon explained. "One day the servants from the Grange came lustily to the inn, breathless with tho news of the sudden disappearance of their mistress, and beg-

ging help to search tho country round. Then it crept out that for long past the dark sister's mind had been shattered indeed,that she was insane, and they feared sho might do herself mischief.

Well, the search was made all day without success till, as twilight was closing in, in a thick part of the copse in the Grange grounds—so dense that man's foot had not trodden it for years —the host of I ho inn, with one or two of his men. cama upon a figure, kneeling, as il in prayer it was that of a woman and, hastening forward, they were not surprised to find it was the dark sister. But thoy recoiled in horror when, upon touching her on the shoulder to arouse her, they found her to be a corpse. "She was resting against a tree that had been struck by lightning. But, what was that lying before her, almost as white as the scathed trunk Could it be? Was it possible? Yes, there could be no doubt.

was the skeleton

of a human being. The awe struck group raised and carried back the body to the Grange, leav ng the skeleton where it lay. Then a message was sent oft to the sister, announcing the horrible news, and bidding her immediate presence and, till they came—ay, and even aRer—the old nurse watched, almost with a Wild attachment of a beast of prey, by ber dead mistress.

Well, when Mr. and Mrs. Royston came, they had a long talk in private with the magistrate of the district. The (5range stood in a rather out-of-the-world place—the sayings and doings of which seldom got carried int» any ot the principal towns. So the dark sister was buried in the neighboring cliurchysrd and the skeleton which had been found was declared by the magistrate to be that of a poacher who had been missing some years ago. It never seemed to have struck the official, though it did many in the village, that Mr. Heriton, the stranger, had dim been missing, and had never turned up again while some, who had seen the skeleton, averred that they had remarked through the skull a small, round hole, like that made by a pistolball-

It wu a theme of conversation for months in tbe bnr-parlor and the news of Alice Orestotie's engagement to Arthur Heriton having, somehow, crept out many declared that, to free the younger sister (who had at first sacrificed her happiness for all) from such a union, Edith Grestone bad appointed to meet' the stranger privately In the copse, and had shot blm there, concealing the body afterwards with bram-

This story got to be told so often that, at last, it was related no longer as a surmise, but as a fact Whether it be •o or not, the Roystons have never lived in tbe Grange, nor tried to let it but it Is rumored that tbey have endeavored to seek, but without success, an heir to Arthur Heriton. Failing this, the place has been left to fall inlo perfect ruin and delapldation, the sight ol which creates so much surprise and conjecture to all tourists who visit those parts till, from the people about, hut moat frequently from toe host at the ruad-aide inn, they learn the atory of The Dark Sister."

A* ErrouAHMATtc SKfrriMKjrt.—A person who wrote to Treasurer Spinner ask ins for his autograph and a "aentitoenv' received the following reply? ••You ask for my autograph with a sentiment. My sentiment Is tbia: When a gentleman writes soother on bis own business, he should enclose a poaUge atamp."

Ixrt didn't mind having bla wife turned to salt, aa be knew he could soon get afresh one. ..^.4'

[From tbe Ulea Herald.] SITTING DOWN ON A CAT

How th* Wife of a Uhca Editor Curbed His Ungovernable Temper. I found the cherished face of Maria Aon wreathed in smiles, the other evening, when I returned from my arduous daily toil. (I am engaged as standing man at a saloon. So many candidates are treating, that tbe saloon Keeper hires six of us to be treated We all drink with ©vety candidat^ who comes in, and it mkkea busihess prfctty brisk.)

Said my chosen one, ''Joshua, I am afraid you do not always find me an angel in disposition."

Said I, "That's so—hie^-my dear, I don't seldom find you 'nangel in—in anvthing."

And," she added, "you are not always the most pleasant man in the world."

did

not

feel called

on to

"Now,"

reply.

said she, "read that."

She had cut an item from the columns of some paper wherein a demented writer tola about some impossible woman who, being troubled with a bad temper, counted 25 every time she got provoked, and thus became a sweet, amiable, and dearly loved ornament of the house of her delighted husband.

Ann

paid no attention to me,

but unfolded her plan. She said that every time I got mad

should count

25, and every time she got mad she would count 25. I asked her who sbe thought would pay our rent while we sat and counted 25. over and over all day long. Then she said I was always raising objections to her plans for our mutual improvement, and I said I was not, and she said I was enough to try the patience of a saint, and 1 said she was too, and she came for me, and I told her to count 25 but she forgot all about that, aud just tallied ono in my left eye. ...

Then I was going to remonstrate with tbe poker, and she told me to couut twenty-five, and I said I would uot but I* did betore she had pulled more than half my hair out. Then she made me count twenty-five over and over until I was out of breath and lelt real pleasant and good natured. So we went to supper. Now, the cat was curled up in my chair, but I did not see it until I sat down aud I did not see it then, but 1 was pretty sure was there, in fact I knew it was there as well as I wanted to, and more too. I felt, inclined to rise up suddenly, but as I gathered to spring she braudlshed the tea pot and murmured: "Joshua, your temper is rising count twentyfive or I'll break your head," and that cat was drawing a map of the Tenth Ward with her claws around behind me with the streets and boundaries marked in my blood. I rose to explain and said. "My dear I— but she caromed on my head with a well-shot toa cup, and sprinkled my face with a quart of hot tea, and I sat down and counted twenty-five but it killed the cat. The old fellow died hard, though, I could leel him settle as his nine lives went out one by one.

A few days' practice ol this rule, under the loving instruction of Mary Ann, has enabled me to conquer my temper completely. Nobody can gel me mad now. I am iu a state of perpetual calm,

Tho first time we ever saw that now household word, "Sileiatus." was when

Our first impulse was to translate that "Sal," we confidently believed meant Sal, and "eratus" had something to do with erring, so we concluded that if Sal and erring were put tog ther, it would »ke in plain English "Erring Sal and that somebody's daughter, named Sal, would very probably, it she "cut up so," in tbe end, "put her loot in it," that is, "spoil tbe broth," or, in other words, make a tool of herself, which means to take her pigs to a poor market, that is to say, would come out at tbe little end of tbe horn.

Will any spirit about us vouchsafe an ability to express our idea in more courtly phrase, and better adapted to the modern market? For we ran back a moment to old times and its associations itssweet reminlsences so crowded upon us, that we were "possessed of old words,

phrases,

TBE MO USEHOLD.

read the article as well the condition of my head would allow, and remarked, "Bosh."

Maria

[From the New England Farmer.] A MOTHER'S WORK.

"She looketh well to the ways of her boasehold, and eateth not the bread of ldleneaa."—(Pov. xxxi: 17.

Early in the morning Up as soon as light, Overseeing breakfast, Putting all things right Dressing little children,

c. Hearing lessons said, w.-s Wash lug baby fuces. .»

Toasting husband's bread.

After breakfast reading, ,t, Holding one at prayers Putting up the dinners, Meudiug little tears: Good-bye kiting children,

Sending otf to school, With a praytr and blessing. Mothers heart Is lull.

Washing up the dishes, Hweeplug carpets clean, Doing up the chamber j^ork, Sewing on machine: H.:£' Baby lays a crying, Rubbing little eyes. Mother leaves her sewing' To sing the lullabies.

Cutting little garments, Trimming children's hats, ». Writing for the papers, With callers having chats Hearing little footsteps Ruiming through the hall, Telling school is over, As mamma's name they call.^

Talking with the children All about their scbtol, Soothing little troubles, Teaching grammar rules Seeing about supper, Lighting up the sooms, Making home look cheerful, Expecting husband soon.

Then, with all her headaches, Keeping t» herself, ',v Always looking cheerful,p,' Other lives to bless Putting bed children— Hearing say their prayers. Giving all a good-night's kiss, Before she goes dowu s%iirs. 5

Once more in the parlor, Sitting down to rest, Heading In ihe Bible

1 How his promises are blessed Taking all her sorrows And every care to One,

With that trusting, hopeful heart, Which none but mothers owu.

HINTS FOR THE HOtTSBWIFB. BREAD.—Bread again? Yes, bread again—for can a subject of such vital interest be discussed too often No mistress of a house, nay, 110 woman in whatever sphere, flight to feel herself thoroughly educated for the conduct of!' life who cannot at least superintend the process of bread-making in such. style as to produce the resultant of a fair and flaky loaf with which to grace the family board. With the followlng$|| recipes, previously tried by her own ,, hands, a housekeeper «s, in the course, of one year, successfully taught five* raw, untutored servants how to make: bread. One of tho ct.oks thus taught is at present the pride and treasure of a^ large boarding establishment.

YEAST.—'Take a large handful of home gathered hops, or a two-inch square ot the article of commerce, and"' boil it to a strong tea. At the sametime put into another kettle eight large,,^ peeled Irish potatoes, or enough small, ones to make one quart when done boil these rapidly, and when sufficient-' ly tender, mash up fine, of course taking them out of tho water iu which

a\^I waut to see the ni'in wrote they wove boiled to the potatoes add., that story I want to fit bim for the half a pint ol flour, one gill of sugar, hands of the undertaker, and make a and one gill of salt. Over UH'se 'igredemand for mourning goods among his dients pour tho hop toa, return tue., rriends Th' can die lx.i. py-count-1 whole mixture to tbe kettle, and let ing twenty li vo.

TOMBOYS.

How we love the phrase! How it carries us back to the good old limes when the girls were not afraid to langh out a whole heart at once, and never knew anything of modern "propriety," sanctitv,beiore folks, satanity behind angefic in the street, animal iu tho pantry and in the study assinitie 1 "Tom boys" is associated in our mind with saleratus. Saleratus rises and helps to rise, so doos a torn boy, for sho is so full of romping and of lun, that with her joyous nature, and unsuspicious abandon, sho tiros up every young heart around her, and makes tho saddened faces of the old beam with the subdued but sweet smiles ol the memories of Auld JLangsyue, when tbey, too, wore young.

it come to

und

lace and withal, a most unsuspicious niixed. If simple bread Is preferred, lace, ana wi. ,t butter, and lard may be omitted. Put the bread to rise in a moderately warm placo, in a vessel covered, but large enough to admit of swelling.

don't-caro look about her. She was not on earth or in heaven, but between the two, in mid-air, like HS il she had taken a spring, which was to end in a somersault, landing her right side up and under this picture was, in largo letters, Sal Eratus.

comparisons, old

everything. Especially did It bring to our mind, of how we went a moonshlny night to a prayer-meeting, in tbe country, with Dr. C'lelland's daughter, and bow, when an essay was made to help ber over the fence, with the tip end or a gloved finger, she exclaimed, Oh, get out!" ana laying one hand on the top rail, sho cleared the panel at a bound We felt mean for a whole year.

How sigh we for the times to come again,

when,

fer a girl to laugh outri^t,

to clear a fence, to reach the saddie at a bound, or row a river, or gallop alone to a neighbor's five miles and back, shall be considered nothing remarkable, Its "symptom" being, an index to physical health, to joyous good nature^ and possession of_ high

moral ant

physical abilities. How would a regiment of tbe true "torn boys" of olden times, quartered on Gotham, work a revolution for tbe better to mind and morals, In phyaical elevation and men* taJ power, wh se influence for good would be felt for generational—[Hall's Journal of Health. k-rf

IR vou feel dull, despondent, drowsy, dehifiated, bare frequent headache, mouth tastes badly, poor appetite, and tongue coated, you are suffering from torpid liver or "Biliousness," Nothing will cure you so speedily and permanently aa Dr. Pierce's Golden Medical Discvoery.

good boll, l'otir the

vcast now into a largo tin bucket or earthenware jar, provided with, a close-fitting cover. If wanted quicklv, pour in cupful oi old yeast, and set it in

warm place to ferment.

If 110 such haste is needful, fermentation will follow of itselt in

wVwTro' jiist beginning to take lessons tablespoonfuls, or one gdl, of Kpoj in "Corderii," the first Latin primer.

ast. Make up your

There was the picture of an angel broke 1 Sponge, in winter at four clock lu loose. It was a young girl with her the afternoon, with two and a half lonir hair floating back iu the breeze, quarts of flour,

an uncontrollable joyousuess in her

louger or,

shorter time, as the state of the temper-, ature must decide. When well risen, pour the veast into carefully cleansed bottles, which only half fill, and cork tightly. This yeast will keep awietr and good two weeks in summer, and

long as it lasts in winter. LIGHT BUKAD, OR RISEM Biscrrt?— For an eight o'clock breakfast make

sponge thus: The day before, at eleven clock A. M. in winter, or at threo P. M. in summer two lar»re Irish potatoes, boiled and mushed fine, two tublespoonfulH of fine brown or course whits Miuar mix smoot hly wi ll one pint of boiling water. When add flv#

bread

with this

two

®888»

one spoonful of lard andi butter

I11 the morning work well at half-past five o'clock, sot It to rise one hour, and then bake one hour in a regularly heated oven,

CUANKY'BTHIN BISCUITS,

OB NOTIONS.

—Take one pint of flour and make it Into dough, as soft as can be rolled, with sweet milk, a saltspoonfulof salt, two ounces of butter, and two ounces of lard. Roll out with the bread-pin Into round cakes nine inches in diameter, and of wafer-like tbloknesa. Stick well with a form. In baklngs do nat allow them to brown, but 1Groove from the oven while they retain their whiteness, yet are crisp, and will melt in the mouth.

lii 4

McFrtus.—The nicest Muffins are made in this simple fashion: Early in the morning take off a piece of light bread dough, say what has been made from one quart of flour, lor a family of eight persona. Thin tnla to the consistency of batter by the addition ol sweet milk. After beating it till smooth, let it rise altogether for an hour then on a delicately greased griddle drop the batter from a spoon, and so soon aa lightly browned on one side, turn on tbe other. To be served up hot, and torn open Instead oi cut with a knife.

How TO COO£SOLD FOWLS.—For the possible benefit to young housekeeoers, we wish to tall the® how to 000k an old chicken. Prepare as for roasting, then boll three hoars iu a covered pot. with one quart of water, to which add two tablespoonsful of vinegar, after which pot Into a pan in a hot oven for about one hour to brown. The liquor in tbe pot to be prepared for gravy should the water Mil away too much, more should be added. Tbe result is, the meat is aa tender aa young chicken, nnd some think richer and better.

4 v,,

RICK SOCP.—WaahAND boil until tender one cup of rice put thia with six quarts of water let It become boiling hot, add a eup of thick sweet cream, a little salt, »Ur in thickening nuule of a tableepooniul of cornstarch ana break in half a pound of crackers.

PcpDixo.—One-half tea-cup of

rice washed and put in an earthen baking-dish, two quarts milk, one-half cup sugar, baked two hours. Stir it three or four timea while baking.